#human anatomy just comes more naturally to me these days

[illubean]

Could I get headcanons for Feitan, Illumi, Leorio, and Chrollo falling for gn!reader who by all means seems like a strong, nuturing, emotionally stable individual but every once in awhile casually says or does smthin that makes people go "Oh you're a little fuckin nuts, actually"

(e.x.: Most of their D.I.Y. furniture is made of different kinds of bone, morbidly interested in the more gorey parts of their jobs, probably works in a field that allows them to be around the dead often like a taxidermist or a mortitian, highkey just unabashashedly a morbid little freak™️ whenever it comes up naturally in conversation but otherwise comes across as just an attentive lil guy you could bring home the average parents would love.)

HXH Men with a Morbid!S/o

Characters: Leorio Paladaknight, Illumi Zoldyck, Chrollo Lucilfer, Feitan Portor Type: Headcanons, Gn!reader

this is so me

Warnings: dead things and body parts and stuff

Leorio Paladaknight

being an aspiring doctor, Leorio thought that your knowledge on both human and animal anatomy was pretty useful

at first he didn't think much about your job and just assumed you were some type of doctor or biologist or something

he often asks you questions as he studies and you're a pretty good tutor

the first time Leorio realized you were kinda weird is when one day you were walking down the street and saw some roadkill

and you were like "aww too bad, the skin and bones are too damaged to harvest"

and you kept walking like it was normal while he was like ?!!??!?

or you guys were having a normal conversation and you say something like

"if you died i'd taxidermy you and re-articulate your skeleton so you'd be with me forever <3"

1 taxidermizing humans is illegal and 2 WHAT

he is cold sweating wtf did he get himself into

when he comes to your house for the first time and sees a bunch of bones, animal skins and wet specimens he damn near passes the fuck out

how do you just casually have dead things and remains around your house!?

AND WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU MADE YOUR COFFEE TABLE OUT OF CAMEL BONES?

he is freaking the fuck out and you're just like "dw everything is ethically sourced :D"

yeah he thinks you're a freak and he is too fearful to break up with you ever (not like he was planning to anyways)

Illumi Zoldyck

whatever drew Illumi to you had to have been some type of power

aside from that power, to Illumi you were relatively normal and had a good grip on your emotions which made you a perfect candidate

that being said he could care less what your job was, you'd just end up working for or with him eventually

when he started bringing you around the estate, you often sought out their guard dog Mike and Illumi couldn't think of why

that is until you came back one day with a human femur and bright smile on your face

"... where did you even get that?" "From one of Mike's victims. If I collect enough I could make a whole set of bar stools!"

he blinked at you and chose to ignore your statement

i mean, to each their own am i right?

so you have ah hobby, big deal

Illumi just thinks you're pretty normal personality wise until you randomly but casually drop information about what you do in your free time or have in your home

so now whenever he has a job Illumi calls you in for cleanup

you get to do.... whatever it is you do and there's no evidence of a dead body left behind, it's a win win

Chrollo Lucilfer

he couldn't care less what your job is because it's probably not worse than his 😭

he didn't really notice anything "morbid" about you until he asked about your jewlery

you wore things like resin caster bug pendants or bird skull earrings and stuff

he just assumed they were fake and you bought them because they looked badass

but then you told him you make it all YOURSELF

he is intrigued

he doesn't really question you past that because you were probably buying the bones and stuff somewhere (spoiler alert you're not)

what really caused him to think was when you casually just picked up a dead rat off the floor in some abandoned building you were exploring and suck it in your pocket

bro was so confused

"What do you need that for?" "To make a new necklace :3"

yeah now he knows that your odd taste in jewelry goes deeper than just that

he won't judge you though, if anything you're a better person than he is considering you don't kill things yourself

he is literally a murderer and a thief and has committed like 3467633788 crimes so he couldn't judge even if he wanted to

so now when he sees dead animals and what not he bags them up and brings them to you

he likes to sit in on your cleaning and making process

you seem like a perfectly normal and sweet person to everyone else but Chrollo knows about your freaky little hobby and it just makes him like you even more

Feitan Portor

I feel like for you and Feitan to even be acquainted you have to be part of the troupe

whatever you do outside of it is your business

buttttttt since you are his s/o and Feitan is probably homeless he crashes wherever you are

thus him finding out about your hobby and other job

out of everyone on this list he is the most interested

he too is a morbid little freak

he goes with you to find things and will help you with the cleaning/taxidermy or whatever process if you let him

what he doesn't understand though is why you don't just kill the things you want instead of hunting for already dead things

sometimes he will go catch like a squirrel or something and bring it back to you like a cat and tell you he found it like that

Fei baby. No the fuck you didn't

after doing what you're doing for so long you can tell what caused an animal to die but you wouldn't tell him that

he's just so cute and wants to be supportive of your hobby <3

[ghoulbrain]

The Cost of Flesh

18+ 4.9k the ghoul x f!reader. gif credit. dirty talk, vaginal fingering, clothed/naked, finger sucking, grinding on a cowboy boot, cooper's busted anatomy forces him to get creative, body worship, lightly established dynamic, surprisingly sentimental. a prompt from @tearueful that got wildly out of hand. thank you, friend! 🖤

When what starts off as a purely sexual arrangement with the Waste's most notorious bounty hunter–the ghoul–gradually grows into a living, breathing love, you're both forced to confront the inevitable humanity that comes with sharing your body with another.

There’s a living myth that walks the wastes, a figure known exclusively as the ghoul. He’s enigmatic, a force of nature that declares himself to the world with his every step. If you're unaware of sharing a room with him, it’s likely because he’s hunting you, in which case it’s not a matter of if he catches you, but when.

Naturally, it was the talk of the town when he made a regular haunt out of the saloon you worked in.

He watched you serve drinks all evening, his gaze a physical thing upon you. Normally you expected a degree of harassment from clientele, raiders and the like often rolling through, but it was as though everyone else sensed his attention on you as much as you did. You could tell from the tilted angle of the wide brim of his hat when he was listening to your conversations.

It was as eerie as it was intriguing. You couldn’t fathom a bounty on your head, so what did he want?

You would soon be ensnared by him, but not for a bounty. It was for pleasure. Your pleasure.

“Come upstairs with me,” He murmured in your ear, standing close behind you, a gloved knuckle rolling up your spine. “Y’ain’t gatta do nothin’. I won’t hurt’cha none. Just wanna hear a pretty bird sing.”

You shivered, caught unaware. You never even heard his approach, even though the din of the bar had quieted in the late evening.

“I’m not for sale,” you replied, testing the water. He was close enough that you felt him, but not so close you were pinned. You could move if you wanted to.

“I ain’t buyin’,” he gave back. You could feel the heat of his breath on your neck. “But I’ll make it worth y��while.”

The gravel grit of his voice was nearly drowned out by the drumming of your own pulse in your ears. To this day, you don’t know what possessed you to agree, but you did. He took your hand in his, the leather of his glove soft with wear, and led you away from the bar. The next thing you knew, he was stripping you bare in one of the dark rooms above the bar.

The ceremony with which he undressed you had felt disconcertingly like meal prep. He tied your hands above your head, and your heart thundered with the understanding that there was nothing to stop him from devouring you alive where you lay sprawled out on the bed. 

By the time his gloved hands were dragging away your underwear, you felt dizzy with the heady mix of arousal and fear, an unquiet ache thrumming between your thighs. Your only meager assurance was that of all the legends you’d heard of the ghoul, seducing and eating barmaids wasn’t among them. 

And yet devour you he did. You were hooked from that very first wet, hot slide of his tongue against your clit. He spent hours with you that night, mapping your body with his tongue, your scars and blemishes serving as waypoints and constellations. He nipped and sucked until dark marks blossomed under his tongue, and he relished those spots more than any other.

He never took off more than his gloves, and he never let you touch him. He never fucked you. He brought you to climax with his mouth and his hands so many times you lost track of the number. All you could do was writhe and moan your pleasure. He didn’t stop until those moans turned to sobs, until you begged him to. After that, he cut your binds loose and left you a mess on the bed, aching and used. 

You laid there for a long time, thinking you would never see him again.

The ghoul returned not a week later. 

He wasn’t subtle about what he wanted from you, beckoning you from across the bar with a crook of two fingers. You felt your knees weaken with the memory of those same fingers in your mouth, your cunt, that hand pinning you by your throat to feel your cries against his palm. He stared at you from beneath the brim of his hat, cocked his head. You nodded, and his eyes flashed.

Hungry.

You didn’t learn his name until your third encounter. He whispered it in your ear.

“Now scream it for me, sweetheart.”

You did.

The two of you would meet several more times. He would stay a little longer after each session, and bit by bit, you would come to understand the man beyond the ghoul. He doesn’t talk about himself, and he doesn’t ask anything of your life in turn, but he reveals himself in pieces nonetheless. Beneath the ruthless pragmatism of his legendary persona, you find the manners of a shockingly tender gentleman lurking.

He’s always unhurried in disrobing you, devoted to the task at hand: taking you apart piece by piece. He treats each article of frayed clothing like a piece of paper that might tear if he pulls too hard. He makes the process of being undressed in and of itself feel like sex, every move intentionally sensual. 

For you, the experience ranges from thrilling to maddening depending on your mood that day. He never heeds you, always keen to take his time regardless of your impatience. He takes a particular kind of enjoyment in your body, the likes of which you’ve never known. You’re certain he knows it better than you do at this point, and yet he’s never laid himself bare to you. Never let you bring him the kind of pleasure he brings you.

He’s never kissed you.

“Please. I wanna touch you, too,” you tell breathlessly, knelt between his legs, naked as sin. His focus breaks, gaze snapping to yours. You lick your lips, relishing the rare feeling of catching him off guard. You slide your hands up his thighs, inching towards his groin. “Taste you. Make you twist. When’re you gonna let me, huh?”

He catches your wrists as quickly as a viper strikes, holding you still for a long, tense moment. You hold his gaze without any of the fear or reservation you’d felt that first day. 

Despite the warmth that’s grown between you in the time since that first night, you’re uncertain of what exactly the two of you are now. It would be romantic to think of this feeling in your chest as love. Certainly it is intimacy. Familiarity. What is love if not consistency? Perhaps it’s like masonry. Steel against stone, and the conscious choice to change something as immutable as solid rock.

For as long as he chooses to come back to you, to find his pleasure in you, is that not love? If it isn’t, it might just be the closest you’ve ever come to it.

Dumbstruck for a moment by the tenderness in your gaze, Cooper’s own drops to your hand, lifting it to his mouth. His grip is tight, but not painful. As he does with everything else, he takes his time answering.

“Won’t do much good, darlin’,” he says, folding your hands wrist over wrist. You perk up. He’s never given a proper explanation for why he seems to have no interest in your reciprocation. From his belt, he withdraws a length of rope and begins encircling your wrists. You allow it, the ritual a familiar one. “Plumbing’s long busted, but that don’t mean I don’t enjoy myself. Enjoy you.”

Like the final piece of a puzzle falling in place, understanding dawns. His initial use of you drops perfectly into context. It was like you were more an object to him than a person, a vessel for him to exact sensation upon. You understand now that that’s exactly what you were. Be it the radiation or the myriad of drugs he takes to keep the degeneration at bay, it’s likely just one more piece of him the Wasteland has stolen.

“Oh.”

“Disappointed?” He asks, fastening the rope with a sharp tug that shoots a hot throb between your thighs. If he’s apprehensive about your answer, he hides it well. If they still made movies, he’d make for a fine actor.

You pause, giving the question the thought it deserves. “Not exactly. Maybe a bit,” you say, struggling to articulate the feeling. “Kind of relieved, though. I didn’t know if you couldn’t, or just didn’t want to,” you admit, leaning into it when he brings his palm to the side of your face. Your lips part automatically for the brush of his thumb along them. “I just want to do more.”

Cooper’s gaze softens, the line of his mouth twitching in what almost looks like a smile before it’s tampered by a profound sense of sadness. However, it disappears as quickly as the smile that nearly was. His expression smooths back out into controlled focus.

“So do more,” he says in that molasses drawl, thick and sweet. It could be your imagination, but his voice sounds warmer than it did a moment ago. “Put on a show for me.” He widens the spread of your legs with the press of his boot to your inner thigh. “I got plenty ‘a things for you t’ride.”

He lifts the worn leather to the wet heat gathering between your thighs and you shudder, lashes fluttering. His boot sinks back to the ground and you follow it, grinding down against the leather with a soft sigh of pleasure. He hooks his fingers through the tether around your wrists and draws you forward by it, his knee pressing between your breasts, your bound hands resting on his thigh.

