#should I label this eye strain

[juniper-clan]

Not me bustin my ass on a juniperclan amv

HEHEHEHEHEHEH NO WAY

[tj-crochets]

Today is my second migraine day in a row, so I only got this one flame and one ribbon onto the gavle goat, but progress is progress! I also was able to attach the ribbon to the goat horn in an easier method I wasn't sure would work, so the rest of them should be faster

Taking a brief break from working on the gavle goat itself to get started on making the flames!

This is a “trust the process” kind of step lol

[breelandwalker]

Magical Oil Recipes - Baneful Blends Edition

For anyone looking to brew up a potion with a less-than-friendly bent, here are some recipes I've created that you might find useful.

To prepare them, blend the ingredients in such proportions as feels correct for your purposes (or as supplies allow). Use dried material except where indicated. Place a few spoonfuls in a mason jar with a screwtop lid and fill the jar with a bland oil of your choice. (Vegetable oil of the sort you would buy for cooking works fine.) Screw the lid on tightly and shake well to combine, then leave the jar in a dark dry place for 2-4 weeks to steep.

Once steeped, prepare a clean storage bottle (also with a secure lid) and label with the type of oil and the bottling date. Strain the oil through paper towels or cheesecloth to remove the plant material, then bottle immediately. Store away from sunlight and heat for up to one year. Use for spellwork as you see fit.

(Please note that NONE of these potions are meant to be taken internally by any means. Observe all proper safety measures related to glass, fire, and potentially harmful plants as necessary during preparation.)

*- Ingredient is potentially harmful if inhaled or ingested. **- Ingredient should not be used or handled if you are pregnant or nursing.

All-Purpose Hexing Oil For general hexing, cursing, and baneful magic.

Dried Chili Pepper

Fresh Lime Peel

Lemongrass (dried or fresh)

Rusted Nail (place in bottle with finished oil)

All-Purpose Hexbreaking Oil For general negation of baneful spells cast by oneself or others.

Agrimony**

Cinquefoil

Fennel

Vervain

Solomon's Seal Root (place in bottle with finished oil)

Backhanded Blessing Oil For blessings that are anything but benevolent.

Burnt Cinquefoil

Bay Leaf

Pine Needles

Bayberry Root NOTE: Prepare as you would a blessing oil, then twist the blessing into a curse, i.e. May You Get Everything You Deserve.

Done in the Dark Concealment Oil For secrecy, confidentiality, and general deception.

Juniper Berries

Licorice Root

Black Hemp (Dogbane)

Ferns or Dried Seaweed Note: For the final ingredient, use whichever is easier to obtain. Both bracken and seaweed work well for basic concealment spells.

Eye of Newt Disruption Oil For disrupting and confounding magical efforts against you.

Black Mustard Seeds

Bloodroot**

Nettle Leaf

Garlic (1 clove, bruised)

No Rest For The Wicked Hexing Oil For punishing one's enemies.

Chili Pepper (any)

Horseradish Root

Cramp Bark

Bayberry Root

On Your Own Head Retribution Oil For counter magic and revenge hexes.

Elderberries*

Bloodroot**

Devil's Shoestring**

Vetiver

Tangled Shoelaces Binding Oil To impede someone's ability to move or act against you.

Pine Needles

Devil's Shoestring**

Scullcap**

Coffee Grounds

Iron Nail in master bottle

Wicked Witch Heavy-Duty Cursing Oil For occasions when a regular-strength hex just won't do.

Wormwood* **

Ghost Chili Pepper (or the hottest chili you can get)

Lemon Seeds

Lobelia* Note: Use With Extreme Caution And Cover Your Ass.

Witchbane Warding Oil For repelling and countering harmful spells.

Bay Leaves

Elderflower

Star Anise

Birch Bark

Should the reader require supplies, I recommend the following:

Penn Herb Company

Starwest Botanicals

Bulk Apothecary

Mountain Rose Herbs

Specialty Bottle

Image Credit - Shaiith

All recipes are (c) 2017 Bree NicGarran, published in Pestlework: A Book of Magical Powders & Oils. Please check out the book if you would like more recipes.

If you’re enjoying my content, please feel free to drop a little something in the tip jar, tune in to my podcast Hex Positive, or check out my published works on Amazon or in the Willow Wings Witch Shop.

[mariasont]

haiiii!!! i would LOVE smth ab spence and hotch competing for the readers attention. like in a schoolboy way where they’re obvs friends, but it doesnt stop them from trying to show off in hopes the reader will laugh at them

SCHOOLBOY-ESQUE - S.R & A.H

a/n: im dead i loved this request hahahaha thank you 4 requesting i hope you like <3

masterlist

pairings: spencer reid x reader x aaron hotchner

warnings: two men acting like children, fighting over the reader (all in good fun), a lil suggestive comment at the end

wc: 1.3k

To say the day started out strange would be an understatement. You were well-liked on the team, sure, you considered everyone to be your friend, but did you think that it was that level of friendship where they would drop dead for you? Not really.

So, when you walked into the office to find not one, but two different things on your desk that were definitely not there last night, you were thoroughly surprised.

The first thing that caught your eye, naturally, was the steaming to-go cup of coffee from your favorite cafe. You checked the label, and yup, it was your favorite—butter pecan latte.

Thought you could use a boost - S

You clutched a hand to your chest, searching the bullpen for the boy genius but coming up short. You'd thank him later.

The next thing that caught your eye was the paperwork that you had not completed last night. It had been a beast of a task, a stack you'd planned to tackle with bleary eyes this morning. But it was no longer blank. Every line and box had been meticulously filled out, albeit in handwriting that looked more like chicken scratch than anything else. 

A standard yellow sticky note sat on top.

Took care of this for you. Hope you got some sleep. - A.H

You stared at the paper, mouth slightly open as you tried to wrap your head around the sudden wave of generosity. Hotch? Spencer? This was suspicious. Very suspicious.

The very precious world as you knew it had to be ending. And to further prove that theory, the rest of the day pretty much unfolded the same.

"God, it's freezing in here," you mutter to JJ, leaning into the conference table as you wrap your arms around yourself.

JJ gave you a sympathetic smile, but before you could respond, you felt movement behind you.

"Here," Spencer offered softly, draping his cardigan toward you.

You blinked up at him in surprise, but before you could take it, Hotch's black suit jacket was already being settled over your shoulders. He muttered something about it being warmer, giving Spencer a pointed look before returning to his place at the head of the room. 

Spencer froze, his outstretched cardigan still dangling in his band, his brows furrowing slightly in disbelief. JJ's lips twitched as she leaned over to whisper. "Are we... interrupting something?"

You shot her a glare, cheeks warm as you tugged the jacket tighter around your shoulders.

Later, you found yourself hunched over your desk; nose practically pressed against the screen as you tried to decipher a particularly dense report. It was the kind of document that tended to make your brain feel like soup. Your concentration was hanging on by a microscopic thread when Spencer's voice broke through your thoughts.

"You're going to strain your eyes like that," he said, holding out a pair of blue-light glasses you swore he had just pulled from thin air. "Here, these should help filter the light from the screen."

You blinked at him, surprised. "Uh, thanks, Spence."

He grinned, leaning casually against the corner of your desk like he didn't have the entire bullpen watching him. "It's actually proven that prolonged screen exposure can lead to significant digital eye strain. In fact, did you know--"

"Reid," Hotch interrupted, voice cutting through the air as he emerged out of nowhere, holding some sort of ergonomic chair cushion. He looked to you. "Your posture isn't great either."

You blinked, again, looking at Hotch, who somehow looked calm and cool while holding a memory foam cushion like it was some sort of tactical device. 

Your posture wasn't great? How were you supposed to take that.

"Try this," Hotch continued, placing the cushion behind you in your chair before you could argue. "It'll help your back."

Spencer shot Hotch a look that bordered on indignant. "Right. Because back pain is so much worse than irreversible eye strain," he muttered, shoving his hands into his pockets.

"Um, well, I appreciate both of you," you said, cheeks heating as you glanced between the two. Their behavior was getting harder and harder to ignore, and if you didn't know better, you'd think they were competing.

The rest of the bullpen had noticed too. How could they not? Prentiss gave you an exaggerated look from her desk, her eyebrows wiggling in silent commentary. You bit back a smile and tried to focus, though the two men clearly had other plans.

Lunch was no better.

The team scattered around the table in the break room, half-heartedly picking at salads, sandwiches, and takeout. You were mid-sentence, recounting a mildly funny story to the group about your night last night, when Hotch handed you a carefully packed container.

"Eat," he instructed. "You skipped breakfast."

The words might have sounded bossy, he kind of always bossy, but he said in such a concern, gentle tone that you felt like you should've been the one concerned. You stared back down at the meal--an elaborate chicken pesto wrap--wondering when he'd even had the time to notice let alone get this.

"Wow," you teased, moving your gaze to him. "Do you just... carry emergency food for everyone, or am I special?"

You hadn't meant it as a challenge, but apparently Spencer took it as one.

"Actually," he piped up, slide a piece of dark chocolate onto the table in front of you, "this had flavonoids that improve brain function."

"So I'm getting the VIP treatment today, huh?"

