#give that man some body fat its protective!!!!!!!

[tovaicas]

you know the day someone draws estinien with actual body fat and not like. fantasy ripped is the day I can die happy

[bunnis-monsters]

NSFW

warning: yandere and obsessive behavior, mentions of death and violence, possessiveness

Yandere!Angel adored you with all of his heart, worshipping you as his goddess. He abandoned his creator, instead turning to you.

He kissed along your thighs, his strong, large hands holding onto your plump thighs as he spread them open.

He always looked up at you for permission, his chin resting on your leg obediently. Despite the fact he was nearly twice your height, he acted like a needy puppy before you, willing to do anything to please you.

“May I?”

You nodded, sighing happily as his tongue licked your soft, fat pussy, his fingers pumping in and out of you.

As he settled between your thighs, ready to worship his goddess, he began to remember how this all came to be.

He was supposed to be working on earth, helping guide humans to the correct path and keep them from sinning.

Instead, he ended up getting hurt, stranded on the side of the road with a broken wing.

He hadn’t been told how cruel humans could be.

So when you pulled over in your car, running up to him, he attempted to spread out his wings in a defensive display, his eyes shining bright enough to blind a man.

But his eyes dimmed and he yelped in pain as his broken wing moved. He fell back onto the ground, panting softly, looking up at you weakly.!

“Hey, hey…”

You knelt down, reaching out carefully to inspect his wing.

“Don’t touch me!”

You flinched, frozen in fear, his power causing you to be unable to move.

An angel’s command worked only on those pure of heart… so for a moment to examined you.

Soft and chubby with a kind face, like the cherubs he played with in heaven. As you did your best to bandage his wing, you noticed he was nearly twice the size of you… and very handsome.

“I won’t hurt you, I promise. See, it’s feeling better isn’t it?”

The angel watched you, his eyes wide with curiosity and wonder as you dabbed some soothing cream onto his swollen skin. You were being so gentle with him, guiding him back to your car.

The way you kept him flush against you, being as gentle as possible to make sure his wounds wouldn’t be irritated made him feel… strange.

He barely fit in your backseat, having to lie down so you could close the door.

“… thank you…”

He nuzzled softly against you, his undamaged wing flapping. “You saved me… you’re so kind, like an angel… like…”

You turned to see him staring at you, his eyes big. The golden orbs observed with newfound interest, watching as you grabbed a med kit to further clean and treat his wounds.

‘Like a goddess…’ he thought to himself, not daring to say such blasphemy aloud.

As he began to recover, you noticed him staring, following you with his eyes every time you moved.

“Need something?”

He quickly looked away, his cheek flushing a soft pink. His wing fluttered in both nervousness and excitement.

“I… don’t need anything.”

It didn’t take him long to heal, his body was different than any human or animal, but… he still feigned pain when you touched his now healed wing.

“Ah, it still hurts?”

You soothed him, letting him nuzzle into you and look at you with those big golden eyes. He was utterly entranced, wanting to worship and adore you… no one had ever been so kind to him!

So that’s how he ended up like this, begging for you to use him, to order him around and to let him love and protect you for all of time.

The only catch was… he was the only one allowed to worship the temple that was your body.

He pulled his fingers from your wet cunt, his tongue struggling to part with your puffy clit. It wasn’t easy, but he knew from your whines and tugging on his pants that you wanted his cock now.

And he would give you anything…

He pushed his cock past your wet folds, stretching you on him. The first time he worshipped you this way, he cried with you as your body tried its best to accommodate his large size. He hated seeing you in pain…

Your pretty, ample breasts bounced deliciously as he moved his hips, unable to stop himself from fucking you like a wild animal.

God you were perfect, his angel, his goddess… and no one would ever get to see the look of ecstasy on your face when you came.

A warm bath had you sighing in relief after, your angel happily bathing you, kissing your feet and scrubbing your body as gently as possible.

Though it was difficult keeping his jealously at bay… being with him wasn’t too hard. If only you knew how many men he had killed due to his possessive nature…

You’d never even think he was capable. He was an angel after all, with soft blonde curls and the prettiest, most innocent golden eyes.

And he wanted you to remain ignorant to his second nature. He much preferred worshipping you while you were relatively free and happy…

But he’d lock you up if it meant keeping you to himself~

The angel settled you down with him after your bath, covering you with his soft, feathery white wings. He kept you close to his chest, kissing your head.

Everything was just perfect.

For now…

(More?)

————————

NSFW TAGLIST: @sunset-214 @strawberrypoundtown @avalordream @icommitwarcrimes @bazpire @im-eating-rn @anglingforlevels @kinshenewa @pasteldaze @unforgettablewhvre @yoongiigolden @peachesdabunny @murder-hobo @leiselotte @misswonderfrojustice @dij-ology @i8kaeya @lollboogurl @h3110-dar1in9 @keikokashi @aliceattheart @mssmil3y @spicyspicyliving @namjoons-t1ddies @izarosf1833 @healanette @lem-hhn @spufflepuff @honey-crypt @karljra @zyettemoon1800 @exodiam @vexillum-moeru @imperfectlyperfectprincess1 @binnieonabike @enchantedsylveon @mysticranger575 @readeryn68 @danielle143 @kittenlover614 @filthybunny420 @annavittoria-mm @makimamybelovedwife @blubearxy @omglovelylaila @midromiell @toocollectionchaos-universe-blog @fruk-you-usuk-fans @wil10wthetree @hammerhead96-blog

[cordeliawhohung]

In Limbo [non-canon extra]

mafia!141 masterlist | In Limbo masterlist | general masterlist | taglist | playlist mafia!Simon Riley x fem!Reader

re: made this post and y'all asked so i delivered bath time

cw: anxiety, simon's past trauma, hurt/comfort, fluff, quick drabble (: based off of my story In Limbo, but can be read as a standalone!

Sometimes, Simon hates the spell you’ve put on him. 

You’ve bewitched him without words; without touch. All it takes is a simple look. A quick glance. The pressing pout of your bottom lip. That enchanting glimmer you get in your eyes when you look at him. When you request something of him. He feels the denial tingle in the back of his throat, but it crumbles to dust before it bears fruit. There is no such thing as refusal. Not when it comes to you. He’d give the shirt off his back and spill the blood from his body before ever saying no. 

Even for something like this. 

“You don’t look like you’re having fun,” you comment. 

“This is supposed to be fun?” he quips. 

Neither of you fit inside of the tub very well. Shoved together like sardines in a can, you have to rest your feet on top of his shoulder just so he has room to put his obnoxiously long legs in the water. You’re curved to the side, head trying to avoid the spout as he leans his back against the bitterly cold wall behind him. His tattoos seem darker like this. More vibrant and rich. You find yourself staring for a moment before you turn your attention elsewhere. Iridescent bubbles sizzle and pop as they float along the surface. Dancing like drunk ballerinas. You dip your hands in the foam and smile, trying to shape them into objects. 

“It’s supposed to be, yeah,” you sigh. Holding up your hands, you present to him what’s supposed to be a duck. It has a wide, fat body and hardly round head with a spike at the front. It looks more like a wobbly letter Z than anything else. “Look!” 

Simon glances away from the door for a short moment to smile and huff at your quickly vanishing sculpture. “Might wanna put the poor thing outta its misery.” 

Your scoff echos off the tiles just as he looks back toward the door. He can’t stop staring at it like he’s waiting for something. Someone to barge in and hold him underwater. To turn on the spout and listen to him choke, gag, and spit. To make him feel small again with flailing limbs too weak to land a punch — too weak to fight back. 

He can’t stand being like this. Stuck in his own head with the memory of a man who doesn’t deserve the space within his neurons. It has his blood running hotter than the water that surrounds him, pale skin flushing a bright pink. Muscles tense as if he’s preparing to run. Preparing to escape the fate he never could as a child. 

“Simon?” you ask, prompting him to look back at you. Your lips roll against each other, eyebrows pulling together as you tilt your head to the side. “You okay?” 

Your concern gets him to think. There’s a nervous pounding in his chest that rages so fiercely he’s surprised he can’t see the ripples in the water. It’s warm at least. Not bitterly cold and fresh out of the pipes. But he’s still slipping. Somewhere inside of him, he’s still that scared little boy crying out for his mother. Some galling child his father can’t stand to hear snivel and sob. 

“Not a fan of water,” he admits. It’s a half truth. Still shrouded. 

You hum. “You’re like a cat.” 

“I’m not a cat.” 

“Oh? What are you then?” you ask, feet wiggling on his shoulder. 

Thinking, Simon sighs. His arm rests over the side of the tub, and you watch as his fingers twitch. Like he’s missing something resting between them. “A dog, probably.” 

His response is short, but his tone is sharp. Like he means it. A subtle degrading of himself — he’s not a dog because he’s loyal, he’s a dog because he’s a mutt. Something hardly worth loving. It’s engraved into his very skin in an array of silvery scars and into the crooked curve of his nose. He fights and protects like a vicious dog that knows nothing else, and his family is none-the-wiser.

Grunting, you begin to move. Legs awkwardly curling and hands trying to find purchase somewhere within the slick tub, you look more like a beetle on its back than you do a human. You giggle as you slip, head nearly falling beneath the water. Concern prompts Simon to sit forward, arms reaching out in an attempt to steady you — to keep you above water; to not end up like him. 

“Careful, sweetheart,” he warns. 

“I’m careful.” 

Twitchy hands find a new home on your hips as water sloshes up over his abdomen. You place yourself in his lap with your knees attempting to straddle him. The tub offers you little room, so you manage to perch yourself on his lap instead. The thick meat and muscle of his thighs are much kinder than the unforgiving tub. 

“You’re anxious,” you note. 

“Am I?” he quips. 

You nod. “You’re being short. And your fingers won’t stop wiggling.” 

“So that makes me anxious?” 

“It’s what you do when you’re anxious. So, yes.” 

You reach down, traversing across your torso until you’ve got one of his hands in your grasp before slowly bringing it up. Flattening his palm out, you press it against your chest. Curious eyes stare up at you as you settle, thumb rubbing over the back of his hand as you keep him close. 

“Whenever I’m anxious, or panicking, you always hold me,” you say. He feels the vibration of your words buzz in his fingertips. It warms him like the way mirth warms the lips. “When you do that, I get to listen to your heart. Get to feel it. I try to match my breathing to yours. Use you as a tether to ground myself.” Pausing, you squeeze his hand. “Maybe you can try that with me?” 