“Don’t take much t’get you moanin’, do it, sweetie?” He baits, mouth curved in a crooked smile. You roll your hips with a soft keen, shaking your head. You were already tingling all over from the slow way he’d undressed you, and now that ache is growing rapidly into thrumming need. He whistles lowly. “All that noise for a li’l friction.”

He bucks his boot against your cunt, wringing a cry out of you. You screw your eyes shut, clutching at his pant leg while you roll your hips, embarrassed by how right he is. Everything he does is electrifying, and his honied voice in your ears helps turn the curve of his boot into the most exquisite touch you’ve ever known.

With his teeth, Cooper tugs off his glove and touches your cheek with warm, rough fingers. His bare thumb hooks your bottom lip, easing it open until you taste the salt of his skin pressing down on your tongue. “Or just didn’t want to…” He echoes through a frayed laugh, sounding equal parts amused and wistful at your words on his tongue. “Y’got no idea what I’d do to this sweet mouth if I could.” He presses his thumb deeper, watching with dark eyes as you start to suck. “What I’d give t’see how pretty you cry, chokin’ on my cock.”

He paints such a pretty picture that you long for it, too. Releasing his thumb with a breathy sound, you open your mouth. “More,” you say, your breaths shallow. “I want more.”

His own chest is heaving with each breath, his tongue caught between his teeth. He slips two fingers into your mouth, pushing them all the way to the knuckle. You both moan with it, pressure creeping slowly up your spine. He rocks his fingers in and out, and you start to match his pace, grinding against his boot as fast as his fingers fuck your mouth. 

Catching on, he kicks his pace up a notch, captivated by the pull of your lips, the shimmer of your saliva on his weathered skin. You can see it in his eyes, how he loses himself in your pleasure as if it’s his own, filling in the gaps with faded memories. He pushes in a third finger, teeth raking over his bottom lip. You push your tongue between them, over them, sucking and lapping as if it really is his cock in your mouth. 

“Fuck, darlin’,” he hisses, pulling sharply on your bindings. You make a noise around his fingers, so close to the peak of release that your lungs begin to seize, throat quieting. It’s pure agony when Cooper abruptly hauls you up onto your knees, halting your ascension. “C’mere,” he growls, all grit and throaty need. His fingers slip from your mouth and he manhandles you up into his lap, bringing you into a straddle over him, your bound wrists thrown over the back of his neck.

The same fingers he had halfway down your throat now move between your thighs, pressing into your slick, yielding body with two wet fingers in one deep push. You groan, the burning ache of it so good your eyes roll back. His free hand skirts up the length of your torso to the underside of your breast, kneading soft flesh with a rough hand. Then, so quick all you can do is gasp, he pushes the weight of it upward, meeting pearl-soft skin with lips, tongue and teeth.

All the while his fingers sink deeper, moving faster. He adds a third and you strain against your binds, arching your back, pressing your chest into his hungry mouth. He scissors his fingers, determined to make you feel every inch he fills you with.

“C-Cooper…” You keen, shivering for the hot slide of his tongue over your nipple, how he sucks it into his mouth.

Pulling off with a wet pop, he drags his tongue up the line between your breasts, greedy for the taste of you. “Shh, shh,” he hushes, already teasing a fourth finger. His breath is hot on your damp skin. “Just a little more, you can take it,” he says, pressing his thumb to your clit, rubbing circles to soothe the burn of being filled so suddenly.

“I can’t, I can’t,” you protest, nails biting into your own hands, eyes screwed shut.

“Y’already there, sugar,” he rumbles, each word rougher than the last. He’s right, you’re seated in the crook between his thumb and index finger, so full of him that your thighs are trembling from the strain of it. He rocks his hand slowly, fucking you deep, crooking his fingers until a sharp jolt of pleasure makes you shudder. “Doin’ good, takin’ everything I give you. That’s it. Go on, pretty bird. Sing me a song.”

Your eyes meet, both bleary and wild. You could lose yourself in the darkness of his gaze, and given his insatiable hunger, you know he would swallow you whole. You moan for him, sing his praise with the breathlessness of your voice, with the sway of your hips as you pick up his rhythm. He nods absently, watching you with such voracious wonder, you feel beyond yourself. Half human, half embodiment of pleasure. 

The meteoric rise back to the cusp of your climax feels like flying, your stomach tightening, the velvet walls of your cunt throbbing and squeezing his fingers so tightly, you feel their every slide.

You come hard on his fingers, crying out just before the height of your pleasure seizes you. Cooper watches every second of your release, his own lids flickering, though he never blinks. He slips his arm around your body and pulls you to him, naked skin pressed snug against leather and tattered fabric. You collapse into him, held up only by his grip and the tether binding your hands around his neck.

He holds you through the aftermath, savors every last wet quiver of your cunt around his fingers. His thrusts slow, but he doesn’t stop until–in a quaking breath–you beg him to. His fingers settle in deep, lingering a moment before he slides them free. The relief of escape from overstimulation is rivaled only by the awful emptiness that his fingers leave in you. You clench your shaking thighs on either side of him so that he might understand.

Stay.

Either he understands, or he simply isn’t through with you. His gloved hand slides up and down your back, thumb brushing the back of your neck on every upward swipe. Before long you hear a decidedly wet slurp, and you lift your head from his shoulder to look at him through euphoria addled eyes.

One by one, Cooper licks every one of his slick fingers clean, purring his approval. “Not even decades of radiation poisoning can erase the taste of good pussy,” he says, voice low and lazy. “And this, darlin'? Gourmet."

You smile, heat rushing up your chest to your cheeks. “I think you have an addiction,” you say, a slight slur to your words. You roll your fingers, which tingle faintly, the rope taking its toll on your circulation.

He clicks his tongue, hands settling on your hips. His hands are warm, and his touch erupts goosebumps up your spine. “Y’say that like it’s a problem. Gonna cut me off?”

“As your dealer, it’s in my best interest to encourage said addiction,” you say, cocking your head. Up close like this, focused only on each other’s eyes, it’s easy to forget he’s anything other than a man. His eyes are beautiful, the color of sand in that fleeting hour of sunset that turns the whole world gold. Not even the hole left from the decay of his nose takes away from the beauty of them. Truth be told, you find the whole of him entirely too handsome. “Besides, I find myself similarly afflicted.”

His lips split into a slow smile. “Y’somethin’ rare, darlin’. Fine company’s scarcer than clean water these days.”

Another wave of heat washes through you, but this time it concentrates in your chest, coiling around your heart and squeezing. “You’re just not used to talking to people who know how to read,” you say, trying and failing to swallow back the sentimentality swelling in your throat.

He chuckles. It’s a rare sound, one that does nothing for the growing affection suffocating your heart. “True, true.” He already admitted that the way you spoke is what caught his attention in the first place.

“Say…” You begin, hesitant. “You remember what I said to you when we first met? Down in the bar.”

Gently, Cooper lifts your arms from around his neck, setting your hands between your bodies. He blows out a breath and starts untying your hands. “I’m old, sweetness. Refresh my memory.” 

"I told you I wasn't for sale," you remind him, blood rushing back into your hands with the removal of the rope. You rub them together.

He makes a small noise of recollection, winding the rope around his hand. “Y’did.”

“I’ve changed my mind,” you say, watching him carefully.

His gaze flickers up to yours, searches your expression. He can tell you’re guarding it, and his own sobers in response. “Dare I ask the cost?”

"Love,” you blurt out, far more graceless than you’d been in your mind. His eyes widen a fraction, caught off guard. In any other moment you’d be smug about that, but now it’s precarious. Whatever nebulous sentiment exists between the two of you, you know it’s fragile. “Love. Yours, or just… mine. The cost is love.”

“Y’don’t love me, sweetheart,” he says, but the gentleness of his words does nothing to dissuade you. It only worsens the yearning in your heart.

“You don’t get to decide that,” you say, a frown tugging at your lips. 

He’s quiet for a moment, gauging you. “Y’don’t know me.”

“You let on more than you think you do,” you counter, hands braced on his chest. “I might not know everything about your life, but I know you.”

You know he read westerns and science fiction novels written by a man named Louis L’Amour, but confessed to liking his poetry best. You know the variations in his smiles. You know the sound he makes when he gets up from sleep, stiff-limbed and weary. You know him in intimacy. You know how he craves  peace and grace in the warmth of your body. If blinded and deafened, you would know his touch.

Whether he likes it or not, you know him the way souls know each other.

His eyes drift away as if he’s leery about you seeing anything more than you have. “What you’re lookin’ for, y’not gonna get it from me. I’m burnt out, darlin’. All dried up.”

“I’m not asking for more than you’ve given,” you say, trying not to let the terrible ache in your chest color your tone. You could scream at him for how wrong he is. How much left of him there is to love. “I’m telling you that I have more to give, and I want you to have it.”

“I wouldn’t even know what t’do with it anymore,” he says, gazing somewhere distant.

You wish he’d at least look at you as you bled your heart. “Nothing you haven’t already done, if that’s what you want.”

“Then why say anything at all?” He asks, an edge creeping into his tone. He does finally look at you, the lines of his expression as guarded as they were the first day you met him. “If y’didn’t want t’change things, why say anything?”

You stiffen to keep from shrinking away. You want this too badly to let him spook you now. 

“So that you know,” you say, choosing your words carefully. Each one feels sharp on your tongue, too honest. Too vulnerable. You’re giving him too much power with each one that falls. “I’m telling you so that you know I love you. I’m telling you because if I don’t, I might explode with it,” you say, fervency climbing in your voice, spurred on by the beginning sting of rejection. “I’m telling you for me. Is it easier to accept my love if it’s selfish?”

There it is again, that flicker across his face. Whatever he expected to hear, it wasn’t that. Slowly, Cooper removes his other glove, dropping it to the wayside. With that same hand, he brings his knuckles to your face, ghosts the heat of them down your cheek.

“Y’deserve better than half measures from a broken old man,” he says so quietly, you strain to hear each word. “Most of me’s always gonna be out in the sands, lookin’ for what’s lost. That’s no life for you.”

Taking his hand in yours, you hesitate a beat before you start to place gentle kisses on his every first knuckle. “Maybe. Maybe not,” you say between kisses, not meeting his eye yet. You’ve never been quite so openly affectionate. “But it’s like you said… Fine company is scarce,” you say, kissing each second knuckle next. “Don’t deny me the best I’ve ever known.”

His smile is reticent, tugged from the corner of his mouth as if by an invisible string. There’s something wistful in his expression. He watches you kiss the pads of his fingers next, the prints of them long worn away and replaced with thick calluses. His thumb is last. You give it a playful little nip, lest the softness of your lips scare him off.

Cooper slips his hand out of yours, the wistfulness of his gaze replaced with somber resignation. “M’sorry, darlin,” he murmurs, cupping either side of your face. 

Your stomach drops, the bitter stench of a goodbye settling into the air between you. You remind yourself that you knew this might happen. You repeat the thought again and again, as if being right will make it hurt less.

His thumbs stroke over your cheeks. “If I were a better man, a stronger man,” he says, gaze dipping to your lips. “I’d walk away for good.”

Your brows furrow. “Wh–”

He kisses you with such gentleness it breaks you apart. Your hands fly to his jacket, holding him to you. It’s as if the entire world spins on its axis, your stomach flipping wildly with it. It leaves you floating, tethered only by the grips you have on each other. What begins as a chaste press quickly heats up into a gnawing hunger, his tongue slipping into your mouth, your teeth scraping his bottom lip.

“Lucky for me that I ain’t even a good man,” he says, words peppered between kisses. 

The world spins again, but this time you really are moving through the air. You let out a yelp as Cooper flips you onto the bed, kissing a trail down your naked chest. You’ve felt his tongue and his teeth, but never the reverent press of his lips. As if you’ve only just given him permission to see you as something more than a tool for vicarious pleasure, he touches your body the way a superstitious man worships–full of intent and genuine belief.

“Cooper,” you sigh, smiling. “It’s my turn to touch you,” you remind him, tugging at the shoulder of his tattered jacket. The most he’s ever taken off is that jacket and his hat, but you want more.

He looks up at you from between your breasts, hesitating a beat. “You should know that it only gets uglier ‘neath the collar, sugar.”

“You’re not ugly,” you tell him. At his skeptical expression, you continue, “I’ve seen ugly. Heard it, felt it. You’re not ugly. Not to me.”

He quirks a hairless brow and lets out an incredulous little breath, adjusting himself onto his knees between your legs, swayed. “Y’might consider glasses,” he tells you, shrugging out of his coat. 