"Seems like it," Prentiss muttered into her coffee.

"Food for energy is practical," Hotch defended.

"And so is cognitive stimulation."

You felt a laugh bubbling up. They were serious. Hotch and Reid--two of the most brilliant minds you'd ever met--were locked in some unspoken, schoolboy-esque competition. 

It escalated even further (you didn't think that was possible) later in the bullpen.

It started out simple: Reid was showing off his eidetic memory (as always) by reciting a list of obscure psychological terms. His voice was quick, words flowing almost like water, and you had to admit it was impressive. You'd barely had time to compliment him when Hotch walked by, dropping a thick binder onto your desk.

"Your report. Already printed and formatted."

"Are you serious?" you asked, flipping through the neatly organized pages. "I was planning on staying late to finish this."

"No need."

Reid, not to be outdone, stood straighter. "Oh, well, if you have time now," he stated, already grabbing a deck of flashcards from a drawer in his desk. "I could help quiz you on behavioral patterns. Might be helpful."

You couldn't even help it--you laughed.

They froze, both of them looking slightly off guard, like they weren't expecting that reaction. You shook your head, attempting to contain yourself as you gestured to the two of them.

"Okay, seriously. What is happening today?" You were still grinning. "Did you two make some kind of bet? Or is this just... you being competitive for fun?"

Hotch cleared his throat, straightening his tie. "I don't know what you mean."

Reid shoved his hands in his pockets, but his ears were bright red. "Me neither."

You leaned back in your chair, crossing your arms as you regarded them both. You let the silence linger for a moment longer, their baffled expressions only fueling the grin tugging at your lips. Slowly, you stood from your chair and approached them.

Both Hotch and Reid seemed rooted in place, caught off guard as you closed the distance between you all. You leaned in just a little, tilting your head so only they could hear you clearly.

"Listen, boys. There's no need to fight over me." you said, looking Spencer square in the eye before turning to Hotch. "I'm open to the idea of being shared."

Before either man could recover enough to reply, you spun on your heel and headed towards the break room, leaving them standing there like statues. Behind you, Hotch cleared his throat while Reid, still bright red, muttered something about needing to find more flashcards.

taglist: @readergf @edencherries @aurorsworld @princess76179 @malindacath @broadwaytraaaaash @r-3dlips @m-indkiller @sunfyyre @sleepysongbirdsings @trulycayla @reiderrambles @averyhotchner @hbwrelic @sky2nd @messylxve @alexxavicry @doigettokeepyou @pleasantwitchgarden @kodzukenmaaa @hiireadstuff @dilflover-3 @spenciesslut @phoenix-le-danseur-de-pole @c-losur3 @theylovemelody @alahnizamolo @oliver-1270 @ssahotchbabe @savagemickey03 @justanotherbimboslxt @imoonkiss @spiderladyleah @estragos @khxna @spencerssoup @de-duchess @raysmayhem-72 @crouchingapple @navia3000 @aaronlovesava @bakugocanstompme @everythinglizzy @candyd1es @storiesofsvu @sabmichell @jstcln @wondergal2001 @mxriesss @justyourusualash

join my taglist here!

[austinbutlerslovers]

Obsession

Label Mature 18+

Summary Betrothed to Feyd-Rautha, the dark and terrifyingly handsome Na-Baron of Giedi Prime, you should be filled with fear, instead you are obsessed with him.

Harkonnen wedding traditions are brutal and cruel, a series of tests meant to prove your undying obedience yet you find yourself giving everything on your wedding night to ensure you are his one true Baroness.

🚨 Depraved Smut 🚨 foreplay•Dune style stimulation devices•temporary restraints •ovulation stimulator •breeding kink•multiple interchanged sex positions•multiple orgasms

🔗 Masterlist

📖 Proof Reader @purejasmine 🫦 Smut Consult @burnthheparaphilia 🩸slight mention of blood, Feyds from a chalice for the wedding

Yes 🤤 the unnatural obsession with Feyd is so real

Obsession

Your heart raced as the shuttle descended through the thick, polluted clouds of Geidi Prime, the dark, industrial planet that would soon be your new home. The vast, mechanical landscape stretched below, black and gray, a dystopian sprawl where nothing grew naturally. It was stark, oppressive, and utterly foreign to you—just like the man you were about to marry.

Feyd Rautha Harkonnen. The name alone made your pulse quicken. He was dark, enigmatic, and dangerous, whispered about in terror. The nephew of Baron Vladimir Harkonnen, Feyd was next in line to become the Baron himself, a title that would grant him dominion over the cruel, shadowed world of Geidi Prime and all who lived under his rule.

You had heard of him long before you ever saw him in person. The stories reached your ears like venom, laced with fear and awe. Even on your distant homeworld, far from the brutal politics of Giedi Prime, Feyd’s reputation preceded him.

He was a figure of dark fascination—a Harkonnen prince known for his ruthlessness in the gladiatorial arena and his cunning in the shadows of the political court. But it wasn’t until the day you saw him with your own eyes that the name took on a new, enticing meaning.

The Harkonnens had come to broker a deal with your ruling family—a subtle tightening of their grip over your people. Your father, proud and stern, had never been one to show emotion, but even he couldn’t mask the strain this decision was putting on him.

The meeting was held in the grand hall of your father’s palace. You were present but only as an observer, careful not to draw attention to yourself.

The Baron sat smugly in his chair, Feyd standing just behind him, a dark figure of quiet menace. Every so often, your eyes would dart to Feyd, stealing glances at the way he held himself with a confidence that bordered on arrogance.

His sharp features, the cold intensity in his eyes, but that alone had been enough to stir something dangerous within you.

This was the final and longest of several negotiations, and you could see the tension simmering beneath the surface, the unsaid truths weighing heavily on your father.

He was prepared to give you away as part of this dark, political bargain. The deal had been struck weeks ago, an agreement to cement an alliance with the Harkonnens in exchange for protection and resources…at the cost of your hand in marriage.

Your father’s voice wavered as the meeting wore on. “She is my daughter,” he said, his tone strained. “I want assurances—more than just words.”

The Baron’s smile was a twisted thing, devoid of warmth. “You’ll get what was promised,” he replied, his voice heavy with the weight of unspoken threats. “The bargain is set. There’s no going back now.”

That’s when your father’s voice began to escalate torn between the weight of his obligations no longer able to contain his frustration.

“We made the bargain between our planets, yes,” he said, his voice rising, sharp with anger. “But my daughter is a princess—my daughter—and I will not stand by and watch her be treated like some pawn in your twisted games! I want assurances—real assurances—that she will be unharmed!”

The Baron’s smile deepened with a steely coldness as he clasped his hands together. “This is no place for sentiment,” he interrupted. “You’ve already sold her future. You would do well to remember that.”

That is when the discussion escalated, voices from your father and his advisors rising with every point of contention, their frustration growing louder in the face of the now cackling Baron, and then something shifted. The air grew charged, dangerous, and you could feel it coming before anyone else did.

One of your father’s personal guards—a man known for his loyalty, yet prone to impulsiveness—had stepped too close to Feyd, perhaps provoked by the tension in the room. His words had been a sharp insult against the Harkonnens.

You watched, heart pounding, as Feyd moved faster than anyone expected.

With a fluidity that defied his size, Feyd was upon the guard before anyone could blink.

The guard didn’t even have time to react Feyd’s movements were a blur—brutal, efficient, and terrifyingly precise.

In a heartbeat, he slammed the guards head against the table, his knife pressed to the man’s throat, his eyes alight with a cold controlled fury.

There was no hesitation, no moment of indecision. Feyd had claimed dominance in an instant, the guard left shocked he was now under the threat of death.

Feyds control over the situation was absolute. The room held its breath, waiting for him to make the kill, and for a moment—you thought he would.

The room was silent, the only sound the faint rasps of the guard’s breathing under Feyd’s blade.

But Feyd didn’t kill him. Instead, he leaned in close, his voice low and dangerous as he whispered something in the guard’s ear. Whatever it was, you couldn’t hear it, but the look of sheer terror on the guard’s face told you enough.

Feyd withdrew the blade slowly, deliberately, as though savoring the moment. Then, just as quickly as he had attacked, he stepped back, his face returning to a mask of cold indifference.

You had felt your pulse quicken, excitement rushing through you. There was something about him—his precision, his control, the way he could command a room with nothing more than a glance and a blade.

You had heard tales of his brutality, but seeing it in person was different. It was intoxicating. Where others might have felt fear, you felt something else—something far more dangerous.

It was in that moment, as Feyd stepped away from the trembling guard, his gaze sweeping across the room, that his eyes met yours for the first time. The connection was brief, just a flicker, but it was enough. His lips curved ever so slightly, as he stared at you as if he had already claimed you.

There was no warmth in his gaze, no affection—only the cold certainty that he saw you as his inevitable prize. And yet, the intensity of his focus made it impossible for you to think of anything else. It was almost maddening the way he could make you feel like he already owned you, without ever laying a hand on you and it was the beginning of something darkly inevitable.

He had seen you watching him, and you had seen him for what he truly was—a force of control, of power, of dominance. You had always heard the Harkonnens were dangerous, but it wasn’t until you saw Feyd that day you realized how deeply you craved that danger. And from that moment on, your obsession with him began to grow.

