#give it that clear plastic look so you can see its insides!

[peggingprowl]

The great thing about transformers being robots is that it gives them so much potential to just Go Crazy With It regarding their genitals. Go Ham. Engrave that thing. Add mood lighting. Make it rotate. Give it a bluetooth connection. Play Doom on it.

[alnilaem]

so true @altissiia. neighbour/butcher simon is but a matted cat that would charitably leave mice at your door if that wasn’t so off-putting

-

It’s eight in the morning, and there’s coffee all over your work blouse. Burning through the canopy of your shirt, sticking your skin. 

You had loudly cursed as your foot got caught behind an innominate object, propelling you face first—and coffee first—into the corridor. Surely, the whole flat heard it. The tight yelp you released, the thunder of your nose colliding with the floor. 

You don’t care about the coffee blotches congealing in the hallway. The carpet has enough cryptic stains, ones that management isn’t bothered to fix, so you look away and throw a cursory glance over your shoulder—to see the cause of your fall—and grimace without conscious control.

It’s a bag of meat on your doormat. 

Wrapped in a plastic, sitting in a puddle of fresh blood. 

A few drops of dew glaze the bag by means of moisture. It hides its contents, hindering you from recognising anything inside. You poke it with your shoe, cringing at the cartilage and meat and marrow beneath the sole of your foot. It tumbles over in the clear film, revealing its gory underbelly and a sticky-note. 

The note is dog-eared, crumpled, and damp. Covered in writing written by a slap-happy hand. Sorry for being too loud last night with my mates. Guess I’m a hypocrite. Here’s some meat please accept, is what it reads. The tail-end features a poorly-drawn smiley face and a signature. Simon.  

He was being noisy last night. You were just too skittish to slap the drywall dividing you, or to knock on his door and ask him to keep it down. There was an overlap of voices, an undercurrent of accents, and the charm of beer cans persistently snapped open.

As you peel the note off the bag, the door beside you swings open. Simon stumbles out, sweatpants low on his hips, medical mask obscuring the lower shell of his face. By the looks of it, he just floundered out of the shower. His curls are still dripping with opalescent water drops. He’s shirtless, his chest hairs so blonde they’re almost glass-like. Tousled and wispy.

A few scars distort the skin of his ribcage and makes you wince. He’s breathing heavily, distending them, puffing out his chest.

“You alright?” He asks. “Heard you fall.” 

You realise you’re still on the floor. Simon looks cosmic from this angle—colossal—hauling with him disciplined muscles eclipsed by a soft belly. 

You meekly nod, rising to your feet. “‘m fine.”

Simon’s eyes flutter down to your chest. A hot-flash pools under your skin, sticky, messy, leaving you preening under his gaze, until, of course, you belatedly remember your spilled coffee. How your shirt sticks to your skin, revealing the barest hint of your breasts. You don’t cross your arms.

“You’ve something there,” Simon sniffs. He gestures to your chest.

“Um, yeah. I know.”

A whisper of discomfort marinates between you. Discomfort that Simon doesn’t seem to notice—or doesn’t seem to care about—as he keeps staring at you. 

He grunts. “I got you meat.”

“Thank you!” You chuckle. “It was a… sweet gift.” 

It takes you by surprise when Simon tucks his chin into his chest, grumbling. His crows feet crimp together like knife-edges as if he’s barely smiling. 

“Wait here,” he mumbles, then spins on his heel. You assume he’s going to put on some clothes, or bring you some more meat, but when Simon returns, he outstretches towards you a threadbare jersey, waiting expectantly.

“Stained your blouse,” he snorts. “Wear this.”

Owlishly, you blink. It’s your work blouse that’s stained. You can’t go in a Manchester United shirt.

“Um. I wouldn’t–”

Simon shoves it in your chest. At this point, he reminds you of a wet dog. Dripping wet, gratified of his gift-giving. Leaving raw meat that stinks of ammonia at your doorstep, handing you a shirt too-many-sizes too big for you. If he had a tail, it’d be wagging.

His hand is still extended. Above his mask, Simon’s eyebrows pucker as if he’s pouting. Like a kicked mutt, confused, and a little ratty. You feel awkward indebtedness eddying through you, so you snatch the jersey from him and slip it on jointly. It smells heavily of nicotine and pomade, slightly impairing you.

Satisfied, he nods. You think he’s going to say something else—there’s a little stifle between the flicker of his eyes and his jaw—but he doesn’t. Simon turns around and slams his door shut in your face. 

[bluejutdae]

NeedyNerd!Seungmin (part 2) | Seungmin x you

Part 2 of THIS but can be read as a stand alone.

Notes: I'm back with NeedyNerd!Seungmin because him and Biker!Changbin have taken residence in my brain and heart. Enjoy!!

Warnings: 18+, nsfw.

Needynerd!Seungmin lets himself be dragged by you to a party some older student is throwing. He rolls his eyes behind his shiny glasses after having watched you search in his wardrobe for something that isn’t khakis and sad plain shirts.

Needynerd!Seungmin who whines and complains so much you have to basically dress him up, button up his shirt and fasten his belt. It’s all a scene and it’d be clear if only you stopped fussing for a second and looked at the smile on his lips. Your boyfriend is completely capable of acting like a baby just to be pampered a little. And let’s be honest, just to have your hands on him.

Needynerd!Seungmin who looks down on every screaming person the moment he enters the stuffy and crowded house. There’s people everywhere, couples making out on every corner and half naked guys playing dumb games. His ears already ache due to the loud music. What pisses him off the most, though, it’s the number of men coming up to you to say hi, I’m happy you could make it. 

Needynerd!Seungmin who answers with a grunt every time someone asks you who he is. After the fifth person he simply circles your waist with his arms and doesn’t let you go. The problem presents itself when you insist on dancing. Is he going to leave you alone in the lion pit or is he going to come with you and make himself ridiculous? He’s not a dancer, and he’s stiff as a board. 

Needynerd!Seungmin making a decision the moment he realizes you dancing means he could just stand there and have you grind against his body. He loves seeing you dance, and the chance to keep his hands on your hips it’s enough to convince him. Not before he grabs a bottle of clean liquor and a plastic cup, pours himself a generous amount and downs it immediately.

Needynerd!Seungmin lasts 5 minutes, then he just pushes your back against his chest and starts to let his hands roam over your body. One on your hip and belly, the other slowly inching toward your chest. His voice is sultry when he asks “is this what you want from me?” and his half hard cock presses along the cleft of your ass, skirt bunching up an inch thanks to his movements. Part of you does want this, having him so horny for you, he can’t help but grind against your ass, breathing deep on your neck.

Needynerd!Seungmin trying to hide his smirk when you grab his hands and guide him upstairs, hoping to find an empty room, a bathroom, a closet, anything. Because while it’s completely true that your boyfriend is a needy nerd, it's just as much true that you’re desperate for his touch, and seeing him wanting you is the biggest turn on. You’re lucky enough to find an empty broom closet and it’s not even a second after that Seungmin is pushing you inside and pressing your back against the door, effectively closing it and hiding you both from prying eyes. He can do nothing for the cry you make when he kneels in front of you and presses his face against your clothed cunt.

Needynerd!Seungmin teases you for just a few seconds, but he doesn’t have the patience for it and doesn’t waste time to take your underwear off and eat you out messily, skirt covering his head. One hand grabs your leg and moves it so it’s over his shoulder and it gives him easier access; the other hand is grabbing anything that it finds in its aimless wandering. Since that first time, Seungmin has mastered the art of eating you out, he studied it like he would a book for an exam. He spent hours with his face between your legs, asking pointed questions and practicing for hours. 

Needynerd!Seungmin who seems to come up for air just to kiss you, chin wet and messy hair, and it’s one of the hottest things ever. He kisses you, fondling with his belt, but he’s too horny to focus on two things. The belt has, temporarily, the priority. He’s quick to take his cock out and gives it just a couple of strokes, too dry and too fast. You love him like that: messy, desperate, horny and a bit tipsy.

Needynerd!Seungmin doesn’t talk in moments like this one, too focused on kissing and trying not to be too loud. His hold is tight on his cock, a tell tale sign that he’s closer than he lets on. You’re so wet, and he takes advantage of that, dragging the tip of his cock through your folds to prepare himself and then he’s inside you, the stretch a perfect sensation. You’re both too close, toeing the fine line that will push you both over the edge. 

Needynerd!Seungmin who’s needy, yes, and a nerd, too. But he’s also your loving boyfriend, always making you’re you’re safe and happy and sated before he’s too far gone to take care of you. His fingers don’t seem to respond to his commands perfectly, but it’s good enough to have you clenching down on him and moaning so loud anyone could hear, saved maybe just by the loud music downstairs. He’s right behind you in his pleasure, fucking you as deep as he can so he can come inside you, knowing you’ll berate him for it but loving how you shiver from pleasure anytime he does it. 

Needynerd!Seungmin fixes your hair, kisses you sweetly and picks up your underwear from where he left it but, instead of offering it to you or helping you wear it, he puts it in his pocket with a smirk. “A little souvenir for when I’m alone?”

[baileypie-writes]

Howdy! So when you see the movie, can you write a story of a fem reader and velvet, I know that this isn’t very specific, but I just need more fanfics about vels 😭

A/N ~ Of course! This was a lot of fun to write lol. I love Velvet.

~🎤Where’s My Hug?🎤~

Velvet x fem!Reader

Fandom: Trolls: Band Together

Reader: Female

Relationship: Romantic

Synopsis: Velvet’s “too cool” to admit that she likes your affection. Thinking that she didn’t like it, you stopped giving her so much, but that made Velvet upset.

Warnings: Reader and Velvet not properly communicating their feelings until the end, pretty cringe

(Sorry for the low quality pic lol)

Velvet is not a very affectionate person. She hates initiating hugs and kisses, so she lets you do it. She likes the attention, but doesn’t show it. She’s “too cool” for that. Since she shows no sign of enjoyment from your acts of affection, you decided to tone it down.

But Velvet didn’t like it. She secretly misses being greeted with a gentle hug, and maybe a peck on the cheek. But, of course, she’s not going to admit it. So instead, she’s just gonna be grouchy.

~~~~

As you were removing the plastic from the package of popcorn, your doorbell rang. You sprinted to answer it, knowing exactly who it was. As expected, when you opened the door, the green haired twins were on the other side of it.

You’ve known Velvet and Veneer for a long time. Veneer was your best friend, he always made you laugh. And Velvet was your girlfriend. You two had been dating for a few months now. Tonight, you guys were having a movie night. You insisted on watching your favorite movie. You found out the previous day that the twins had never seen it, and you didn’t think that was acceptable.

“Hey (Y/N)!” Greeted Veneer as he stepped inside, Velvet following suite.

“Hey Veneer!” You gave him a side hug.

Velvet rolled her eyes. Of course, she wasn’t gonna verbally admit that she was upset, but by looking at her face, it was clear as day.

She complained in her mind, thinking: “Where’s my hug?”

Any other thoughts were cut off by you gently grasping her hand.

“Hey, babe!”

She was caught off guard, making her face turn red. It wasn’t easy to miss on her paper-white complexion. She quickly turned her head, praying that you didn’t see.

“Hey.” She said, a mix of bashfulness and coldness in her voice.

~~~(Mini Time Skip)~~~

You were seated between the twins. Velvet on your right, and Veneer on your left. The movie had hit its climax, and the character that everyone else trusted had turned on them.

Veneer gasped loudly. “What!? How could they!” You laughed at his dramatic reaction. So typical of Veneer.

You started patting his shoulder, jokingly comforting him. Velvet sighed. It annoyed her so much that you were giving her brother more attention. She scoffed, and snatched the empty bowl out of your hands. “I’m gonna get more popcorn.” She said, the annoyance clear in her voice, and exited the room, shutting the door a bit too aggressively.

She startled you a bit. You wondered why she seemed so upset. Once her shadow disappeared from the gap under the door, you paused the movie, and turned to your left.

“Hey Veneer?”

“Yeah? Something wrong?” He responded, a bit concerned.

“Have you noticed that Velvet’s been a bit…. you know…. grouchy lately?”

Veneer rolled his eyes. “Girl, she’s my sister. Of course I’ve noticed.”

“Okay, so…. do you happen to know why?”

