#i would mount it on a wall though not eat off it

[pancakeke]

speaking of things that manipulate people into spending money, I'm only just barely winning a mental battle against this extremely cool plate

[yanderenightmare]

TW: NSFW, dubcon/noncon, slave darling, crude and derogatory terms, classism, abuse of power, death threats

fem reader

Thinking about the poor kitchen maid who's suddenly told she's to be the spoiled Prince's new chambermaid.

It hasn’t even gone a day yet, but you already miss your job in the kitchens.

Sure, the sweltering heat of the ovens always left you in a state of fever, and kneading dough from dawn ‘til dusk made your arms acidic with burns – unyieldingly sore – not to mention never getting a chance to sit down and rest before collapsing in bed at the end of the day. But the smell of freshly baked buns and the chance to sneak a bite out of those that came out of the oven just a bit too burnt for serving had always felt like payment enough.

That and not having to deal with the royal family.

You know you should feel honored. You know it’s supposed to feel godsend to be picked to become the Prince’s personal servant. But… there was a reason he so often required a change of maid.

You still remember the last one they’d taken from the kitchen. She was pretty and young and shouldn’t have been working there in the first place – that’s what everyone used to say before she disappeared.

You wonder if such words carry curses… and what you did to deserve the same things being said about you.

You nearly cried standing outside The Prince’s chambers, chewing on your lip with his breakfast tray in hand, wondering what rumors were true – if he really was as terrible as everyone claims – wondering where the other kitchen maid went and whether you’d end up in the same place… wondering what you could do to keep it from happening.

You don’t know what you were standing there waiting for, nearly pissing yourself when you knew he was still out – busy hunting down a couple of runaway servants for sport. It was almost as though you feared the room itself, as though it would bite once crossing the threshold. 

None of the sorts happened, though a gust of warm wind hit you like the breath of a beast once you opened the door.

Inside, there were around a dozen heads mounted on the wall – dragons, bears, lions, wolves, and other creatures you weren’t too sure of – all with mouths big enough to bite yours off.

You took only a second to look at them before they looked as though they’d leap from the walls and eat you alive, just like you’d predicted.

You set the tray of food down on the bedside table and walked to the bathroom to draw his bath – deciding work would keep your mind off it.

Stepping out a second later, you fixed a fire in the hearth and made to make the bed, stretching the duvet and the quilt over the massive mattress while eyeing the thread count with envy and the hand-stitching with awe. Left to wonder how many ducks had been shot to stuff the mountain of plush pillows he’d all but thrown onto the floor to make space for himself.

Walking through the steam to the bath again, you opened the cupboard to pick out soaps and oils – overwhelmed by the sight of every shelf stocked full of all sorts you’d never seen – glad you had somewhat decent reading skills – unlike many of the other maids.

Soaping the water, you sat on the edge and waited with a hand wading through the warmth – and while biting your lip, you let your mind wander again – daydream, like it so often did – imagining what it would be like to feel it on the rest of your skin, warm and smooth, sucking all the stress out and leaving you soft like a newborn.

He watched you enjoy yourself, his stark eyes calmly assessing what they saw with a tilt of his head – trailing from the tip of your worn-out shoes to the tattered edge of your grey maid’s dress, up your lap to the cinch of your waist where your white apron was bound – taking his time until your eyes fluttered open to find him standing there.

You nearly fell into the water, hopping up to a stance. “Sorry, your majesty- I forgot myself! Please forgive me.” You bowed, looking down at the muddy stains on your gray shoes – in anxious wait of his wrath.

But instead of a backhanded slap that would send you straight to the stone floor or a spit of venom which would make you flinch and cry, he spoke a calm and patient “Come here-”

Though spoken in a certain tone of authority that forced you forward in quick steps until stopping just short of him – still with eyes downcast.

“Mh, I'm glad they haven't run out of cute ones down there.” He said then, once you stood only a hair's length from him – voice just as calm as before and inspiring just as much surprise in you still, though now joined with visible confusion in the crinkle it caused between your brows. A furrow that only deepened once he reached out his hand, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear.

“Your majesty?” You questioned.

“It’s master.” He corrected sharply, and you grew unsure if his voice wasn’t just cold rather than calm. “I like that better. Now quit wasting my time and undress me, slave – I have important shit to attend to today.”

You wavered only a second, feeling the words like a flick to the forehead. “Of course, your majes- master. Forgive me.” You blurted with hands quickly jumping forth to help detangle the knots keeping his robes together. 

Small fingers working hurriedly to appease him, setting aside the light leather cuirass upon his dresser once loosening it from his torso – wondering if you should tell him your name, though thinking better of it as he’d opted for simply referring to you as a slave instead of asking. 

You hadn’t been called that in a long while – slave – never by anyone in the kitchen, at least. You’d nearly forgotten it was what you were – a slave – and not just a busy member of the crown’s staff.

You bit your lip with another bow of your head, not wanting the Prince to see your face in its hurt while you undid the ties to the braces on his arms. The castle had become your home rather than a prison over the years, but… with the echo of your title wringing in that very heavy tone of his, along with standing there – bowing your head while undressing him of all fine body armor and robes – you couldn’t suppress the reminder of being of much lesser blood and birth. A fact that – despite never before having bothered you much – somehow seemed to strangle you now.

He’d dragged mud in with his boots – and given he’d not bothered taking them off, you were left to believe he wanted you to do it for him. And though humiliating as it was, you crouched down and began undoing the laces nonetheless – further feeling degraded while caressing the boot.

You pulled it off and repeated the action with the other foot – wondering if he meant you to remove his breeches and tunic as well until he, fortunately for you, lifted the shirt off and pulled the strings to the trousers himself. Leaving the undergarments in a pool on the floor next to you.

You kept your eyes down until he was completely submerged in the water, afraid to see something you weren’t allowed to – before getting up and padding back to the cupboard. You'd never been any lady's or lord's maid before, but you had been trained in the duties – and though heat rose to your cheeks at the thought of those duties, you still made to grab the soap and loofa in shakey hands before kneeling down on the stool next to the tub.

You’d never seen the prince if not from afar atop the castle balcony during speeches by his mother, the Queen – and had only ever heard of his appearance as something twisted and foul – but looking at him with his eyes closed, he really didn’t look as demonic as people had made him out to be. But further thinking about it, scrubbing his chest with soap and water and oil – you realized that none of those people were likely to have seen him up close either.

He looks every bit royal with his strength of face – cutting edges as though carved in marble, with chiseled muscles gleaming in the water and oil.

He was no doubt very handsome, you concluded silently – finally understanding why he was more of an eligible prince than what his attitude would otherwise allow – that, along with the kingdom’s riches, of course.

He sagged forward while you mindlessly amused your findings – though paying attention enough to take the cue – squeezing water onto his back with the sponge before rubbing over the broad flex of muscles, freezing once hearing him let out a heavy moan.

He leaned back again after you were done. Spilling water onto your dress once pulling his arms out to rest on the frame with a sigh – his chin tipped upward, lounging lazily on the back of the tub.

You reached for his face next – now with a silken cloth – stroking it lightly over the few droplets of blood splattered from when he must have cut into those poor runaways after hunting them down with swords and dogs in heel.

You shuddered some at the thought and must have let your eyes linger too long – or at least long enough not to notice him opening his – staring at you silently with eyes jaded in something that seemed to seize you by the throat.

“I’m sorry, ma-” You tried, but he seemed disinterested in it, reaching for you with wet fingers rubbing on the hem of your collar.

“You’re not dressed properly.” He said then, voice lazy yet loud – unimpressed, though not enough to be outright angry.

Gulping at the feel of his large hand so close to your neck, your voice only barely held it together. “I’m sorry, master. They hadn’t the right maid livery in my size, but I’ll have it ready tomo-” You started, hands folded neatly on your lap.

“Take it off.” He interrupted.

You blinked – tensing with your throat closing – sitting there stunned for a moment before mustering an ever so hesitant answer.

“Your majesty?”

“It’s master. Don’t make me tell you again, slave." He growled through grit teeth right at your face after yanking you close by the fabric of your shirt. "And you either dress properly, or you go naked. And right now, it looks like it’ll be the latter. Unless you want to be whipped for poor servitude?”

Your eyes – moon-big now while you shook your head – breathing thin through your nose. “No, master... I’ll undress.”

“Good.” He broke off your collar, dropping you back down onto your seat on the floor before rising with water rushing fast and heavy down along his limbs, dripping onto you as he stepped out with an unfettered splash.

You got up as well, beginning with the buttons on your shirt. Feeling him eye you while he wrapped himself in the towel you’d laid ready for him – his burning gaze leaving you goosefleshed and nearly in tears, bashful as you stepped out of your skirt – naked before him.

You didn’t dare look – even as he stepped toward you. Keeping your head bowed low – breath in shivers while eyeing the hand he reached for you, his fingers stopping just short of touching your bare skin.

“Clean yourself.” He said then, wafting the same hand to the tub he’d just used. Still filled with bubbles of lavender, though no doubt also of his own grime. But you wouldn’t refuse, no matter the degradation – your thoughts still lingering on the former kitchenmaid who’d disappeared not long after becoming the Prince's personal servant.

You stepped in, feeling the warmth close around your legs – still hot enough to prickle. Lowering yourself down, you sat there – swallowed by the bubbles with the loofa in hand, lathering your flesh with the mix of oil, soap, and water – brushing off soot and sweat – leaving you soft-skinned and smooth to the touch, but also riddled with goosebumps that wouldn't lower under the heavy leer the Prince was giving you.

“Get out and come here.” He said a short moment later, and you got out as told – taking slow steps toward the man, with footprints leaving soapy puddles in their wake.

He reached behind you to pull the pin from your worker's bun, letting your hair cascade in flowy wisps down around your shoulders – before brushing them behind you to clear your face and chest.

He’d dried off but didn’t offer you the towel – having dropped it into a wet pile on the floor – now reaching out to feel the smooth gloss of your breasts with brazen digits. Inspecting and assessing while caressing their weight as you stood there with your head still hung down low – silent and shivering.

Soon his hands fell from your chest down to judge your every curve, sliding over slippery slopes until reaching your cunt – stroking two thick fingers through the drippy curls found there. Gliding them between the lips, he circled your clit with his middle digit – tickling you – while dark eyes watched your lip quiver with a power-hungry gleam.

Stepping closer, the small smirk stretched on his face brushed your hairline where you tried bowing your head even lower in embarrassment – with brows tremoring similar to the hands hanging loosely by your sides.

“Aren’t you gonna bleat like a little lamb? Hmm... slave?” He asked then – low in a whisper, blowing gently into the sweat of your hair – cold enough to make you shiver even more. “The slut before you did….” He added with his smirk sharpening – lips stiffening against your skin where he brushed them in halfhearted kisses down your forehead and temple until reaching the shell of your ear. “I had to wring her little neck just to make her stop squealing.”

You sucked your teeth on impulse, jolting just a bit but not enough to make the dire mistake of moving. 

“I can tell you’re smarter. That’s good….” He continued with fingers kept at your cunt – playing your shivering core where you stood planted – dripping wet with bathwater and terrified of moving. “Weak little things like you do better understanding their place.”

Your hands formed loose fists, flinching at your sides as you kept from the urge to wring your thighs shut until he left your sensitivity alone.

“But smart or not, I believe you missed a spot earlier-” Both his hands found your hair instead. “So get down on your knees, slave.” 

One paw cupped the back of your skull in a ponytail while the other laid flat on your scalp, pushing you down until he had you leveled with his throbbing manhood – thick and high-strung – blushed red and strangled with veins – bobbing with might against the ant trail leading up to his navel and looking every bit impatient to be served. 

“Use this pretty head of yours to do better, and maybe I won't have to wring your little neck too.”

You eyed the swaying length with eyes crossing – sucking your lip at its intimidating reach and how it seemed to rise higher than your head – mumbling out a weak. “Yes, master...”

You dropped your jaw and produced your tongue – feeling him keep control of your head in his tightening hold, yanking your hair before you gave the large cock a flat lick – starting at the base of his balls until flicking off at the very tip.

Not too revolted by the mild taste of lavender and vegetable oil, you locked your lips around the head and sucked it in hopes he’d ease his grip.

“Sh-fuuhck- you really do know your place, huh slave?” He mouthed – his head hanging back in a heavy groan – holding your skull in both hands while using them to bob you against his crotch on repeat, lolling his hips inside the wet warm comfort of your mouth a little deeper for each time – only moaning with a laugh once you gave a whine for breath. “Sweet and obedient- just how I like- with a nice wet throat to fuck too….”

