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[sandeepkumar30]

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[theartofwoompwoomp]

You do what now?…

Various Transformers x human!reader

Summary: we spoke about us receiving aggressive affection, but what about us giving them the cuteness aggression

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Knockout definitely won’t let you even think about biting him. He just got polished. He’s going to make sure you don’t even get near him the second he sees that glint in your eye.

He was cuddling with you as he rambled on about his day. Moments like these brought him so much peace. But clearly, it seemed you had another definition of peace.

Your head lowered a bit towards his arm. He wouldn’t thought anything if not for the way you seemed to hesitate opening your mouth. Your lips were pursed and your full attention on his paint.

His own instincts acted before you, quickly pushing you away as he threw a tiny pillow on top of you and ran.

“Awww knockout ! I wasn’t even gonna do nothing !” He could hear your voice in the distance but he wasn’t taking any chances, knowing you were now in a game of hide-in-seek. If he wasn’t careful your small mouth would definitely bit him if he’s not aware.

Optimus would be surprised to say the least.  Never once knowing humans did such a thing to others. Especially not their significant others. He’d probably ask the reason for your actions, mistaking it for an act of anger towards him.

One second he was holding you, the next he was looking down as you had your mouth on his digit. 

He didn’t move. Just watching as you a bit him. The thing was, you weren’t chomping or taking many bites. You simply bit him once and didn’t let go. He didn’t feel you put pressure on the bit, so you weren’t attacking him.

Then what were you doing? you didn’t even look up when you let go. Perplexed he wondered why’d you grabbed his attention only for you to ignore him.

Maybe it was a way to show you were upset? But it didn’t make sense, when he called out to you about it you weren’t upset. It was an act,… of affection

Honestly he didn’t understand but it made you happy so he just let you continue on.

Bee would probably encourage your aggressive behavior towards him. Letting you run into him and start random play fights while ofc always letting you win.

Bee was just walking around base. He didn’t really have anything planned. He was about to head back towards his quarters when he heard fast steps behind him.

As he turned around, he saw that you had jumped off the shelf road set for humans. Your smile wides as launched straight for him.

Stretching towards you to catch your small body, you randomly pulled a pillow from nowhere and threw it straight to his face. He fell and you landed on him. Giving him a quick peck before taking off. Hearing your voice quite far yelling a quick, “Love ya babe !”

Still on the ground he just let a small beep that sounded a lot like a sigh. He was totally gonna get you back for this.

Soundwave is always dumbfounded by your impulses. Mainly since you act before thinking a lot of the times. Causing him to not being able to know your next move. And since your cuteness aggression is always spontaneous he never predicts it.

You were on his berth with him. While he was desperately trying to hold his mask onto his faceplate. It had broken during a battle and knockout had yet to be able to attend him. Thus leaving him in the sad state of holding it up wherever he went.

But he trusted you. And he was tired from holding it the whole day. Lowering his mask he hears a small gasp from you. 

Feeling as a bunch of thoughts rush through you, he mainly notices your curiosity.

Lowering his face as he hands you his mask. You take it eagerly, your own eyes analyzing it and tracing every dent and detail.

But it wasn’t until he had his face in front of you he felt it change in your thoughts.

Your eyes no longer focusing on his mask, rather all your attention on his lower half of his face. At first he could feel all your thoughts, but now your mind was rushing so fast to the point he wasn’t sure if you were even thinking at all.

Noticing your breath pick a bit of pace, he wasn’t expecting you to launch his mask far from him. Your eyes wide as you rushed to reach him. 

Still surprised from the loud noise of his mask crashing onto the floor, what brought his attention back was your small mouth on his. All your emotions pouring towards him, he honestly didn’t mind it a bit. 

Now this was one impulse of yours he liked.

Starscream would surely love your attention. No matter how strange it is. He’d probably show off and brag about your actions to other decepticons. It would get to the point that the others think he’s making it up, mainly since most of them don’t think humans have cuteness aggression.

Funny thing is, recently you’ve been noticing a lot of things about your seeker. You hadn’t noticed before, but his wings tend to be very expressive.

Thanks to your request you were given a datapad that acted a lot as an ipad for a kid. You’re favorite feature was the camera settings. Thanks to being small no one noticed that you recorded a lot of things. Especially Starscream. 

You had a bunch of videos and pics of him. Looking through them was definitely your favorite pastime.

As Starscream got closer he heard you speaking with lots of emotion. You were talking too fast and changing volume constantly that he couldn’t really understand what you were saying.

Peeking a bit he saw you watching something on the datapad he got you. You were laying down with your stomach to the surface as your feet kept swinging in the air. You were really focused on whatever you were watching.

He was going to continue watching you in silence until he heard you yell out, “Oh.My.God! Why is he soo hot !” 

You were ogling someone and he didn’t like it one bit. 

Barging in making his presence loud and clear, you turned quickly hiding the datapad. “oh heyy starscream. I hadn’t realized you were here.” Your voice laced with nerves he saw your face reddened as you tucked the pad deeper under the pillow.

Not responding he grabbed the datapad against your small protest, as he opened it up to see who exactly was winning your heart.

He wasn’t expecting to find an edit of him that you made. 

Now you were both flustered.

———————————————————————

Lol let me know if you want a specific character with this concept, it’s very fun 

Masterlist 

[careager]

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[smallestapplin]

Bro you got me down so bad for Optimus Prime. Can I request possessive Optimus smut? Cybetronian reader if you could, 10/10 love your writing and will be a die hard follower forever

Alright 💕 but you keep your end of the deal/lh

Warning : stomach bulge, size kink, praise, and a very needy Optimus.

Minors do not interact! 18+ only!

-

-

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Optimus is this best partner you could’ve ever asked for, ever the gentlebot, so tender and loving with you, how could you not trust him so? You didn’t question him when he called you over, wishing to speak with you privately, why would you?

He was livid, a rage emotion for the Prime to feel, but he couldn’t stop the anger twisting in his spark from ealier, he shouldn’t feel threatened by one of his own, but he can’t stop the feelings from bubbling to the surface.

You’re too kind to your teammates.

If he can’t tell them off, then he can take it out on your valve, drown you in his scent and mark you as his once more.

“Optimus..!”

Your sweet cry breaks him from his thoughts. You’re shaking on his berth, legs twitching on either side of his helm, your servos on top of his which hold your legs apart, clinging to him. You ex-vent sharply as he pulls away from your wet valve, leaving your puffy node alone.

“I’m sorry, my light, you are just too addicting.”

A whine tumbles from your dermas, feeling your lover kiss your inner thigh just so close to your valve. Optimus takes a deep breath, trembling at the heady smell of your need.

To have you beneath him, crying just for him, needing him, wanting him, desperate for him to frag you and fill you with his transfluid

“Frag…what’s gotten into you?” You laugh breathlessly, your fans on high trying to cool yourself down.

You aren’t complaining, not when Optimus moves further up your body, lavishing your frame with firm slow kisses as if to worship your body. He stops just at your neck cables, moving your legs up and over his shoulders, putting your needy valve on display for him.

Optics watching how your valve drools fluid, occasionally clenching around nothing, wanting to be filled. You gasp as Optimus puts his large spike over your valve, grinding his shaft against it and soaking it in your juices.

“Is it a crime to find my conjunx endura enticing? So pretty, and all I can think about is stuffing this valve of yours full, marking you as mine. To remind everyone here that you are mine to hold, mine to frag.”

Your optics widen at his lewd words, his voice low nearly a growl as he pulls his hips back, positioning his spike at your needy hole and easily pushing in. You grab his shoulders, tossing your helm back and intake dropping open.

Even still he’s just too much, your poor valve always stretched so much just trying to take him. His optics stay trained on your stomach, groaning as your metal begins to dent as his spike alone is too big for your body.

“S-S’deep!!”

“Look at how well you take me, just like you were made for me.” Optimus places a servo on your stomach, pressing down where his spike bulges under your mesh. You shriek, servos gripping his shoulders, blue and red paint scratching off under your grip, but he doesn’t care.

“Optimus…ohh…please, it’s too much.”

“Too much? My star, we haven’t even started.”

He kisses the top of your helm to give you some comfort. You choke on air, his hips clanking and smacking against yours pushing his spike further against your sweet spot, pelvis grinding against your node before he pulls back once more and thrust back in.

His thursts are heavy, fragging his spike as deep into you as he could manage, wanting to mold your valve into his shape so only he could please you, no one else can make you feel as good as he can, no one can have you.

He can’t lose you.

“Frag…you’re clenching so tight. Overloading for me already?”

You’re in tears, your body covered in coolant, as he speaks so sweetly to you, like he isn’t fragging you stupid and spike drunk. You’re so close, your climax lost from earlier building back up swiftly.

“O-Optimus!! Oh, oh primus I-I caan’t—!!”

Your overload does little to make him stop. You’re sobbing, near squealing out hiw name even as your voice box goes to static. He leans over you, practically folding you in half, rutting his spike into your needy hole.

“So good, I love you. P-please, just a little more-mm! Haa…overload for me again, milk my spike, let me mark you.”

You’re too far gone, helm heavy and all you can think about is his spike breaking your back strut.

The entire base will know who’s spark you belong to by the time he’s finished.

[deakyjoe]

Misfire

Pairing: Cardinal Copia x Reader (afab)

Category: smut, fluff

Summary: After a long day, Copia gets a little too excited at finally seeing you.

Warnings: 18+, smut, dry humping, premature ejaculation, kissing, groping, cum eating, shower sex, p in v sex, unprotected sex, f receiving oral, cream pie, established relationship, stressed Copia, needy Copia, hurt/comfort, praise kink, fluff

Word count: 2.5k

A/N: Every horny thought I had previously about Copia that had been pushed to the back of my mind with the insistence of “I don’t need to write that” came back in full swing after RHRN and manifested into this. Title comes from the song of the same name by Queen.

Consider buying me a coffee :)

The day had been long and stressful. Like most days were. And there was nothing Copia wanted more than to be back in his room, in bed, with you underneath him or his face buried between your legs. It was the only suitable way to unwind after a difficult day in his opinion. Fucking you.

As soon as his last meeting was done, and he'd managed to convince Sister Imperator that the latest pile of paperwork she'd dumped on his desk could wait for tomorrow, he was out the door and practically running to go and find you. Thankfully, you were exactly where you always were at the end of the day. You were waiting for him back in his rooms, ready to do whatever he needed to feel better.

The door swung open with an unceremonious thwack against the wall, door handle banging into the paint and contributing to the dent that already existed there. It slammed back into its frame behind Copia, all cares about possibly disturbing his neighbours gone. He just needed you.

At the clattering sounds of him appearing, you looked up from the book you were reading and immediately stood to greet him. "Hello, my love. How was your day?"

Copia dismissed your question with a wave of his hand, instead marching towards you with purpose. "No time. Need you."

You didn't have much time to react but the page of the book you were on was forgotten as the item fell to the seat of the chair you were previously situated on, and you prepared yourself to be met with his hands that were already outstretched towards you.

His pace was fast. So fast in fact that when he collided against you, mouth slanting over yours with the slightest clash of teeth, you stumbled back a couple of paces. Luckily, his arms were tightly wound around you in time to steady you and prevent you from falling.

The kiss was messy and desperate, the low whine he let out at the relief of finally touching you telling you everything you needed to know about the state of his day. It obviously hadn't been a good one. But you knew how to solve that.

For Copia, no amount of contact was enough. He was glad that he'd forgone his Cardinal vestments for the day, one less layer between the two of you. One of his hands pushed into the small of your back to draw your body as close as possible to his. The other was on the back of your head to keep your lips firmly pressed against his. On top of that he was leaning forward, almost bending you backwards and making your spine arch in a slightly uncomfortable position, to make sure you didn't leave his embrace for even a second.

His tongue licked hotly and urgently into your mouth and it wasn't long before you could feel him growing hard between you. It didn't take much on days like this. So without breaking away from him, because you knew that would make his day even worse, you slowly started to guide him back towards his bed.