He scoffed. “Yes I know why! I thought it was obvious! It’s because you’re not giving her much love anymore, duh! Gosh, you can be so dense sometimes.” He rubbed his hand down his face at the last sentence, clearly done with your stupidity.

“Wait what? I thought she didn’t like it when I hugged or kissed her! She always looked so bothered.”

Veneer laughed tiredly. “It’s like she doesn’t even know her.” He mumbled loudly to himself as if you weren’t right next to him. “Lemme tell you something about my sister. She pretends not to like something, even though she really likes it. Need I remind you of your guy’s whole love story~~?” He said the last two words in a teasingly dreamy way, and twisted his arms to make the shape of a heart.

You looked back to before you and Velvet were dating. Veneer was right. She pretended not to like you, but in reality, she fell harder for you than you did for her. You felt like a complete idiot, and a terrible girlfriend.

“Oh my gosh, you’re right! I’m so stupid!” You dropped your face in your hands. Then, you felt Veneer’s hand on your back. Before he could say anything, though, the door opened, and Velvet came in with the previously empty bowl, now full of popcorn. As soon as she sat down, Veneer popped up.

“Oh boy, am I thirsty! I’ll be right back, I’m gonna get some water!” He said, before zipping to the door. His tone made it obvious that he was lying. He was never good at it. Before he was completely out of the room, he poked his head in, and gave you a wink.

After she heard the door close, Velvet turned to you. “What was that about?”

You let out a halfhearted chuckle, before taking a deep breath. “Hey Vels, I’m really sorry.”

Velvet was slightly started by the genuine apologetic look you gave her. “About….?”

“I thought you didn’t like hugs or kisses, so I stopped giving you them. I didn’t know that it would bother you so much. I didn’t mean to make you upset.”

Velvet sighed with a hint of relief. “Just…. don’t do it again.” She crossed her arms, turning away as she, once again, began blushing. But this time, you noticed. You smiled, and gave her the tightest hug.

“I won’t. But we should get better at communicating with each other. We don’t want something like this to happen again.”

Velvet let out a loud “Uuuugh.” Before responding.

“Fine.”

You laughed, before grabbing her face, and pulling her in for a kiss. One that Velvet, for once, reciprocated.

~~~🎤~~~🎤~~~🎤~~~🎤~~~

~~baileypie-writes

[pendarling]

Icecream

Henchman looked around the tall home, a chandelier staring down from the ceiling and a line of windows overlooking the city below as the night rolled in. Its appearance was an over-glorified perception of Villain's work as one of Supervillain's favourite criminals. Then again, Villain had done a lot of heists and had an intangible thirst for money; their home, if they could even call it that, was simply a reflection of their work. Other than giving the same energy as any classic magazine cover home, it was generally welcoming.

Their eyes scanned the marble tables as their shoes clicked softly against the delicately tiled floors set in perfect wax, offering a clean shine that didn't surprise Henchman one bit.

Impressed, their cool gaze returned its focus to Villain, who leaned against a pillar, fanning themselves with a piece of paper and occasionally taking a sip from the can of beer in their hand. Everything was too fancy for someone so evil as them. Then again, it was a nice contrast.

"You want one? It's awfully hot during this time of year."

"I don't drink." They replied.

Villain nodded, "Oh, I get it, you like to eat cold things. Something shitty like ice cream, right?"

They sighed; idle talking wasn't what they came here for. "You're tasks haven't been challenging enough." Henchman began, searching for the smirk that often riddled Villain's face when they were confident in themselves. However, instead Villain gave them a calm look of boredom, and a small shrug.

"Maybe I'm just too competent for you. Supervillain would know."

Henchman gathered their hands together and walked slowly; the wide room void of any life presented an odd sense of eerieness that wasn't often felt. They tentatively sat on the pale couch; its decorative pillows stayed stiffly on either side. "You're surprisingly cleaner than I expected." They murmured.

Even the glass coffee table had remained nearly untouched, offering a crystal clear view of the soft white carpet with only a small pot of randomly assorted plastic plants posing inside resting atop the table.

Villain took a deep breath and nodded slowly, "I try not to mix my personal life with my work life." They circled from behind the couch and sat on the armrest, "So what're you doing seeing me at such a late hour? I hope you're not here for just a talk, I'm not a very good listener."

Henchman should've laughed, but it wasn't funny, was it? After all, they didn't just come here for simple chatter. If they could, they'd wait until tomorrow, and besides, Henchman didn't know Villain well like they did with most other villains working under their boss. "It's something urgent."

"If it was urgent, why wasn't it the first thing you said as soon as you entered?"

Henchman could feel it without even glancing beside them. That awful smirk Villain did when something had piqued their interest. "I lost track of thought… I guess being in such a large mansion startled me at first."

Villain remained silent as they leaned back.

"Anyway, one of our compounds had been raided by the heroes about an hour ago."

"Which one?' Villain said, their back straightened.

"Don't worry, it's not one of yours, but it's the one on 78th street. Supervillain knew your followers like to hang around on the 81st and I just wanted to tell you to tell your goons it isn't safe around that entire district anymore."

"Fuck."

Villain stood, breathing in heavily with a frustrated expression Henchman had only seen when Villain was off fighting. They reached for their phone and dialled a number.

"Are you calling them?"

"Of course I'm fucking calling them!" They angrily flailed an arm and turned around, waiting impatiently for the other line to pick up. "I can't have my men getting arrested for getting drunk."

Henchman stood up as Villain took the call, barking orders at his underlings on the other side to get going.

They stared at the empty walls, clean of any sign of aging; the generic photographs of colourful shapes and some of nature did little to offer hope to the room. Henchman slowly made their way into the kitchen; clean whites clashed with soft greys and sharp blacks. In the sink, a single spoon, they tilted their head curiously. It looked like Villain could get a little messy sometimes, though this was very minuscule. Henchman turned their attention to the cabinets. They wondered if Villain had even organized each plate from biggest to smallest or categorized them by material.

They laughed softly and opened it; their eyes widened with an unforeseen turn of events. Not one plate was symmetrically aligned nor was it in order of colour or whatever they had wanted to see. It seemed like Villain's perfectionist image only existed from the outside.

Their hands wander to the fridge, stuffed stock full of foods they weren't even sure if one person could finish. Perhaps spending money was just easier than saving it all. Henchman opened the freezer, Villain's voice abruptly becoming louder as they continued switching from demanding to concerned.

"Ice cream?"

Henchman reached in. Its red and pink colour pulled them in closer.

"I thought…" They turned the pint of cream in their hands; the ice on the surface of its plastic exterior melted in the palms of their hands into cold drops of water. Henchman frowned. Either Villain was secretly a fan of ice cream, or this was all an elaborate joke.

"Henchman!" Villain shouted from the other room. They struggled to shove the pint back into the fridge and rub their hands free of the cold liquid.

They hurried back into the living room, fixing their uniform along the way. They had to be grateful the long corridors offered Henchman enough time to calm themselves. "Yes?"

"Stop snooping around and get the fuck outta my house."

Henchman waited for the words to settle in and nodded absently, their mind still wondering about the pint of ice cream sitting in their freezer. It didn't seem all too big of a deal, but it wasn't until Henchman gathered the morning newspaper for Supervillain that something had caught their eyes.

An advertisement bright and bolded around the front page of a news article in its designated corner alongside other words scattered around the page.

Strawberry cheesecake icecream, a personal favourite of Hero's.

~~~

MASTERLIST

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[hisokamywaifu]

Kinktober Day 3 - ORAL FIXATION with Kyojuro Rengoku

Warnings: smut, cursing, dom!reader, sub!rengoku, facefucking, pegging, choking

~~~

He looked up at you with big doe eyes, like mini pools of fire, as he sucked weakly at your fingers.

He canted his hips upward as you slowly grinded your strap onto him.

With the lights down low and his face starting to flush as he drooled around your fingers, you thought he looked absolutely gorgeous.

His eyes were half lidded in pleasure as you rubbed his nipples with your free hand, and he let out little gasps and whimpers with each motion.

"You like suckin my fingers, baby?"

He mumbled something weakly, eyes droopy from the sleepy arousal filling the room.

"Why don't I give you something bigger to suck on, huh?" You smiled as his eyes filled with excitement and he nodded vigorously.

He whined as you removed your fingers from his mouth, but perked up when you brought them to his hole.

Slowly starting to thrust him open, you maneuvered your strap to his mouth.

He parted his lips weakly to make room for you, but it wasn't enough when you shoved the cock in, stretching his mouth open to accomadate for its girth.

He moaned as it was pushed to the back of his mouth, your fingers finding his prostate as he tried to grip onto your hips.

As much as he loved the feeling of the plastic roughly jerking in and out of his mouth, he gagged around is as you pushed his hands away as they were trying to control the pace.

He blinked the tears from his eyes as drool slipped out of his mouth, coating the dildo in a clear slick. He could feel your cock hitting at the back of his throat, and he whined as the discomfort.

Just when he thought you couldn't get any harsher, you sped up your pace even more, pulling his head up and down your cock by his hair like a mere fleshlight.

"Yeah, take it, just like that."

You held his head all the way onto the length, him choking around it while you sat there without a care in the world, relishing in his discomfort.

He was struggling, hands pawing at your sides to try to sway you into stopping, mumbling around the intrusion in the hopes that he could get his message across. But he knew he had to stay there, to endure the pain, because he wanted to be good for you.

Finally deciding he'd had enough, after a few seconds you pulled him off and let him choke while you positioned yourself at his slick entrance.

Before he even realized what you were doing, you were quickly pushing yourself inside, not even letting him really catch his breath.

He cried out sharply as your hips pistoned against his, pushing deep into his walls and quickly pulling back out, setting an unforgiving pace.

He wailed out pleads of 'too much' and 'harder' as you dug your fingers into the plush skin of his waist. He too had a harsh grip on you, gripping anything he could reach.

He quickly built up towards his high, and soon he was close.

You were lost in the feeling of being above him, so engrossed in fucking him that it took you a second to realize he was asking for something.

Ca-hn - can you please ~ AHn~ please put - nghh - in my mouth?"

"Aw, baby still doesn't feel full?" You stuck your fingers back in his mouth, seeing him react to the feeling, eyes rolling back in his head.

"Pretty boy, you like being full of me?"

Before you even realized what was happening, he was moaning loudly, cum shooting out and back arching.

Your eyes widened at his sensitivity, he came just from the feeling of your fingers in his mouth?

As he rode out his orgasm, he continued to suck on your fingers, drool slipping out of his mouth.

"Such a pretty baby, cumming from being stuffed full."

He smiled lazily, still out of it as you slipped out of him and got him cleaned up, wrapping him into your arms as you both drifted off to sleep.

~~~

Kinktober Masterlist Link

[cosmerelists]

Cosmere Characters in IKEA

The title says it all, really.

1. Adolin & Shallan

Adolin: This place is such a maze!

Shallan: Yeah, it kinda reminds me of my time in the chasms with Kaladin.

Shallan: There could be a chasmfiend made entirely of hex keys around any corner.

Adolin: You’ve already mapped this place in your head, haven’t you?

Shallan: Well, duh. 

2. Kaladin & Teft

Kaladin: Ha, look at the size of this bed! What kind of spoiled lighteyes needs a bed this big??

Teft: Kaladin, lad, that’s a bed for two people...

Kaladin: ...

Kaladin: I knew that. 

3. Sebarial & Palona

Sebarial: Genius, really, setting up all of these fake rooms to make people imagine their homes looking like this.

Sebarial: Makes you want to buy way more than you came in for.

Sebarial: And it all seems cheap, but it sure adds up!

Palona: Mmm...and the pathing really forces you to see everything, no matter what you’re looking for.

Palona: Urithiru is mazelike already--think Dalinar would give you a floor to set up something like this?

Sebarial: Are you SURE you don’t want to marry me?

4. Dalinar & Stormfather

Dalinar: I think it’s good for people to build their own furniture.

Dalinar: I never felt as clear-headed as I did when I dug that latrine that one time.

Stormfather: Bah, this flimsy wood could never stand up to a storm.

Dalinar: Most people keep their furniture inside.

Stormfather: I’m listening and learning here.  

Dalinar: What?

Stormfather: What?

5. Lopen & Rock

Lopen: Now, see, people say the REAL fun is the food!

Rock: Ha! These meatballs are not as good as chouta with fried cremling claws, but they’re still pretty good!

Lopen: Of course! Nothing beats chouta!