You hadn’t been given a choice in the matter; the day of the marriage ceremony had already been arranged on Giedi Prime.

It was assumed you would be an unwilling captive, terrified of this unhinged manipulative Harkonnen. Everyone warned you to be prepared for the worst, to expect coldness, cruelty—maybe even pain.

But they didn’t know you.

As the shuttle landed, your anticipation only grew, a thrill sparking deep inside you. You were completely obsessed with him now, this future Baron whose reputation was so dark, so cruel. You craved what others feared. And tomorrow, on your wedding night, you would finally be his.

The wedding was a cold, efficient ceremony. The Harkonnen traditions were harsh, foreign to you, but strangely exhilarating.

The current Baron watched carefully, his calculating gaze never leaving you as the guards led you forward to Feyd-Rautha.

The Baron had anticipated seeing you recoil at the sight of his nephew—his cruel sneer already forming as you placed your hand in Feyd’s.

But the excitement that rushed through you as you laid eyes on the tall, imposing Feyd-Rautha was hidden behind a mask of composer. You kept your expression calm, but inside, the thrill of standing next to him, of touching him, surged through you.

You couldn’t wait to be his, your obsession for him building from the moment you laid eyes on him. He was powerful and irresistible, your desire for him deepening with every glance you stole in his direction.

He had barely spoken a word to before the ceremony but his presence sent waves of anticipation through you. He was strong, and intelligent, his angular features making him impossibly attractive in a sinister way.

His blue eyes gleamed with something dark, something dangerous, and you knew instantly you wanted him, all of him, no matter how twisted or cruel he might be.

The procession began at dawn, the sky a sickly red as the first light filtered through the grimy atmosphere of the planet. The ceremonial gown they had chosen for you was unlike any wedding attire you had ever imagined, an artifact of Harkonnen cruelty.

It was not designed for beauty or grace, but to impose dominance, to encase you in the rigid structure of their traditions.

You were sewn into the gown, the black fabric clinging so tightly to your body that it was suffocating in its embrace, your chest the only thing free from the bodice.

The garment was designed to restrain you—to remind you of the life you were about to enter, one ruled by dominance and power.

Feyd, standing at the altar, wore a regal garment—black with crimson accents, the Harkonnen emblem across his chest.

His presence was commanding, his expression cold and unreadable, but you could feel the intensity of his gaze, his claim laid into to you long before the ritual even began.

The ceremony itself was a test, not just of loyalty, but of strength, a series of grueling customs meant to solidify the union between you and the Harkonnen House.

The first was a Blood Oath, an ancient Harkonnen tradition that required both partners to spill their blood as a symbol of their commitment, not just to each other, but to the house itself.

A ceremonial blade was presented to Feyd, its edge gleaming dangerously in the low light of the grand hall.

Feyds blood was the first to be offered,a symbol of his dominance and control, and you felt your breath quicken as you watched.

Feyd sliced a shallow cut across his palm, the dark blood pooling in his hand. There was no hesitation in his gaze, no sign of pain—just the cold, calculated determination you had come to expect from him.

You had known this moment was coming, had steeled yourself for it, and yet when he reached for your hand, the weight of the ritual suddenly became far more real.

Feyd’s grip on your hand was firm, his fingers wrapping around yours pulling your hand over the chalice. The cold steel of the blade brushed against your skin, and Feyds eyes searched yours for any hint of fear or hesitation, but you held his gaze, refusing to look away.

The blade hovered just above your palm, the sharp edge gleaming as Feyd pressed it gently against your skin. You could feel the pressure, the promise of pain, and then, with one swift motion, the blade sliced through the delicate skin of your hand.

The sting was immediate, sharp and precise, and for a brief moment, the world seemed to narrow down to that single point of contact.

You gasped softly, the sound barely audible in the silence of the hall, as warm blood began to trickle from the cut. It slid down your fingers in slow, deliberate streams, mingling with Feyd’s blood as it dripped into the chalice below. The crimson liquid swirled together, yours bright red, his dark and thick, a tangible symbol of the bond you had just forged.

Your heart raced, the steady thrum of it loud in your ears as you locked eyes with Feyd again.

For a moment, time seemed to stand still. The weight of what had just transpired settled heavily over you, as though the air itself had thickened.

You were no longer two individuals. You were bound by blood, by ritual, by something far deeper than any wedding ceremony could signify.

Feyd held your gaze a moment longer, the intensity between you almost suffocating, before he finally let go of your hand. The cut still throbbed, the blood still trickled down your skin, but the pain was secondary now— your fate had just been sealed.

The chalice, filled with the mingling blood, was lifted by the Baron as your hands were mended, a cold twisted grin of satisfaction playing at the corners of his lips as he inspected the contents. He swirled the blood together, indistinguishable now, just as your fates had become.

“You are one now,” the Baron rasped, his voice carrying a note of finality. “Bound in blood, as it should be.”

He offered the chalice to Feyd, who drank from it readily, his throat moving as he swallowed. You watched intently, your heartbeat quickening, knowing you were next.

Feyd offered the chalice to you held in both hands. His eyes bore into yours, filled with expectation and a dark intensity, silently urging you to drink. There was something in his gaze—commanding, almost daring—as if he needed to see you do it, to watch you take part in this ritual that bound you to him.

Determined to honor his custom, you took the chalice from his hands into your own and did not look at what you drank, only swiftly bringing the edge to your lips.

Just a swallow—and immediately, you knew Feyd’s blood was different, like ink spreading along your tongue, the metallic taste thick and lingering, refusing to dissipate just like this moment, you would never soon forget.

But it wasn’t enough to simply give your blood.

The next custom was known as the Trial of Chains, an ordeal designed to test your endurance and your willingness to submit to the will of House Harkonnen.

You were led to the center of the hall, where an iron structure loomed—a symbolic relic of Harkonnen dominance. Heavy, dark chains were draped over your arms and shoulders. You were forced to stand, unmoving, while the Baron himself recited a list of oaths you would take.

The weight of the chains grew unbearable with each passing moment, your muscles straining under the pressure, but you knew that showing weakness was not an option.

Every Harkonnen wedding had this trial, a display to prove the new spouse’s fortitude. Failure meant dishonor, and in some cases, death.

As the trial continued, Feyd watched you closely, his eyes scanning your every movement, gauging whether you would falter.

But you did not. Despite the heaviness of the chains, despite the cold sweat that began to form on your brow, you stood still, the weight nothing compared to the determination to please him.

By the time the Baron finished the oaths, you felt as though the chains had become a part of you—symbols of the power and control you had willingly accepted.

The last and most chilling custom was The Binding of the Will, a psychological test unique to the Harkonnen lineage.

A dark room was prepared beneath the Grand Hall, filled with a hypnotic scent that that made your lungs feel heavy with every breath.

A veil was placed upon your head, its fabric heavy and oppressive. It was made from a black intricate fabric that seemed to shimmer faintly in the low light. It was woven with delicate, sinister patterns—symbols of submission, of ancient power.

The weight of the veil was almost suffocating, obscuring your vision slightly, casting everything around you in a dim, distorted haze.

You could feel its texture against your skin, cold and unyielding, a physical reminder of the role you were about to play.

You were made to kneel on a white cold stone altar, your knees resting on the unyielding surface as you felt the weight of the veil draped over your head.

Feyd took his place in front of you and you were left alone together in the dimly lit room.

In the heavy silence, you could hear your own shallow breathing, loud and uneven beneath the heavy veil.

Each breath felt more labored, the weight of the ritual and the veil combining to stir a slight panic in your chest.

For a brief moment, it felt overwhelming—the room, the ritual, the weight of the fabric that seemed to trap you in place. But then, through the haze of the veil, you caught sight of Feyd’s eyes.

He was watching you, his gaze almost reverent for what you had endured, and that look alone—anchored you to him.

His hand reached for yours, lightly tracing his finger along your outstretched palm.

It was something you somehow knew was against tradition, against his customs, and yet you couldn’t help but smile at him, utterly enamored.

He met your eyes, and there was a flicker of satisfaction in them, a possessive gleam that held you in place. Then, just as quickly, his hand slipped away, clasped behind his back.

The doors to the room slowly opened as an ancient Harkonnen master entered draped in a cloak of shadows.

In his hands he held a metal prism. His movements were slow and paced, his form almost blending into the darkness that surrounded him.

He approached Feyd offering him the prism without a word which Feyd accepted with reverence bringing it to his forehead before lowering it to his chest.

It was an old relic ancient even, passed down through generations of Harkonnens, The dark, polished surface gleamed under the low light.

Feyd then brought the prism toward you and under your veil. His hand was steady as he pressed a hidden mechanism. With a soft click, the panels unfolded and a cloud of smoke plumed from it.

You tried not to inhale it, but the smoke found its way into your lungs thick and sweet with every shallow breath.

Slowly a warmth began to seep into your veins, spreading inch by inch through your body, a creeping sensation, as though something dark was settling inside you, rooting itself deep within.

You softly gasped as everything around you blurred, the room seeming to shift and warp before your eyes, becoming both infinite and claustrophobic all at once.