Copia hadn't realised that the two of you were moving, too distracted by the feeling of you, until the backs of his legs hit the wooden frame. He hummed against your mouth in appreciation, you always knew what he needed. Not like it was difficult to tell when he was being like this.

He whimpered when you had to break apart in order to get on the bed, hands not leaving you for a second as you crawled on and collapsed against the pillows and he climbed on top of you. Not a second was wasted as he went back to kissing you, pushing your thighs apart so he could slot himself between them and rest almost the entirety of his body weight on you.

One of his hands roamed you, sliding up underneath the hem of your shirt to gain access to your skin. Even if he couldn't feel it because of his gloves, knowing that the leather was on your bare flesh was enough for him. Your own hands were tangled in his hair, letting the strands run a little looser after being pristine for the day, and pulling him as impossibly closer as you could. You knew he liked it when you showed how you wanted him as much as he wanted you.

It didn't take long before his lustful impulses took over and the friction of your bodies against each other had him pushing his pelvis into yours with a snap of his hips.

"Fuck." He hissed against your mouth, hips rutting forward again. "I'm sorry. I can't- I can't stop, it feels so good."

You slid your hands down to cup his face in your palms, thumbs swiping across his cheeks to calm him down. "Copia, my love, if it feels good then don't stop."

His mouth fell open, a protest dying on his lips when he saw how genuine you were being about the idea, brows scrunching together in pleasure as he let himself rut against you again. After that, all control was lost.

His mouth crashed back over yours, desperate to feel as much of you as possible. He chased the feeling that was steadily building, convinced that he could do this for just a little while longer before he took your clothes off and actually fucked you.

But you knew better.

You could tell he was getting close by the whines he was letting out into your mouth getting higher in both pitch and frequency. His hips were also rutting against you at a much faster rate, almost frantic. Then suddenly he stilled, limbs going rigid and jaw falling open around a long groan of elated satisfaction.

He collapsed on top of you, face buried in the side of your neck and heavy pants tickling your skin. You let your hands slide around to his back, tracing patterns with your finger tips along his clothes.

Copia sighed suddenly, mumbling against your ear. "I'm so sorry. I, eh, I don't know what happened."

"It's okay." You replied, a content smile gracing your lips. He didn't need to apologise, there was nothing you loved more than his happiness. And if that was caused by him coming in his pants just through some dry humping? Then you were all too pleased for him. You let him rest for a couple more minutes, allowing his breathing rate to slow down, before suggesting something that always made him feel better. "Let's go get you cleaned up, hm? Shower?"

The smile in his voice was evident. "Okey dokey."

He slowly pushed himself up, hands running down the lengths of your legs to keep in contact with you as you yourself also sat up. You took his hands in yours as you started to lead him towards his en suite bathroom, letting him wind his arms around your waist and push his face into the side of your neck to keep you close.

When you got to the bathroom, and looked in the mirror, you found that the black paint he applied to his top lip every day was now smeared around your mouth. This was a common occurrence.

You pointed it out to him anyway. "Look, we're matching."

And Copia smiled like he always did. "It suits you."

You rolled your eyes at the same line he always gave you, biting down on your bottom lip to smother the grin it always brought to your face. After switching the shower on, you gave it a minute to warm up as you started to help Copia remove his clothes. He let you do it, a fond smile on his face as he noticed your eyebrows pinch in concentration.

His thighs were sticky from your previous activities and your eyes lit up at the sight. Copia's own eyes practically popped out of his head as he watched you swipe a finger through the mess and then suck it off into your mouth with a pleased hum.

That was all it took for him to start ripping your clothes off and then push you into the shower whilst you giggled at his new found energy.

"Slow down, my love. We have time and you could probably use a minute." You glanced down to where he was hanging soft and pulled him under the hot stream of water with you to start cleaning him off.

Copia's head rested on your shoulder, his hair dripping into his eyes and making his black eye makeup start running, as you lathered him up with soap and got to work gently washing the day's stress away. Once he was spotless you pressed a kiss against his neck to tell him you were done and he stood up straight to look at you.

An adoring smile tugged at the corners of his mouth as he cupped your face in a bare palm and ran his thumb over your bottom lip. He kissed you quickly, softly, and then sank down onto his knees. He gazed up at you, mismatched eyes wide and almost vulnerable, black paint cascading from his eyes. You used your thumbs to wipe the mess away before giving him the go ahead with a small nod.

Copia dived in between your thighs, enthusiastically licking at every inch he could reach. His eyes closed in pleasure, moans rumbling through his chest and out of his mouth against you. The fingers of one of your hands threaded through his hair, encouraging him, the other steadying you against the wall to hold yourself up. He was always so keen to please, so desperate to know he was doing well, so that's exactly what you gave him.

"Mhm, just like that." You sighed, meeting his opened eyes. "Good boy."

He whined against you, somehow pushing his face further into you and bumping his nose against your clit. One of his large hands splayed across the plains of your thigh, tips of his fingers pressing into the soft flesh and pushing your leg up to hook your knee over his shoulder. That only gave him better access and a new angle. As much as you wanted to stay composed for him, to keep praising him, the new sensation had a choked cry leaving your mouth and your head dropping backwards in pleasure.

Copia licked and sucked with determination, working towards the goal of getting you to orgasm against his face. He kept a close watch on every reaction you gave, making sure to keep his eyes open now so he didn’t miss a single response you gave to anything he did. Water rained down onto his head, beating against his face and making it harder to see, but he didn’t care. He only cared about making you feel good. Because you always made him feel good. He loved to return the favour.

Your toes curled, thighs clenching around him and drawing him closer against you. Copia knew then that the end goal was arriving soon and this only motivated him further, his rapid motions only picking up further like a man starved. The fingers carded in his hair tightened, tugging on the roots harshly, and Copia groaned loudly, sending vibrations rippling through you. That tipped you over the edge.

A smile spread across his face as you rocked your hips against it, chasing the high that he’d given you. Once it had eased out to a warm glow Copia stood again, wincing as his knees cracked.

“You need to be more careful, my love. Your joints can’t handle positions like those anymore.” You hummed, cupping his face in your hands.

“For you I will bear the pain and get on my knees any day.” He retorted as he leaned in to kiss you.

The proximity alerted you to the fact that he was hard again and you pulled away from him with a startled squeak and looked down to where he was pressing against your stomach.

“Bad days make you like a horny teenager.” You chuckled, not complaining in the slightest.

“No, you make me like a horny teenager.” He countered and kissed you again, tongue lapping into your mouth so you could taste yourself on him.

Steam from the hot shower had clouded the room but neither of you cared as Copia pushed you against the wall and slid into you. You both gasped lowly into each other’s mouths in gratification at the feeling, him lifting one of your legs to give him better access.

He fucked you slowly and lovingly, a strong contrast to the way he’d been rutting against you earlier. But that had been for relief. This was for comfort. He took his time with it, letting the sensation build slowly as to not rush it this time. And you were all too happy to let him have you anyway he wanted you.

Water cascaded between you, causing his body to slip against yours with ease and making it difficult to breathe between kisses. But neither of you cared, not being able to bear being too far away from each other for even a fraction of a second.

It didn’t take long for you to reach your second orgasm, despite the slow pace. And the feeling of you clenching around him meant Copia wasn’t far behind. He stilled as he came inside you, pumping a few more times to make sure he filled you.

After a few more kisses, he slid out of you with a hiss and it was his turn to wash you. He babbled about how much he loved you, a mix of English and Italian and what you thought to be some Latin leaving his mouth in hushed tones. You could only smile back, knowing he knew how much you loved him too.

Once the shower was done, and the steam started to clear, you dried each other off and giggled about meaningless things. You pointed out how much you adored the greys in his hair as you ruffled his head with a towel. He pointed out the bite mark he’d left on your thigh that you hadn’t even noticed he’d given you in the shower as he wiped water droplets off of your skin.

When you returned to the bedroom and started searching for some pyjamas for you to wear, one of his fingers tracing up and down the line of your spine, he informed you that he wanted to sleep naked. To feel you as close to him as possible. You agreed with a simple nod of your head. And when you crawled into bed, you told Copia how much he meant to you. He only blushed and returned the sentiment.

With the lights off, mumbles of affectionate praises, promises of eternal love, and soft kisses were exchanged until the two of you fell into a peaceful sleep wrapped in each other's arms.

A/N: this started out as something meant to be strictly horny and then turned all sweet at the end?? Anyway, hope you enjoyed my first dive into Copia fanfic!

[ikkosu]

TO LIVE, AND TO SERVE

part two

(tfo.sentinel x gn.miner.reader)

A short chapter

one, two, three

"So, what'd you think?" He placed his servos on his hips and glanced down at you with a grin. You're looking at elsewhere, though. At the interior of the habsuite and the slight widen of your intake and mouth should be embarrassing.

After all, you missed feeling the movements on your face after the venom disappating.

 "A nice, lovely space for a miner, isn't it?" 

Nice was a bit of an understatement. It wasn't anything lie you'd have at the barracks. Gold amassed the entirety of the room, gleaming as every glare of the light streaming through the wide arched windows rushed in. A a comfortable mini alcove for a library was by the corner and — oh, look your berth. Right by the window, puffed up with pillows and satin covers. 

A dream for any mech with terrible backs and callous bodies. Small but strangely pleasant. Befitting of a miner, you suppose.  

"I appreciate your kind...gift, sir.''

You could finally enjoy a time of solitude. Away from all the drilling. 

"I've got it all prepared in under a cycle." He said. " Had the drones churning up a few midnight energon for the bit. You know, after I saved you from getting killed." 

 Saved me from getting killed by you. How poetic.

The drones behind pottered into the room arranging the furniture where Sentinel wanted it to be, moving in necessities you never thought you'd needed : waxing equipment, extra plating transfers, extra paint transfers, among more you couldn't count. However, one of the drones had a significant dent across their chassis. Almost like someone had thrown quite the punch and wanted to string out their gut. 

You curl out a digit to point. "Is that...normal?"

Sentinel grunted and gave a dismissive wave, optics trained on the several drones organizing the library. He was fixated on the covers being color coded.

"Nothing trivial.This used to be a holding cell for soon to be named convicts so you can expect the structure to be a little bit janky and loose." 

You look up to see where the metal pole of the ceiling is bent at an odd angle with clear signs of energon flakes coating the end. Poor mech, almost impaled by the thing. What were they doing up there anyway?

" The blueprint is drawn up before the war. Unfortunately, too much funds were going to the military so we had to improvise— " he nodded towards your berth, "—and built personal cell at the castle instead"

"I'm assuming holding cells are this lavish all around."

 He finally looked at you for a moment and let out a loud laugh, a rich crescending wave of timber. "For me? Perhaps. Not for you, though. Not anything you would expect it to be." 

A kind of tightness coiled in your chest at the tone of his voice. Not for you. Not like you. Not you. A chant. A mantra. Layers and overlays of voices that won't stop. The prior migraine that plagued your helm plunged back at full force and you gritted your dentas, cringing. As sentinel looked away, he conversed with the drones of what color you preferred your berth covers to be. " Blue," he declared. A distant murmer.. You drown out the noise, lightheaded. Eventually, he came up to you, uttering words that doesn't make sense. 

"Thank you, sir." You say aimlessly. 

"And, on that topic of sir," He cornered you in.

You step back instinctively

 "I remember asking you to serve." A servo curled around your sides. "And I won't repeat this again, you know how much I hate repeating myself its ridiculous." 

" What do you—"

"My Liege." He leaned down, whispering in your audials firmly. "Say it." 

You stared straight ahead and swallowed. The lump on your throat glided down like an irregular sized rock. He was so close. So close to reach. If you could just reach out, curl your servos around his neck and squeezed — maybe, you could accomplish something that hadn't been done in your lifetime.

"My liege, sir.'' The words rippled out. 

"Louder." He squeezed your sides, digits digging into the soft protoform.

You winced. "My liege, sir." 

His nose grazed your jaw and he smiled. "Good mech, and don't worry about the floor you're in. I'll only call you up when you're dearly needed." 