You hook your legs over his and use them as leverage to sit up, reaching for the buttons of his vest. “That might not end well for you,” you say coyly, popping each one loose. 

“I’m used to it,” he says, leaning down for another kiss. This, too, is reverence. He takes his time, savoring the feel of your lips against his, licking the taste of you from them like you’re the sweetest thing he’s ever known. With his vest open, you work on his undershirt next, tugging them loose while sucking on his tongue.

Halfway down, he stills your hand with a firm grip on your wrist. “That’ll do,” he tells you, voice little more than a rasp. You bite back a protest and nod, understanding that this is likely more exposed than he’s been in a long, long time. You push back into the kiss and press your hand to his chest, sliding slowly down. 

The skin beneath is as gnarled as old tree bark, pitted in places and scarred in most. For as durable as ghouls are, Cooper’s skin has been shredded and torn and riddled with bullets enough times that parts of his body have taken hold of those memories forever, formed around them.

You treat them gently, tracing them with your fingertips. You feel unreasonably powerful when he shivers subtly beneath your touch. You press your hand flat to his heart to hold the beat of it in your palm. It’s slow, but each thud is strong. You break from him with a deep breath, dizzy from the way he makes your head spin with each kiss.

“Lie down,” you say breathlessly. You’re almost surprised when he does, unaccustomed to taking so much control. You cozy up against him, laying your head where your hand had been a moment ago, and close your eyes. His heartbeat sounds just as it felt. Steady, firm, slow. You imagine the radiation has scarred him inside and out, left his heart thick and misshapen as well. Alive nonetheless.

After a brief hesitation, Cooper’s arm slips around your waist. His thumb caresses your hip. “For what it’s worth,” he begins, his tone overly conversational, masking whatever true feeling lurks beneath. “I won’t hold you to none of it. Not if y’get sick of it.”

If you get sick of him, he means.

You tip your head back to look up at him. His gaze is affixed to the ceiling, but you can see apprehension in his distant expression. You drop your eyes, nuzzling your cheek against his chest. His hand cups the back of your head in response, stroking. You smile faintly, soaking in all these little affections. You wonder how long he’s been holding back from touching you like this, denying himself such simple intimacies in order to maintain a distance he didn’t feel, but deemed necessary.

“You’re wrong, Cooper.”

“‘Bout what?”

“You are a good man.”

He goes quiet at that. The two of you lie there a long while, his hands absently roaming your body like he’s committing you to memory. Your hands do the same, dipping under the hem of his shirt to explore further. He hooks his knuckle under your chin, tips your head back to kiss you languidly.

There’s a surreal domestic feel to the unhurriedness of it all, as if he won’t be gone to the winds come morning. You make a home of this moment in your mind, constructing four walls in which to imagine another life. The kind you’ve read about in tattered books and seen on fuzzy old screens.

All the while Cooper holds you, his lips never long from your skin.

You eventually find your way under the covers together, past the point of words. You drape yourself back down against him, your ear finding the chamber of his heart once more. You fall asleep listening to the beat of it, content for now to take each day you spend with him as they come.

[ivesambrose]

ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴛʀᴜᴇ ᴘᴀꜱꜱɪᴏɴꜱ ᴀɴᴅ ʜɪᴅᴅᴇɴ ᴛᴀʟᴇɴᴛꜱ

1. 2. 3.

╚══ ≪ °❈° ≫ ══╝°❈°╚══ ≪ °❈° ≫ ══╝

If you feel lost, aimless, overwhelmed or unsure in regards to yourself this has found it's way to you at the right time.

Personal Readings

Masterpost

Thank you for the tip! 🌹

Picture 1

A lot of you are burnt by your own ambitions and a need to prove something. You quietly wonder if you're even passionate about anything anymore or you are but do not what to do, where to start so you end up spacing out and procrastinating. Likely you were made to believe that if what gets you excited and happy doesn't automatically put you on the map and bring you money in traditional ways then it's practically useless.

You have in a way put yourself down consistently due to these external projections.

Of what I'm picking up on some of you are passionate about the following :

- Dancing

- Fitness

- Makeup

- Music

- The occult

- crafting something intricate such as designing jewellery or curating them

- A select few might be into taxidermy, herbology and even archeology

- A combination of the above, some of you have your own allure and might want to get into modelling, styling, dancing and design. You want to express yourself freely including your sensual as well as spiritual and esoteric side.

You want to be known but you want to stand out, with your accumulated power you want to guide others too, make them feel less alone and more understood and yet you want to be an enigma and mystery. You do have a strong potential to be a muse to many.

Your hidden talents:

- Something that is coming through significantly that it is something from your past/childhood/early teens that you had to sacrifice/were made to sacrifice even if you cared for it deeply and wanted to nurture it. It makes you bitter to this day because you were naturally good at it.

- Some of you should definitely consider working for animals especially birds. You have a gift to heal and develop empathy with them.

- Some of you can end up being excellent bakers and decorators.

A lot you can find success in the entertainment industry, media, running your own business and being your own boss, you have excellent leadership skills and determination it's just that you haven't gotten the chance to explore that side of yourself yet.

The advice here is to only look back at the past to pick up what you had left and walk ahead. Become your friend and ask your own subconscious to show the way, trust me you will be shown when you least expect it.

Picture 2

You simply love to learn and acquire knowledge. You could have specific subject(s) you're drawn to or you don't even like limiting yourself to that. You'd rather be an eternal student. I wouldn't be surprised if you were drawn to picture 1 or 3 as well. You have a thrist that sometimes almost feels insatiable.

You are rather intellectual and often give very sound advice. Mainly cuz you are highly self aware and very intuitive.

Regardless of anything else, you seek inspiration and adventure above all. You do tend to get bored with just one thing easily.

Of what I'm picking up on, some of you are passionate about the following:

- Learning, experimenting, teaching and innovating. Again this could be any topic or multiple. Could be something as literature and academics or physics or could even be cooking or carving wood. You could even be here educating people about Gothic architecture or the human anatomy. Or all of this. You're not meant to confine yourself.

- A lot of you seek travel and adventure. Even be passionate about extreme sports.

- Languages and culture.

- Some of you want to try and do everything, experience different things and don't want to niche yourself down. Your passion can simply be experiencing your life to the fullest so you have wisdom to give and stories to narrate and memories to look back on and trust me, that is more than enough.

Which quickly brings me to your hidden talents because you're supressing quite a few:

- Some of you can be excellent astrologers or even astronomers.

- A lot of you can read into symbolisms real. You can be a gifted psychic too if you aren't aware already.

- You can be really good at sports like archery, fencing, MMA etc

- Creative direction, photography is also coming through.

- You're very good with your words, whether it be in writing or speaking.

You are rather mutable and a very poised individual too, you can easily influence the people you come in touch with. Some of you can be good speakers, representatives or the face of a brand. Whatever you do, you end up being very good at it whether you like it or not.

The advice is to simply continue what you're doing, you're not as lost as you think you are. Keep making connections and continue being yourself instead of trying to make yourself small and fit in or follow trends or the algorithm.

Picture 3

You feel like a misfit and an outsider so much so that being passionate about anything worries you because you may end up looking a fool, not being good enough or not being disciplined enough.

You carry a lot of anguish in you mainly because you had to focus on things that were expected of you or because you had to survive so you might feel like you're good at many things but not great or could be great at something but you don't necessarily love it.

You're an interesting group here because you haven't even allowed yourself to feel excited about things.

What are you truly passionate about? I see nature, authenticism, a slower, softer life. The word passion itself feels too intense and deliberate for you.

You simply want to experience a life that doesn't feel like you running on a treadmill till your knees give out.

I do see there's an innate desire in you to help others, be it people or animals or even a dying plant. You want to find your peace and bring some of that peace in others lives too. Your energy feels like a walking into a warm cabin in the woods during winter with freshly made dinner waiting.

Hidden talents you have ample, a lot of them are based on learning and perfecting with practice :

- Cooking, experimenting with different herbs. I do see some of you have the potential to start a small business that involves food.

- Gardening and farming

- Painting

- Tattooing (this is coming through because it can be very therapeutic for a lot of you)

- Perfume making is also coming through as well as skincare.

- pottery and sculpting, crocheting etc

- reiki, medicine, physical therapy etc

- divination

Think of a life that's a bit more laid back a career that makes you feel less on the edge.

You've already been running on the validation of people who think you're dispensable or your worth is tied to something outside of you that you can't even find meaning in.

The world needs more souls like you.

The only advice is to be more compassionate with yourself, you're not running a race even if people have constantly been reminding you of it, there's no finish line. The only truth that matters is the story you tell yourself, over and over again. It will come to pass. Continue being. Continue creating instead of wondering about the how. You've figured out many things in your life, let life sort this out for you.

[great-and-small]

I know you're a fan of animal husbandry and the human animal connection so i have a recommendation for you if you haven't seen it, Spirit: Stallion of the Cimarron. The horse movements, including the correct ear movements when they're scared or calm/happy are so perfect. The story of the different ways you can tame a horse, through love or fear, the parallels of the destruction of Native land and culture between Little Creek and Spirit. The landscape paintings! It makes me yearn for the desert and I think you'd like it

Oh man I love love love that movie. When I was a kid I watched it over and over and the opening transition scene as Spirit grows up always made me cry. To this day seeing any old Buckskin horse makes my heart flutter a bit ❤️

As you said, it’s one of the best Children’s movies to explore the human animal bond, and I am always more interested in stories that examine animal exploitation alongside human exploitation. The two are so often linked that it’s hard to faithfully talk about one without the other. The nature of Little Creek and Spirit’s bond is the emotional centerpiece of the movie and a superb way to start talking to kids about how the way we connect to animals matter immensely.

This is going to sound like a weird aspect of this but I am also really really into the way horses run. Seeing a horse that loves to run just absolutely fly and let loose running in an open area literally gives me goosebumps. If there are horses in a movie Im watching and I don’t get to see them running full speed I will be grouchy (possibly relevant info: I learned to ride on a retired racing thoroughbred).

Running is what horses have evolved to do over millions of years and the result is an astonishing feat of biomechanics. My equine anatomy classes were so fucking hard for me due to the painstaking detail in understanding the structures that allow horses to stand and run in the way they do; it’s unbelievably complex (look into the stay apparatus for just a small taste). To see all of those tendons, ligaments, vessels, nerves, and muscles come together with such fluidity and grace is just one of the coolest products of evolution that we see today. It will never become mundane to me!

For an animated movie from the early 2000’s , it just blows me away how beautifully they render the horses running. You can tell they watched a lot of real animals to get it right. Something about those horses running across beautiful landscapes is just uniquely moving. I don’t know why but I am very much with you, in that this film fills me with yearning.

[monstersandmaw]

Male 'yautja' x female reader - alien 'reverse harem' - Chapter Two

Due to Patrons' enthusiasm over on Discord and your comments on the previous chapter (thank you!), here's the second chapter! As I said on Discord, this is gonna be a mix of reader POV and 'hunter'/yautja POV. I'm not giving away our friend's name in this one, but future 'hunter' chapters will have their names in. The next chapter is reader POV again, and we meet the rest of the crew.

Also there's this:

(text is a screenshot of a Discord message: Ghosti: It’s basically just an excuse for the reader to boink different aliens (sometimes more than one at once) but I’m really enjoying writing it so far.)

So yeah, this is just a fast track to 'how many aliens can the reader boink?'

Content in this chapter: young (but still adult) horny alien POV, self-deprecating attitude and self-worth issues, non-human anatomy referenced ('slick, sheath'), and his quite severely injured state continues...

Wordcount: 2690

<- previous chapter (free for anyone to read on Patreon)

Preview:

I wake slowly and painfully, blinking up at the ceiling of my ship and wondering how I came to be there, when the last thing I really remember was scrapping with the Enemy.

A series of rattling clicks rises in my throat and my mandibles twitch in indignation. Surely one of the others hasn't come to help me? It was my First Hunt, and they were honour-bound to let me make my first kill, or let me die trying! I had actually thought I was going to die when the Enemy’s tail spike punched through my gut like that. And my shoulder.

Actually, now that I think of it, I’m surprised that I’m alive enough to be surprised at all.

Fuck. Ouch.

Oh, fuck, my guts hurt.

Nothing in training ever hurt like this. It does hurt less than it did when it first happened though, and all because…

…because the human helped me.

Fuck.

Did this even count as a successful First Hunt if… No. I killed it. I ripped its damned head right off. I feel a growl rumble up from my chest and my mandibles flare. Nasty fucker. The growling makes my stomach hurt though, so I force it to stop.