Your limbs grew heavy, but your mind floated away, detached from the physical weight of your body.

The air was no longer suffocating but welcoming, each breath drawing you deeper into a dreamlike haze.

Feyd watched you closely until your head lulled your eyes fluttering, then he closed the lid removing the prism.

The master began speaking a series of words in a language you didn’t recognize, words that held a strange, almost hypnotic power.

The words, when spoken, worked deep into your mind, attempting to root out your fears, your weaknesses, and plant a binding suggestion that you would never defy the will of your husband, nor the Harkonnen family.

This binding wasn’t meant to break your spirit completely, but rather to tether it—making sure that, while you might fight or resist, you would always come back, always remain under his control.

The master’s voice was a low, droning chant, and with every word, you felt an eerie surge of calm settle over you, as though the very air was wrapping around your mind, coaxing it to bend.

By the end of the ritual, you felt a strange sense of liberation and captivity.

You had passed every test, met every challenge. You had shown them that you were worthy to stand beside Feyd Rautha, but in doing so, you had also surrendered a part of yourself to the darkness that was the Harkonnen legacy.

As the ceremony concluded, Feyd stepped toward you, the cold, calculating look in his eyes replaced with something deeper, more genuine. He took your hands in his, and though the touch was possessive, you felt a connection, a burning energy between you.

The Baron watched from the shadows as Feyd removed the veil, his lips curling into a twisted smile. You had passed the tests and now you belonged to Feyd-Rautha, bound by blood, chains, and will.

As you walked together from the hall, the dark traditions of the Harkonnen now coursing through your veins, you realized you had entered their world, and you would never leave it.

The moment the heavy doors of the ceremonial mating chambers closed behind you, the air between you shifted, the atmosphere thickening with unspoken tension.

Feyd’s eyes bore into you, calculating what he do with you now that you were alone.

His dark gaze made your pulse quicken, and you could feel the anticipation thrumming through your veins.

“You enjoyed the ceremony, didn’t you?” Feyd’s voice asks with a low rasp, as he took a slow step toward you, his strong frame towering over yours.

“You are the first bride to complete it,” he reveals, his eyes gleaming with dark satisfaction.

You meet his gaze without flinching, though a strange haze clouds your thoughts, a light sweat dampening your skin.

Whatever they had given you during the ceremony still lingers in your body, making everything feel distant and sharp all at once.

Your heart races with your limbs feeling heavy and light at the same time but a dangerous, daring look flickers in your eyes.

“Maybe I am not like most brides.” You respond the words slipping from your lips.

A wicked smile tugs at the corner of Feyds lips with intrigue. “No, I suppose you’re not,” he says, his eyes dark with something unspoken as he watches you, his gaze lingering on the subtle glisten of your skin.

He moves closer, his hand suddenly gripping your chin, tilting your head up to meet his eyes.

His touch is firm, possessive, his fingers cold against your skin, but it only makes you crave more.

“Do you know what’s expected of you tonight?” he asks, his voice low and dark, watching the way your eyes flutter slightly under the heavy weight of opium coursing through your veins from the ritual.

You nod, your breath catching in your throat. “Yes.”

Something flickers in Feyd’s eyes—interest, surprise—and a slight grin forms at the corner of his lips.

“On your knees,” he says, his voice low and commanding. His tone leaves no room for hesitation, and your legs move of their own accord, sinking into the cold black stone floor beneath you.

Feyd takes his time, circling you , assessing you. His footsteps are slow, deliberate, as the anticipation increases within you, your skin prickling with both fear and excitement.

“You think you understand what tonight is,” he muses, stopping behind you. His fingers sliding into your hair, pulling gently at first, then sharply enough to yank your head back making you cry out.

“Pleasure and pain” he says softly releasing your hair. “Because only through one can you fully experience the other.”

Your heart races as he leaves your side, pressing a button that makes a sleek ledge rise from the floor. When it reaches the desired height, a lid slides back, revealing several items on its surface.

You can’t see what he’s selecting, but the soft clink of metal makes your breath catch in your throat, sending a wave of anticipation coursing through you.

He returns, standing before you once more, and in his hands, he holds two items—one, a smooth handled device with a phallic tip that that glints menacingly in the dim light, and the other, a small, polished stone that pulses with a faint, white inner glow.

His lips curl into a smirk as he crouches down to meet your eye level.

“Do you know what these are?” he asks the question rhetorical as you look at each object.

“No” you breathe looking up to him.

“These will show me everything I need to know about you—how much you can take before you break.” He grins.

He manipulates the handled phallic device turning it on with a quiet hum that makes your nerves tingle. Without warning, he lifts your gown pressing the phallic tip between your legs against your clit, its vibrations intense and immediate.

Your body jerks at the sensation, your muscles tightening against the onslaught of stimulation. Feyd’s eyes darken as he watches you struggle to maintain control, your hips rocking as you begin to give in.

“You will stay still,” he commands, his voice laced with authority. “No matter how much you want to move, you will stay right here until I say otherwise.”

You stifle yourself as the device steadily hums against you, its pulsing rhythm sending waves of pleasure through your body teasing the edges of your desire, leaving you aching for more.

Feyd watches every twitch of your body, every slight movement of your hips as you try, unsuccessfully, to remain still, enduring the pleasure. His eyes gleam with sadistic delight, savoring your frustration as your arousal drips from the device onto the floor.

You want to scream in pleasure, and just when you think you can’t handle any more, Feyd reaches for the glowing stone. The warmth radiating from it as he places it against your chest where it remains in place without his touch.

A sudden, electric current emits from the stone, shooting through your chest, igniting every nerve ending in your body. It is unlike anything you have ever felt before —and the dual stimulation of pleasure and pain begins to overwhelm your senses.

The vibrations from the device meld with the energy from the stone, sending jolts of pleasure and pain coursing through your body. Your muscles tense and weaken under the unrelenting stimulation, your breaths coming in ragged gasps as each wave of sensation builds, layer upon layer, until you’re trembling in desperation.

“Not yet,” Feyd whispers as his hands finally began to roam over your body. His fingers grazing your constricting gown with approval, amplifying the sensation of the two forces at work within you. He is testing you, pushing you to the edge, but will not allow you to fall.

His hand grasps your chin tilting your face upwards to meet his eyes. “You’re mine, and tonight, you’ll learn what that means.” He says looking at you with a grin, his black smile so seductive you involuntarily moan for him.

He twists the handled device between your legs, forcing the phallus inside of you. The onslaught of pleasure is relentless, its rhythm changing every time you think you might get used to the intensity.

The stone on your chest begins sending sharper pulses of pain through you, alternating with the vibrations, each shock more intense than the last.

You try to stay still, try to obey, but your body starts betraying you. Your hips move involuntarily with the device, and a low tsk from Feyd tells you he has noticed and is displeased.

His hand is suddenly in your hair, yanking your head back, his other hand pressing the stone harder against your chest, making the sensation intolerable as you wince in pain.

“If you come you will be punished ” he rasps darkly, his voice sharp in the silence of the room.

“But if you last I will please you greatly.” He says releasing the stones intensity. “But until then, you will endure” he commands.

His words send a fresh wave of desire coursing through you, the challenge in his tone igniting something deep within. His test pushing you, daring you to prove yourself to him.

His hand begins to stroke your chin as you look up to him tears brimming your eyes faint cries rolling from your lips as you endure.

He revels in your torment, the way your body does not react to what he knows is agonizing you in the most pleasurable way.

The sensations start to become too much, your entire body feels as if it’s on fire, each pulse from the stone, each vibration from the device driving you closer and closer to the edge of madness as a startling sound rips from your throat.

And then, as if knowing you are breaking, Feyd yanks the stone from your chest, now intensely glowing red as you fall to the floor gasping and trembling.

The metallic device still pulses inside of you, amplifying only the pleasure which now floods your body and the intensity is unlike anything you’ve ever felt—so extreme it feels like it’s tearing through you.

Unable to hold back any longer, you feel your body finally give in. Every muscle tightens as your thighs tremble uncontrollably and a shudder runs through as you gasp against the floor.

Feyd watches you closely, his eyes gleaming with dark satisfaction as you come, your body quivering until you finally go limp, completely spent.

He waits for a moment, savoring the sight of you laid before him, your chest rising and falling as you pant, utterly drained.

Then, with deliberate slowness, he reaches for the handle of the device, gripping it firmly.

His movements are controlled and methodical, as he pulls it out of you, the sound of it leaving your body echoes in the stillness of the room, the slick, drenched surface glistening under the low light.

You lie there, weak and breathless, every nerve in your body still on fire from the intensity of what you’ve just experienced.

Feyd slowly grabs a blade from the table, his eyes never leaving yours as he kneels over you, the cold steel gleaming menacingly in his grasp.

The sight of the blade sends a shiver of anticipation through you as Feyd brings it closer to your body, his smile dark and dangerous. His hand traces the lines of the dress, sewn tightly against you, a symbol of the Harkonnen dominance.

“This dress was made to bind you,” he rasps, the blade gleaming in his hand. “When I cut you free, you are mine entirely.” He reveals as he lowers the blade.

His movements are deliberate, calculated, and when the sharp edge of the blade touches the fabric of your gown, you can feel your heart beat quicken.