Which is, every night. 

[cvnt4him]

Do you think Deku is big on family?? He just SCREAMS dilf energy yk

Yes yes yes nonnie/nonnette. I think he is HUGE on family. Izuku js screams girl dad to me personally like I feel like he has 2 daughters idk how to explain it. Lemme js write ts for you..

Also this is x black reader.. I'm sorry💋

Reader n zuku are in their late 30's/ early 40's

Day 1 of izuku week!!

You and izuku had been together since highschool, you were quite literally highschool sweethearts. When he asked you to marry him at your highschool graduation you were literally sobbing. Just letting out tears and more tears.

When he told you he wanted to have kids you were a bit afraid. The thought of having to push a human body out of your literal birth canal terrified you. But he promised you he'd be there every step of the way. With him by your side you felt as if there was nothing you couldn't do.

That's how you ended up with the most beautiful girls in the world, izumi and zora. Those weren't the names you personally agreed upon but he made it his mission to have his daughters with names exactly like his. There was something so satisfying and gratifying to him about the fact there were his daughters. You had his kids. It was only fair he got to name them.

Izumi was izukus splitting image, she had curly green locs and big wide green eyes, she didn't have freckles however. Zora looked like you, a dingy greenish brown painting her hair and her deep hazel brown eyes not being as wide as izumis, her hair was more coily and voluminous than izumis.

Izuku loves both of his girls unconditionally, he loves when they have him play weird and wacky games like hospital or restaurant. Izumi is more of a loud and carefree kid, she loves singing and dancing and just being a kid. Zora is a bit too responsible for her age izuku thinks, shes very intelligent for the younger sibling and is very intuitive with things around her.

Izukus daughters are two different people but he can't help but love them all the more. Izuku sometimes loves watching you do zoras hair, putting cute little barrettes in her coily hair. He loves to watch the way you smile and do her hair, she winces slightly moving around from the discomfort. It was always easiest to do izumis hair in your opinion, not that you had a problem doing either of your daughters hair.

They were both huge Daddy's girls. He loved spoiling them absolutely rotten. They could just bat their eyelashes to him and he'd give them whatever they wanted. You hated how because he couldn't never dent them you were always seen as the bad guy.

Izuku would sit by the girls shared room door frame and watch you read to them, they'd say goodnight as you'd kiss both of their heads before leaving their room to your surprise you see your big husband with a soft grin on his matured face, his eyes soft and full of love.

Izuku was in love with you, the way your body had changed from giving birth, the stretch marks, the dimples and just everything about you. He loved you so much, you gave him a family, you gave him hope and reason to love, a home to come back to. The house wasn't his home, it was you and his daughters.

He would pound you from behind deep into your shared bed, whispering sweet things into your ears like how you were made for him and made to fit him. How you were so perfect and the reason he goes on. And so many more sweet things that made you gush and tighten around him.

Izuku midoriya was your big strong strapping husband who loved you so<33

AN: this was more of headcanons than a fic and i really enjoyed making this, lemme know if you want a little day in the midoriya girls' life!! I would enjoy making it!!!!

[cherryredstars]

Miguel/Reader request:Recently Miguel is experiencing a lot of pain,stress,his serum was losing effectiveness and his spider were more stronger to the point he transformed into a monster,a man spider:a 15 feet tall creature,full of fur,six clawed arms,hindlegs,spikes,fangs,many eyes and pinchers.One night Miguel was really struggling so y/n decides to “help” (there’s consent from both even if Miguel is a bit scared about it since he’s afraid of hurting her and he transforms while doing it)

Pairing: Miguel O’Hara x fem!reader

Warnings: 18+, NSFW, Blood, Penetrative Sex, Internal Vaginal Ripping, Sedation, Mating, Mentions of Breeding, Mentions of Reader Developing a Spider Egg Sac, Spiders… Miguel Turning into a Big Spider and Having Monster Sex with You????

Summary: A not so itsy bitsy spider…

A/N: This was requested all the way in October… I am so sorry. And I am so sorry for the warnings.

Word Count: 1.1K (Unedited)

It had to be a miscalculation of something. 

Maybe the wrong measurements, a switch in chemicals, perhaps some lab equipment in need of replacing. He refuses, absolutely refuses, to believe it is because his body has begun to form a tolerance of the neon chemical. That instead of sedating him, it’s making him stronger. It has been stressing him the fuck out. Everything has been stressing him out. Rapture, the multiverse, Miles Morales, Peter B. Parker. There is only so much a single man can take.

And you know that. The woman of his dreams and the miracle cure to all his problems. You, you, you. You were so sweet to him, leading him to the bedroom the moment he returned from HQ. Your small hand grasped his as you collapsed on the bed and pulled him on top of you. 

“Let me take care of you, Miggy”, you had whispered into his ear. “Let me help you get rid of all that stress.”

How could he say no to that? How could he ever say no to you?

And it was fine. It was going good. His mind was empty and all he could think about was the way you squirmed under him. How good you were at taking his deep thrusts. How easily you were giving him the sweetest mewls. He was hyper focused on the way you moaned into his neck and your fingers tangled into his hair for dear life. Your skin was soft and warm and pliable under him, denting under his fingers and sure to leave bruises in the morning. Your hot cunt clenched and fluttered around his cock, making him moan out. 

And then he felt it: a sharp prickling running down his spine. It burned red hot, shooting pain along all of his nerve endings. It felt like his skin was splitting open and expanding, like something was trying to crawl out of him. And it was. He let out a roar of pain, his thrusts slowing. Hair started to pierce through his skin, sprouting from his neck and down his back. The hair on his arms, legs, and chest expanded and thickened. His joints and muscles popped and rolled as they began to take a new shape and stretch. His skin began to give away to an ugly black that grew larger and swelled. His mouth has split open as his fangs elongated and pinchers began to sprout from his face. His eyes began to sting, his vision doubling, then tripling, and quadrupling. His eyes looked around frantically, watching as his field of vision dented and widened, now painted in a reddish tint. It started to grow more distant as his body began to lift, his back arching as it hit the ceiling. 

Arms, legs, began to sprout from his ribs, sharp and spiky as they punctured the mattress around you. The hands on your body began to grow claws that punctured your skin, making you cry out as the smell of copper filled the air. His cock was the last to change, swelling and thickening. The sounds of your panicked screams echoed in his heightened senses, the smell of blood growing strong as his abnormal cock split you open from the inside in a way that was impossible. Your walls tore in an effort to accommodate him, and you tried to pry yourself off of him as the pain grew stronger. It only served for his morphed claws to dig deeper into your skin and you sobbed heavily. The sounds of your desperate pleas for help and terrified screams echoed in Miguel’s head. He tried to comfort you, apologize, but his words were only inhuman gargles. 

An instinctive surge coursed through his body, his cock throbbing in a need to mate you. The need to have your stomach swell with spider eggs and create the perfect egg sac. He can’t do that if you’re trying to escape and if you’re in pain. 

He leans his face closer to you, making you sob harder and turn away. It provided the perfect access to your neck. His fangs grazed the skin, before he sunk them in. You let out a muffled scream, your body quickly began to sag as the sedative chemical began to fill your bloodstream and make you sleep. Your eyes began to flutter, your mind trying to fight the drowsiness and failing. In a few seconds, your body completely relaxed onto the bed with your eyes closed and erratic breathing turning soft. 

When the sedation wears off, when he turns back, he will cuddle up to you. When you wake up and look around frantically in fear, he will pretend to wake up and reassure you it was only a dream. A horrible nightmare sprung from your wild imagination. But for now, he ruts into you, his bulbous tip smashing against your cervix and jolting your body upwards on the bed. His movements are frantic and slightly disoriented as he tries to maneuver in his new form. Your walls are impossibly tight around him, glued to his length and almost refusing to let him go. It brought him closer to the edge, and with a few sharp thrusts he began to spill into you. 

It surged out of you, overflowing from the edges of your hole in a creamy light pink as it mixed with your blood. When the blood washed out, it began to run a pure white. It soaked into the sheets and began to form a puddle. Then, Miguel’s body began to shift again. All the new additions receded back into his frame until he collapsed on top of your body. He was breathing heavily, his body readjusting to his human form. He groaned softly when he pulled out of you, and a panic welled in his chest. 

He needs to fix this before you wake up. 

He frantically got off of you, moving your unconscious body higher up on the bed so he can remove the sheets. He scours the closet you keep the linens in, picking out the one most similar to the old sheets. He doesn’t have time to go out and buy a new mattress, instead ripping up the cum and blood stained sheets and stuffing the fabric in the holes as a temporary solution and then covering it up with the new sheets. He cleans you up, amazed when the puncture wounds on your body have disappeared, only leaving the crusted trails of blood and discoloration. He can only hope your vaginal walls have repaired themselves and you only have an uncomfortable stretch between your legs. 

When everything looks normal, he tucks you in and crawls in beside you. He holds you tightly to his chest, breathing in your scent and squeezing his eyes shut.

 It was only a dream, he begins to practice in his head. Just a dream.

This felt like a fever dream to write. I can not explain to you the way I was laughing and ripping at my hair in bizarre astonishment as I typed this shit out LMAO. 

Like ‘Internal Vaginal Ripping’ and ‘Mentions of Reader Developing a Spider Egg Sac’??? WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK

[btreeseo]

https://camauto.ae/

[hwajin]

— look at me, look at me. you're looking?

⁺ 𓂋 𓈒 ✦ :: — lee minho | 4k follower event

genre: smut

pairing: minho x gn!reader

req

send me a request!

"Yeah, keep your eyes on- on me babe, look- look at me."

Struggling to find his voice yet he attempted to keep his composure. Minho would never admit to have lost control long ago, over his body, over his mind, over the entirety of the affair he had initiated.

"Touch yourself while watching me jerk off."

Words had cut deep into the air, had emptied your lungs off any oxygen. They had come so casually, so without remorse and you grew shy, embarrassed in Minho's place, him seemingly missing any sense of shame.

His hand, now visible, now not hidden within the confines of his jean but on full display for you, wandered up and down his length, slow and torturous strokes you knew had him breaking sweat, had him seeing stars. Knew he needed more than what he was giving himself and knew you could provide it, though you stayed in your place, back against the headrest of the bed, legs spread sinfully wide before him — if you'd been embarrassed before you sure weren't now, despite the situation surely called for it. And yet, watching your boyfriend's breath hitch in his throat, watching him pull up the hem of his shirt, reveiling tensed up v-line and spasming torse, watching him throw his head back into his neck, against the rest of the chair, delicate veins painting his skin in purple and blue. You wished to paint that neck in yet brighter colours, wished to claw your teeth into silken skin, breaking the barrier, bruising the body.

Your head lulled sideways, own thoughts overwhelming and your eyes rolled back, fingers on your heat quickening in pace, chasing a high, or chasing more, or chasing the touch of another, of him, altogether. Long forgotten about his order, eyes neither on his own nor on his body now, sheer inability to keep them anything but closed stroke through you like buzzing lighting. You were close, dangerously so, chasing and chasing after something you knew only he could give you. Only he could truly provide you.

You sensed shuffling from across you, heard nearing steps and a muffled curse beneath breath, felt hands on your body, finally, eventually, like sweet release in itself, like salvation only he could grant. Your eyes opened momentarily, catching his in surprise, surprising further at the darkness laced within them — he wasn't angry yet determined, grip on you a solid one, all ten cups of his fingers digging into your skin, leaving dents and marks and possible bruises to awe at the next day. Erection prodding against slit, against filthy wetness, eliciting sounds you shyed away from — maybe you did find yourself embarrassed after all, with the newfound touch of his on your skin, with the newfound realisation of your utter neediness, of your desperation, pathetic, almost. Skin blushing, cheeks red and Minho's hand found a place on them, holding your face steady, puckering your lips slightly in the process.

"Told you to look at me, d- didn't I."