6. Wyndle & Lift

Wyndle: Oh, this is SO exciting!

Wyndle: Look at all of these WONDERFUL chairs!

Wyndle: I can’t wait to add some of these to my chair garden!

Lift (dragging her feet): Is this the LAST time I let you pick our activity. 

7. Denth & Tonk Fah

Denth: You know what I hate about being a mercenary?

Denth: People think you have no sense of style.

Denth: And sure, interior decorating isn’t a big part of our life.

Denth: But just look at this pillow I chose and tell me it wouldn’t look great on any modern couch.

Tonk Fah: Hey, that old lady you stabbed to get that pillow seems to be coming around.

Denth: And people NEVER appreciate the lengths we got to to get a good deal!

8. Szeth & Nightblood

Szeth: I like this place.

Szeth: There is no profane stone anywhere, and the seemingly endless maze of empty rooms devoid of all life reminds me of the inside of my own head, only they took out the screams.

Szeth: And some of the plastic fruit is nice.

Nightblood: That’s great but can we get back to my thing now?

Szeth: That sofa wasn’t evil, sword-nimi.

Nightblood: Then why was its name looking at me with those beady eyes?!

Szeth: I think the umlaut is just part of the spelling, sword-nimi.

Nightblood: I think we should destroy it, just in case.

9. Siri & Syl

Siri: Look at this!! A tiny frying pan!

Syl: No, look at this!! It’s a blue stuffed shark!

Siri: Look at how colorful this rug is!

Syl: I don’t even smoke, but this ash tray is shaped like a COW!

Siri: I can’t believe Vivenna and Kal said we “couldn’t be trusted in the marketplace”

Syl: I know! We make such good decisions!

10. Jasnah & Navani & Elhokar 

Jasnah: It is nice of them to include pictogram instructions, so that even men can assemble this furniture. 

Navani: Engineering for men. Very progressive of them. 

Elhokar: How am I supposed to screw in all these screws with just this hex key?! Also, these dowels definitely do NOT fit in this hole! And I am definitely missing some pieces!!

Elhokar (muttering): I bet Kaladin could build this bookcase.

Jasnah: Should we help him?

Navani: Give it five more minutes. 

[gemini-sensei]

Surgeon!Eli Moskowitz thoughts 🧑‍⚕️

He works as a pediatric surgeon specializing in plastics, like clefts and reconstruction. He works hard to make those situations for kids not so scary and always wears a smile so kids don't associate scars with scary situations or bad feelings like insecurity.

He also lets kids call him Dr. Eli.

Kids adore him and parents love him. He's great with everyone and gives everyone the best care and attention. No one gets special treatment but he does have a soft spot for the kids that come in with clefts.

He gets recommended so much he doesn't know what to do with all the families that come to see him. He often has to recommend other surgeons because his workload is a lot. He also travels sometimes for special cases where his expertise is needed. It's a lot but he loves the work.

He's doing a great job but then a new pediatrics doctor transfers to the hospital he works at. Things become a little complicated after that... at least in his personal life.

Reader is a phenomenal doctor and he's rather admiring of her work with kids. She was head of the peds department at her old job but gave it up for some reason that she won't disclose. That's okay, that's no one's business, so long as it doesn't interfere with her work, which it doesn't.

She and Eli see a lot of each other. They pass each other in the halls, give second opinions on cases, and eventually have lunch together. He likes her a little more than he thinks he should. But he can't help it. She's amazing.

It doesn't take long for them to start flirting with each other. Sometimes when they're just standing around, he puts his arm around her and feels up her pudge waist (away from childrens eyes ofc) and makes her giggle. All while keeping the childrens ward as happy and bright as possible.

And then she asks him to cover her patients for a few days while she's away. He doesn't ask questions and lets her be. There's no reason for him to snoop through her business. And then she's back and things are as if it didn't happen to begin with. She seems fine, so he doesn't ask.

Then they end a shift together and he drives her to her apartment. She invites him inside and they hook up, like they didn't see that coming. But it's in the morning that he learns what she's been hiding.

A brick comes through her window early in the morning, waking them up and she screams not knowing what's happened. Eli being Eli takes a protective stance and searches the house in nothing but his boxers. He finds the brick but nothing else and he thinks its just some pranksters or something, but she tells him no.

She admits that she's been going through divorce proceedings and just signed the papers those few days she was away. That was weeks ago but she tells Eli that her ex-husband is a bit obsessive. Even though he's the one who cheated and caused them to divorce. He's mostly upset she left and moved across the country to get away from their old life together. She makes it clear they were separated before she ever started talking to Eli romantically, but he isn't worried about that.

"I'm only worried about your safety," he tells her as they look at the brick and broken glass on the floor of her living room. "I don't have to tell you this, but if that would have hit you, it would have seriously hurt you."

She nods. "I know..."

They call the cops and make a report, but there isn't a lot that they can do now since it's so early and no one is around. She understands and they spend the day talking to cops, cleaning up glass, and covering up the window. They hardly have a relaxing day before they have to go in to work the next.

Despite what happened, Reader acts happy and smiley around her young patients. However, Eli can see she's not okay. And that behavior goes on for weeks as she has trouble sleeping in her apartment. He wants to do something about it, but what can he do?

He ends up staying at her apartment a lot more. They're unofficial but he doesn't care. He wants to be there in case her ex-husband or anyone else tries anything again. They don't. It seems to have been a one time thing, but he doesn't care. She tosses and turns in her sleep every night she's there and it gets to the point that she isn't getting any good sleep whatsoever. Not good for a doctor.

She's downing a double shot expresso one morning, rambling on about how she can't move because of the lease and she wouldn't even know where to go. Eli is with her, listening to her, being her person to lean on, when he suggests that she move in with him. She stops in her tracks and looks at him.

"Really?"

"Yeah, I mean, I pretty much spend every night with you already," he laughs.

She hugs him tight and kisses him, calling him, "My knight in shining doctor's coat."

He gets her out of her lease agreement and she doesn't even ask her apartment manager for her any money back. She just wants to get out of there. He even paid for the window to get fixed and that was enough for the apartment manager. They were on their way out and it was great.

They never really talk about what they are. They are just what they are. If co-workers or parents of patients perceive them as being together, they don't stop them. They don't mind it but they won't talk about it. Both are worried talking about it will ruin it. So neither of them talks about it. It isn't something that they have to talk about... until their chief asks them whether they're going to make it official for the hospital's records. Then they have to confront what they are and whether it's something worth putting a label on.

Spoiler alert: it totally is.

[ty-bayonet-betteridge]

(transfem top x ambiguous gender pov bottom, woundfucking smut, do not read if you are underage. trigger list will be in the first reply.)

the girl you've been talking to online turns out to be local. not too surprising since your city is so major compared to some of the other ones left, but still good news. you had plans to meet up tonight at a bar near her place and are almost ready when she sends you this text:

sorry have 2 cancel bc work running late. i work from home tho so if u want 2 come over i can send the address

you agree and she gives you the address to her apartment. she says the door will be unlocked when you get there so let yourself in. you send her a thumbs up and head over. her apartment building is very poorly designed - the only door into her place is accessible from the third landing of a rusted fire escape. you let yourself in after verifying that you have the right unit number. immediately after opening the door you are struck by the scent of blood and sweat, as well as other smells you can't immediately put names to and the humming of what sounds like a loud fan. she calls out from another room. she says hey. she says shut the door. you do. she says sorry i cant greet you im in the living room and cant move. you say thats ok and head towards her voice. the scent gets worse as you head through the door into her living room.

on top of the dirtiest sofa you've ever seen lies a man you do not know. he appears to be asleep, though with the state he's in it's difficult to tell. he has no legs, and no bandages covering the bloody stumps where they once were. the legs that previously WERE attached are sitting on the ground in a heap, along with his similarly detached arms. his chest cavity is open, and his ribs are unfolded. various tubes lead out of the open cavity. some of them are made of plastic and lead to what appear to be bags of saline, blood, and a strange machine with vents along the top that whirs loudly, the source of the noise you heard before. others are made of flesh, their shape and size similar to how you imagine intestines look, and they connect to several of the man's organs, which are currently stowed on a three-tiered rolling metal cart.

on the middle shelf is a jar of neon blue liquid, inside of which his heart sits, still beating thanks to live electrical wires leading to what appears to be a gutted and repurposed chunky plastic kid's electric piano. his lungs hang off of a hook on the side, inflating and deflating in a shuddering motion that is not at all what you expected breathing to look like. the middle shelf also holds his kidneys, one of which has been disconnected and sits in a pool of blood on the bare shelf. the other is in a jar of what seems to be some sort of clear jelly. the bottom shelf holds a concerning pile of viscera, none of it connected to the man. you pick out his stomach and intestines easily enough, but the offwhite translucent fatty mass that clings to the intestines and the sad grey sac included in the mix are foreign to you. the top shelf holds several organs you don't recognize as well - a yellowish-gray waxy lump in a vaguely phallic shape and a small red orb , both of which are suspended in the same jar of pale yellowish fluid and appear to connect back to the same fleshy duct. they twitch occasionally, but are otherwise motionless. another top shelf organ you identify as the liver. it has no special setup, simply laying flat on the shelf, but is nonetheless connected in several places and seems to be functioning normally, especially as you can see some sort of dirty yellow-brown liquid dripping out of it through a plastic tube and into a large, clear bottle that you're pretty sure was a mayo bottle at some point in its past. finally, two large cooking pots are gently simmering over a large camping stove, connected to the rest of the mess of tubes, ducts, veins, and flesh. one of the pots has a lid on, leaving you unable to see what's inside of it. the other is about half-full of an off-white, slightly meaty substance.

in the center of the mess sits the girl you're here to see. you've exchanged both lewd and non-lewd images before, so you recognize her well enough, though you haven't seen her in these clothes before. if you can call them that. she's wearing simple black panties, a pair of light grey ankle-height socks, a deeply stained apron with a heart and a KISS THE COOK on it (though somebody has taken a maroon fabric marker, crossed out COOK, and written SURGEON below it), a pair of yellow rubber dishwashing gloves, and nothing else. her legs have a thin covering of hair, as if she shaved four or five days ago and it's starting to grow back but she hasn't had the energy to shave it again. her wavy blond hair is unkempt, and she makes no effort to tie it back. this is somewhat concerning, as she currently sits hunched over the dismembered man on the couch, her hands inside of his open body cavity. her hair hangs around her face, the ends of it matted and dirty with blood and other fluids.

the man you thought was either sleeping or dead opens his eyes and turns to look at you, silent, a look of blank curiosity on his face.

she stands and turns to you. she looks like she hasn't slept in five weeks. there are track marks on her left arm. she extends a blood-soaked glove for you to shake. you take it, dazed. she says hey, nice to finally meet you in person. im riley. doctor riley grace davis MDE. you say nice to meet you too. she says sorry that theres not space on the sofa here. when she draws her hand back to gesture you wipe the blood off on your pants as best you can. she says do you want to sit at the kitchen table or go straight to the bedroom? you say um. you say sorry if this is rude but who is that? she says one of my clients. you say clients? she says yeah. you both look at each other for a moment. you say uh, sorry, what is it you do exactly? she says did it never come up? you say no. she says oh. she says sorry im used to people having heard of me, guess i forgot to mention. you say its fine. she says im a plastic surgeon.

you glance at the man with his organs spread out across the cart. you say that looks like a little bit more than plastic surgery. she says im very talented. you say isn't plastic surgery minimally invasive? im very talented, she repeats. come on into the kitchen, she says, turning to lead the way. you say uh, is it okay to leave him like that? she says yeah. you say isnt he going to bleed out? she says trust me, i'm a doctor. as she heads through the door she reaches one gloved hand to tap a frame on the wall. a smudge of blood is left behind on the glass. you look at the frame.