He thought of kicking you when you put your small hands against his thighs to brace yourself – but given how softly you held them there without nails and pinches, he decided he’d grant you the tiny mercy – thinking he’d later teach you to keep your hands on your knees when serving him head like a proper slave ought to.

Tipping his head back again, he looked down at you and the pretty curl between your brows and the cute sight of your teary eyes looking back up at him – giving a hiss at how it made his balls tug in excitement.

“Get up-” He growled, pulling you up by your hair and throat until you shoddily stood upright on unsteady feet – lightheadedly looking at him with dazed eyes and a wet pout. “’This tight cunt as loyal to the crown as your mouth, hm?” He asked with a hand smacking the soft place, making you yelp before he made to bury two of his thick fingers inside the taunt space.

You whined out softly at the intrusion – kept steady and close by the fist holding your throat in a choke – before he used the same hand to throw you over the bed – stomach first with a slap to your ass.

“Bow down, slave- and show me some fucking respect. You’re in the presence of royalty, remember?”

He mounted you with a pent-up groan – and a strong fist in your hair, pushing your face down into the mount of pillows you’d dallied with earlier. His knees dipped into the plush next to your hips, locking you beneath him with his spit-slickened meat resting between the soft valley of your ass, sliding between the cheeks impatiently.

Gathering your wrists in his other fist, he kept them crossed at the small of your spine – before pulling back and letting his cockhead fall right to your sweetly wet and welcoming opening – wasting little time in piercing it nice and deep in a direct aim – like an arrow shot straight through a target.

You winced and bucked your hips at the attack – feeling your walls weep and sting – fluttering hot around the size of it.

He leaned across your back – heavy against your shoulders with his mouth at your ear in gritty whispers. “I like docile slave girls like you who know a thing or two about pleasing a man. Good submissive sluts who understand they’re nothing but warm soft meat for men like me to devour.” 

His words groaned in nibbling bites on your earlobe – with a hand kept strict and harsh in yanking your head back for him as he slowly started dragging himself out and stuffing you so fast you couldn’t keep from yelping at the breach. Toes gripping the cold rocky tiles as your legs shook under you – being rocked into harsh and deep by the muscle strength of the beast on top.

“I'm not the first one you’ve bent over for, huh?” He continued with a grin, haughtily chuckling in low breathy condescension. “Probably the first one you’ve had take you in a proper bed, though, hm? And not in a hayloft on whatever dirty farm you grew up on.” 

Your fingernails punched into your palms where he wrung your wrists tight, keeping you pressed flat beneath him while he heedlessly rutted into you like you were nothing but his own snug fist. 

“I bet the whole village had a go seeing how pretty you turned out.” He laughed again, scoffing at it with his tongue tickling your ear. “Did they all fuck you like this? From behind like a farm animal? On all fours with your pretty face moaning in the mud?” Simpering, he sped up as though aroused by his own words.

Twisting your hair tighter and groaning louder against your ear – chasing your deepest parts with balls clapping hard against your clit.

“You’re all fuckin' inbreds- It’s a fucking miracle your filthy parents created something like you- prettier than all the bratty princesses I have to listen to yap all day.” He moaned – now fully drooling against your face, nomming on your ear with heavy breaths.

Fully draping you in his sweaty muscles, you lay gasping beneath the weight – cunt clenching hard around his shaft – making him hiss.

“Ah fuck- It's nice coming home to an obedient slave- so tight and warm- grateful for a royal cock in your poor slave cunt, huh?”

You winced at his pounding, so deep you felt it choke you – making your stomach fold and curl, trying to protect itself from the assault. “Yes- thank you, master- thank you-” You cried while he placed sloppy layers of wet kisses down your temple and cheek in return – until finally pulling off.

“Come here, down on your knees-” Ripping himself to his feet, he pulled you with him by the fist riddled in your hair and pushed you down at the foot end. 

Tugging on his cock in the other hand – quick faps in the slick – he kept you looking up at him while slapping the wet weight in sticky taps against your lips. 

“Open wide, slave- here it comes-” 

Only one more jerk and it all blew in thick white beams shooting across your face – spewing in clusters, hitting you once on your forehead and another over the nose - dripping to your lips into your gaping mouth where he focused on squeezing out the rest – tapping the plush creamy tip against your tongue while panting. 

“Mh-fuck- clean me off and swallow.”

With breaths heavy and slowing, he detangled his hand from your sweaty locks and made to pet your head instead. Gently running his fingers over your hair while watching you obediently kiss and lick up all the spill in tired and slow yet devoted strokes with your tongue until it was all prettily wiped clean.

“Good slave.” The Crown Prince hummed then.

Finally sounding satisfied – still with a lazy hand holding your head where you so faithfully sat at his feet, swallowing his seed, while his satiated cock grew limp in regard.

“Now go wash off while the water’s still warm, and come out and help me get dressed.” He ordered, voice groggily soft in the after high. “I have a full schedule today looking at potential brides… and I want my little farm animal by my side to keep me going insane from boredom.”

BNHA – Bakugou, Dabi

JJK – Sukuna, Gojo, Naoya

HQ – Oikawa, Sakusa

BLLK – Reo

DS – Doma, Muzan, Sanemi

[peggyao3]

Holy Seed

PAIRING: Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen x Unnamed Ambiguous FMC

SUMMARY: Feyd so badly wants to plant his seed deep inside his wife's belly.

WORD COUNT: 2,554

TAGS: Third person POV, she/her pronouns, AFAB FMC, porn without plot, smut, explicit sexual content, Dom/Sub undertones, vaginal sex, Switch!Feyd, Switch!FMC, breeding kink ❗, without actual breeding, Orgasm Denial, Power Play,  Feyd-Rautha's big cock, Feyd-Rautha's black cum, cum eating ❗

A/N: This is pure breeding kink and filth, you might need a shower after this one 😩

Reposted from my Ao3 💕| Masterlist under construction ⚠️

Divider by @saradika-graphics

There is no possible way to resist when his wife seduces him in the sanctity of their shared bed chamber. A wisp of translucent, gauzy gowns that flow around her curves while she lounges on the bed teases him, and then that modicum of fabric is gone too, pulled over her head by nimble hands. She rolls on her stomach, arching her back, elevating her ass. Her little toes with painted nails wiggle invitingly in the dim light of the glow orbs.

Not even a string of words whispered by a manipulative Bene Gesserit mouth would have been more effective than this. Feyd strips his sleeveless tunic and kicks off his lounge trousers, nearly tripping over the fabric around his ankles.

She makes a show of trying to crawl away from him, towards the pillow and headboard, spreading her thighs a smidge so Feyd sees the shimmer of wetness that clings to her lower lips. Swiftly, Feyd leaps on the bed, dragging his knees over the comforter to get to her quickly.

Pale hands capture her hips and she makes an adorable, little squeak when he yanks her backwards and her pussy bumps against his cock head whose texture is like taut velvet. Immediately, a palpable twitch goes through his manhood and his length cranes upwards, throbbing against her folds, once, twice.

She lets out a seductive chuckle, squishing her thighs together to trap his cock, but Feyd pulls back and brings the plump head to her hole with one fluid stroke, knowing her body like he knows his blades.

"Ouch!" She yelps and Feyd presses harder, taming her squirming hips with a harsh squeeze of battle-calloused hands that have been trained to know that a tight grip can be the difference between life and death. His teeth slide over her back and close around the softness between her nape and shoulder. Quickly, she succumbs to him.

She is unprepared save for the wetness she's mustered from watching him from across the room. "You can't tease me and expect me to play with your pussy before I come and fuck you."

"I c-can't really, can I?" She gasps and chuckles, instinctively trying to inch away from the abrasive pressure against her tight walls, but Feyd hooks one wiry arm around her hips, angling her ass up the way he needs. Willingly, her spine adjusts to his soft manhandling and her cunt flutters lightly. A primordial part of her thinks there is nothing greater than being taken like this, by a beast that comes and mounts her when she lures it.

Feyd's perception is narrowed down to what transpires between their bodies, the slow throbs of her cunt, the wetness that begins to slick up her walls, the tremors in her flesh while he splits her open, forcing her puffy lower lips to spread themselves around the thick base of his cock. His wife mewls and snarls like an angry kitten, purring and writhing against his taut chest.

She blatantly enjoys the physical strength of him - superior to her in any way, hard where she is soft, his flesh bulging with lithe muscles. His torso curls against her back, bending and moving as he ruts into her like a dog, bringing one arm to the front to support his weight on his hand right next to her own smaller one that clutches the sheets.

Feyd thinks there must be a reason why most animals choose this position to consummate their mating. Even though human anatomy allows for a myriad of different ways, there is nothing like bending over your woman and trapping her in a cage of arms and legs while she takes your cock like she was built to.

"Are you enjoying yourself?" She purrs, trying for a smug tone, but her breath is labored and strands of hair cling sweatily to her neck.

"I quite enjoy it when you know your place, my wife." Feyd's hand slides around her body, cupping her lower belly where he knows his cock is buried and will be pumping an offspring into her. "This'll be round and full soon," he grates out, moaning when he presses down harder on her abdomen.

"Ahhh, it's too deep!" She complains and he feels so sorry for bruising her poor little cervix.

"It must be deep, so it'll take."

She chokes out a moan and her arms buckle, chest and face falling against the mattress while her ass remains high, cunt spread open by his thick, milky cock. She is beautiful, back arched into submission, ass cheeks burning from the constant smacking of skin against skin.

"Your body likes that, wife," Feyd giggles. "There, you clenched again." He repositions his supporting hand, planting it in the nape of her neck instead. A hoarse whimper is muffled by the comforter and her toes curl. Her knees move in a pathetic attempt to crawl, but Feyd shifts his knees closer together, bracketing her body with warm, smooth thighs on either side while his cock pounds into her puffy hole over and over.

"You're trapped," Feyd purrs and bends over to nip at her back. "And you're going nowhere until I've planted my seed in you. And then I'll stay inside you as long as I feel like it. I won't let a single drop escape until it's nestled in your womb." He hits some higher notes in the end, growing immoderately excited over the idea of finally seeing her belly distended with his spawn.

His wife chuckles like she thinks that's a cute idea.

She brings a hand under her body and reaches back between her thighs. At first, Feyd thinks she's just going to play with her clit (things like that sometimes end up being neglected when one's mind is in a mating frenzy), but her nails scrape against his inner thigh. A soft moan escapes him as she traces the rippling muscles under perfectly smooth, hairless skin. His heavy balls wildly smack against her forearm. 

"It's time you stop," she purrs, wriggling her ass against his pelvis. "I can feel you twitching."

"No, not this time, wife! I won't pull out, you can't make me- Agh!"

Her hand forms a claw around his sac and her nails dig into the smooth, flushed skin, squishing the globules full of seed that are nestled inside, aching to be spent.

Stubbornly, Feyd's hips keep snapping, filling her pussy with more cock than it should be physically able to take. His torso undulates and shivers against her back and a low groan reverberates in his throat, like a cornered animal threatening to bite, but she knows she's got him on a leash.

"Husband…" She threatens and Feyd is ready to strike, both hands snapping to the meat of her hips to pin her down and rut hard and bestially until his seed is spilled into her willing cunt while her unwilling mouth screams and curses him.

But his wife has learned to strike quicker than he does. She curls her fist around his balls, gripping them right by the base, and tugs until he wails and withdraws, pulling out of her pussy. Her terrible hand releases him and his cock is left throbbing, angry and hard like steel, the head flushed dark grey with inky Harkonnen blood. Her pussy taunts him, her lips still parted, puffy and wet with her juices.

"No…" Feyd weakly declares, shaking his head when she turns around and sits on her knees. Her skin shines damp with sweat in the low glow orb light and she points her index finger to the side of the bed. "No, don't make me spill it," Feyd whines and brings his hands in front of his cock, protectively cupping it. His flesh is hot and sticky and the lightest of touch makes him buck into his own palm. His balls look swollen and darkly flushed, peeking out behind his fingers.

"Don't be sulky. There. To the edge of the bed."

Feyd pants heavily, jaws twitching. Then he obeys, stunned that his wife dares to talk to him like that, as if she had a chance to stop him if he really wanted to pump her full or seed. He kneels on the bed, chest and hips pointing towards the open room.

"That's a good husband."