Tip prodding at your entrance before he pushed into you, slowly though unexpectadely deep that you nothing but arched into his body and whimpered out in longing, in oversensitivity, in pleasure overwhelming. Receiving a chuckle in response, thrusts of his hips against yours, faster now, more urgent — he was as impatient as you, as egged up, as eager, as edged; he needed release nearly as much as yourself, any plans he'd planted beforehand thrown over board, instincts taking over instead. He wasn't normally one to lose himself, so only drawing a reaction more needing, more wanting out of you — he did lose control now, due to you, because of you and your body, and you clawed onto him, hands on his shoulders, eyes on his ones, his grip never allowing you to convert gaze.

And your faces were contorted. Brows scrunched and eyes frantic, lips laced in sweat and bitten red, bitten bloody. And it didn't take much longer for you, clenching around him in butterfly flaps, voice pitching higher, pleas foaming off your mouth — you had nearly reached what you'd chased, and you could only hope Minho to bring you all the way towards the finish line.

"That's it baby, look at me while you come around me— fuck. Look at me."

Complying though it was a harder task than given — your eyes dared to lose themselves if you didn't focus enough, and you nearly closed them when your high hit you like a loaded truck, weight on your shoulders and pressure in your stomach releasing, body contracting against his own, eyes hooded and milky, thoroughly fucked out as you kept your gaze on him, obediently.

And if he hadn’t lost control already he had now, surely, watching you, watching your eyes lace in pleasure, in satisfaction greater than anything you’d ever known before him, his own thrusts grew static, lowest grunts rolling over and past his lips, and you felt him fill you moments later, hot release within your stomach, within the depths of you, daring to spill out, to stain thigh and sheets and mattress. Panting the both of you, hand yet on your jaw, gazes yet connected – not planning to separate any time soon.

@felixinameadowandthesuniswarm @es-kay-zee @jeyelleohe @angelwonie @lix-ables @yvniek4ng @ppiri-bahng @bintificreads @svintsandghosts @llunapastell @sensitiveandhungry @minniesvenus @junebug032 @noellllslut

[trashmouth-richie]

⋆·˚ ༘ * eddie x female reader

⋆·˚ ༘ * summary: what happens, when eddie makes plans without you?

⋆·˚ ༘ * tw: 18+ only, unprotected p in v! toxic relationship behavior, choking, reader is kind of crazy but it’s explained at the end, breaking shit, mean!reader, drinking, weed, knife use, pet names, nicknames.

⋆·˚ ༘ * 1.7k words, not proof read, pretend it is.

Saturdays were usually your nights together. Spending the night at his trailer because it was guaranteed that Wayne would be gone. 

But tonight Eddie said he had “plans with the boys”. 

So imagine your surprise when Robin called you up and asked why you weren’t at Steve’s party, but Eddie was?

The ten minute drive felt like sixty seconds of pure rage filled hell. You only saw red, steam shot from your ears like a cartoon. 

And when you pulled up to Steve’s enormous house, Robin was right, because Eddie’s van was sitting out front. 

Your blood boiled and your cheeks felt like fire. Heart hammering in your chest,  you slammed the gear shift into park before the car could even come to a full stop. 

You didn’t care that he was here with his friends, what you cared about was the normal posse of skanky girls who were at Steve’s parties, one strawberry blonde in particular that rubbed you every way of wrong. Chrissy.

She was always hanging on Eddie any chance she got, batting her eyelashes, acting dumb to get his help in math. You’re so smart she’d whisper to him— even though the straight F’s on his paper definitely didn’t stand for Fantastic. 

Jason had dumped her and rumor had it she was looking to get back at him the biggest way she knew how, and that was t getting with the freak. 

Your freak. 

The sharp black points on your heeled boots clicked along the sidewalk as you stalked towards the house whistling an angelic sort of tune, swinging the wooden bat by your side. 

Jonathan was outside the lavish home, smoking a fatty and leaning against the raised brick garden bed. Upon first glance he waved, all drunken smiles and lazy greetings. 

It wasn’t until he saw what was in your hand that he finally pieces it together, and you asked him sweetly to kindly get Eddie because you had a message for him. 

The driver's side window broke with little to no effort, a few swings and it shattered into a pretty spider web of splintered glass, covering Eddie’s driver seat. 

The whistled tune never stopped from your puckered lips. Not when you flicked open the pocket knife and punctured the rubber tires, or when you carved a long jagged scratch into the paint down the aluminum body. 

It wasn’t until you were standing on the hood of the van, crashing the bat into the windshield did you hear the front door to Steve’s swing open, music fading through the night with each body shoving their way through the door, gasping at your surprise gift for your boyfriend. 

Someone, Jeff, you think— hollers for Eddie and you plant your ass on the hood, leaving a dent for sure by the way you plopped down like it was a trampoline. With legs crossed and twisting the bat between your palms, you wait patiently for the man of the hour to finally arrive, a smile on your black painted lips. 

By now there’s a decent sized crowd, all gaping mouths and wide eyes, some laughing but mostly struck with fear out of the freaks girl. 

He walks down the concrete steps, his heavy boots thudding against the hard ground. You can see the muscles in his jaw tense from where you are sitting, his knuckles tighten into a fist and his shoulders broaden and angle back, like he's trying like hell, not to yell out right by the look of the destruction you caused to his van. 

“Hi baby,” you greet, sugary sweet like you just brought him balloons on his birthday, “having a fun night?”

Eddie is seething, nostrils flared as he tries to even his breathing, “what did you do Lil?” 

“What?” You ask, turning your body to look at the glass splintered on the windshield and smashed on the ground, “oh, you mean all this? It’s pretty right?” 

Eddie drags his tongue across the front of teeth, sucking in a breath, “you’re kidding right?”

Unhooking your crossed leg you slam your heel into one of his headlights, the satisfying crunch of the plastic pieces littering to the ground, you smile pretty up at him, but he doesn’t bat an eye, “oh Eddie,” you tsk, “I don’t like jokes… or being,” the tip of the bat hits the other headlight with a crunch, “… lied to.” 

“Fucking Christ, what are you even talking about?” Eddie spits as he looks to Jeff then to Gareth. 

“Really? Then why did Robin call to say you were here with that bimbo Chrissy?” 

The crowd ooo’s as Eddie stomps towards you, his face struck with anger, the browns of his eyes completely black as he glared down at you, his necklace still swaying as he leans forward into your space, only malice in his voice. 

“Time to go,” he grunts, grabbing the bat from your hand and tossing it to the ground, “now.” 

“Nah,” you say, looking past him and waving at Steve, he returns the wave with a confused look at a silent gasp at the look of Eddie’s van, “I’m just getting started.” 

Steve tries to push everyone inside shows over! Let’s go! But nobody budges, waiting for the train wreck, unable to look away. 

Eddie pulls you from the van by your feet, your bare ass skimming the hood as your skirt lifts up, sure to leave a burn, you land on your feet, waltzing over to aforementioned blonde and taking her drink from her, downing the horrific liquid in a gulp. She’s too stunned to speak as you twist back around to catch a glimpse of Eddie, shooting him a wink. 

The knife tucked into the cute holder on your thigh comes out with a flick. Flashing the steel blade to Eddie, you wink before whipping back around to Chrissy just in time to catch her ponytail between your fingers. The knife cuts through her hair like a shear, close to her scalp beneath the emerald ponytail, her golden locks fisted limply in your hand. 

The scream she lets out is blood curdling and ugly, but you don’t mistake the laugh coming from Robin or Steve as Chrissy runs inside, her cheer squad hurrying behind to help their friend. 

“Wait! You forgot this!” You say shaking the blond strands towards the door, “I’m sure some glue or tape will hel—”

You're caught off guard as Eddie’s hand wraps around your wrist and starts dragging you away from the party back to his van. He wiggles the knife from your fingers and closes it on his hip, shoving it into his jacket. 

The smile never left your lips, not even when your shoulder blades rest against the side of the van as Eddie crowds you in. 

“Jesus Christ you’re fucking crazy, y’know that?” his words are mean but there’s a hint of something else on his lips, a smirk.

Your fingers move to his belt buckle, threading it through itself as you look up at him through your lashes, “you love it.” 

His eyes roll tk the back of his head, and he takes a deep breath, animalistic instinct kicking in as you suck his thumb into your mouth. 

“Fuck.”   

Your thighs are wrapped around his waist in two seconds flat. He grunts as his thick fingers glide through your wet heat, finally noticing you weren’t wearing any panties he groans guttural and low. 

His hand wraps around your throat and he smiles as you gasp for a little breath, eyes rolling into your skull as he cants his hips forward and his thick head pushes through your walls, filling you full. 

Your lips attach to his neck, licking and biting hard enough that your teeth marks will bruise a perfect dental record into his skin. A nice match for the red lips tattooed on the left of his neck, an identical mark to yours. 

“Shit,” he groans slamming into you harder and harder, shaking the van on its flat tires, broken glass hitting the ground like hail. “Always so fucking tight for me baby, fuck I love your pussy.” 

You’re mewling into him, inhaling his words as he bites your lip, licking the blood from them and running it over his teeth. 

The front door opens and shuts but neither of you stop, not even when the sobs from Chrissy get closer as her friends bell her into their car, parked right behind Eddie’s van. 

Eddie’s face is buried into your neck and you catch Chrissy’s blue teared stare, horror on her face as you and Eddie both moan. “Mm fuck,” you say to her, eyes boring into hers, “like what you see, Christopher?”

The screaming huff from her mouth is  heard around Hawkins as she slams the door to Heather's car, tires screeching as they tear out of Steve’s driveway. 

Eddie chuckles into your skin and shakes his head. A smile on his face as he kisses you hard, pumping into you harder and before long you're both coming and moaning into the night, completely lost in your own world. 

Later that night in Eddie’s bed, you're tangled naked and fresh from a shower beneath soft cotton sheets. His hands lazily work up and down your back, your arm propped up beneath your chin on his chest, “so, I did good, right?”

Eddie laughs and blows a ring of smoke into the air, “you were perfect my little vixen, I could barely contain myself when you were sitting on the hood like that, looked so fucking sexy, wanted to fuck you right there.” 

You both laugh at the theatrics of the night, and you remember something that’s missing, “gonna need my knife back by the way, feels weird without it.” 

Eddie points to his jacket crumbled on the floor next to a mountain of discarded clothing and leather boots, “it’s in my pocket, just keeping it safe.” 

You roll your eyes with a tease and slither from the sheets, bare skinned beneath the yellow warm lamp, the jacket feels cool in your hands, silk pockets gentle on your fingers as your grab your knife and pull it out. 

Examining it in your fingers it truly was the perfect gift from the man you adored, etched into the handle, a script he cut himself, “to my Lilith.” 

liked this? consider a reblog like and comment! thanks for reading

another story in the same lilith au - here & here

[peggyao3]

Relic - Pt. 17 "Equinox"

PAIRING: Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen x Unnamed Ambiguous FMC

SUMMARY: ✧ Dreams are messages from the deep ✧ A woman from the unknown comes to Feyd in his dreams and his nights become his days as he flees to the dreamscape to escape the nightmares that haunt his waking hours.

TAGS: Third person POV, she/her AFAB FMC, explicit sexual content, smut, vaginal sex, vaginal fingering, oral sex, Porn with Plot, Feyd-Rautha's black cum and big cock, Praise Kink, Body Worship, angst/hurt and comfort, drama, fluff, plans within plans, implied/referenced child abuse, implied/referenced abuse, Trauma, mentions of suicidal thoughts, Healing, Strangers to Lovers, falling in love, Vulnerable/ Emotional/Possessive Feyd, Feyd is a sweet baby who did nothing wrong and I WILL pamper him, nurture not nature, Stockholm Syndrome but in a consensual way, lucid dreaming, Implied/Referenced Cannibalism, murder, teaching the universe about feminism, female rage, Frank Herbert would frown, No actually he would kneel in front of me, putting the science and the porn in sci-fi, angst with a happy ending

WORD COUNT: 5k

A/N: Wow, we're really, really getting there now and I feel so conflicted about it 😭 I don't want it to end, but I'll also be so happy to wrap up their story ❤️ Thank you for every motivating comment along the way, you're the reason why I kept going ❤️

Reposted from my Ao3💕| Masterlist | Relic Masterlist

Dividers by @saradika-graphics

← Previous Chapter, Next Chapter →

Day 140

Lurid clouds are chased across the roiling skies, stripped apart by the fierce winds of the high troposphere. Through the cracks in the clouds, the guests and bridal pair witness a macabre glory in the firmament.