Instead of answering you, Simon stares. He soaks up the way the bathwater glistens on your skin and how you tower over him. As your heart thuds beneath his palm, he thinks about how it’s the greatest tremor he’s ever felt. He could fall asleep listening to the sound of your blood flowing in your body. He stares so long he sees the sheepish curl of your shoulders — sees the way your small burst of confidence begins to vanish. He stares so long that the four walls trapping him suddenly seem to melt away. Everything does. Not even the bathtub remains. 

Hands slithering up your body, he captures your cheeks in his hands before he pulls you closer. You have to press your hands against his chest in order to keep yourself upright, but he catches you with a kiss. You melt into the warmth of one another. Loving hands, a shared embrace; your lips break only to reconnect a moment later. It happens again, and again, and again — until your fingers are tangled in the damp locks of his hair and the ghost of his father is smothered and can no longer speak. 

Your union is broken only by the need for air, and even then Simon is still lost in you. In the feeling of your skin against his, and the glimmer in your eyes as you look down at him. His thumb brushes over your cheek and relishes in your warmth as you abjectly smile. 

“Wanna dry off? Could cuddle and watch a movie,” you suggest. 

Leaning in for another kiss, Simon hums low and deep as his lips press against yours. “I’d do anythin’ with you, sweetheart.” 

[diremoone]

christmas overload | g. satoru

prompt 3 — “It’s our baby’s first Christmas. I don’t think they’re going to remember you buying them all of these stuffies.”

requested by anon: pleaseee bless us with gojo and christmas prompt 3 pleaseeeee

[ Christmas Prompt List ]

[ Christmas Event Masterlist ]

“I know you have money out the ass, Satoru, but was this really necessary?”

“Absolutely.”

The man looks 100% confident, not an ounce of shame written across his face. In fact, he looks like he’s never been more happy with himself, ego ballooned farther than even you thought was possible.

Underneath the multicolored lights of the ten foot Christmas tree are stuffies galore. You note that there are several dozen more presents under the tree than there were before you’d taken a nap, but those seemed to be nothing compared to all of the stuffed animals and plushies surrounding the tree and taking up so much space in the living room.

Your 6’3 husband stands proudly before said tree, hands on his hips dramatically with a fat smile on his face.

“You think Satsuki will like it?” Satoru asks.

“I think she’s going to go crazy over it,” you answer. And Satoru’s grin gets impossibly bigger, simple on full display. But then you add something else to the sentence, making his happy smile plummet. “But she’s only eight months, Satoru. I don’t think she’s going to remember you buying all of these stuffies and presents.”

Satoru’s shoulders slump. He knows that you’re right; she’s too little, too tiny to remember her overexcited Daddy spoiling her on her very first Christmas.

Guilt courses through you at the sound of a sad sniffle coming from him. Satoru’s large body sits next to yours on the couch, leaned over to rest his elbows on his knees.

“I just wanted her first Christmas to be special,” he mutters.

“And it is, baby,” you say. You rub his back in comfort. “She’ll know her daddy tried to spoil her on her first Christmas, she just… won’t remember. Not this year.”

His cheeks puff out as he huffs. He looks at you with shiny eyes, laced with what you know to be disappointment, and asks, “Are you sure she won’t remember?”

“Unless she’s got some unreal ability to remember this right now that we don’t know about, I’d say so,” you reply. “But it’s not like there won’t be pictures for her to remember later in life.”

“That’s true, but I want her to remember them now!” he whines childishly.

“Sorry to disappoint, babe.” You ruffle his hair. “That’s just the way it is. Give it a few years and then you’ll get what you want.”

Satoru sighs and leans back against the back of the couch. He covers his eyes with his arm dramatically. “I guess.”

And then the doorbell suddenly rings, making you jump. You weren’t expecting anyone today, so who in the world was at the front door?

Cries fill the air. No doubt the doorbell woke up your eight-month-old daughter.

Satoru stands. “You get Satsuki, I’ll get the door.”

You head toward the nursery, opening the ajar door to find your precious girl awake and upset with tears and snot running down her face. Her wails turn to soft cries as her pretty blue eyes that match her daddy’s meet your own. You slide your hands under her back and head and lift her to your chest. Her soft cries turn to soft sniffles as she snuggles her head into the crook of your neck.

“It’s okay, ‘Suki. I know the doorbell scared you,” you soothe her, rubbing her back up and down gently. “Sorry, sorry. Come on, let’s go see your papa. He’ll protect you, won’t he?”

Satsuki sniffles and nods, snuggling impossibly closer into your hold like she’s agreeing with you.

You head back into the living room, only for your mouth to drop to the floor.

Beside the Christmas tree, on either side, was a massive plush Baymax and a gigantic teddy bear just as big. Resting against the front door is a stuffed reindeer that’s almost as big, its big fat red nose showing that its Rudolph.

Satoru looks at you sheepishly, scratching at the back of his head.

“Too much?”

You nod, mouth still ajar. “Too much.”

But your baby girl doesn’t think so. She immediately starts clapping and reaching for the giant teddy bear that’s closest to her out of the three.

Satoru’s sheepish grin turns into one of absolute enthusiasm and love at the sight of his baby reaching for one of the presents he’s gotten her. He practically skips over to you and scoops up the white-haired princess.

“Did Daddy do a good job? You like the presents Daddy got you, my little Princess Mochi?”

The gleeful energy from the two combined is absolutely infectious. You laugh as Satoru spins his eight-month-old daughter through the air, bubbly shrieks of delight escaping her lips.

Yeah, you’d tell Satoru she had some sort of ability to remember her first Christmas, just to keep the smile on his face.

taglist:

@vagabond-umlaut @heresan @4sat0ruu @nayrring @missmuffinr @itzmeme @torusmochi

[i-cant-sing]

Thinking about my own grandpa and how he'd comfort me with sweets/icecream whenever i had the slightest inconvenience and i just dream of whether he'd still do it to me as a 23 year old, ruffling my hair, letting me cut his birthday cake, scolding my parents when they got mad at me (yes i snitched on my parents), wiping my fat tears with his handkerchief, showing me his drawings of airplane engines as cold air blasted through the ac, letting me eat food from his plate that my mom made me bring him lol.

and like it grandparents are sooo sweet man. they couldve been okay-ish parents to their own kids, but then they get grandkids and they're like a whole different species *sniffle* theyre so precious.

and now my mind goes to that yandere todoroki clan au (i think it was the bullied series) where at the end, reader dies because of rei, and the whole fam loses their sanity. then one day, reader is reincarnated (its her quirk) as dabi's baby and dabi shares the news with his siblings because he needs to restore their sanity too (cause he feels responsible for them too, the "eldest kid" syndrome).

anyways, after you, his daughter had died, enji lost it and killed rei and then just vanished into the mountains to mourn his loss. years later, for whatever reason, he finds out about you. he's standing there, watching toddler you looking at him with curiosity. you stumble towards him, and Enji's on his knees at this point, he's in shock. your scars, your marks from your previous life dont even register to him until later on, all he can focus is you- its you, his baby. his daugher. his child that he swore to protect and failed.

your legs give out when you reach him but your hands reach for him and enji's already lifting you up, bringing you to his chest. his eyes are filled with tears as u look at him and babble, your hands grabbing onto his shirt, touching his face, big doe eyes staring at him.

he hugs you, silent sobs wrecking his body as he gets a whiff of your head. you- you smell just like her- like his daughter.

It really is you.

he doesn't let go of you, even when you eventually fall asleep in his arms, rocking you gently as he stares down at you in awe and disbelief. he doesn't let you go even when dabi tries to take you back, even when dabi insists that he won't keep you two apart, that you need to rest in your bed as he explains everything.

he finally let's you go when you wake up and reach for your dad (dabi), crying when enji doesn't let you leave his arms. but he relents, enji relents when you cry- it hurts him so bad, he's reminded of all the times how you used to cry before, how you used to beg him for help, beg him to save you. his heart breaks to see you like this, in tears.

enji's only partially conscious of what dabi is saying to him, explaining to him that you're now "his" daughter and enji's "granddaughter" and that's how things will be if they need to work. But enji doesn't care whether you're his daughter or not, all he cares about is that he's in your life because he needs to- he will keep you safe. He won't make the same mistakes again. Never.

i can just imagine the siblings and enji all sitting down together to make decisions about your life in extreme detail so that they ensure that no harm befalls you ever again, and if by some extreme badluck you die, they need to make sure that you reincarnate back to them.

they plan your every day, they make sure that at least one of them is with you at all times, and most importantly, they make sure youre safe and happy. when you start going to school, you're taken to school by Shotou because Dabi (who went back to working as a chef) has to go to work early. then at school, your teacher is more than likely Fuyumi (and if she's not your teacher, then she still works at your school). then after school, you're picked up by Enji who takes you out for ice cream (always, he doesnt care if its before u have had lunch. he needs to make up for all the times he couldnt give u ice cream because of rei) and also buy you any toys u want. enji is just enjoying you padding away and pointing at things that catch your eye. at home, natsuo has returned from his shift at the hospital and then starts heating up the food dabi had already made for you, before letting enji put you down for nap time. when you wake up, natsuo takes your vitals and a basic medical check. by dinner, dabi is home and you welcome him by launching yourself at his legs with a thud. he laughs, picks you up and pecks your cheek before taking you into the kitchen with him to make dinner while you tell him all about your day.

[diejager]

Wraith

He was a mass of muscle, fat and darkness, his body shifting between the material and immaterial worlds. One second he would wear the skin of a man, and the other, he would be a body of dark smoke, deadly to mortal hands if he willed to be. He could eat people up, swallow their bodies - living or dead, either sustained him - and taking them into him to give himself strength and energy. A cannibalism some called him (it would be truthful if he was human, a being of mortal skin and flesh), a monster some others shuddered (he was born one, their was no use denying what he was).

You, however, revelled at him, taking him in willingly, letting his deathly fog push into you. He was a mix of flesh and smoke, tongue pushed deep into your mouth, the thin tips dragging down your throat and gagging you around his tongue; his cock, pale and girthy, rocked into you with deep and strong strokes into your hole; and his body, darkness, held you against the wall, gripping onto you and holding you still when you squirmed.

His eyes were dark, pupils dilated and wide, gazed into your dazed ones, drunk on his cock and the smoke that filled you, squirming its way into you through your mouth and rim. Simon loved how easily he could bend you, push you against the cold wall and rip into you, breaking that steal-like facade of yours into a mewling, moaning bitch of his. He could have you squirming in place with the simple flick of his shadow, breaking you down to your knees, pleading - begging - him for your release.