Feyd's mouth is still turned downwards and he stares at his pelvis until his wife's hands gently curl around his and pry them off his manhood. The sound she lets out at the flushed, twitching sight he is, can only be labeled as admiring. Feyd-Rautha surrenders to fate when her fingers curl around his length and he is ever shaken by the size of himself and how she struggles to encompass the entire girth of him, squishing the bulging veins so her fingertips can touch.

She is at his left side, intimately close, and begins stroking him with her left hand. He moans softly, watching with awe how her smaller hand slides confidently up and down, spreading her juices over his solid shaft and the swollen head. Feyd thanks her with whimpered voice, fists twitching at the sides of his body. 

Her right hand slides over his flexed glutes and between his thighs from behind, cupping his tortured balls with a much gentler grasp. Still, Feyd twitches fearfully and a bead of pre-cum gathers at his slit.

Her head then pushes between his arm and his side, so her cheek is pressed against Feyd's ribs while she strokes him with one hand and fondles his sac with the other. The way she holds him is like only a wife would dare to hold him, never a pet,  and Feyd's hand defeatedly settles on her head, cupping it against his heaving side.

"I'm so close," he whines, eyes fluttering shut. "It's not too late."

"Your cum goes right where it belongs, my husband." She nips at his soft, milky flesh over hard muscles.

"N-No, ahhh~"

She feels his climax in his balls first, how they churn and lift against his pelvis, how the flesh pulls taut, followed by lazy throbbing that translates into his impressive cock and culminates in the swollen head. A pathetic moan rumbles in Feyd's chest as glistening strings of inky semen spurt on the floor tiles, going to waste. His climax ends with a few last droplets that dribble sadly into the black, little puddle.

Proudly, his wife purrs against his side and kisses his torso while cruel hands still gently massage his manhood, even though he is spent and softening.

"You know they're all waiting for an announcement." Feyd's voice pitifully trembles and he sounds like a pouting boy, hips twitching with each soft tug on his cock and balls. The royal court probably thinks him impotent by now.

She slips away and leans back, lounging on her back like a cat. "Well that's too bad because I have so much fun playing with you. And I know you like it when your holy seed spills on the floor" His wife chuckles a little and Feyd bares his charcoal teeth, far too aware of how right she is. The shape of his balls feels heavy and hot and they throb against his smooth thighs with each pulse of his own blood.

"One day I won't let you do this to me," he threatens with grating voice.

"Come, snuggle me." She spreads her arms and Feyd obliges at once, nestling his face against her collar bone while she traces his shoulder blades. His flaccid cock is squished between his tummy and her side. They calm their breaths for a peaceful little while.

"Should I call in the servants to c-clean up?"

"No!" His wife snaps and Feyd endlessly enjoys her visceral reaction. "It's all mine and no one will touch it."

"It's all yours, my wife." Feyd's eyes are like black, shiny marbles when he peeks up at the possessive expression that adorns her face. Plump lips press against her neck.

"Would you fetch it for me, please?"

A tremor of excitement seizes him and he dutifully gets up and squats down next to the bed, briefly mourning what had become of his spend when he looks down at his empty cock and the inky puddle on the tiles. But at least he gets to do this to her. For a moment, she only sees the smooth shape of his head bobbing slightly back and forth, his rounded, muscular shoulders moving. He reminds her of a hairless beast, feasting on a corpse, but he only scoops up his cum as best as possible and smears it against his hollowed palm. It's by far not everything, but it'll do. 

Feyd climbs back on the bed, approaching his wife whose expression is much more docile now and her hands are clutched over her chest as if she's impatient or nervous or both. Her thighs rub together, but he can still see her swollen lower lips peeking out. Grinning, Feyd settles down at her side, supporting his weight with the elbow of the arm that holds his precious cum.

"Open," he purrs and she obediently parts her lips, covering her bottom row of teeth with her pink tongue. "That's my darling," he praises and gathers cum on the tip of his middle finger which then finds the center of her tongue. Whining quietly, she suckles the offered digit into her mouth, curling tongue and lips around it, careful not to scrape him with her teeth, as if she hadn't nearly squashed his balls only minutes prior.

Feyd reverently watches, and when he slowly slips his finger out of her puckered, pouty mouth, it comes out clean and glistening. She opens her mouth and presents her tongue, proving that she's dutifully swallowed his holy seed.

"Pretty," he praises with a low rumble. "Do you want more?"

His wife nods with her tongue out, so Feyd feeds her semi-translucent, inky cum from his palm until there's nothing left to scoop up. She grabs his hand then, one hand curling around his wrist, the other snatching his calloused fingers, and brings it to her mouth. Greedily, her tongue flicks out and she licks every last remnant of sticky seed off his skin, big eyes peeking at him over the edge of his pale hand.

"You're so messy." He whispers it as a compliment. His wife's lashes flutter and she nods.

Her submissiveness makes Feyd's core clench agonizingly with the need to breed her, but his balls are empty. "If I still had anything in me, I'd fuck you right now until you're full of child. I wouldn't stop!"

"Mmm-hmm~" She slurs around the heel of his hand, suckling on it before letting go of it with a pop.

"I'd put it deep in your belly."

"Your seed is in my belly, my na-Baron," she giggles.

"Or I could simply scoop up some more from the floor and stuff it into your cunt with my fingers." Feyd's pupils widen and flicker as he cups his wife's cheek with his saliva-coated hand, caressing her wetly. She doesn't flinch.

"You wouldn't do that," she confidently purrs and cups his smooth cheek in return. "You want to breed me honorably."

"Will you let me someday?" Half-lidded eyes study her face.

"Perhaps," she coos. "If you behave."

A/N: Going through a reeeaally mentally draining period of my life right now, so all I can do is upload one of my "old" fics from ao3 🥺 But I'm working on Relic and I should have a new chapter for you this weekend!! <3 Whoever reads this - I hope you're doing well today!

FEYD TAG LIST:

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

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

@coastalcowgirl35, @esolean, @szapizzapanda, @tatertooted

[stevieschrodinger]

Part One Two Three Four

Okay, nobody does this because they want to be friends.

It smells like new carpet in here. Eddie looks around his new bedroom, all his stuff is there. It’s all neat, orderly. There are curtains hung, the bed is made with new sheets, his books are on the shelf and salvaged records all neat. Even his sweetheart is hung on a shiny new mount on the wall.

“Steve would, he’s a really good guy.”

Billy doesn’t answer, but Eddie can feel the look he has on his face. Well. If Billy had a face at the moment – well. It’s kind of complicated.

Eddie sets out his meds in a neat line on the dresser – only a few more days to go and he’ll be free of those too. He can hear Steve rattling around in the kitchen and heads down the hall to check on him. He’s putting something in the oven, “it’s jut a casserole thing, but there’ll be enough left over for Wayne and I figured you’d probably want to eat and get some rest?”

“Yeah, sounds...really good. Thanks, Steve. I really like, appreciate you doing all this, my room, bringing my stuff, visiting, the ride from the hospital, you know, all of it. I just...had to say it, it means a lot, you know.”

Steve smiles at him, twisting the towel he’s holding into a long rope, “I...it’s no problem.”

You’re doing that thing again. The staring at each other thing again.

No we’re not.

You literally are – and by the way he just looked at your mouth.

Eddie huffs a laugh, can’t help it really, and Steve does the same and looks away and...okay. Steve is blushing. Even Eddie can see that.

“Stay for dinner?”

“I made it for you and Wayne -”

Eddie shrugs, “there’ll be enough, maybe we can add something to it?”

“Okay I’ll – yeah. I’ll see if there’s anything in the-”

“I can help-”

“You should sit, you should be resting-”

This is painful.

“You’re a guest.”

“Eddie,” Steve stands with his hands on his hips, Eddie raises his hands in surrender, but goes to sit at the table so he can still see Steve.

“So...you watched the game with Wayne?”

“Oh, yeah, it was pretty good.”

Ask him how it went and I guarantee you I can get him to kiss you by bed time.

Eddie feels his face flame, knows he’s flushed red, tries to hide it behind his hair as he nearly chokes on his own spit.

“Here, man, don’t die,” and Steve puts a glass of water on the table in front of him, giving his shoulder a gentle squeeze as he does.

Don’t say shit like that.

In his head, Billy is laughing hysterically.

You really think he likes me?

Yeah man, I really think he likes you. You are gay though, right?

Uhm. Yeah.

Well you don’t sound so sure there.

Well I’ve never, you know.

Man I am literally the ghost of a dead dude living in your head, who the fuck am I going to tell?

In the kitchen, Steve starts humming as he peels potatoes.

I’ve never done anything, with anyone. Ever. So pretty sure I am but I’ve never, you know, tested it.

Huh.

Limited options, you know? Also, not exactly the most desirable, you know, reputation, I guess.

Doesn’t seem to be putting Harrington off.

What about you?

What about me?

Well, I mean, say, hypothetically, I kiss a dude...we are kind of cohabiting here, would that...bother you?

Aw, sweetheart, cute of you to ask...Nah, I swing either way. Eddie nearly chokes on his water, and Billy laughs. I mean, not been with a dude since I left Cali, you’re damn right about the limited options thing. But yeah, I’m not fussy, getting off is getting off, and I figure if I can taste your food and feel it when you scratch your ass...Besides, we’re walking around in your body, no ones calling me a faggot, I’m dead.

“Yeah, I guess.”

“Sorry, what?”

In the kitchen, Steve is putting potatoes on to boil, Eddie clears his throat, “I said, so tell me about that Pacers game you watched with Wayne?”

Steve smiles, big and bright, “you really want to know?”

Say you could listen to him all day.

“Yeah, if it’s you talking I could...I could listen all day.”

Steve smiles, then sort of looks away and fiddles with his hair before he comes over to the table. If anything Eddie would say he looks suddenly shy.

Bingo.

“Well, they beat the Celtics a couple of days ago, a hundred and sixteen to a hundred and nine, so they were fresh off a fair win and it showed. Absolutely smashed the Nets, a hundred and twenty three to ninety nine. Fleming and Stipanovich both made really decent showings…”

Part Six

[ghoulfuckersincorporated]

something tells me our ghoulie would be fond of period sex (i’ll go to horny jail now)

Bloodletting

Pairing: Cooper Howard/The Ghoul x Female Reader

Word Count: 2,839

Warnings: smut (18+), blood play, bloody cunnilingus/bloody kisses, period sex, masturbation (male), rough sex, creampie, biting.

Notes: Can't lie, this was my immediate thought watching him tear into that bloody chunk of meat for the first time. I usually try to include at least a little plot, but this is basically all porn. Very fun submission to write; thank you! Please save a good seat for me on the bench in horny jail, I'll be in promptly.

Fun fact: orgasms can help relieve period cramps for some people.

Today had been a poor choice of start point for this long walk.

Normally, trekking across the bombed out western seaboard was strenuous and uncomfortable enough, the deadly sun baking seemingly the entire planet to a crisp, the cloying dehydration, the constant danger that something or someone was around the corner, ready to eat you. It was a far cry from the safety and monotony of the vault you'd grown up in. Usually, you were able to find lots of beauty on the surface, plenty of things to appreciate. But right now everything was just awful and uncomfortable.

Menstruation was such a nightmare topside. The proper products were apparently incredibly difficult to find anymore, leaving you to make the best of things with old torn pieces of clothing and less-than-ideal medical supplies. But these things didn't provide the absorption you'd long been accustomed to, and you kept having accidents the last few days, the result of a heavier-than-average flow. Normally, these things wouldn't bother you, but it was insanely annoying to constantly feel as if you were bleeding through basically the only clothes you had, doubly so when there was no place to clean them or bathe yourself most of the time. Besides, these pants chaffed terribly when they were damp.

Months back, you'd made the choice to ditch the vault suit. It was surreal and sort of sad feeling, packing away what had truly been a symbol of your identity for so long. However, it attracted far too much attention and caused trouble when people assumed they could take advantage of you, so you'd opted to start dressing like a proper Wastelander, boiled leather armor and denim pants. Right now, however, you desperately wished you'd been wearing the suit. The absorbent liner would have saved you some of this embarrassment.

The old ghoul had been telling you some story or another as you mounted a steep hill, your mind tuning in and out in frustration. You were sweaty, cramping, bloated, and bleeding on yourself, and all you wanted was a chance to clean yourself up and sit down for a minute. Eventually, the two of you came across what looked to be the abandoned skeleton of an old repair garage, just barely maintaining its tall stance against the horizon. As the two of you began to pass it by, you paused.

"I need to stop for a bit." you said, frowning at him as he turned his gaze to the position of the sun in the sky and back to you, confusion plain on his face.

"Whassa' matter?" he asked, "You're not usually this pussy about the sun anymore. Been long enough."