God's inverted eye is glaring down on the altar and everyone in its frayed shadow becomes dancing motes at the center of the universe.

Today marks not only the spring equinox and the wedding of Feyd-Rautha and his alien bride, it is also a solar eclipse and Giedi Prime's white moon creeps in front of the black sun like a wandering pupil.

Past the smog-polluted urban canyons of Barony and even past the endless trenches of mines and factories of Gyed are the tasu aurinkosesti — the planes of the ever-sun, closer to the equatorial belt than any Harkonnen-built settlement. While not safe enough for permanent residents, the majestic landscape is just safe enough for festivities overlooked by the full glory of Giedi Prime's volcanos who crane their tapered maws proudly to the black sun.

Here is where nature breaks through the cracks of bleached Earth, dry, short grasses and creeping inkvines. The active volcanoes are gentler masters than the human settlers.

Today, delicate, black garlands flutter from the temporarily erected poles, seats and slender archways which mark two aisles down a semi-circle of hand-picked guests, one thousand of them — Harkonnens only for this special festivity. Stirred by the hot winds from the south, the garlands look not unlike human entrails strung up for a carnival. 

The aisles meet at a slightly elevated pedestal, on it a massive, roughly cuboid slab of obsidian. An ancient altar dented in the middle by the thousands of brides who had laid on it, or been forced to, and spilled their maiden blood onto the stone with the sun as their witness.

Feyd-Rautha's bride won't have to spread her legs on the ancient ceremonial site today. She is an off-worldler and her delicate flesh would be burnt to crisps and become a cornucopia of tumors if she spent but a minute unprotected in the open air. The radiation is strongest near the equator and only her wedding gown keeps her sheltered from it.

Panels of scintillating material shift heavily around her legs, hard but bendy, each layer painted with lead to isolate her flesh from the lurid sun's gamma rays. The gown tapers in at the waist and breasts and crawls over her shoulders, arms, and hands, covering her wholly. Her head is crowned by a veil of the same iridescent panels, protecting hair and face, only the face-panel is see-through. From afar, her shape is entirely otherworldly.

She will be an alien to the populace first, in her looks and in her ways, and then share her humanity. But first, she wants to enjoy the company of her husband and not think about anything for a while, no world-changing battles, no masses in arms.

Her gaze trails along the twisted, black archway that connects both sides of the elevated pedestal, Crowns of Thorns around it twining, Giedi Prime's only native flower. Skywards, God's inverted eye stands directly over the altar, filling her heart with horror and beauty, a feeling she can appreciate because it's not malicious, unlike the many human workings she has encountered in this universe.

Her eyes' appreciative journey ends at the man who will soon be her husband. On the other side of the pedestal, three meters away, stands Feyd-Rautha, the counter-image of her. His bare skin is as white as the chalky terrain and the glaring skies, only his loins are covered by a cloth that is wrapped in ceremonial manner, leaving the sides of his hips and strong thighs exposed. His hands are bare, ringless, and his hip weaponless.

On his exposed belly and chest, she will later be painting the markings of fertility and eternity, a winding symbol like a serpent devouring its own tail.

Feyd-Rautha bares his ink-black teeth, smiling when he sees his woman doing the same beneath her veil, white teeth between her painted lips. While she looks a hundredfold more pompous in her scintillating gown, to her, Feyd-Rautha is the most glorious sight in the world; the way he presents himself to the universe freely now and with no fear.

The drums begin to play and deep-throated chanting soars from the crowd who have risen from their seats, each of them clutching a hand over their hearts. They too have come in ceremonial robes, heavy fabric that reaches down to the knees and a strap of fabric that stretches diagonally across the chest and over one shoulder, leaving one side of the chest exposed — men and women alike.

Feyd and his bride turn to the crowd whose feet raise and stomp down in unison and whose hands mimic the drum beats over their hearts. The ceremonial chanting claps across the planes like thunder from a thousand throats. In the front row are Mikhail Kyelug and Lilia Bauer, the groomsman and bridesmaid by old Earth tradition.

On Mikhail's other side is a man who Feyd-Rautha would have stabbed on sight a week ago. Glossu Rabban looks up to his little brother by the altar, and the Count of Lankiveil is smiling.

Six days prior

"Can't believe you're tired already — hick! — na-Baron!"

It's Baron by now, but Feyd doesn't bother correcting Mikhail as they slouch through the array of corridors which will eventually lead them to the concubines' wing where Feyd has moved in with his wife-to-be, his old quarters burned down together with the Baron's. That is unless they get lost, liquor-blurred eyes blinking into predawn darkness.

"Not tired," Feyd-Rautha protests, shoving his comrade into the nearest wall. The guard bounces right back, sending Feyd staggering.

"So, lovesick?"

"I can go a night without my woman."

"Yeeaah, but you don't wanna." 

There is not a single club in Barony that doesn't have poles for strippers and slaves of every shape, size and age at their disposal, yet neither of the two men have indulged in anything other than alcohol and the occasional pill or pipe tonighr. The physiology of anything living on Giedi Prime is much harder to poison. Common alcohol is barely a challenge for Harkonnen livers, hence why booze from Giedi Prime's distilleries can kill an off-wordler after just a glass.

"It's Bull's Night, so 'course I want my prize at the end of the night."

"Point is you should take some other prize, ya know? Spread out your seed, eh?" Mikhail gesticulates with one hand, drawing complicated circles in the air.

"Did'you spread out your seed before you married Lilia?"

"Nah," Mikhail laughs and Feyd scoffs, grinning to himself. The night has been long and his cheeks are hurting.

The sudden echo of a shoe around the next corner snaps both men out of their drunken banter. These aren't guards' boots. Feyd-Rautha's blade hisses from its sheath and he barges forward, coming to an abrupt halt behind the corner. It is Mikhail who speaks first.

"Beast — hick! — Rabba-ban!"

The stocky frame of Feyd's older brother fills out the hallway. He wears dark brown, a cushioned pad on one shoulder and a sword belt around his hip. A comfortable uniform as it is worn on Lankiveil. He's gotten fatter, Feyd notices through the shock of finding his brother, whom he hasn't seen in over five years, in his palace, let alone while he is drunk and blabbering. 

The sight has burned him sober.

Under his arm, the intruder carries a gift box, beige with a crinkled but shiny, golden ribbon tied around it in sloppy loops.

"What are you doing here?" Rabban rumbles, mouth standing open in bewilderment. 

"It's early morning. What are you doing here?" Feyd snaps back sharply, muscled shoulder angled towards his brother who is still several feet away.

"I was on my way to your room."

"My room isn't that way anymore."

Rabban can't find it in him to close his mouth, but he does plod into Feyd-Rautha's personal space, uncaring of the way his younger brother twitches and how his long limbs tense themselves to lunge. Despite his drunkenness, Mikhail's fist is screwed tight around the handle of his half-unsheathed blade and the smaller man is poised like a guard dog behind his Baron and friend.

After a moment, Feyd exhales a slow lungful of air. "Go now," he orders and gives the tense guard a firm slap on the shoulder and a little squeeze. 

"Are ya sure, my Lord?" Mikhail hesitates until Feyd-Rautha squeezes his shoulder again.

"Go and mount your woman. She must have been waiting for you all night. And tell mine not to come here!"

Mikhail sheathes his blade with a noisy hiss and trails around Rabban in a curious half circle before wandering off into the hallway, a sway to his footsteps as he keeps muttering that he needs to tell Lilia about Beast - hick - Rabban.

Looking past Feyd's raised, wicked blade, Glossu's dark brown eyes find his brother's icy blue ones and Feyd is enraged when Rabban's cheeks fill up with laughter out of all things. 

"How did you get in here? You're not invited." Feyd rumbles, tilting the blade’s tip towards Rabban’s neck. “You should kiss your Baron's feet and beg him for forgiveness for trespassing.”

Still, the older brother disregards his sibling’s threat and merely tightens his grip on the curious box. He doesn’t even bother to draw his sword. Feyd is seething.

"I'm still a Harkonnen by blood. I don't need to be invited to attend my little brother's wedding."

Feyd-Rautha snarls at that. Being a few inches taller and considering himself considerably smarter than Glossu in every regard, he sees himself as anything but the little brother.

"You're not a Harkonnen, you're a Rabban and you're dressed like one too."

"You're a Rabban as much as I am! You would look good in a uniform like mine." 

Feyd's brows knit together in bewilderment. "I look nothing like a Rabban."

"You look just like our mother," Glossu barks and Feyd hisses through bared teeth, pupils shrunken to deadly pinpricks.

"What do you want?"

"I wanted to attend my little brother's wedding."

"I'm not your little brother, you dumb boar."

"You'll always be my little brother!"

"And you've taken the title of big brother literally as of late? You look fat. Have you been drinking?"

"A little," his brother admits. Now being way past fifty, Glossu 'Beast' Rabban looks old and bloated and Feyd finds it hard to believe that he could have ever looked up to his older sibling.

"Say what you want in my palace or feel my blade in your neck."

"I've only been truthful to you," Rabban insists. "I came to celebrate and to… talk.  I'm happy for you."

"Are you now?" Feyd tilts his head in cold mockery.

"I hope I get to meet your woman one day. I've heard plenty of rumors, ranging from heartwarming to mind boggling."

Feyd would rather keep his brother a thousand miles away from his wife to be. The last time they had seen each other, they had clashed with blades and teeth. Rabban, spraying spittle, had yelled that he would shatter everything his spoiled prince of a brother calls his own to pieces, and Feyd had made a gashing cut along Rabban's ribs, snarling with honeyed voice that even a pig had higher chances at success.

There was no love lost between the brothers.

"What's in there?" Feyd's gaze darts to the beige box under Glossu's arm and flits back up with resharpened coldness. But no icy glare can hide the fact that he's taken the bait, like a boy who can't resist a candy bar dangled in front of his face.

"It's for you," Glossu beams and offers the box all too freely. Feyd can't remember a time when his brother had ever willingly shared, let alone given.

Opening a mystery present from Rabban might as well be his last foolish mistake, but Feyd too may be a bit drunk, a bit drugged, and his curiosity kindled a bit too much by this irritating encounter.

"Open it," Feyd demands, holding the blade unwavering at Rabban's neck. His brother complies, pulling on the bow so it flutters to the ground, then wrapping one thick hand around the lid to lift it.

Feyd had expected many things, but not that.

From inside, a soft thing meets his incredulous stare and Feyd-Rautha's free hand lifts slowly, sliding into the box to pick up the item with pointy fingers. He holds it at arm's length, as if its soft fur might bite, and rotates it by the flipper. A stitched face with a little snout regards him, black marbles for eyes, handmade. It's a seal, its plush made of brown whale fur. Some spots are lovingly worn and matted by young, playful hands.

"Why don't you just go over there and say that you want it?" A man's droning baritone. "Because I don't want it!" Icy wind whistles around the fur hood of Feyd's coat, along with the scent of pines, roasted almonds and smoked meat. "So you tugged on my sleeve because you don't want it? You're a big boy now, you can go over there. Are you scared?" "Let's go! You're stupid!" Feyd yowls and the faceless man laughs as the little boy fruitlessly pushes against his thick leg to get him to move away from the market stall. Blades clatter when he throws himself against the man's hip. "No, no, no! I hate you!" A pair of muscled arms sweep up his body like he's only a doll and throw him over a broad, fur-clad shoulder. Feyd finds himself thrashing against the coat that covers the man's back with his tiny fists.

“You remember it?” Rabban laughs and Feyd hates the way a web of crow’s feet spreads around his brother's eyes. It makes him look aged.

“No,” he snarls like a dog. 