With a slow, precise motion, he drags the blade through the fabric, the sound of tearing cloth echoing in the stillness of the room.

The gown gives way easily under the sharp edge, the fabric splitting open in precise lines that expose your skin inch by inch. He carves through the material with deliberate precision, freeing you from its confines.

As the last of the gown falls away, you inhale deeply, no longer constricted by the fabric that bound you, the cool air of the room inviting against your bare skin.

Every inch of you is exposed to Feyd, the sensation sharp and invigorating, heightening the awareness of your vulnerability beneath him.

Feyd smirks as he looks down at you, his blade in hand, fully aware of the power he holds over you.

His eyes linger on your nakedness, and you can see the way his desire intensifies, the subtle shift in his expression betraying how aroused he is.

His gaze travels over you with an almost possessive satisfaction, taking in every inch of you knowing you are his to command.

“I will breed you now,” he says, his fingers brushing your skin, just lightly enough to drive you mad. “And you will come for me many times before dawn.”

He stands over you, his dominance absolute, his eyes never leaving yours as he places the blade upon the table.

He removes his ceremonial garments, pulling and unclasping each piece from his body until he’s fully revealed. Beneath the dim light, the chiseled lines of his physique are striking—each muscle sharply defined, his body sculpted with raw strength and power.

His broad shoulders and chest taper down to a trim waist, the smooth, hairless perfection of his skin highlighting the contours of his abs and the hard lines of his arms.

His pale skin gleams under the dim light, his presence is overwhelming, his body a masterpiece of raw strength and dominance.

Your gaze travels down his body, exploring every inch with growing anticipation. When your eyes settle on the impressive size of his cock, you are filled with awe. The pink tip stands proudly from the thick, veined length of his shaft, and you can’t help but feel a surge of reverence, even honor, knowing that he intends to claim you.

Feyd is a force—ruthless, calculating, powerful and the knowledge that you now belong to him fills you with anticipation and desire.

He takes your arms, pulling you from the floor with a firm grip, and presses you down onto the cold, smooth surface of the mating altar.

The slick texture beneath your back sends a shiver through you, amplifying your sense of submission and vulnerability.

Without a word, he grasps your ankle, guiding it into a stirrup, securing it firmly before doing the same with the other.

Your legs are spread apart, knees bent, leaving you completely vulnerable to him. The air feels heavy as Feyd stands before you, his gaze dark and possessive, ready to take what is his.

His hand trails down your body, possessive and slow. “Tonight, you’ll know exactly what it means to belong to me,” he muses, his voice laced with dark promise.

Without breaking his gaze from yours, he presses a button, opening a small compartment on the panel at the foot of the alter pulling out a sleek syringe.

It faintly glows as he dispenses a translucent gel onto his fingers, the substance shimmering slightly in the dim light.

Feyds eyes are dark and calculating, as he slowly reaches between your legs, his fingers moving with deliberate precision.

His touch is cold at first, the gel slick as it coats his fingers, and with a slow, measured motion, he begins to slick it along your folds, his fingers tracing with meticulous care.

Feyd smirks as he softly spreads the gel between your legs, his eyes dark and calculating. “A special preparation, designed to ensure the legacy.” He says pressing his fingers against your entrance.

Then without hesitation he pushes his fingers inside of you, the gel cool and slick heightening every sensation.

“The Harkonnen lineage demands results,” he says, his tone filled with authority, “and I will make sure you fulfill that role.”

He slowly glides them deeper into you, the gel’s slickness easing their penetration. He watches you closely, his expression unreadable as his fingers move with a precision that makes you fully aware this is only the beginning of what he has planned.

His fingers reach a depth that makes you instinctively tighten around him, then he pushes slightly further, finding that perfect place as sudden a gentle ache begins pulsing on both sides of your core.

He pulls his fingers back possessively, his eyes locking onto yours.

“Another night, I will waste you entirely this way,” he says, his voice low and commanding. “But tonight is ensuring you belong to me, body, mind, and future.” He reveals his gaze deep with determination at the thought of owning every part of you.

The wedding night has only just begun, and already, you are his—completely and utterly his to control.

He runs his hands affectionately down your trapped legs, the touch unexpectedly soft, savoring the moment. His fingers trail along your skin, leaving a path of warmth in their wake, before he grips your legs firmly, holding them in place.

“You will fulfill your role as Baroness” he says with a slow, deliberate motion as he settles between your legs his weight pressing down on you.

“Your body will serve me in ways that will bind you to me forever.” he says almost to himself as his fingertips slowly trail along your cheek.

His gaze is deep, penetrating, as if he’s looking into your very soul, claiming you before a single word is spoken.

You reach up, grabbing hold of Feyd’s neck pulling him down, your lips pressing against his in a heated desperate kiss.

The boldness of your action surprises him, a low sound of approval escaping his throat as your body presses against his, your breaths mingling together.

You kiss him harder, your fingers digging into his neck, your desperation undeniable. “Now,” you whisper between breaths, “I want—I want all of you, now Feyd”

Feyd pulls back slightly, a wicked grin spreading across his face, his eyes gleaming with dark satisfaction.

“You will have all of me, and more than you know how to handle.” he rasps, his voice certain.

Then, without another word, he positions himself, his cock hard and heavy in his hand as he strokes it, squeezing to the tip until pre-cum beads at the slit.

The intensity in his gaze never leaves yours as he takes his time pressing his large cock into you. He’s agonizingly slow, making sure you feel every ridge, every vein as your body stretches around him.

You moan in pleasure your grasp tightening onto his neck “Yes,” you breathe out, your voice trembling as he pushes deeper, “yes, yes,” the words slipping from your lips as he begins to thrust into you, the fullness of his cock overwhelming in its size exactly what you craved.

His grin only deepens as he takes you, savoring the moment, “I thought you’d resist…—fight against your new role…—but here you are, begging for it.” He says on every push of his hips.

“Yes,” you breathe, barely able to contain the rush of sensation. “Yes, I want it.”

His smirk deepens, black teeth gleaming as he sets a relentless pace into you.

Your vision blurs, the room spinning as your mind struggles to process the sheer intensity of what’s happening.

The wedding night is unlike anything you had imagined, and yet, it was everything you craved.

Feyd was unhinged, just as they had warned you: possessive, controlling, his thrusts rough and intoxicating, every part of your body fulfilled, pushing you to your limits.

Your moans of his name are so loud he thinks he is breaking you, pushing you too far, but he didn’t know you.

Every time he pushes harder, you revel it, moaning his name, craving more. The harder he breeds you, the more you respond, your body meeting his every thrust, your breathless gasps filling the room.

Feyd’s eyes widen as he realizes what is happening—that you are in pleasure, as unhinged as he is, that you crave the same intensity he does. A grin spreads across his face, wild and dangerous and he leans in, pressing his lips to your ear.

“You enjoy this, don’t you?” he whispers, his voice rough with desire.

“Yes,” you gasp, your nails digging into his back, pulling him closer. “I want more Feyd.”

Something shifts in him hearing those words, his expression darkening with pleasure. He grips your wrists, pinning them above your head as he looms above you, his breath hot and heavy.

“You’re more resilient than I thought,” he reveals with a grin his voice filled with both awe and approval.

“I will give you what you desire” he says his eyes gleaming with a twisted satisfaction, as if this unexpected strength only fuels his desire to push you further.

He watches you with a heated, intense gaze, his eyes dark with hunger as his hips snap forward, driving his deepest inside you.

The world narrows to just that moment—the raw, intensifying pleasure that feels too much, too good.

Each thrust after sends shockwaves through your body, and you can feel yourself unraveling, the sensation in your veins too powerful to contain.

Your breaths catch as your mouth opens in desperate moan, your eyes locking with Feyd, the way he takes you wracking your body in ways you never thought possible.

The sensation is dizzying, overwhelming, pushing you right to the edge of sanity. You can barely think, your mind clouded, altered, willing to surrender everything just to have more of him, more of this.

He continues to thrust his hardest, the force of his cock sending a tidal wave of ecstasy that crashes through, leaving you trembling, breathless.

Your body can no longer keep up with the intensity, and every nerve is on fire as you fall, completely undone, spiraling into bliss as everything inside you clenches tight, then releases in a flood of sensation that leaves you gasping.

Feyd feels you clenching on him as he stares into your eyes watching a strangled moan escape your lips, your body shaking as you come.

As your walls tighten around him, his control wavers, his face softening with a raw, unguarded intensity. His hands grip you tighter, fingers digging into your skin as if anchoring himself to keep from completely falling apart. A low, primal sound emits from his throat, rough and strained, as he fights to maintain control.

You look up into his eyes, meeting that fierce, possessive gaze, and in that instant, something shifts. The warmth of his come spreads deep inside you, filling you with a sense of completeness that takes your breath away. You gasp, the moment overwhelming, binding you to him in a way words could never convey.

His hold tightens further, a silent claim, sealing the connection between you, leaving no doubt that you are his—now and always.

Before the aftershocks have even faded, you already crave him again, desperate for more, for him to fill you and take you over and over again until there’s nothing left but pleasure.

“-Please…” you beg him feeling the heat in your body remain.

