#locked in and cleaned and colorized this one

[porcelian]

PEACH BLACK DESCENT | s. riley/f!reader | 8.4k

SYNOPSIS: Simon thinks you're a bird with a broken wing. You squirm in the hole of the hunters trap. The other wing flapping, air around you contorting as it picks you up and you escape from the jaws of the trap. He sits next to you now in his truck and wonders how he's going to clip your wings.

Tucked away in a far away town surrounded by woods a highway predator—Simon—goes hunting and digs his teeth into you.

WARNINGS/TAGS: Mature Themes, Extremely Dubious consent, Rape/Non-con Elements, Objectification, Size Kink, Size Difference, Marking, Kidnapping, Threats of Violence, Dacryphilia, Unsafe Sex, Manipulation, Butcher AU.

MASTERLIST & NAVIGATION.

You feel as if you were born in a galaxy slowly being ripped apart at the seams. Stars colliding, crashing; kaleidoscopic colors mix into together as they lose their golden ichor of life and dim into nothingness. A black hole drinks it's ichor. The unforgiving crooked teeth bites in the stars and they give into the hold.

A dying nebula. Hot and scorching as it brands your skin because of your sins. Engraved into your soul. It is dirt under your finger nails. Forever stained.

Stained—you think—you'll have to figure out how to clean up the sign perched near the motel wall—Highway Inn. A ironic and obvious name, considering it's situated right next to a highway. The road turns and twists, contorting into something akin to a labyrinth only a few unlucky ones can pass through and make it to this brick fortress.

(Unlucky, pitiful and poor souls,

Never seen again as the road takes them too.)

The bright and blinding fluorescent light of the motel cuts into your eyes like razors. The cold air bites your cheeks and fingers. Your breath chokes out of your mouth and it spreads in the air, swirling and contorting. The soft gray of it stand out against the dim rust-colored and cracking bricks.

You sit behind the dark oak front desk—the surface littered with blooming circles of lighter brown. A dusty bell of dimmed gold hangs above the heavy wooden front door.

You bring your hands to your mouth, huffing your hot breath into them. A futile wish for some warmth to engulf you. The soft murmurs of the few workers echo in one ear and leave through the other. It's an empty and eerie quiet tonight. The roads stay dark and life seems to be ripped away from it.

But, you swear you see light seep through the cracks formed by the curtain by the windows. Your eyes trail up and lock onto the road you can see outside.

A white truck passes. It always does. Like clockwork. A routine akin to a ritual. A never ending cycle the labyrinth road and motel seem to welcome and accept. Although, hesitantly. Your manager never looked pleased to see the truck drive the road in front of the motel.

You don't know why.

But, you think it has to do with the way it seems to slow down when it's near the brick building. The way it simmers to a stop. The way the front seat windows are a little bit cleaner and easier to see through from the inside than the others so you can feel someone stare at you. Their gaze heavy and intense, like tendrils around your neck. They squeeze around the sides. Bruises forming and blooming—a mark—curiosity killed the cat. But, you can't help to watch. You meekly welcome the gaze of the one behind the window. The glass slightly glimmers under the crescent moon.

(You think the person inside is satisfied with the effect they have on you.)

The white surface of the truck is faded white with wheels brown-black, the dirt seeping through the engraved rubbery surface. The windows are obsidian dark and you can't see through them. Only one remains open—the drivers seat. An arm drapes across it. The milky white skin littered with scars that dance alongside with ink-black tattoos. It snakes around the man's heavy arm like a serpent, trailing up to the shirt that hugs his skin so delicately and smoothly—a stark contrast between the tough and rough surface of his skin. His wrist flicks. Calloused hands follow. They move and curl.

(You wonder how'd they feel.)

You still think of the softness of it, them—him—the fuzz of his arm akin to a valley, an Eden you're not supposed to enter, a peach you're not supposed to bite, its ambrosia you're not allowed to drink and let it seep down your chin and chest.

Would his fingertips dance across the plush flesh of yours? Would his nails apply pressure and dig into your skin? You already can imagine the faint red and purples appearing under his hold, the crescent moons he'd leave under his unforgiving and damning touch.

(Like a black hole, alongside the stars it devours.)

Your manager—Roderick, a old and angry man grumbles as his dim and misty eyes settle on the white truck. He tuts. His hands grip the side of his belt, an indent you're familiar with makes itself known. He'd always been unsatisfied and upset whenever the man with the white truck appeared.

It's reached a new high today. The tension in Roderick's forehead is obvious. His brows furrow as he calls out to you, his rough and hoarse voice breaks the previous silence you'd taken sanctuary inside the motel.

"Stay inside," he orders, finger gauged at you, "I mean it. Keep your eyes to yourself, girl. Watch the keys and make sure you have the rooms cleaned," his eyes settle on the truck driver door opening, "we'll have visitors soon."

You stand wide eyed behind the front desk. Caught off guard by his words, your mouth hangs slightly open to question him, but you settle on just keeping any inquiries to yourself.

Roderick doesn't like questions. He never did. Especially about the missing people posters hang up near the motel. Especially about the news echoing information and words about missing people. Blurred faces and names. They simmer in your mind. You've met them here before. They checked in. Some greet you with bright and slightly strained smiles. Some thin their lips and their eyes dart away from you.

It doesn't matter.

They never leave the roads they entered to reach the motel. They get lost in the labyrinth and never leave.

(The black hole has taken another star.)

You'd heard about so called highway serial murderers. The media treats them like their ghosts. They appear to lock their jaws onto their prey, their crooked teeth digs in and the food hangs limp, succumbed to the bloody hold. Their eyes go hazy and dim, the life ichor drips out of them slowly as the predator has its fill, belly satisfied and sickeningly happy. After that they're gone, disappearing on the road again, their trucks their castles.

The opened truck door reveals the man inside. Your eyes lock onto him.

His heavy brown leather boots step on the concrete surface. You notice the scruff marks along the fabric, the lighter color like lighting dancing on the surface. His cargo pants are dirtied at the seams, as if he'd been in the rain soaked woods, moving as the wet dirt coats and sticks to him.

His upper body is akin to a behemoth—a mountain of a man with shoulders like steel, hard and unmoving. His fingers stretch every once in a while. The fuzz on the surface a stark difference to the milky-white surface. The dirt seeps under his fingernails, hammering the nail and making their forever home.

A stark black balaclava hides his face. The fabric old tearing at the seams. His eyes contrast and stand out against the visible alabaster skin—akin to earth brown like the woods and ground that surrounds you. There's a strange look in them. A feeling you can't quite make out as they settle on you through the opened door.

The bell chimes. The sound echoing through the front room. His feet scruff against the welcome mat. His eyes lock onto your figure. Black irises under lidded light blond eyelashes grow in size, almost seeping into the brown pooling around it. There's a glint in them— a subtle excitement and hunger.

(Like a predators gaze upon its prey,

Akin to a black hole and the nebula right next to it about to burst.)

He nods his head at you. For a moment you lose the sight of his eyes, but you can still feel the tendrils of them wrap around your neck. Though, this time they move further. Your cheeks feel blistered by heat. Your thighs ache as the surface of your uniform rubs together.

Your eyes catch his again. You can see the fabric move slightly where his mouth is supposed to be. He's smiling. Bearing his teeth to you. Crooked fangs glistening in the florescent lights as the smile reaches to high. The crows-feet next go his eyes crease.

He moves closer to the front desk. His frame covers yours completely. It engulfs you behind it and you settle into his shadow. Tendrils seep into the dark surface as it hugs your body. The balaclava fabric slightly moves again. The mans hoarse voice rumbles out of him, it starts near his stomach, belly covered by a hoodie, trails to his cords as it spreads a deep and infectious melody out of his mouth.

"I'll need a room. One bed. More on the bigger side. I'll take 13."

"Of course." You squeeze the breath out of your throat and force your body to move near the keys on the wall.

"Thank you, Lamb."

You can still feel his eyes trail your body. Irises dig into your flesh like razors, cutting into it until it reaches your spine, a soft touch akin to his fingertips dances across the skin and moves down, settling on the back of your waist—you'd call it a lovers protective touch, but you feel it's a bit different than that.

It's almost as if he's testing you, pushing your buttons, his fingers curling around your nerves and tugging, wondering what you'll do if he applies pressure, what noise you'll let escape your pouted lips, what words you'll echo in his ears, how'd you'd grip his skin and what kind of scars you'd add and decorate him with alongside the rest.

(Like a predator playing with it's prey,

An appetizer before it's meal.)

Your hands tug on the key to room 402. You turn on your heel, facing him again. You hesitate for a moment, breath catching in your throat. He tilts his head before raising his hands for you. An invite rests in the tense air, alongside it is a tempting ambrosia, a siren's saccharine call, beckoning you to take a bite, let it seep into your throat and burn inside your chest and untangle the threads in your belly.

You take a bite.

Your fingers graze his. The keys settle on the heart of his palm. The creases in his skin run like rivers and your fingertips linger for a single second to swim in and trace them.

The ambrosia calls to you again in the form of his eyes locking onto the connection between his and yours. His fingers curl again, grazing yours. Nails settle moon crescents into your velvety skin. They glide across the surface, taking in the slight warmth and feel of your skin before breaking contact.

The tangled and aching mess in your belly returns again. Your eyes dart back up to his again and your breath gets caught in your throat again as you see how dark they've become, ink seeking into the brown you saw a few moments ago. They dig into you, just like before—razors cutting, teeth mauling, tongue licking the blood dripping down your skin. He opens his mouth to drink his fill.

"It's Simon."

You swallow down the breath you didn't know you were holding captive in your throat and return his gesture with your own name. It seems like a deal brokered with an entity you shouldn't even look at—a faerie claiming your name alongside your body, a devil clutching your soul and future.

"O-okay, Simon. If you need anything, just see me at the front desk."

You take a bite and taste his name on your tongue. It spreads its blood into you, the metallic taste akin to a bubbling infection you can't and don't want to shake off. You swear you notice the same smile underneath his balaclava, curling and showing you his teeth.

"Oh, I think I will."

He murmurs your name alongside that, finishing his words like a promise to an altar. You like the way your name gets trapped behind his teeth, thrown to his tongue and chained to it, settling on it and spreading the same infection as his own name did to you.

Simon turns his back to you. He trails up the creaky wooden stairs and his steps echo in the room as they do in your mind. His smells sifts through the air—nitroglycerin and charred wood, bleach alongside the ridges of burnt wood. It fills your lungs with black smoke, seeping through the veins and clinging on—branding you like heated metal.

You don't see him again that day again.

A couple check in. A man and a woman. They feel as sickeningly normal as the 60's posters littered across the motel walls—aged with skin swirling on their faces, clothes sewn meticulously clinging onto their still strong clothes. They smile. The light glints on their dull and soft teeth.

(Like prey.)

They ask for room 12, as they booked. You hand them the keys and murmur sweet words—enjoy your stay, call me if you need anything. A verse engraved in your mind, leaving your mouth like you're a broken record.

The night creeps in. Tendrils of dark sift through the motel windows. The rooms are quiet. Only the soft echos of your shuffling feet and the periodic thumps can be heard around the building, for those you don't have an explanation for.

The next day you don't see the couple check out. You don't see them walk the hallways. Roderick shushes your questions about them. The curiosity blooms in your chest. It carves a home in your heart. A hole grows alongside with it.

In the early hours Simon checks out. Thank you, Lamb—he tells you, sweet words about you and his stay—I'll see you soon—you squirm and mumble a meek thank you's and see you soon. His words light fireworks along your skin, the flame dancing on the surface. You feel like a wire caught alight. Electricity sifting through the air between you two.

Your eyes drift to his hands, just like they've done multiple times. You squint, focusing on his short ivory nails.

There's a strange dark crimson stain underneath the nails—a stark contrast. Your eyes lock onto them and Simon notices your stare.

His balaclava shifts again as he smiles at you. His feet carry him to the front door. The bell rings as his hold makes the door creak open. He disappears just as quickly as he showed up.

You still smell the bleach and charred wood where he stood.

The day passes the way you expect it too. Endless cycle akin to a ouroboros swirling and consuming itself—pointless and unsatisfactory.

Your feet carry you through the front room. The bell ringing above you as you step outside. The cold air bites at your cheeks, trying to escape into your heavy coat. You bring the fabric closer and cover yourself even more to escape the unforgiving weather.

Your hands tremble as they dig into your pockets. Nails nick at exposed skin. The anxiety and paranoia grasps at you. Your mind keeps replaying back to your goodbye with Simon. He's a man you barely know, but feel a curiosity towards him that you shouldn't. A pull that seems to wrap around you and bring you to your doom. It is laced with a fear that spreads lightning up your spine.

You tither on that feeling as your feet take you down the labyrinth roads, a black river that is never-ending. The roads are seemingly quiet until a sound rings out in the air.

A truck drives closer to your side of the road. Your shoulder tense and feet quicken. You tilt your head in its direction. The familiar stark white color of the truck flicks a lever in your mind and suddenly you let out a breath you didn't know you were holding.

It's Simon. It's Simon as you move closer to the truck, now parked next to you. You raise your head, eyes wide as you peek through the darkened windows. It pulls down as you see the all too familiar balaclava stare right back at you alongside the earth-brown eyes with a tinge of an alive amber.

He leans back into his seat, legs spread—need a ride?—he asks, voice louder and reaching out to you. You thin your lips. The steps of the passenger seat beckon you closer—only a step is what you need to take.

You nod—yes, I appreciate it, thank you—you hum, voice soft and mellow. You watch him through lidded eyes, catching note of how he takes unnecessary turns and drives down longer roads.

You face him. A question burns on top of your tongue. You want to and do ask him—where are we going? Where are you taking me?—but, the gaze in which he gives you, alive and high on adrenaline is all he answers you with.

The blood underneath his fingernails are still there. You think you'll add to his collection.

Simon thinks you're a bird with a broken wing. You squirm in the hole of the hunters trap. The other wing flapping, air around you contorting as it picks you up and you escape from the jaws of the trap.

He sits next to you now in his truck and wonders how he's going to clip your wings.

You'd been so sweet to him. Opening your rib cage, moving the white bones and placing your heat on a plate for him. Your saccharine words echo in his mind. He'd never tasted something like it before. You make his teeth ache and belly hot. He craves another bite of the honeyed elixir that coats your body as sweat as your face contorts in something akin to fear and uncertainty.

"You should' have go' in the truck with me, Lamb." His words are like a final prayer, a nail in the coffin as his free hand moves towards you.

The truck stops at a dark part of town. Murky streets tangle into each other. A butcher's shop rests tucked away in the corner. The yellow and blue windows stand out against the dim muted colors of the rest of the street. An almost broken down and colorful sign of a butcher shop hangs perched above the building.

Simon finds your furrowed brows and thinned lips adoringly amusing. His calloused fingertip rests against your bottom lip. He bites back a groan as he tugs it down slightly. You follow his lead almost instinctively. His thumb digs in. Salty surface laid upon your soft tongue. The taste melts into your mouth. Your tongue raises and hugs his thumb to your teeth. Sharp surface digs into his skin. The metallic liquid coats your pearlescent canines.

He smiles—"Lamb has claws, good. It'll be even more satisfying 'o see how much you can do with them." —he presses deeper.

You try and shuffle towards the passenger door, hoping the lock hasn't been closed and you still have an option to escape whatever spider web you've gotten yourself wrapped in.

“I ‘pected you t’run.”

The hoped dies out in your mouth as you hear the lock fasten. You whine and he laughs at you. You can make out a crooked grin underneath the black balaclava.

“Wouldn't do tha’ if I were you.”

Simon's other hand leaves the steering wheel. It grazes the plush surface of your clothed belly and you startle back like an animal protecting it's weak spots. He's eerie quiet now. His hand trails up to your neck, touching the soft and delicate skin. You instinctively shift your head.

"I-I can pay you." You stammer. This is the first time you've been so close up to him. You can see burns and scars across the exposed skin. You shudder at the sight.

"Pay me?" He mimics back to you.

You nod frantically. His hand is still on your neck. You're afraid he's going to sense your pulse and figure out how you're fucking terrified.

Like—

Maybe, at the start you entertained this, but now you are actually a bird underneath a hawk, or more like a flesh eating vulture. It's claws digging and getting ready to bite and feast and Simon looks like a man that doesn't let any bite go to waste.

His eyes dig into you again like razors. He prompts you, asks you and beckons you to answer—will ya try t'run again?