“But I do." Rabban points at the stuffed seal. "I got it for you.” 

"You?!" The muscles of Feyd's hairless brows tic upwards in perplexity. The man from that wicked memory was not his father then? But he had looked so tall and big and grown-up. The idea that his bull-headed brother had been kind to him once and did something as mundane as take him to the market and buy him a toy is one that Feyd viciously rejects. It stands out jarringly against the brutal colors that paint his concept of family.

“You acted like you didn’t want to have it. Thought I wouldn't see the way you looked at it, big eyes and all. You thought it was embarrassing to have a— a plushy thing.” Rabban’s voice falters, like there is more hidden there. Old anguish that hurts so freshly when he sees his grown-up baby brother with an old toy in hand. Baron now. “You really don’t remember?”

“I remember that you threw me over your shoulder like a big brute. So, you’ve always been a boar, even then.” Feyd’s eyes glint like his blade as the pale dawn that creeps over the horizon, shedding light through the arched windows between bulging pillars.

“Yeah, I did that!” Rabban dares to fill the quiet morning air with guffawing laughter once more. "You were so small and light. You were on my knees a lot, brother. Used to sit there and watch me whet my blades. You still whet them like I showed you back then, do you know that?" 

"I was never on your fat knees, brother, and if I was, it must have been by force." 

Feyd's left forearm ricochets into Rabban's chest, pinning him to the wall. The blade pokes into the side of the bulkier man's neck, sharp and glinting like a snake tooth and Feyd’s features are screwed into deadly violence. 

Rabban grunts in a way that Feyd finds downright pathetic when the back of his head hits the solid tiles, barely fighting against his baby brother's assault. His eyes are squeezed into crinkled lines. From up close, one can see the blotchiness of Rabban's puffy face. Feyd sneers.

"You'll die younger than our uncle if you go on like this," he comments on his brother's tumid appearance and scratches the blade tip against his cheek. “You embarrass your Baron.”

Rabban shrugs his shoulders and releases a puff of air from trembling lips. It bewilders him that even though he’s afraid, he wouldn’t mind if his little brother slit his neck right here. At the very least, he would die at the hand of the last person he had ever loved. “You’re no Baron to me, you’re just my baby brother.”

Glossu Rabban prepares himself for metal to sink into his neck in quick, searing pain, like he had seen Feyd do so often, a boy sharpened into violent psychosis by a violent man. But his brother's presence only grows deadly silent until Rabban opens his eyes. Feyd has never liked capable prey who doesn’t fight back. His younger brother’s expression is hard to read, shielded always by a wall of either fire or ice. Does that woman who he is to marry ever see him without? Glossu is almost jealous.

“Do you remember any of your childhood?” Rabban finds his own voice meek and brittle, thoughts drifting to a warm, cozy nursery, a round carpet on the floor, an arm chair and a toy chest on the floor, an ever-blue sky and icy hills covered in lush pines which seem to tickle the ivy firmament. The room is still unchanged in the Lankiveil fortress, a capsule of the past, waiting for the little boy who still lives somewhere in Feyd-Rautha.. "Our home?"

"I don't. Giedi Prime is my home," Feyd bites and his seething lips nearly brush against his brother’s. It is a home now that his uncle is gone.

"It is not!" Rabban suddenly bristles and shoves Feyd-Rautha’s blade aside, cutting his sleeve on it. "You know what's a good home?! Caladan. Or Kaitain. Or Lankiveil."

"You're not even a Harkonnen anymore, brother. You disgust me."

"And neither are you! We're half Harkonnen! I took after our father…" Rabban rubs over his ever-hairless skull and the many old battle scars there. "But you had blonde hair once, did you know that? And there would be snow on it when you came inside from playing."

"I wasn't playing!"

"Yes, you were!" Spit sprays over Feyd's chest, narrowly missing the stuffie which he has come to cradle unwittingly against his chest, and Feyd's eyes flash with offense. "You were a little boy, of course you were playing! You were three when I—" Rabban halts and anguish twists his aged features. He is fifty-five now and suddenly it shows. Suddenly, Feyd can only see his brother as what he is, an old veteran fallen from grace, drinking the rest of his brain away on Lankiveil. Rabban adds with a thick voice: “I always tried to be there.”

“Where?”

“With you! Everyone knew that our mother didn't want you. But I tried to be there.”

The vicious fire in Feyd's stomach dies to frozen ashes and his teeth are screwed into his bottom lip. The extended blade quivers and his fingers dig into soft fur. “What are you talking about?”

Rabban shrugs again and looks down at the stuffed seal like he hopes the magma channels will open up beneath the palace and swallow him whole. “Our parents had you under the premise that you would be given to our uncle as an heir. It was father’s and uncle's idea. A good deal. You don’t deny House Harkonnen when it offers wealth and reputation in exchange for something so…” So little.

So that’s what he had been all his life. A good deal and nothing more. Feyd wants to sink his blade into his own crunching bones.

Rabban’s face snaps back up with sudden vehemence. “Our mother could never look you in the eyes and it hurt me to see it! When you were born, I thought I would hate you. Who wants a sibling when they’re already past twenty?! But I couldn’t hate you. You were so little…”

Feyd can’t speak, his jaws clenched into a painful vise, so Rabban goes on. “You always tried to get her attention, but she never relented. She wouldn't even hold you to her own breasts for milk."

"Shut up."

"That woman you're going to marry, what is she like?" 

“I said shut up!"

Only Emmi Rabban knew the real reason why she couldn’t hold little Feyd-Rautha Rabban. It was not her husband's and her brother in law's idea, even though she let them think it was. It was the Bene Gesserit who needed her little Feyd for their breeding program, who needed him honed and sharpened the Harkonnen way because she, Emmi, had failed to raise Glossu as a respectable son. Too wild, too dumb they said. She hated herself so much for birthing Feyd-Rautha under this pretense, that she couldn't love her little boy, for she knew she couldn't bring herself to give him away if she ever started loving him.

“Sorry.” Glossu's voice quivers and it’s pathetic, so pathetic, Feyd thinks. His own breath does something quite similar.

"So, you're telling me you were the good guy all along? The good big brother?"

"Not all along, no," Rabban draws a hard breath. “You always wanted to be like me. That's why you became like this.” He spits it out like it’s a bad thing. “When I killed our father, I killed our mother and my baby brother too, I just didn't know it yet.” Fat tears roll down Glossu’s cheeks and he doesn’t even care to wipe them away.

Feyd suddenly remembers why he had felt such satisfaction when his mother looked at him with fright when he sunk the blade into her neck at night, when she was tucked into bed, helpless. He had always envied the way their mother looked fearfully at Glossu, because at least she looked at him. 

“I killed our father because he deserved it for the plan he made with our uncle. And mother… She suddenly said that you are her only son. It was worth it for me. But the deal hadn’t died with our father and then someday uncle showed up and I think you… You wanted to punish her. You wanted to be like me, so you killed her, and uncle was so impressed.” Glossu exhales shakily. “I would have killed him too, but… I visited you on Giedi Prime after your first months there, you know? I saw what he did to you. You were covered in bruises and I… did nothing. And you grew mean. And you had every right to. But with no one else left to hate, I started hating you, for many years. It’s all my fault.” 

Glossu Rabban cries into his fist’s and Feyd-Rautha traps his sobs within his throat, which hurts like a blade was stuck in it. But no matter how tightly he seals his throat, it doesn’t keep his eyes from going blurry and the hot, salty wetness from spilling down his cheeks.

Present Day

Rabban smiles encouragingly, fist beating down on his thick chest to the mighty echo of the drums. Feyd tilts his head, smiling too, shoulders squared and chin held high, even as his heart plummets into his stomach.

The rhythm changes, becomes uncharacteristically softer and gentler. Quick, almost like cats' paws chasing over the plains. The ring bearer is released into the aisle, holding one ring in each quivering face-hand. Big, pearlescent eyes seek out the man and woman at the end of the aisle who both hold out their hands encouragingly, but they are so far away and so many strangers sit and gawk all around.

Glugo shivers, cowering. 

Until the two other faces it has grown to love leap up from their seats in the front row and hurry all the way to the back, offering one hand each. Glugo is lucky to have more than enough hand-feet to hold each offered hand in two of its own and strut down the aisle with newfound confidence. The distance shrinks rapidly and it clambers up on top of the pedestal all on its own. Its half-human heart is terribly proud as it holds up the rings as high as it can reach, looking from Feyd to the bride and back. Glugo doesn't like her gown. One hand-foot fingers the splayed, lead-coated plastic panels which are anything but soft. She should have worn a blanket or a fur cloak, it thinks.

"Well done," she praises softly, stroking over the top of Glugo's head with one gloved hand.

"Thank you, my friend" Feyd rasps and the drums fade away entirely when the bride and groom pick up the rings, him holding hers and her holding his.

The wedding bands are blacker than the universe itself, held up against the lurid sky. Forged out of obsidian from Giedi Prime's volcanic mines, they have been chemically reinforced to withstand the eons.

Glugo climbs bravely back down and joins Lilia and Mikhail in a comfortable basket at their feet, loafing and watching attentively.

As Glugo leaves, the master of ceremonies steps onto the raised platform from behind the altar. The tattoos that cover his torso in thick, blocky stripes make him appear almost fully dressed, even though he is clad in only a toga, with black panels of fabric twining loosely around his arms. Nodding towards the Baron and his Lady, the man readies his throat to speak, but a timid servant who comes scurrying from the side beats him to it.

"Eruption imminent, my Lord," the scrawny man murmurs and points to Feyd-Rautha's side where a jagged vent has begun spewing black, billowing smoke into the firmament. A thousand heads turn to the mountain ridge, each towering giant an active volcano. The earth growls and moans beneath their feet.

"Should we evacuate?" The bride's worried voice comes muffled from beneath the layers of scintillating plastic.

"No, we will proceed," Feyd-Rautha decides, turning back to her, leaving the volcanoes at his back in plain sight for her. "Let my bride see the glory and beauty of our world."

She inhales shakily, squaring her shoulders when Feyd grins, blinking in cat-like manner.

"Very well!" The announcer speaks, his recognizable voice as loud as a war horn. When he raises his arms above his head, a fierce breeze picks up the panels fluttering from his pale arms. The wind carries notes of ash. "Let us commence the holy union of our beloved leader, Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen and his chosen bride! The planet itself celebrates with us!"

Drums begin to boom like thunder, punching a rhythm that pumps red and black blood alike through their veins in a rapid chase. At every fifth beat, the crowd throws their hands up high, chanting. At every tenth beat, the next gust of smoke billows over the crater edge. The man who can make his voice heard across an entire arena has no trouble outdoing the drums.

"The rumors are true, dear people, dear Harkonnens. Our bride is a woman of lost, ancient kingdoms, a relic, the first astronaut! Imagine the ancient secrets she will share with our new Lord, with us!" The announcer punches his fists wildly in the air, black teeth bared in a gashing crescent. "This spring equinox marks the dawn of a new age for our glorious House!"

The planet's crust screams in agreement and gives birth to sparkling rivulets of black, hot lava with an earth-shattering roar. Like ghastly fireworks, they splash against the storm-battered, frosted sky.

The announcer laughs, clutching the bride and groom by the arms. "Foretold by dreams, their union is now written in the flesh!"

Feyd-Rautha curls his palm around her covered cheek and she does the same to him, gloved hand cool against his skin. She is gawking in awe at the terrible spectacle at his back, but a soft tilt of Feyd's head is enough to snare her attention back to him. His uncanny beauty outshines even the brutal convulsions of Giedi Prime.

"Speak after me," the announcer hollers. "I swear by the blood and the flesh that my heart belongs to my Manducor, in life and in death. The honor to devour it after my passing goes to my Manducor and my Manducor alone. The glorious, black sun is my witness."

Manducor means heart eater. Days prior, when Feyd came  home drunk and weepy after his Bull's Night, he had confessed to her that he had always been afraid of dying, because he knew his uncle would eat his heart in a final, cruel violation. But not anymore, he had whispered with such fondness that she now finds it easy to repeat the words and mean them.