Like you, he could easily break down for you if you asked him to, pushing past his fears and rank to grovel at your feet, lapping at your fingers and toes to take care of you - to please you as you please him. He’s a caring lover, he gave as much as he took, he mostly gave more than he took, ripping orgasm after orgasm from you before coming once only and filling you with his (it was hot for his deathly cold body, the burning heat making you spasm and cry out at how hot it was.) cum.

He was loving and careful, always when he was with you, protecting you from the danger of his powers, the ones who poisoned him every second he used it. He was a wraith, a deathly phantom made from evil and darkness that promised destruction in its path. For you, though, he would walk it if it meant keeping you safe, destroying all and every danger that could cause you pain. After all, you were the only human in the Task Force, that demanded more shielding from him and the others.

He wasn't human, monster or bastard in your eyes, he was Simon Riley to you, he was the love of your life as you were his.

@rivalriotrenegade

[meowpupp]

FROTHING AT THE MOUTH

simon riely x chubby!reader

tw// slight blood play (nothing extreme,) possessiveness, HEAPS of praise

simon who is just so utterly obsessed with you. with owning you, fucking you, with being yours. 

he’s infamous, everyone knows who he is. he doesn’t flaunt his strength or outwardly display just how vicious he is, but it’s hard for rumours not to spread if each time a man looks at you he beats them an inch within their life. 

but no matter how bloody and bruised he gets, you’re always there. you sit him down on the edge of the bathtub, careful hands disinfecting his wounds. 

another night at a club leads you here. everyone in the area knows you’re simon’s girl, but some still can’t resist getting handsy. but simon was always there, watching, waiting, ready to put a man back into their place. 

there’s a sick type of joy he gets from ‘protecting’ you, as he puts it. hes a feral mutt, born to bite, and you are the only soft thing he’s ever had. it’s no wonder he snarls when something even remotely threatens you. 

but no matter how mean he is to others, he is always, always, soft for you. just for you. he watches with half-lidded eyes as you bandage his knuckles. kissing over each one, its like you aim to take away the pain. this is familiar. this is comfortable. this is love. 

he pulls his big hand from yours, giving you the other one. his knuckles are split and bruised, an angry red and purple colour. “you’re too sweet f’me lovie.” his voice is slightly slurred, a testament to the alcohol he’s drank. you can smell it when he speaks. a mix of bourbon and cigarettes. its somehow addicting, just like everything else about him. 

you just tut, rolling your eyes as you work on his hand. “someone has to be.” he huffs out a laugh, averting his eyes from you.

soon enough they’re both fixed. you kiss his palms once more for good luck, giggling as he raises an eyebrow. he gives you a smirk, something about it sends a shiver through your body. his split lip and black eye give him an air of something dangerous. you should leave, run, and never speak to him again. but just like eve, you bite. 

his hands move to your hips, gripping and squeezing the fat. he watches the way it bulges between the gaps of his fingers. a low groan rips from his throat, pulling you forward till you sit in his lap. 

his hands are warm as they slide up your waist, thumbs rubbing small circles on your sternum. “such a pretty fuckin girl.” he growls, his eyes half-lidded and heated as they trail your body. the curves of your hips, your soft tummy, the way your thighs splay around his waist. it’s a dangerous mix, one that makes his cock strain in his pants. 

“you’re so good t’me,” he leans forward, kissing up your neck, “my good girl.” his stubble brushes against your skin as he speaks, causing shivers to shoot up your spine. your thighs clench around his waist, and he laughs. it’s low, tempting and arrogant. he’s everything your parents told you to stay away from, and yet you can’t help yourself. 

in another life, simon would be the symbol of saints. sandy blonde hair, pale skin, and dark chocolate eyes. his lips are pale pink, his eyelashes long. everything about him is a stereotypical representation of purity. he looks like an angel, one worthy of a gods favouritism. 

but that isn’t this life. your simon is pierced, his right eyebrow and tongue shining with metal. your simon wears smudged eyeliner and leather jackets. he drives too fast and smokes daily. your simon easily surrenders to sin, his biggest temptation being you. 

and so, he can’t help but give in. 

his lips crash against yours, devouring you. he takes and takes and takes, demanding every ounce of your being. his tongue piercing never fails to make you moan. the metal is cool despite how hot and needy the kiss is. your hands cup his jaw, denying him an inch of space away from you. not that he’d ever take it. 

one of his hands drops to your hip, nails digging in. he guides them, setting a slow rhythm as you grind against him. the zipper of his jeans nudges your clit just right, sending shockwaves through your body. 

neither of you speak, completely lost in each other. the moans and groans from you both fill the room. his hands are greedy, groping any inch of your skin he can. his lips pull from yours, only to trail hot kisses down your throat. he bites and sucks at the delicate skin. a deep groan rips from his throat as he tastes iron, staining his lips red. he bucks up into you, a silent command for you to grind faster. 

you pant into his ear, arms wrapping around his body. your nails scratch at his back, the sensation sending shocks of white-hot pleasure through his body. he groans, eyes squeezing shut. this must be heaven. nothing else could ever feel as good as you. 

simon pulls back, lips and chin smeared with your blood. he smirks up at you, the red liquid staining his teeth. he looks feral, like an animal devouring prey. his eyes scan up and down your body. the way your cheeks flush, how your chest heaves, the way your hips roll. he wants to consume you, to devour every fibre of your being and keep it to himself. no one else should ever get the privilege of touching you like this. simon may not be your first, but he will be your last. he wont have it any other way. 

your eyes are half-lidded, a look simon adores. you look so pretty, lips parted as you whine, neck marked up, back arched. his hands settle on your waist, guiding you to move faster, harder. “cmon lovie, want you t’stain my fuckin jeans.” his hips buck up into you, the button of his jeans pressing against your clit. he grins as you whine, back arching, face contorting in pleasure. 

your hands claw at his jaw, pulling him forward. his lips crash into yours again. you can taste your own blood, only making your clit throb. he groans deep in his chest, cock twitching. 

his hands move, pushing your shirt up. he takes a moment to watch your tits, the way they move as your chest heaves. he gropes the soft fat, pinching and rolling your nipples. simon kisses you once again, swallowing every needy whine like a starved man. 

“cmon baby, give it to me,” his lips brush yours as he speaks, the hand on your chest trailing up to your neck, squeezing, “cum f’me, cum f’me pretty girl.” 

he grins as you tense, moaning loudly and clinging to him as you finish. his arms wrap around you, lips brushing your ear as he talks you through your orgasm, his following soon after. 

“good fuckin girl. so perfect, so fuckin obedient,” he grips your jaw, forcing your fucked out gaze to meet his, “how bout i give you some really dick, hm? a nice thank you for bein so good to me.” he smirks, almost laughing as you nod. 

[dollmoth-productions]

Hii!! I really like your platonic, yandere Hazbin Hotel writing and was wondering it you could do one with the Hazbin hotel cast dealing with Anxious teen reader who has panic attacks often.❤❤❤

Platonic Yandere hazbin hotel with anxious S/O

⚠️ABUSIVE BEHAVIOR AND DRUGGING AND FORCED KISSING STOCKHOLM OBSESSIVE BEHAVIOR STALKING POSSESSIVE BEHAVIOR STOCKHOLM SYNDROME MANIPULATION ABUSIVE BEHAVIOR AND DRUGGING AND FORCED ITS NOT HEALTHY ⚠️

…………………………………………………………………………

Charlie

🩷 she absolutely adores you and tries her best to make sure that you’re not as anxious as you could be stressed always weighted blankets calming music, lavender oil she has it all

🩷 she more an overprotective sister than anything. She just wants to make sure they don’t have a panic attack or anything like that. She even tried to convince some of the other rings to give you something to calm down.

🩷 if you are Hellborn she’s a little more overprotective mostly because unlike the sinners you are not immortal so she’s scared that you might die

🩷 but if you are a sinner, she’s a little more lenient however, you still have to do silly little exercises for the hotel 

Vaggie

🦋 she’s overprotective she straight up does not trust you around anyone else besides Charlie and herself

🦋 she’s very overprotective she’s an angel who lost everything so she sees you as an extension of herself

🦋 she doesn’t want you to experience the same thing that she did it would ruin her

🦋 She’s not as a protective or as possessive as the others she’s more like a overprotective sister she tries to give you exercises or stress toys like Charlie

Niffty

🐞 she’s a woman from the 50s. She probably doesn’t understand anxiety so she’s her normal chaotic self which is kind of funny and helps you in anyway.

🐞 she says the most don’t allow this crap so you pretty fast so if you’re having an anxiety attack, she helps you a lot

🐞 she put on roach puppet shows whenever you’re sad

🐞 all around she’s niffty nothing much has changed 

Husk

♠️ he’s a man with mental illness too. He understands the anxiety. He understands how it could feel to feel like everything is against you.

♠️ he makes you a drink not alcoholic but a kitty cocktail or soda tries to get you some decent food however it’s just bar food so it’s not as good as it should be

♠️ he’s a little bit more protective and possessive side so he’s always side no matter what

♠️ he has killed someone before for making you sad or caused you with severe anxiety attack. He didn’t care.

Angel

🕷️ he’s a little bit more modern, but I don’t think he fully understands mental illness the way that you do

🕷️ angel tries to calm me down by giving you fat nuggets or let you lie down next to him and has a casual talk with you

🕷️ he’s a brother he’s going to be a little bit more protective than the others. He kind of sees you as a fraternal sibling someone who cares and would kill for.

🕷️ he tries to spend as much time with you as possible, even if that means you know locking you and his room 

Alastor

🦌 the same thing as nifty he’s a man from the 1920s to 30s he does not understand mental illness. He thinks it’s fake.

🦌 however he does try to put on some light jazz to calm you down or tries to get you to dance with him

🦌 he’s kind of a funky dad if funky dad had a body count actually he has given you food with body parts in it just didn’t tell you because it was hidden

🦌 you’re his kid and you’re going to have the best food possible and it will make sure it’s delicious and homemade none of that produced crap 

…………………………………………………………………………

I had fun with this one a lot!!!

[pinguwrites]

Kinktober 2023 | Day Ten — William Killick + uniform kink, dirty talk

Pairing -> dom!william killick x wife!reader

Warnings -> smut (minors dni), dom!william, sub!reader, mention of military duty, use of good girl, sir kink, captain kink, william in his uniform>>>>>

KINKTOBER 2023 MLIST

Disclaimer: The Edge of Love characters, plots, quotes, etc. do not belong to me and belong to the rightful owner(s). This is only fanfiction and this is just for fun.