You gulp. For a moment you stay frozen in his hold unable to answer but, his hold becomes stronger, pushing and adding pressure at the sides of your neck. You whimper—where would I go?

"Good girl."

His hand around your throat digs in. You gasp. He closes on the sides of your airway, careful not to push on the front where you gulp and swallow your fear and words. His eyes trail up to yours, watching as your own move and shake. Your hands crawl up to his arms. Your nails dig into his visible marred skin, leaving moon crescents in your wake. He huffs. His breath seeping through the fabric of his balaclava and hitting your face. You take in his smell again— nitroglycerin, bleach and charred wood, fire burning alive at the tips of it.

"Too late for that, Lamb." He croaks out. The words echo through your ears like church bells and a higher power giving you your sentence.

"But I think we can work something else out."

Something else turns out to be his hands gripping you too hard, making blue and purple marks bloom in his wake.

Your feet struggle to take big steps to follow alongside him. You could try and scream bloody murder, alert someone, run for your life, cross and jump fences and escape. Who would help you? Would they hear your pleas—help, this behemoth of a man is keeping me as his little toy.

You grimace at the thought.

He turns his head to face you. His eyes akin to a all too hungry boar ready to pounce.

"Don't get any funny ideas runnin' aroun' in t'head o'yours, Lamb."

"Funny?" You quip, letting it hang in the air as you add, "like getting into your truck and following you to some sketchy butcher shop that looks like a 00's old disco?"

"Cheeky little think ain't ya?"

"This isn't fair—"

"Fair? Life ain't fair, Lamb."

He tugs you closer. A strange look appears in his eye. The white of it akin to sea foam. He hums, taking in your fear and uncertainty. It simmers on his tongue and he swallows it down. There's a hunger in them. A familiar hunger you've always felt and now you see it mirrored in his own.

He moves you to the butcher shop by the scruff of your neck. The heavy door closes with a sharp crash. There's a stark smell of bleach hanging in the air suffocating your lungs. There's the tinge of sweat around the room too. The suspicious light brown colored stains lays across the floor. There is a smaller room tucked away he leads you to. A mattress laid across the dirtied floor. You swear you make out chains hung across the room. You wonder if he'll hang you from them.

(There's no escape.)

You remember the crimson underneath his nails. The couple from 12 and Simon— the man in 13. Ironic the number he settles with was 13. It suits him, you think.

"Did you kill them?"

Simon gazes back at you. His hands crawl up to his balaclava and grips the fabric. Your breath clings to your throat. The noises die out as your eyes lock onto him and his appearing face.

He's not—

Not how they describe them in the books.

Not handsome.

More ugly. Disturbing in a way that's obscene. He's more skin stitched together than man. More flesh looking too wrong than human.

You see his Glasgow smile first. The dip in skin alongside the corners of his mouth form a Cheshire grin. His lips look chapped and rough, a cut runs vertically along it, separating skin and showing his crooked almost sharp canine teeth. The dark brown hair stick together and clings to his forehead. It's damp and just about long enough for you to grip it in your hands. Suddenly the calloused hands make sense when you compare it to the face in front of you. Dirtied nails and sweat engraved into his skin.

"Questionin' and questionin'." He tuts, like reprimanding a child. You feel like one right now. His frame eats you whole, engulfed in one single bite. The rumble in his voice goes straight to your belly and lights up that ache in your abdomen.

"What do ya think Lamb? Bette' yet, stand straight." He reckons you to the middle of the room and you follow his words. You stand shaken.

He takes notice.

"Go on now. Strip for me."

Every piece of clothing you slowly let fall down your body you offer him, an exchange—I show you what I hide under layers and peel them off and make myself completely bare for you only standing in panties. He indulges in you.

Riley—you catch his name as he lets it escape his teeth. You ask what he thinks he'll get out of this and what he wants—I already 'ave ya, Lamb, I didn' ask for much more.

His lackluster answers are made worst as he trails closer to you. His eyes rake over your naked body, taking in every inch. You can feel the way his mouth waters because of the way he gulps. He groans and it reaches you down to your abdomen. The silent request he sends your way when he gestures to the mattress laid in the corner. Your shoulders stiff at the sight. Your feet glue to the floor beneath you.

He gives you that annoyed and impatient tut again. His hands clench and veins become more prominent. He shuffles closer to you.

"Do I 'ave 'o do everythin' by myself, huh?"

His hands move to your body. They settle on your waist, slowly trailing down. You whine at first, which he shushes you with a quick and soft—sh—next to your ear.

His teeth graze your earlobe. His fingers play with the waistband of your panties, the only fabric you have that conceals you with modesty. You dig your face into his shoulder as he tugs rips it off. The fabric burns into your skin, too harsh of a pull putting pressure on your skin. It leaves red marks on your plush skin as it comes apart at the seams.

He tilts his head towards yours. His stubble soft and delicate while it scratches on your cheek—a surprisingly saccharine touch.

His fingers trace across the red mark left on your skin. His scarred skin scruffs against your own plush flesh and you shake in his hold. In response his grip on you becomes stronger. It's a precursor to what's about to come—rain before a storm.

They trace bellow your pelvis and abdomen, grazing the surface of the fire that burns and aches inside. You bite down on your tongue strong enough to draw blood as you feel his fingers trace your slick soaked lips.

He hums as he takes in your shaking form. Body spasms and your little gaps ring out in his ears like a melody of a golden music box. Your slick drips down his fingers and spreads to his hand and your thighs like ichor and he swears he can taste your ambrosia on the tip of his tongue.

"You are enjoyin' this, ain't you?"

You hate how cocky and satisfied he sounds. As if you're some experiment to him, bending at his will, but he's right.

You took his form in during your meeting at the motel, shamelessly trailing your eyes hungrily over him, wishing for a bite. You entered his truck, sat near him like the good girl he wanted you to be. You nodded your head when he made it clear there was no escape.

You're getting touched so delicately by a murderer and your body responds for you. It screams out for his touch. Soaked so much it glides down and makes your thighs stick to each other uncomfortably. You step towards his touch, trying to get more friction with his fingers.

Simon sees it all. His eyes follow how you present yourself to him just like the many times before. He curls his fingers and spreads your puffy lips again. His rough fingers scruff against the soft flesh and you whine into his neck. His other free hand trails down your spine, touching the ridges of the bone and settling on the plush skin of your rear. He grips and you're sure he'll leave a mark shaped like his hand.

The sensation makes you almost throw yourself even closer to him. You surround yourself in his smell, the nitroglycerin spreads through your body like a high you subconsciously don't want to fall down from.

His finger teases the entrance of your cunt. Your walls quiver and squeeze around nothing. He feels the muscles tense and move under his touch and you feel against your body how he takes a hoarse breath, drinking in the sight of you.

You keep your faced tucked and hidden away from him. It's the one and only kindness he grants you. It's the sheer burning shame of it all. You paw like a distressed animal on his chest, fingers clutch onto his clothes and nails dig into his skin.

You muffle a loud moan that he rips out of your throat as in his shoulder as he forces one finger inside your cunt. It's rough and it scorches your walls like they're on fire. His finger digs in until the knuckle is almost gone into the hug of your puffy lips. Your pussy feels raw and it aches, skin aflame and red.

And, fuck does it hurt.

It makes you bend and arch into him even more.

Your mouth hangs open and your tongue rest on the fabric of his shoulder. You're sure you've made the surface wet, but Simon seems like a man that likes it messy and dirty.

What he's doing right now proves it all.

Finger with dirt and blood under it curls and moves inside of you like a hot metal rod, branding your insides. His free hand, sweaty and dewy leaves no corner of your body untouched.

He grazes your breasts. No means are they that small, but he still manages to cup one I'm his hand. He pinches the rosy bud in his hand and pulls. You gasp and mewl into him—no more's and mindless calls for god ring out in the room.

He tugs you closer. His mouth opens wide like a predator opening his jaws. Crooked and sharp canines make way for his tongue to trail across your chest. He leaves his spit on your collarbone, tits and buds as he sucks and bites into the soft flesh. You whine and raise your head to stare at the ceiling.

Your moans turn into screams when he adds a second finger.

"Wait—" He doesn't.

You don't like it. It's too much. Your moans become even louder in his ears when his mouth latches on the side of your neck and bites. Teeth dig into the delicate skin and bruises bloom. Marks settle on your skin as he continues his assault. Teeth shaped rings and circles litter your neck and spread to your chest.

He's branding you in every way possible. Outside, his marks form in bites and grips turning into bruises, inside— his fingers work you apart and dismantle your walls, stretching you out with every thrust and curl of them.

He groans as his thumb dances across your clit and for a moment you chase that high, raise one of your legs, bending at the thigh and grazing the side of his hips.

He tuts and pulls his fingers out.

You whine at the empty feeling settling back into your abdomen. The tangled bunch of nerves you subconsciously wished to untie with his touch turn into a mess again. Your body instinctively chase his touch, moving towards him.

He grips your waist, palms on both sides. The touch puts pressure on you and you're sure it'll leave more marks in the shape of his hands, just like the one adorning your bottom cheek. Your eyes slowly meets his. The glint in Simon's eyes have made the brown morph into a burning amber.

"Needy thing, ain't ya? Deserve it, you think? Made me work o'it. You were squeezin' my fingers, ain't that enough?"

He brings the fingers coated with your slick in front of you. They glisten underneath the ceiling's dim light, the milky white skin glowing in the dark room. He brings them even closer to your face.

"Clean 'em, Lamb. Go on."

He beckons you, his fingers lay on top of your lips, tearing them apart. You follow suit. Your tongue sticks out slightly. He takes it as a yes—not like he was ever looking for permission in the first place.

The wet fingers rest on your tongue and he pushes down. You gag and clutch his wrist, but make no attempt to push him away. He digs even further. His fingers swirl and curl on your tongue and the taste of your own slick melts like salt of the sea on your taste buds.

"Bite."

"W-wha?" You croak out, voice muffled by the fingers currently occupying your mouth.

"I said bite, Lamb. Show me wha' you can do."

Your eyes lock onto him for a moment. If you can taste his blood again, make him wince again just even for a moment, you'll take it. Your teeth dig into his fingers. A red ring appears on his skin as indents. You finally break the surface of his skin and the crimson blood seeps into your mouth.

(A taste you're getting used to,

A fact he's delighted to bask in,

He gets to keep you.)

"Good girl."

He removes his fingers from your mouth. You thin your lips, trapping the blood and the sweat of him behind your mouth.

He shuffles near the dirtied mattress near the corner of the room. His hands grip you hard again and lead you to it. You can feel what's to come in the pits of your abdomen. Your body screams at you. Nerves are fried and your mind is hazy from pleasure and pain being mixed into one.

"I go'a do everythin' by myself, Lamb?" He hums as he drops you on the mattress.

Survival. One word rings and echos through your mind over and over again. You promise yourself that is the only reason this is happening. The only reason your knees almost pull away from each other. The only reason your cunt screams at you to present yourself to him, bare and sweet for him to skin himself into.

Your knees shake. He takes notice.

"Fuckin' needy. You love this, don't ya?"

"No." —you whine,— "no I fucking don't."

Tears gather on the waterline of your eyes and they drip down your cheeks before disappearing in your hairline. He brings and fucking licks the salty liquid off your sweaty skin. You swear his tongue lingers and presses in deeper. Your thighs clutch together.

(He wants a bite.)

"Is tha' why you rubbing your thighs, tryna get off?"

You whine and turn your eyes trained bellow, gaze stuck on his waist—anywhere but his face. Anywhere but the asymmetrical flesh of his face where skin and flesh dips and scars dance across it.

(You wonder if he'd let you trace them.)

"You're starin'. Ain't nice. Haven't even taken it out yet, Lamb."

Your mouth waters.

This fucking bastard.

You lay unmoving and trapped beneath him as his thighs frame your rear and upper legs, completely shadowing them. You gulp and try and ignore way your cunt flutters at the sight of Simon's arms gather at the hem of his shirt, at the sight of him removing said shirt and tossing it to some forgotten corner of the room. And, fuck you try your best to ignore how your pussy clenches around nothing as his bare chest is revealed to you.

Burn marks akin to cigarette burns litter his milky white skin. A plush tummy rests softly covered by light blond fuzz that travels down to his pants and turns into a forest of a happy trail. Something tenses under that happy trail, prisoner to the pants that tighten every second your desperate and debauched mewls and moans echo in the room and in his ears.

He smells like war, burnt wood and smoke. His hold freezes you to the spot underneath him, caged like an animal, just like the Lamb he loves to call you. You're forced to inhale his smell. The heavy smoke enters your lungs and heavies your body so you can never leave.

(Ruining you for anyone else.)

"Let's see if y'worth the trouble you put me through, Lamb."

His hands move to your hugged knees. You think,—he's pushing them open, oh my god—but he settles with connecting your legs, pushing them closer to your chest. Your soft thighs and pussy are on display for him. You don't want to admit the fact you can feel your pussy pulse with the thought he has you presented on a plate. Your cunt aches for his fucking touch again.

His crooked grin returns. It looks too wrong. His sly hands move to his pants and you swear you bear a zipper be brought down. You don't know what compelled you, but you tilt your head to the side and glance at what he'd just set free.

You see the faint pinkish-red tip first. It's angry uncut surface glistens with precum and you whine at the sight. The pinkish hue slowly turns into pale cream and the bluish veins dance across the surface of his cock like rivers. You gulp. He laughs.

"You should see how ya clench aroun' nothin' Lamb. You wan' it that bad?"

Something big pokes you where your thighs meet. He's going to fuck you, but first he'll use your thighs and brand himself into that piece of you too.

Your tears pool again. He won't even fuck you yet—

He coos, satisfied with your reaction.

"Don't worry, Lamb, you'll get my cock. Trust me, when I'm in your pretty cunt nothing will tear me out o'it."

You almost black out. Your mind turns putty. You go limp and drip into a puddle on the mattress.

His hips move and his cock pierces the plush flesh of your thighs. You see the head of his dick. He's fucking big. You feel the veins of him along your skin. He groans and first, he throws his head back to stare at the ceiling with a choked groan, next—he moans and falls down back to you. Hands cage you, settling on both side's of your face.

"You're fucking soft, Lamb. Fucking hell, squeezing me like your cunt did the same with my fingers."

You moan like a broken record. The underside of his cock grazes your clit. The hood of the sensitive bundle of nerves is pulled up, brought down with every thrust of his hips.

Your hands grip his arms, hanging onto him. You move closer without been noticing, seeking his clothed thighs to touch your cunt.

He lets our a breathless laugh again. Taking notice of the slick coating your cunt and the buttom of your rear. He catches the way you shuffle closer to him, wanting more and wanting more.

(You call it a bodily reaction,

It has to be.

To him it's you sharing the same hunger he has.)

"Gonna be good f'me?"

He removes his cock from the warm and soft hold of your thighs. He lets out a hiss at the movement before cupping your cunt, his palm dwarfs it it's entirety. You grind against him, seeking any release you can get.

"I expect an answer outta ya, Lamb."

He drifts above and pushes down onto your clit. Three hands rubbing circles onto the sensitive bud. You arch your back into him and your chests almost touch.

"Fuck, yes—" You rip the answer out of your throat. You take in every burst of pleasure he gives you. You swear you see starts behind your eyelids.

(Is the black hole going to take them as it plans on taking you?)

"Good girl."

His calloused hands still dance across your clit. The harsh skin burns yours. It feels as if he's burning you like the charred wood he smells like. It hurts. It aches. You can't take it. It hurts too much.

He moves with intent. His cock comes closer to the bare entrance of your cunt. You panic. Hoarse voice escapes you as you shift away from him.

"Wait—fuck—wait, no condom?"

He stares at you for a moment, a brow raises at you like you're a child asking him a stupid question. His hand grips the sides of your face. You let out a choked poor excuse of a scream. He brings you closer to his face.

"Never fucked raw, Lamb?"

"I-I've never tried this."

You croak out, like you even had the choice to try this.

"You don't know how it feels when a cock comes inside you?"

You let your mouth hang open. Words dry on your tongue. How do you even answer that?

His eyes settle on your lips. His fingers trace along it. Moving closer in your proximity, his own ripped lips touch yours. For some reason you don't push him, you don't scream at him. You stay frozen. You lie to yourself when you try and convince your mind it's all because of the fear.

The moment only lasts for a few second before he smiles again—The sickly Glasgow smile spreads even more. You shudder in his hold. Of course, all because of fear.