He was right, you were usually able to soldier on better than this. Today wasn't one of those days, though.

"I need like ten minutes alone, okay?" you snapped, short of patience. "I just...need it."

Your companion held up his hands in a silent, play-offended gesture of surrender, stepping aside to let you walk into the ramshackle little garage.

"Ten minutes!" he called teasingly behind you, prompting you to roll your eyes despite him not being able to see it.

Dropping your bag against the wall, you quickly toed your boots off so you could shuck your pants to the ground, groaning quietly at the bloody mess between your thighs. Digging some dirty rags out of your bag, you checked the spare canteen you kept undrinkable water in. Almost empty. You wanted to cry.

You could always ask Coop for some of his, since he was prone to drinking from questionable sources. He might even give you some, close as you'd become lately, thanks to a night of whiskey and Jet by the fire that had led to other forms of entertainment.

But you'd rather not have to explain this to him. As you did your best to scrub away the rusty red covering your skin, you wondered if he even remembered that this was something that happened to women. You had no idea what you were going to do with your pants.

Apparently, time had slipped away from you, as he appeared suddenly in the doorway a moment or two later, already speaking to you like he'd been standing there the entire time.

"It's been fifteen minutes, girlie. I'll have you know--" came his halted snark, quickly cut off as the two of you made eye contact, as he took in your nakedness below the waist. You felt a creeping sense of panic, a desire to flee out the broken window to your side. Neither of you said a word, and after a moment, he stepped forward towards you, softly gripping your wrist in his hand and holding it up to examine it. His honeyed eyes flicked back and forth between the soiled rag in your bloodied hand and where you'd been attempting to clean yourself up, briefly moving over to where your pants lay crumpled up on the floor.

"I'm--" you began, wanting to explain that you were fine, but you were quickly and decisively cut off from speaking when he lifted your bloody fingers to his mouth, sucking them between his lips with an obscene sigh. Your jaw fell slack as you watched him lick them clean, feeling like you were having some sort of erotic fever dream you'd wake up from any moment. Your hormones must've been working in tandem with the sun to drive you crazy.

However, it only continued to escalate as he seized you by the wrist, dragging you a few feet forward towards the rickety, grimy couch that leaned against the back wall, shoving you just enough to make you sit right in the center, a stale plume of desert dust filling the air around you as he rucked your hips up against his chest, your calves hooking over his shoulders. One of your flailing, still-socked feet knocked his hat clear off his head, sending it tumbling down to the floor, but he didn't even seem to notice, too preoccupied with running his hands along your inner thighs, smearing through the patches of drying blood there with fascination.

Your whole face burned white-hot, but you continued to watch him closely as his hands converged at your mound, one thumb tracing lightly over your now-swollen slit, just barely grazing your bud and drawing a hiss from between your teeth. However, instead of touching you there again, as you'd hoped he would, both thumbs traced down the line of your labia, parting them softly and spreading you open for his hungry eyes to see.

This new kind of attention made you squirm a bit at its intensity, the movement making your abdominal muscles clench just right to draw a trickle of warmth from between your legs, your face reaching supernova in embarrassment, but before you could pull away, he dove forward, his mouth sealing itself over your cunt and lapping wildly. The feeling was electric and ticklish and sent you clamoring to grab onto anything for leverage, letting out a screech that was half giggle and half moan.

He had done this before, gone down between your legs and licked and tasted and teased you until you couldn't handle it anymore, and always with great enthusiasm (and more than a little smugness, frankly), but never with a hunger like this. His thick tongue traced back and forth along your folds, seeking out every sanguine drop before dipping back down to your entrance, the wriggling muscle slipping inside with ease, drawing out another cry from you.

You were on fire, being teased more than you could handle; his tongue felt amazing, but largely avoided where you really wanted it to be, leaving you pushing and grinding your hips against his face as best as you could in your strange, folded over position. With one proper swivel, you managed to brush your clit against the bony ridge that sat at the top of where his nose would have been, scraping just right and sending you bucking right back at the same angle. The rough way you pushed against him was met by his hands curling under your ass, attempting to yank you even closer to his face as you felt that knot in your gut begin to tighten.

"Oh god, Coop, I'm gonna cum." you gasped, nails digging into his scalp as your thighs pulsed around his head. The older man, typically quite silent for most of the performance, let out a rather loud groan at that, and the sound was enough to push you right into a tense, crying orgasm, your little mewls ringing off the ancient concrete walls. If he were any other man, you'd worry about smothering him between your damp thighs, your scrambling hands pressing into the back of his head.

Fortunately, Cooper Howard wasn't just any man.

He continued to fuck you with his tongue through your climax, dragging it out for what felt like minutes. However, once you finally came down from that euphoric peak, he didn't stop, his tongue continuing to slather across you in full, wide strokes, his fingers moving up to tease at your oversensitive clit.

This, too, he had done before, this beautiful torture of keeping you constantly on the verge of a new orgasm despite still riding the wave of your current one. You both loved and hated it, feeling like every nerve in your body was alive with electricity, but simultaneously on the verge of pain from all the sensation. Presently, you loved it a lot more than you hated it, feeling the tight, cramping muscles in your belly relax just a little with your release. Glimpsing down at him once more, you could see that he'd tugged his hard cock free from its confines, jerking himself enthusiastically.

The ghoul's lips wrapped back around your clit, long, nimble fingers probing your saliva-slicked entrance. Two of them slid inside to the hilt before you even really registered their presence, causing you to hiss at the slight burn of the rad-rough flesh against your sensitive insides. The suction on your bud soothed the burn, allowing you to relax, and soon a third was added alongside the first two, quickly pushing you into another sudden and intense climax, washing over you like a tidal wave as he stretched you. When he eventually pulled his hand away, it was half-covered in red.

You were still trembling hard as he quickly worked his way back down your thighs, swiping up anything he may have missed. The sensation of his tongue running along your plush flesh made you giggle, earnest and breathless, but the sound was immediately cut off with a whine when he suddenly turned and viciously sunk his teeth into the meat of your inner thigh, not hard enough to break the skin, but damn near.

This, he had never done before.

Of course, you knew the man was intimately familiar with sinking his teeth into human flesh, but feeling them against you didn't frighten you as you expected it might, the sensation exhilarating and primal. The searing, pinching pain made you squeal, and one of his ungloved hands jammed up against your lips to silence you, filling your nose with the smell of iron and gunpowder. Come the morning, you'd be sporting a gnarly bruise there. The knowledge sent another hot tremble down your spine.

Unlatching his jaw from your leg, he pulled himself up to his full kneeling height, right even with you, a wild look in his eyes you weren't sure you'd seen before. So often he had the brim of his hat to obscure them, but now they stared, wide and glassy, into your own.

His fingers fisted into the already wild hair at the back of your head, pulling your forward into a passionate, metallic-tasting kiss. You could feel the way your face attempted to stick to his where he'd smeared your blood around your mouth with his hand. Quickly, he began to lean forward over you, pressing you into the mildew covered cushions as he pulled himself on top of you. The dry-rotted frame of the couch groaned loudly in protest at the additional weight, squeaking and sighing out curses as he repositioned your legs along his hips, falling right into place to rub his throbbing prick against you. Another throaty noise left you, strangled and awkward, but you were past being able to be embarrassed right now.

It distracted you just enough when the old cowboy dropped his head into the crook of your neck, his lips dancing along your pulse point, that you didn't tense when he pushed his way inside you, burying himself nearly to the hilt in one push. Both of you let out soft, satisfied groans as you stretched taut around him, clenching hotly already after all the attention he'd given you, his heavy breathing in your ear making every hair on your body stand on end.

For a short moment, he allowed you to adjust to his girth, warm hands pushing your shirt up to expose your breasts to him. His bare hands felt like they were everywhere, swiping affectionately against your face, tugging and pinching at your nipples, eventually settling into your hair, holding your head steady and forcing you to look at him as he began to fuck you. It didn't take long before he had you built right back up, the rub of his pelvic bone against you too good.

"Go on, gimme one more, baby. I know you can." he huffed, his warm breath tickling you just right. His thumb was suddenly strumming against your puffy, sore clit again, and tears brimmed in your eyes as your muscles seized once again, whimpering almost pitifully as you gave him what he wanted.

"Attagirl." he praised, running the blunted edge of his teeth along your throat as your body tugged at him. Your breathing was hard to control, making you see spots as he shifted your calves back over his shoulders, basically folding you in half once more as he pulled himself up higher and began to rut into you in earnest. The blunt head of his cock slammed into your tender cervix like this, making you jump and whine, but your legs only tightened around his shoulders, pulling him closer as he used your body to get himself off.

Suddenly, there was a loud crack, and the entire couch frame collapsed into a plume of dust, even worse than before, making you screech in shock. Cooper, however, seemed to barely notice, his pace not even slowing as he shifted you a few inches away from a busted 2x4 sticking out in your direction, pressing you harder into the cushions that were now trapped beneath you. Nevertheless, he did seem to be making sure you were okay in his own way, his wild eyes and insistent hands checking over every visible inch as he continued to pump between your thighs. When he dropped his mouth to your breasts, you throbbed around him, cooing as he sucked and nipped at your breasts.

"Fuck." he growled at the sensation, his hips slapping against you even harder, but in less coordinated strokes, his head heavily dropping back into the crook of your neck again, his entire weight resting on you now.

As you felt him begin to throb inside you, signaling his own release, you also felt those strong teeth latch onto the sensitive skin where your neck met your shoulder, digging deep into the smooth muscle as you screamed. You could hear your lover groaning loudly as he gave you a few more rough strokes, his teeth keeping firm at your neck as he pulsed every last drop of himself inside you. Beyond the pinching pain repeating itself, you could feel the burn of him sucking hard on the flesh between his teeth, trying to mark you up as visibly as possible. Remarkably, this was enough to push your oversensitive body into one last muted orgasm, leaving you shuddering against his chest.

Once his teeth released you, his strong arms wrapped around your body, carefully flipping you so that you laid across his chest, the leather of his clothing sticking eagerly to your sweaty skin. No one said anything for a few minutes, his fingers dancing along your spine, tracing the outline of the bite on your shoulder and earning a small whimper, which he chuckled at. Things were strangely blissful.

"Yeah, I think I'm gonna need another fifteen minutes, boss." you sighed eventually, snuggling your face against the smooth leather of his vest and breathing in the smell of violence and sex.

"You can have ten." he responded, drawing a look from you until the hand that had been kneading away at your ass cheek slipped down further, rough fingers teasing at your abused entrance once more, pushing what was leaking out of you back inside.

"Oh? And what happens then?" you asked, trying hard to keep your hips still against his sinful hand and failing.

"Then we're going again."

[imasoftieforbarb]

i love the little fic u made of my request and you asked if the readers would like a part 2 AND IM SORRY IF IM BEING TO DELUSIONAL BUT

IF YOU HAVE TIME AND WANT TO OFC COULD U DO THE PART 2, I LOVE YOUR WORK SM I MEAN IT 😭⁉️

HERE COMES PART 2‼️

We’re gonna get into the movie stuff now

John Dory comes to check out Mount Rageous

As he makes his way through the ventilation he hears crying- but it doesn’t sound like Floyd so he moves on (a bit guiltily)

Once he finds Floyd (and lands face first on the dresser)

John Dory groaned as he pulled himself off the floor in a hurry “Yo! Floyd!”

Floyd looked up from his lap as his eyes widened “John dory? I cant believe it!” Floyd pressed his hands against the wall of his prison “I never thought I’d see any of my brothers again”

John Dory smiled before pressing his hand up to the glass in confidence

“Don’t worry bro I’m gonna get you out of here”

“No! You need to get out of here!” Floyd said urgently “you don’t understand- Velvet and Veneer are giant, pop obsessed succubi with NO talent and they’ve been stealing mine and Y/n’s- it’s only a matter of time now until they come back for more!”

John Dory thought to himself “Y/n? Like our old manager and childhood best friend Y/n? But- why did they take her?”

Floyd sighed to himself, misplaced guilt eating at him a bit “when you guys left, she followed me and after a bit we ended up confessing-“

“I KNEW YOU HAD FEELINGS FOR HER-“

“Shhhhhhh!” Floyd shushed his brother, though he couldn’t deny the smile on his face- he had missed this

“So she’s here?” John Dory said looking around, “I don’t see her anywhere!”

“She got taken by Velvet- as like a personal back up! I don’t know where she is- but if shes having her talent drained she won’t last as long, she isn’t a trained singer JD! I’m worried”

“Don’t worry bro- I’ll get both of you out-!”