Her voice is amplified by a device offered by the announcer and her words roll like a tidal wave across the semi circle of guests. Feyd-Rautha's features twitch in euphoria, eyes gleaming like the lava that rolls in hot rivers down the mountain flank. Like an animal ready to pounce, his voice quivers when he repeats the sacred words.

The drums' chasing rhythm crests and the screams that rise from a thousand mouths are guttural and primal. The volcano hisses above, the earth howls below and Feyd-Rautha claims his bride to the grandest cacophony of man and nature.

Lilia cries and presses Glugo's head to her knee. A beaming Glossu Rabban shakes Mikhail's hand.

The relic's palms meet Feyd's belly when he crosses the distance in one powerful stride, sliding over the twitching hills of his muscles when he parts her veil up to the nose, baring her painted lips to the scalding air.

"My woman, I love you," her husband snarls before his lips find hers in needy violence, taking her breath while her fingers curl around his back and dig into his flesh. 

With one radioactive kiss, their bond is sealed, hearts, flesh and souls bound for all beautiful, horrifying eternity.

The Garden releases its last radiance, not as something failed, but as its full reason for being: to give continually, to its last bit of energetic being. Its giving is its beauty. It is a smile, it is the heart of love. Even the smell of decay, drifting from the deer, dead by the side of the road, says: “This is what I am and no other. I do not pretend to be. Even in death I speak without deceit, even unto my flesh, my very bones.

- Equinox by Richard Wehrman

A/N: See you in the, starts sobbing , last chapter 🥺🥺🥺

FEYD TAG LIST

@nostalgichoya, @forgedfromthestars, @sweetiee-o, @missbingu, @minedofmoria

@sebastianswallows, @charmingballoon, @flower-frog, @welliah, @aoi-targaryen

@coastalcowgirl35, @esolean, @szapizzapanda, @tatertooted, @sunny747

@ughdontbeboring, @meetmeatyourworst, @gravesdiggergirl

[starlightsearches]

track 8 with eddie!

all i ask is that it’s sub!eddie 🤞

Brat

So I lied earlier about deleting all of the requests for the mixtape milestone 😬 i did get rid of the some of the requests i hadn't started, but i couldn't let go of the ones i drafted, which is good news, because inspiration struck for this one!

Ex-boyfriend! Eddie Munson x Fem! Reader

Warnings: NSFW 18+, pussy eating, bratty eddie but he gets put in his place super quick, bondage, not a happy ending if you want them to get back together, language, and i think that's it!

You never thought you'd be back on Eddie Munson's doorstep.

Hands hanging heavy at your sides, a little taste of a summer breeze teasing at the hem of your skirt. You'd been full of a strange mixture of righteous fury and sick anticipation on the drive over but it's all gone now, a choking feeling in your throat when you lift up your hand to knock.

And you still can't do it.

Your eyes rake over his completely uninteresting door (are there even interesting doors?)— pockmarked with random dents and dings and sticky residue from long gone flyers—but you study it like it's the Mona Lisa, like it's got the meaning of life hidden somewhere in its peeling paint.

Fuck that. You didn't come here for the meaning of life.

Your knuckles meet the cool metal, once, then twice. The door flies open before you get a chance to drop your hand.

Eddie was waiting for you on the other side.

Heat floods through your entire body—and not the good kind—the oily feeling of embarrassment creeping up your neck. Had he been watching you through the peep hole?

He leans casually up in the door frame, arm stretched long above his mess of curls. The smile on his lips is so familiar it makes you ache.

"Hey, sweetheart."

Eddie looks good. Better than the last time you saw him—a little over a month ago, although not much as changed. Kind of stubbly, kind of toned. Still very, very hot.

There's no need to feel guilty for thinking it, but that doesn't stop your stomach from sinking as you drag your eyes down the white t-shirt he wears, band logo faded and the sleeves cut off, knees poking out of the rips in his jeans.

It should be ridiculous—a fucking caricature of a cool guy with his artful rips and the tats littering his arms. A Halloween costume on anybody else. But not on Eddie.

You push past him, like you push past the thought about how tight he wears his jeans. "Don't call me that."

He follows you into the living room of his shitty little apartment, kicking the door closed behind him. "What can I call you, then? Sugar tits?"

He doesn't even pretend to whither under your stare, although you feel like you cut glass with the look you give him.

"I thought I told you not to call me at all. Where is it?"

He's standing too close, looming over you with a little smirk. You can feel how hot his skin is. Feel the warm puff of breath from his nose on your cheeks. "Where's what, gorgeous?"

He never called stuff like that when you were together. Baby was his favorite. Princess when he was feeling sassy. Honey, but only on the rarest occasions, the sweetest mornings. That one always made you weak at the knees.

"The box of my stuff," —you're mad at him, at this, and it hits you hard, has you jamming a finger into his sternum, feeling the wiry muscle of his chest underneath the tee—"the one you left me three desperate messages about."

That humbles him a little bit. A very little bit, but enough to make Eddie shut his mouth for once. He points down the hall behind you.

"Bedroom."

You know the way, but let him lead. It's colder in his apartment than it was outside, the hair on your arms standing up, and you hold yourself a little tighter, cussing yourself out for leaving your jacket in the car.

"You look good," he calls back without turning in your direction, eyes on the clutter covering every inch of the floor, maybe hoping you won't notice the edge in his voice, “going out tonight?"

That was the plan—before this. "Yeah."

"Who with?"

Eddie doesn't even have enough shame in him to look embarrassed about asking, staring at you openly, like he has any right to know anything about your life now that he's not in it.

"You don't know them," you answer, and he laughs.

"Come on, sweetheart. Your friends are my friends."

And yeah, that used to be the case. Robin still called you up some weekends, inviting you out to girls' nights in a sad little tone. You made up excuses every time, but she still called.

Whatever. They were Eddie's friends first.

"Well, I made new ones."

Eddie runs his tongue over his bottom lip, crossing his arms across his chest.

“What’re their names?”

Jesus, he's such an ass.

"Just a bunch of guys I met outside a liquor store. Said they'd buy me shots tonight if I let them motorboat me in the parking lot."

"Har-har," Eddie rolls his eyes, but you didn't miss the look. His concern for you makes you itch. "Seriously, princess, just wanna know if you're keeping good company."

"Well, I'm not. Can I get my stuff now?"

And maybe you feel kind of bad for lying to him, but you can't let him know the truth—that it'll just be you and a couple girls from work. A few glasses of wine and some gossip. Hell, you'll probably be in bed before midnight.

Eddie digs around at the bottom of his closet, producing a cardboard box littered with garbage—a stack of magazines, some stupid teddy bear he won for you at an arcade, and a couple of bras you'd never be able to wear anymore with the way Eddie's spit is probably permanently fused in the fabric.

A wasted trip.

You try to take the box from him, but Eddie's grip doesn't budge.

"I can carry it out to your car, sweetheart," he says, standing up tall, "unless those biker guys are out there waitin' for you."

"I never said they were bikers," you respond, adjusting your grip on the box, pulling it tighter to your chest. It just has Eddie taking another step closer, big, warm hands sliding over yours.

"Good, 'cause I don't think bikers are your type."

He's whispering a little, lowering his voice all sexy in the way that always used to get you into bed with him.

Not this time.

"Oh fuck you, Eddie. What would you know about my type?"

"Uh, at least a little, honey," he laughs, smiling wide and boyish—so confident, self-assured.

"Don't—" you snatch the box out of his hands, "call me honey."

That's the landmine he's been waiting for you to step on. Eddie looks at you, ready to mash all your buttons until he figures out which ones will have you on him. You wish he wasn't so close to the right combination.

He stalks closer, trapping you up against the closet door, both hands planted above your head. You can't feel anything below your knees.

Voice low, breath wet up against your ear, Eddie says, "what are you gonna do about it, honey?"

The box falls with a whump, spilling all your shit across Eddie's bedroom floor. It's nothing compared sound of your body slammed against the door when your lips finally meet his.

You don't know who started it—whether it was your hands tangled up in his hair or him pinning you in place with his hips. You just know you don't want it to stop.

Eddie's running hot—hot hands at your waist and stubbly skin scratching up your jaw and his whole, hot body pressing up against you, moving just the way you like.

Liked.

You push his hands away with both of yours, trapping them against his sides, but it's not enough to stop him, his mouth at your neck.

"Come on, honey," he whispers, "I said I was sorry."

"I don't want an apology, Eddie."

He tries again, fingertips just brushing against your hips. He looks at you, eyes a little sad, a little too honest.

"Then what can I do to get you back?"

Fuck him. You didn't come here for that either. There's only one thing you want from Eddie Munson, and it's not a box full of bras.

"Get on your knees."

You're surprised his bones don't break with the speed he falls to the floor, thumping against the carpet. Hands already pushing up the hem of your skirt, face pressed low against your stomach. Maybe he's missed this as much as you.

"God, baby," he whispers against your thighs, fingers snaking under the hip of your lacy underwear, "knew you couldn't stay away."

Your knee juts out against his sternum, pushing him back.

"Stop that."

The look on his face is a little stupid, jaw dropped open and his brows furrowed. You were never like this when you were together, always deferring to him in one way or another. But you’re not together anymore.

You crouch down to his level, tracing the tips of your nails over the distended veins in his neck. Eddie's lids flutter, and then fall closed when your lips run over the same path, hand stroking faintly down his arm.

"You don't get to touch me, Eddie," you tell him, and he starts to nod, until his eyes flicker open again and he gets a good look at you, zeroed in on your tits and the low-cut of your dress.

"I- I don't, I mean . . . how?"

You slip the black bandana from his back pocket, give his ass a little squeeze. "Don't worry, honey, I'll help you out."

Eddie doesn't fight you when you push his wrists together, wrapping the cloth around them. He just stares, like he's trying to make sure this isn't a dream, his throat trembling when you pull the knot tight, letting the coarse fabric bite into his skin. You can almost hear a moan on his lips. But maybe you just imagined that.

Besides, you're not worried about what he likes right now.

Back on your feet, you rest your shoulders against the door, jutting your hips out toward him. Eddie looks up at you, big eyes wider than you've ever seen them, wiggling his wrists a little to see if there's any give.

You raise a brow, nudging at the ripped knee of his jeans with your bare toes. "Well?"

Whatever doubts Eddie may have had, they're out the window the second he sees you lifting up your skirt, revealing more and more of the soft skin of your thighs, the black lace you're wearing underneath it.

"Jesus, honey," he shuffles forward until his face is sandwiched between your thighs again, "you wear these for me?"

There's a little laugh on your lips, if only to cover up the way your breath hitches at the way he kisses at your skin, squeezing you between his teeth.

Even without his hands, Eddie Munson is dangerous.

You shift your legs wider so he can fit better, plant a hand in his hair and pull him closer to where you want him.

"Not a chance, Munson. You think the next guy will like them?"

Eddie can't answer. Not vocally at least. His mouth is busy, tongue splitting your lips, before he stops to rub slow circles over your clit through the fabric. Like he's trying to tell you that there's not gonna be a next guy.

Fuck. You thought you were stronger than that, but maybe he's right.

Because, for all his faults, Eddie really knows how to eat pussy. Even without the use of his hands he's got you shaking—better than the feel of his fingers splitting you open, maybe even better than when he'd rip your underwear off you and dive in, nothing to separate you from the pleasure Eddie loved to give.

Your underwear are soaked, and not just from his spit, the sloppy way Eddie devours you, big eyes dark, looking up at you past the bunched up hem of your skirt. He's got you dripping, a little desperate.

Or more than a little.

Eddie's whispering when he pulls back enough he can speak, and you're shocked you can even hear him with the way he's talking directly into your pussy, and through the buzzing in your ears.

"Come on, princess. Let me taste you."

You snake your free hand down—because you want to, not because he asked, pulling the sticky wet fabric to the side. Eddie whistles low and soft when he sees your glistening cunt, the breeze sending a shiver up your spine when it meets your feverish skin.