"You'll take my cock—"

"Fuck—no, it's too big— it won't fit."

He pushes harder on your cheeks. Your lips contort as you look up at him.

"We'll make it fit, Lamb."

Your mind turns even more hazy at his words. They light a spark down your abdomen. Your toes curl, knees bend and hug at his sides, bringing him in even closer. Simon groans. His head tilts and positions himself and his cock right at the entrance of your aching cunt.

The tip of his cock slowly pushes past your raw lips of your pussy. You move and writhe in his hold under him. Simon is unforgiving in the way he pushes himself into you. You swear he's trying to split you in half. You're sure you'll feel him in your belly, chest and throat by the time he's in.

You mewl and your hands grasp at his chest. Your nails rake down his skin. They move to grasp his shoulders and you bring him even closer, beckoning him to you.

"Simon—"

"Fuck. I know, Lamb. You're squeezing me—"

Simon gasps. His hands grasp the soft flesh around your waist. His hazy eyes take your entire body in. You notice them as they do. You catch the hunger in his eye. Your walls flutter again when you see the possessive glint curling in the burning amber of his eyes.

There's a certain high that spreads through your veins when you see how much he's affected too. He's slowly pushing his cock into you and the moans and groans leave him like hoarse and broken notes. You figure out what the high is that you're currently feeling.

A man like him. A man of his size and cruelty. A man bathed in blood with the crimson stuck underneath his nails no matter how much he tries to wash it off. That man is on his knees for you, bottoming out in you, getting drunk on the feeling of your cunt's walls beckoning him in and fluttering around him. You did that.

Or, your cunt did. Though, with the way his eyes glint when they reach your face.

Yea, you did that.

You're dragged out of your reverie when you feel Simon's cock dig in deeper. You curl into his hold. He moves even deeper into you. He makes a home inside of you, his veins engrave themselves on your fluttering walls.

The room smells of sex. The moans and gasps of both of you echo through out the room. The nitroglycerin sifts through the air. His sweat rolls down onto you and joins your own.

The way his hold keeps you steady and your plush thighs keep him close and cunt keeps him warm is a stark contrast to how he had handled you, how he'd trapped you in his jaws and dug his teeth in you. It is a dichotomy you take like a high and let it spread lightning through your body.

His hips don't give up their assault. They thrust deep inside you and you can see how his cock disappears in your cunt. His unforgiving thrusts carve into you. He moves out and back in—ouroboros of an endless cycle.

He grins and pushes deeper.

Maybe you've gone crazy. You've lost it truly. His length soothes some aching and raw feeling inside you. Untangles your nerves and you let moans ring out like a melody as an answer to the hazy bliss.

You settle your hand on your lower belly where the hotness and the scorching feeling act as a balm and calming oil for you. Your fingers feel the way your stomach bulges from Simon's cock, the way he meticulously moves his length along your clenching walls. You push down on him.

He rolls his hips and groans. A sickeningly saccharine smile grows on his face.

"'m too big for you, huh?"

You can feel him twitch inside you. Result of some masculine high he's on right now. He hangs on his words, but doesn't wait for an answer and digs himself into you again and again and—

You think he likes it — the fact it hurts you and you mewl and struggle to fully take him. It feels his chest with some debauched pride. The fact he's the one working you open on his cock, that he's the one that you're perched and split half upon.

"c'mon, Lamb. Cum on my cock, the one who's makin' you whine and moan f'me."

"I can't—"

"Greedy little thing, ain't ya?"

He removes one hand on the waist he's been using to hold you as he bullies his cock into you and moves it to your puffy clit. He drags shaky circles and you arch into his hold. You whine and mewl. He answers with hoarse groans and gasps of his own.

Your body goes limp in his hold. You raise your hips in a last offering to him. Make me cum, make me—

"Little fucking minx."

Your breath is knocked out of your chest as his thrust becomes sloppy and fast. His voice cracks and he lets his head fall onto your shoulder. His cock deep in you, embedded, full balls slapping at your ass, fingers working your sensitive and raw clit as your pushed to the edge.

Your mind's so hazy you can't count how many times he untangles you with his cock and fingers. Your mind can only focus on the way he pulls you apart with his length, spearing you in half.

His hand leaves your clit. It returns back to your waist and he drags your whole body even closer. His thrust become final. They reach so deep you see galaxy's and nebula's behind your lidded eyelids. He groans and rolls his hips one last time before—a warm and heavy liquid spreads through—he comes, inside you and deep. He settles down onto you, muscles shifting and laying soft by your sides.

Your things once wrapped around him and keeping him warm now rest laid on the mattress. You feel your body tense and the soreness bites at you.

He moves away, pulls out in a agonizingly slow way, just to see your face break out in shame and pleasure one more time.

He shuffles to the other side of the room. You stand as well. Shaky legs move you to your discarded clothes. It earns you strange look from Simon.

"Wha' are you doin'?"

"I'm just—"

"Wait, you don't think you're leavin', right?"

"I thought this was—"

"—a one time thing?" He finishes for you before continuing. "Lamb, you ain't goin' nowhere."

"But—"

"Sleep."

Simon wakes up countless of times. Cock still hard and leaking with cum. The same cum you had stuffed deep and safe in your fluttering cunt. The cunt which you presented him with during the night. You were awake, half asleep, or even blacked out, but still mewling on his cock.

You took everything he gave you like his good girl. You are so good to him.

He'd knew you be. Knew from the moment he saw you first through the window of his truck walking to work in that sad excuse of a motel. Knew from the moment when you'd eye him passing by. Knew when you first met him. Your plum lips and flushed cheeks are engraved in his mind. Knew you'd take his fingers and cock well from the moment you let your sweet words beckon him closer.

He got his answer when you laid naked and bare in front of him. Your arched spine and trembling hands digging and clutching his clothes as he pumped his fingers in and out of your puffy pussy. Your mewls as he fucked your thighs slick with your arousal you tried so hard to deny.

In the end his bites and bruises adorn your skin. It's his cum in your cunt keeping you warm, dripping down onto your thighs.

You're his now. He has branded you. There's a rough similarity to the way he marked you and the way butchers mark the good meat and flesh.

He's not supposed to target locals. Too noisy. People ask and turn their heads, wondering where one of their own is.

Price had made it sure Simon knew this.

But, he deserves you, doesn't he?

Your soft skin around him and his rough arms morphing you so he can carve a place in your rib cage to be the one and only to sit there warmed by your blood.

© PORCELIAN ﹕ I do not give consent for my writing to be posted or used on any other platforms without my permission and proper credit.

[multiversewatchpost]

your early valentine's gift, so consider this a lunar new year lucky money packet for an auspicious new year lol

------

Dust lies on the couch, wincing and groaning, his hands twitching as if trying to claw at his face, but he doesn’t even have the energy to do that. He turns on his side, letting out another wretched whimper and gnawing on his fingers. His fangs feel brittle and weak, aching painfully in his jaw, a reminder of how much he hates his own biology.

For the longest time, he has been hiding this part of himself to the newest addition to their little pack, Color. The thought of revealing what he truly is has terrified him. What if Color was disgusted at him, or worse, scared of him? So, he’s refrained from eating, despite much nagging from both Killer and Horror. But now the truth is out, and, miracles of all miracles, Color stays, much to Dust’s shock.

The flaming skeleton stands by the fridge, staring at the rows of blood bags stored inside the secret compartment. There’s a reason the other three has been discouraging him from touching the fridge after all.

“Uh, so I’m not sure how I’m supposed to do this,” Color calls out from the kitchen. “Do I just… grab a bag?”

Dust groans, a half-pained affirmative sound. His head lolls to the side, and he blinks sluggishly when he realizes Color is now crouching next to him. His eyes are fuzzy, shifting from Color’s hypnotically squishable face to the blood bag in his hands and glinting with a hint of feral hunger.

“Yeah, yeah, I heard you,” Color says, cautiously lifting the bag to Dust’s drooling mouth. “Just, don’t bite me, okay? Being a midnight snack is not my thing.”

The first few bites are embarrassingly uncoordinated – Dust’s too weak to properly sink his fangs through the plastic bags. And when he finally does it, the pressure sends a thin spray of blood onto his face, making him look like a messy eater, and the first few drops spill onto the cheap second-hand couch that Color brought into the apartment as a housewarming gift. He swallows, each motion of his parched throat accompanied with both lingering pain and explosive relief. In the haze of euphoria, he dimly feels Color dabbing a cloth on his face, cleaning up the blood.

“You’re a mess there, Dust,” he hears Color say.

Reflexively, his hand shoots out, gripping Color’s wrist with such force that he can feel it crack a little bit. He sees his prey freeze, the pretty rainbow-colored flames going from pleasantly warm to sparking burning hot in an instant. His mouth leaves the paltry blood bag. His fang aches to sink into something more substantial, more real. He locks his gaze upon the sweet spot on his pretty prey’s neck – the vertebra just above the first rib – and salivates. It’s so close he can smell the blood running inside those bones… Just one bite wouldn’t hurt… One lunge and it would be over…

“Hey! No biting!” Color jerks his hand away from Dust, his stern voice snapping Dust back to reality.

Dust stares at Color’s guarded expression, his mind slowly realizing what he has almost done. With a pitiful whimper, he turns his head and sinks his teeth into the couch pillows. Stupid, dumb, untamed animal! He can’t control himself and his bloodlust! Maybe Nightmare was right. Maybe it’d be best to-

“Hey now…” He hears Color coax him softly, one hand on his sweating skull. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to shout at you, okay? I was just startled and all. No harm done.”

Dust shakes his head, his body trembling. Color doesn’t understand. He doesn’t know how close it was, how much Dust has wanted to bite him, to drain him of all his life essence and leave him and empty husk. He does drink from Killer or Horror from time to time, but always with a supervisor nearby to stop him. And Color hasn’t said anything about volunteering to be his blood donor.

Killer will be so mad.

“You’re fine, Dust. Come on.” Color pats his head, moving the blood bag towards his mouth, trying to get him to eat again. Dust only lets out a hiss, and Color sighs. “I’m not angry at you. You have to eat something before Killer and Horror get back. Then you’ll feel much better.”

Right. Killer and Horror are out there hunting for Dust because he can’t do it himself in this miserable state. Dust can tell that Color is not comfortable about that thought, but he knows it’s necessary for Dust, so he doesn’t object too much.

Just another point of how Dust is clearly messing things up around here.

The room falls into silence, save for the sound of Dust’s ragged breathing as he drinks his fill. Despite his earlier outburst, Color doesn’t leave the room. He has one hand behind Dust’s neck, gently guiding him to finish his temporary meal.

Eventually, when the blood bag is empty, Dust lifts his head and gives a shy lick over a small bloody spot on Color’s hand. His eyes, glassy but less feral now, meet Color’s as he not-so-subtly nuzzles into his palm.

“Oh,” Color mutters, looking away as a blush creeps into his cheeks. “Geez, save the sentimentality for the others too, Dust.”

Dust laughs, a faint one. He lies back on the couch, closing his tired eyes as he feels Color drape a blanket over him. For the first time all night, the tension in the room eases. As Dust drifts off to sleep, he figures this isn’t all that bad – they can definitely get through this, somehow, together.

Hhhhhbdbdkdbzywidngahajsjdhfhfbdjdofkfnehegdgdhd

I LOVE IT I LOVE IT HHHHHHHHHHHITS AWESOME

VAMPIRE DUST VAMPIRE DUST VAMPIRE DUST VAMPIRE DUST EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE

ANWKAJDGDYDUFIFV4HDKFUFUFKFKFKFKFIFKFIF

THIS IS JUST I LOVE IT ITS SO GOOD HHHDHDHDJDKDIDUKKDHDGEDVRGDFYFHDJROPFJDHDHDUDF

COLOR!!!!!!!

DUST!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! VAMPIRE DUST

I LOVE THEM THEYRE SO CUTE EEEEEEJEJEEEJDJDUDJFLFJRHFHFHFJDNFNF

[generalsdiary]

the amethyst siren

Dr. Ratio x Aventurine

warnings: vague injury description, blood

word count: 2.6k

a/n: life got in the way and this chapter took months for me to get to it unlike the planned few days... sorry- hope the ones who stuck around for it like it! also shoutout and thank you to my beta reader ^^ (@tayzzyronth-ao3)

description: in this chapter, Aventurine makes it back to land and Veritas struggles to find his footing (Chapter 1)

Chapter 2: The Village

Another prison for his body. Another captive of the humans. He swam himself into this one.

After dropping Kakavasha off, Veritas couldn’t help but linger. Couldn’t help but make sure the human made it safely to the shore.

Underestimating his own injuries Veritas swam to the edge of the village and laid on the ocean floor under a cliff, succumbing to the pain. Color drained from his face, energy leaving him due to no food consumption. His vision filled with shadows, looming to take his consciousness away and put him to sleep.

No one saves the savior.

Aventurine was exhausted and hungry, with dried salt itching his skin and providing some healthy – and unwelcome –exfoliation. Despite this, he pressed on, drenched, walking through the gravel street towards a large house on top of a cliff. ‘Property of the IPC’, according to the kind people that were willing enough to indulge the questions of his whereabouts. How lucky.

It was a large luxurious white mansion with wall-length windows and a tall fence. Reminding Aventurine of a prison, if said prison had a pool beside it. Ironic.

Aventurine typed a code on the large metal door which slowly opened. A warm shower and a cup of ramen later, he was as good as new. His phone was soaked, to say nothing of his nearly-ruined clothes. At least the rumble of the washing machine proved to be a soothing white noise he needed; a reminder of his regular life, taking his mind away from the accident and near-death experience.

The various gold necklaces and bracelets were actually the first thing he took off. The smell of fish scales, seaweed stuck between the loops of the chains, and salt which accumulated under the simple ring bands; it all added to the feeling of overheating. Not to mention that usually, he couldn’t stand the reminder of such bounds on his body. An all too familiar feeling urged him to take everything off, as the feeling does every day he gets home. The overstimulation choked him.

The golden watch was undoubtedly broken beyond repair – it would be easier to just buy a new one.

He found some clean clothes to wear. They were hardly to his preference, but beggars can’t be choosers.

A plain white button-up, a few sizes too big, made him look like a lover that stayed the night over after a passionate evening. Soft pants, blue boxers, white slippers, and the ‘outfit-of-the-day’ was complete.

There was some comfort in not needing to shine and reflect light like a diamond. Aventurine believed this must be how healthcare workers felt after taking off their white coats and dark blue scrubs; suddenly no one stopped them to answer questions and people weren't looking at them expectantly. A form of freedom.

Taking off the clothes of a flashy rich man for the simple ones, ones not meant for performing… Although he still unbuttoned too many buttons. He told himself it was for comfort, but perhaps it was more for the situation if someone came to the door and he had to perform, to use his ‘assets’…

Although, true comfort would mean not buttoning up the shirt at all.

At sunset he made his way carefully down the cliff and back to the sea. The combination of the slippers and the gravelly road down proved to be tricky in descending by foot. Upon reaching the area where the waves kissed the large rocks he sat down.

Mentally, he was preparing to keep the existence of the siren a secret until his death. He still couldn’t help but take a few moments to cherish the memory of him in his mind before he locked it away. Some people exist with the power to read his thoughts, to steal his secrets away from him, but he swore to himself he would never endanger Veritas like that, which meant he could never let his mind wander through those memories again.

Aventurine reached out with his hand into the water. The secret spilled from his lips in a flutter of whispers for the first and final time, “Thank you for saving me. You didn’t have to and I–” he exhaled,  “…I got lucky enough you chose to do so. May you get home safely, Veritas…”

Aventurine had spoken those words to offer himself peace of mind and heart, certain that he was alone, with no one near enough to hear it, especially not Veritas, so his heart nearly burst out of his chest when he felt a hand grab his.

It was Veritas, looking beyond sick, grasping his hand and feebly raising his head out of the ocean. He had somehow heard his words, and out of pure delirium and a survival instinct that ignored his fears, swam up to the surface.

“I will die,” the siren rasped, “I cannot treat my wounds. I’m… I can’t find my way back.” His voice broke.

“How–” He cut himself off, his face changing to one of shock and worry. Veritas was in no state to answer his questions. Feeling the adrenaline rush to his head he provided a hasty solution, “there’s a salt pool on top of the cliff. I can try to carry you there- I’m sure I can provide you with some first aid and I can show you what our maps look like- surely that can be–“

Veritas interrupted him with a weak voice, barely a whisper, struggling to use his lungs with a raspy inhale, “Where on the cliff?”