JD tried many tricks to try and crack the prison his brother was in but to no luck

“It’s made out of diamond- and there’s only one thing that’s strong enough to shatter diamond” Floyd hoped his brother got the clue-

“A diamond shattering diamond hammer! Where do we get one of those?”

It went way over his head

“No, the only thing strong enough to shatter diamond is the perfect family harmony” Floyd said giving his brother a look of humour

“Of course! The prefect family harmony!”

Floyd nodded looking at his brother with tired but hopeful eyes until-

“Our voices sound like GARBAGE! We need more TROLL!”

“Run John Dory- save yourself” Floyd urged, not wanting to get his brother captured

John Dory nodded, grappling back to the vent and shouting that he’d be back with the rest of the family

During the rescue mission you’re nowhere to be found

Floyd’s theory is correct and you are drained far to quickly-

You turn into a crystal troll just before the rage dome show

Velvet decides to put you in her pocket like a little good luck charm

The perfect family harmony works and shatters the diamond perfectly

Floyd thinking of you as he sings the last line

“Just let me take you to a better place!”

When he wakes up from his crystal form and has a moment with his brothers he looks around and doesn’t see you anywhere

“John Dory, where’s Y/n?”

Everybody starts looking around not being able to see you

Not even Crimp knows where you are

“Velvet! Where’s the other troll? The one you took as a backup?” Veneer said, after confessing that they were frauds

“Oh her? She drained far to fast so I gave her another use” velvet stated- pulling you out of her pocket “she’s my little good luck charm- though she didn’t work so she’s useless to me now”

Floyd gasped, tears finally spilling over as he takes in your completely crystallised form in shock

“No… Nononono”

Veneer snatches you off velvet and hands you to the group of trolls on the floor with remorse

“Y/n? Come on- this cant be happening!”

Floyd brings you into a hug- sobbing as he realises there’s no hope for you

You, though crystallised, can hear everything around you

You try to open your eyes but they’re so heavy

“You can’t do this to me- not after everything we’ve been through together, it’s my fault” Floyd stated through his tears “I just want you back.”

Everyone looks down in sadness, shedding their own tears as they mourn with Floyd

Then

The darkness starts to fade from your vision as you blink a few times

You raise your hand to his face, startling him

“You’re so silly”

you say weakly, watching his eyes tear up again- this time from happiness and disbelief

“You never lost me in the first place”

He brings you into a kiss- putting all of his emotions into it

The crowd cheers as they realise you’re alive and as velvet and veneer are taken away in cuffs

[skepwith]

More Parts of the Revenge for OFMD Fans

Part of a series: Revenge Master Post.

This post is about stuff in the body of the ship, going more or less from top to bottom. I’m saving the sails and rigging for my next post. If you want to know more basic terms like fore and aft and bow and stern, look for “Parts of the Revenge” in my master post.

Obviously, using these terms is entirely optional, since David Jenkins et al. are free and easy with the ol' historical accuracy. This list is for pedants like me and people who like historical and specialized language. Enjoy!

Main Deck

The low “walls” on the sides of the open decks were called the bulwarks—they were to keep people from falling overboard. On the Revenge, the bulwarks are topped by a rail (railing).

A gap in the bulwark, together with a set of rungs on the hull, was called an entry port. It allowed people to climb aboard from a dinghy.

The top edge of the bulwark was the gunwale, pronounced gunnel. The expression “loaded to the gunwales” is still used to mean very full. The top edges of a dinghy are also called gunwales.

An opening in the deck is called a hatchway. I wrote about hatches a while ago, but what I didn’t realize was that the hatch is the part that covers the hatchway. The wooden grid that lets light and air through is called the grating.

In the bow, the curving rail that goes from the figurehead to the hull is called the head rail, which would’ve been really helpful to know for my toilet post. Oh well.

Stede’s journal could at a stretch be called a logbook (or log). This was a book in which an officer noted details of the ship’s daily progress and journey. Probably a bit less fanciful than Stede’s version.

Weaponry

The Revenge has guns (the word used for cannons) on her main deck and her gun deck. Before a gun was fired, the barrel was cleared with the sponge, then loaded with gunpowder and shot and wads of cloth, all of which was tamped down with the rammer. There were different types of shot, or ammunition; cannonballs were called round shot.

To fire a gun, a lit fuse (usually a slow match) was brought in contact with the vent at the top of the gun—called the touchhole—to ignite the gunpowder. (The wick added in OFMD isn’t accurate. Shocking, I know.) The slow match was usually held with a staff called a linstock, tucked into a notch on the end. You didn’t want to be right next to the cannon when it went off, because there was a non-zero chance it would misfire and explode in your face.

Despite what you see in movies, cannons didn’t produce a lot of fire and smoke; the cannonball did damage by going unstoppably through hulls, masts, and people—often many at a time—like a deadly Energizer bunny.

The gunpowder was kept in kegs in a small room called the powder magazine. (A magazine is an ammunition storage area.) This room was in the hull of the ship, below the water line, to minimize the chances of a stray spark sending the whole ship up in flames. The shot was kept in the shot-locker, a small room in the hold (though this word wasn’t recorded till 1805). As we know, Stede calls this the ball room.

Besides the regular cannons, the Revenge also has swivel guns, small cannons mounted on swivels. These were too small to damage another ship; they were there to fire at boarders and approaching boats. Or, you know, to set off fireworks.

To take an enemy ship, sailors might use a grapnel (or grappling hook). These were attached to a rope and thrown at enemy bulwarks or rigging so the ships could be pulled together for boarding.

The Gun Deck

Everything on a ship had to have a special name: stairs were always called ladders; the floor was called the deck; and a wall or partition inside the hull was called a bulkhead.

Some of you may know that a ship’s kitchen is called a galley. However, this usage wasn’t recorded until 1750; the earlier word was cook-room.

Likewise, the mess is where you eat on a ship, but this sense wasn’t recorded until the late 1800s. In OFMD’s time, mess meant “a group of people who eat together,” like officers of the same rank or sailors on the same watch.

You might know a berth as a shelf or box to sleep on, like Stede’s (and Ed’s) bed, but this usage wasn’t recorded until the 1790s. The earlier meaning, used from at least 1706, is “a room where a particular group (such as officers or midshipmen) eats and sleeps.” So you might call Jim’s room a berth—except that it changes hands, and its name has been firmly established as the Room.

A berth is also a place in a port or harbour where you can moor (park) a vessel, and thirdly, the safety margin around another vessel or object, which gives us the phrase “to give [it] a wide berth.”

Finally, the area where the animals (remember them?) were kept was a small triangular area in the bow called the manger. This seems to be where the Revenge’s en suite is, at least as far as I can figure, but if you want to include the animals for whatever reason, they’d probably live somewhere around there.

Storage

Some of the stuff on board was stored in casks, a.k.a. barrels. These could be any size, but a large cask was also called a butt. A scuttlebutt was a butt full of water attached to the deck for sailors to drink from. Unfortunately, the word wasn’t recorded before 1800, and the “gossip” meaning not till a century after that. But it’s a great word and you should use it anyway.

A keg was a small cask, usually less than ten gallons, used for things like gunpowder or rum.

A sea chest was a wooden box used to store an officer’s personal effects—or to confine a nosy hombrecito.

The Ship’s Bottom

(As it were.)

In several of my posts and diagrams I said the lower decks of the Revenge were the gun deck, the orlop, and the hold. But my friends, I made a grievous error: the Revenge has no orlop. I know!

In season 2, for the first time we get to see what’s below the gun deck. When Frenchie opens the secret passage in the kitchen, he reveals a set of stairs—sorry, a ladder—down to a grim, damp space. The kitchen is on the gun deck, so this is the deck immediately below it, and while on most ships that would’ve been the orlop, in this case it’s the hold.

The hold was the lowest compartment of the ship, used for storage and cargo. It also sometimes held the ballast—heavy stuff (e.g., pig iron, gravel, stones, lead) put there to improve the ship’s balance. The lowest part of the hold itself was called the bilge or bilges—the area where bilgewater collected and had to be pumped out.

Episode 3 shows the water on the floor—sorry, deck—making it pretty clear we’re in the bilges of the hold. On top of that, an Instagram post by crewmember Will Giles (shared on Tumblr by @ourflagmeansbts) mentioned repurposing the “bilge set.”

Which all proves that the Revenge’s hold is immediately below the gun deck, with no orlop in between.

The keel is the structural piece that runs lengthwise along the middle of the hull’s bottom. Keel-hauling was to drag someone along the outside of the keel, underwater, as a punishment—very nasty, often fatal.

Also underwater, at the stern, is the rudder, whose movement makes the ship turn. On a dinghy you steer by moving the tiller, a horizontal bar attached to the rudder post. On a ship like the Revenge, you turn the ship’s wheel, which is attached to the tiller via cables, and that moves the rudder.

That’s all for now! Coming next: sails and rigging, in port, and more sailing lingo.

Sources: Wikipedia, historicnavalfiction [dot] com, Oxford English Dictionary

[i-want-men-i-cant-have]

𝓳𝓸𝓾𝓻 𝓾𝓷. 𝓼𝓷𝓸𝔀 𝓼𝓽𝓸𝓻𝓶.

✿ summary: after eating strawberry scones and maybe a bit more than a little snow, riddle won't let you leave

✿ ft. riddle rosehearts

you hadn't expected it. you really should have, but you didn't.

the perfectly cut grass along with those pops of red in heartsabyul had been draped in a pristine white layer of snow. the once almost postcard blue sky transformed into a muted gray hue. soft mummers of the wind now were hidden with a biting nip. tiny snowflakes began to multiply, swirling and twirling in the wind. the atmosphere began to shift into a flurry of snow. 

voices yelled to get back inside once the wind kicked up. 

you had followed the dorm leader inside the half eaten strawberry stones left to fly with the wind or be suffocated by the mounting layers of pristine powder.

now, after being stuck in his cozy room, it didn't seem so bad to be stuck here. who knew it was against the queen's rules to get out in the snow thirty minutes after eating a strawberry scone?

was it even coming down that hard? maybe the snow could go up to your knees, but grim needed you back at ramshackle. he did have the ghosts, and you had, well, riddle, overbearing as ever. he passed back and forth in his room, hand on his chin, muttering something under his breath. his eyes would occasionally glance your way before immediately diverting to the floor.

you were lucky enough to find yourself on his bed, blankets and duvet draped around your form keeping you warm, a nice contrast to the freezing blizzard coming down outside.

"aren't you cold, riddle?" you asked the boy who momentarily paused, his shoulders tense in the chilly air.

"no, don't be ridiculous," he almost responded too quickly, but there was a subtle shiver beneath his confident tone.

“riddle.”

“i told you, im fine.” he snapped before a high pitch sneeze erupted out of him, leaving him frozen in a moment of vulnerability.

“sure.” you looked at him, a playful glint in your eyes. “just join me.” you tell him and pat a spot next to you, the soft noise nustling into his ears. 

he looked at you, obviously thinking it over. yes he was cold, very cold and you were warm. you were also a friend. a friend he cared about a lot. what if he embarrassed himself? what would his mother say?

riddle hesitated for a moment, his expression softening before he reluctantly moved to sit beside you, not before peeling off his gloves, heels and cloak, seeking the warmth both from your words and the shared space. bed dipping the air between you held a subtle tension, a mixture of the biting cold and an unspoken connection.

opening your am with a blanket you wordlessly invited him closer to you. shoulders brushing until nudging and then finally touching, no space in between the two of you. you wrapped the blanket to his shoulder. 

“what are you doing?” he snapped back, his shoulders tense as he resisted the urge to yank the blanket off.

“keeping you warm,” you said calmly, unaffected by his abrupt response. you rested your head on his shoulder and closed your eyes, a sigh escaping you as you allowed yourself to relax. he inhaled quickly, his posture stiff and straight as always.

you opened your eyes and looked into the red head's. “you can relax, you know.”

“i am relaxed.” he retorted, but his words contradicted the truth. his fingers fidgeted, his posture remained tense, and everything about him screamed awkwardness. despite his efforts to maintain composure, the vulnerability beneath the surface was palpable, like a tightly wound coil just waiting to unravel. the air held a quiet tension, a delicate balance between his resistance and your gentle persistence in breaking down the walls he had built around himself.