Where is the human now?

Carefully, I sit up and discover that the healing gel has closed off the wounds and kick-started the healing process. My flesh beneath the hardened patches of gel feels itchy where my body is already knitting itself back together, and it’s so tender, but at least it’s healing. I’ve always hated feeling weak and small. Ever since I was a pup and I was made to feel less than worthy because of my runty size. Well fuck everyone who said I’d never make a Blooded Warrior. I’ve found my squad now and we hunt together. And now I’ve completed my First Hunt and killed an Enemy by myself. Even Stark tolerates me, though I can tell he still thought I wouldn't survive this hunt.

Well, I did it, so fuck him. Actually, if I know Stark, it’ll be the big guy getting fucked, not Stark himself. He’s the only one of us who never takes it. Whenever he fucks me, I always end up walking funny afterwards. Bastard. Gods, it always feels so good though…

Despite my injuries, my cock twitches deep in its sheath at the memory of getting pounded by Stark only a few days ago, and I groan. Now’s really not the time to think about being fucked. Alchemist is only a few years older than me, but no one else on our squad seems to have as high a sex drive as I do, damn it. The Old Man says it’s natural and healthy – desired even – in one my age, but I can’t help feeling a bit embarrassed that it takes quite so little to set me off. It’s not like I’m a randy adolescent in the communal barracks anymore. Gods, that was… inconvenient.

Fuck.

All the same, I’m halfway to slicking myself already at the mere memory of Stark’s aggressive snarls and the way his claws had actually punctured the skin at my hips while he drove his cock repeatedly into my dripping wet slit…

Fuck fuck fuck. Not now, you moron.

With another chittering sigh, I ignore the way my sheath is throbbing, and swing my legs off the bed before I leave a mess on the sheets. When my clawed paws hit the cold ceramic floor, I have a go at standing up. It takes me two goes, but I get myself upright eventually, and then I cast about for my helmet.

Read the whole thing right now on Patreon and get access to the 9k word monthly story, featuring a huge Shire centaur who tows the reader's truck for them when they break down...

[idiotmf]

I like the idea of a shy deer centaur (theyre actually called cervitaur) trying to work up the courage to confess his love for the reader

Hey, anon! Thank you so much for giving me the correct term, first of all. I was trying to find out whether there was a name for it, and my erratic Google searches didn't exactly help.

Second of all, sorry this took a few days. Work has been frying me so much (｡•́︿•̀｡)

No NSFW. However, the usual MDNI does still apply because my blog is 18+.

Melian, the white-tailed cervitaur:

(By the way, the word Vae is meant to be pronounced Vá-é; just a heads-up, it will come up a few times.)

 A small ray of sunshine peeked through the window of your weathered cottage in the vast expanse of cedar trees that you called home. The birdfolk once again announced sunrise with a song that you didn't exactly understand, but the longing and nostalgia in it seemed evident, even to a human like yourself.

Refreshed, you sat up in your makeshift bed of straw and hides, pushing your blanket aside to stand up and stretch. Distant rumbling let you know that you should perhaps be a bit quicker with your morning routine today, at least before the storm approached. It was a shame, really.

You had promised Melian that today was finally going to be the day you showed him your favorite spot by the waterfall. The cervitaur was a somewhat new addition to your friend circle, since the deerfolk were usually rather reserved in nature, especially towards things they did not understand, and as a human, you certainly counted as such.

Whether it was by accident or on purpose, one day you ended up in this forest cottage, and however hard you tried to leave these woodlands, it was seemingly impossible. One time you even tried to walk for a whole day, only to end up at the very same overgrown cabin, deciding that it would be your permanent residence, at least for the time being.

As time went on and you befriended the strangely familiar yet completely inhuman creatures of this world, your desire to leave gradually subsided. The birdfolk sang songs at you whenever you passed; the wolf-like creatures occasionally passed by your home to bring you meat and hides; the woodland fairies left you generous offerings of herbs and vegetables. Everyone seemed equally as fascinated by you as you were by them. They even admitted they had never seen a human before and believed you to be a deity sent to protect the forest they inhabited.

Initially, you tried to tell them that you were just a human, not able to protect their home from harm; however, your words fell on deaf ears. One of the tiny woodland fairies, beings made from the elements themselves, resembling more a creation of sticks and leaves than the human-like fairies you had seen in books as a child, explained that it was actually more of a spiritual protection than a physical one. While that both helped and raised more questions, in the end you decided to accept it. After all, what were you going to do about it? No one wanted to believe you were anything but a deity, and the offerings didn't stop either; rather, they increased, and you were dubbed "the humble one."

While everyone worshipped you in their own way, some were too afraid to even cross your path. Among them were the deerfolk, a race of cervitaurs, though their entire bodies were covered in fur, despite the surprisingly human-like anatomy of the upper torso and face. They left generous offerings of their shed antlers in spring, sometimes carved into charms and other knickknacks for you, all while doing their best to avoid your sight.

That was until you met Melian, the deerfolk in charge of delivering the offering last spring, only to end up being discovered by you. From him, you learned that it was a great honor to deliver said offerings, and he had worked hard to even be considered for such a position.

Melian was a bit of an oddity amongst his kin; despite being shy, just like the rest of his kind, he was quite curious, especially in regards to you. Much like all the other creatures of this forest, Melian simply, yet affectionately referred to you as 'Vae', something you had come to accept as your new name, or at least a second one.

In reality, it was more referring to your standing as the protector of this realm, a word that held significance in the ancient language of the forest dwellers; however, being held in such high regard meant that most of them didn't dare utter your name, no matter how many times you insisted.

When you finally managed to meet up with your newest friend after the storm passed, he kept his distance from you, just like he always did, trotting at least a few feet behind you.

He explained it was to make sure you were safe and to respect your standing, but you theorized that he was actually just worried that he would walk too fast next to you or that he was perhaps a little too embarrassed, since no other being had an issue with it.

“It's a bit of a walk from the cottage,” you explained to Melian as you strolled along the path between dense cedar trees, all the way down to a mossy clearing by the waterfall. Along the way, a comfortable silence settled between the two of you; the only thing you heard were the songs of the birdfolk, the gentle rustling of the trees above, and the gentle thumping of Melian's cloven hooves against the earth below. Now and then, you found yourself turning around to glance at your friend, which seemed awfully odd today. His arms, which usually hung loosely by his sides as he walked, now seemed restless, as if he didn't know where to position them anymore. It made you wonder whether it was because of his anxious nature or if something was keeping his mind occupied.

“My Vae,” the stag spoke up after another moment of silence, causing you to jolt and turn towards your large companion trotting behind you, an inquisitive look on your face. He quickly averted his cedar bark-colored eyes upon meeting yours for a moment.

“I, uhm,” he quickly adjusted his gentle, almost timid voice to sound a bit more confident, reverting back to his shy speech halfway through. “I am quite thankful for this opportunity. To, uhm, to see your favorite spot, I mean.” He lowered his gaze to meet your eyes again, his glance lingering a moment before quickly focusing on a tree next to you, barely moving his head while doing so.

“Of course, I promised, didn't I?” Flashing him a genuine smile, you continued to saunter the last stretch of your small journey, leaving him to process for a moment. Shortly after, he caught up, his hooves carrying him with ease, as he took his place behind you once more, just a few feet apart.

Upon finally reaching your destination in what you assumed to be the late afternoon according to the sun, you settled down by the shore of the lake, the waterfall in the distance making the air feel more alive with rogue droplets of water and the loud crashing noise.

“There... There is something I want to tell you.” Hearing Melian's uncharacteristically loud voice be audible over the waterfall ripped you out of your thoughts for a moment, your head tilting to the side, before you asked him to go on. His short tail flicked nervously behind him, causing a small smile to appear on your face. He had always been the cutest out of your friends, and seeing him nervous around you made your heart squeeze in your chest occasionally.

“Of course,” you answered gently when he didn't immediately react to you, stepping back into the forest alongside him to escape the noise of the cascading water for a moment, since it seemed rather important.

“I apologize if this is rather abrupt,” he began, his hands fidgeting, pulling the soft fur of his abdomen in what you assumed to be nervousness or something akin to it.

"The truth is, I... Well, I...” Melian seemed to struggle quite badly now, his head whipping around nervously, making his brown hair follow in turn. You gave him a reassuring smile, trying to be as comforting as possible without saying anything, afraid he might not manage to get the words out if you did say something, even if it was meant to be supportive.

“I... adore you.” The words tumbled out of his mouth before he could stop them, and some sort of dam seemed to break in his mind when he kept talking, barely even taking breaths in between.

“You are kind and gentle to all of us inhabitants of this forest, and watching you be that way makes me feel complete in a way I cannot describe. It leaves me utterly breathless. Yet... yet, when those werewolves look at you in a filthy manner, I get quite upset. I do not possess you, and I never could, of course, but I cannot stop myself from hoping that–” He stopped himself, his human-like facial features morphing into pure horror when he realized what he had just said.

“My Vae, I can...” Just as he was about to begin apologizing, you wave him down with your hand, making sure he leans over towards you, before giving him a gentle kiss on the cheek.

“I thought you'd never tell me,” you grinned at him, his blushing face revealing the fact that he was quite pleased about your actions. Melian let out an almost dramatic sigh before giving you a kiss on the forehead, his short tail almost wagging like that of a happy puppy.

“So, may I assume you feel the same?” Lowering his head a little to be closer to you, he tried to suppress the small smile that threatened to spread into a big grin.

“You may.” Without another word needing to be spoken between the white-tailed deer man and yourself, his face inched closer to yours. Stopping just short of kissing you, his breath mingled with yours, causing a short second of hesitation before he finally closed the space between your lips. No matter how shy and reluctant it was at first, your heart still skipped a beat.

[thethingswedotomorrow]

Aziraphale and Crowley are both idiots, with a severe lack of common sense on any given day.

But these idiots were both tasked with watching and guiding the new humans God had created, for better or for worse. What they didn't realize was just how unprepared they both were for this task.

Before being sent out to Eden, they were BOTH given a crash course on the newest creatures, (humans??) roaming around the garden. Just the essentials, don't poke here, this does that, avoid this bit, this part leaks, etc.

Aziraphale's lesson was much more formal, only highlighting the parts of the humans that were deemed 'essential' by the Archangels

Having to sit through Gabriel explaining the purpose of a tongue for hours was enough to make anyone zone out, let alone a principality who had just been told that the place he was being sent to would be full of creatures that were filled with an odd combination of liquid at all times. Good Lord, how was he meant to protect these humans when they could explode at any time?

Aziraphale had checked out mentally by the time they started covering exactly what the eyebrows were for

Hell decided to take a more hands-on approach.

By hands-on, they meant having Dagon draw what they assumed a human might vaguely look like, and then explaining the best ways to torture the squiggly bits

Crowley spent most of the class trying to decide whether the drawing looked more like a horse or a soggy blanket crumpled into a pile

(Crowley had only recently learned about the 'horse' idea, and he was decidedly not impressed by them.)

(He could get behind this blanket idea, however. He'd have to check that one out in a few years.)

So once they'd both reached the Garden, and checked the place out for themselves, they both came to the same conclusion.

They had some SERIOUS questions about what was going on here

Naturally (and reluctantly for one of them), they gravitated towards each other. They both knew asking either of their sides would imply that they didn't pay attention to the classes. And neither of them wanted to have a repeat lesson, thank you.

"Ah, yes, hello, Crawley was it?"

"Obviously, still me. Be odd for me to be someone else, wouldn't it?"

"Yes, well. I was wondering..if you had..perhaps....noticed anything about these humans?"

"Noticed what? They're awfully boring. Told me 'get up there and make some trouble', but all they do is sleep and eat things and walk around. Made 'em trip a few times, but it got old by the 5th time around honestly."

"Well I don't think they're meant to do much more. If they were, then they would have. As is God's plan. Oh there is no need for dramatics Crawley."

It was at that point Crawley sighed VERY aggressively, flopped down onto a rather soft looking patch of grass, and looked up at Aziraphale.

"Was there a point here, Angel, or have you just come to preach?"

"I do wonder, however, if God was perhaps made aware of the issues in the hardware, as it were."

"What are you on about?"

"Yesterday, I saw Eve walking around, admiring all the plants and such. They really are truly beautiful, you know. Have you seen them yet?"

"Nah, haven't gotten over there yet. Mostly been hanging around on the rocks, very warm there. Why? What'd she do?"