Aventurine felt dumbfounded, he pointed in a general direction he recalled the big pool being on top of it. Not a moment later Veritas dove under the surface all the way to the sandy bottom. With every ounce of strength he had left in him he swam up, sending pulsations of underwater waves with his tail, and leaped out of the ocean.

Aventurine gasped, stuck between heartbeats, paused between breaths. Only after he heard a splash, what if showed the wrong way, how was he supposed to know the siren would do this, did his mind stop yelling at him. Despite his tired body, he ran up the cliff, back to where Veritas landed.

The tension left his sore muscles when he saw Veritas had made it safely. He was on the bottom of the pool, curled up. The only sign he was alive.

Aventurine ran up inside the house to get a first aid kit and with the same haste came back. The luxury of searching for a random piece of bathing shorts is not what he had. Fully clothed, he stepped into a pool, the white shirt sticking to his torso in an uncomfortable manner. He ignored it.

Aventurine placed his arms around the siren’s torso and pulled his heavy body towards the steps that led into the pool. As soon as it got to the point of pulling at least his upper body out of the water, Aventurine felt truly how heavy his species was.

A set of grunts later, along with the line of sweat developed on his forehead, the siren’s torso rested on his lap. Aventurine had no practice in medicine, so his first course of action was… well, to freeze and stare. Veritas’ chest wasn’t moving. Did he even have lungs? If so, they were not working.

In panic, he shook his shoulders, “Veritas-“ And his chest rose in a sharp inhale. So, he does have lungs.

The dazed siren opened his eyes, “A-allow me… I’ll take out the… glass shards and… wood pieces..” and passed out.

As the sun drowned in the sea, spilling an array of purple and orange shades, Aventurine now at least had a guideline on what to do.

It was messy work. Blood and stained tissues surrounded the two, along with big chunks of glass and smaller pieces of timber. He did the best he could. He hoped he got everything out before he applied, with shaky hands, messy stitches which he wrapped up with the white cloth and then his own shirt to secure it even more.

Aventurine knew Veritas would stay in the pool hence the extra pressure on the injuries wouldn’t hurt. Medicine would be in order, but he didn’t know how it would react with anatomy different from his own, nor was he familiar even with what type of drugs would be useful for a human in this case.

With most of that done he hesitantly pushed Veritas back under the water's surface.  It felt… wrong. It felt like he was drowning him.

The blue gills opened and closed signifying consumption of oxygen. Good. With heavy hesitation and worry eating at his inside like a small creature that scratched the bones of his ribcage as if it was an actual cage, he left Veritas as such and went back inside.

His hands felt dry from the latex gloves and all the rubbing alcohol he used the clean up the blood off the tiles. Where does he even throw such materials? The normal trash was probably a bad option.

Aventurine settled for turning on the fireplace and burning every cotton pad and tissue. And the glass parts and the timber. No proof was needed. His clothes? Immediately went to the washing machine. And the pool? What if someone came by? The left hand behind his back clutched a coin tightly, pondering.

Aventurine won’t sleep easy this night. Tossing, turning, tugging onto the roots of his blond hair……

Veritas awoke to no waves. The earth wasn’t pulsating under him with each turn around itself, whispering of the currents’ direction. The oxygen was low, his gills struggled to filter it out. And his body ached. A tugging sensation on his injuries… messily wrapped up. His eyes opened to a semi-darkness. A… cover? Pulled over the oxygen-deficient pool of water…

His mind cleared up and he managed to recall what he exactly did. Veritas condemned himself. Trusting one of their kind? Offering himself into a trap with no way of escaping? He screamed into the pool water which created small waves and trembled in fear against the tile walls. This water has never seen the wrath and desperate scream of a siren. Glassy air filled bubbles flowed from his eyes, the tears of a siren.

Flowing up. Cursing himself. Cursing it all.

“It is just the wind, do not worry, Madam Jade” Aventurine smiled at his higher-up’s glance towards the pool cover moving.

“I’m glad you are in one piece… how unlucky the ship flipped over. And how interesting you made it back to shore.” Her words are nothing but a dance between a snake’s poison and sweet honey.

“Yes, luck is always in my favor, is it not?” Aventurine smiled brightly, gesturing with his right hand. The knuckles of his left hand turned white with how hard he clenched his fist behind his back. “Those fishermen are my life saviors. I shall have to offer some donations to this village as an extension of my gratitude.”

Jade hummed, quietly analyzing, making no comments, and making Aventurine want to squirm under her gaze. He will not crack under pressure, or even dare squirm. This one isn’t about him. This is about someone else’s life. And there was no way in hell he was letting someone become an experiment, a slave like he was. Not if he can prevent it.

“You mentioned you wish to take a leave?” Jade mused.

“Yes ma’am, the shipwreck truly stressed me out, I would require a week or so of vacation. And this village seems… perfect.”

She nods to his words. To anyone’s eyes, it looked like she believed him. The shivers that went down his spine told him otherwise.

The large door hummed as it opened, “…and I shall take the sailboat. To get over my newfound… trauma.”

She hummed, “If it helps you, Aventurine” words coated in a sheen of green glazed gold. Rotten. Demeaning.

The cover slowly pulled off of the pool with a mechanical buzz. Aventurine sat beside the pool with a phone in his hands, showing a map.

Meanwhile, Veritas fought in his head to not threaten the man, to not jump him and strike his claws in the human’s thighs. With a lot of calming inhales, and a swish of his tail he resurfaced. “You called other humans. When will they… take me away?” He spoke through gritted teeth despite the calming internal chat.

Aventurine quickly shook his head, a flash of horror in his eyes, “The woman that came is my superior, she came to check up on me.” Paranoid from her arrival he kept his voice low, hushed, “… She is bad news. We will leave tomorrow at dawn.”

“We? Leave?” Veritas raised an eyebrow in question.

“Here is the map. We are here. I can get you away from the land to somewhere further in, at least closer to your own kind. Your injuries don’t make it easy to swim, I’m sure. So, I will… I will make sure to get you as far away as I can.” Aventurine’s eyes showed vulnerability, honesty, it baffled Veritas. Depending on a man. He had no other option. This was what he had to do.

“That sounds… good. I… I have a request.” It pained him to ask. “Do you have any seaweed? Or… any form of food?”

Aventurine immediately ran off without a word. Why he was so on edge, he himself didn’t even know.

He grabbed some dried seaweed and a can of tuna fish and returned. Veritas made plenty of weird facial expressions and ate without enthusiasm with an obvious crease between his brows from the small frown. The food must have not been to his taste. It was tricky to figure out where he was. The digital map which focused on showing the land proved to be quite challenging in showing where his home might be in the ocean.

It didn’t stop Aventurine from making plans to leave.

The heat from the coffee cup burned the inside of Aventurine’s palms as he observed the dawn’s rising sun. He never was much of a coffee drinker, however when in doubt or rush, it is smart to resort to what humans have been doing for years; getting caffeinated.

Pulling Veritas onto the sailboat was something Veritas himself disregarded immediately. “Given the size of humans and your size, I genuinely doubt you’d be able to lift me or drag me to that machine.”

Veritas got back to the ocean with a risky leap.

The rope tied around his upper body scratched at his wounds, nevertheless, it proved to be a good idea by Kakavasha. Tying up the rope to the boat and around his body meant he could stay underwater and make a swim for it if necessary. Kept him hidden, safe, and somewhat free.

Despite the concerns Kakavasha posed, Veritas made sure to reassure him that he swims faster than the boat so being dragged by it wouldn’t be an issue. The speed will not hurt him. If anything it felt like a tickle he gets when he swims around with some of the slower sirens and mermaids.

The sea tasted nothing like the one of his home. The waves whispered soft lullabies to soothe the poor siren, rumbles, and utters of hushed chants of protection. Worry and pain remained his travel companions throughout the journey, much like worry and anxiety remained Aventurine’s. Did someone see something in the wreckage? Did someone see Veritas leap in and out of the sea? Were they being followed? Knowing Jade it was just a question of time. A question of how much time they have left. How much time he has left to save Veritas. To return the favor.

The water turned a turquoise color as they approached a group of small unpopulated islands. Aventurine needed land to refuel the sailboat with the barrels of fuel he brought onboard. It may also offer a breather in the hours he felt like an escapee. And get rid of his nausea.

[snowblitzs]

I am unsure if you’re still taking drawing requests, but if you are then mimic!Cesar being held gently like a burger

I'm always up to it!! If I want to stop, I'll announce that I'm putting a close to requests ;3

Please be gentle, I'm putting my trust into you

[cinnamnt]

AITA for moving my family to the country and making my 10 year old son do weed chores

[jimzittos]

　　act like an angel ..

　　　　　　dress like CRAZY ᬊཻུ۪۪𖣠͢🥯

[feelgoodinct]

nsfw, mdni.

simon becomes an absolute dog when he sees you in his shirt.

cw: possessive simon, sex on carpet (ouch), unprotected p in v, creampie, size kink (?).

simon is a good roommate. he’s organized, clean, pays rent on time, and minds his own space. the only thing is—roommate is hot. stupidly hot. you know he doesn’t have a girlfriend and he’s never once brought back a girl let alone mentioned one. you figured your little crush on him would pass like all the other (it does not). you start dropping hints that you find him attractive. like wearing your tightest tops, brushing your ass against him while reaching for a cup, even leaving one of your lacy thongs to mix in with his laundry. he never bites the bait. you start to think that maybe he just doesn’t find you attractive or even worse he finds you creepy. so you tuck your schoolgirl crush away into the cavity of your chest.

you close the washer with your hip, cradling your laundry basket back to your room. you hear the familiar turn of your front door lock letting you know simon is home from his morning gym session.

you pad into the living room to ask simon if he needed any clothes washed. simons back is turned from you when he begins to slip off his trainers, dropping his gym at the foot of the door.

“need any clothes washed? i’m starting a load up right now.” you ask eyeing the movement of back muscle underneath his compression shirt.

he finally turns to you and starts to respond “nah don’t think-“ before he snaps his mouth shut when he sees what you’re wearing. “that mine?” his voice gruff, it’s his army issued shirt that is long enough to cover your shorts. a deep green color that frays at the hem and has his last name in bold at the back of it. you notice he’s staring at the worn fabric waiting for an answer.

you look down, “oh yeah. sorry was doing laundry found this in hamper. my clothes are in the wash. hope that’s okay?” you sound apologetic like you just did something unforgivable. jesus christ what were you thinking wearing his shirt without asking. you shift trying to ease your embarrassment.

he’s on you in three short strides. making a noise between a growl and snarl. you don’t know how or when you both ended up on the living room floor. frankly, it’s the last thing on your fucking mind now that you’re on your knees cheek pressing into the shag carpet. you can feel the heat of his stare between your legs. you get a glimpse of your shorts and panties strewn across the floor leaving you in his shirt. you wait with bated breath for him to touch you. you wiggle your hips in a silent plead to get him to do something, anything…everything.

he gives the flesh of your ass a heavy smack that has you clenching around nothing. “be good now.” is all you hear before the sting leaves an angry red mark that you know is gonna leave you wincing for the next week. simon smooths a hand over the back of your (his) shirt making a noise in the back of his throat.

you hear shuffling behind you before you feel the head of him catch on to your opening making your mouth gape like a fish out of water. he groans at the contact, kneading the fat of your hips, before he presses in painfully slow with a hiss. you whimper into the carpet, fists balling, feeling hot all over. your cunt pulses trying to make room for him inside your womb.

“i know. i know, pretty girl. almost there.” simon bites back a hiss when you clench at his words. you think you might die like this. laid out on ugly apartment carpet trying to take simon’s cock. you could cry with relief when you feel simon’s balls meet your clit letting you know he’s all the way in. simon lets out a guttural sound bordering on animalistic at the sight of you speared open on his cock, last name across your back, absolutely crying for it.

he fists the bottom of the shirt to keep you still and eases his hips back just to sink back in slowly. the pressure in your navel hurts so good it’s starting to make you dizzy. simon sets a pace that has you trying to cant your hips back to meet his thrusts. he lays a heavy palm in the middle of your back, just under the boldened ‘RILEY’, keeping you pinned giving you no choice but to take what he gives you.

“prettiest fuckin girl i ever seen. gonna give this cunt the proper treatment she deserves, yeah?” he bends his left leg, somehow sliding in deeper. there’s no doubt that you can feel him in your lungs. “s’deep simon.” you slur, reaching a hand back to weakly press against his stomach. he chuckles at the act taking both wrists into one of his hands pressing them at the small of your back, forcing you into a deeper arch. you sob at the change in angle. your nipples being rubbed raw by the friction of his thrusts.

“needed this real bad, huh? don’t worry baby. i’ll make sure you don’t go without it again. wearing those tiny tops think i didn’t notice.” his voice rough and deep behind you. “uh huh.” you reply without a second thought, you don’t even care that you’ve been drooling into the carpet or that you’ve been caught. simon gives a deep chuckle at how pliant you’ve become just from some good dick.

he knows your close by the increasing volume of your sounds. he never lets up his pace determined to give you his all. “where?” he asks in a quick breathe. you take a few seconds to register his words. “huh?” you manage to squeak out. “where do you want me, pretty thing?” he says in an almost pained voice. the gears turn in your head before you speak up “inside. want it inside. m’clean. pill.” resorting to short clipped words. you beg, as if you have to, simon thinks.

your orgasm comes hard and fast leaving you sobbing out garbled version of please and simon. simon is not far behind burying himself as deep as your bodies will allow and comes inside with a pinched “oh fuck.” he pulls out with a pop and watches his spend leak down your slit leaving a small puddle on the floor that he knows he’ll have to scrub out later.

simon pats your backside affectionately. “don’t think we’ll be doing any laundry today” he says with a grin that makes you giggle. “yeah, don’t think so.”

[h00f]

T4TM (Theseus4TheMinotaur)

lost wax cast bronze, patina & paste wax

2023

(process photos & info under cut <3)

my minotaur boy!! pls click on the photos for higher res! my thesis is focusing on trans men and creatures (how original ik) and this was last semester's final. i spent a lot of time looking at sculptures of the theseus/minotaur story, and yknow? a LOT of them are erotic! i'm pretty sure i saw some of them on tumblr a decade ago, and that's led to this now!

as you'll notice, the minotaur has a big t-dick! i wanted to give him breasts and an enlarged clitoris to present a very masculine trans figure. the boy on the bottom is also trans because i say so . the piece is about looking up to older, bigger, hairier trans men and seeing something awe-inspiring and beautiful. the minotaur was locked up by a cruel father for being different, and i think modern adaptations tend towards a sympathetic asterion (his name in one version)

making this piece was. so much effort. it took me about 3 months to get it all together - from clay model (plasticine) to 3D print to silicone mold to wax cast, and finally bronze pour into the shell mold. and then a TON of filing, sanding, dremel-ing, and various other metalworking techniques that probably took years off my life.

i started with sketches and made theeeeeee ugliest model ever:

then used a 3D scanner to get it digital, then spent a goooood month or two making him pretty in blender! then i spent an agonizing few weeks trying to get it print-ready, and fiiiiiinally did

^^^ an early resin printed draft of the model - you can see in the final that i added lots to theseus after some feedback, but sadly the nosering broke off every time i cast it so i just. let that be <3

then came the moldmaking, and then the wax dipping!! the yellow stuff is shell mold (ground up ceramic bits and algae soup, sticks to the wax, then silica sand in varying sizes on top) which gets the wax melted out, and bronze poured in!

then it's all metalworking, cutting stuff off, and working with hot metal. they don't tell you about all the bronze dust and how annoying it gets wearing a respirator AND goggles. but it is for me health, me boy. here's him all cleaned up before the patina:

and then i spray him down with various chemicals to make it "patina" (aka rust) in pretty colors. wait a few days, then apply paste wax to seal it and give it that shine!

then we get what you see above!!! the blue was actually unintentional, and i'm still not super sure why it looks that way.. but it's pretty so idc <3

thanks for reading!! if you ever have any bronze/casting questions, don't hesitate to message me! <3

[heyysteven]

I love, I love, I love

Summary: Some Husband!salesman headcannons

Warnings: Brief mentions of death and Fluff :))

Husband!salesman who just loves to be the little spoon, he absolutely loves the feeling of resting his head on your chest as you caress his hair talking about the details of your day. He didn't mind being the big spoon either. He just loves any reason to be wrapped around you really.