The assembled medical staff, Thinker-class parahumans, and administrative staff of the Parahuman Response Team East-Northeast, in cooperation with the governance of New Brockton on Earth Gimel, confer on RILEY GRACE DAVIS-LAVERE the degree of MEDICAL DOCTORATE EQUIVALENCY for recognition of medical knowledge and talent conferred by a parahuman ability, evaluated and classified as Tinker 8, as well as for the demonstration of excellence in prior practice of medicine and the use of that parahuman ability to complete an assessment of medical knowledge and talent agreed upon by PRT staff.

you follow her into the kitchen. in the time it took you to read her doctorate, she has apparently doffed both the apron and the gloves, which now sit on a pile in the floor. she holds out a bottle to you as you join her at the table. it's a green glass bottle with no label. what is this, you ask. beer she says. she says i made it myself. you take a terrified sip. it tastes amazing.

you are acutely aware of the fact that she is now topless. my eyes are up here she says. you say sorry, but she's grinning lecherously. she says you like'em that much? you say honestly i was stuck on how different you look from your pictures. she says wow, rude. you say i didn't mean it like that. she says how did you mean it? you take a second to collect your thoughts. you say your boobs are at least 50% larger in person. she says puberty is a magical thing. you say puberty? she says yup. you say how old are you? she says don't you know how to talk to a lady? you say absolutely nothing about this visit has led me to believe you're a lady. she laughs. you have no idea how to label the sound of her laugh in your mind. it would almost be a cackle if it didn't degenerate into a giggle. she says you wanna know how old i am? you say yes. she says me too, kid. you say what year were you born? she says 1998. you say okay, so- she raises a finger to stop you from talking. she drains her beer, then slams it down and starts talking very fast.

born in 1998, triggered and stopped aging mentally in 2005, went on puberty blockers in 2010, started aging mentally again in 2011, went off puberty blockers in 2012, undid my puberty and went back ON puberty blockers in 2013, then all of my self-modifications were undone also in 2013, and i dont know what else in my body changed at the same time, went off puberty blockers again in 2014, or 1 GM if you use that calendar, i dont because thats stupid but just in case, aged fairly normally until 2023, then undid my puberty again because i was scared, aged normally until 2029, and from then on my Amy and i have theseus shipped me about twenty times over because staying the same is boring. so yeah. the paperwork says i'm 38, let's go with that.

you dont know how to respond to that. to any of that. she gets up and says sorry, ill be back in a second. she leaves the room. you take another sip of the beer. you don't like beer. how the fuck does this taste so good? you glance around the kitchen a bit, not getting up. it's clean in the sort of way that indicates it doesn't see much use. the only thing that has clearly been used frequently is the microwave, which you can tell from here has probably never been cleaned since she bought it. at least the lack of mess means there's probably no mouse, rat, or ant problem. in here, at least. you vaguely wonder if the bloody, dying man in the other room would attract vermin.

she returns, shrugging on a filthy grey hooded sweatshirt and carrying a small case. she says sorry, room gets cold as balls sometimes. dont usually notice it while im working. she grabs another beer out of the fridge, then sits down and pulls a rolled cigarette out of the case. she pulls an old zippo out of the sweatshirt's front pocket, lights it, and starts puffing. it doesn't smell like nicotine or marijuana. want one, she asks. you say what are they. she says salvia mostly. she says bit of kratom to mellow it, but mostly salvia. are those safe to use together you ask. especially while drinking. she pauses. she says fuck, iunno. id hardly notice at this point if i started to OD. pretty sure im good enough to fix it if i do. fix it you ask. she says yeah. how you ask. she says im a doctor. damn good one too, she says. you say arent you a plastic surgeon. she says im a lot of things.

she says sure you don't want it? you seem tense. you say uh, ive never really been high before, don't want to start with untested interactions, no offense. she says none taken. she says youre drinking, though, that counts. you say im drinking but ive never really been drunk. she says wanna fix that? you say im good. she says good. she says being drunk sucks. she says worst depressant there is, just use tranquilizers if you want to start acting like an idiot and forget it all the next day. you say i didn't know you were so into this, um, scene, i guess? she squints at you. she says are you a cop? you say no. she says cause you're being awkward and simultaneously pretending you know and don't know what you're talking about and that's what a cop does. you say i'm not a cop. she says none of this is illegal. she says all this shit falls under the realm of reasonable materials for her research. you say i SWEAR im not a cop. she says and jeff in the living room there signed the consent forms and waivers before i started doing that shit to him. you say if i were a cop i would be given better training on handling this situation than just repeatedly saying im not a cop.

she says if youre not a cop why are you so fucking tense? she says calm the fuck down. you say um. she says you were so casual over text, thought we had good chemistry. you say we did. she says so whats got you like this? is it cause ive got a client? you start to answer her but she keeps talking. she says sorry about that, really. she says it was supposed to be a simple body swap job, organs out, couple changes, organs in, but dude keeps asking for more and more weird shit until somehow the plan has changed to him floating inside of a translucent biological skin suspended in a mix of lympatic fluid and vitreous jelly. you say what?? she says and i got no problem with that, but it means im gonna need a fuckton more meat than i thought i did when i started, and its gotta match him or his antibodies are gonna fuck him UP, so now im working his stem cells and bone marrow overtime to cook me up all the shit i need, meanwhile hes on life support and all this equipment is so esoteric i gotta babysit it the whole time, so i can't get away like we planned. again sorry about that she says.

you say its fine, i just didnt know what your job was. you say caught me off guard coming in and seeing a guy opened up like that. for a second started wondering if i was next. you laugh awkwardly. she does not laugh. she smokes a little more without saying anything. the silence goes on an uncomfortably long time.

she says do you want to be?

you say what? she says dates get discounts on ops, especially if its something hot or something simple. im really fucking talented too she says. she says you saw the state jeffs in and hes still alive and well. so cmon, anything you want? you say um. she says cmon, dont get shy now, tell me! you weren't scared to talk about kinks online. you say well there is one thing, not a body mod exactly but something that wouldn't be possible to do under normal circumstances. she says out with it, grinning wolfishly. you say im, uh, kind of into woundfucking.

she takes another gulp of her beer. she says god, who the fuck isn't? she says i'll never understand why that isnt a more common thing. seeing somebody as so much of an object that youd put a new hole into them just for your own fun. or alternatively, loving someone so much that you need to feel what it's like inside every part of them, need to connect with their muscle and blood just as much as you do the rest of them. fuck, it's delicious, she says, her grin stretching unnaturally wide, like a Glasgow smile that opened to reveal more teeth and gums. you have never felt more afraid. you have never felt more turned on.

you top or bottom, she asks. bottom you answer. good, she says, cause i've been wondering what you would look like screaming this whole time. your eyes widen. she downs the rest of her beer and stands up, grabbing your arm and yanking you up as she does so. she says cmon. you follow her, if only because when she pulls at you you briefly feel she may have the strength to tear your arm from its socket.

you pass through the living room. she shouts out yo, jeff. the unseamed man opens his eyes and looks at you. you cant read his expression. she says im gonna be busy in the next room for a couple hours. if you start dying, she says, slam your head into this. she grabs what looks like a game show buzzer off of a bookshelf covered in junk and sets it on the couch next to his head. she says should be loud enough for me to hear from the bedroom and come get you stabilized. blink twice if you got that. he blinks twice. she says cool, later. she pulls you through another nearby door and slams it closed behind her.

her bedroom is a confusing mix of the junk and grime you saw in the other room with a shockingly pristine bed. her clothes are strewn about the floor and the walk-in closet, with no organizational system you can discern, not even between clean and dirty. in fact, you wouldn't have called any of these clothes clean. she opens the cabinet under the bedside table, pulls out a huge roll of plastic sheeting, and covers the bed. ah. that explains it.

is this a dexter reference, or... you say, trailing off. she laughs again. what the fuck is that laugh? she says my amy got frustrated having to clean the sheets literally all the time so now i just do this instead. you say er, whos amy. she looks at you like youve lost your mind, a hypothesis you cannot disprove as you think on the situation. my wife, she says. wife you ask? she says fuck, did i not mention this either? shit, fuck, goddamnit. she says ive been married for three years. you say uhhhhhhhh. she says oh dont worry she knows! shes cool the relationships open. uh, unless YOURE not comfortable with me being poly, i guess. fuck i couldve sworn i mentioned this, she says. its not a problem you say. she says you wanna keep going? you say yeah. she says good.

she heads into the walk-in closet, grabbing a three-tiered cart from under a shelf and starting to wheel it to the bed. allergies, she asks? oxybenzone, you say. she says well im not planning to inject any fucking sunscreen into you, so i dont think thats relevant. you say look i dont know how any of this works, better safe than sorry. she says dont worry, you're always safe with me. AND im going to make you sorry, she says. she giggles before she stomps on a toggle on the cart that locks the wheels. you get a look at this cart and see that it has a collection of medical and not-so-medical implements, with the middle shelf appearing to contain various bottles, jars, and tubs of what you hope are medicines while the top shelf holds needles, sutures, scalpels, saws, scissors, and almost any kind of tool you can think of that holds a blade, from bread knives to x-actos. the bottom shelf has a large circular saw and a rusted chainsaw.

traffic light system for safety checks, she asks? you say yeah. cool she says. she pushes you onto the bed, the plastic crinkling as your head hits the pillow and you fall on your back. she sits on top of you, straddling your lap, holding your hands over your head by the wrist with one hand. she's freakishly strong, far moreso than her spindly limbs should allow. she takes the cigarette out of her mouth. you swallow. your eyes flick to it. you say sorry, can you, um... she grabs your neck, interrupting your speech and yanking your head forward. she leans down, spits on your cheek, and shoves the lit end of the cigarette against the same spot. the saliva buffers it slightly, but the burning feeling is still intense, a pain that rides through several seconds as she presses the cigarette into flesh. you hear yourself whining at the pain.

she flicks the now-extinguished cigarette aside and kisses you. it tastes like blood and morning breath and ash. she picks up one of the scalpels. in stark contrast to the rest of her home, each and every one of the tools is in sparkling pristine condition. she toys with the scalpel as she looks you up and down. you have any experience with being cut into, she asks? you say huh?, taking some time to process. oh, you say. um not really you say. never done cutting during play before and my only surgeries have been dental when i was a lot younger. she says no problem. she says im only gonna dull your pain a little, but let me know if i need to adjust sensation up or down. you nod breathlessly. she angles the scalpel and cuts through the front of your shirt, a swift motion that leaves the tip of the blade an inch or two from your neck. you recoil on instinct and she giggles again, pulling the knife back and moving the fabric of your shirt aside. she takes one of the smaller jars from the cart and dips two fingers in it, the scalpel dancing in her fingers as she does so, like a bored baton twirler doing pen tricks. the paste is bright pink, and she rubs it into the flesh of your upper stomach. you feel your nerves start to tingle slightly as she finishes.

she fills a syringe with something pastel red. placing her hand against the numbed area of your stomach, she spread her fingers, guiding the needle between two of them to hold it steady. you watch the point of the needle break skin, feel it sinking through your flesh. she depresses the plunger slowly. you exhale as she removes the needle. gooood toy, she says softly. your breath hitches at the praise and she smirks. she presses the scalpel to your skin, but doesn't start to cut. color, she asks? you say green. she smiles. she says making the incision.

the feeling of blade breaking skin isn't the sort of jarring penetration you thought it would be. the transition between the scratching pain of the scalpel against your skin to the actual slicing sensation is gradual, and you're not certain you could have pinpointed the moment if you weren't watching. you find yourself gritting your teeth, your jaw clenching involuntarily as your body tries not to vocalize the pain. it isn't intense, but it's persistent and deliberate in a way that doesn't match what you think pain should feel like.

riley is more energetic than youve seen her this whole time. she starts to hum happily to herself, cutting through your skin and flesh. the incision is vertical, two inches long and ending about an inch and a half above your belly button. she retrieves a pair of those metal clamps surgeons use to hold the incision open during surgery. you don't know what those are called. maybe you should ask her. you think that would kill the mood. you'll ask her after. she inserts them into the incision, adjusting the tension so that they spread it open about an inch. she notices you looking. she says you don't need to watch if it makes you squeamish, pet. you swallow hard. you say i want to watch. she giggles.

you lose track of time, watching her work. she wields the tools with a grace, precision, and speed you didn't think was possible. the blood wells out as she does so, flecks of it flying when she moves too frenetically, adding to the stains on her hoodie. it covers the ends of her fingers, drops trailing down to paint their streaks further down her hands and arms, like candle wax melting. your blood. her hands. you feel slightly faint, and you don't know if it's from arousal or bloodloss. the pain is constant, but still sharp enough not to ache. you breath shallowly, occasionally whimpering or letting your breath hitch as the scalpel catches flesh. for the most part, neither of you speak, though from time to time she gives soft praise, her voice warm and comforting as she assures you of how sweet and well-behaved you're being.