Feyd chuckles, low and dark, his voice heavy with satisfaction as his lips brush against your ear, “I’ve completely wrecked you… and you still want more.” His hand cups your face, forcing your eyes to meet his, the smirk on his lips wicked.

“You’d do anything, for me wouldn’t you?” He asks pulling his cock back, just enough to make you feel the loss. “And I’m just getting started.”

The night continues, a blur of pleasure and pain, of control and surrender. Feyd pushes you further than you thought possible your obsession with him deepening with every new position.

He releases you from your restraints flipping onto your front and taking you again, his hands pinning your arms to the mat. The tension between his grip and the rhythm of his thrusts building until you come, trembling beneath him.

He pulls you back on your hands and knees his hand firmly at the back of your neck pressing your face into the mat. His hips driving into you from behind, each thrust harder than the last, until he finally comes satisfied with his release deep within you.

He brings you on all fours his fingers teasing your clit to work you faster as you push back against him until you come together.

He pulls you into his lap, hands cupping your breasts his mouth drawing new waves of pleasure from your core as he leans in to suck on each one. You ride him hard, feeling the heat between you growing until you shatter in his arms.

And as the night goes on, position after position you realize he is just as obsessed with you as you are with him.

He has found someone who can match his intimacy, someone who craves the same things he does, and it thrills him to no end.

By the time dawn breaks over the cold, industrial landscape of Geidi Prime, you lay together, your bodies spent, his arm draped possessively over you. His eyes gleaming with satisfaction as he looks down at you, his fingers tracing lazy circles on your skin.

“You surprised me,” he says, his voice softer now more affectionate. “I didn’t think you could handle me. But you did… and more.”

You smile, feeling a sense of victory, of pride. “I told you… I am not like most brides.”

Feyd chuckles, his lips brushing against your temple. “You will make a fine Baroness for me.” He says, with a deep sense of satisfaction.

“I will have you as my Baron many times,” you whisper, the words sending a thrill through you. You had craved him, all of him—his strength, his control, his darkness. And now, you had it.

Feyd smiles down at you, his fingers brushing along your hair. “Good.” He says his voice a dark satisfied rasp. “Because I’m not done with you yet.”

⚔️END ⚔️

🔗 Master List

🏷️ Always Tag Me List @burnthheparaphilia @purejasmine @butdaddyilovehim99 @austinbutlerfly @lindszeppelin @abswifey @ausssbutlershortstories @magicovento @umika @obsessedvibee @austiebuttbutt @psycheetamore @aust-een @faegoddessog @jessica987 @slowsweetlove @mrs-hardy-hunnam-butler @hardcoredisneynerd @thegabbyh @eternal-love @steph-speaks @thefallofthedamned @buckysteveloki-me @bucking-mustangs-with-wings @shegatsby @darlingisntit @lovereadingfanfic @elvismylove04 @denised916 @shockercoco @minispice-1 @meetmeatyourworst @ughdontbeboring @avidreader73 @12joeywheelerfangirl @xxmandaveexx @mamawiggers1980 @feralgodmothers @finley-08 @imjustheretoreadsmuthaha @majestyjade @gravesdiggergirl @nostalgichoya @ifuckindontknow @kaelatargaryen @darknightmareobject

⚔️ Feyd Rautha Tag List

@rougegenshin @maloribarnes1999 @moony-artemis @xxxstormyninixxx @prettypinkblogger @aoi-targaryen @austinswhitewolf @skinny-baby-4eva @mimsie95 @the-wanderer-2022 @jakesullyissopookie @francis-writes @shiranai-atsune @berlinalv @everyonelovesavalet @dacreshoney @caroline334 @moonsoulk @sophroniaclark @emeraldsgirl @cooliosthings @mcmisbehaving @dunevitaniu

[occamstfs]

Triple Shot Theft

Trying to nab himself a sweet treat, Liam finds himself growing into the behemoth whose order he stole.

Shorter story! Petty thief to meathead bodybuilder, hope you enjoy this slightly more succinct story! -Occam

The coffee was in his sights. Liam just needs to wait for a moment when the mobile order counter was unattended andddd- There. He’s already out the door and headed down the street with enough caffeine to get him through his morning. I mean he’s not proud of his little act of delinquency, but it’s not like anyone’s suffering right? The coffee shop has unlimited resources, they'll make whatever poor schmuck whose drink he just nabbed a new one. 

Speaking of, now that he’s home free it’s well time for the first sip. Liam briefly checks the name on the cup, Elijah. “Well Eli, cheers to you. Bottoms up-” Raising the steaming togo cup to his lips Liam prepares for the ritual first burning sip. Not checking the label as he wants to be surprised by whatever hides underneath the lid. As soon as the drink touches his tongue it is revealed to be quite the unpleasant one as he rears back from the scalding drink and grimaces.

Totally unrelated from the boiling heat, the taste was the single most bitter thing he’s ever experienced before in his life. Sticking his burned tongue out before whispering a complaint he checks the label, “Jesus Christ dude!? What the fuck did your order?” Taking no time to analyze his criticism of a man who is by all intents his victim, his eyes grow wide as he sees the drink is a Black Dead Eye, that is drip coffee with three shots. 

He feels his heart flutter as he thinks about the amount of caffeine he now holds in his hand and plans how he is going to ration it out so he doesn’t completely overload himself. His mind briefly tries to picture the type of man to order this, though before a clear thought could be produced he shrugs and takes another sip. Could’ve at least had some syrup in there guy. Still taking a strained sip, an idea unfamiliar fills his mind, ‘psh as if I’m gonna drink some empty calories to start my day.’ 

Eliam’s eye twitches as he scrunches his face, presumably from the bitterness and grunts, “ugh, I hate-” Feeling a frog in his throat he clears it a few times in short succession. “Man, this drink sucks.” His brow immediately furrows as he hears his voice almost sounds deeper to his ears? Eliam eyes the drink for half a second before shrugging and assuming he must be coming down with a cold. Something within his subconscious questions how that will affect his time at work? No, not work, something else. Something close though, his arm rises in a right angle and he tilts his head as the thin limb tries to flex, immediately confused as to why he just did that, after a pause he reconsiders. Why does his bicep look so puny?

Uncomfortable with his bicep barely manipulating the sleeve of his shirt he considers, “Maybe I should start hitting up the gym?” Eliam scratches at his chest and frowns as he feels truly no muscle definition hiding under his T-shirt. His head buzzes with foreign emotion and instinct as the general apathy he has for his body and appearance is rapidly being replaced with disdain nearing disgust. He grunts and keels over as static, burning pins and needles, begins to overwhelm his senses. In the process he nearly spills his coffee which hits him with far more anxiety than losing a drink you didn't even pay for should.

His mouth is cold and dry as he stares at his nearly lost midnight dark drink and, even greater than the bizarre numbness and strange sensations contorting his body, he feels an urge, a need, to drink. Lips puckering as they strain to get closer to the cup as he brings it to his mouth, his legs give out and he falls back against a shop window. Passersby sneer at him as doggedly sits on the sidewalk and raises the cup completely upside down and lets it pour into his wanting mouth. His throat struggles to keep up as something besides himself, something with a will stronger than his own, forces him to down the burning drink in one go.

Mission accomplished, he gasps for air and wipes the few drops of coffee that landed outside of his mouth off his face before sucking them off his stained finger. When a businessman looks down at him with an eyebrow raised Eliamh feels a burning in his chest at the challenge. His jaw clenches and every muscle burns with the desire to show the pen pusher what’s up, dude doesn’t even know what the grind is! Eliamh’s eye twitches and he clenches at his gut as for the first time in his life it seems to be straining his intentionally baggy shirt.

The pettiest thief struggles to stand, using the wall for support as his legs suddenly struggle to carry his body. All the while making embarrassing grunts. He begins burping loudly as his stomach tries to get him to reject the drink in the only way it can. He feels more bloated with every labored breath and heavy movement, his midriff now exposes his thin treasure trail as his arms begin to fill the sleeves of his wrinkled button up. In between burps and groans he just gets out in his now decidedly duller voice, “Whuh- what was in that cup-” 

Usually happy to hide, Eliamh feels a rising need to challenge every man in sight, realizing something is beginning to overwrite his usual instincts, his rational ideas. As his pants begin to strain, thighs and ass bulging larger, Eliamh realizes that no matter his new desire to post up he needs to wait out whatever, uh, food poisoning this is. Stumbling into the storefront he’s thus far used as a stabilizer he groans out to the clerk, hand covering his mouth as he tries to hold back a loud burp, “Burmgh- I, ugh. Need yer restroom, dude.” Mouth curling into a frown at the clearly unwell man the cashier just points to the room at the back and Eliamh quickly stumbles through the door and locks it behind him.

Panting, Eliamh falls to the floor. Sweating through his clothes he leaves a trail on the door as he slides against it. Unconcerned with the filth of being on a bathroom floor his mind screams as his body begins to expand in every direction. Fabric tears as his bloated gut redistributes itself across his whole form. His arms that only recently bulged with any weight at all suddenly rip entirely through his shirt. Veiny biceps tear through, bursting larger than his thighs before his forearms race to match. His hands grow rough with callouses as he tears at his clothes as they begin to suffocate him.