“I knew you liked it,” William said sweetly, resting his forehead against yours. He cupped your cheeks in his hand, caressing it with his fingers. “I can see the way you look at me when I wear it. All bothered-like. Just want a strong man to take care of you, hmm?”

You shuddered. William was right. You did like it when he wore his uniform, especially now that you were finally seeing him against after his deployment. How was it your fault he looked so damn good in it? It complimented his skin tone, it matched his dark brown hair almost perfectly, and it outlined his body, showing that he was strong and muscular and fit. When he wore it, it was like he commanded respect, and when you were by his side, it felt like no one could hurt you, that you were under protection, William’s protection. That you were his. 

“Yeah,” you admitted, trying not to get all flustered about it. If you didn’t downplay the situation you were sure you’d be in for nights of teasing. “It just, it looks nice on you. It’s a pretty colour.”

Images of fantasies you’ve had came up in your head. You tried to push them down, but you couldn’t stop thinking about them, especially now . . . William, holding you in his arms, shielding you from the dangers of the outside world. He would command you and dominante you, but in the loveliest ways — in a caring way. In a way that said he loved you. Sometimes he’d be on top, fucking you so good, but with his uniform on. He’d ask you — no, demand you call him ‘Captain’, and you would.  

William kissed you softly, his lips brushing up against yours. “I know it is. Is this what you want?” he asked.

“What?”

“Is this what you want?” he repeated. “To make love to you in this uniform?” His hands trailed up under your shirt, aiming to touch your breasts. “I can do that. Only if you want it.”

“Yes!” you immediately said, then averted your eyes, embarrassed at how eager you sounded. “William, I want it.”

“Darling,” he cooed. He picked you up in his arms, bridal style, and carried you to the bedroom, laying you gently on the mattress. “I’ll give it you. But first we need to lay some ground rules, okay?”

You looked up at him, curious, while he unbuckled his belt. What a wonderful sight.

“It’s not William anymore,” he said sternly. “You’ll call me Captain Killick. I deserve it, don’t I? For my wife to respect my position?”

“Yes, sir.” You could feel your body getting hotter, and the area between your legs wetter.

“You’ll be obedient, too. No brattiness,” he said, as he pulled his fat cock out, “no pleas or cries. Just ‘yes, sir’, ‘I’ll do anything to please you, sir’. I’ve served you all those years out there, fighting to keep my darling girl safe, and in return you’ll serve me. On your knees with your mouth, legs spread with your cunt — whatever I ask.”

Your response was filled with lust, “Yes, sir. Whatever you ask.”

“Good girl.” He gave you a proper kiss this time, a passionate one, with his tongue sweeping over your lips and pushing its way into your mouth. He let out a muffled groan, hiking up your skirt and pulling down your panties. 

“Get on your hands and knees for me,” he said in your ear. You hesitated. He had never taken you in that position before, but you obeyed nonetheless, waiting in anticipation.

“Ohh,” William moaned, pushing his cock into your wet pussy. He immediately started thrusting, hard and fast, without giving you a chance to adjust. 

“William!” you yelped, clutching onto the bed sheets for some stability.

He swiftly spanked your ass.

“C-captain Killick,” you corrected, little whimpers leaving your mouth. 

“Good girl. Ah, fuck — I can feel you clenching,” William said, his balls slapping against your skin, but you could also hear the sound of clothing shuffling. “Like it this much? Being—under my control? Dirty.”

You squirmed and tried to cover your wanton moans by placing your hand over your mouth, but William pinned your hands behind your back the moment he noticed what you were doing. “No, I want to hear your moans. Don’t hide them from me . . ."

He slowed his pace down and leaned over, his stomach touching your back. His thrusts were now more stiffer, and rough, pushing his way deep inside you. “Need to do this more often. Getting you so wet . . . I’ve missed you, it’s been so long since I’ve been inside of a woman.”

He cupped your bouncing breasts, pinching your nipples, eliciting a squeak out of you. “My darling wife. I love you . . . Now, stop squirming," he chastised, "and let me fuck you good."

Taglist:

@rainyforest777

@thatwitchybitch420 

@madeinuk

@gentyleman

@henrywintersdearestgirl

[milky-fixx]

love bites + love handles

BLEACH; various characters x chubby!reader headcanons

ft. gin ichimaru, Izuru kira, shuhei hisagi, adult!toshiro hitsugaya

tw: 18+ not sfw. all charas are aged up. afab reader. mentions of internalized fatphobia, insecurity, in terms of gin specifically, unhealthy relationship dynamics? (sorry y/n ur man is toxic.) in izuru’s section- mommy kink,, uh lactation, death/dying kink?? idk what i have done lol.

gin ichimaru—;

He likes pet names that point out your chub and veer dangerously close to derogatory i.e. my lil’ swine, my plump dumplin.’ He means these affectionately—or at least as affectionate as he can get—but that doesn’t translate well with his permanent smile, his mocking tone. Even if they weren’t related to your size, surely his delivery would make you wonder if it was something more sinister than teasing. If you ever tell him so, he’s quick to rectify.  

“Aw, don’t get yer panties in a knot~” he says, curling his arms around you, squeezing your middle. Another thing he loves doing. Drawing attention to your gut, even if it does make you flustered. “I’m only teasin’ ya.”

Canonically, he loves Rangiku, and while his eyes are almost always closed, he’s certainly not blind to her assets. He likes someone who can fill his arms generously, who he can sink his fangs into better—it gives him the impression that he owns you more fully.

If you’re ever down about your appearance—whether it be as a result of society’s unrealistic beauty standards, a piece of clothing that just won’t sit right on your figure, whatever—he’s awful at comfort. His nature is to antagonize rather than to soothe. But if you were having an especially bad day, and were ever to ask him if he likes your body, he’ll offer you a rare, genuine frown. “‘Course I like it. Why’d ya’ think I don’t?” If you were to persist, or even go down a spiral of why he shouldn’t, he’ll stop you, his icy gaze cutting through your words. “Not another peep outta ya.’” Before he distracts you. In Gin’s view, you can’t be lingering on certain topics once he’s teasing you again, right? But his teasing will have a little less bite this time, and lead its way to compliments that come across as more genuine than not.

Something Gin might do that confuses you is procuring skimpy clothes or lingerie for you, and leaving them out for you to wear. They’re often a size or two too small for you, and when you try them on, it’s nothing short of scandalous the way it squeezes into your flesh. It makes you wonder if he’s doing it intentionally, and don’t worry—he is. He’s a dick.  His reasoning though, is that he’s quite enamored by the way straps look digging into your shoulders, or garters digging into your thighs, the way you spill out generously from a too-tight corset. He’s all simpering about it too, for instance, watching you parade around Hueco Mundo or Seireitei with a low-cut outfit that leaves your curves to no one’s imagination. In his defense, he can play the role of the “concerned,” “protective" lover in public if you get flustered, dragging you back home by the waist as he tells you, “Ya’ silly thing, why’d ya’ even go out wearing tha’ kinda stuff? Ya’ know what a sight ya’ are?” Hmm, I wonder why. At some point, you can’t trust his choices, and you have to hide your clothes from his alterations. 

During sex, he likes having you on top so he can see your softer parts jiggle. He also enjoys seeing his fingerprints left on your skin, and is quite enamored with the marks tight clothing leaves on you. He may or may not pinch your fat rolls. He’s awful. You should break up with him, Y/N. If only the crazy dick wasn’t also good.

izuru kira— ;

Izuru thinks the world is a harsh and unforgiving place. The exact opposite of you and your body, and thus you become a sanctuary of sorts for him. He’s reverent—your entire body is as soft as a pillow, and he’s in desperate need of coddling from the world. What’s not to love?

Izuru especially likes running his hand along the dips and curves of your body when you’re bared before him, likening it to nature, the divine, his muse. And with him sweetly murmuring how you must have been spun from the gods’ silken hands themselves, how can you feel anything but beautiful?

Insecurities are undoubtedly a part of anyone with a body’s experience though, and if you’re ever particularly down about your appearance, Izuru is aghast. He assumes he’s at fault for making his muse think they’re unappreciated. He’ll show you some of his more, ahem, embarrassing haikus about you. If you want, he’ll even give you a mini performance, replete with his flushed cheeks, his gaze nervously darting to yours to gauge your reaction. Writing poems about you in secret is one thing, but having to perform them in front of you? If he didn’t love you so much, he thinks he could die of the embarrassment.

He accepts that there are things you’ll always dislike about yourself. If he were to list his own shortcomings, it would run miles. Izuru always lives in some kind of self-hating despair, but you—you’re his light. He hopes that by showing you how much he adores your body, you'll also come around to it.

If you’re ever pregnant and/or lactating, Izuru would love to suck on your breasts. Mommy kink confirmed. Even if the topic of trying for a baby baby has just been breached, you’ll sometimes catch him staring longingly at your breasts, before catching your eye and coughing, acting like he’s not. He’s mortified to admit just how... arousing he finds the thought of potential changes to your body.

Speaking of kinks, dying and other morbid things is something Izuru muses about often, but when it comes to you, something about these thoughts turns almost naughty. He’s embarrassed to admit it, but he thinks about being suffocated by your chest, or to suffocate with his face buried in your folds, your thighs caging his head. Sometimes these thoughts get him hard—dying is inevitable, and is a constant presence in a Shinigami’s life, but the thought of dying while wrapped up in your loved one? It’s somehow hot. Izuru is a bit too shy to mention these thoughts to you...

shuhei hisagi— ;

If you’re chubby, Shuhei finds the experience of going down on you even hotter. He’ll get nosebleeds at the thought of your thighs squeezing his head, his nose pressed into your slick folds until he can barely breathe, his hands coming up to grip your thighs as he groans at the give of them. Certified sub status.

Speaking of thighs, he loves to fuck them. Something about the thought is just hot—him squeezing your thighs together, his voice husky as he tells you to keep them clenched tight for him... good, just like that. Especially so if the head of his dick peeks through between them. He can literally cum from just that, his breath hitching at the sight of his seed streaked across them. It just makes him want to lick them even more.

Shuhei also kinda—don’t let him know you’re onto him—but when he’s really stressed from Seireitei Weekly deadlines, from his lieutenant duties, from seeming to run everything on his own? If you two are sitting on the couch together, he’ll just bury his face in your chest. It becomes a habit, and once he’s gotten over his hesitation, he’ll ask you for the boob pillow. Sometimes, when he’s so tense from everything, he’ll complain this way only, into your chest where it’s muffled and he doesn’t feel quite as much of a whiner and all he can think about is how soft you feel around him. You rubbing your hand through his head and listening to him complain is a nice touch.