she isn't just making a hole. you don't know exactly what she's doing, but it's not just cutting. the needle and thread flash in her hands from time to time, and you can feel the muscle and fat in your torso being stretched and pulled, split and joined in new ways. your angle of view prevents you from seeing the operating area, to your dismay, and at times you almost speak up and ask if you could reposition so you could watch better - but you know you can't. it's not your place to ask anything of her. she's the one in charge.

still, you wish you could see. she described herself as a plastic surgeon earlier, but her movements don't match that description. it is not the slow, precise, micro-motion of a surgeon; her body language is free and expressive, passionate in a way that reveals her true nature. she is an artist, her chosen medium skin and meat, the tools of her craft surgical by their raw nature but not in the way she wields them. the blood-covered flesh, the sinew and fat held beneath your skin and even the skin itself are only the raw material with which she crafts her magnum opus. a sculptor of a living body, like a leatherworker or carver of bone taken to the logical conclusion.

she pulls off her sweatshirt, a sheen of perspiration covering her skin. your eyes are glued to her bare form. she notices you staring and flashes a predatory grin. aw, someone likes watching, huh? she says. you nod dumbly, and she chuckles. stupid little pile of meat, she says, affection in her voice. you think you might be in love. you cannot tear your eyes from her, though she evidently does not mind the attention as she returns to her work.

your gaze is not lustful, though doubtlessly lust is the predominant feeling in you. your focus is drawn to her through fascination and adoration, not arousal. you study her curves, the hair of her stomach, the dullling red stretch marks that frame her chest and gut and streak across her thighs, because this is the body of the woman who is recreating you. is this not the same as knowing the form of the god who shaped you in his image?

no, it is something different from that. this is not the god who made adam in his image but the god who knew man would need a companion, and shaped one from a rib torn from the body of his creation. a divinity that does not create from whole cloth but rends meat and bone until its craft is complete. a godly vulture, a being that tears its hooks into the carcass of the universe and pulls free a dried, gristly tendon, granting importance to that which exists but lied bound beneath the surface of the skin, out of sight, out of mind, waiting to ooze its way free from this veil of vellum. the perfected form of imperfection. the blood is drying in her filthy, matted hair. she takes a pill bottle from the cart, pours out a handful, and swallows them without water before returning to the frenzied stitching of your adipose tissues.

what must be hours later, she sits up and wipes the sweat from her brow, smearing your blood across it at the same time. she wipes more of the blood onto her thighs, apparently to clean her hands, though they are still caked with grime and gore. think its done, she says. she says anesthetic should be wearing off too. she sets the scalpel down and leans over you. she's right; you feel the sensation returning to the area she's operated on in full force. she lays on her side next to you, head propped up on her hand, her other arm draped across your body, cheshire smile on her face. you feel her fingertips lazily trace the edges of the gash before she slides one in.

how do you describe the sensation? what does it really feel like for something to work its way between the folds of your muscle, for subcutaneous fat and flesh to be pressed aside, molded, to make way for the penetrating presence of another? the pain is omnipresent, but not overwhelming as you expected it would be. the flesh holds sensation deeper than you thought it would as well - several inches beneath your skin, you can feel her fingers hook inside of you. you can't tell how much of the pleasure is physical and how much is psychological, but it is there, and it is overwhelming. you tense in response to it, moaning, and the tension causes your muscles to clench, sliding against her fingers, bringing sensation to new parts of your abdomen. the feedback loop overwhelms you, and you feel a disappointed whine escape you as her finger leaves the hole.

she giggles. so needy, she says. she says guess i did make you pretty sensitive, huh? you whimper in response. she says don't worry, i won't leave you empty too long. she moves, sitting on your lap, pulling the panties off as she does so. her dick flops out over your stomach. it is roughly human in shape, and on the larger end of normal human size, but its appearance throws you for a loop. it is stitched together, frankensteinian in construction, without even a consistent skin color. she notices you looking. you like it she asks? she says sort of had to bodge it together pretty quick, don't put nearly as much effort into my own body as i do others. she says amy could do better. you are far too horny to consider the implications of any of that. you whine, straining upwards to press the wound towards the tip of her cock. she laughs. good toy, she says.

she sighs deeply as she forces herself inside of you. ffffffffffuck, that's good, she says. your core muscles shift around her, flexing to squeeze her cock as she sinks it in, hilting inside of the hole. you moan, your hands coming up reflexively to cover your face in some act of shame or modesty which is at this point thoroughly meaningless. she pulls back out slowly, her cock glistening with your blood, before slamming back into you, new parts of your abdomen being forced aside to accommodate her. you think she is pressing against organs now. you desperately want her deeper.

she pulls your hands away from your face with one hand, and with the other shoves the finger that she had previously used to explore the laceration into your mouth. you suckle at it thoughtlessly as she rolls her hips, the tip of her dick forcing itself into your abdominal cavity. the taste of blood and sweat and dirt linger on your tongue. she starts thrusting hard, the repeated slamming of her cockhead against the parts of you that were never meant to be touched the only thing you can think about. it hurts. oh god, it hurts, and it feels so much better than anything you've ever felt. damn that's a good hole, she says. you don't say anything. she takes the finger out of your mouth. color, she asks? it takes you a second to connect the thought. green, you say. she says thank god. can i come in you she asks. you nod stupidly, your mouth still open from her finger being pulled out. she giggles.

she grabs your chin, tilts your head up, and presses her lips against you. she tastes like morning breath and your blood. it's delicious. you wrap your arms around her as she forces herself in and out of the gaping, bleeding wound in your stomach. she's so close to you, her whole body pressed against you as that massive, unnatural cock digs into your blood and muscle and guts. she doesn't smell like she knows what a shower is. she is practically laying on top of you. you can't think. your wrap your legs around her too.

she groans in your ear as she slams herself balls deep into the gash again. your insides are flooded with her cum. your own orgasm forces your core muscles to clench, tightening and sliding around her length, unintentionally milking her cock into you. she pulls out, laying the dick slick with blood, sweat, and cum across your stomach, as she pants. she rolls off of you, laying in bed beside you. unthinking, you turn onto your side and press your body against her. she wraps her arms around you and kisses you again.

you hear the sound of thrashing from the other room, followed by a cartoon buzzer sound effect, and then what sounds like the seinfeld jingle starts to play. she jumps to her feet. god fucking damnit, jeff, she says. she says i'll be right back as she crosses the room at a run, slamming the door behind her. the wound in your stomach is still bleeding. you have no idea how to process anything that just happened.

[runa-falls]

Sharing is caring" was great. I'm sorry to hear that there won't be a new episode, but it's your choice. So can you load the drabbles?

i think i deleted it??? i'll just paste it here!

the cookies

a sharing is caring one-shot

pairing: stepdad!ari levinson x reader (mentioned neighbor!steve rogers x reader)

rated: angst

---

ari's been watching you skip over to the neighbor's house all week, baked goods always in hand to convince your mother of your innocent intentions. and of course, ever the working woman, she never truly gets to see you when you return.

but he does.

the most recent trend is the hickies painted over the length of your neck, teasingly dipping below the collar of your shirt. how far down they go is left to his imagination as you walk in all shy smiles and wrinkled skirts.

it isn't until your third excursion that he notices how the tupperware of cookies always returns with you--completely untouched. and every day, he watches you openly carry the full container under your arm as you climb up the stairs, never once acknowledging his presence. 

you were playing a game, and luckily for him, you never disclosed any rules. 

he hastily sneaks into your room when he hears you in the shower, eyes immediately locking on the object of interest. the box taunts him from the top of your wardrobe. he can tell you intentionally placed it there, ready to go when you decide to see him again. 

he silently walks up to baked goods, a mantra running through his mind: no cookies? no rogers. cookieless? steveless. no bread? no bed. 

ari grabs the box from its place before he can talk himself out of it. it’s pathetic how pleased he is with himself, childishly gripping the plastic container to his chest as he walks to his room. he lets out a breath as he sits down on his bed, steadily placing the box on his lap. you’d surely notice its absence as soon as you return, so he has to do this fast. 

he rips open the top, ready to throw the treats in the trash before you can stop him, but before he could do anything, his movements stutter as he notices what's inside. 

the cookies are...fake. they are plastic, inedible, disks, fit for a child’s make-believe bakery. ari shakes around the pile of plastic disks in disbelief, getting a good look at how many phony treats you’ve collected. he notices a cookie that doesn’t look like the rest. its smooth rubber surface keeps it in place at the bottom of the tub.

he can’t help the amused smile that quirks at the corners of his mouth as he picks up the thick cookie. it’s heavier than it looks and thicker than the rest of the pile. he looks closer, noticing that a few of the melted chocolate chips serve as buttons, lined up perfectly for petite hands to handle. an experimental click of the leftmost chip causes the disk to buzz against the palm of his hand, immediately confirming his suspicions.

so the dozen other cookies are simply there to hide the real treat: a cookie vibrator. wow. he never knew how methodical you could be. 

he’s almost proud of you for pulling off a stunt like this. almost. but the pile of cookies taunts him from the box, reminding him of their purpose. they're just another way for you to avoid him, to send you further away from him, to give yourself to a new man.

ari carelessly pours the contents into his bedside drawer, satisfied by the sounds of the plastic hitting wood. if he can make it harder for you to see him, or keep you from doing one more thing with him, he’ll do it. this is the first step to getting you back: eliminating the competition.

he picks up the ‘special’ cookie with a sneer, thinking of all the times he stood by as you took hours to graciously deliver "cookies" to the neighbor, completely oblivious to what fills your little cookie jar.

“Ari!” the door flings open, revealing your figure, dressed in a robe, still dripping from the shower. your face is flushed, either from the steamy bathroom or the clear irritation in your voice. your presence ceases his actions as he’s caught red-handed. your eyes skip over him, going straight to the open drawer full of plastic treats. “what the fuck! you can’t just take my stuff from my room!” 

“I was, uh,” he quickly slips the cookie in his pants before you can see it, “hungry?” you just huff out an annoyed sigh before snatching your trusty tupperware container out of his grip. you don’t have time for this. as you start taking handfuls of cookies from the drawer, you silently remind yourself to text steve, knowing you’ll be late for your usual 4:00 meeting time. 

you hear ari clear his throat, demanding your attention, something he used to do when you were together. you cringe at the reminder of how you used to be at his beck and call. you pretend like you don’t notice, reaching to the back of the nightstand and finding a few outliers hiding in the shadows. 

but he wouldn’t stop, stubbornly waiting for you to react to him. finally, you turn around to look at ari when he clears his throat a third time, mentally preparing yourself for the conversation that follows. your arms fold against your chest as you face him.

he’s sitting at the edge of his bed, arms propped up behind him as he shamelessly takes in your bruised neck, water droplets guiding his burning gaze to the new additions that decorate the tops of tits. you pull at your robe to cover yourself up better, uncomfortable by his pissed-off expression.

“do you ask him to do that?” he nods at your neck, as if he could be referring to anything else, “so you can flaunt it in front of me?” 

“oh my god.” you breathe out, shaking your head in disbelief. he truly thinks that he’s the victim here. 

“why are you doing this, honey? to get back at me? to make me jealous?” 

you pointedly refuse to answer him, turning back to aggressively fill the container, entirely focused on packing up quickly so you can get away from him as soon as possible. you discreetly shuffle around the magazines and watches that remain in the drawer in search of the object that's currently shoved in his pants.

"wait, where-" your wrist is halted from searching any further, warm fingers wrapped firmly around you. 

“hey. don’t ignore me.” you give him a cold glare as you pull your arm from his grip. he lets go, simply satisfied to just have your attention. “baby, why are you doing this?” 

“i don’t know, ari.” you roll your eyes, trying to act as unbothered as possible. “steve treats me like a princess.” his nose scrunches up at the man’s name. “and he fucks me like one too.” you add, feeling bolder when you see his face drop. 

“you don’t have to do this, sweetheart.” he sighs, almost sounding like he’s disappointed in you. that tips you off the edge.

“then why the fuck did you?” you spit back. his head snaps up at your sudden aggression. “to get back at me for not fucking you that one time? to make me jealous?” you curse at yourself as your voice cracks, dropping your mask of anger as hot tears spill from your eyes. “or did you just want to see me cry? hm?” 

his lips part, wincing at your heart clenching sobs, craving pull you into his arms and comfort you, tell you that he loves you and can’t bear to be without you. but he stays in place, knowing that would only make things worse. he doesn’t know what to say. 