"right," you couldn't help but let out a laugh, though a subtle tightness settled in your chest. was he even trying to warm up to you? the fact that he didn't force you to be in the same room as ace or deuce right now suggested some level of care, but maybe not enough to share such an intimate moment with you.

riddle caught on to your feelings, your face not doing much to hide them. gradually, he slid his hand over towards yours, bit by bit. perhaps, in his own way, he was opening up to you. his frostbitten hands latched onto yours, seeking warmth from the cold.

you flinched, and riddle almost immediately shot his hand back towards his lap, muttering a quick apology. his face turned as red as the once red roses outside. how could he be so stupid, reaching out to grab your hand like that? he should have known better. it felt like an invasion of space, a potential disrespect. what would his mother say? he was practically taking advantage of y-

his wild thoughts dwindled away like sugar in water when your hand touched his own, grasping it and squeezing it. the feeling of warmth shot up his arm to his body and then his heart. he couldn't even think of anything; his mind went blanker than ever before. all his problems melted away, his heart beating like he had just flunked a test, but this was a different kind of beating- stressful, yet strangely comforting. it felt fuzzy, even with all the emotions going on in his head.

even with this new feeling, he didn't want to think about it. he didn't want to take away from this warmth. he wanted to relax, to take it in, as if this moment was a sanctuary from the chaos of the outside world.

as the two of you sat there, hands intertwined, a soft silence enveloped the room. riddle's initial tension began to subside, replaced by a sense of calm that neither of you had anticipated.

you could sense a subtle shift in riddle's demeanor. the rigid walls he usually kept up seemed to soften, and he let out a deep breath, as if releasing pent-up stress. 

riddle stole a glance at you, his crimson eyes meeting yours with a mix of vulnerability and gratitude. for a moment, the weight of expectations, responsibilities, and the troubles that usually plagued him seemed to fade away. it was just the two of you.

even when you woke up the next day, snow melting into water, your hands were still intertwined.

[ciderwitch]

So like I was wondering if youde be ok with writing a self insert of Standley Pines bc I am such a simp and am in need of fluff. Please please Id love you forever.

Surprisingly, I've only recently noticed that I apparently have a debilitating attraction to DILFS and GILFs... Love me some Grunkle Stan!

You had just started working at Gravity Falls Town Hall and already it seemed like things in your life were taking a strange turn. I mean, yeah, the realtor had told you that it was a "vibrant and quirky" community, so you figured it would be a little odd. The rent was cheap and the apartment you were living in was better than anything you'd even heard of back in the city, so vibrant and quirky would have to do.

Still, it was the third time this month the Pines kids had been chased by unholy abominations, and the terror of seeing a not-deer get eaten by a werepanther was starting to become a little too familiar for your liking.

You needed to get out more, you decided. Thankfully, some of your coworkers had a monthly get together at one of the local diners to hang out and they were more than happy to invite you along. They told you new folks didn't come here often, but you found the community warm and welcoming all the same. Eldritch horrors aside, it was a great place to live.

Apparently you did not get the memo that it was cancelled tonight, so here you were pouring syrup over your solo lunch of pancakes and sausage when the door chimed.

It was Wendy Corduroy and she had a downright miserable expression on her face. You could see why. Robbie Valentino was hot on her heels, as usual. It didn't take a genius to see that he was head over heels for her — or that she was completely done with him. And, since nobody else seemed particularly interested in helping, you called out to her.

"Ms. Corduroy! Care to join me? I was just going over some paperwork your father submitted and I could use your help."

She gave you a soft smile and quickly slid into the booth across from you while Robbie grumbled to himself, shoved his hands in his pockets, and stormed away.

"He is persistent, isn't he?" You say with a roll of your eyes.

"I know!" She groaned miserably, slapping her face between her hands. "Thanks for the save, by the way. If he actually paid attention to me he'd know my dad doesn't do paperwork."

"Anytime, Wendy. That's what adults are for, you know?" you answered.

"Pfft, no way," she said, "You're the only cool adult in this town, man. I bet if you were mayor it wouldn't suck so bad around bere."

"Thanks, but no thanks. I'm not ready for that kind of responsibility," you laughed. "Besides, Mayor Cutebiker is still plenty popular. I don't think I'd have a chance."

"Whatever you say, Miss Y/N," she said with a shrug, "Mind if I eat with you? My dad and my brothers are meeting here in about 30, but I'm starving."

"Of course not, Wendy. I'd be happy for the company," you answered happily. You ate your pancakes in good company and waved her goodbye when her family arrived. You were polishing off the last of your drink and a slice of pie when the door chimed again and in came the Pines family.

You recognized the twins immediately. Where trouble brewed, the twins were at the source. Despite the threat of danger, you couldn't be angry at them. They were very kind and intelligent kids and had saved you from a gnome kidnapping earlier just this month, so you would say you were on good terms.

Then you looked up and saw the Stan brothers, Ford and Stanley. You hadn't actually met them personally yet, but you could tell by reputation alone who was who.

Ford was walking with his journal in hand, taking notes and examining the Medusa-dog's head mounted on the wall beside him while he mumbled to himself.

Stanley followed right after. Mister Mystery himself, with the usual suit and red fez you'd seem from afar and that half the town had warned you away from.

Both brothers were handsome, you realized, though Stanley was the one that stuck out to you. He had a great dad-bod, but you could tell there was some muscle under the poorly fitted suit jacket he always wore.

You blinked a few times to yourself. Man, you really had been single for too long. Your eyes met, and you offered a polite wave before looking at your mug and taking a sip. Staring probably wouldn't make a great first impression and you secretly hoped he couldn't read your thoughts.

Your reflection was interrupted the moment Mabel saw you, of course. The kid ran right over and dragged her brothers and uncles right along with her. She was sliding into the booth beside you before you even had a chance to scoot in.

"Hi, Ms. Y/n! It's me, Mabel!" she said excitedly. "Have you met my grunkles? This is Grunkle Stan, and this is Grunkle Ford!" she added, pointed to them accordingly.

"Nice to meet you both," you say, nodding at each of them. "My name is Y/n."

"Nice to meet you, Y/n. My name is Stanford Pines, and this is my brother Stanley," he added. "I don't believe I've seen you around before. Did you just move in recently?"

"Yes, a few months ago, but I've been so busy with my new job as Mayor Cutebiker's Chief Administrator that I haven't had much time to get out."

"Well, that's a shame, toots," Stan added with a sly smile and a performative wink. "You'll have to let old Stan-the-man show you the town sometime. I know this place like the back of my hand!"

"Grunkle Stan, you got lost in the mall two days ago and we had to have security come find you." Dipper added exasperatedly.

"Like the back of my hand!" Stan reiterated, using his hand to turn dip 180 degrees by his head.

"Ooh! ooh! We could give you the Pines Family Tour!" Mabel added excitedly. "We know everything, don't we Dipper."

"Well, maybe not everything, but I'm sure we could show her a couple of places," the boy added, running his nose at the praise.

"Children, Stanley, please. Let's give Ms. Y/n some peace. I believe she was finishing up as we came in, weren't you, Miss?"

"Yes, I had just finished the last of my coffee and alas, I have more work to do. But perhaps I will have to take you up on the Pines Family Tour, huh kids? And I'm sure you could show me a thing or two yourself, huh, Stan-the-man?" you laughed.

He laughed with you, but the blush burning up his cheeks as you left let you know he hadn't quite expected you to return his interest.

Man, you'd have to hang out at the diner more often.

[cal-daisies-and-briars]

➰➰➰➰➰➰➰➰➰➰➰➰➰➰➰➰➰➰➰➰➰➰➰➰➰➰➰➰➰➰➰➰➰➰➰➰➰➰➰➰➰➰➰➰

I need this one completed so I can read it in full. I'm holding off on part 1 until you finish. GAH

I am hustling I swear!

129 for ➰:

Tagging @steadfastsaturnsrings

---

Today, Buck’s clumsiness doesn’t get him killed. At least not yet. 

Today, it stops time. Albeit, just briefly.

He’s getting dressed for kayaking. Eddie is in the washroom. He’s reaching down to put on his sandals, balancing on one foot. He’s usually a bit more deft with this, but he’s distracted. Not totally present. He wobbles a bit, bumps into the wall. He feels the old analog clock shift a little, nearly falling off its mount.

Buck turns to steady it, sandal abandoned. He looks up at the clock, which is perhaps half a foot above his head, only to see that this disruption has left it frozen. Arms standing still. No longer ticking away. 

“Fuck,” Buck mumbles. He feels temporarily guilty for breaking something. Then he remembers the damn thing wasn’t telling time correctly anyway. Not like it’s doing any better now. 

He taps the face of the clock once. Twice. Maybe thirty seconds pass in total from the time he bumped it to when it suddenly lurches back to life. Arms jumping back into motion like a pulse hopping back after resuscitation. 

“Huh,” Buck mutters. 

It doesn’t seem very significant, after all. So he resumes putting on his sandals, and doesn’t give it another thought. 

➰➰➰➰➰➰➰➰➰

Half an hour later, they’re sitting on the big patio eating a complimentary hotel breakfast. Chris looks mildly zombified, as per usual. Eddie is dumping extra sugar into his coffee. 

Buck picks at his waffles mildly, staring out at the gorgeous view of the Pacific Ocean. He kind of misses the city. As stupid as that sounds. The loud, crowded, often smelly city. He misses it. His work. His job. 

He needs to get them out of this loop. He needs to get them home. 

➰➰➰➰➰➰➰➰➰

Everything goes by the script. 

Kayaking. Getting thwacked on the head. Icing his head. Bitching about his head. 

They choose the beach. Buck lays on a blanket in the sun. Eddie rubs sunscreen into his back. 

They make it back to the hotel on time. They make it to the restaurant on time. Buck starts to feel the way he usually feels. Lethargic. Numb. Medicated. A little out of his senses and his body. 

“You okay, Buck?” Chris asks as they sit down. “You look sort of spacy.”

“I’ll be okay, Chris,” he lies. “Thanks for asking though.”

“Food will help,” Eddie says, reading his lines just perfectly. 

“Good idea,” Buck mumbles. 

He just orders water tonight. No point asking for something he won’t be able to taste. 

By the time their food gets to them, it’s practically eight. His hands feel a bit wobbly as he cuts into his sea bass. The medicinal-like numbness that he has been feeling has transformed to a pins and needles sort of feeling across his extremities. 

Buck’s hand is shaking a tiny bit when he shoves the forkful of fish into his mouth. This production of a regular meal when he knows they’re about to die is so fucking exhausting. He hates it so much. He resigns himself to the whole fucking charade. He presses the bland, tasteless fish to his tongue. He inhales and smells nothing. The room feels like it’s spinning around him. 

Eddie is watching him. He always watches. Why is he looking at Buck? It’s the first time Buck has wondered this. If they’re all about to die, why isn’t he watching his son? Buck would… Buck would be watching Christopher. 

He opens his mouth to ask. His jaw and lips feel very heavy. 

“Eddie… Why?” He asks. He can barely manage the words.

Eddie frowns. “What do you mean why?”

“You… Just me…”

Eddie’s eyes widen in horror.

Buck slumps forward. His cheek presses hard into the tablecloth. He can’t remember ever doing that before. It all just sort of ended. 

Eddie starts talking, but Buck can only see his lips move. He can’t hear him. He can see Christopher’s face turn red. Tears fill his eyes.

What’s happening? Why is Buck still conscious? Why isn’t it ending? 

Buck’s not sure how long passes. Time isn’t exactly normal for him. It’s thick and painful and wrong. Eventually, he sees black bleeding into the corners of his vision. 

It ends. 

October 6th, 8am

Buck wakes up at eight in the morning, right on the dot. The digital clock on the nightstand is staring him in the face when he opens his eyes. Bold, square red letters. 8:00. 

Last go-around, Buck died. At the restaurant. Thirty seconds or so later than usual, he thinks. And those seconds, despite his addled, dying state, had told him a lot. 

There’s a lot to process. 

So Buck lies rigidly still and tries to think. 

The problem is, Buck thinks he knows the answer. He thinks he knows what’s wrong. He thinks he understands the truth. But if he does, it means Eddie lied. After Buck begged him to be honest. And if he did, then getting out of here is both simpler and insurmountably more complicated than Buck thought. He doesn’t want to be right. He wants to be misjudging things terribly. But he can’t escape all the little pieces of evidence stacking up. All their conversations. 

Taking care of you, even in small, silly ways, is a privilege. I’m lucky. I want to do it.

Yeah. Buck knows. Of course he knows. He’s just not sure why he didn’t really get it, sooner. Why he didn’t think Eddie was capable of this. He knows the man he loves. Knows how good he is at taking a detour around an issue and driving forward with persistence anyway. 