He really likes hitting it from the back, where he can watch your plush ass bounce when his hips meet it. Also you on top, so he can see ever part of you.

His favorite part about you is how soft you are. Your tits pressing against his chest when he hugs you, the way he can dig into the softest parts of your thighs. 

He would love it if you ever asked him to pick your outfits for the day, or week. He may not look it, but sometimes he sees a cool jacket or top that he thinks would love great on you, but he doesn’t wanna come across as  weird and tell you how to dress. But he’d jump at the opportunity. Surprisingly his eye for fashion is pretty good, and he loves to get you punk outfits that compliment his.

toshiro hitsugaya— ;

He is traumatized from Rangiku’s boob smush. That being said, he does his best to ignore said assets from anyone, even if they are noticeable.

To be honest, it doesn’t really register to Toshiro that you being fat is something you should worry or be insecure about. If you mention it, he’ll blink and be like, “Yes. Your point being?” Truly, he thinks that appearances shouldn’t matter. He’s quite defensive about it, considering how people used to judge for looking too young for a captain.

If you ever mention being insecure, he’s conflicted. He wants to tell you that you’re perfect to him and you have nothing to worry about. But at the same time, he can’t quite bring himself to admit that. Toshiro’s tendency for bluntness and raw honesty is quite clumsy when it comes to declarations of affection. So he settles for showing you instead--with a fierce kiss, his arm tugging you forward

“Don’t be stupid,” he says sternly. “You’re per--fine just the way you are.”

He does try to show you how much you mean to him. Perhaps by upping the physical affection, which is a huge deal for Mr. Frigid and Icy. He’ll initiate hugs from behind, even in public.

If you continue to be insecure, he suggests--and he means this with no ill intention--some guides and strategies for self-love and shit. He finds it cheesy but he really wants to help you, while also not wanting to coddle you? He’s definitely had to look up research guides to relationships before, so he figures that’s a place to start.

As an adult, he’s pretty lean, so he also appreciates the size difference. Toshiro doesn’t treat you differently, hauling you onto his lap in those rare moments when he’s tired from paperwork and wants a pick-me-up, and has stopped giving a damn about decorum. But just picture grumpy Toshiro, nuzzling into your chest, asking for “Five more minutes,” because the feel of being wrapped around is much better than his hand cramping from all the papers he’s had to sign off of.

Ah. I’m loving the idea of Toshiro with a fuller boo and doing cute domestic shit. You feeding him curry you made while he hugs you from behind and complains that it’s too spicy (it’s not; he just has a piss-poor tolerance for spice). Napping with Toshiro on the couch on his day off and he cracks an eye open, a small smile curling his lips at the sight of you as he wraps an arm around you. Toshiro glowering at you when he’s in the rare mood for affection and you keep darting out of his grasp, until he pins you against the counter and steals a kiss from you while grumbling, “Finally.”

Rangiku thinks you’re the cutest couple, and definitely does her best to catch you two in the act of doing, what she deems, “cute couple activities.” More than once she’s walked in on you sitting in Toshiro’s lap, not even doing anything spicy, but just playing with his hair. It’s cute. She has totally taken blackmail pics. In her defense, her taicho never looks that soft with just anyone.

Body worship is big in the bedroom. Toshiro’s cold lips trailing your skin, his gaze heated. He may not be the best with words of affirmation, but he’s content to show you like this how much you mean to him.

[cleewii]

THIS IS LOVE

pairing: denji x gn!reader

rating: 16+

warning(s): violence, gore, loss and grief, reader is a morally questionable, pre-established relationship

word count: 1.4K

note: i wouldn’t consider this a completed work considering i just took a draft i had and polished it enough to be cohesive. it still needs some more work (an actual plot cough cough) but whatever. if enough people dig it i might expand on it more. i’ve just got this feeling that denji is rlly weird about crying and that’s where this came from.

I do not permit the reposting/reuploading of my work on any platform. i do not allow the use of my work for other forms of entertainment. not even with credit

if he could hold you to his heart, you’d hear the steady rhythm of life beating from within. two souls bound together in the form of this raggedy, beaten down, dirty mess of a man, covered in layers of dust, and grime, and blood. Yet, when your eyes fall upon him even if he stands a tattered wreck, all he’d see is adoration—a soft and sweet glimmer of something he’ll protect until his last dying breath.

he feels that love you have for him, with its honey golden glow, effervescent as it lays upon his skin in the form of chast kisses and a warm embrace, and he feels like he could die the happiest man in the world. so long as you’ll be there to smile so sweetly. just for him, only for him.

he’d rip apart the world in return, bury his hands deep within the sodden carcasses he’d lay at his own feet to grip at something feral and beating, just for you. all for you. always for you.

because you make him feel like he’s living, like you want him for more then what lives behind his rib cage, tasting his dreams and letting the sweetness of it all fill it until it was satisfied.

“pochita,” he’d told you, “his name s’pochita”

“yeah? how’d you meet him?”

he’d recounted everything he could remember to you that night. that sickly feeling of starvation, the dull throbbing of his head. stories followed by tragedies, even when you felt like you could cry, you let him finish. you listened.

“she killed ‘em. all’ve ‘em…i couldnt….i didnt save ‘em,” his chin falls utop his knees, arms hugging his legs to his body as he stares at the ground solemnly. the glimmer of an anguished nostalgia simmering in his eyes; he seems transfixed on burning his pain into the couch cushion underneath him. from the way he spoke about them, his family, you knew they’d meant the world to him. Maybe even more than that.

you say nothing about the tears that slip down his cheeks. nor the way his nose goes red, and his cheeks blot with watercolor grief.

you only pull him closer, letting him lean against you as he soaks your shirt in muffled sobs.

he falls asleep like that, and you follow soon after. His skin sticky with dried tears, nose and eyes rubbed raw.

he’s snoring before he can process whatever childish embarrassment he might feel about having been so vulnerable. he swallows down the weakness before giving himself the chance to chew on it. there was a realization that had replaced it—in fact—before his eye lids grew so heavy that he had to give into his body’s yearning for sleep.

He wondered, something he rarely allows himself to do, that maybe you matter to him as much as they did. it’s a thought that stays in the back of his mind throughout the rest of the night, in his dreams where the smell of you wandered like a ghost, his body curled up, pressed right against yours.

he would cry for you.

he’d known that since the first time he’d seen you covered in bruises and looking worse for wear.

you were alive, and he still cried.

it had shaken him to his core.

he didn’t notice until you pointed it out, the fat tears that trailed down his cheeks at the sight of you.

he didn’t know why, he’d felt so stupid after the fact, but that didn’t change the way he practically bawled like a baby when you’d returned home late that night, blood seeping into your shirt from the cuts that littered your skin.

you’d been attacked by a devil, you explained, and later that night, when you were safe in bed and sleeping soundly under the covers, he’d gone searching for the thing that’d hurt you.

he didn’t come back until he found it, and left it a writhing pile of stinking flesh.

you didn’t question why he came back to you bloody, or ask about the self satisfied grin he’d presented to you after the fact. you just smiled, so sweet and soft, and kissed the corner of his lips like it was the normal thing to do.

you supposed it was.

every since you’d met him, the line between moral and immoral had faded. what once made your skin crawl and stomach ache, felt like simple showers of rain during a sunny day. never completely normal—always a little too intense to handle—and not always completely welcomed, but a type of irregularity that you wouldn’t lose any sleep over.

that’s why you didn’t think too much about the metallic taste in your mouth afterwards.

that dopey smile on his face was enough for you, especially when he realized you hadn’t changed the bandaids he’d littered over your skin. mismatched, placed everywhere, some folded over themselves in his struggle to remove them from the packaging, and others overlapping each other in his haste to to dress the cuts that marred your skin.

his hands had shaken horribly, eyes red and puffy from crying, finally calming down once he’d bandaged every wound.

it should have scared him, the way he’s broken down so easily because of you. it should have swallowed him whole, filled his lungs with a smokey kind of fear that he’d suffocate in.

if death wasn’t an option, then surely that was the next best thing.

having to watch everyone else die before him.

having to watch you die.

the thought was enough to make him gag, it’s inevitability clung to his throat like a disease.

he’d held you tight, and kissed every inch of skin you’d allowed him to access that night, suddenly strengthened in the resolve he’d created moments before.

“ill protect you. won’t let anythin’ hurt you again. not ever.”

“yeah?” you giggled. maybe you shouldn’t have. there was nothing lighthearted about his declaration. it was solid, unwavering, etched into his entire being and nothing would change it.

“yeah.” he looks down, a determined furrow in his brow, “i promise.”

you stared at him, for a moment, mulling over his words, tasting them on your tounge.

then, your face had melted into a smile, and you kissed him right on the lips.

he couldn’t stop smiling for the rest of the night.

“i love you, denji…” you murmured into his hair, soft blond strands tickling your cheek as you slowly drifted, your exhaustion finally catching up to you.

he had only been dozing off, fading in and out of sleep, but the moment those words left for mouth he could feel his body tremble.

you loved him.

you loved him.

he hoped, a selfish kind of hope, that you loved him as much as he did you.

it played in his head, like a broken record. repeating itself, over and over again, until he too faded into sleep.

do you love me like i love you…?

do you need me like i need you….

“ur a dream, ya know that?” he says to you one day, head lying comfortable in your lap as the two of you lounge about a chilly winter day. this was months later, summer having faded as sleet and snow covered the once lively earth.

“half the time i cant believe ur real…” he mumbles that last part, looking away from your serene gaze as if he’d melt at the sight of your eyes, eyes that were always so warm and golden.

red dusts the tips of his ears, painting over the skin of his shoulders and cheeks, you can’t help the giggle that leaves you at the sight of him all flustered and quiet.

“well m’right here aren’t i?” you smile. your fingertips brush over the ends of his blond hair.

“yeah.”

he feels warm at the thought.

still here.

he doesn’t regret crying for you.

no, in fact, he thinks if he could he’d cry every day for you. happy tears, sad tears, so long as you could hold him close and tell him it was alright. that you’d never leave him the way they did, that you’d be okay.

he doesn’t regret crying for you, because although it seemed like whenever he cried it was because he’d lost something, something precious that meant more to him then he’d care to admit, you’d managed to prove him wrong.

for once, his tears didn’t mark the end of something—of someone.

for once, he cried, and you were still here

[cremationstayshun]

Kiss with a Fist - Chreon

Summary: If one thing was certain, is that Leon S. Kennedy knows how to push buttons. Something from the beautiful man that was Chris Redfield was better than nothing, right?

Right?