“fucking say something!” you throw the uncovered container at his chest, ignoring the way the cookies scatter across the bed and fall to the floor. he can only whisper out your name, knowing there are no excuses for what he did to you. what he’s doing to you. he sees your chest stutter out a few shaky breaths in response. you use your sleeve to wipe trails of tears off your cheeks before backing away from him.

“please, just–leave me the fuck alone.” he helplessly watches you walk out of the room, carelessly leaving your cookies behind

[draconicace]

i'm never going to write this as a fic so i'm releasing it to the wild. behold: the au where harry has a forgotten roommate named edward who is very super normal and boring. kim pov

imagine: you are a police detective getting back from a week-long murder case. a lot's happened: you got concussed, a war might break out soon, you're transferring precincts, and you've got a new partner. said partner is quaking in the boots he picked up during said murder investigation. he is terrified of the piece of his past you two are about to face. you are outside his apartment, decked out with enough cleaning supplies to fix up a particularly gruesome crime scene. if the apartment is anything like the hostel room your partner trashed, you are going to need every single one of them. your new partner's old partner refused to just give him the spare key, so you're picking the lock. you hear a click. you stand, pat your partner on the back once, and open the door.

it is completely normal inside. there are half-filled papers strewn about, haphazardly stacked dirty dishes in the sink, and a mysterious plastic container you cannot see the inside of in the fridge. but, otherwise, it's livable. you and your partner stand in the middle of it all, puzzling through this newly-forming investigation.

and then, suddenly—the front door opens. a man enters. he is middle-aged, like you, with a short-cropped hairstyle and a soft-looking blue cardigan.

for a moment, you think you have broken into a random person's apartment.

the man looks between you two and says, "oh, harry! you're back. how was martinaise?"

this man is harry's forgotten roommate, edward. he is nicknamed eddie, or, if you like: numbers-man. there is no story behind this nickname. he and harry have lived together for over a year, and he is skin-crawlingly bland. you hate him for no reason. it becomes a solo stereo-investigation: figure out something capital W weird about this guy. because there's no way harry could live with someone so... normal.

you find out he works as an archivist at the local museum of suzerainty history. he and harry bond over art critique. he likes sudoku. he says harry is a quirky, delightful roommate.

at a certain point, you're pretty sure the pale got you and you're seeing some strange alternate present that never happened. you only experience this feeling around edward.

eventually, you get swept up into actual cases and a plan for le retour. harry's so-normal-it's-weird roommate is but a blip on your radar.

harry's lease ends. you and he move in together, closer to the precinct. harry tells you edward has decided to live with family. he also tells you that, during a previous attempt to get sober, he remembered he'd gone looking for a stable roommate. someone who had their life together. for a good influence. so you can stop trying to find dirt on him, kim, come on, he's nice.

so edward's whole mystery is solved, you're living with your partner (both cop-partner and partner-partner), le retour is really gearing up, there's people in the streets. you don't really have time to think about harry's former roommate when revachol's freedom is on the line.

and then. and fucking then. just as the revolution is nearing its end—a clear victory on the horizon—you spot him: edward. he is fleeing towards an aerostatic, confidential papers stuffed under his arm. having spent years as harry's partner, you've gotten very, very fast at running. you chase him, you tackle him, you wrest the papers spelling a potential future doom away from him.

an hour later, you have solved your long-term stereo-investigation: edward was a moralintern spy the entire time. he'd become harry's roommate to gain rcm secrets. once harry had come back from martinaise, however, he'd stopped being an easy mark to get information from. no more important papers left on the floor to be stolen and blamed on drunken forgetfulness.

you are lauded as a hero of revachol for preventing edward's escape. after celebrations and a promise of much work to still be done, you and your partner go back to your shared apartment. there are half-filled papers strewn about, haphazardly stacked dirty dishes in the sink, and a mysterious plastic container you cannot see the inside of in the fridge. you are home.

[baeklination]

Balcoyny

Date: 230814

Warnings: SMUT 🔞, it's a short one so I don't have to give it away (nothing worth red siren)

Pairing: Baekhyun x F. Reader

WC: 682

NOTE: I've been having some difficulties writing. Not block per se, just that it doesn't go as smoothly as it usually does and I nod of while writing after work, so I decided to take a day to write freely (and it kinda worked). As I was doing this I realised I hadn't done a summer one yet, which I always do (not as a plan, just...) I'm happy I managed, 'cus you guys deserve at least something.

And no, the title doesn't have a type-o.

Masterlist

¤¤

Turning the magazine to its front you smile, but this cozy morning with Baekhyun is too sweet, so you keep it in its plastic, opting for a later read. Aow. Stepping on the threshold of the balcony is uncomfortable, so why do you do it?

"Do you believe in the Loch Ness monster..?"

"All of a sudden?"

The sun isn't hitting the balcony directly but he still squints when he looks your way. Holding up this month's National Geographic you show him the reason for your sudden interest. 

"Haha. I haven't thought about it. Do you? You do, I know you do."

"No. I don't, but-"

"Buuut?'

"No. I don't. But I guess I'd like it - them - to be real. It would be like almost seeing a dinosaur, a Brachiosaurus. The ones with the long neck, you know."

Dropping the magazine on the table you see Baekhyun smiling and know exactly why, so you put your hand up.

"Don't say it."

"Wh-what..?"

"I know you were gonna say something about how you've got a long yada, yada, Baekhyun."

He bursts out laughing. He can be a total dweeb sometimes, which is an incredibly endearing contrast to his serious and cool side and makes your heart flutter with light.

"Okay. But if you're curious we can go inside and I'll show you…"

"Why go inside?", you challenge him. "Show me right here."

You said it as a joke, but actually, why go inside..? Baekhyun's eyes zigzag before settling on your face. Lowering his voice he speaks cautiously - warning against, but also…

"The neighbours… Mrs. Janczak is out on her balcony…"

When you sit down on the rug he turns his body to face yours, but keeps a nervous hand on the hem of his shorts.

"Unless she has x-ray vision she's hardly gonna see from down there."

Surveying the building across the yard for a few seconds, he gathers the coast is clear, stretches out the waistband and raises up his cock. 

Even now, he's got such an adorable expression of nerves mixed in with his arousal and when you push your mouth down the head he moans in the most shaky of voices. He isn't fully hard yet, so he grows and stiffens with each nod of your head. Emitting a sound too loud for his comfort makes him look around again, fearing he's been caught. 

"Baekhyun, relax…", you whisper, slowly pumping him. "...or do you want me to stop..?"

Taking a deep breath he shakes his head no (like you knew he would), so you continue sucking, letting him to the back of your throat. 

"Ah…."

 Closing your hand and lips tighter you focus on making him climax, wanting to feel his cum spurt into your mouth. 

"A-hh, f……. Wait. Here, move", he all of a sudden whispers in a hurry, sliding down from the chair to the rug, pushing his clothes down and when you start bending he stops you. Cupping his hand by your ear, voice dripping, he explains: "Sit on me."

He's not finished the sentence before pulling at your shorts and even only taking them off the one leg you feel like maybe someone is seeing, kind of nervous like he was. 

Having fallen into the moment, he sees only you; kissing with so much juice while you let yourself adjust to his size, but when your faster tempo won't allow for it you simply press your cheek to his, feeling his hands grab your t-shirt.

The summer makes even this short time warm quickly, makes the heat build up around your body as you smack down on his shaft. 

"H-hh…..h-hh……don't stop, I'm coming………ahh…..ah, shh" 

Filling his hands with your thighs, he drops his head to the chair and whines, pressing you down as he lets go of his semen while his smile twitches from the stimulation.

Sparing a few moments to calm down brings him back, rolling his head to the side to look at the building across.

"No one's out, right?", he asks breathing hard.

"No. No one…"

"Agh…mh…..let's go in."

●

[dawnagustd]

the kneady baker || ksj

The queen has made her list and checked it twice. She’s visiting those who have been naughty, and punishing them in ways that are oh so nice.

- Part of the Unholy Night Series.     

➻ title: the kneady baker  ➻ pairing: baker!seokjin x f!reader  ➻ genre: fantasy | holiday | magic | smut  ➻ word count: 1.7k  ➻ rating: 18+    ➻ warnings: dry humping | 69′ing | oral sex | food play | consensual knife play | kitchen sex | more beautiful, glorious cock | cum play/eating | tongue fucking | self erotic asphyxiation | breast/nipple play | deep throating | spit play(for lube) | pet names | ass eating | face riding | overstimulation | multiple orgasms | clothed sex | mentions money for sexual favors briefly | finger sucking | dirty talk     ➻ author’s note: Here we are!! Another fav of mine. Thanks again @taechwitaaah for helping me clean these up. I hope everyone enjoys this installment. Love you !!

Seokjin isn’t just a handsome man; his baking skills are top tier. 

Anything from freshly baked cookies to custom wedding cakes, he can easily whip it up. But he’s a very greedy man, and he never gives as much as he receives.

This guy loves to host one-on-one sessions for wealthy single ladies, looking to learn a few tips and tricks on Thursdays. However, instead of learning to fill pastries. They’re the ones who are getting stuffed with the baker’s big fat cock.

Those lonely women looking for a bit of fun, pay a hefty price for Seokjin’s entertainment, but it is never enough. He always wants more, and he gets it. How could they say no to a handsome face like his?

He knows of his gift, and he uses it well. Tonight, he’s in for it, though. Being hot will get him nowhere. You may have abandoned the toymaker for a sweet treat, but… You might as well see if the baker’s dick is worth the hype while you’re here.

“I need to know what you taste like.” 

Before you could even properly introduce yourself, Seokjin was all over you. It was only a matter of time before he wanted more.

He carelessly slides everything off of his workstation, making room for you to sit on top of his counter. You wrap your legs around his waist after he hoists you up. A squeak of surprise slips past your lips when he suddenly rips your top, throwing it and discarding it somewhere across the kitchen.

His mouth reunites with your flesh, and he begins claiming territory that doesn’t belong to him. Your fingers find refuge in his hair. You tug gently and elicit soft growls from his throat. The sound sends vibrations to your pussy. Your body tingles with want, but you won’t give in easily.

You arch your back to grant him more access when his lips brush against your left nipple, but he withdraws and leaves you confused. However, not for long. You should have known that he’s a man with many tricks—or treats, up his sleeve.

Seokjin opens the tiny refrigerator to his right and pulls out a small clear bowl with white cream inside. Your curious eyes follow his movements as he sets it next to you and removes the plastic wrap from over its rim.

“Everything’s better with whipped cream,” he insists. 

The baker then dips his finger in the bowl and collects some of the cream, bringing it to your lips carefully. 

“Try some,” he whispers.

You grab his wrist before bringing his hand closer. You notice how Seokjin’s brows raise when your lips wrap around his finger. Your eyelids flutter shut when the fluffy sweetness hits your taste buds. A delightful moan erupts from your throat as you swirl your tongue around his digit. Seokjin can barely contain himself as watches you.

“You’re so fucking sexy.”

His voice oozes with lust. When you open your eyes and find him staring at you with the utmost admiration, you know he’s whipped and won’t be able to resist your charm.

“So are you,” you respond. 

Your compliment makes him smile, but he remains focused. Seokjin grabs a palette knife lying nearby and dips it into the whipped cream. He brings it up to your chest but pauses and waits for your approval.

“You’re okay with this?... It isn’t sharp.”

His manners impress you. 

“A gentleman… I like that,” you applaud. You smirk looking at the icing-covered blade, and then your eyes move back to the baker. “Go for it.”

You lean back and rest your weight on your palms, poking out your chest and allowing Seokjin to decorate you like you’re one of his freshly baked goodies.

Once he’s done, he steps back to admire his creation. His orbs twinkle and his mouth salivate at the sight of your cream-dressed mounds. You lift your finger and beckon for him to come closer.

“Am I going to have to clean myself up?” you ask.

Seokjin shakes his head.

“Of course not, beautiful.”

Seokjin dives in and cleanses your body with his tongue, licking up everything in his path. He wraps his arms around you and pulls you closer to his body. Your centers meet and the friction of his jeans easily penetrates through your thin lace panties.