Husband!salesman who could hear you talk for the rest of his hours. Tell him about the book you just finished reading, tell him about the new recipe you wanted to try, tell him about new gossip at work. He would listen patiently and ask questions wherever he got confused.

Husband!salesman who texted you every two hours. Did you reach your office safely? I’m eating the sandwich you packed! Did you have your lunch? Any updates on the new gossip? Will reach home in twenty minutes;)) Do you want anything from the grocery store? Got you donuts just in case.

Husband!salesman who would take pictures of every sunset, every animal, every flower and send them to you because they reminded him of you and how you would have taken pictures if you were with him.

Husband!salesman who would buy you a huge bouquet of flowers before every date night, conveying different messages using the language of flowers. Last time he got home one full of red tulips and sunflowers (because his passion for you ran murderously deep silly!).

Husband!salesman who planned every date night down to the minute. He would book the reservations for that cuisine you once mentioned you wanted to try. He would whistle as soon as you step out the room in your evening dress, twirl you by your hand and ask for the n’th time how he got so lucky (would definitely be disappointed if you wore something without back zips). He would always be the perfect gentleman for you; right from driving you, opening the doors, pulling your chairs, all you had to do was shut your brain and enjoy the evening.

Husband!salesman who always tried matching his tie to the color of your dress.

Husband!salesman who loved holding hands more than life itself. He would love feeling the cold metal of your wedding ring every time you locked your fingers. He would walk around with the most proud smile ever on his face, softly swinging your intertwined fingers with each step.

Husband!salesman who could never say no to you. He was born with a lot of impressive abilities and strategic skills. Murdering someone with a fork? Easy! Selling people the idea of getting rich by playing a bunch of game? A piece of cake! Saying no to his wife? What is that? Shouldn’t it be punishable by law?

Husband!salesman who couldn’t cook to save his life. He somehow ended up burning everything he put on stove, so he just stuck to cleaning instead. It was a silent agreement, you would make the breakfast and dinners and he would wash and dust while you cooked. On days he ran late, he loved being welcomed by the aroma of the dish you were making. It made him feel like that this was the reason he was alive.

Husband!salesman who still got flustered when you kiss his cheek. It had quickly become your power move. On the rare occasion where you disagreed upon something, you would simply kiss his cheek and watch him fumble with his words. It was the most adorable thing ever.

Husband!salesman who would kiss and bite your neck every chance he got. He loved the fact that he could attack your neck any time he wanted.

Husband!salesman who loved when you asked him to pick you up after work. He waited for the moment you would come running and jump to hug him tight.

Husband!salesman who always noticed every single detail. Like the time he caught a man making you uncomfortable while walking. He did exactly what the man deserved; beat him till his teeth were bloody and carved his fingers out from their socket,  for ever daring to make his wife feel unsafe.

Husband!salesman who got jealous easily. He didn’t ask for much, he just wanted every single person with conspicuous intentions towards you to just get hit by a truck on the highway (with him driving the truck preferably).

Husband!salesman who always made sure to support your hobbies! Even if you abandon them after two weeks, he’s proud of you for trying.

Husband!salesman who hated your plushies and teddy bears. He hated how much distance they created between you while sleeping. He would just throw them to the floor when you weren’t looking.

Husband!salesman who doesn’t like getting his shirt bloody because “My wife chose that for me, its rude of you to bleed on my clothes.”

Husband!salesman who says I love you like it’s the air he needs for breathing. He would find every reason to squeeze your hands thrice.

[darkbluekies]

In the dungeon

yandere!king oc x fem!reader

Summary: after disrespecting him, you've found yourself in his dungeon. Edmund comes to visit you because he has heard that you haven't eaten in three days

Warnings: self starvation, punishment, toxic relationship,

Word count: 1.1k

He doesn't like it, but what choice does he have? If people found out that he doesn't punish his own wife, what would they think of him? That he's not a well respected leader because he can't even punish his own wife? No, he can't have that. He has to do it. But by doing it, he also feels pain, so it's a punishment for both of you. That's how he explained it.

You had disrespected him, belittled him and his masculinity. And now you're here. Easier said than done. Saying the words to him was easier than doing the time for them.

Your head hangs low as footsteps echo down the spiral stone stairs. You don't look up to see who it is, don't care who it is. Another guard to switch swift.

“Oh, my love …”

You look up. Edmund is standing on the other side of the metallic bars, wearing his clean, colorful clothes made out of the finest satin. He places a plate with a silver cloche on the bench beside him. You pull yourself up from the floor slowly, back sore from resting against the stone wall for eternity and stomach empty. Edmund's ice blue eyes follow your every step. It's not often that they contain any type of emotion, but seeing you like this brings out a deep worry that seems to make his eyes glow.

You drag yourself over to the door, which is nothing more than metallic bars. You hold onto one of the cold metal rods. Edmund places his hand over yours.

“The guards have told me that you haven't eaten in three days”, he says softly, as if you could break if he raised his voice even a decibel louder. “You can't do that, Y/N. You can't worry me like this.”

As if he would have eaten that stale bread and drink that moldy water, you think.

“Can I come up now?” you whisper. “I want to get out of here”, you cry weakly. “Edmund, please …”

Edmund shakes his head carefully.

“No, not yet”, he answers with a heavy sigh. “It's going to be okay, darling”, he reassures you softly, kissing the hand he's holding. “Soon, you'll be back with me, okay? Believe me, I want nothing more than to let you back upstairs and have you in my arms, but they would think I was incompetent in my role.”

He wipes one of your tears apologetically.

“Do you care more about your power than you do me?” you whisper.

He looks taken aback, unable to know what to answer.

“Don't be like that”, he says. “You know I love you more than anything else.”

But not enough, apparently, you think and sniffle.

He looks behind you, around the cell.

“I brought some food from the kitchen”, he says. “I want to see you eat it before I leave.”

He gestures for the guard to unlock the door as he bends down to pick up the plate. You back away from the door, finding your safe spot on the floor by the opposite wall. Edmund walks over, checking the floor before hesitantly sitting down.

“Do you have to sit on the dirty floor?” he mumbles dislikingly.

“I like it”, you reply.

“Alright, alright.”

Despite grimacing and dusting of his satin clothes, he makes himself comfortable on the hard, dirty floor and opens the cloche. The smell of boiled potatoes and marinated meat meets your nose, and the sight is even more exquisite. He takes out a silver fork from his pocket, stabs one of the potatoes and holds it to your lips. You open your mouth, letting him feed you. It tastes better than you remember it to. It has only been a week since you got locked down in the dungeon, but without anything to do, without necessities and comfort, the hours creep by. For all you could care, a month could have gone by. The only form of company you've had have been the rats crawling around on the floor, just big enough to squeeze through the metal bars. They bite.

“Tasty?” Edmund asks.

You nod. Anything that the kitchen prepares is delicious — or at least a thousand times better than the rock hard bread and dusty water.

“Good”, the young king says, pleased, feeding you another fork full of meat. “It makes me feel better to see you eat.”

Eating the food he has brought for you reminds you of how badly you want to vet out of here … and how much your comfort relies on Edmund.

Edmund wipes away a sauce smudge on the corner of your lips and sticks it between his lips to lick it off. You doubt he would do that to anyone else. Ever. He has certain liberties with you which he has with no one else. He can hug you, touch you, smile at you, joke with you. You give him life in a way no one can.

“You should see how restless my hours without you are”, he sighs and rolls his eyes. “I'm a walking bomb without you. I almost feel bad for my secretary.”

“Then let me back up …”, you whisper, a last attempt to try to plead with him. “Please.”

“I can't. Not yet. I've already given you special treatment and advantages no one else has gotten. If I let you back upstairs before an appropriate time my authority will be questioned.”

“I'm sorry, Edmund.”

Your voice is barely audible. His hand stops dead in its track on its way to your mouth. A drop of sauce falls down on the floor. You can see that it hit him right in his heart, shattering it.

“Oh, I know”, he reassures you and feeds you the piece of meat. “I know, darling. I believe you.”

You chew slowly, swallow slowly. The food seems to get stuck in your throat.

“Good girl”, Edmund praises. “You can hold out a little while longer, can't you? Just a few more days?”

You nod in defeat. What other choice do you have now that your pleading didn't work?

Edmund stands up. You follow him panicked, quickly reaching out and grabbing his hand.

“No!” you shriek. “Dont leave me. I don't want to be alone!”

“It's getting late”, Edmund answers. “I thought that I would let you get some rest.”

“No … not alone … please. Please stay. Just a little while longer.”

He thinks for a second. “Okay.”

You breathe out in relief. He sits down with his back against the wall, letting you fall asleep against him, wrapped in his warm, strong arms. Leaving him alone with his thoughts — his conflicting, torturing thoughts.

When you wake up the following morning by the sun shining through the little window pane you're alone, lying on the floor, covered by a colorful cape made out of the finest satin.

[rainrot4me]

Eyeless Jack General Headcannons

Summary: Basic, SFW, and NSFW head-cannons. My personal thoughts, feelings, and opinions about Jack as a character.

TW: NSFW below the cut, minors dni! Above the cut is sfw! Mentions of gore

Words: 2.3k

A/N: NSFW is reader with female anatomy.

Basic:

- The definition of nonchalant, doesn’t convey his emotions very well at all so he lets his actions do the talking.

- Even though he may put on a front of being calculated and detailed, everything he does is purely instinctual or off the top of his head. He’s never made great plans or thought further on a problem than he had to, relying solely on time or for everything to work itself out. Ben calls it ‘thuggin it out’. He may seem all cool, calm, and collected- but really, he just doesn’t care.

- Drives a brown 1989 Ford F-250. Found it discarded on some old hunting grounds and spent the next 3 years learning about truck parts just to fix it up. It’s nothing pretty and the A/C doesn’t work half the time, but that doesn't stop the proxies from either stealing it for missions or Jeff cruising it to gas stations.

- Loves his alone time. If ‘Do Not Disturb’ was a living being.

- Incredible sense of smell, a blessing and a curse.

- Even though he doesn’t really feel emotionally tied to anyone or reliant on anyone's attention, he would never pass up a good conversation with Jeff or Toby. Finds their problems interesting (and funny).

- Even though he doesn’t have any eyes, he can still see. How? Who even knows? The demon would describe it as more of a viewing like he can detail everything that’s happening, but he can’t physically see it. Cryptic stuff even he’s too dumb to figure out.

- Despite everything, probably the most upkeep and clean member of the mansion. While eating organs and harvesting them can be messy, he doesn’t like the grime and prefers to clean off as soon as he can. The same goes for his clothes and room/office. Surprisingly tidy.

- Not as smart as he likes to present himself. Sure, he’s a medical student with more experience than anyone in a 50-mile radius, but that doesn’t mean he knows what he’s doing all of the time. Whenever the proxies roll in with serious injuries, the demon shoots them full of antibiotics, cauterizes the wound, and prays it doesn’t get worse from there. He knows what he’s doing, but that doesn’t mean he knows it’ll work 100% of the time.

- A silent panicker. Will absolutely tear his brain to shreds worrying or fighting with himself, but keep a stone look on his face the entire time. Gauging his emotions is like conversing with a brick wall.

- Dry humor. Absolutely will answer your long, emotional paragraph with a thumbs-up emoji.

- In some sick way, slightly prefers the life he’s living now. It may be grotesque and depressing, but his knowledge of the medical field and human bodies is infinitely more broad than it would’ve been. He quite enjoys the freedom he has now.

- Never happier than when winter is fizzling out and the first signs of spring show up. The warmth, the colors, the vibrancy coming back. He can’t get enough of it. Absolutely will get lost just studying the snow melting from the new flower beds.

- Locked in the basement of the mansion at all times. Only comes out to eat or on the rare occasion he’s assigned a mission. The only place he truly feels comfortable.

- Will get oddly emotional when light reflects on the lake just right or the fog settles on the ridge just perfectly. You’d never guess, but he’s a big poetic bum.

- Purrs. Like a cat. Ears flick around like one too.

- With music, he’s a big lyric listener. The song could sound absolutely terrible, but as long as he resonates with the words, will enjoy it anyway.

- Unorganized organization freak. Everything has a place, even if you don’t know where that place is.

- Seriously underestimates just how overtowering he is. He’s nowhere near Slender’s height, but the demon easily doubles in the average human’s vertical. When he was human he was taller, but never like this. He’s still getting used to it.

- Lanky but quick. Limbs and features are longer, but the muscle index makes up for it. He’s seriously fit, but everything is evenly distributed. Serious muscle definition in his arms and back, though. What he lacks in strength, he makes up in speed and agility.

- Enjoys Radiohead, Cigarettes After Sex, Paramore, and Three Days Grace. Will also never admit it, but really enjoy the Twilight soundtracks.

Dating Him/SFW:

“My pet…” “Little thing…” “Pretty thing…”

- Gift-giving love language. Loves to make you things unexpectedly and watch the surprise on your face. Steals jewelry or clothing from his victims to gift to you.

- It takes a lot for the demon to even consider you a friend let alone a potential love interest. But you best believe once he’s decided he wants you, that’s it. You take precedent, anything and everything else in his life takes a step back and you become the focal point. Heaven help if you ever change your mind about him.

- “My pretty thing… my lovely little pet… all mine…”

- Physically can not get enough of your smell. Whether it be sweet or sour, whatever emotion you dwell in, this demon will bury his nose into the crook of your neck and waste away there. It’s intoxicating to him, like an emotional tie he’s bound to.

- Like to study you. Your movements, your voice, the way you react to certain stimuli. Everything about you and your personality just intrigues him to no end.

- Possessive in the, ‘If they look at you, I’ll kill them’ way, but also is sure enough in himself and you to know he doesn’t need to go that far. Would rather lock you away for only him to see, but respects you too much.

- Has a deep-rooted fear of hurting you, so any fight or disagreement turns him distant. He’ll come back eventually, but that doesn’t mean he’ll be comfortable enough to get all touchy-feely again just yet.

- A lot like Edward from Twilight, he wants to taste you the most. It’s seriously a bad habit to nip at your skin or get lost in your scent because he knows how easy it would be just to take a chunk out of you. Has to be very aware and cautious of himself.

- Even though it took a long time for him to be comfortable enough to take his mask off around you, he still gets wildly conscious about it whenever you’re around. Loves nothing more than when you’re caressing his face or kissing his skin because he knows it's genuine.

- For a cannibal, he’s an insanely good cook. Will only cook for you, however. He says it's out of love, but really he knows deep down he wants to control what you eat so you have good organ health. You best believe he’ll have you hitting those core diet needs.

- Doesn’t sleep often, but when he does it's for long periods. The problem is, he likes to completely swallow you with his body and wrap around you, keeping you there until he eventually wakes up. Really enjoys the body heat you provide. Lowkey a small spoon.

- Slouches to your height.

- His favorite time is after a long day, curling up in a big chair with a book and you in his lap. You cocoon in his arms as he leans back, a blanket draped over the two of you. He’s naturally cold-blooded so he would stay there forever if he could.

- “You smell so good, pet… So good…”

- Talks in short, mumbled sentences. The mansion residents started using you as a translator because he would only say more than 3 words at a time around you.

- Absolutely never cared about how he looked before you. You taught him decent clothing styles and now he rocks the ‘dark academia/soft boy’ aesthetic like a champ.

- Made you your own special corner in his lab just because he couldn’t deal with having to be away while working.

- An intense kisser. It’s never soft pecks but full-on mouth-consuming makeouts. He’s a hungry guy who can only be satisfied if he feels like he’s swallowed enough of your tongue and lips with his own. Your lips and chin are absolutely soaked with slobber afterward.

- Firm believer in carrying you. No matter where or how far, he likes to bridal-style haul you around or have you latch onto his back.

- “I could eat you up. Just kidding… yeah…”

- Goes ridiculously insane when he can see the chubbiness on your thighs or stomach. You sitting down or lying out, you best believe he is fighting every demon internally not to take a massive bite on your skin.

Dating Him/NSFW:

- Again, skin. No better than a man during the dark times when you flash just a little too much leg or abdomen. He’s on you in seconds and clawing your clothes off to see more.

- You will never leave an encounter without cum dripping out of you. Refuses to get off anywhere else but deep inside of one of your holes. Call it a breeding kink but his animalistic tendencies just won’t let him pull out. Grunting and panting against your nape as he slams inside as far as he can to keep you from squirming away

- “You can take it, I know you can… Need you full of me… All of me…”

- A greedy kisser. Grabbing your jaw and fucking his tongues into the warm wetness of your mouth, teasing to just push them further past the tightness of your throat. Even when you squirm and gag, he just pushes them deeper, testing your resolve.