"Well, she walked up to the flowers, and..then she just..sort of...." Aziraphale trails off, very hesitant about how to describe the situation.

"Sort of what?" Now Crowley is curious. Always been his downfall, that sort of thing.

"She just... she stuck her face into them."

"She WHAT?"

"Exactly! Stuck her face into them, no warning or anything. That poor, poor woman could have been killed. Who knows what those flowers will do to her tongue."

"HER WHAT?"

It was at this point that they both realized that they may not have gotten the same education on the humans and their anatomy.

"So, they aren't actually going to explode? Oh thank God."

"Well, I mean they could, I suppose. If you poked them enough, or shook them up really hard. Y'think we should try that?"

"Crawley, no."

Between both of them, they gathered enough information about the humans to have a general idea of what they should and shouldn't do to help them survive

(Crowley might enjoy watching them trip, but he's a Demon, not a monster. There'd be no point going and killing them right after they launch the whole program.)

It turned out that what they had gathered between Heaven and Hell was quite literally the bare minimum of human physiology.

They stuck together from then on, determined to find out everything they could about the humans.

The first time Eve sneezed after smelling the flowers, Aziraphale jumped up so quickly that he broke the rock he was using as a seat clean in half

Crawley and Aziraphale stood perfectly still on the wall, waiting for something else to happen.

All Eve did was sniff a bit and walk away.

Aziraphale turned to Crowley, eyes wide and full of terror. They both stared at each other for a few minutes before they both silently sat down, contemplating what they had assumed was a very near-miss explosion.

The next day, when Adam stepped into the pool of water at the edge of the Garden, the angel and demon watched with the utmost attention.

"D'ya think they can breathe in there?"

"In the water?"

"Yeah, those slimy things at the bottom seem to be doin' just fine without coming up top. Maybe the humans can do that too."

"Crawley, those are fish. The humans need the air to live. I think."

"Fiiiiiish? Fsh. Fiisssshhh. Nah, don't like that. Slimy things works better, who names these things? Was it you?"

"I'm afraid that was not my department, unfortunately. I like to think I would have gone with a different choice than 'fish', if I had any say in the names."

"Mm. He's been down there for a bit, yeah?"

"Who? Oh, him. Has he? Oh. Oh Lord, he has. Adam? Adam?"

One small miracle later, the humans and the non-humans had both learned that they did need the air to live.

The day Eve and Adam laughed together was a good day.

'What're they even laughin' at?" Crowley wiggles/walks* his way over to where Aziraphale is sat on the edge of the wall, watching the humans.

*He's still figuring out the whole leg thing, far too complicated if you ask him

"If I had to guess, I'd say they're laughing at the state of Adam."

"How'd he even get like that? Last I saw, he was running around near that pond, how's that happen? They were on your watch, Angel."

"Ah, while you went to look at the plants, he fell. Apparently when dirt and water mix, it becomes very sticky. Mud, I believe it's called."

"Blegh. Way to go Angel, I left for five minutes and you let him get all mud-ed. Looks awful, don't see why they're laughin'. They've always got somethin' stuck to em."

Despite his words, Crowley couldn't help but smile at the humans. Something so ridiculous and they stood there laughing at it, having all the time in the world to explore and find out new things.

Aziraphale noticed this, and smiled as well. Mostly because of the humans and how fond he was already of them

But also, at Crowley and a new type fondness for him, as well.

(Though it would take many, many years for him to admit that)

Crowley and Aziraphale sat and laughed, watching these new humans bumble around and laugh, being happy to just exist and discover everything there was to discover. If Crowley snuck glances at the angel while he was laughing, he'd never admit it.

Maybe tomorrow, Crowley thought, he'd see what the deal was with that big apple tree.

[merakiui]

i think there's something so romantic about mer sex,,, the idea of it just hits so different compared to sex with any other type of creature (human, fae, beastfolk; although those all hit in very wonderful ways, too).

but with merfolk there's something so mystical about it. maybe it's because the environment and the anatomy and everything else is nothing like that seen on the surface, so it truly is another world entirely. you could hole yourself up in a little crevice set deep into the sea floor and go at it for hours, and you wouldn't have to worry about things like separating for air during kisses or oral (because you breathe through your gills) or even time because time feels so nonexistent and irrelevant when you're so far beneath the waves. it's really just you and your mer lover, coiled tight around each other, pressed impossibly, perfectly close, and the only source of light is bioluminescent creatures floating lazily around or perhaps even the glow from their body as they illuminate the shadows you're confined in. <3

and then there's also the lack of birth control and contraceptives in the sea. sure, they probably have their own unique way for preventing pregnancy, but it's so rare and expensive. and fry are already such a gamble because you can never be sure if one or two or any will survive the harsh environment they're born into. and on top of that finding someone to love and cherish for the rest of your life seems difficult in a habitat that is much more cutthroat than the surface. the ocean is so vast and some mers are always traveling far and wide, while others prefer to settle down in one area and remain. romance is fleeting everywhere, but it's even more so here. love changes with the tides, coming and going, sometimes seeking warmer waters when mating seasons roll around, before departing if there is no spark, no obligation, no necessity.

so to find that special mer and remain steadfast with them throughout all of the rough challenges the sea brings, to lay with them every mating season and every other time between that period, whether for the sake of breeding or to simply fuck as nature intended, feels so sweet. orz maybe it's also because there's so much sexual freedom and gender is such a flexible thing there, so anything is possible in the ocean. and no one really worries about details; all that matters is that you love your mate and they love you and you're together, happy, healthy, and secure. and that adoration is proven in so many ways. protecting your love, hunting day and night, tidying up the cave, bringing back all sorts of shiny treasures and baubles, biting into their nape to mark them as yours, smelling like one another, becoming a pair........ and so much more.

aaaaa it's just very lovely to me. :D

[stirthewaters]

Too Sharp to Touch pt.3

Word Count: 2.4k

Warnings: slight language, descriptions of blood and blood usage

Summary: you decide to ask Wednesday to teach you to fight, only to discover she has a different plan in mind

Pairing: Wednesday x Reader

“Teach me to fight.”

That’s what you were going to say. Simple. How hard could it be? Surely, Wednesday wouldn’t say no, right?

You had got out of your werewolf anatomy class early, dismissed with a homework assignment that you could work on later, but now your main focus was on working up the courage to ask Wednesday to teach you how to fight.

She had a soft spot for you. You were almost positive you weren’t making that up. Surely the fact that she threatened your bodily harm slightly less than others at Nevermore, or in general, was a good thing, right? And besides, she had helped you out after your fight. That has to mean something. And no, of course you weren’t looking for a reason to get into a fight just because you knew she’d be there, but… hey, it was a perk. 

It still made that little patch of fur on the back of your neck prickle just thinking about those eyes of hers.

Enid had deliberately said to you that all you had to do was ask. No tiptoeing about it, just ask her.

"Come on, Y/N, it's not that hard. She's not going to bite." "Hopefully," you responded dryly, swinging your heels as you sat on her bed. "I just don't want to have to go back to fighting instructors, they suck ass."

"Well, you'll probably have to you don't ask," Enid said with a small smile. "She likes you, Y/N. Just go for it."

Those words had been banging through your head for the past three goddamn days.

Shouldn’t be a problem, right? Worst case scenario you’d just have to get a werewolf fighting instructor instead… oh god, that would be embarrassing. Most werewolves were naturally good at fighting. Why couldn’t you be the same? It was definitely frustrating, to say the least.

You continued to pace the halls, brainstorming. Wednesday was at her Hummers meeting, but it wouldn’t be long before it was over. You had a little bit of time. Why were you even stressing it out this much? You were a werewolf! It’d be a piece of cake! Besides, Wednesday was only human, after all. Or maybe not; you weren’t entirely sure what the Addams’ were.

Perhaps you could get her something. Maybe some flowers and chocolate? To convince her to help you out? Well, you didn’t have enough time to run into town and get some chocolates, but the flowers you could definitely do.

You got up, scrambling down the hallway and hurrying down the stairs, ignoring the calls from an occasional teacher to slow down, headed for the greenhouse.

You arrived just as class emptied out, luckily, and you fought your way - literally fought; you caught more than a few elbows in your side - through the crowd of purple uniforms. Stopping by the door, you quickly checked to make sure everyone had exited before slipping inside.

You were welcomed by the cool temperature of the greenhouse, accompanied by the soft humming of the electricity, but you didn’t stop long, examining the different plants arranged around. Surely nobody would mind if you took a couple flowers? You peered at the different arrangement of flowers before your eyes caught on a lovely black dahlia, recognizing its spiky petals and dark hues to be the flower you wanted. Carefully pulling two or three from the planter, you held them carefully, exiting the greenhouse and closing the door carefully behind you as you hid the plant in the pocket of your blazer.

You hesitated briefly at the door to Wednesday and Enid’s dorm room, still catching your breath from your sprint. You could hear movement inside and you knew it wasn’t Enid; the blonde was busy working on an art project with Divina and Yoko today. You held your breath briefly before knocking your typical three knocks on the door before entering.

Quiet music came from the gramophone in the corner, signaling to you that your assumptions were correct. You turned your head to see Wednesday exiting her closet, dressed in her black and white checkered jumper with a jacket thrown over it. 

“Y/N.” She paused, the slightest hint of suspicion in her eyes when she spotted you. “What do you want?” The raven didn’t comment on the fact that you had entered the dorm without permission and you noticed. 

Now on the spot under Wednesday’s stare, you took a deep breath, forcing your hesitation down as you pulled out the black dahlia’s from behind your back, noticing too late that they were slightly crumpled; you had to bite back a frustrated huff at the sight of them. You knew you shouldn’t have put them in your blazer pocket.

“I was wondering if you’d teach me how to fight?” Silence.

More silence.

Too much damn silence.

You looked at her, feeling embarrassed about asking her like this. Her eyes slowly gazed from the flowers up to you as you stammered, “y’know, because I’m not the best at fighting, and well, you are, and I thought it could work out.” You forced yourself to stop talking before you could make yourself sound any more stupid than you already did. You were probably messing this up.

Wednesday seemed to examine you for a moment, eyes slowly moving to the flowers before back to you, staying silent for a moment longer before taking the flowers from you, depositing them on her desk. Before you could ask what she was doing, the raven turned and knelt by her bed, pulling out a semi-transparent jug filled with what appeared to be…blood? Confused, you didn’t have time to respond as Wednesday approached you, dumping the jug into your hands as she spoke.

“If you wish for me to instruct you, then you may first assist me, wolf.”

You looked down at the jug in your hands and then back at her, cocking your head slightly.

 “Is this real blood?” She ignored your question, placing a notebook inside of her bag as well as what appeared to be a sponge and some other materials.

 “I wish to begin implementing more realistic depictions into my novel. All you will need to do is act the part of a corpse for a bloodstain pattern analysis.”

“A corpse?” You repeated, raising an eyebrow in surprise and skepticism. The raven nodded, slinging her bag neatly over her shoulders.

“Correct” - she fixed you with that familiar glare you knew so well, already heading for the door. “And then I shall uphold my end of the deal.”

You hurried after her with the jug; despite it’s heaviness you carried it without a problem. “Where are you planning on doing this?”

“The woods,” came the reply. Once again you had to quicken your pace to catch up with her. How could a person so short move so damn fast? 

“So, is this real blood?” You repeated your question again; you didn’t have an issue with blood - after all you were a werewolf - but even you had to admit that if Wednesday so casually had a large jug full of real blood in her dorm it was a little concerning. The scent of it was a little different than human blood; your sensitive nose picked up a slight taint to it.

“Does it really matter?” She responded with a slight roll of her eyes. “It’s pig’s blood.”

You fell into a quiet silence as the two of you walked over the uneven terrain, the hushed silence of the woods engulfing the two of you as you entered. It was calming.

“So I’m going to be a corpse?” You said to fill the silence.

Wednesday nodded, adjusting the bag around her shoulder as she walked. “Indeed. I’ve played the role numerous times for my own amusement in the Addams Mansion. Consider yourself fortunate I’m even letting you in on the act.” With a sigh, you followed her as she led the way, the jug making swishing noises as the thick blood sloshed around inside. 

“And how long will this take?” 

“If your performance suffices, then not long.”  - Wednesday slowed her pace slightly, her gaze fixed on the woods - “we’ll find a suitable clearing where I can conduct the analysis. You’ll lie down, I’ll do my work, and then afterward you’re free to do as you please.” The raven eyed your clothing for a moment. “I assume you won’t mind dirtying your clothes.”

“Of course not,” you muttered sarcastically. “We werewolves love bloodied clothing.”