“You’re fucking delicious, baby. Once I’m done here, I’ll lick your sweet pussy clean too,” he promises.

“Fuck.”

He takes your nipple between his teeth, and you beg him for more. You grab onto his broad shoulders as you desperately try to find relief in his denim-clad crotch. Seokjin grinds against you, palms grabbing handfuls of your ass to guide your body with his. However, it’s only moments before you both are craving more. 

“Let’s swap,” you suggest. “Get up here and lie on your back.”

He does it with no hesitation.

Seokjin lies on the counter, and you straddle him, facing the direction of his feet. His eyes can see nothing but dripping wet pussy, and he’s very eager to feast.

“Well, start cleaning handsome.” 

You sit on his face, and Seokjin doesn’t waste any time.

He devours you like his favorite dessert. His arms hook beneath your thighs and he smothers himself with your cunt. You gasp at the feeling of his tongue entering your pussy.

Fuck.

Those lips feel as good as they look. 

You’d love to sit here carefree until you squirt all over his face, but you have work to do. You unzip his pants and remove his cock from his boxers. You’ll give him credit; this is the prettiest one you’ve ever seen. And it feels so heavy in your hand. You can’t wait to choke on it.

Licking the tip a few times, you let your saliva drip all over it. Seokjin’s entire body goes stiff when you start to slowly take him into your mouth. The warmth envelopes his dick and his reflexes make him want to thrust into your throat. To your disappointment, he stops himself.

You come up for air, so you can speak.

“It’s okay. I like it,” you assure.

With your approval, he begins fucking your throat as soon as he’s buried inside your mouth again. Your head begins to spin as he satisfies both two holes at once. You can see why those women don’t care if they’re getting robbed. The man is talented, without a doubt.

It only takes a few minutes for Seokjin to have you a trembling mess above him, alternating between suckling your clit and shoving his tongue in your opening. You nearly lose the battle, but you conquer the moment Seokjin feels you swallow around his cock. He grips the table for support, but he’s unable to fight off the sensitivity. He twitches in your mouth, letting you know he won’t last much longer.

You hold down his thighs so he can’t squirm and deepthroat his cock without warning. Seokjin moans loudly into your center, wanting to call out your name, but he’s unable to stop tasting your nectar. The sloppiest of the act doesn’t faze you. You allow your spit and his arousal to seep onto the counter. You're not the one who has to clean it up.

“Come for me, baby,” he begs. 

His tongue travels up your slit and pauses at your back entrance. Your eyes widen with shock. Even the queen could not have expected something so filthy coming from this beautiful man.

He chuckles and teases you for your reaction. “Don’t get shy now.”

Seokjin’s tongue circles your rim. Your brain works overtime to catch up with the moment. 

Time seems to stop when your orgasm unexpectedly comes barging in. Your body goes into autopilot. 

The moaning around his cock has the baker releasing loads of his cum in your mouth. You gag as it begins to fill your throat. You swallow as much as you can but use the rest as a lubricant to keep going, milking him until he’s crying from sensitivity.

“Baby, you have to—oh fuck!”

The poor guy probably didn’t even realize he was capable of coming again until another wave of pleasure went through him. He turns jelly beneath you, unable to move his body or conjure any thoughts. You grin looking at his spent figure lying there once you’ve hopped off of the counter.

“You okay, handsome?” you ask him, your hand gently stroking his thigh.

“I’m great, baby. Never better.”

You respond with a nod as you prepare yourself to leave, but the baker grabs your hand before you can take off.

“You aren’t staying?” His voice is so weak, and his eyes are heavy. Sleep is calling his name. “Don’t make me sleep alone. I want you close to me.”

You place kisses across his knuckles, pausing to look at him when you reach his thumb. The tired baker has finally given in to his exhaustion, and his eyes are now closed completely.

Careful not to wake him, you find his coat and throw it over his body before placing a kiss on his cheek. 

Your red lipstick stains his skin; it’ll serve as a reminder that he was visited by the queen whenever he wakes up. 

Before you depart, you walk over to his long list of orders and find out that many of them are to be gifted to the same person. It’s a name you’re familiar with because it’s on your list, written in bold.

A menacing smile creeps up on your face, and you grab the box of cookies before heading toward the door. 

The freezing winter air is the first thing that greets you when you step out into the night, but to you, it’s the most pleasant feeling on earth.

You set out on your journey to the outskirts of town, off in the snowy hills, looking for the most handsome Grinch Heauxville has seen. He can weld and mend, but he can also destroy anything in his path. 

With all those tools and those doe eyes, you’d think he’d be good at mending broken hearts. But instead, he’ll crush them into a million more pieces.

He’s mean, he’s angry, and he’s heartless, but he’ll fuck you so hard, you’ll forget what kind of monster he is. He’ll ruin your life, just like they ruined his. And there’s nothing you can do but get on your knees and say thank you.

“Oh, Mr. Jeon… I can’t wait to melt that icy heart of yours. And when I’m done, it’s going to be all mine.”

[fulgurbugs]

HEY GUYS I GOT AN AWESOME NEW DOLL AGAIN

today I unboxed Vampire heart drac, who I received as a christmas gift today and basically just about died from how excited i was to see her.

the first thing that struck me is how absolutely massive she is. like even though shes the same as a regular g1, the sheer size of the skirt is just crazy.

here she is before i got her back home, I am unboxing her but i can definitely see the appeal of keeping her nib. the packaging is gorgeous, and im defnitely saving the box as well to keep it in good condition just in case. the theme of this one is a kind of AU draculaura who's become the vampire queen. and i will say, it's definitely giving that.

here's her with the plastic off and then fully removed from the box. she comes with a certificate and a saddle stand

here she is front, back, and side, so you can see how incredibly detailed this doll is. i particularly love the back of her, the loose hair, the heart bat spiderweb clasp thing on the back of her head is gorge, and the trailing fabric of her shawl is lovely as well

now, for some details

the white lace is a bodysuit that goes covers her except for her hands and face, basically. the inside has a plastic/viynl clear element to help her skirt hold the giant ballgown structure. when i unboxed her she had an additional plastic piece under there, but i removed it because you could see it through the gaps.

the face! i love love love her dark makeup, and the irridescent elements shine really nicely in person. Mine also has some of the nicest looking heart bangs i've seen, theyre super symmetrical!

i also love the way the braids frame her face and then go behind her head, making an additonal heart. the designers of this draculara did not miss with a single element. the little charms on the headpiece can even dangle freely, like holy shit. I know rooted lashes on mh dolls can be controversial, but i don't think they detract anything here, especially with the dark makeup where they fit in well.

just a couple more images of her posed! i love the vibe of this draculaura, shes extremely elegant and extravagant. I will say one thing is that the saddle stand is extremely fiddly, it took a lot of kind of cramming to get her to stand well, and i was worried i was going to break it. course, all the collector dolls have saddle stands afaik, and also a waist stand i dont think would even work on her due to the sheer size of her dress, so its kind of just a non-issue, just something i thought id mention.

I had to rearrange the shelves AGAIN to figure out where to put her and her massive dress, ended up moving barto and the yamatos to the nedno shelf and using some random box as temporary risers to help josuke and envy be seen a little better (pics are kind of from a low angle but i promise they are more visible this way lol.)

here she is next to my only other g1 drac, so now i guess i have 2 in the g1 style! you can see how their different makeup looks give them totally different vibes, imo.

of course, heres the obligatory .5 shot. damn girl ur 5head

i want to say thank you so much to my friend for gifting her to me, this is maybe the best present ive gotten like ever. holy shit. hopefully the one i send back will be received simialrly, but I'm still working on it, and ill show you all pics once im sure its been received!

peace out (⊃｡•́‿•̀｡)⊃━✿✿✿✿✿✿

[novelconcepts]

[slides a $500 bill of monopoly money over the table] 💚 for jackieshauna please

💚 true love's kiss / magic kiss / healed

"She's dead, Shauna."

Of course she is, Shauna wants to say. Look at her. Of course she's dead. No living flesh is so gray, no living lips so blue. Dead, Jackie very much is.

Gone, though--not necessarily. Not yet.

"She's dead, Shauna." A broken record, that sentence. Taissa shivers, kneeling in the snow beside her. She's been out here the whole time, unwilling to walk away until Shauna does. Until the spell breaks. "You have to let her go."

Shauna's grateful for Taissa's friendship. Really, she is. Now just isn't the time.

"She's dead," Tai says a third time, trying to hammer it through Shauna's head. "We have to go in before you get frostbite. The baby--"

This isn't about the baby. It's not even about Shauna. It's about stories without endings. It's about injustice. It's about thanking the dirt and kissing the rocks and what-the-fuck-ever else Lottie might demand of them before it's all over. Jackie didn't believe in any of it, but who cares? Jackie's dead.

You don't have to believe in something to let it save you.

She has to trust in that.

"Shauna..." Taissa's face scrunches. Distaste, and grief, and utter confusion. "Shauna, come on, please."

She ignores this. Ignores it all. Nothing is real--not the snow, not the wind, not the stricken faces of their friends on the porch--except for the body. Gray flesh. Blue lips. A story with its final pages torn out.

Shauna's going to stitch them back in.

She bows, her forehead resting against Jackie's. It's beyond cold; the skin has gone mannequin-rigid. It's wrong. She grits her teeth, her hands braced on Jackie's stiff shoulders. Behind her, Taissa inhales. In the cabin doorway, girls are snuffling, making sounds of shock and horror.

Please, thinks Shauna. If you're out there. If anything is. Please. I'll give whatever you want.

She thinks of the stories they used to read as kids. The ones she used to make up, when the old Grimm tales grew too familiar. There was always a moment just like this one. Always a pair of blue lips. Always someone coming along just in the nick of time. Always just a little spark of magic, unseen, slipping in between the bones.

She presses her lips to those cold, dead, blue ones. Something inside her wriggles uncomfortably, desperate to yank clear; she fights the urge. Wars against it with all her might, keeping still. Just one, she reasons. Just need to do this one time.

Please. I'll give you anything. You can have it. You can have it, if you just give me back--

She isn't looking; her eyes are clenched shut, her whole body trembling. She can't look, but she can hear Taissa whisper a curse. Can hear the others rustling around, shock giving way to baffled uncertainty. She was dead, of course. They all saw it. They all saw the vessel, emptied out onto the snow.

And they all see what she can't, her eyes closed this way. How the gray is receding. How the blue of those lips is fading to lively, natural pink. How the chest--rigid as plastic--is bowing with its first breath in hours.

Please. Anything. I'll give you anything.

Jackie Taylor's eyes flicker open.

[joehawke]

Gave Me Something To Lose

Inspired by this post. Please be aware this is very melodramatic and if that isn’t your thing then feel free to scroll past lol. Set many years after Vecna, Steve and Eddie and their relationship have changed a lot for reasons you’ll read just keep that in mind. :)

Plot loosely based on the musical The Last Five Years

There’s just some things Steve can’t explain, stupid stuff like why the sky is blue or why his feet squeak against the linoleum floor no matter how many times he replaces the loose wood panels. He’ll never understand the concept of magnets, and he’ll never understand why Robin insists on continuing to put up with her weird hippy parents despite her constant grievances. It’s the little things, like how Dustin and Suzie communicate that don’t make sense to him, or the way Hopper grumbles about being around so many ‘damn kids’ when Steve knows he wouldn’t change it for the world. It’s the little things he pays attention to that others wouldn’t notice, like the way Max draws stars on the cuffs of her jeans when she gets nervous or the way Mike and Nancy have the same tendency, a signature if you will, to pick at their skin when they get mad. It’s the little things he can’t explain, the little things that leave him lying awake at night asking himself a million questions. 

But it's also the little things that stick with him, like those unruly magnets he’s yet to figure out (though he’s sure if he were to ask Dustin he’d get his answer almost immediately, but maybe it’s the wondering that leaves him aware and present). 

It’s those stupid nagging unsure of explanations that have him and Eddie staring angrily at each other across the dim flickering kitchen light - and damn it, Steve thought he fixed that stupid bulb. Steve’s head is starting the throb, like every fiber and being in him is fighting against one another and isn’t that just great? Like he needs another fight. This wasn’t his plan. Maybe that was the issue. That’s what started this whole mess, wasn’t it? 