- You reach your breaking point longggg before he does. A couple of orgasms deep and he hasn’t even put his cock in yet, just milking your body for all it’s worth. It may be because he has a high sex drive, but it’s mainly because he gets off best when you’re pliable and numb to his touch. It’s a domination thing.

- A pussy worshiper. Much like his adoration for any organ, he really appreciates all of his knowledge of the female anatomy and how good he is at eating you out. If he can, or if you can take it, he’ll press all three of his tongues deep inside and spread your plush walls to his content. Likes to swap between focusing on your cunt and your clit, but mainly both at once.

- Bite marks galore. Has to be careful with how much blood he draws, but you’ll never get by without at least one good bite mark on your shoulder. Likes to possessively mark you all over just for others to see. Same feeling with claw marks.

- There’s some cognitive switch in his brain that flips when he gets to a certain point of desperation, like after not seeing you for a long period or after a particularly difficult day. It’s like a starved creature hungry and desperate for anything. He’ll ravage your body and mind, fucking you both to pure exhaustion or until he physically can’t cum anymore.

- On that note, ruts. They’re seasonal, usually coming around the first two weeks of spring and fall. He can’t control when they show up, but once started, they usually last 3 to 4 days, each day getting less intense. Since it’s such an animalistic ordeal, he loses all restraint or moral compass on how to treat you. Bites, blood, wounds, and injury are all possible. They’re not intentional, but he physically cannot control his mental or physical, blinded completely by lust. Thank god his sperm isn’t compatible with human anatomy, because that’s the only place he’ll cum.

- “I’m sorry- sorry, pet- Just one more time- just one more- Fuck- I promise-”

- Both ankles wrapped in one claw. Two claws overlapping around your waist. Yeah…

- Starts slow, so achingly slow you want to rut your hips and get him deeper. He likes the feeling of entering you, of spreading your plush cunt around his cock and finding its home deep inside. He’ll get faster eventually, but for now, he just wants to drink up the sights and smells of your desperation. That first gasp gets him every time.

- Mating press or nothing else. If you want to try something new, he’ll happily oblige, but the only way he’s truly happy is if your legs are pushed back to your shoulders and his hips are slamming down into yours. He’ll take the occasional doggy style, but only if his teeth are latched on to the back of your neck and holding you docile.

- Could watch your face come undone all day. Loves to see your eyes roll when you come, or the sweat and tears dripping off your cheeks. The dark flush of your skin gets him so hungry he has to physically restrain himself.

- “You’re so gorgeous- so fuckin’ pretty- Ah- Look at me. C’mon, don’t get shy now…”

- One time, after a particularly messy organ harvest, he couldn’t wait to get to you. He was so livid, body practically shaking with excitement when he snuck into your room that he didn’t even have time to clean himself off. Blood (not yours) stained your sheets and skin, messy claws dragging across your stomach and chest to coat you in dark red, his tongues quick to shoot out and lap at the stuff. You, covered in blood and his mess, sent him spinning. That was the fastest he’s ever came.

- Growling, panting, snarling, huffing, chittering, teeth gnashing, LOUD ASF

- Has a size thing. Comparing your hand to his makes him so horny and eager to just pick you up and fuck you. Admires how small and easy you are to just throw around like a doll.

- Absolutely has had sick fantasies of fucking your organs like a fleshlight. He’d never tell you, but the thought of cutting a slit in your abdomen to push his cock into the tangle of intestines and muscles makes him drool. He can almost imagine how warm it would be.

- Gets a high when you squirt. Feels accomplished to be covered in your juices and having you completely ruined for anyone but him.

- “You can take it for me, yeah? Go ahead and make a mess… It’s alright…”

Thanks for reading!

Comments and reblogs are appreciated! 𐚁₊⊹

[kooggukk]

after hours | jjk

summary. one night, after a long rehearsal, jungkook lingers in the makeup room.

pairing: idol!jungkook x makeupartist!reader

contains: smut, unprotected sex (cum on stomach)

note: hey guys, i don have much experience writing smut, but we could say i tried my best lol nways enjoy :)

word count: 2.2k

the room was quiet, the loudness of the city could be barely be audible, muffled by the large window as you packed away your brushes for the night. it was past midnight, the clock close to hitting 1 am. the rest of the staffs have left long ago, leaving you alone. you enjoyed the calmness and loneliness after a long day. almost like it gave you a moment to breathe, to come down from the constant rush of keeping up with bts’s eternal busy schedule.

just when you packed everything away and was ready to leave, the door slightly creaked open. you looked up quickly, your heartbeat slowed down when you noticed jungkook poking his head in.

“you still here?” he asked, his voice was low and rough, his throat must have gone dry from all the practice.

he leaned against the doorframe, his hair sweaty, the sleeves of his black hoodie were pushed up enough to reveal the tattoos on his skin. definitely that’s the hottest part on his body.

“gotta clean up after your mess,” you teased with a smile, his eyes glanced to the desk. makeup smudged over it, dirty tissues, q-tips, some brushes that you didn’t use much anymore were scattered all over it.

he chuckled and stepped inside the room finally, he closed the door behind himself. you heard the click of the lock that made your stomach flip. the room felt more smaller by now, more.. intimate you could say.

“you sure that’s all?” his tone was light, almost playful, but when he turned around to look at you, there was something in his eyes — a glint, hinted at the unspoken tension that had been lingering between the two of you for weeks now.

you raised an eyebrow, “what else would i be here for?”

a faint smirk got on his lips and he started walking towards you, painfully slowly.

you gulped, his eyes dropped down to your neck for a second, then back to your face. when he got to you, he didn’t mutter a single word and just plopped down on the makeup chair.

you frowned, obviously you weren’t going to do his makeup at this hour. your eyes followed his hand, smudging the makeup from the table onto his finger, which he smeared on the black sweatpants he wore, on his crotch.

“think you missed a spot?” he looked up at you with desire in his eyes, his tone playful. you took a deep breath, “what?” you muttered with big eyes that stared right back at him, glancing between his eyes and the spot on his pants.

fuck, you could see the shape of it, the makeup matched his skin color, the curiosity of how it looked like made you go feral, all you wanted to do right now is fuck him till you were the one crying, till the shape of his cock was carved into your insides.

the room felt heavy, the air thick with something you couldn't quite place. you walked over to him, his eyes following your every step. you tried to ignore the way your heart sped up under his stare.

you grabbed a wet tissue from the desk, he stood up behind you, his chest pressed against your back. “tell me you feel this too,”

your breath caught in your throat as his words hung in the air between you, thick and heavy. you tried to laugh it off, but your heart betrayed you, thudding loudly in your chest as if it wanted to answer for you. his gaze didn’t waver, dark eyes searching your face through the mirror, waiting for a reaction.

you cleared your throat as you focused on the tissue again, wiping the table but the trembling in your hands exposed you.

“feel what?” your voice was quieter than you intended to, you didn’t dare to look up, knowing you’d be faced with his serious, desire full eyes.

“this, ___.” he sighed and he sneaked his hands on your hips, holding you tightly. your eyes closed, the contact was electric, sending a shiver down your spine.

his skin felt like burning even through the layers of clothes. “there’s this-“ he stopped for a second, frustration started to build up in him.

“this thing, that i don’t know where to put.” you froze, his hands moving up your sides, he stopped at under your breasts. “every time we’re in the same room, i can’t help but to fantasize about you.”

“tell me,” he whispered, his hands went back down, this time on your stomach, his movements stopped at the top of your jeans.

“tell me you feel it too,” he pressed his body closer again, his crotch poked at your ass, his face in the crook of your neck. his eyes focused on you through the mirror. “please,” he begged and you felt your heart pounding in your chest.

yes! you’d felt it too, — every time he sat down to get his makeup done by you, whenever he opened his eyes to look up at you, every brush of your fingers against his skin, every lingering glances shared across the room.

but for fuck’s sake, you’re his makeup artist! nothing more. you thought maybe he’s just being friendly, protective. had no idea his pretty mind was filled with dirty thoughts about you, but the good way.

he was curious how you looked when you were receiving pleasure, especially from him. he dreamt about you beneath him, wishing he could take you right then and there, in the middle of the room with everyone else around.

he wouldn’t have minded, wanted to show everyone it’s him who you’re fucking, it’s him who makes you moan, who makes you scream and cry out his name, not nobody else.

with a shaky breath you finally looked up, your eyes met his in the mirror. “i do,” your hand hovered on his, resting on your stomach. his lips curved into a small, knowing smile. with a swift move he turned you around, body still closer to each other than ever.

his arms slid from your waist, up your arm until he reached the side of your neck. his touch was soft, careful, but the heat from his skin made your body ache with anticipation.

he leaned in, nose touching yours. you were going insane, dizzy from just the thought of what’s about to happen between the two of you. your hands found their way to his hair, tugging lightly.

you don’t know who moved first, — but you both attacked each other’s lips hungrily, your teeth crashed together. a moan left his mouth at the feeling of your lips on his, the vibration made you press your thighs together.

all the pent-up desire, all the unspoken words between you, came rushing to the surface. his hand tightened on your neck, pulling you closer as the kiss deepened, becoming more urgent, desperate.

he pulled away, a string of saliva between your lips. both of your breathing heavy, chests moving fast.

“you have no idea how many times i’ve imagined this,” he whispered with a smile. one of his hand slid from your neck down to your waist, gripping you firmly as he backed up and sat down on the chair behind him, guiding you down onto his lap.

your forehead was resting against his, “we shouldn’t..” you whispered, his hand moved up to caress your skin and your body betrayed you, leaning into his touch.

his thumb brushed against your lip, “maybe,” he murmured, his eyes locked on yours. “but it feels too good.”

he captured your lips again, every move of his mouth sent waves of electricity through you. his hands roamed your body, — your sides, your hips, your back and then finally, his hands slid down to your ass, gripping your cheeks with his huge hands.

you sighed in the kiss, he pulled you even more closer, your heat brushed against his crotch. you melted into him, you’ve completely lost control over your body.

he pulled away and a hiss left his mouth when you moved your hips as you slowly grinded on him.

his eyes locked with yours, his bottom lip between his teeth while yours was slightly open. his hands gripped your hips, he helped you move, a little bit faster.

“shit,” he breathed out, his head thrown back in pleasure. your eyes dropped to his neck, veins popped, sweat dripping. you leaned down to plant soft kisses on his skin, a low groan left his lips as he felt yours, nibbling and sucking on his skin.

your hips slowed down, your body grew tired. he lifted his head back only to be met with the scene of you pulling your shirt off over your head.

his eyes fell to your breasts, which were still hidden from his eyes with your black bra. he buried his face in your chest, kissing on the top of your breasts while his hand carefully unclasped your bra.

it slid down your shoulders, all the way to where your body met his. he threw the unneeded clothing away, his palms massaging your breasts.

“so pretty,” he whispered and you looked down. “i think they’re small,” he chuckled at your confession.

he shook his head with a smile, “no, they’re just perfect.” he gave you no time to respond as his lips captured your perky left nipple. he gently slapped the other, massaging it after.

your breath hitched, he sucked and bit on your nipple, pulling away with a smack of his lips. he gave the same attention to your other one, your hips once again grinded against his already hard bulge in his pants.

he pulled away from your chest, his eyes looking up at you with hunger. his fingers gripped your jeans, “let’s take this off, yeah?”

you got up from his lap, he watched you strip the remaining clothes that hid the rest of your body. he took off his clothes himself too, his hand reached out for you to grab.

he pulled you towards him again, helping you sit down on his lap once more.

“are you sure?” he asked as you sat there, skin to skin. you eagerly nodded, you wanted this more than anything, just like him.

“yes,” you moved, your core brushed against his cock. “please,” you purred, he bit back a moan at the feeling of your bare pussy.

he decided to not waste any time with fingering you first, he knew you needed to get stretched and it’s gonna burn like hell. he put his stupid desire in the first place, but he realized that too late.

with a hand holding his dick and the other guiding your waist, you slowly sank down on him. your body stiffened, you let your head fall down to his chest, your forehead resting against him.

he knitted his eyebrows together, your walls clenching around him made it so hard for him to fully fill you up.

he caressed your back, “you need to relax,” he whispered and planted a kiss on top of your head. his hand sneaked to your core, his finger rubbed your clit in a circular motion.

he helped you relax your muscles, immediately slipping inside of you easily. a quiet moan left your mouth, you stayed like that for a while. he wanted you to be okay, he cares about you.

“all good?” he asked, your face still in his chest. you nodded, he moved beneath you, he wanted to fuck you like crazy but he put you first, though it was getting hard for him to control his body.

you suddenly rolled your hips, leaving him with an open mouth. “fuck, ___,” he husked, his grip on your waist was firm.

you looked up at him, you rode his dick with all your energy. the room was filled with your low moans and your skin meeting, both of your bodies sweaty and hot.

you got tired, your pace turned slower and your breathing got heavy. unlike him, he’s a singer, so his stamina is far more better than yours.

he slightly lifted you up at your waist, he took over the control now. he pounded into you from beneath, your body arched and you turned into a moaning mess.

you were never that loud in bed, your moans has always been quiet and soft. jungkook got to see a side of you that he never wanted to forget.

he never wants to forget how your brows knitted together, how your mouth fell agape and eyes shut from the pleasure that he was giving you.

he felt you clench around him, his head was thrown back again. he let out a low grunt as he fastened his pace, hitting every right spot. your body tensed, your walls tight around him which made him hiss.

he felt you release around his cock as he fucked you through it, “almost there,” he heavily breathed out, trying to reach his own orgasm too.

he pulled out and pumped himself as he released his cum on your stomach, his eyes were tightly shut, letting every drop of him on your skin.

[sultrysparkles]

he hates you.

well actually- he doesn't. he loves you. he loves every single bit of you. whether it'd be the sweet laughter coming from your glossy lips. or the heart warming smile that makes his heart melt and his body feel all fuzzy and ecstatic.

but he also hates you. so fucking much. because what right did you have batting those pretty eyelashes at him? the faux innocence gleaming in your eyes. oh how he wishes he could rip that same innocent look right from your pretty little eyes, to turn you into his dirty little whore.

or how you accidentally dropped your phone on the floor at the restaurant. and bent all the way over to pick it up. although to you, that moment lasted for a mere couple of moments, to him though. the sight of your new red pretty panties being revealed to him would play in his mind over and over again.

he couldn't stand you. he hated your guts. not because of your personality. no- he found it endearing on how perfect you were both on the inside and outside. it wasn't how much you talked either, he loved hearing your angelic voice ramble on and on about the most silliest things. but he can't promise he was listening though. he was too busy imaging your voice doing much more than talking.

it was none of the above. it was actually the way you made him feel. now he doesn't mean the times when you'd be the only one to listen to him, the only one who put effort into listening and comforting him about his issues. neither was it the electricity that would shoot through his veins whenever you would give him a simple hug.

he hated how hard you made his cock. simply because he knows he shouldn't.

it pissed him off knowing that no matter what he did, that every night he'd be up late, laying in his messy bed. blinds shut, and door closed and locked. everything was dark in his room and the sound of the fan running filled the empty silence.

except there was no silence. how could there be? because alongside the sound of the fan spinning, there would be the sound of his fist angrily pumping his cock.

his eyes would be shut tightly too, leaning against his headboard as the thoughts of your new red lacy underwear were revealed to him a couple hours ago. was it wrong of him to know they were new? he didn't care right now though.

he didn't care about how morally wrong this all was. he knew he shouldn't be thinking about you in such lewd ways, but then again. it wasn't his fault? no. you knew what you were doing today.

at least that is what he's telling himself right now, as his hand rapidly slides up and down his shaft. the wet sounds now add to noises in his room, his shallow and breathy groans were barely audible too.

he wished it was your sweet slick walls though. he wishes you'd let him plunge into your cunt, to let him have his way with you. but instead it's his rough hands that tease his reddened tip.

gosh you were so so so stupid.

because now you have him thrusting up into his fist. the trembling orgasm approaching him quickly. now his room is loud. a hand over his mouth to muffle the pathetic whiney moans that leave his lips. although the muffling barely had an effect.

thighs trembling uncontrollably and his eyes are shut so tight nothing even feels real anymore. and soon enough it hits him. a loud unholy moan is all there is to be heard as the pacing of his fists come to a stop. his whole body twitches from the sudden rip of pleasure flooding all his senses.

tears even trickle on his waterline and his breathing becomes heavy and unstable. not to mention all the long sticky cream colored ropes then escape from his angry base. they land onto his upper thighs and abdomen. he sits there for a couple moments as he comes down from his high.

now he really wishes you were here.

so you could come clean the mess that you made.