“Yes, because impeccably clean clothing is such a priority in the middle of the woods,” Wednesday scoffed, rolling her eyes in response. 

Eventually she seemed to reach the spot she wanted, a gloomy clearing shrouded in shadows. It fit the vibe - or Wednesday’s vibe at least - the shadows encompassed most of the main clearing and the sounds of the Academy were too faint for even your heightened hearing to pick up on.You looked at Wednesday for instruction and she merely gestured for you to lay down on the forest floor. You set the jug down and awkwardly arranged yourself over the ground, wincing and plucking out a few uncomfortable rocks under your spine.

Once you had gotten comfortable enough to be in the position for a good amount of time, you watched as Wednesday set down her bag on a log, retrieving her materials and standing there for a moment as she examined you, dark eyes roaming over your body. Was she scanning you for imperfections? Observing you to give you some tips on how to act more corpse-like? Or was it something else entirely?

You started to speak before you were cut off by the raven kneeling down at your side, bringing the sponge, an already slightly bloodied handkerchief, and the jug of blood over to begin. You didn’t flinch once as she began to carefully and precisely dab the blood onto specific spots of your clothing or skin.

You held as still as you can manage, save your baited breath as Wednesday delicately smeared a nice glob of thick blood over your neck, pausing only when she saw your muscles tense slightly. Her brows furrowed just barely as her hand hovered right above your neck, not moving.

Now, Wednesday Addams was certainly not a person who blushed; in fact you seriously doubted that she even had the capability to blush; you wouldn’t be surprised if she didn’t. Instead you watched as her nose scrunched just the slightest bit, the freckled skin over her nose darkening faintly, eyes flickering to yours once as she muttered, “don’t move.”

You forced your muscles to relax, watching as she smeared another good portion of blood on the side of your neck, feeling the cold thick liquid slowly running down your collarbone as she hesitated yet again, seeming to get stuck watching the blood on your neck before continuing, acting as if it never happened, arranging the blood in a pattern that appeared to be extremely specific to what she required.

Once done she prepared her notebook and began writing, pencil moving at impressive speeds with expert precision as she occasionally glanced back at you for reference, muttering once in a while under her breath, eyebrows furling in concentration as she recorded her observations before she repeated the process all over again.

When you were receiving a nice bloodstain on your lower calf you felt a raindrop on your nose as the sky darkened further, a low rumble of thunder making itself heard throughout the woods. You glanced at the sky and felt your body tighten a little at another soft echo of thunder throughout the woods; you never liked storms but you definitely weren’t going to seem like a coward in front of Wednesday. Especially not now. So you bit your tongue, laid your head back against the moss and let her work, trying to ignore the precise, somewhat gentle touches accompanied by the sound of pencil on paper.

You found the whole situation odd yet fitting.

After a bit longer, Wednesday sighed and stood, taking down a last few notes before starting to pack up her bag, replacing her materials neatly.

“You may get up now.”

With relief you sat up, looking down at the new bloodstains on your leg and neck. You reached down to try and wipe it but it stained. You huffed slightly, realizing you were going to need a good shower when you returned. Your clothes could use a good wash too if you managed to wash the scent of pig blood out of them.

You sat up, brushing the loose dirt and forest debris off your shirt and pants, stretching your aching joints; somehow some tiny rocks had managed to find you spine nonetheless.

“Meet me in the fencing hall tomorrow night,” Wednesday stared at you for a moment, not bothering to thank you as she abruptly turned and started walking again.

You hurried after her, catching up easily as you were used to the forest terrain; when you caught up you huffed, “no thank you for my service?”

“I will display my regard for your work by improving your fighting skills instead of supplying you with empty compliments,” the raven looked up at you with slightly narrowed eyes. “Don’t push your luck.”

You couldn’t resist a little roll of your eyes but you nodded. You never acknowledged the fact that you both knew she wouldn’t actually refuse to teach you how to fight. 

Or so you hoped.

As the two of you walked, a faint rumble echoed through the sky as a soft downpour began to rinse the forest. You felt the sprinkle wash away some of the lesser dried blood and you instinctively shook out your neck and hair a little bit, not a fan of wet hair or fur.

You continued walking, suddenly aware of Wednesday’s eyes on you once more. Observing you. Not with that same interest that she did when she was working. To you it appeared more inquisitive… slightly curious. Like you were a puzzle she was determined to solve. You pretended not to notice.

But you did. 

—————

pt.4 here!

[w1ll0w-w1spsss2]

“See how it puckers?” She prodded my asshole with the tip of the metal pointer, causing my hole to wink at the observers.

. . .

I really thought I lucked out! The last anatomy class with seats left offered an extra credit and was a bit cheaper than the other courses, I’d be stupid not to take it!

I was surprised not a lot of others were signed up, though when I arrived in the classroom emailed by the professor, every seat was taken.

“Up front! Come now, you’re late!” I realized the professor was directing her statements at me, and sat in the chair in front of the class.

“Alright class, now that our model is finally here… Human Anatomy, Lesson 1: The Pleasure Centers.”

The pleasure centers?? Man, this class was already getting into some interesting stuff. Wait… did she say model?

. . .

“Yes, that’s exactly right. See, when you stretch the anus enough, the cunt dispenses more natural lubricant. Perfect to dip a toy into. Anyone have one?”

I was bent in half over the chair, reaching back, spreading my cheeks apart. Two fingers twisted around in my asshole while murmurs could be heard behind me, offering toys, vibrators, even cocks! My holes both clenched at the thought, forcing the fingers out of me. Slap!

“Model. We’re in the middle of a demonstration. Don’t push anything out of your ass unless you’re told, understand?”

I nodded my head, and felt as the professor harshly slapped my cunt again.

“What do we notice?”

“It’s cunt is lubricating more ma’am.”

“Yes! Very good. Do you have a toy to put in?”

I heard a vibrator turn on behind me…

. . .

After the initial demonstration, everyone was left to explore all my pleasure centers. Fingers, toys, cocks, sometimes even tongues were slid in and out of my holes, but mostly my asshole. That seemed to be everyone’s favorite.

Eventually they all seemed to leave my cunt alone unless they needed lubrication.

“Alright class, that should wrap it up for today. Homework is to find your favorite way to stretch the anus.”

Everyone began gathering their things, I started to pull my pants up from around my ankles when a firm hand grabbed my wrist.

“Model, you get the extra course credit by being assistant to the teacher, so you’re going to be staying to… assist me.”

Assist her??

. . .

“Well, judging by how much you could take in your holes today, you’re going to need practice,” she said over my whining, she put 2, 3 , then popped in a 4th finger. “Remember, don’t push anything out of your ass unless I say so. Oh! I feel you pushing, I’m just going to push further!” I squealed as she shoved more in.

“The goal next week is to make you cum from just anal stimulation. Now that’s never going to happen if no one can get a fist in your hole.”

I felt like melting as her 4 fingers made it all the way to the second knuckle. Holy shit, and she wants me to take whole fists?? Quick as her fingers popped in my ass they all popped out at once, yanking a guttural sound from my throat.

“We will continue to stretch you tomorrow, probably every day until next class to be honest, but for now, put your tongue out.”

My tongue was met with her asshole. Gross! I tried to pull out but her hand held me firmly in place, she started bobbing my head up and down. I had no choice but to lick her ass, thrust my tongue deep in her, feel her wink suck me deeper in, taste every crevice.

I never thought I’d say this, but I think I’m going to love this class!!

[saucyjothoughts]

💜At anatomy lecture today we were learning about muscles. And it come to my mind (yes during lecture) that would the boys allow me to use their body as a tool to learn where are certain muscles are. Touching their muscles and asking them to flex it so I could feel how the muscles move under my hand. Skin to skin contact so I can feel the muscles without any layers. Of course after helping me study they would have their reward 😏.

I don't know if you're studying anatomy for biology reasons or art reasons, sweet 💜 boo, but I just had to run with this concept.

(mostly sfw under the cut)

"Pervert," he teases you.

You're in the university library with him - the cute one who does sociology - while your mutual friends are in lectures and you two have a free hour.

"It's for research," you inform him. You really don't know him that well and now you think about it, this is probably the first time you've been alone together without the buffer of your friends.

But that isn't what Bojan is referring to. You're ignoring the book and watching slow-motion, zoomed-in videos of men playing rugby on your phone. Muddy, rippling, sportsmen's thighs under tiny shorts.

In front of you is an open copy of a heavy book, the page featuring a sketched torso with all of the muscles labelled.

'Anatomy for Artists.'

"Research? Of course." He looks at you in a way that makes your heart flutter.

"It's very important to study."

As it turns out, he does really mean it. He's in your DMs before the end of the day.

"You should come to one of my MMA sessions." He probably doesn't really mean it. He's probably just being nice, trying to make a friend in this new city away from home, full of adventure and fear and promise. "Do some research in the flesh."

And when you study together, he lets you see exactly how skin moves over muscle, how the human body bulges and flexes and sags and creases, hair and freckles and dimples and veins. He lets you study a little at a time, hitching the sleeve of his t-shirt up so your paintbrush can outline the deltoid, the tricep, the brachioradialis, the extensor carpi ulnaris; elegant sweeping strokes of deep red that he says feels good on his skin as you paint him. You're thinking about pectoralis major. But you're not brave enough to ask him for it. Not yet.

Your study sessions have moved. You don't use the library anymore. Bojan thinks it will be more useful if you can see him when he's pumped, after his training, so you join him at the gym with your sketchbook. His skin looks good (he's worked up a sweat) and he takes his shirt off to show you his biceps, his armpit hair, then turns around so you can see his back. He sweeps his hair away when you ask for the angle of his neck and writhes slowly when you want the movement of the scapula, the ilium.

"I'm probably too soft for you to get a good idea of abdominals." He's apologising, self-conscious about his love handles. In your eyes, he's a perfect specimen (when did he become perfect to you? It happened so naturally) and his shyness is endearing.

"I'm sure there are plenty of abs I can see around here," you tease, making a show of looking around the gym at the other guys.

No.

He takes your wrist, pulling your attention back to him.

"You didn't let me finish."

He's sweaty, and you're close enough to smell him, musky and masculine.

"You probably can't see, but you can feel."

He pulls your hand close to his body and you touch your fingers to him. Around his navel, over that little trail of hair, and he flexes his core as you push your fingertips through the softness of his flesh to feel the strength beneath. Rectus abdominis.

Why are you suddenly struggling for breath when you aren't even the one working out?

He asks you if you want to have the next study session at his place. You do. You desperately do.

His room is cosy. There's a nice view from the window and you skim through his record collection and the whole place smells of coffee and Bojan.

He offers you his chair and you're spreading out the media you brought onto his desk while he prepares to pose for you.

"You know, if you wanted..." There is hesitation in his voice. "You could draw all of me."

Your mouth is suddenly dry. You just nod.

Slowly, he peels away the last of his clothing until all he's wearing is the chain around his neck.

He reclines on the bed, fully on show, the lines of him looking beautiful in the window light.

You pick up your sketchbook, and draw.

[konigbabe]

PAYMENT

Pairing: Toji Fushiguro x fem!reader Word count: 1.1k Tags/warnings: no y/n; smut; p-in-v sex; unprotected sex; female gendered anatomy; light sadism, rough(ish) sex; implied cunnilingus Summary: You wanted Toji Fushiguro to tattoo you. Now's the time to pay for his services. Part of my JJKS2 writing week.

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All you originally wanted was just the tattoo. Something simple, easily hideable. Toji made it clear he wasn’t an exceptional artist–

("You have a tattoo gun?"

Intrigued by the sight of the compact, gleaming device in your hand, a mix of curiosity and surprise, you held it up to Toji’s apathetic face. His eyes met yours as he let out a nonchalant hum in response, "tried to make some quick cash."

"So you got a medical license," amused, you chuckled, "seems like a lot of work for someone like you."

He only shrugged, lounging on the couch with a careless demeanor, "Not exactly."

Now that made more sense.

"Ah, I see. You were an illegal tattoo artist, huh," you deduced, taking a step closer to him and placing the gun on the crackled, stained coffee table between you two, "can you tattoo me?"

The request lingered in the air as you stayed bent over the low table, both hands firmly on its surface; eyes staring right into the leaden depths of his own.)

–now; your skin’s burning. The wound on your hip bone stings; still fresh, open. Ink the shade of the night sky, lines swirling around the skin in an alluring pattern, painting a vivid image. The plastic wrap barely clings to your sweating flesh.