The enormity of time sits like a weight on Steve’s chest, the ticking of Wayne’s old grandfather clock giving way to the eerie silence of the living room, the sound reverberating off Steve’s mothers old china. Steve closes his eyes, the hope of another day far away from this one blur on the inside of his lids. The sound of a trash bag lures Steve out, and it takes everything in him not to just walk away and never look back, but he can’t. Who would he be if he did? Images of his father flash into his mind before he shakes him away with a force he hasn’t been met with in awhile. 

Steve watches with careful eyes as Eddie opens the bag wide, dumping the remnants of what was supposed to be something carefree and new, now beginning to crumble to the bottom of the flimsy transparent plastic. He watches as Eddie’s shoulder blades flex through the cream satin of his shirt with every sharp movement, and it all feels too harsh and Steve knows this feeling all too well. 

He closes his eyes once more and breathes in the smell of stale champagne and left over stuffed chicken, and tries to imagine a world where his relationships don't turn out like his parents. Images of Nancy and now Eddie filter into his head. He fails. 

He blows out the candles one by one, watching the smoke twist and twine its way into the dimly lit room, disappearing into the moonlight escaping through the curtains. He can feel a pair of eyes on him as he examines the crescent shape of pink leftover lips that have imprinted themselves onto the champagne flutes, Robin and Nancy’s signature colors making themselves known as Steve tucks the stem of each glass in between his fingers, ignoring the lingering pair of eyes as he makes his way to the kitchen. 

He can see Eddie from his peripherals clearing Steve’s mothers old china off the table, stacking them with a force that makes him cringe. Steve scrubs harder at the remanence of smudged lips and closes his eyes once again, hoping, praying to a God he’s not sure he believes in, that in this moment, he’ll wake up to the day he and Eddie first kissed outside his pool. Eddie with his ridiculous red and black board shorts, and Steve with his way too tiny yellow trunks, a giant smile playing on his lips as he watches Eddie play fetch with the border collie from down the street that sneaks in under Steve’s fence every time Steve grills. 

Steve’s pulled out of his trance by the sound of glass on glass and when he opens his eyes with a startle, Eddie has set the stacked plates down on the counter next to the sink. Steve turns and continues to scrub at the flutes, continues to keep his eyes locked in front of himself. 

Eddie has his calloused palms wrapped tightly around a beer bottle, the warm amber like liquid sloshing gently against the ceramic as he brings it up to his lips. Steve can feel him pause, like he’s weighing his options studiously, before he fully takes the long awaited sip, the liquid disappearing down his throat with one gulp. The silence cuts through the kitchen and Steve can’t decide if he should leave it, let it fester like a fresh wound, or let it dissipate into friendly chatter. Steve knows the latter is far from. He reaches for one of the stacked plates, the gold rim of the porcelain glimmering in the kitchen light, when a hand reaches for the sponge in Steve’s left hand, setting it down in the sink gently.

 Steve finally lets himself look up at Eddie, and the reflection he’s met with suddenly angers him. His cupid’s bow is wet with a golden tint of what Steve can only imagine to be as beer, and the purple crescent indents under his eyes are almost comical, though Steve doesn't laugh. He twines his hands with Steve’s, and instead of giving him the satisfaction of pulling away, Steve stands his guard and goes for looking down at their feet instead; Eddie’s “nicest” smudged combat boots that Steve always gets a good laugh at, and Steve’s freshly polished dress shoes his parents got him in Venice for some holiday long forgotten, stare back at him in a taunting manor. 

Silence morphs its way around the room, closing in on him like something dark, and he wishes he had the courage to say something, anything, but he doesn't. He can’t be his parents. And saying something - voicing it aloud, doesn’t that make his worst fear creep its hands up his throat, allowing them to choke him once and for all? So instead, Steve focuses on that stupid flickering light bulb and despite the memories the flickering tends to bring back, he sits in it nonetheless - because sitting in those memories he thinks, is better than sitting in this weird limbo he’s tried so hard to keep away. But he’s never been one to win a fight.

“Stevie...”

And just like that, the sound barrier breaks, the static that was beginning to engulf Steve, shattering in an instant, and he can’t tell if it makes him want to exhale or inhale, yet he doesn't respond. 

“Steve. Come on” Eddie says, his tone harsh and tired, his head lulling to the side. And Eddie’s never harsh. He’s gentle and sometimes jittery, but never harsh. He’s migrated his hands to Steve’s hips, and he can feel every nerve in Steve freeze, “Stevie please. Can we talk about this? Can’t we go one night without fighting?” Steve’s jaw tightens and it takes everything in him not to look up into the brown he knows is staring down at him; the brown forest Steve once used to imagine sonnets were made of. The brown forest Steve’s watched dim over the last few years. “For god sake Steve. I thought you would be happy! Why are you acting like this?” 

Out of everything that has been said tonight, this makes Steve physically laugh. He looks up at him, a smile starting to form on Eddie’s own lips and this makes Steve laugh harder. 

“What’s so funny?” Eddie asks, a slight hint of humor lacing the previous venom. 

“You think I’m laughing with you” Steve laughs out. A statement. Not a question. Tears blur Steve’s vision and part of Steve blames it on the laughter bubbling in his chest, but a deeper rooted part blames it on the salty storm that has been festering all night. Steve can feel Eddie’s demeanor change, his hands freezing in their place, wilting like a flower in late summer, and the still eeriness of it all grounds Steve in a way he’s yet to allow himself to explore. 

“What is your problem?” Eddie spits, a supercilious filter dripping with every syllable. Steve lets himself look up at this. Lets himself search his eyes for an answer he knows is long gone. Steve lets himself go. For this one, mere minute, he allows himself to defend himself for just this once. Screw his vows to not end up like his father. He’s tired of acting like the picture perfect housewife his mother once was. Correction; his mother still is.  

“My problem?” Steve asks quietly, a hint of nothing but unadulterated venom lacing his tone like cloyed honey. 

“Oh don’t play the victim Steve. You’ve been nothing but cold and bitter all night. Not everything is about you. Did that ever occur to you? Oh right, of course not, because nothing else matters to King Steve as he sits here and falters in his big old castle” Eddie spits, turning to the liquor cabinet before reaching for the bottle of heavy, amber colored liquid. 

Steve watches as he pours himself another glass, his nails digging into the palm of his hand, purple crescent shapes forging into the silky skin as he takes in the words Eddie let snake their way around their kitchen. King Steve King Steve King Steve King — No. No No. Eddie was supposed to be the person who saw through his stupid placated facade and Eddie was supposed to be the person who understood and when did that get so screwed up? When did they get so lost in translation? Steve’s so fucking tired of sitting still and acting like a good fucking trained puppy. 

“Eddie.” Breathe. Once. In. Out. Exhale. Stand your guard. “I found out you planned on packing up and moving across the country through a ‘celebratory’ dinner with our friends and family. That you were planning on leaving for yet another year long tour. Excuse me for being selfish”. Steve spits, watches as Eddie processes what he said, as he almost smiles in mirth at the fact that for once, Steve spoke up rather than nodded his head and agreed. That for once, Steve fought against, and Steve can’t tell if the clench of his jaw is out of curiosity or out of anger over the fact that Steve didn’t abide. And when the fuck did Steve become his mother? Steve refused to let him win this time.

Eddie says nothing. Steve pictures his mother keeping her mouth shut by downing her endless bottles of wine. Steve’s tired of drowning with his mother. He continues. “You can’t think that for one moment I was going to be happy about this, did you? I’ve supported you since we bought that stupid shoebox apartment and you told me Corroded Coffin got a record deal. I supported you when you were gone days at a time because you had to leave town to ‘record a new single’. I supported you when you left me home alone for another three weeks as you played dive bars across the state. I put my life on hold for you, so sorry if this so-called ‘surprise’ didn’t make me happy” Steve says, letting go of a breath he didn’t know he was holding, releasing his nails from the flesh of his palm. 

The air in the kitchen has gone quiet once again, and Steve thinks about an entity where silence isn’t the only option. Steve watches as Eddie searches his face for an answer to a question Steve’s yet to figure out. Steve sometimes wonders if people look at his life like some massive question and somehow he’s the wrong answer. Steve wonders when the day will come when people will realize he hasn't even solved his own unattainable mess of an equation. 

The grandfather clock strikes twelve and Eddie downs the rest of the warm hazy liquid, lazily tossing the cup into the sink. Steve steps back, an old habit he never quite realized he started doing. But maybe that’s a lie as images of Tommy Hagen yelling at him ‘that’s right Stevie boy, run away! Run away just like you always do!’ make his way to the front of his brain.

Eddie’s jaw clenches, and Steve watches as Eddie’s hands shake, a tell tale he’s nervous or upset. Steve doesn’t feel like deciphering which one it is today. Maybe Steve should’ve stopped there, maybe they could’ve gone to bed and figured it out in the morning. But that was the issue, wasn’t it? They never did figure it out. They’d go to bed with hope clasped between their fingertips as tense unsalvageable feelings warped their way between their sides of the bed. And Eddie would leave the next morning like nothing happened and Steve would wait at the door like a sad pitiful lost cause. And he was sick of it. He was so fucking sick of it. He vowed to never turn into his ‘grade A asshole’ of a father and yet, the one person he never would’ve thought to fear would be his sad excuse of a mother. And something in him aches for her. Something in him wants to reach out, hold her hand, whisper out broken promises as she tells him they’ll get out of this hole together. But his mother isn’t here and his fathers knuckles ache against his cheek as they try to reach down his throat and continue what Steve never wanted to start in the first place. “You know better boy, if you’re going to start a fight - you need to execute and end it. Got it?” So excuse Steve if he never was good at biting his tongue. 

“I’m not some fucking trophy wife for you to come home to and fuck away your stresses and then pack up and leave again. I’m not here for your - your – disposal” Steve spits, the venom starting to lace his words like something vile. Steve watches as something close to mirth flashes across Eddie’s eyes. 

“It’s not my fault you haven’t figured out what the hell you want to do with your life Steve! Excuse me for being happy for once your highness” Eddie laughs out, digging into his pockets if not just to have something to fidget with. 

“That’s not fair Eddie and you know it” Steve says quietly, and Eddie and Steve both know Eddie cut open a scar Steve’s been trying to close for ages now. And maybe Steve should blame himself really. A part of Eddie is right. Steve flunked out of his first few courses at the community college, but he had wanted to try again once he was in a better headspace. Only - that space never came. He was always too busy watching everyone else from the sidelines. He has nothing to prove for himself, and Eddie knows this. God Eddie knows this and he’s just bringing it to light isn’t it? And speaking of light, that stupid bulb is just flickering more aggressively and Steve’s head is throbbing twice as hard and his heart hurts and he’s so fucking tired. 

“Why not? You know it’s true. You sit around here all day moping and fixing shit that doesn’t need to be fixed. Have you ever stopped and thought, hm, maybe I should start fixing myself?” Eddie spits, continuing, and maybe Steve broke a while back, maybe Steve’s been broken since his father fed ideas of being nothing but a failure into his head. Maybe he’s been broken since Tommy Hagen planted the seed of an idea into his head and because Steve was too weak, he let the roots grow.  Maybe Steve’s been broken since he got rightfully punched by Johnathan Byers all those years ago. Maybe Steve’s been broken since his first encounter with the monsters he discovered lived outside just his head. But then Eddie came along and slowly but surely, started to piece his broken figures back together like it was the easiest thing he’s ever done. When did they start to fray around the edges and come undone again? When did Steve stop noticing Eddie had stopped picking up the pieces? Steve’s line of vision becomes blurry as tears threaten to escape his waterline. Eddie eyes Steve carefully, as if he were weighing an inner turmoil. “I will not lose because you can’t win Steve.” And suddenly, all the fight that Steve had left evaporates from his body like something ghostly.

“Fuck you Eddie” Steve whispers before turning back towards the living room and making his way out of sight into the dark hallway. Somewhere in the vast, unspoken quietude and space between them, lies a million questions, and this time, Steve won’t allow himself to explain them. 

I told you it would be melodramatic…

So whether or not you think Eddie or Steve or neither of them are the bad guy, I’ll leave up to your interpretation. Do I do a part two? Or leave it as it is to showcase not all relationships are perfect? (Cliche of me I know) thoughts are always appreciated

Please also note that I lowkey hated the characterization of both eddie and Steve and felt they were out of character until after I had finish and I came to the realization that I wrote them like that to showcase how hurt and insecurities can change both people and a relationship.