Trigger Warnings: Implied sexual assault/rape

AO3

Leon sneered at the lone double bed in the hotel room. He could hear his roommate for the night lumbering in behind him.

"Well at least it's a king," Chris shrugged trying to maintain neutrality with the prickly DSO agent standing next to him. He received a scathing look as a reward for his efforts. Chris took a deep breath to simmer down his exasperation. Their flight back was delayed due to a blizzard, which was currently screaming at the windows outside. While the sleeping situation was not ideal, it was better than staying the night at the airport. As much as he tried to remain civil and gain favor with Leon, the man seemed to push back harder and harder. He looked back to the man who was eyeing up the couch against the opposite wall, his face barely giving anything away. It was enough for Chris to know what he was thinking.

"Oh, come on, are you serious?"

Sharp, blue eyes cut over to him, "what?"

"Why are you so dramatic? We can just share the bed, Kennedy."

Leon did not answer right away, but the pause was barely noticeable. A crease formed between his brows in thought and his eyes darted across the other's face before his face hardened. A vicious smirk fell over his face, instantly setting Chris on edge. He practically sauntered across the room, reminding the BSAA captain of a predator. He came up to where Chris had moved closer to the bed and met the larger man's eyes defiantly. Chris shifted quickly into defensive. He was not about to put up with the DSO agent's shit.

"You that desperate, Redfield? Valentine isn't around, so you gotta shoot your shot at the nearest warm body?"

"The fuck? That's not what I am asking for and you know it. You're so fucking difficult."

"Yeah unlike you. Evidently, it's easy to get in the pants of the great BSAA Golden Boy."

"Better than being the bitch of the DSO who crawls around for any scraps that they throw your way!" Chris' voice has risen in volume at this point, and he was chest to chest with Leon and he felt a prickling in his face as his anger grew. The little fucker remained perfectly calm with his stupid perfect hair and that just pissed Chris off more.

The calm was downright eerie when Kennedy responded, "Yeah, they fucked everything out of me like a cheap whore to keep her safe, and I let them. But at least I was able to protect her because I wasn't hung up on my boss betraying me instead of fucking me."

CRACK

Leon felt the impact but could not register the pain as he was losing his balance. The backhand sent his body into a spiral and he would blame it on exhaustion that Chris actually got a hit on him. His ribs which were bruised from their mission slammed into the arm of the couch which was barely padded. He could definitely feel the sharp edge of its frame jam into his tender flesh. He was thankful that he kept himself from making a sound. It took him a moment to breathe through the pain and when he finally looked back up Chris was hovering over him, hands up and not touching him, and his face pinched in guilt and worry. He opened his mouth, probably about to apologize or ask what he needed or some other dumb caring thing that will just make Leon love the man more. He could not let that happen when he was already so vulnerable. He easily cut the other off, still keeping his cocky persona, "That all you got? I've been hit harder while getting railed on some nice fat cock."

It’s like your pretty boy face was made to be bruised, kid. 

The man cycled through many emotions which were etched clearly in his expressions. Shock, confusion, a strange grimace that Leon couldn't read, and then a grim determination that almost made the smaller man regret his words. Chris pulled him up easily by the front of his shirt. Grip so tight, that Leon can hear the fabric creaking in strain. His eyes burned with a frightening determination. His gaze flicked down to Leon's mouth, but he made no move to press his own against them. He took his other hand and shoved three thick fingers past those slightly parted lips and down his throat, making the DSO agent gag and moan around them. Fuck. Yes. His tongue quickly worked against the digits, trying desperately to memorize Chris' flavour since this will likely be his only chance with how furious the man seemed. His breath was being cut off in a delightful way and he decided then that he would take whatever he got tonight.

"You're right about one thing at least. You really are a cheap whore huh?" He pulled his fingers out of Leon's throat. He coughed and gasped for air, his legs shaking with arousal and something he couldn't quite explain. Drool dripped down his chin but that was the last thing on his mind as he looked up at Chris through hazy vision. The other man looked harsh, cold in a way he had never seen before. Leon's entire body trembled, help up only by the hand gripping his shirt. Leon was struggling with catching his breath, but Chris didn't seem to care, "absolutely pathetic. The great Leon S. Kennedy is such a slut that it just takes the promise of cock to make him listen."

Leon's world tipped off balance as Chris shoved him onto the bed, his back hitting the soft mattress. The plushness off it was a pleasant surprise but he did not have enough time to think about it as Chris' voice sliced through his thoughts.

"Strip."

Leon stared up at the other man for a moment, absently not believing this was happening. Chris, however, was out of patience, "Strip or I'll cut them off."

You’ll do anything to be stuffed full on a nice dick.

The threat was very serious from what Leon could tell. He scrambled up onto his knees and started undoing the buttons of his shirt. Apparently, the man was really fed up. As soon as the buttons were undone, he yanked the material down to Leon's wrists and deftly twisted it so that the man was trapped. He could easily get out if he tried but before he could he was pulled down the bed with the force of the tugs on his pants and boxers. He was quickly exposed to chilled air drafting from the windows. He wasn't sure if it was that or Chris fully clothed and towering over him that caused shivers to wrack through his body. He figured he probably went from predator to prey for the other man, his eyes wide and anxiety forming deep in his gut. It was quickly forgotten, though, as he was flipped onto him stomach and his ass pulled into to air. He tugged at the shirt tangled around his wrists. Leon managed to free then but not without leaving friction burns behind.

"Spread your legs." The command was simple, and Leon could not do anything but obey. Apparently, it wasn't good enough and Chris took a moment to jerk Leon's legs further apart, forcing him to bow his back unnaturally. He knew Chris was still fully clothed and that did so much to make Leon feel even more vulnerable beneath him. A large hand grabbed one cheek and spread it to expose the tight pink hole there. The feeling of cold air sending another shiver through his body. He had to force himself to remember that this was the only way Chris would touch him. He gasped as a dry thumb pushed against the tight ring of muscle, forcing it open. The dry pull of it thrusting in and out soon followed and Leon had to clench his jaw to hold in the sounds that wanted to pour out. He realized he was painfully hard which caused his face to redden. The flow of blood warring between flowing north and south made him dizzy. He felt like everything was swaying around him, adrift at sea and lost in the own torrent of his mind. The sharp pain of Chris' other thumb pushing into him was like the beam from a distant lighthouse.

You’ll spread your legs for anyone, won’t cha?

"If I didn’t already know how much of a slut you are, I do now that I see how loose your cunt is."

Leon could barely believe the words coming out of Redfield's mouth. They were filthy and caused the thump of his heart to be deafening. Leon hadn't had sex since-- well it's been a long time. Either way the words still made feel cheap and dirty, but the arousal was undeniable. In his embarrassment there was no words that he could say to fight back.

"Bet a whore like you doesn't even need lube."

He didn't take the words seriously until he felt Chris lean forward and spit harshly onto his spread hole. He wanted to cry but would not allow himself. As much as he did like it rough at times, this is not what his first time with Chris was like in any of his fantasies. This Chris was someone that he had only seen directed at his most heinous enemies. He was ripped out of thoughts when the larger man pulled his thumbs from his hole and quickly replaced them with three thick fingers. It was all too much at once and the sound that tore from his throat was a strange mix of a moan and sob. He rested his cheek on the bed and breathed raggedly through the painful stretch, pleasure still burning through his veins despite everything. He was given a few rough thrusts that provided no pleasure before they were yanked out.

Tense silence pervaded the room only disrupted by Leon’s ragged breath and the jingle of a belt being unbuckled. Leon could barely move except a slight adjustment to be able to watch Chris over his shoulder, sure the other man could see how much of a mess he was. The larger man’s eyes were impossibly dark, and lust was clear even through harsh downturn of both his brows and lips. The anger was clearly visible. Leon swallowed even though his mouth and throat had long gone dry.

C’mon comrade, I know a slut like you can take it. Don’t you disappoint me, now. 

"Fuck, Kennedy," the words were punched out between thrusts and clenched teeth, the man below him practically sobbing into his arm. Leon felt like he had lost time somewhere, but it was hard to tell with the miasma that was his psyche. His heaving chest was pressed into the bed and hips held in the air by a bruising grip. He was tight, not prepared nearly enough before he has speared on the obscenely large cock of one Chris Redfield. He practically wailed when a large hand came down on his ass.

"You just can't shut the fuck up, can you?"

The words pierced through his haze and doused him in shame.

"Such a whore. Bet you'd let anyone fuck you," Another harsh slap. He had stopped thrusting at the bruising intensity as he leaned down and pushed his mouth near Leon's ear, "You get passed around the office as a cocksleeve? I bet the reason you won't shut that slutty mouth is cause you need a dick down your throat to satisfy you."

I always knew you were mouthy. How ‘bout I teach you how to use it?

Cold was creeping through Leon, taking over the pleasured delirium he was previously in. Chris' comforting warmth, despite the previous harsh treatment, (and really that was Leon's fault anyway) was replaced with a familiar and oppressive weight of a body on top of him, taking what it wants. He wanted it to stop. His throat had closed, and it felt like his jaw was wired shut. He couldn't get a sound out. What had felt so euphoric moments ago speeding towards nightmarish. His chest was tight. He couldn't breathe. Was he even breathing? A hand on the space between his head and neck pushed him deeper into the bed and terror alike. He couldn't even fight back. This is what he had wanted wasn't it? He decided to piss Chris off and goad him into sex. Of course, the man would be rough. He hated Leon and he wanted the mouthy agent just to shut the fuck up.

When Leon tried to speak, all he could get out was a thready and pathetic whimper. He felt so small and weak with spots dancing in front of his eyes. He still couldn't tell if he was breathing, focus having closed in to racing thoughts and flashing memories. Rough, battle worn hands, a gun pressed to the back of his head then those hands around his throat pushing him down, a cold gravelly voice in his ear.

That's it comrade. You're so loose, you fuckin’ cocksleeve.

"Leon?"

Chris had been working up into a good rhythm, enjoying watching the gorgeous agent beneath him squirm on his cock. He never thought he would have a day when he would be able to fall into bed with Leon S. Kennedy of all people. Well, it was more like he had pushed the man, but it seemed that he liked it rough and mean and Chris was trying his best to do that for him. His concentration was broken by a small sound from below him. It sounded different from his previous noises, without a hint of pleasure. It was like ice went through his veins as he looked at his bedpartner.