You can’t complain though. Not with the way Toji’s hips snap against yours; when he’s rutting into you with a fervor that hasn’t been in him since the day he’d first met you. Not with the way he holds you, his arms caging your aching, squirming body on the table. A hand grasping the soft side of yours, dangerously close to the new tattoo.

Thighs flexing, shifting; you feel the sticky mess of your juices coat his cock. Heels digging into the apex of his ass, the muscles constricting underneath your own. Taut. Years of hard work shaping his body to unholy perfection.

With each thrust, it feels as if the tip of his cock breaches the opening of your womb.

Painful. Sometimes, even.

But that doesn’t stop you; you welcome it.

"Ah–Toji–f–fuck…"

It earns you a grunt. Sound so guttural, emerging from the depths of his chest. His fingers burn as his thumb digs into the foil, unwittingly digging into the covered cut.

"It hurts," you whine when his nails poke at the onyx lines, "Toji–oh-don–don’t stop–"

And he doesn’t. He can’t stop, not with the sounds that are coming out of your mouth. The squeaks, moans and the loud keens. They’re all like petals dropping from a flower. And he’s just there, in the middle, watching them all fall.

Body writhing, spasming underneath his calloused hands; with his cock ferociously pounding into you, shamelessly chasing his own high…it amuses him. You amuse him.

"Huh–"

It’s almost maniacal; the way he feels entertained, enthralled by your body’s response to such simple human desire. Savoring the eagerness and zeal with which your body responds o him.

The hand that’s been grinding against the sore area of your hip bone moves. Toji putting pressure against the natural curve of your clavicle and pushing. The back of your head meets the hard surface of the kitchen island as his face hovers over yours. Your eyes fixate on the tip of his tongue, poking from his lips, still glistening with your juices from moments ago–it takes your attention from his other hand.

Which, in the meantime, moves from the table to your aching nub but instead of putting pressure, toying with it, Toji pinches it before rolling the bud between his thumb and index finger, eliciting a surprised, yet pleasured gasp from your lips.

"You a sadistic one, ain’t ya?"

He grins, dark eyes shining with mischief and desire. Breath hot against your ear, he whispers, voice like smoldering embers beneath a velvet cloak, "you like that? The pain. Want more?"

You can’t answer; mind a complete standstill. Every thought, every word he says seems to slip through the cracks and vanish into the darkness. But Toji wants an answer, and he isn’t one to take silence for it. With a quick tilt of his hips, he takes you up higher, makes you feel every movement, every ridge of his body against yours.

Tongue darting out, lips latched onto the side of your neck, his teeth sink into the heated flesh. Not enough to draw blood but still enough to leave his mark.

"Yes, more–ple–please."

Your hand grasps his hair. Feeling the silken strands flow between your fingers; you tug.

He growls against your skin, the vibrations setting your body on fire. Fingernails digging into the delicate skin of your body, hands kneading the flesh as his lips trail up to your ear, breath tickling your neck.

"Say it again," he whispers, voice low and gravelly.

"More, please."

He doesn’t stop; not until every breath you take sounds like a moan. Until you have no coherent words left in you.

Until you’re nothing but a trembling mess in his arms.

Your body arcs, fingertips reaching out; seeking each contour of his tight abdomen. That’s all the warning he gets.

Like a flood. You feel it wash over you; the heat coiling and burning. The moment stretches on like an elastic band–

Intensity guilds. Sticky warmth fills you. Toji’s relentless thrusting only grows in speed, hands gripping underneath your knees, opening your legs more. His pelvis meets yours; his thrusts limit you to sharp, noisy exhalations.

–until it snaps.

Like the petals had fallen, you fall. Limbs weak, you feel yourself go limp.

Fucked dumb.

But Toji isn’t done with you yet. You’re the one who started it, you don’t get to tap out so quickly, so easily.

"I ain’t through with ya, pup."

(Laying back on the cool surface of the kitchen island, body supported by your elbows, you looked down. Toji pulled back, petting the sore tattooed spot now wrapped in plastic.

You actually liked his work.

"So," you speak up, drawing his gaze at you with apathetic eyes, "what’s the payment?")

His hands sneak around your body – one lying flat against your nape, bringing your head up towards his flushed yet grinning face, body following suit as he makes you sit back up. His lips curl into a smirk, "get ready, next round’s gonna be rough."

And it is. The next few rounds, actually.

It’s brutal. Raw. Toji holds you down, his body over yours. You can feel him, grinding into you; his cock, pulsing with desire. A need to claim you. A need to feel you beneath him, to taste your sweat, your cries.

[eating-plastic]

Headcanons: Maison Talo x Fem!Reader NSFW Headcanons

Warnings: nsfw, smut (minors and ageless blogs do not touch please and thanks), AFAB!reader, vaginal sex, fingering, oral sex (fem receiving), tentacles, overstimulation, light bondage, a bunch of other dirty stuff, lots of inaccuracies about Maison's anatomy (because with all due respects, I don't really care), probably some grammatical errors

A/N: So I've become super obsessed with Maison lately, so expect another headcanon (or fic) coming up. Besides, I gotta start pumping out some stuff while I still can since college starts up again for me in less than a month. Also, just a heads up, I take the easy way out when it comes to writing nsfw stuff with this old man. Soooo yeah, insert "let's just enjoy fiction warning" here because I really don't care lol. Anyways, that's all. Enjoy!

--------------------

🏠-So here's the thing about Maison: Until you guys actually do the deed, his lust is kinda nonexistent

🏠-If you're someone that kinda just wants to dive head first into the topic, you're gonna have to talk about it with him

🏠-The other option is he catches you in the middle of giving yourself some "self love." To be quite honest tho, you should've known better. After all, if he tastes the food you drop and the drinks you spill, then you really should've known he was gonna taste the mess you were making

🏠-He quickly becomes addicted to your arousal btw. You're gonna get overstimulated to hell and back with each orgasm he pulls from you. If you let him, he'll make you cum multiple times on his fingers, tongue, and cock

🏠-Maison knows that humans have their limits and sex with him pushes you to those limits

🏠-He also quickly establishes himself as dominant in the bedroom. He absolutely loves the control he has over your body

🏠-Speaking of which, your body is like a work of perfection in Maison's eyes. You're his precious little tenant, he thinks you're flawless. He wants to see all of you, so you're often completely bare for him

🏠-Seriously, if you are insecure about any part of your body, he'll do everything in his power to quell those nasty thoughts of yours

🏠-He honestly doesn't think much about undressing himself, but he does find it amusing if you try to strip him. After all, he has such a handsome lure, it's only natural that you'd want to see more of it

🏠-Besides, he does think that the skin-to-skin contact is nice

🏠-Loves restraining you and having you at his mercy. Sometimes he simply does this by pinning your hands above your head with his own. But sometimes he likes to actually get his house form involved if you catch my drift ...😏

🏠-I'm talking about tentacles btw. Red, fleshy tentacles that bind your wrists, hold your legs apart, and manipulate you into any position that Maison wants

🏠-And I know what you're thinking: Can you get fucked by them? Absolutely! If you're into that, then of course they can fuck you in any hole you want

🏠-Besides, Maison likes getting a little show before he actually shoves his cock inside of you. Maybe he can see just how many tentacles can fit in that tight pussy of yours. One, two...maybe three

🏠-He's torn between which he likes more: when you're a brat so he can put you back in your place or when you're a good, obedient girl for him. I suppose it's just a matter of what mood the both of you are in

🏠-He doesn't really "get" you wanting to blow him. When he eats you out, it's a mutual thing; you get pleasure and he gets to taste your delicious slick. He doesn't really see what you get out of oral sex when the roles are reversed...not saying that he'll say no to head tho

🏠-I'm not sure where to put this so I'll just leave you with this idea: Maison likes to use sex as a means to help you unwind after a shitty day. You know, after gifts, cuddles, a massage, and an expensive dinner. If all of those don't seem to work, then why don't you just ride him til your little heart's content and you forget all thoughts about the nasty day you had

🏠-Whenever Maison finishes it's pretty intense, and I'm not talking about the feeling of his cum actually filling your cunt up (although that is amazing too). I'm talking about the fact that the fucking house literally shakes as if a small Earthquake just happened. Depending on how fucked out you are tho, you might not even notice it

🏠-When you two are finally done going at it (i.e. you probably tapped out if we're being for real), your body's gonna be sticky with sweat, your throat horse, and your clit so sensitive that anything lightly brushing against it hurts. If you think that Maison's just gonna leave you like that, then you are sorely mistaken. What do you take him for? He is a gentleman (...gentlehouse?), he's not gonna just leave his darling tenant like that

🏠-While he may be dominant in bed, this REALTOR's wrapped around your finger after the deed. Anything you want, you'll get. A bath, some water, some snacks, a massage, or maybe you just simply wanna cuddle. It doesn't matter what you need, he'll get it for you in a heartbeat

🏠-what can he say? He loves to take care of you ❤️

[spikezonebby]

Okay, okay I wanna see what you come up with for this song. “Sew My Name” by Josh Pike (the live version at the Sydney Opera House is the best version in my opinion).

GN!Reader x TFA!Ratchet with a dash (or more than a dash) of cathartic angst.

Sew My Name - TFA!Ratchet/GN!Human!Reader

Word count: 1,667

You liked to leave your mark wherever you went.

For as long as Ratchet had known you, you loved to leave something of yourself behind. You thought it important that the universe knew you existed in some capacity. You carried a knife around in your back pocket so you could carve your name into tree bark. One evening, you had asked him to show you how to sew. You wanted to know, so you could sew things into the collars of your clothes.

Ratchet always thought clothes were kind of a strange human invention. What good was armor that didn’t protect anything? Winter clothes, that was a different story. Humans had less-than-stellar temperature regulation so it made sense that you needed that.

Didn’t stop you from shoving your hands into the warm mesh just under his chassis whenever you got chilly, though.

If Ratchet had had any idea how much he’d miss the little things you did, he would have savored it longer. Been a bit more hesitant to pluck you off of him, or tried to close the distance between you a little more. 

Bumblebee was lucky, the little scrap. He was lucky because his favorite organic was actually a techno-organic and would live a long, long life alongside him. For Ratchet, it seemed like with every visit back to Earth from Cybertron, there was less of you to go around. 

Then one day, there wasn’t any of you left.

You passed away on a seemingly innocuous Tuesday evening and he didn’t even hear about it until the next time he came to Earth to check up on Sari. She broke the news to him, and he wasn’t even sure if he felt sad or not. Perhaps he’d been mourning all this time in preparation for the news, knowing how short organic lives were. He knew what he did feel though.

He was angry. Angry, raging, pissed off beyond belief that you could put so much of yourself into the universe, only for it to not even blink or grimace in your absence. He wanted to drag Primus himself down by his audials and give him what for.

“Doc-bot, I didn’t even think you were that close with them.” Sari said, setting a hand– or were they servos now? He still wasn’t sure with her unique anatomy— on the back of his calf.

“Why wouldn’t I be? I was their primary doctor! Not only that but they were a part of the team, weren’t they?”

Sari didn’t really have an answer for him, she wasn’t really looking at him even when he turns to face her. After the battle with Megatron and his copies of Omega Supreme, things changed. It was largely for the better, with Team Prime being accepted as heroes. Prowl’s death, though noble, shocked all of them to their cores. It’s been decades since then and Sari had gone from a teen to an upstanding young femme, struggling with her father’s own slowly decaying mind. Ratchet hated to say it but he always figured Issac would go before you, not out live you.

It wasn’t right, it wasn’t fair. 

“What happened? I thought humans could live to be over a hundred years old.”

“I don’t know.” Sari admits, “I wasn’t really close with them. It just… got hard to talk to them, ya know?”

Ratchet hadn’t thought about that before. Sari, with her unique nature, may very well be the only person capable of understanding both the human and the Cybertronian angle of time. It made sense that Sari would slowly become unable to relate to you, a fully organic human being, the older you got…

It made him wish he’d spent more time talking with you. 

“They did want me to give you something though, Ratchet.” Sari speaks up after a tense moment. 

Sari had always been a girl that packed light, but Ratchet had entirely overlooked the bag she’d been holding. It was just a plastic bag but the real mystery was the parcel held within. Something small and light, bound up with a red ribbon. Sari sets it in his open servo and immediately he’s drawn to the softness of it. 

It’s fabric, whatever it is. You were known to be a purveyor of various hobbies, it isn’t strange to think you might have gotten into fashion before your passing. Last he’d heard, you had taken to raising these insects called ladybugs. And before that, you had had an infatuation with sailing and the early history of your planet’s nautical culture. 