“Buck?” 

Eddie has woken up. 

He has woken up and noticed that Buck didn’t wake up. He has woken up and probably remembered what happened. Remembered the extra seconds. He must be putting the opposite ends of the pieces together as Buck is. Realizing what Buck is realizing. 

“It’s just me, isn’t it,” Buck whispers.

[puck-luck]

cole being obsessed with reader’s butt lmfao i see him as an ass man through and through. it would probably end up with him having you in positions where he had a good view of it, lots of grabbing, spanking!, biting it (am i sick for this?), wanting to cum on your ass, etc.

you're not sick for that but with love i don't want cole to bite my ass... if his mouth is anywhere near my nether regions he better be eating me OUT !!!!!

::

Another smack echoes through the room. You're not doing anything in particular– just watching a movie on the couch with your boyfriend, like most off-season Friday nights. You're laying on top of him, blanketing him. Cole's hands are wandering over your body absentmindedly as he watches the TV mounted on the wall across from the couch. You're wearing a big shirt and panties, but both items have ridden up under Cole's fingers.

He'll draw shapes all across your back and lure you into a false sense of security, which is when his hands will drift lower and he'll either slap or squeeze your ass cheeks. You rolled your eyes when this started, just because he does it every time you lay with him like this, and he's so obsessed with your behind.

He loves to spank it when he fucks you, just to watch your skin change color and jiggle with each of his movements. He's been known to suck hickeys over the meat of your cheeks and down the back of your thighs before he eats you out, usually from behind just so that he can admire your glutes when he pulls away. His favorite, though, is when he fucks you.

Cole loves to come inside of you, but if he's got you on your hands and knees... he's pulling out and stripping his cock until he's spilling his seed all over your skin. He likes the way it pools in the small of your back and how it drips down the backs of your thighs if he aims just right. There are times he'll beg for that– and who are you to deny him?

[denaliwrites]

Beating Like A Kick Drum

Alec Hardy x GN!Reader

Catch & Release Prompt: "Heart"

Summary: Alec's on the hunt for a serial killer with a habit of carving the hearts out of young lovers. The problem is, the killer is on the hunt too.

Soundtrack: Heart Pound by Kadant

Requests: Open!

Warnings: Canon-Typical Heart Problems. Also some violence.

It wasn't like Alec to worry about you when he was on a case. It was impossible for you to fit every victim profile, after all. One or two? Sure, that was reasonable. All of them? Statistically inconceivable. For some reason, though, his latest case had him on edge, and every time he looked at you his eyes were so sad -- like he was preparing for the worst. Like he may never see you again.

"Just... be careful," he'd whispered into your ear one night as he'd held you close and made such tender love to you. "Promise me."

You hadn't had the heart to tell him he was killing the mood. But even still, the words "I promise" had managed to slip through your gasping breaths.

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

The memory haunts you as cool metal slides effortlessly between your ribs.

The pain of the physical wound -- sharp and searing -- doesn't compare to how your heart breaks at the erratic beat of realizations pounding in your skull.

You didn't tell Alec goodbye this morning.

He's going to find you cold and dead.

He forgot his dinner in the fridge and now he's going to forget to eat.

You're never going to see him again. You're never going to see his smile again or hear him laugh again or feel the way his fingers card through your hair again.

There's a pause in the assault. The blade is deeper in your chest, and maybe if you knew anatomy and didn't have a knife in your chest you'd be able to tell which pieces of you it was marring on its way through the cavity.

You don't need to know anatomy, though, to know when it pierces through your heart. It feels like the final nail in a coffin -- your coffin, to be exact.

Your hands are on your assailant's arms, nails bitten into the skin from when you'd used all your strength to push and pull and beat him off. Nothing had worked and now you have a knife in your heart. Your nails dig in again at the moment of impact, hard enough to draw blood and a hiss.

He tries to pull the blade out, and instinctively your left hand withdraws from his bloodied arm, wrapping around the handle as tightly as you can manage. He grunts as he yanks it back, but you hold on, keeping it firmly settled in your chest.

He's going to kill you. You're not an idiot, and you know it's only a matter of time. But you refuse to let it be easy, and you're not going down without doing everything in your power to survive.

The fight is leaving you quickly, though.

Your heart can't carry on much longer like this, even with the knife still in it. The adrenaline is seeping from your blood and shock is settling in.

And once it does, you'll die.

Realizing that, somehow, you have a death grip on the knife and he's not getting it back, your assailant pulls back. Probably to grab another one from your kitchen.

You're too faded to hear the front door slamming open or to see lights flooding the flat.

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

You startle awake.

The first thing you see is a tiled ceiling. Decidedly not your ceiling, you realize. Not Alec's, either. Do you know anyone with a tiled ceiling? Maybe the police station? But you're definitely in a bed, and why would the police station have a bed?

Turning your head is a feat fraught with pain and dizziness, but you somehow manage. To one side, a cluster of cabinets, a small loveseat, a TV mounted to the wall, and a window. To the other, some machines, a shut door to the left, and an open door to the right leading out into a hallway. It's when you see a nurse pass by that you realize hospitals have beds and tiled ceilings.

It's also then that you remember the events that probably led to you being in a hospital, though you're not sure how you're here and not dead. You must've been unconscious for that bit.

A few moments later the door to your side opens, and out steps Alec. He paces across the room, newspaper in his hands and his eyes scanning the page he's on. He reaches the loveseat and sits down, reads a bit more.

Finally, he glances up, and his eyes meet yours.

Wordlessly and without hesitation he surges forward. His hands cradle your face and pull you into a kiss that leaves you breathless and wanting.

"Darlin'," he whimpers into your lips, and your heart breaks all over again at the devastation and joy in his voice.

"Alec," you sigh quietly, pulling out of his grip just to nuzzle into his throat.

"You had me so worried," he says into your hair, and all you can do is weakly nod. "Everything was so touch an' go fer a bit." His hands come up to cradle you again, and you can feel in his touch that he's desperate to never let you go again.

"It's okay," you tell him, nuzzling closer. "I'll be okay."

"I know."

[itsclydebitches]

Alastor Headcanons Based on IRL Deer

fic research is wild, y'all

He has a tail. Duh.

It is deliberately hidden under his coat because while he can keep his ears neutral with conscious effort (and most people assume they're his hair at first glance) there's no way he's going to broadcast when he's relaxed with that gentle swishing.

After taking on this form Alastor biologically became an herbivore. He thinks it's a part of his punishment: to now exist in a body where eating meat, while possible, is a lot harder and is likely to make him ill if he has too much. He obviously does it anyway and now takes a sick kind of pride in his cannibalistic acts.

He sheds his antlers each year and goes to great lengths not to be seen during this process. It's faster than what a real deer deals with, but Alastor is still perpetually pissed that he can't just instantly grow new ones the way he otherwise controls his form.

(Hiding this is a whole lot harder while staying at a hotel where people need your help with things/demand your participation in ridiculous bonding exercises 24/7. The new year arrives and Alastor starts s w e a t i n g.)

His antlers also have velvet which, like a real deer's, is filled with nerves. AKA his antlers are very sensitive. Touch them at risk of life, limb, and soul.

In the days approaching a shedding Alastor's appetite increases like whoa. He can be found having tea (and "finger" food) with Rosie, or cooking up a storm in the kitchen. The residents don't know why they're suddenly inundated with jambalaya and gumbo, but they're not complaining.

(Husk, by virtue of Alastor owning his soul, knows what's what. He leaves a bottle of whiskey outside his door the night Alastor mysteriously says he has "business" to attend to for the next few days. Yeah, he obviously hates the guy but also that's a shit thing to deal with sober. He should know. Being a cat is fucking weird.)

When his old antlers have fallen off Alastor immediately destroys them. He doesn't know what someone might be able to do with a piece of his body, but he's not going to find out.

(However, it is tempting to whack the short king with one, proclaiming that he should mount it on his wall because he'll never get one off his head.)

He's got GREAT night vision and his eyes will glow red as his radio characteristics overlap with the deer biology. Alastor's hearing is also top notch and he can move his ears independently to better catch a sound. However, he tends to tilt his head instead—ensuring his neck cracks—because he knows it freaks people out.

Also smell! That's great for cooking. Not so great when Alastor hasn't found the time or inclination to bathe in days.

Alastor has made more friends (though he'd never call them that) in Hell than he ever did while living. Is it because he's now surrounded by other sinners who have no need to hide their true selves, or is it because he's now doubly a social animal? He doesn't know, doesn't care, and will eviscerate anyone who theorizes.

Despite growing up in New Orleans, Alastor never learned how to swim. Imagine his shock when an... unfortunate encounter with a rival Overlord resulted in him getting thrown into one of Hell's many rivers and he discovered that now, suddenly, he's an excellent swimmer. It was a weird day.

He's colorblind now. Rosie once asked him about his living fashion habits and was surprised that he tended towards muted browns, blacks, and grays. Sure, they all spread their wings upon entering Hell, but switching to a bright red suit is quite the choice! Everyone in the Emporium had to wait for their ears to heal after the screech of radio static Alastor let loose. He hadn't realized precisely what he was wearing (and who the hell else would tell him?). Rosie talked him down, saying the style suited him and really, it's too late to back down now. Whatever would the papers say?

[babyangelsky]

Color Moments in Two Worlds Episode 9

We out here experiencing the highest of highs and the lowest of lows this week. Almost everything was in dire straits this week including the colors. Sometimes the Thai BL gods really do give you everything you want and sometimes they give you everything you don't want but unfortunately saw coming.

My boy Kram may be on the brink of death from sex consumption (@slayerkitty I do love you for that one) but that doesn't mean the colors are gonna stop coloring. The green strap of his oxygen mask matches Tai's green shirt because his yellow + Tai's blue makes the green of love.

As a matter of fact, Tai spends the majority of this episode in some shade of green in his desperation to maintain his connection to Kram, who was given a very grim prognosis. This one is a more yellow green because Kram is the only thing on his mind.

My beloved clown son Jao may still be working through his feelings, but the little bit of yellow in his plaid matches the warm yellow wall in Kram's room, so we know he is here for Kram by making Tai eat and take care of himself.

Kram's mom goes to visit him and through the tears that someone put in my eyes, I noticed the tiny bit of green in the pattern of her blouse matches Kram's mask.

Tai is a good husband and he refuses to sit idly by while Kram wastes away, so he enlists Phupha to help him find literally any sort of information on Kram's illness so they can maybe cure him. They match because they're on the same side and working toward the same goal.

They learn that there's a special fruit that grows under very specific conditions in the jungle that can stop the spread of Lumana, so Tai sets off to find it with Jao in tow.

As they're getting ready to leave, Wayu makes sure Jao has everything he needs for this expedition, including an emergency firework. We returned to form last week so Wayu's blue shirt does match the blue in Jao's plaid...

...but the green in the plaid also matches Tai's green shirt.

And if I didn't recognize this particular plaid shirt with mounting excitement I would be so annoyed about that but PATIENCE!

As Tai and Jao make camp for the night, Tai looks at a photo of him and Kram on his phone. We get a little flashback to the day it was taken and the show offers us some comfort by giving us Kram dressed in his warm yellow and Tai's cool blue.

Tai can't sleep and neither can Jao, so Jao finally asks what I'm sure he's been wondering for weeks: why Kram? And as if I needed any more confirmation that Kram is Tai's warmth and his light, my boy says:

DAMN RIGHT HE IS! HE'S YOUR SUNRISE! I LOVE CLOWNING CORRECTLY!

In addition to being unbearably sweet and validating, hearing this serves as the final nail in the coffin of Jao's feelings for Tai.

Don't look so sad, mi cielo, glorious things await you.

Tai and Jao find the fruit and as they're making their way back, my clown son falls into a tiger trap and hurts his leg. He sets off the emergency firework he claimed he didn't need and Wayu comes to save him for the second time in as many episodes.

And when he does, this happens.

We're almost there.

Tai gives Kram the fruit and Kram finally wakes up, although I will be forever haunted by the cold empty grayish white of that hospital room and Tai matching it. It's such a contrast to the vibrant colorful scenes in the jungle.

This show never lets us forget things so even though Kram has woken up, his paleness is a stark reminder that he isn't cured.

And the fact that even Phupha matches this horrible goddamn room means we are not in the clear. I hate it here.

GOOD THING WE'RE IMMEDIATELY THROWN BACK INTO BEAUTIFUL RICH WARMTH WITH THESE TWO.