He moves back in, slower this time, savoring the taste of you, his tongue peeking into your dripping hole and circling the edges, collecting your cum, drinking you up.

You press tighter against him to improve the angle, one leg coming up to rest on his broad shoulder. Eddie groans and the vibrations go straight to your clit.

Fuck, you're close. Close in a way you haven't been since you slammed the door to this apartment all those weeks ago—the kind of close you'd been looking for with your hand between your legs ever since, losing the feeling every time you were reminded that you should be thinking about anyone but Eddie.

But how could you manage? Head like this was hard to find.

Eddie knows that, the fucker, lips circled around your clit, sucking at you like his life depends on it. Your vision goes dark, eyes rolling back of their own accord. The only thing louder than your moans is the sound of Eddie's sloppy mouth working at your core.

You grind your hips down against his face, riding his mouth when the feeling overtakes you, body buzzing as those little uh uh uhs spill from your lips. Shock waves like fireworks traveling through you with each stroke of his tongue.

Fuck.

Eddie doesn't slow down, still abusing your poor clit, sucking at your puffy lips, trying to drain you of all those moans from you until you've got to drag him away by his hair or else he's gonna make you cum again.

And then you'll never want to leave.

Eddie looks up at you, face shiny, and he smiles.

"How was that?"

And it's almost as thrilling as that orgasm, the way his brain so clearly shuts down and stalls when you shift your clothes back to where they were, unphased, patting his cheek with a patronizing little look.

"Passable. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have plans."

Eddie doesn't have quite enough balance to get back on his feet with his wrists still tied, so he shuffles after you on his knees, tripping on clutter and knocking shit over.

"Wait a second, what about me?"

He waves his hands in front of his face, like you might have forgotten that you tied him up, like it wasn’t the highlight of your day.

"I'm sure you'll be able to figure it out, princess."

You don't even bother to look back, and the satisfaction that washes over you probably feels better than heroin.

You're in the living room before you hear Eddie call out again.

"Hey! You forgot all your stuff!"

He doesn't get a response to that one, either. The last Eddie hears from you is the slamming of his front door.

[dilemmaontwolegs]

Playboy || PG10 {3}

Pairing: Pierre Gasly x fem!reader Summary: Pierre proves himself and makes promises. Warnings: 18+ only, nsfw, smut WC: 2.2k F1 Masterlist || One || Two || Three || Four

Wind whipped through the gaping hole in the back of the Ferrari and you shivered from the cold, curling your knees up to your chest as Pierre drove back to the city. You expected him to take you home but he pulled into a far nicer apartment block and spiralled down the ramp to the underground carpark. 

Slipping out of the car and into the well-lit carpark you saw the full extent of the damage and shook your head at the new paint job that was needed. “I’m sorry,” you murmured as you ran your fingers over the worst chips and dents. 

A pair of hands came to rest on your hips and Pierre rested his chin on your shoulder as he looked at his car. “Don’t worry about it, insurance will cover it.”

“I was apologising to the car,” you said with a smirk but the move only served to split the cut on your cheek and fresh blood welled to the surface as you winced. “Do you have a first aid kit I can borrow?”

Pierre laced his fingers with yours and nodded as he led the way to his apartment. The elevator ride was quiet and you felt the tension rising as you idly played with the thick ring on his thumb. Looking away from the jewellery, you realised it was a mistake as you met his eyes and knew the feeling wasn’t one way, but the elevator was not the place to start what you had in mind.

“Don’t look at me like that,” Pierre all but groaned as he pulled his bottom lip between his teeth. 

“Like what?” you asked innocently, tilting your head to the side and peeking up through your lashes.

“Like I’m a playboy who will fuck you on the first date.” There was a sinkhole in the ocean of his irises and it was stealing all the colour from them the longer that he looked at you. He reached out and hit the button for the 12th floor again as if it would magically make the ride go faster. “I’m trying to prove a point and you’re making it hard.”

“Is there a rooftop here?” you asked as you thought of a solution.

“Yeah, for maintenance I think. Why?”

“Take me there first,” you urged and he frowned as he hit the button for the level above his. The elevator opened to a short hallway and you saw the stairs that led to a metal door so you tugged his hand and made your way outside, sticking a brick in the door to keep it from locking you out. “Lay down.”

“You can be quite bossy,” he chuckled but humoured you as he did as he was told, joining you on the cold concrete roof top. “What are we doing?”

“Stargazing,” you said as you turned to him, propping your head up on your hand. “It seems like a reasonable second date.”

“A second date already, hmm,” he smirked as you sat up and leaned over him with a matching smile.

“I think that officially means you aren’t a playboy.” You dipped your head down and he met you halfway, his large hands grabbing your waist to pull you onto his lap as he sat up and kissed you. 

“Very clever,” he murmured against your lips, making you smile more. 

“I’ve been known to have a few good ideas on occasion.”

He chuckled as his hands roamed your body, brushing along the hem of your dress and edging it up. “Any others you can think of?”

“One or two,” you breathed as his fingers slipped beneath the material. “But not here.”

There was a new urgency as you rose on unsteady feet and Pierre’s arm curled around your waist as if the distance to walk at your side was too far for his liking. After three quick presses of the elevator button and no instant result, he growled and you looked at the stairwell before kicking off your heels.

His laugh echoed off the concrete walls and he was quick to make chase as you raced ahead of him down the next floor where his keys were already in his hands and rushing to unlock the door. It crashed open as he turned and pulled you with him, your bodies sealing close together while your lips collided with a deep hunger. 

He blindly kicked the door shut behind and his large hands splayed across your ass before gripping tightly and using his strength to pick you up. A moan escaped you as your legs wrapped around his hips and you felt just how bad he wanted you.

“Wait.” Your eyebrows lifted at the order he gave as he sat you on his kitchen countertop, his chest rising and falling with quick pants.

“Wait?” you echoed in disbelief, the needy sound making him smirk. 

“You’re still hurt,” he reminded softly as he reached under the sink for his first aid kit before nudging your knees apart so he could step into the space. “Let me take care of you first.” He was gentle as he cleaned your cheek, the gauze turning pink with your blood, and he apologised when he opened the antiseptic wipe. “This might sting a bit.”

“I’ll be fine. I’ve had worse.”

Curiosity filled his eyes as he dabbed the skin dry before putting a little butterfly stitch over the cut. “What happened?” he asked as he cradled your jaw in his hand to keep you from looking away.

“That’s something that would need to wait until at least the third date,” you said with a shake of your head. “I thought you were going to take care of me.”

A cocky smile played at his lips as you challenged him and his hands brushed your dress up over your hips as he dropped to his knees. “Oh, I’ll take care of you, Beautiful.”

The first aid kit was scattered across the kitchen floor where you had knocked it off the bench in the throes of your first orgasm. He had enjoyed taking his time with you laid out, writhing under the talent of his lips, his tongue, his teeth. 

The next victim was your dress, his impatience and strength breaking the zip in the frenzied need to remove all barriers between your bodies. Your hands had tugged his sweater over his head before pulling his shirt open, little white buttons popping off in all directions.

“Jesus,” you moaned as you ran your fingers down his body, feeling every hard ridge of muscle until you reached his jeans. “I knew you were going to be fit but fuck…”

He grinned proudly at the remark and took over removing him of the denim keeping you from reaching what you wanted. The thin pair of boxers did little to hide the length of him begging for freedom from the constricting material but before you could tug them down he was tugging you back into his arms and leading you to his bedroom.

“I’ll lose all my common sense if you touch me, beautiful, and then we will be in trouble,” he admitted as he laid you on his bed, kissing you before pulling back and rifling through his drawers for a condom.

You weren’t sure you were going to be able to feel your legs again anytime soon. The man was obsessed with making sure you were in a constant state of bliss and you were almost relieved when he couldn’t hold back his own release any longer. He had collapsed beside you with a deeply satisfied sigh before disposing of the condom so he could recover with you in his arms, your head on his chest. 

His fingers danced lazily across your hip, tracing invisible letters and shapes on your skin until he noticed the changes in texture, the slight bumps on an otherwise smooth surface. Lifting his head, he pushed the sheet away and spied the scars in the dim light. “What happened?” He had seen the scars that littered your knuckles and palms, victims of the job you did - but these were different. 

“It doesn’t matter,” you whispered, pulling the sheet back around your body as you sat up. “I should get going.”

“Stay,” he urged, but you were already leaving the room to find your underwear on the messy kitchen floor. “It was just a question.”

It was a question that there was no easy answer to. It was a question that opened the door for more questions, and they would surely lead to memories that were better off left in the recesses of your mind.

“It was just sex, Pierre,” you said as you felt him following you, “that doesn’t mean I have to bare my soul to you.”

You pulled your dress on but it hung open at the back so you grabbed his shirt and shoved your arms inside before he pulled you back into his arms and his lips pressed to your neck.

“It wasn’t just sex to me.” The quiet admission had your eyes closing and your head tipping back onto his shoulder. “Please, stay.”

“I can’t give you the answers you are after.”

“You already have.” He turned you in his arms and you could see the sadness swimming in the ocean of his eyes. “I wouldn’t let anyone hurt you.”

“Men make promises they can’t keep.”

“Not real men,” he said with a little laugh. “You’re probably thinking of those playboys.”

You rose on your toes and brushed your lips softly over his. “I don’t trust people very easily, but I’m trusting you. Please don't make me regret it.”

His smile made your heart skip a beat and when he pressed a sweet kiss to your forehead you knew you weren’t going anywhere. You let his shirt fall back to the floor before brushing your dress straps off your shoulder, taking his hand and leading him right back where you started.

“So sex in your car is out of the question,” you giggled as you watched the playback of the dashcam. The man had a camera on the front, at the back and, more crucially, facing the driver so everyone could see exactly who it was that won the race. They would also see the heated kiss you shared after coming to a halt at the lookout. “A shame really, we look pretty good together.”

“I’m adventurous but not that adventurous,” Pierre admitted with an amused shake of his head. “You ready?”

Your finger hovered over the button to post the video, tagging D as well as the other Street Kings. “Long live the King,” you muttered as you hit it, uploading the file almost instantly. “No going back now.” Closing the laptop, you spun around in his gaming chair and looked up at Pierre. “Now what do we do?”

He glanced at his watch and saw it wasn’t even noon. “I know a place where we can kill a few hours.”

“The bedroom?”

He smirked and caged you in his chair, nudging your legs open with his knee. His oversized shirt you wore rode high up your thighs and his eyes lingered on the bare skin before he dragged them up your body to your face. “You don’t need to convince me, but I was thinking about something outside of the apartment.”

Less than an hour later you were pulling up at a racetrack on the outskirts of Nice, half a dozen cars already there.

“Hey Pretty Boy, how’s your girl running?” you greeted Charles as he stepped out of his Pista.

“Very well, thank you.” He looked between you and Pierre, his smile growing as when he saw the possessive arm curl around your waist. “Now you can finally stop calling me that.”

“Why would I do that? Pierre would have seen your mid-teen-crisis too. Plus, I have a better name for him now.”

“This should be good, let’s hear it,” Charles chuckled until you pressed your forefinger to your lips.

“Sorry, it’s not for innocent ears.”

Charles’ nose wrinkled with an idea of where it was heading and shook his head before leading the group inside. “Whose team are you going to race on?”

“What are we racing?” you asked as you walked past a line of Porsches but continued along to a few garages open.

“Not this time,” Pierre teased as he pointed to a smaller track you hadn’t noticed to the side. At the start line, Joris, Ilies and Arthur were already picking up their race suits and you cocked an eyebrow at the mode of racing chosen.

“Karts?”

“I thought you could race anything?” he challenged playfully. “It has an engine and four wheels.”

You cracked your knuckles and accepted the helmet and race suit he grabbed for you. “I suppose I could do with a warm up before the big race.”

“What race?” Charles asked with concern before looking at his friend. “You’re not getting yourself into trouble are you?”

Pierre couldn’t help sending a wink your way before he clapped Charles on the shoulder. “Relax, mate. I’ve got this.”

Click here for chapter four.