He should have seen the signs of you slowing down way, way before this.

He unwraps the gift, revealing the folded fabric. A long strip of soft and silky material carefully hand embroidered with delicate gold. It reminded him of a thin scarf. On the very end, he finds his name stitched into it by hand. There’s the taste of something bittersweet on his glossa then, knowing he taught you how to do this. You kept up with it all these years later.

“Oh! I know what that is!” Sari chirps, and in an instant, her jet pack pops free from her back and boosts her up onto the medic’s shoulders. On her way up she snags the fabric from his grip, and with practiced ease, balances herself just behind his helm. She wasn’t as small as she used to be but still small enough. 

“What on Cybertron are you doing?” 

“Gimme a sec here!”

And a second is all she needs, because she loops the fabric around his neck cables and starts folding and twisting. Then, turns it around on him so the delicate puff of fabric is on the front of his chassis, hanging down and standing out as a stark, bright shock of color against his white paint. Like an ascot or a necktie or some other name for the vast many types of cravats there were on Earth.

“Guess they didn’t think you looked spiffy enough, Doc.”

The established base had tons of reflective surfaces, so one of them, a monitor, made a good enough mirror for Ratchet to adjust his new tie a bit. It was pretty, like Sari said, spitty, on him. He appraises himself, turning this way and that.

“Huh, not something I woulda gotten myself.”

“Pfft. That’s probably why they got it for you.”

“I didn’t think I was gone from Earth for that long for them just to… vanish like that.”

Sari shifts so she’s resting her arms and chin atop Ratchet’s head, legs throne over either of his shoulders and hoping her weight and her presence are soothing to the old medic. She squishes her cheek into the top of his helm.

“I don’t think anyone actually has a schedule for when they plan to kick the bucket. It just… happens. They probably wanted to give it to you in person but just ran out of time.”

Ratchet could picture it. You, old and greyed and still insisting they ride around on his shoulder while he talks about all of the numbskulls back at headquarters. Then they poke his cheek and tell him to stop being so grumpy, and give him their gift.

“Hey, you don’t have to answer this if you don’t wanna but…” Sari’s big blue eyes find his face in the monitor’s reflection, scrutinizing his expression for any minute detail. “Did you like them?”

“Of course I liked them. Why else would I put up with them? I like you, don’t I?”

“Awww, you do?” She flicks the unbroken point of his chevron, “Cute but that’s not what I meant. I meant like-like.”

“Oh, you mean like you and Bumblebee?”

Sari sputters and gives him a quick bop on the helm, “Yeah, yeah sure! If you need an example.”

“Honestly, Sari?” Ratchet begins, rubbing the golden seam of the tie between his fingers, “I…I don’t know. Cybertronians live so much longer than any organic life. It stands to reason that we fall in love slower too.”

“But that isn’t a ‘no.’”

“You’re right, it’s not. It’s not a ‘yes’ either. I guess, maybe, I could have if there was just more time.”

Sari doesn’t respond to that, not verbally anyways. She drums her fingers atop his helm, then he feels her squeeze him a bit tighter.

“I’m sorry.”

“And I’m Ratchet.”

That gets a snicker out of Sari. She pats the top of his helm and then he can see her in the monitor as she jerks her thumb back behind her.

“Bee wants to go grab some highgrade if you wanna join us.”

“Who’s ‘us?’”

“Me, Bee, Bulk, Jazz, and hopefully you. Optimus is still busy– Because when is he not– but he promised to call us all tonight.”

“What’s the occasion?”

“Does there have to be? All my old friends are finally together so, why wouldn’t I wanna hang out with them all? Don’t have to have a reason besides just saying you miss someone.”

Sari always was the glue of the team. Her and Bee, friends against all odds. Young bots that just loved one another and loved all of the people around them, even if they could be a little annoying.

“Yeah, I don’t gotta head back to Cybertron for a while yet. Might as well show off their gift, right? And hope Bulkhead doesn’t spill highgrade on me.”

“Aw yeah! That’s the spirit!” Sari pumps her fists, then bounces on his shoulders, “Giddy up, let’s goooo!”

That gets a laugh out of Ratchet. Yeah, it was probably better that he spent some time with friends anyways. You would have wanted to if everyone was in the city at the same time. Even if he didn’t like to have a drink himself, he’d drink to you. To your memory.

So that the universe knew that you really had your name stitched onto his very spark. That there was some piece of you that couldn’t be erased. He wouldn’t let it be erased.

[sagau-my-beloved]

I hope I'm not too late for some more Avian Venti brainrot!

If you'll humor me, here's a brief discussion of bird anatomy: when bird feathers are still developing, they're called pin feathers! They're covered with a protective keratin sheath, which needs to be removed when the feather is fully developed. Birds usually remove the sheath when they "preen", but they need help (either from humans, or from other birds) to remove the sheaths from hard-to-reach places.

Now that we've established some base knowledge, consider: Venti needing help after molting and growing new feathers. He can reach some of them, thanks to having, y'know, hands, but the feathers near the very base of his wings are a problem. It's also a little more difficult to remove them, since birds' beaks are shaped better for the task than our hands.

So if you help him with the process of removing those pin feathers, once they've grown in and are starting to feel uncomfortable-- he'd be over the MOON with gratitude. It's super relaxing, too-- you can have him in your lap, with his back toward you, gently caressing his wings and slowly easing out the itchy little sheaths of keratin. As if he didn't already enjoy having you touch his wings, Venti would be totally blissed out as you take care of him, the tension relieving him with each new feather you help him unfurl.

Never too late, you could come to me 50 years down the line, long after this blog's inevitable end, and I'll rise from the depths like some unholy lovecraftian creature true story

So, really thinking about it, the entire backside of his wings would count as a hard to reach place since they're so big and hands only reach so far, kinda cute to imagine him trying to do it himself though, just reaching as far as humanly possible with a concentrated expression only to lose his balance and have to pull himself back up with a huff

I did look into it a bit more and it seems to be either a yearly or bi-yearly experience depending on the bird, so I imagine he just intensely looks forward to the collection of days you'll indulge him, I wouldn't even put it past him to mark it on a personal calendar (that he mainly dedicates to events relating to you) just to be able to cross off the days till

Just imagining him completely blissed out, only half conscious enough to protest if you even think about moving your hands away, 👌

It'd probably take multiple hours, knowing how big his wings are, so by the end of it he'd be completely and wholly out of it

And I'm 100% sure that you'd be the only one he'd let do it, maybe in the past when he only had some closer friends to help out he'd be more open with who he asked to partake, it's not entirely an 'intimate' act by nature, and attempting to do it all himself would just lead to frustration and possible injury, so he couldn't really afford to be picky

But now that you're here, his incredibly benevolent savior, you're the only living being he'd ever want for any act involving his wings, especially if you've taken any interest in them at all

And of course he's so incredibly grateful, unbelievably greatful that you indulge him so, but all it really does is make him that much more possessive of you

He can't help it that he needs you, both mentally and physically, you provide so much for everyone whose lives you touch so it's difficult to get you all to himself, but he needs you so much more than anyone else, he couldn't imagine living day to day without you and this is just another reminder of that

But now, imagine that exact same scenario with the addictive touch au, I think it might actually kill him, but that's probably the way he'd want to die anyway so—

[twisted-wonderland-shenanigans]

Imagine NRC reaction to losing Yuu in a ball pit(it would be even harder if it’s mini Yuu)

Ah yes, ball pits. Both an amazingly fun place to try and swim or lay on top of to see how far you can sink into the brightly colored plastic balls to flailing about trying to get your footing and swim/flop around like a fish on land trying to get out. Good times! Even more chaotic when it comes to the foam square variation, where you have to try and roll like a log to get out! XDD

Now, what could possibly bring such a thing to a magic school? Why, our lovely researchers of course! Given the fact that Yuu’s anatomy—although similar to a faun or satyr—doesn’t resemble any known species, they were quite curious about human mobility without a tail for balance. So what better way to test it than have Yuu go through an obstacle course?

“…did the researchers actually build a children’s playground for Yuu, Crowley?”

“They do not wish to risk Yuu’s safety due to their fragile nature and preservation status.”

Whether or not Yuu felt embarrassed at this test, it would still be better than any of the ideas Vargas may have suggested (he has good intentions, just a bit too much to start off with like the weighted uniforms for students). It was simple: get from one end to the other and maintain as much balance as possible. There was no pass or fail—just data! (Woe to the humans who are uncoordinated or unbalanced. Ú.Ù) Besides, it was literally the safest place for a test: what could go wrong?

“Helllllllp!!!”

“Did we make the foam pit too deep?!”

“Worry about that later! We need to pull them out right now!”

“Hang on, Yuu! I’m coming!!”

“Deuce—wait!!”

Needless to say, there were a lot of flailing limbs and several students got stuck in the foam pit. Thankfully Rook was able to locate and pull Yuu out from the squishy trap, though it took over an hour to get everyone else out with only relatively minor injuries from accidentally kicking or smacking one another trying to get their footing. After such an experience, who in their right mind would want to go back in there?

“Wheee!!”

“Yuu?! What the heck, we just pulled you out of there!”

That was when researchers noted that humans—if they perceive something as “fun”—will more than gladly throw themselves into it over and over again.

For mini!Yuu though, it was less a matter of studying and more a way that the students and staff tried to keep the child occupied. With a large yet shallow kiddie pool, the boys couldn’t help but join in when Yuu would throw some of the balls in their direction. This went well for a few days, keeping the balls clean with magic and on occasion playing “volleyball” with a small inflatable ball that Sam gifted them.

Until it was Diasomnia’s turn to babysit.

It started innocently enough: Silver and Sebek were setting up the play area while Lilia and Malleus listened to another one of the toddler’s stories.

“Lilia-sama, the play area is ready for the human,” Sebek called out.

“Alright, little one. In you go~!”

“Whee!” The sounds of giggles and plastic balls clattering against each other filled the room, Yuu happily ‘splashing’ a few out of the kiddie pool as the stray balls rolled against the playpen. They looked up at Malleus and—with the most excited smile they’d seen—said, “Come in and play with me!”

“Hm? Me?” he uttered, looking stunned.

“Aww, isn’t that just precious?” Lilia cooed with a giggle before kneeling down to be more level with the small human. “Sorry, little one. I’m afraid we’re all simply too big to fit in there with you.”

Yuu’s smile faded into a crestfallen expression as they uttered, “Oh…okay…”

“What is the matter, Child of Man?” Malleus asked in concern.

The toddler said nothing for a moment, no longer playing as enthusiastically as they shuffled some of the balls around with one hand. Then, they said, “Everyone’s too big to play with me. It’s not fun playing alone…it’s not fair…”

On hearing that, Malleus hummed quietly in thought. Then, with a smile, he said, “Then perhaps we should make the pool a little bigger then.”

“My lord?” Sebek started. “What are you-?”

Before anyone could react, a surge of magical energy filled the air and—with multiple little pops—the whole room began to fill with brightly colored plastic balls. Yuu gasped and giggled, squealing as the balls fell all around them while Sebek and Silver squawked and yelped in shock and confusion as the lounge quickly filled up with more and more of the plastic orbs until—finally—it stopped. Shaking his head, Silver asked, “What just…happened?”

“The Child of Man wished to play with us, and so I granted them their wish,” Malleus said with a pleased smile. “Now there will be no issues.”

“Oh my. It would seem there’s plenty of room for us to play with Yuu now,” Lilia—who had started to float over the ball pit that had formed—said with a smile. Then, the smile fell as he realized something. “Wait…where’s Yuu?”

The four were silent for a moment, staring at the space the playpen had been and seeing the orbs begin to shift and a muffled voice calling out, “Bap?”

“Yuu!!!!” the four yelped.

Somehow under the sea of plastic, Yuu had managed to crawl over the playpen and somehow began wandering around. The four began to search, digging and swimming through the orbs in an attempt to find them while being mindful of their claws. More than once did Sebek and Silver slip and fall, struggling to escape and find their footing again while Malleus and Lilia floated above and ducked in and out of the pit. Finally—after ten minutes—they finally found Yuu safe and sound.

“Fufufu…that was quite the fun little game, wasn’t it?” Lilia said with a smile. “Though perhaps next time, instead of swimming in plastic, we should pay a visit to the pool. Or perhaps the beach?”

“Yay!” the child cheered, happily clinging to Malleus as he held them. “That was so much fun! Thank you, Mr. Horns!”

Despite Sebek squawking at the childish nickname, Malleus smiled and hugged the child back. “You’re most welcome, Child of Man.”