Leon was barely moving. He was practically panting, and his breath wheezed out of him harshly. His eyes were distant and unfocused with tears flowing freely down his cheeks. Blood oozed from his lip where he seemed to have bitten it at one point. Chris instantly loosened his grip on the back of Leon’s head as his protective instincts took over. This clearly was not right to him. Even if he had never been with Leon in such an intimate way before, it felt off. He pulled out from the man, dick already softening as his panic overtook him. When he released Leon’s hip he fell limply against the bed. It reminded Chris sickeningly of a marionette with its strings cut.

“Leon?” He crawled up the bed to lean over the man. He did not seem to notice Chris. He tried calling his name again, but there was no response. He lifted his hand to place it on Leon’s shoulder, and before he could the man flinched violently, another small whimper whistling from his throat. His gaze locked on the larger man’s form. Chris still was not sure that Leon was completely seeing him. He reached out again, this time carefully telegraphing his movements. He could tell that the other was tracking his movements sluggishly with his eyes, but the flinch when Chris made contact was much more subtle.

He just rested his hand on Leon’s shoulder and let the man work through his panic with silent support. It took a painfully long time for the smaller man’s breathing to slow to a even a marginally reasonable pace. Chris didn’t think he was fully back to the present, but the panic seemed to dull enough for him to be comfortable with bundling Leon against him. He ripped the blanket from where it was tucked into the bed as an afterthought and wrapped it around both of them. Leon hadn’t lashed out or freak out more, which Chris decided to take as a good sign. He settled in to wait for Leon to come back to reality, the silence leaving space for an unbearable guilt.

[heatofember]

reply from this.

Edward didn't normally went to bars af often but one night he decided to go with a few friends of his owns. Wearing a lovely black suit and tie that hugs his muscular form, the mage enjoyed the atmosphere until someone catches his eyes. A very lovely blacked dressed women that shows a pair of melons. He eyes her figure up and down as he thinks for a moment... how can he approach her... soon his friend cought wind of what he is seeing and assist him.

With their numbers dwindling, the mages friend picked the blacked dressed womens one by one until she is all alone. With this chance he takes it as he joins her at the bar.

Ordering a few drinks as he chatted, he buttered the women up as well as calming her nerve with some drinks. At the end he succeeded and only feeling tipsy, he advances even more.

Whispers flirting here and there, risky touching and feeling soon a sneaky passionate kiss between them. As things heated up, he suggested to go back to his place and luckily she agreed.

Time was a blur but he is still in control and is leading into this session. As they reach to the bedroom, his greedy hand unzip and undoes the women's outfit and scarring it onto the floor. He kisses her deeply and passionately, letting his tongue dance as it dominated the scene.

Undoing all of her undergarments to display that amazing finger of hers, Edwards hand roams around to have a feel of what he is working with. Giving her ample breast a squeeze, that ass of hers a firm spanking and teasing her wet pussy he loves what he is having tonight~.

Now showing of his body, the mage places her on all fours as he teases the tip of her entrance. He would put protecting but the lustful side of him takes over as he wanted to feel her rawr, even if its a dangerous day he can simply pull out or ask her to take a pill... even so the thought of knocking her up is quite hot~.

A moan escape his lips as he enters in, his fat cock streches her wide breaking that hymen of hers as the tips kisses deeply into her cervix. One hand places her lips as he made her bounce in and out of his fat cock. Once she is used to the motion, his hand lets go of that cervy body of hers as he lets her put in work and go on her pace.

Fuck she was tight and knowing that he will mold this pussy of hers only fits him pleased the mage. Giving a lovely spank, leaving a red hand print he spoke with a raspy voice and a moan fallowing after.

" Fuck girl~ You are god damn tight. Don't worry if you don't to get knocked up I can simply pull out... however if you want me to be your mans, you better beg and moan for it alright~" with a faint chuckle he slaps the other side of her cheeks. Gods he is wanting to pound her into the bed so bad but given that its her first time he resisted such an urge.

@etchina-danjon

[theotherdeerinhell]

Heart of a Buck Ch 3 - The Redemption Program

Fiona has no clue why she needs to participate in the hotel's rehab program. But Charlie insisted on it, so she is sitting on the couch with everyone else in the hotel. It is an interesting group of misfits. One of Valentino's "toys," some snake she never heard of, Alastor, Charlie, a fallen angel, some short freak, and some winged cat who would rather be anywhere else than here. Fiona looks around to see if she missed anyone, but no. That seems to be the entire crew. They all give Fiona glances back, though she couldn't blame them. The only other deer they appear to know is the radio demon himself. 

"Okay, everyone!" Hell's princess finally speaks up, "Today we have a very special lesson." Charlie comes up to Fiona and kneels down. She lifts up a leg gingerly so everyone can see the shattered hoof. "Our new guest here had her hooves shattered, so she can't walk until they heal. It is our duty to make Fiona here feel safe and welcome while she recovers from the crippling injuries she sustained.

"If everyone succeeds, I can see if dad will make some apple cider for us." That announcement is enough to capture at least the feline fellow's attention.

"Soft cider, Husk," Charlie says upon notice of his face lifting up. The face falls right back in to its usual grumpy look once he was notified of the lack of alcohol involved.

"You got to be fucking cruel to fill an old man's heart with hope, princess," Husk retorts. But as he speaks, he approaches the couch and grabs a pillow anyways. It's not like the residents have a choice when it comes to participating in the program. The entire point of the hotel is to redeem this ragtag group of sinners. 

The spider approaches Fiona and gets down on his knees. He grabs her ankles and starts expertly rubbing the muscles. He flinches and pauses when he hears a growl, turning around to see Alastor towering over him with his ears pinned back.

"Come on, Alastor!" Angel Dust fusses, "There ain't a reason to get buckish over toots over here. I'm just trying to relax her muscles. No funny business!"

Alastor looks down at Fiona's pained expression with a grinning scowl. "Angel, dear," his voice is mockingly sweet, "You are doing it wrong. You're hurting who her majesty told me to protect. Now do get away from poor Fiona, or I will make you." Alastor gives the spider a look. Fiona can't tell what exactly makes Angel Dust budge. Maybe it is the malicious crackle of radio. Maybe it is the grin growing more unsettling.

Alastor's hands are spindly and cold, and that is not mentioning the smell he's rubbing all over her lower leg. His expert touch encourages blood circulation and helps ease the throbbing pain. Fiona sits back and sighs. Alastor is good at this. It's as though he has as much intimate knowledge on anatomy as a surgeon would. Something about that is ominous, but Fiona tries to not let that bother her for the moment.

The other residents stay back. They know Alastor, and they know it's unusual for him to be so tender with someone. Many lean forward to try to get a look at where his eyes are at. They see that he is eyeing her legs, her chest. Just everything that can be seen. But there is no lust in those eyes. No, they have the same look as someone looking at a delicious luxury steak. The only thing keeping Fiona from becoming a dinner is the fact that Alastor prefers what he calls "bad meat." Whatever that means, it's clear that Fiona does not fit in that category. So, while she apparently looks appetizing, Alastor only admires her fat distribution and muscle structure, fantasizing what kind of delicious meals he can cook up with a body like this.

Fiona sits back and lets her muscles lax as Alastor makes a show of how much of an expert he is at massaging damaged deer feet. Which Fiona has to admit it to herself: the blood flow that precise touches encourage is soothing.

Fiona lifts her head slightly and sighs as Husk finally puts a pillow where her head can rest. She could easily spend the entire day like this. Perhaps the rest of her afterlife. A group of sinners pampering her as some rehabilitation lesson. 

But this is Hell. When there is something good happening, it doesn't last. 

The group session is interrupted by a knock on the door. Fiona heart drops when she sees the way that Alastor narrows his eyes. His ears lie flat against his head, and he tries to step towards the door. He can already tell who is there, but Charlie holds an arm out to block the overlord.

"Stand down, Alastor," Charlie says cooly with a sweet smile, "I'm sure it's just someone who needs some help. I got it covered."  Charlie turns towards the door and opens it. Fiona looks over at Alastor with a worried glance, seeing how he stands as a living shield between her and the hotel entrance.

Something is definitely off. Alastor does not seem to be the type to grow overprotective of people quickly. Which means he is somehow aware of who is at the door. And chances are, the individual is connected to the incident that destroyed her hooves. But she and Alastor have no choice but to watch Charlie open the door. 

Vox stands on the other side. He carries the same smug demeanor as always, but Fiona knows that his appearance is not good news. Vox is bold to show his screen around here. He was meant to protect her. That was the price she has put on her soul, and he has failed his end.

"Ah, Charlie! Just the princess I wanted to see!" Fiona's ears flatten to the sound of that traitor's voice, "I have just lost a valuable soul of mine, and you know your hotel's...reputation, and my souls are known to hide here whenever they scurry off. So, if you have seen a gothic doe around, I request her safe return." Fiona grits her teeth. Vox has gone this long without mentioning his dick. He is really mooching on Charlie with that level of restraint here. That is the thing about him. Vox really knows how to get what he wants. It's likely a common overlord trait.

Charlie just gives him an unimpressed look. She looks down and sighs softly. "Look, Vox," Charlie says, "Your runaways want nothing to do with you. They are never happy when I bring them back, so..." Charlie clasps her hands together and inhales through her teeth, "I haven't seen who you mentioned."

"That's bullshit!" Vox's screen glitches as he exclaims, "If Fiona really isn't in there, then there would be no issue in letting me check inside." Vox leans forward and reaches out, but before his claws could push Charlie out of the way, Vaggie finally steps in.

"Enough with this, Vox." Vaggie points her angelic spear at Vox with a stern scowl, "Beat it, else you will have to get that smug screen of yours repaired." She nudges the blade at Vox to prove a point. The other sinners look over at what Vaggie is doing. Many are more than happy to pull out their weapon of choice. Whether that is for brownie points due to the current rehabilitation program, or a thirst for chaos? Fiona figures it depends on who you ask.

Vox slinks back. He doesn't seem to be the most pleased with the result, but he is outmatched. Outnumbered, outpowered... the entire thing is not going well for him.

"FUCK!" Vox shouts. He kicks the door, then disappears into a camera through some electric form. Everyone waits a minute, but the tension melts away when they see that Vox won't immediately try again. It doesn't mean Fiona is safe. Vox is a stubborn demon, and one failed attempt with a cowardly retreat is not the final one.

Fiona grumbles and lies back. Her head hits the pillow with a soft thump. This is just great. Vox already noticed she gone. She figured it would take longer if her absence would've been noticed at all. It's not like she had a high rank in Vox's arsenal. Yet again...