Elijam’s shoulders pecs are initially inhibited by the clothes barely hanging in there. As soon as they give way and his torso is freed to the air do they begin their transformation outright. Drool pouring from his mouth as his mind flitters between the horror of becoming something anathema to himself while at the same time rapidly recognizing the arms as the powerful weapons he has honed for years now. Initially absent, the muscle on his chest pointedly makes up for the years spent abandoned. Pumping larger as his lungs expands and his chest widens to match shoulders that thicken to be shoulderpads, his pecs begin to become unseemly. Weighty enough that his current legs could never support them, his pecs surge to a size where the idea that he could ever be anything but a diligent bodybuilder is foolish.

His rougher hands trail down his sweaty, impossibly large chest and find that there are now swaths of his body where his bulging biceps and dense pecs collide that he simply can no longer touch. Moving down to feel abs as they push themselves out of his lower torso like cobblestones, his grunts and burps turn to deep moans as he bathes in the pleasure of becoming Elijah. Finally reaching low enough to free his package as it begins to fill his constricting pants, Elijah palms his balls as they begin to fill his body with hormones that make his boorish mindset make far more sense. 

Outside in the store the clerk contemplates calling the authorities as the deep moans echoing from the bathroom begin to scare off customers. Back in the restroom the bodybuilders thighs expand to truly the size of tree trunks as they lengthen along the cold tile. Immediately do they tear his pants as it becomes clear that he’ll never take a step without his massive legs rubbing against each other. It’s a wonder his package has any room at all to be as large as it is given the real estate taken up by his massive lower body. In no time at all the sweaty behemoth finds himself filling the small room with his musk which only heightens his heady delight.

His eyes cross as the few shreds of Liam that remained ingrained in his psyche through it all begin to give up the ghost. His balls pulse as the paltry aspects drain from his mind and every inch of him fully shifts to that of Elijah. Memories of countless hours spent underneath the bench press bar, tracking protein consumption, comparing his form with other massive titans. At the very same moment do loads begin to fly. Shooting high enough to grace the ceiling, his spunk stains the wall behind him like splatters on a canvas. His impossible changes took less than a minute but in his ecstasy he feels each and every one of Elijah’s memories soar to fill his mind.

Stumbling to his thick soled feet Elijah scratches his head as he tries to think how he’ll leave this store with nothing to cover his titanic form. The cogs of his mind turn slow enough that it seems like he can barely produce a thought at all. He grabs toilet paper to start to clean the mess made, but only ends up smearing it against the walls. Suddenly he laughs a dull guffaw as he remembers he lives nearby, just needs to run through the store and he’s home free. He’s sure the customers won’t mind seeing him in the buff, he thinks as he smirks at his peaking bicep. 

His cock stirs again as he wonders when he got this pump in. Knowing he doesn’t have time for another session right now he covers his impressive package with his torn clothes and sprints through the lobby, the clerk doesn’t have time to finish his name before he’s exited the storefront and begun to sprint homewards. Pushing through any man who doesn’t quite move out of the way in time, Elijah hits himself in the head as he realizes he needs to apologize to his bro for stealing his coffee this morning. Just as soon does the thought fade with another slow witted guffaw. He’s sure Elijah won’t mind, he’d probably do the same even. After all, they’ve got a lot in common.

[nanivinsmoke]

✩ Work it Out

✩ gym trainer!toji x fem!reader

accidents happen, right?

✩ tags: aphrodisiacs, mating press, multiple creampies, overstimulation, sensitivity, raw sex, rough sex, submissive toji, dominate reader, squirting, etc…

note: a little short, but it’s a good one !

it was an accident, right? you swore you checked the label. right?

then how come….no you surely hadn’t….

oh, you’re fucked. so very fucked.

you were at your trainer’s private gym, taking a break after your most intense workout—when your trainer, toji, asked you to run into his office to get his vitamins. "black bottle with a white label, should say Vitamin-A on it.” he told you, but when you got to his office, there were two bottles that met the criteria.

‘that helps a lot, toji.’ you said to yourself, trying to figure out which one he needed—but you weren’t given enough time to decide as he yelled for you to hurry up. so, you grabbed one of the bottles, grabbed two of the pink colored pills and raced back into the gym; giving him the pills.

little did you know, those were the wrong pills.

“let’s try benching 150 this time, I’ll spot you” Toji spoke and you immediately laid down onto the leather bench, while he stood over you; counting as you lifted the heavy weights.

but, as you kept your eyes on him, you could tell something was wrong—way wrong. you could see the perspiration glistening on his tan skin and how it looked like he was strained—not to mention the fat bulge shadowing your eyes.

you finished your set and immediately sat up afterwards. maybe you were hallucinating…was it always that big?

“let’s….—mhm—work on your squats” he grunted, holding back a moan that had crawled up his throat. you gave him a look before looking away, getting ready to start on your squats. he handed you two dumbbells and you got started, counting the sets as you moved.

toji watched you as your toned body moved up and down, his eyes slowly falling onto your ass; watching it jiggle as you bounced back up. he groaned again, and fixed himself underneath his dark grey calvin klein sweats—thoughts running rampant about how your ass would look bouncing on something st—what the fuck was going on with him? what did he take? he had to focus and get rid of that hard boner, he tried so hard to hide.

“your form is all wrong,” he grunted and stood behind you, holding your sides and spreading your feet apart—trying so hard to not cum in his spot.

“like this fushiguro?” you asked coyly, your cheeks brushing up against his cock—causing an unexpected orgasm to course through his body, making him cream his black underwear on the spot.

his deep blue eyes widened and he backed up from you, realizing what was happening now. “y/n, what did you give me?” you could hear whimper leave his mouth and you immediately put down the dumbbells, standing close to him—his musky scent overpowering your nose.

“hm? the vitamins you asked me to give you—what’s the matter?” you touched his bicep and he let out a low moan, making your eyes widen and something down below awaken inside you.

“did you ready the whole botttle—shit—you gave me an aphrodisiac!” now this time, your eyes were the one to widen. you back up and took a good look at the buff male—seeing how hard he was trying to maintain control of himself, but that control was weakening by the second.

“how was i supposed to know! your labeling fucking sucks and everything looks the same in your office!” you poked at his chest, your body unbelievably close to his, and the feeling of your body radiating heat against his—had him melting. he couldn’t fight it anymore, he had to cum; in you, on you and all over you.

he lowered his eyes down to your chest, his cock twitching in his pants; watching it bounce with each movement you made. you followed his trail and you couldn’t help but smirk as an idea popped up into your pretty little head.

“no use for you trying to wait this out, let me do what i can to make this alllll better,” you dragged out, grabbing his hand and leading him over to one of the benches. you raised up the side he laid on and kneeled down, becoming eye level with his raging boner. your mouth watered at the sight of his cock pressing against his cotton pants, eager to be released from its confinements.

there was many times where you fantasized about fucking your trainer—many times. he was hot and was just your type, everything about him oozed sex and you just wanted to see what it was all about.

toji said nothing, lidded eyes watching you push down his sweat pants, and peeling his stained briefs along with it—causing him to hiss, the coolness from the hair combining with his cream coated cock—sent chills on his lower half. but you payed no attention to that, your focus was on some thing else—his fat cock they sprang to life in front of you; nearly hitting you in the face.

“so big…!” you moaned softly, thighs pressing together as you watched it jump slightly; mouth salivating at the sight. you wasted no time and tore off your shirt, and slipped him right underneath your sports bra—and right between your soft plushy mounds.

he let out a low growl, cock twitching and spurting out another milky white load right across your breasts. the affects of the aphrodisiacs had left him sensitive and vulnerable—the perfect recipe to make your cunt gush.

with a swipe of your finger, you took a nice slather of his cum and slipped it right into your mouth—moaning at the bitter, yet sweet taste.

“good boyyy. gna give me two more all over my pretty tits?” he nodded, biting his lip and watching you squeeze his cock between your tits; the softness from them, driving him insane. your gripped them, bringing them up and down onto his cock—his flush pink tip disappearing and reappearing each time.

the mix of your cum and sweat added a nice lubricant against your soft breasts, making it feel like nirvana for him, and the older male couldn’t help but cum once more—a thicker load splurting out on your soft body. you hummed and continued to work your boobs around him, this time you wrapped your mouth around his wet tip—giving him the best blow job he’s ever had. everything about this was mind blowing and thanks to the aphrodisiac; he was cumming another load onto you—a loud primal growl leaving his lips, his seed flowing down your throat; swallowing it completely.

you pulled away with a loud pop noise, a trail of spit with a mix of his cum followed your plump lips—face showing nothing but sheer arousal when you did. you pulled your cum coated tits away from his still hard cock, unzipping the sports bra in back; before letting it fall to the ground. he watched as you peeled your biker shorts off, the fabric clinging to your plush—muscled skin—before making a home on the gym’s wooden floors.

the small strip of fabric, you called panties, was coated with your essence—sticking to your slick coated lips as you slowly peeled it off and tossed it in your small clothing pile. you climbed onto the bench with him and hovered over his throbbing cock, a line of spit dropping out of your mouth and onto his shaft, which you rubbed on it—adding more wetness to it.