SHIGARAKI, kirishima, IZUKU, gojo, tamaki, denki, chuuya, zenitsu, megumi, choso, REINER, armin, EREN, jean + ur favs

[annwrites]

⸻ a call to arms. part one. ⸻

· pairing: jacaerys velaryon x dragonseed!reader · type: part of a series · summary: desperate to provide aid to your starving family due to the blockade, you venture, along with a great many other lowborns, to dragonstone, in hopes of gaining something—anything—which you might bring back to them; something to fill your little sister's belly. things turn out quite the opposite as planned, as what you now believe to be a mad queen, locks all of you in her dragonpit, and you're forced to run, hide, & fend for your lives against two hungry dragons. in the end, only two individuals are left standing: hugh hammer, who has now claimed for himself vermithor...and you—chosen by silverwing. just when you believe things can't possibly get any worse, you then meet prince jacaerys. · word count: 1,674

He grinds his teeth together, filled with utter contempt—disgust—that whatever you are—bastards, lowborns, flea-ridden rats—are now, above all else, dragonriders.

And he is meant to share common spaces with you now? Such as the Great Hall? Meant to pass you in the halls and tolerate the sight of you?

To ride alongside you?

To treat you with...what? Kindness? Generosity for having 'come to his mother's aid'? He will most certainly not be treating, nor addressing you as an equal. Either of you.

To be a dragonrider...it is a sacred bond. And now he is meant to believe that even the lowest scum Flea Bottom has to offer has the same right as he to sail the skies, unleashing fire and blood upon the enemy?

Never.

He will never.

The rest of them got what they deserved for thinking they had any right to claim that which is meant only for those like him.

Queens and kings, princes and princesses, lords and ladies alike.

He is better than both of you.

Even if he is similar in ways he does not want to admit...

Boots echo against stone floors, dark curls falling over dark eyes, a brooding temperament within.

Jacaerys emerges into the Great Hall, Hugh promptly rising from his seat, bowing his head. "My Prince."

Jacaerys studies him for but a moment, briefly judging the plain-colored clothes he dons, before turning his sights across the room to you, who is seated between two stained-glass windows, arms wrapped around your bent knees, while you cast your attentions outward, instead of on him.

Your Prince.

Your superior.

He clenches his jaw at the sight of your long, silver hair that moonlight casts in an ethereal glow, making it appear as if it is sparkling. Cascading down your back like molten silver in soft waves.

"You there—girl—do you know how incredibly rude it is for you not to stand and curtsy when in the presence of royalty?"

You jolt—torn from tormented memories of but a couple days past; of people running, screaming for mercy. Dying choking on their own blood as dragonfire burns them alive.

None of you had anticipated—had imagined—that the very queen you were coming to, under the guise of offering your aid to in the war, would lock you in a room to be eaten by terrifying beasts.

Aegon deserves the throne in comparison to such a monster.

You have made a great mistake, mayhaps. Then again, becoming a dragonrider has already filled your belly, provided you with clean sheets to sleep upon, a guard outside your door, hot baths.

But it is not you who needs these things. You want them for your family.

There is no turning back now, however. You knew as much with certainty when that silver dragon laid her head at your feet before leaning forward, brushing her warm snout against your abdomen while you struggled to contain your bladder and bowels. While you sobbed hysterically, begging for mercy from a being that you do not so much as share a common language with.

You know not a word of High Valyrian, though you will now be expected to learn, you suppose.

Among many other things. Such as how to ride the animal...

Your stomach twists nervously at the thought.

You turn away from the window, slide off the ledge, then grab your skirts in either of your hands before tucking a foot behind your other ankle, bowing. "My Prince."

He scoffs, coming closer. "That was the worst curtsy I've ever seen."

You fold your hands in front of you, keeping your eyes downcast. "Forgive me, My Prince, it is...the first time I've attempted one."

He rolls his eyes, settling his arms behind his back before glancing over his shoulder to Hugh, jerking his head toward the hall he's just come from, and he quickly makes himself scarce.

He looks back to you.

"And what is your name?" He demands.

"Y/N," you state quietly.

A muscle in his jaw feathers. "You are to look at me while we're speaking. Do you understand?"

You nod, trailing your eyes upwards—over a red-and-black velvet tunic, the three-headed symbol of his house embroidered upon the breast—until they're looking into hues of chocolate-brown.

He clenches his hands into tight fists behind his back.

You've every trademark of a pure Targaryen: silver hair, lilac eyes—with flecks of violet—skin so fair it's near-translucent, delicate features.

He fucking loathes you for every asset which you possess and he does not.

He would never—will never—state it aloud, but you look far more Targaryen than he ever will.

He wishes one of the dragons had taken you down its gullet as well. That way, he would not be forced to suffer the nigh-daily sight of you now.

He looks you over, circling you like a dragon does its prey—desperate to find something he may use to mock you with; some imperfection—before standing tall before you again.

"You think wearing rags before your Queen's court appropriate?"

Your expression quickly settles into a scowl.

Good, he thinks. Give him an excuse to introduce you to the Queen's justice. He is silently begging you for as much within his malice-filled gaze.

Your small hands clench into fists at your slender sides. "My mother made this dress for me."

His jaw ticks. "From now on, you will wear more suitable clothing when outside your private chambers—which means conservative in nature; not whatever men found desirable upon the Street of Silk. You are a representative of our house now. A dragonrider. A soldier to our cause. You will look the part."

Tears sting your eyes as yours bore into his own hatefully.

"I am not a whore," you reply contemptuously.

There is a beat of silence, his brows furrowing slightly. Surely you are lying. You have the look—more than.

And then you continue.

"And with what coin, My Prince?" You sneer.

He takes a step closer, causing you to shuffle backward, catching yourself against the window-ledge, the stone digging into your palms as you grip it to steady yourself.

He leans in close—your faces mere inches apart. "I beg your pardon?"

You do not shrink away from him.

Gods, you already hate him with all that you are.

"I came here for coin. Desperate for—"

"So greed is what sent you? Not to aid us in winning back my mother's throne? Her rightful seat. You come to steal away a dragon, and then what?"

"My family is starving!" You finally shout, at the end of your rope from the last few sleepless nights that've been filled with nightmares instead of rest; your temper having reached its limit. "My mother and little sister both! How would you feel if it were you? If your loved-ones were suffering, while all you could do is sit back and watch them waste away before you? So, yes, I came. I claimed a dragon—even if my intentions had only been merely to host audience with a clement queen who would provide aid to her suffering subjects. Not burn them alive for coming to help her!"

He grits his teeth. "You will watch your tongue, you insolent little wench. My mother sent boat-fulls of food to King's Landing. She has provided—"

You begin to laugh, with a lack of humor behind it all, cutting him off. "Oh, yes, how very kind of her to give aid to the very subjects she is responsible for the suffering of in the first place. The blockade is all your all's fault! People were fighting like dogs in the streets—assaulting—killing each other for a small sack of grain! I risked mine own life for a peck of potatoes! That's it! Even then, I was forced to wrestle a full-grown man off myself to get it. I was fortunate to escape with my life—with any food to speak of for my struggles!"

You step forward, forcing his royal highness to take a step back, and he swallows thickly.

"You've never known hunger a day in your life, have you? Never known what is it to wear 'rags' while you don your silk and velvet, while you sleep on thousand-thread count sheets, while you flout your jewels, and your fancy titles, and your gilded castles while the rest of us bow and scrape before your feet for a mere morsel of respect! You are meant to take care of us!"

Once you've finished, your heart pounds in your ears, your shoulders rapidly rise and fall, and it's then that you notice Prince Jacaerys' hand is tightly gripping the pommel of his sword—his knuckles having now gone white from the force.

Your eyes flit back to his, tears filling your own. "And I am meant to one day call you king, given we are 'successful' in our endeavors to win your mother back her glorified chair," you say, spitting the final word at him.

The two of you stand tall before the other, refusing to be the first one to break—your chins held high, even if your stomach is now twisting painfully into knots while your bowels turn to water.

If he puts you to death for your unimaginable disobedience—your disrespect...who will help your family then?

Your little sister... Your little girl.

She became as much when your mother went away in herself after your father's passing. It did not matter that you were still a mere child yourself when it happened. She became your responsibility to look after and tend to from that day forward.

And now...you feel as if you have failed her.

"Go to your room," he orders lowly, his body shaking from anger, brief pauses between each word.

You curtsy one last time.

"My Prince," you mumble, brushing past him, wanting to break something.

He stalks off in the opposite direction, feeling much the same: wanting to burn something—or, rather, someone—alive.

[pupkashi]

satoru loves you & he’s tired of being your friend

a/n: loosely inspired by taehyungs song fri(end)s i hope u guys like pls lmk what yall think plsplsplspls

word count - 1,764

masterlist

the only light illuminating your living room was from your tv as it played your favorite comfort movie, one you’d seen countless times before. the familiarity of it had you dozing off on your couch, in and out of sleep as you lost the battle with your heavy eyelids.

there’s a soft knock on your door that has you jumping out of your skin, heart racing loudly in your ears. you pause the movie, wondering if maybe you’d hallucinated it and it truly was time for you to go to bed.

knock, knock, knock

your palms are sweaty, checking your phone before standing up. there’d been no missed texts or calls from anyone you knew, who the fuck knocks on a door at 3:24 in the morning?

you grab the baseball bat by the door, peeking through the peephole and being met with tousled white locks. a color of hair you’d be able to spot a mile away, one you’d grown to care for.

“what are you doing at my door at four in the fucking morning?” you whisper-yelled, setting the bat down and opening the door wider to let the man in. he gives you a small smile, one hand pushing his hair back and out of his face and the other holding his side.

“sorry sweet cheeks, didn’t wanna go home just yet” he mumbles, stepping in and standing by the doorway, waiting for your instruction.

“d’you get hurt? are you bleeding?” the annoyance in your voice is gone, and it makes satoru relax. he gives you a small nod, shrugging his shoulders and trying to play it off.

“nothing that won’t be healed by mornin’” you roll your eyes at him, muttering a small ‘come on’ and walking to the bathroom down the hall. “i miss you y’know” satoru says softly, watching as you searched for the first aid kit under the sink, grabbing the box and making him sit on the toilet lid.

“did you really?” you scoff, not meeting his gaze as you grab a soft rag, running it under warm water. satoru furrows his brows, confused as to why you think he wouldn’t have missed you.

“‘course i did,” he replies, opening his mouth to continue but closing it quickly when you turn to face him.

“can i take your blindfold off” you ask, your hands fiddling with the damp rag before setting it down when he nods ‘yes.’ you find the small knot hiding in his hair, gently undoing it.

the black blindfold loosen instantly, and you’re quick to gently take it off his head, setting it on the counter. his hair flops onto his forehead, falling almost perfectly to frame his face. despite the countless times you’d seen his eyes, your breath still hitched in your throat when you looked into them.

you try not to stare too long, brushing his hair out of his face and cleaning the dried blood on his face. satoru doesn’t take his eyes off you, eyes tracing your every feature. his gaze is one you always faltered under, growing nervous when he’d stare at you for too long.

“what” you ask, a small nervous smile forming on your face. satoru shakes his head, a small upside down smile on his face as you wipe the cut on his cheeks with an alcohol wipe.

“you’re just real pretty” he says, watching as you bite your bottom lip, surely trying to stop the smile fighting its way into your face.

“is you side hurt too?” you motion to where his hand is covering, trying to brush past the compliment he’d given you.

“healed it up a good amount while you were cleaning me up” he shrugs, lifting his shirt and showing you the brand new scar, “I’m not completely helpless.”

“no you’re the strongest” you tease, throwing away the used items and washing your hands. “did you wanna shower? you look like you could use it” satoru pouts at your words.

“don’t have to be so mean about it” you laugh softly, drying your hands before you’re standing in front of him again. you let your hands brush through his hair, exposing his forehead before you press a kiss to the skin.

“sorry angel, you’re the one who woke me up” satoru lets his eyes close softly, heart sinking a bit when you pull away from him.

“I’ve got some clothes you’ve left over so I’ll leave ‘em on the counter” you smile, closing the door behind you and sighing softly.

how’d you get to this point? how’re you stuck between friends and something more?

friends don’t feel the way you do about satoru. friends don’t place feathery kisses on their friends scars. friends don’t act the way you two act.

satoru steps out of the shower, smiling when he realizes his clothes smell like you. his heart leaps when he exits the restroom, finding you still awake and waiting for him on the couch.

“waiting for someone?” his voice makes you jump a bit, shaking you head and watching as he sits next to you. “did you have plans for tomorrow?” he questions, watching as you send a text.

“told them something came up,” you shrug, “figured you need me more.”

the words tugged on satoru’s heartstrings. there was a never night you hadn’t been there when he needed you. you’d been there for him since the day you’d met him, there to comfort him and ease his racing mind. you were there to calm him from panic attacks and frustrations, help him through grief and stress. everything.

you were a great friend.

he hated that word. you weren’t his friend, you were something more. he knew how he felt about you, he had an inkling feeling you felt the same. so what’s stopping him?

satoru shakes the question out of his head, focusing instead on the tv. the end credits are rolling but you’re not looking away, eyes unfocused and your mind elsewhere.

“should we go to sleep?” satoru whispers, a feathery touch to snap you back to reality. you nod with a small smile, the two of you making the familiar walk to your bedroom, satoru turning off any lights and closing the bedroom door behind him before slipping in next to you.

you’d always liked having your head on his chest, you were able to hear his heartbeat this way. the rhythmic pitter-patter never failed to make you smile or help you relax. it also gave away anytime he was nervous.

“your hearts beating real fast” you state, not looking up, instead continuing to draw circles in the palm of his hand. “what are you thinking about?”

there’s too many thoughts in satoru’s head, so many that he can’t begin to process a single one of them. so instead he blurts out what had been on his mind all night.

“i love you.”

you never thought people were telling the truth about time stopping when something like this happened. you’d always figured they romanticized their life a little too much.

but you felt time stop.

your fingers faltered and you felt your breathing hitch in your throat. your stomach erupted in butterflies, face hot and your eyes wide as the three words landed on your ears.

there was a million thoughts in your head, memories flooding in. spring nights around a fire pit, hot summer days at the beach, cool autumn afternoons carving pumpkins and cold winter mornings drinking hot chocolate. and in every one of them you bit back three words while staring at the white haired man.

“you don’t have to say it back” satoru begins, his heart beating even faster than before, “i just- I’ve been think-” you sit up quickly and cut him off, shaking your head and finally looking him in the eyes.

“I love you too,” you smile, letting yourself enjoy the the moment of euphoria the two of you felt upon hearing the other say the three words you’d dreamt of.

there’s only a second of silence before satoru’s blue eyes are looking at your lips, flickering up to meet your eyes momentarily. all it takes is you leaning in ever so slightly.

his hands are cupping your cheeks, crashing his lips against yours, a sense of urgency as his lips move against yours. he tastes like his vanilla lip balm and toothpaste, smiling as the words replay in your head.

“what’s funny?” he mumbles against your lips, laughing softly, not bothering to pull away from your lips. satoru’s cerulean eyes are fluttering open, completely focused on you.

you pull away a couple inches, staring into his eyes, you can see the emotions swimming in his eyes, love and excitement written over his face as he takes in your beauty.

“just happy” you reply, “never thought you’d put the end in friends” satoru pouts comically at your words, shoving his face in your lap and groaning softly.

“‘m sorry” he grumbles, “new to all the relationship stuff” there’s genuine frustration and remorse in his voice, it makes you smile as your run your fingers through his hair, tugging softy.

“‘s okay” you say, “thought technically I’m not yours since you haven’t asked me” he knows you’re poking fun at him, not rushing him into anything.

“don’t worry,” he says, sitting up and adjusting himself to lay down next to you, smiling when you lay your head on his chest, “gonna make you mine as soon as i can.”

the words make your heart flutter again, a sheepish smile on your face as your cheeks and ears burn.