Jao asks Wayu if he gave him CPR when he fell into the river because Jao felt like someone had kissed him. Wayu admits that he did and shares that he's been in his feelings about it because Jao was the first person to ever make him cry.

We then learn that not only did Wayu and Jao know each other as tiny children, they've had feelings for each other since then, too. They were separated when Wayu's family had to move and parted on bad terms, and Wayu has been carrying a torch for Jao ever since.

AND THEY FINALLY FUCKING KISS ABOUT IT! @respectthepetty THEY FINALLY GOT THERE! WE DID IT!

What follows is another absolutely phenomenal, beautiful intimate love scene, no portion of which I can show you because Tumblr will immediately throw me in horny jail. BUT IT WAS SO WORTH THE WAIT!

Unfortunately we have to go back to the horrible hospital room, but it's made slightly less horrible by the fact that Kram's mom reveals that she knows who he is. She does match the room as she does so, but rather than matching the walls she matches the warmth illuminating the curtain.

We get devastating scenes of Kram's dad in World 1, wearing his son's warm yellow and setting out a plate for him, waiting.

Kram has decided to go back to his world and even though he agrees to Tai's proposal that they go back together, we know that's not going to happen. Kram, in that infernal cold white, has already made up his mind to go alone, which is why he doesn't match Tai's green or the green shining through the curtain behind him.

Earlier, mystical auntie Lhu called to tell Kram what time the water would be turning blue and he lied to Tai and said it would be at midnight when it was actually 11 o'clock. 11 was supposed to be the time Tai was going to come pick him up but by that point, it would already be too late.

Tai catches on and catches up to Kram but it doesn't matter. The preview already told us what happens.

[julianalvarez9]

too far / mason mount

author's note: soooo it's been a while since i wrote something for this man, and it just had to be angst, you know? italics are flashbacks. proofread, but just a bit. it's kinda an open ending but i'm not thinking about a second part at the moment, sorry :(

wc: 2.052 words.

summary: things aren't going great for mason at the minute. he knows something -or someone, that could turn things around, but you might be too far now.

the doorknob twists, and mason sets a foot into his house. it's dark, no lights turned on, exactly as he left it when he went away, a few days ago. it smells empty, like no one lives there, and it's kind of true: he's never really there.

his shoulders slump and he feels defeated. it seems like he can't escape these feelings nowadays: he's just coming back from that first leg against real madrid, and the pain from the defeat is still weighing heavy on him, the scar still fresh on his mind.

he doesn't bother turning any light on, and much less making something to eat, knowing that his fridge must be empty. it's been one week since his mother did the grocery shopping for him, chastising him while doing so. "you need to eat, mase".

the brit steps a foot out of his car, and even though the london weather is as cold as it could get, with the night all settled in, he feels warm. he sees the lights turned on, shining all through the blinds, and he knows he's home.

the second he passes the entrance, mason gets welcomed by the homely fragrance of your shared home. there's a slight vanilla essence he can recognise, surely from the candles you love to lit, but also, a nice smell coming from the kitchen that makes his stomach rumble, reminding him how hungry he is after the trip back home. he can hear plates clinking and different sounds, which only ensures that yes, you're there.

"missed you" he says, while hugging you from behind. you're still busy mixing ingredients in the pan, but you still melt onto your boyfriend's figure. you feel the ticklish sensation of his beard over your cheek when he cranes his neck enough to leave a kiss there, and you smile knowingly. "missed you too, sweetheart".

mason doesn't care enough to clean up after himself, instead starting to undress from the minute his figure passes the entrance. the backpack he took on the trip with him is abandoned near the door. he'll take care of it in the morning, he thinks, if his mother doesn't get ahead of him. 

his trainers are the next thing to leave his figure, not caring enough to untie them before taking them off only with the help of his other feet. ben would, for sure, give him hell if he saw what he did with his birthday gift from him. "oi, mate! you're going to crease them!". again, he couldn't care less right now.

when he gets to the top of the stairs, the painful images return. it's like he was walking through his house as a mere corpse, going up the stairs in just his black briefs without actually seeing where he was going. he just wanted to jump into bed. 

instead, the spot seems to transport him back to a few weeks back, on the same site, same white walls and wooden floor, where he saw you for the last time. mason has made an effort to not think about it too much the thousands of other times he had to pass through the same spot. but he's not that strong tonight.

"what are you doing?".

his voice startles you, and mason gets even more confused at your reaction. this isn't usual for your relationship, he thinks: you, not jumping on his arms to greet him when he comes back from training; him, not knowing what you're up to; and last but not least, you flinching at the sound his voice. he can't prevent the pit in his stomach from forming when he sees you close your eyes, inhaling deeply before speaking softly. "i-i thought you would be gone for a few more hours. i'm sorry". 

he knows where this is going, even before asking you about it. but still, he does, in case he has misinterpreted something: in case this isn't as over as your sad features lead him to realize.

the suitcases stick out like a sore thumb, and the brit isn't one to keep from exteriorising his doubts. "what are you doing?" he repeats, almost expecting you to tell him about some trip you're taking coz of your work. he knows that's not the case. your work doesn't require any traveling; you had converted to working from home exclusively when you two moved in together. your reasoning was that mason was away all the time, you didn't need to make things more difficult.

"i'm moving back to my parent's house, mason. i explained everything in the letter," you mutter, almost inaudibly, like you're afraid he would get mad at your response. the truth is, you can't even look him in the eyes while telling him this: you imagined it would be worse if you had him in front of you, and you were right. that's why you wrote the letter in the first place. that's why you had thought about leaving when he wasn't home. so you could, hopefully, escape his pleads that would get you back to square one.

"a letter? why can't you say it to my face?" he asks, and even if it's a rhetoric question, you try to answer it, but you're left empty handed. "you're leaving me. say it".

he isn't angry, but his tone sounds harder than it needs to be. the thoughts are filling his head, and he's beating himself up for every one of them. he realizes that, yeah, he might be angry, but not at you, rather at himself. for letting it get to this point. for making you feel like you couldn't tell him what was wrong before deciding to leave.

"is this coz i'm always away?" he bitterly asks when you don't respond, rather standing still in the same spot where he had caught you. "i don't like being away either, but it's my fucking job!" he gets louder by the end of the sentence, before adding "i signed up for it".

"yeah, you did, and i'm proud of you for that every day". you're flashing him a nostalgic smile that he doesn't get to see, too occupied in trying to flatten the wrinkles on his forehead that had formed in surprise when he saw you with the bags. in reality, he's trying to divert his thoughts before falling apart in your presence, which turns to be even more difficult when you finish what you had started to say. "but i didn't sign up for living alone in someone's house, you know? you're always too far, mason. and i wish i would be talking only about the physical aspect of you not being here, but i'm not".

the air felt thick, and it sunk in mason's head that there would be nothing he could do to change your mind. his shoulders deflate even more, if it was even possible, when he heard you dragging your things past him, only to stop right by his side to give him a kiss on the cheek. a last goodbye, he thought, later on, once the dust had settled and the silence of your shared home, now only his house, engulfed him. your face was drenched in tears, but he didn't feel or see them because he couldn't do anything else but stare at his feet, and try to think where it all had gone wrong.

the first week was the worst.

he called a thousand times; morning, evening and night. you never picked up, of course. and it was fine, because mason didn't really know what he would say to you if you did. he only wanted to hear your voice in the recorded message that reproduced automatically after the call ringed too many times: he preferred to hear your chirpy, happy voice saying your automated "please, leave your message at the end of the beep!" instead of the gloomy tone you had when you muttered the last words you said to him.

"you're always too far, mason".

mason made sure to train extra hard, so sleep would come in quicker, but it had only made his teammates worry about him even more. he was visibly grumpy, and it only prompted more questions about what had happened between you two when his friends realized about your presence missing at stamford bridge.

"i'm so sorry, mate. i thought she was the one," said christian, sympathetic look in his eyes and a friendly pat on the back. the brit had thought you were the one too, the red box hiding on his nightstand only reminiscence now of what he hadn't even had the chance to ask.

"would you marry me?"

with the way he kept slowly brushing his fingers on your naked back, you were almost asleep when mason muttered his question. "huh?". he giggled a bit at your questioning eyes, barely seen by him in the darkness of your bedroom. nuzzling his nose on the top of your head before placing a soft kiss, he explained, though his voice sounded hoarse. "hypothetically speaking. if i bought a ring, would you say yes?".

it was the first time that you two were talking about this topic. still, you had no doubts. "i'd say yes. hypothetically speaking” you clarified, like he had done before, and he only held you tighter by the waist. the way you two were resting, skin to skin, almost asleep after your sinful activities made this talk seem like a feverish illusion. “what’s that taylor swift lyric? 'i've loved you three summers now…'".

"and i want them all," finished mason. he wasn’t just completing the lyrics, but rather exteriorizing his deepest wish.

the temperature didn't drop inside his house, but suddenly mason felt cold all over. not even the hot shower he took to try and ease his aching muscles helped him with the warmth he was lacking. after all, he knew it was yours.

it would be a lie on his part to say that he didn't feel you all over after that day. he wasn't sure if this is how it was before; maybe the little things that made him remember you throughout the day felt comforting before, but now, he dreads every time you appear in his brain. and it’s even worse when he can’t do anything to stop his thoughts from going back to you.

he realizes he feels you in the most mundane things, and that was what he despised the most, not being able to get rid of anything to forget you. nothing in the material objects spelt your name: they would, probably, seem normal to anyone that dared to look at them. but they weren't mason, didn’t have his soft caramel eyes who recognised all too well what was yours. what used to be. he was the one carrying the memories of your relationship, too engraved in his mind to forget.

for example, the hydration cream he applied religiously after you had scolded him for not taking care of his skin. the delicate sheets you had insisted he needed to buy to upgrade his quality of sleep. the thousands of pillows that you needed to sleep, but now, that was just decoration to him. "baby, the only pillow i need to sleep well is you," mason had insisted.

you were all over his house, but you weren't there. 

he knows it's pointless to still dwell on it, even after all this time. he knows why you're not here anymore, and there's nothing he can do to change it. at least, that's what he thinks. it's safer that way, to not think about what could’ve been. maybe if he had been more there, if he had listened more, if he had seen the signs. for sure, you would still be here. he knows the love didn’t run out; but the distance between you two was impossible to ignore.

“i wish i would be talking only about the physical aspect of you not being here, but i'm not".

after tossing and turning, probably more times than he could count, he gave up. mason realized that sleep would definitely escape him for the night, and at these ungodly hours, he just wasn’t as strong. he didn't do what he had promised himself he wouldn't.

02:22 [mason] said: i miss you

02:22 [you] said: go to sleep, mase

02:23 [you] said: we'll talk tomorrow, yeah?

[fyodior]

Reader helping Sigma though his first rut??

He would be so whiney and teary eyed. Just begging reader to cum inside and to pls make him a daddy.

OR

Dazai and Chuuya trying to see who can knot reader the most and they end up knotting reader at the same time.

Honestly the omegaverse just makes my head go in circles. I feel like there just isn't enough a/b/o fics now a days 😕

yesyesyes omg. keeping this gn!

sigma would be so scared and confused, so overwhelmed by these new feelings and impulses he can’t control. all he knows is that his mind is completely clouded with pure, unadulterated lust and he needs to breed so fucking bad. he’s never experienced anything like it before - neglecting food, water, sleep; he can’t even conceive of doing anything but fucking. of course, this is a very juvenile scenario, but it’s par for the course for someone’s first rut. sigma just has the… luxury of it kicking in as an adult. though he is very lucky to have you as his rut partner :) to keep him cool headed where you can, remind him to eat and drink, keep him from tearing his damn skin off.

and of course, allowing him to fuck to his heart’s content. you put up no fight as sigma quite literally drags you to the bedroom and pulls your pants down just far enough so he can mount you and slide his aching, leaking cock inside you. his loud groans and whines fill the room once he bottoms out, almost driven to tears with how perfectly your tight, warm hole takes him. nonsensical babbles spill out of the poor man’s mouth as he fucks you desperately, heavy aching balls slapping against your ass as he thrusts into u like his life fuckin depends on it.

the real fun comes when he’s getting close, when his knot slowly starts to swell - which honestly doesn’t take long in his state. he’s begging you, pleasepleasepleaseplease let me cum inside, please have my babies, and you just laugh and tell him its okay. his groan of relief as his knot swells to its max and he releases inside of you, flopping on top of you completely exhausted and finally satiated. though it doesn’t last for long at all, and you prepare yourself to be pushed to the ground or against the nearest wall the next time it hits your poor sigma <3