How many deer are in Hell? That seems more like a Heaven type of animal to be. Most sinners are either some sort of insect or lizard. Snakes and spiders are common. She looks over at Alastor, whose stance is still upright and wide. Is he the only other deer in all of Hell? Is that why he grew a seemingly immediate attachment to her? Or is that a lie, just like Vox's promise to protect her?

But her mind slips from that when she feels someone handling her shattered hooves. Fiona looks up to see Husk slipping some heated socks on her. She sighs and goes back to her thoughts.

"Thank you," Fiona says, "That actually feels nice."

"I'm the one who heated them up!" Niffty pops her head up from behind an arm rest and scampers until she's sitting on it, "Wanna know how?" Fiona flinches to that question. She opens her mouth when Alastor says something.

"Oh, my dear Niffty, I would love to hear all about it later," Alastor speaks in a silky-sweet tone, "But I'm afraid not everybody can appreciate your twisted little ways. You are truly a demon ahead of your time, so how about you tell me your heat pad secrets when you won't ruin the pampering for this fine deer, hm?" Well, that was certainly a more polite way to word it. 

Niffty grins at the compromise and eagerly nods her head. She scampers away to deal with whatever other tasks she is up to. Likely drowning insects in cleaning products.

[bestfictionalplant]

Prelim Polls: Warhammer 40k

2 will go through, propaganda under cut

Spiker: The Spiker is a type of plant found on many Death Worlds, such as Catachan. They are considered by many to be one of the most dangerous plant forms in the entire galaxy. Spikers are vaguely cylindrical in shape, and tend to be man-sized, about 2 meters tall and upright. They are covered with a thick layer of hair-like leaves, out of which protrude the countless thin, sharp spikes that give the plant its name. These spikes, which are fired at nearby animal forms, are what make this plant dangerous. Piercing the skin of an animal, they release a mutagenic chemical into the bloodstream that reforms the victim's body into that of a Spiker. A human taking a spike in the arm will soon find his arm become hairy and immobile, and within a short time his whole body will be covered in spikes. Although the victim remains mobile for some time, the physiological changes destroy the mind, so that the victim wanders aimlessly and is unable to react to the horrifying process. Eventually all mobility is lost, and the host completes his transformation into a Spiker.

Breathweed: Breathweed (Parasitus Respirare) is a type of organism found on Catachan. It is unclear if Breathweed is a plant or fungus, but it is known to grow on the side of tree trunks and resemble a vine. If something brushes against the weed, it dissolves into a cloud of airborne spores which if inhaled, will attached itself to the tongue. At this stage it appears no more than a small blister, but left alone for a day or two it will absorb into the tongue and vanish from sight. Over the subsequent weeks the spore eats the tongue from the inside, growing until it has eventually taken the place of the hosts original tongue. The host has no idea the tongue itself is a growing parasite that absorbs more nutrients that pass over it while producing more spores. The host gradually wastes away and dies; and as they take their final breath the pseudo-tongue dissolves, releasing spores it has grown to seed new weeds.

Brainleaf: The Brainleaf[1a] (also referred to as the "Grey Vine" or "Slave Vine") is native to Catachan and appears to be a small tree. It has a rudimentary animal brain with the lowest level of intelligence and appears to be able to control animals and humans through attaching its leaves to them. The leaves can float away from the tree for many metres using a wing-like undulation, but when they come into contact with a creature, the nerve bundles in the leaf attach themselves and grow throughout the victim's nervous system, effectively taking them over. The Brainleaf can then make use of the creature and its abilities. There is another variant of Brainleaf that appears as a grey, hairy vine wrapped around a tall object. When prey gets too close to the vine, it will reach down and attach a leaf to the back of the creature's neck. The fibers in the leaf then quickly burrow into the spinal chord of the victim, reducing a victim to a brainleaf thrall. The Brainleaf uses its victims to protect itself, and propagate its young. Victims have no intelligence, often lacking the motor skills to use primitive weapons. To protect the Brainleaf, the Brainleaf Thrall will charge at anything that gets too close and beat it with whatever appendages it has. The Brainleaf can be removed from a victim, though it is incredibly dangerous to the victim. If they aren't killed by the agonizing procedure, they will suffer permanent nerve damage. 

Feculant Gnarlmaw: The Warp-flora feature an enormous mouth that run up the centre of their trunks, with dozens of razor-sharp teeth lining it, while the few stunted branches that grow from Gnarlmaws feature Plague Bells, tentacles and pustulent boils. They also gather clouds of fatted Plague Flies around them and the base of the Gnarlmaws' trunks are linked with the skulls of those who have been foolish enough to venture near them. And while they normally reside within the Garden of Nurgle, the Warp-flora will rapidly sprout up outside of of his realm, wherever a large number of the Chaos God's Daemons are congregating or Nurgle's most grievous foulness reigns. On the battlefield they aid the Plague God's armies, as the Feculent Gnarlmaws belch clouds of Daemonic spores and shed rot-wet blossom to carpet the maggot-churned earth beneath their boughs. They also exude an aura of supernatural disease and the dull tolling of the Gnarlmaws' Plague Bells, draws Nurgle's Daemons to the battlefield in swarms.

[lullabyes22-blog]

Snippet - I Hate Oyster Pâté- Forward, but Never Forget/XOXO

Teatime with two chem-baronesses.

Forward, but Never Forget/XOXO on AO3

cw: mentions of sex work and child labor

Snippet:

In the evening, he has tea with Renata and Margot. The pair are working to merge Glasc Industries and the Vyx for a joint venture into Sextech. Beyond artificial limbs or prosthetics: neural interfaces designed to replace lost senses like sight, touch and taste. Organs grown in vitro. Body modification. Synthetic hormones. 

A veritable smorgasbord of sensation.  

Their collaboration is symbiotic; they're each other's muse. When he arrives, they greet him charmingly: Renata with a perfumed air-kiss along his unscarred cheek, Margot with a coy squeeze of his hand in both her own. They are dressed to kill in contrasting gowns of champagne silk and silver mesh.  On both their hands sit a pair of impressively-sized engagement rings.

Silco gives them his wry admiration. "My congratulations, ladies. Or is it condolences?"

"Tsk, Silco. You do tease."  

Renata proffers her hand to flaunt the ring. Like most Undercity jewels, it is made of black diamonds from the mines. Piltovans hanker for white and colored gems. They are less opaque, thus easier to grade by color intensity. But black diamonds are rarer still—and because of their scarcity, fetch higher prices.

Silco would know.

As boys, he and Vander nearly suffocated during a tunnel collapse to collect broken diamond ore and haul it to the surface. They were taught to value black diamonds above everything else. Including—especially—their own lives. A sumpsnipe was as common as shit in the alleyside. A black diamond was priceless.

The stone is rough-cut, an iridescent blue vein running down the center. It is sharpened to a spike, and retractable like a claw. The design serves a dual purpose: a glittering proof of partnership and a hard-edged tool for self-protection. This one could puncture steel.

"Truly a work of art," Renata says. "Twelve miners died in the making of this jewel."

Margot giggles coyly. "I think they would celebrate the result."

"Blood is far less pedestrian than champagne."

"And leaves a sweeter aftertaste."

They laugh in ribald collusion.

To Silco, they resemble a pair of hyenas draped in designer silks—predacious and patently phony. Their laughter spills like blood through a tourniquet. On the rare occasion he finds himself in their company, he feels a sense of amused ennui that these creatures, a dark nadir to Piltover's bright apex, are his nation's crème de la crème, its end-product of proud aristocracy. How will it end? He can hazard a guess: with bloodlines as watery as the Pilt, and as poisonous, with dull-eyed socialites and blustering buffoons at the top of the slag heap, their children grown fat on imported decadences and their minds washed complacently clean of history by fashionable frippery.

That is Zaun's future if it forgets its roots. It is why he must cut deals and cut throats. Safeguard legacy against entropy.

Protect Jinx's future.

He settles back into his seat, eyelids drooping half-shut. "You'll forgive me if I don't ask for particulars on your engagement."

"That's a man for you," Renata scoffs. "Little is worth lingering on. But yes—you’re forgiven. And darling, I know you told me not to have supper prepared. But I took the liberty of having Elza fix oyster pâté. Your favorite, I recall."

"Divine," he lies.

"And tea, of course. You could use some tea."

"The day has been long."

"Ah, but your speech." Margot flutters her eyelashes. "I listened to the broadcast this afternoon. You were magnificent! So passionate!"

"That was the idea."

"You should likewise rouse my workers. Cheeky things—they deserve a proper tongue lashing! I'm still a-blush over the last’s misconduct."

"Photography is hardly a crime. But there is a time and place. Jinx’s bedroom is neither."

"I hope his impertinence can be forgiven."

"On the contrary. I was amused. Boy thought a lot of himself. I quite cured him of the notion." His small smile doesn't bother to hide its sharp-toothed secrets. "But is that why you sent him to me? To play Krampus to the intransigent?"

"You have such a fine hand for discipline."

"And a better eye for blackmail."

Margot colors up. Renata purses her lips.

Silence hangs heavy as a noose.

Silco cuts to the chase. "The new ordinance on brothels," he says. "Neither of you approve."

Renata raises a single, fastidiously plucked eyebrow.  "It’s less approval than mystification, Silco. Do prostitutes really need a guild?"

"It would increase tax revenue. And make life easier for the ordinary Zaunite."

Margot pouts girlish censure. "Surely, as procuress of the Vyx, my workers are exempt?"

"Regrettably: no."

"But Silco—"

He cuts her off with a gently-worded warning. "Your concerns are noted.  But let us keep things in perspective. Our priority remains Zaun. That means more than just Sextech and warm bodies. It means the safety of our citizens. And those who perform acts of service on their behalf."

"We're not safekeepers," Renata says archly. "We are businesspeople."

"Then it behooves you to take care of your investments. Before they become liabilities."

"Hence your endless ordinances."

"Exactly."

The cords on Renata's neck rise, as if she wants to spit in his face. Instead, she smiles sweetly. "How paternalistic."

Silco's own smile is slow, cold. "We each serve different mistresses. Mine is Zaun, and her welfare."

"Your one true love."

"Interminably."

She titters. "You’ll work yourself into an early grave, Silco."

"I'll have plenty of company."

"Good gracious!” Margot says. “What poor company the dead would make."

"Then liven it up while I'm breathing." Silco consults his pocketwatch. "If we've concluded our business..."

Margot nods demurely. "I'll ring for Elza to pour tea."

She starts to rise. Silco lays two fingertips on her wrist. He is still smiling. But his eyes have taken on a dark and deadly shine.

"Tea is sweeter when you pour it, Margot,” he says. “And incidentally, Renata—I hate oyster pâté."