“alright smooth talker let’s get some sleep.”

funny enough satoru feels the weight on his shoulders grow lighter with your body weight pressed against him. he feels a sense of serenity running his fingers up and down your exposed skin.

you can see goosebumps rise where your fingertips touch, smiling softly and holding back a giggle as your fingers ghost over his abs, causing him to shiver.

it’s different from before, more intimate.

satoru wonders why he was so afraid of baring his heart to you in the first place. he can’t find an excuse as he watches the golden ray of sunshine hit your face softly, causing you to stir. he’s still as he watches you immediately nuzzle your face into his side, falling back into a deep sleep in his arms.

it doesn’t take long for him to fall asleep too, a smile on his face when he feels your grip tighten.

lovers, he thinks, it has a nice ring to it.

taglist (send an ask to be added): @chilichopsticks @anime-for-the-sleepless @safaia-47 @nanamikentoseyebags @fushironi @nineooooo @the-mom-friend-dot-com @gojoshooter @beautiful-is-boring @sweetheart-satoru @luna0713hunter @torusmochi @kentocalls @sadmonke

[l1tw1ck]

The Ferret and the Fox

Bottom!FTM!Omega!Ferret Draco x Top!AMAB!Alpha!Fox Reader

🪄 Word Count: 3k 🪄

Draco's suppressants decide to stop working in the middle of a lecture, forcing him to leave and rest in your office. Draco wasn't thinking straight when he willingly entered an alpha's territory and inadvertently tied himself to you permanently

AFAB Language Used | Hogwarts University AU | Event Request

CW: Non-Con, Brief Somnophilia, Teacher/Student (Draco is 20) Heat, Virginity Loss, Victim Blaming, Marking, Creampie, Fingering, Manipulation, Knotting

As you're teaching your class, you and the rest of your students begin to smell someone’s pheromones. Everyone seems to be looking at Draco Malfoy, who's very red. He must be in heat. You walk over to him and lean in close to him. “Malfoy, are you alright?” 

‎ 

He jumps in surprise. He looks up at you with an adorable expression. His tail is curled up on his lap. “It looks like your heat started,” You speak to him softly. “Why don't you go rest in my office until class is over?” You should tell him to see the nurse but she's so far and he’d be safe from all the other alphas. And you might get a chance with him. Draco nods gently. You help him pack up his stuff and walk him to your office, not trusting anyone to let him go by himself.

‎ 

He sits down on the couch and takes off his coat to drape it over himself. You give him the blanket you often use during your free time to nap. “I’ll lock the door so no one can come in. If you get hungry or thirsty, you can use my water bottle and take whatever you like from my mini fridge.”

‎ 

“Okay…” He turns away from you. “Thanks.”  

‎ 

You could barely hear him but you could tell what he said based on how embarrassed he seemed. You smile and leave the room. As soon as you do so, Draco kicks off his shoes and socks before properly laying down. It doesn't take long for him to fall asleep with his and your scent mixed together to comfort him. He won't say it out loud but you're his favorite teacher and the only person in Hogwarts that he truly feels safe around and trusts. While he doesn't have any romantic feelings for you, your scent is still very comforting.

‎ 

‎ 

You walk into your office now that class is over. Since you don't have any more classes to teach today, you plan on taking him home. Most students take suppressants during the school year but when a student isn't able to do so for whatever reason, they take time off to go home since it’d be dangerous to be in their dorms. Draco shouldn't have any problems with taking suppressants but something obviously went wrong. You look at him sleeping on the couch, some of his clothes on the floor. You do a double take when you realize that he's only wearing underwear and his dress shirt. His clothes are conveniently placed in a way that allows you to see his light colored underwear soaked with slick, along with a small pool of it on the couch. You’ll never get over seeing an omega in heat. 

It doesn't help that the room is completely filled with his scent. You should resist and take him home but he looks too tempting. All of the alpha teachers are able to control themselves when met with the strong smell of an omega but there's something different about Draco. Or, really, something different about you.

You're willingly giving in to your instincts this time. You could go and do the right thing but you don't want to and you never really planned to in the first place. You’ve been attracted to Draco since he started your class this year. You never thought you’d have the opportunity to fuck him and now that you do, you're not going to give it up. You unbuckle your belt and free your hard cock, leaving your pants on to make the clean up easier.

You move onto the couch and stare at Draco’s sleeping face with a small smile. You feel sort of bad doing this while he's asleep but it's not like you’ll be taking his virginity. He’s 20, he must've had his first and many others by now. Right? Who wouldn't want him? If you ignore his personality, he's irresistible. You shrug off your uncertainty and take off his underwear. You bring it to your face and smell it, your cock aching for him. You move it away and focus on the real thing.

Draco makes a cute noise in his sleep, his fluffy ears twitching. He's just too adorable. You look at his soaked pussy in awe and run your finger up it, causing him to shiver. You bring your finger to your lips and taste his slick. As you thought, he tastes amazing. His tail curls up in response to your touch. 

You bite your bottom lip as you slowly inch your cock inside him. He’s tight but very slippery, it's not too hard to penetrate him. You moan at the feeling of being inside him. Nothing can compare to his pussy. You grin as an outline of your cock starts to appear on his stomach. You begin to slowly fuck into him. “God, you feel so good, baby.” 

Draco moans. His eyes flutter open. “Huh..?” He blinks a few more times. “Stop! What are you doing?!” He feels like crying. You're so big, it hurts like hell.

“Shh, this is your fault, Malfoy. You shouldn't have let me keep you here. Your pheromones are all over the room, you practically forced me to fuck you.”

“No…I…”

“Isn't this better than having some random person fuck you? Or do you have a boyfriend?”

Draco shakes his head, tears rapidly falling down his cheeks. “This…this is my first time!”

You pause. You’ve never seen him cry before, it's hot. “Really?” You feel your heart pounding. “That's okay, I’ll take care of you from now on.” You resume your gentle thrusts.

Draco sobs. “Why…?”

“If you didn't want this to happen, you shouldn't have let me bring you here. You don't understand how tempting you looked when I saw you sleeping.” You brush his hair out of his face. “You looked so sexy ruining my couch with your slick.”

He looks really embarrassed. Your pheromones seem to be calming him down though. Plus being in heat is really helping to sedate him.

“So just relax, okay? You deserve this.”

Draco nods teary eyed. You hold onto his waist and start to fuck him at a rough pace. He squeals and moans in pleasure, face red from embarrassment. “That’s a good boy, taking me so well.” You purr. You lean into his ear. “Love your pussy so fucking much, sweetheart.” You trail down to his neck and lightly suck on his skin.

He squeaks. “Ah…[Name]~ I’m sorry..”

You pause for a brief moment then slow down. You're shocked that he apologized. Despite the major changes he went through in the past, he's still prideful. He's really different when he's in heat. “If you're sorry then let me mark you. Now that I’ve had a taste of you, it’d be cruel to not let me have you. Besides, I should also take responsibility.”

Draco sniffles. You should feel bad for taking advantage of his current state but you just can't. He's too cute for you to let go. “Okay..” He closes his eyes and moves his head to show you his neck. 

You sink your teeth into his skin, immediately causing him to come. You lick up his blood and thrust harder. “You won't have to worry about anything from now on, sweetheart.” You come inside of him.

────────────────── 

Draco wakes up in an unfamiliar room with aches all over his body. He remembers going into heat during class…then going into your office…

Draco brings his hand to his mouth in shock. Tears run down his cheeks as he slowly begins to remember everything. He was waiting to fall in love and now he's stuck with you.

“You're finally up.” You walk into the room, holding a hot cup of tea. “I made you lemon ginger, it’ll make you feel a bit better. Oh, I also gave you some medicine for your heat. You should be okay now, at least mentally.”

He looks at you scornfully. His eyes are watery and puffy. He doesn't understand how much that's turning you on. He takes the tea despite his anger.

“You’re angry, aren't you?” You ask, sitting down at the edge of the bed. “Why didn't you take your suppressants?”

“I– I did take them!” He shouts. “I don't know what happened!”

“Shh, it's okay, sweetheart.” You rub his thigh. “Sometimes, suppressants stop working. It's rare but you’ll have to change to a different medication.”

“Don't…please don't touch me.” He's shaking very badly.

“We’re bonded now, Draco. You remember, right?”

He sniffles. “Why…”

“You know why. You let that happen to yourself. I’m sure you were conscious enough to know why you shouldn't have done that.”

“I trusted you..”

“That was a mistake. You shouldn't trust an alpha to take care of an omega in heat. In any other circumstance, I wouldn't have done anything to you, but you willingly came into my office and filled it with your scent.” You take the tea from him and place it onto the nightstand, he's shaking so much you're worried he’ll spill it and burn himself. “You know alphas have a hard time resisting.”

Draco begins to cry again. He’s whimpering and trying hard not to choke on his own tears.

“It's okay. I’ll take care of you from now on. Anything you want, I’ll do it.” You caress his cheek, pushing his hair away from his face. He begins to sob vocally, letting out visceral cries of pain. “It’ll be okay, Draco.”

You let him cry for a while and urge him to drink some tea in between. He eventually calms down.

“What will I tell my mother?” He sighs, refusing to look at you.

“Don't worry about her. I’ll make sure she won't say anything, even if you move in.”

“Wh- move in?”

“If you want to. Since you're in the university now, it won't be an issue to move out and commute from here.”

“The school wouldn't allow me to live with you.”

“You're an adult, Draco. As long as we spin the story around a bit, they’ll even insist that we live together.” You smile. “We could say you came onto me and forced me to mark you. It’s not too far from the truth.”

He frowns. He doesn't know how to feel. He finally looks at you. His cheeks redden when he notices your boner. “You- have you been hard this entire time?!”

You chuckle. “Maybe. You're just so cute when you cry.”

He looks down at his hands. “...I don’t remember what it felt like..”

“You don't?”

“It just…I know that it hurt but…”

“Do you want me to show you?”

He nods softly. “I have to be with you from now on…” He's still a little affected by his heat.

“Alright.”

Draco looks up at you timidly, his ears folded down. He’s only wearing boxers now. Your tail is swishing from side to side.

“I’ve always liked you, you know?” You happily run your hands down his body. “You're just so pretty. When I saw you walk into my class…I couldn't stop thinking about you.”

Is that why you were so kind to him?

“You always kept to yourself…it made me want to take care of you. So when I smelled your scent…I was overwhelmed.” You bring one of your hands down to his underwear. “I should've tried harder to resist but you made it so difficult.”

He whimpers at the feeling of your fingers sliding up his clothed cunt. “So….you really…hnh-”

“I love you, Draco.” 

He blushes. Even though he didn't choose you, you're the kind of person he was looking for. Someone who would love and take care of him. You smile as you notice the change in his demeanor. He's opening up to you.

“When you graduate, you won't have to worry about getting a job. You can just stay home and do whatever you like.” You remove his underwear. “You won't have to worry about anything.”

“Do…do I have to graduate?” He asks, looking at you solemnly. He's sick of Hogwarts. Even after everything that's happened, he doesn't have a single friend. Nobody trusts him or even tries to pretend they like him. Not even Harry and his friends really talk to him, they're too busy. If he doesn't have to get a job, why even bother going to that miserable place? Hogwarts used to feel more like home but after losing his friends and becoming isolated, it feels like a prison.

“Well..” You smile. “That’d make things easier.” You remove your shirt.

“I can stay here..” He feels dizzy from your scent. He triggered your alpha instincts and now you can't stop yourself from drowning him in your pheromones. “...Give you an heir..” He says almost mindlessly. You're from a long line of well respected wizards so he figures you’ll want someone to carry on that legacy.

“Draco.” Your cock is straining in your pants. “You can't say things like that to an alpha so casually.”

His tail curls. “‘M sorry..” He looks at you cutely. He's intimidated and turned on at the same time.

“It's okay, sweetheart.” You gently slide two fingers inside him. “You just have to take responsibility.”

Draco gulps, shivering with pleasure thanks to the size and roughness of your fingers. He's never been able to get off just by using his fingers but he probably could with yours.

“You're the most beautiful man I’ve ever laid my eyes on, Draco.” You look at him lovingly as you skillfully play with his pussy. “I wish our relationship started differently.”

He feels less hesitant hearing you say that. He truly believes it's his fault. “It's…it’s okay.” He looks at you with a slight smile.

“Maybe we could've had a slow burn. Where I’d help you out after class and you’d lean in a little too close…You’d blush and act like nothing happened..”

Draco starts to fantasize along with you.

“Then, some day, we'd finally go for it. My hand on your thigh, your soft lips on mine…I’d take it real slow for you.” You swarm him with loving kisses. “I’d give your pretty little tits lots of love.” You aim your kisses onto his chest. He whimpers. 

“Then I’d finger you, just like this.” You start aiming for his weak points, causing adorable moans and squirms. He shudders with pleasure and grabs your arms for stability. He's gonna come.

Draco calls out your name, toes curling as he squirts. You bring your fingers to your mouth and lick them before moving your head in between his cunt and doing the same thing. He shudders with pleasure.

You pull away. “Are you ready?”

He nods softly. His eyes trail over to your crotch, watching intently as you pull your pants down. Just seeing your hard cock through your underwear is throwing him for a loop. He has to admit, he really likes it. Draco’s mouth hangs open when he finally sees your cock in his more sober state of mind. He knows alpha’s are beyond average but this is…

“I’ll be more gentle this time.” You say, rubbing your dick along his pussy and coating it with his wetness before slowly inching it inside him. It feels agonizingly slow for you but it feels great for Draco, which is all that matters. You interlock your hand with his. His face scrunches up cutely

“Don't– don't stop–” He moans. You're stretching him out well.  

“How do you feel, baby?”

“Good– I feel good, sir~” He throws his head back and instinctively reaches for his t-cock, sliding back the hood and stroking himself gently as a dick shaped bump appears on his stomach. He looks great when he's getting fucked but there's something special about seeing him touch himself. It's hot.

You bottom out and pause. “Keep touching yourself like that for me, okay?” You gently knead his thighs.

Draco lets out a high pitched “Mhm~” as he raises his hips. He didn't think it'd ever feel this good to be so full. His eyelashes flutter beautifully as he comes again.

“Good boy.” You praise him.

He pulls his hand away and lays down, trying to catch his breath. “I…I wanna keep- keep going..”

“Are you sure?”

He nods. He's never been as sure as he is now. He's glad you didn't hold back in your office. If you didn't, he'd have no idea how amazing it feels to have you inside him, stretching him out like a new pair of boots. “I wanna feel it move..” He places his hand on his stomach. He has no clue how seductive he's being right now.

You start making short thrusts, getting him used to the feeling. “Feels okay?”

Draco nods. “‘s good-” He twitches. “You're so…so big…professor…I’m so full…”

“You like being full, baby?”

“Mhm~ I love it~” He bites his lip. There's no better tranquilizer than the combination of an alpha’s cock and pheromones. “Faster…”

You lift his legs up and roughly pound into him. “Like this?”

“Ye- yes–!” Draco moans. It looks like his heat is coming back in full swing. The medicine you gave him was pretty useless. “Ba- baby– I wanna have—” He gasps, having another orgasm.

“Don't worry, I’ll make sure to breed you properly tonight.”

His lips stretch into a wide grin. His moans get louder the longer you fuck him. His hair is a mess and his face is so, so red. You hope he remembers this time, although you're not opposed to showing him again. You cup his cheek and he leans in. His eyelids are just barely open. You’ve never felt so possessive of something or someone in your life. “Mine.” You lean into his neck and suck on the spot where you marked him. 

Draco shivers. He feels hot and dizzy. All he can think is: “knot me” “breed me” “so big” “so good” 

Your movements suddenly stutter as you feel your orgasm drawing closer. You thrust one last time before pumping him full of your seed. Draco comes again. You’re still hard.

You pull away from his neck and move him into a mating press. “One more, then I’ll knot you.” You promise, thrusting more roughly and sloppily than before. Draco wraps his arms around your back as his tail brushes against you. His head is pounding, the words “knot me” are on loop in his mind. He digs his nails into your skin.

“So deep~” He shudders, making his own markings on your back.

You're finally starting to really get affected by his pheromones. It was already pretty bad before but now, you don't feel like you're in control anymore. “‘M gonna knot you, Draco, breed you til you can't walk…fill you up with my seed..” You kiss him roughly, lightly biting on his bottom lip. Usually, it's not hard for you to go multiple rounds but there's something about Draco’s scent that’s making you more sensitive. Maybe it's because you're a pair.

“I’m coming, sweetheart-” You groan as Draco’s warm walls drag another orgasm out of you, a knot forms to keep it all inside. 

Draco smiles drunkenly, grinding his hips. “I love you..”

“I love you too.”