“im on birth control, so you can cum inside me as many times as you’d like~” grabbing his veiny shaft and guiding it to your entrance, spreading your lips apart and pushing him deep inside. you let out a breathy moan to hide the pain that followed, as he filled you up to the brim with nothing but his fat dick.

toji groaned and his hands immediately went to your hips, his own bucking upwards to hit the deepest part of you—tummy starting to bulge from his cock. “fuck…” you let out, holding onto his arms before remembering that you were in control here—you were going to make him cum repeatedly until he couldn’t no more.

quickly getting used to his girth, you got up on your tip toes and began to ride him; his grip on your hips falling and his pretty purple eyes rolled back into his head. “gonna cum for me already? so sensitive baby….”

you rolled your hips, his dick rubbing against your spot—making a strew of moans fly from your lips. a lewd squelching noise began to echo throughout the gym, along with the faint clinking of the bench the two of you were currently fucking on. his dick twitched inside of you and you rocked your hips faster, bringing another orgasm to crash down onto him.

“y/n…..!~” he groaned out making your clit throb, his voice an absolute turn on for you.

you continued to ride him, milking every last grip from him—not sparing him some time to recover before his next one came. the fat, squishiness of your ass felt amazing each time it hit his potent balls, driving the both of you insane. he could feel your walls spasming and he pushed your torso down onto his, jackhammering your cunt anew.

curse after curse you let out, babbling incoherent words while you creamed all over his dick—orgasm hitting you hard, while he continued to pound you. and after your body shook repeatedly, he sat and up and flipped the two of you over—your back now pressed against the warm leather.

“wait! toji, I just—FUCK!”

your legs were spread apart, while his cock was pushed so deep inside of you—his ball hit your sloppy cunt each time he pumped. he couldn’t take it anymore, you wanted to drain his cock? he was going to fuck you absolutely stupid.

“running from it? tch, what was all that shit you pulled earlier?” he pulled your hips back as you tried to wiggle away, grunting; his face serious while his scarred lips fixed into a smirk.

“too m-much….fuck—take some out,~” he ignored your request, his face between your pretty tiddies as he continued to train your pussy. he was going to train and mold your cunt just like he’s been doing with your body the last couple of weeks, so she could fit around him and him only.

“gna fuhcum’ sooo much for yyyou” toji couldn’t help but chuckle at how you sounded, so drunk off his cock.

“go ahead. cum for me like a good girl and I’ll make your tummy full of my cum, that’s what you want?” you nodded, grabbing your feet so he could reach deeper inside of your cunt. you needed all of him.

with a few more hard pumps, you were seeing white—back arching off the bench, cunt gushing clear streams of your essence—splashing against his balls and his stomach. and now he was at his limit, no longer wanting to fight against the euphoric feeling the pills gave him—he gave you once last load; pumping your pretty pussy with thick white ropes.

his huge body shook, before he pulled out of you; some of his cum landing onto your stomach; warning the sweaty, pudgy skin.

big, rough hands gave your leaking pussy a smack—before they wrapped around you and picked you up; leading you to the gym’s showers—so he could clean you up and the two of you could go a few more rounds after that.

[octuscle]

Beast Mode in the Mountains

Winter had settled its icy grip on the mountains, the kind of cold that seeped into your bones no matter how many layers you wore. I was shivering under three jackets, sitting in a rustic little cabin with my uncle Frank and my grandfather Walter.

Frank, a 50-year-old mechanic with grease-stained hands, was cursing at the broken heating system. "Damn thing’s dead," he muttered. Walter, my 80-year-old ex-farmer granddad, just chuckled, wrapped in three blankets. "In my day, we just lit a fire and dealt with it."

"Yeah, well, it's 2025, and I'm not about to freeze to death," Frank grumbled, pulling out his phone. He tapped around, looking for heating solutions when he stumbled across an app called Chronivac.

"What the hell is this?" he mused. He scrolled through the settings and found something labeled BULL. "Might as well try it."

The moment he pressed the button, Frank groaned. His body swelled—broadening, thickening. His jacket ripped at the seams as his biceps bulged, his chest expanded, and his neck thickened into a massive yoke of muscle. Hair sprouted across his body, thick and coarse like an animal’s. His face grew squarer, his nose broader, his ears slightly pointed. His voice deepened into a guttural rumble.

"Whoa—what the hell?!" he bellowed, gripping his growing forearms as veins surged to the surface. His fingers thickened, his nails darkening. His boots strained, then burst apart as his feet expanded. He stood, now 7 feet tall, pushing 500 pounds of sheer muscle, with shoulders as wide as the doorway.

"Holy—Frank, what happened to you?!" I stammered.

Frank blinked at his massive hands, then smirked. "This app… It changes people."

Walter squinted at him. "You look like a damn monster."

Frank scrolled through the app again. "Let's test something. How about… POLAR BEAR?"

He pressed the button, and Walter let out a deep, rumbling growl. His wrinkles faded, his frame straightened, and he ballooned in size. Muscles layered onto his old, wiry frame, his gut hardening into a thick, powerful core. His hands turned into massive paws, tipped with thick claws. White fur exploded across his skin, covering his entire body. His face pushed forward slightly, his teeth elongating into sharp canines.

Walter, now a beast of a man, easily 8 feet tall and close to 600 pounds of sheer bulk, cracked his thickened neck. "Well, damn. I feel stronger than I ever have."

I gulped. "Maybe we should stop—"

Frank grinned and tapped the screen again. HAIRY PAKISTANI BODYBUILDER.

A jolt hit me. My whole body felt like it was being pulled, stretched, reshaped. My arms swelled first—biceps and triceps thickening, veins snaking across the surface. My chest ballooned outward into two massive, fur-covered slabs. My abs tightened into an eight-pack. My legs thickened like tree trunks, muscles rippling beneath my darkening skin. A thick pelt of black hair surged across my chest, arms, and legs. My face matured—my jaw squared, my nose broadened, and my hair became fuller, darker, and perfectly groomed. My height shot up to 6'8", my weight packing on until I neared 400 pounds of hulking, hairy muscle.

I flexed instinctively, feeling strength course through my new body. "Whoa…"

Frank laughed. "This is insane! But damn, it’s still cold."

He kept scrolling, and then his eyes lit up. "Check this out—BEAST MODE. Says it’s permanent, though."

"Frank, wait—"

He tapped the button.

The changes hit like an earthquake. My muscles surged even larger—my biceps, now 30 inches thick, split with striations. My pecs became shelf-like, pushing my chest outward. My legs, already tree trunks, thickened into something inhuman. My body hair turned even denser, almost like fur. My face became more bestial—sharper, more primal, my canines extending into fangs. My ears lengthened slightly, my hands growing into massive, claw-tipped paws. I felt an overwhelming hunger, a raw, untamed energy bubbling beneath my skin.

Frank roared as his transformation completed, his body now a massive hybrid of muscle, fur, and raw power. Walter, now fully a monstrous polar bear-man, growled deeply, his glowing blue eyes surveying the cabin.

We had become something more than human. Something powerful. Something unstoppable.

And we weren’t cold anymore.

Thanks for pics and inspiration to @reddarkfox222

[rileyslibrary]

Lift and learn.

Synopsis: You discover Ghost’s unique skill; estimating the weight of items just by lifting them. You decide to challenge his ability by giving him little tests and he (for once in his life) loves to show off.

Relationship: Simon “Ghost” Riley x F!Reader

Word Count: 1,381 (approx. 5-6 minutes reading time.)

Notes:

Mindless, platonic fluff with minimal plot.

Want more?

———————————————————————

The storage room is vast and poorly lit, with rows of metal shelves stretching into the distance. The air conditioning blows cool air throughout the facility, with only the gentle hum of the units and refrigerators breaking the silence. You and Ghost stand at the entrance, surveying the endless supply of crates and boxes ahead of you.

“Looks like we’ve got our work cut out for us,” you remark, kicking a nearby stack of boxes.

Ghost nods. “Come on,” he says as he walks between the shelves, “the faster we start, the faster we’ll be done with it.”

You follow him, walking down the first row of shelves, scanning the labels on the boxes and crates to see what they contain.

He checks the list you made with the food you’ll need for the mission, and he points toward the direction of the canned goods.

“Go look for the soup,” he advises, “and don’t lift the crate yourself.”

You turn to face him. “Why not, sir?”

“That thing weighs about 20 kgs,” he says, “you won’t be able to lift it alone.”

“Is that so?” you raise your brows. Ghost lets out a long sigh.

“I don’t doubt your abilities, soldier—I just know the box is too heavy to be lifted from up high,” he says. “I don’t want you to get hurt, and you don’t want to clean tomato soup off the floors now, do you?”

You roll your eyes and walk over to the box in question. You turn to glance at Ghost out of the corner of your eye—he’s ticking things off the list. You decide to give it a shot. You take a deep breath and grasp the box by its handles, attempting to pull it off the shelf. Your arms strain as you put all your weight into it, but the crate doesn’t budge. You try again, but it’s in vain.

Just as you’re about to give up, Ghost appears at your side.

“Told ya; it’s a heavy box,” he says, amused.

You step back, allowing him to take your place. He grips the box and lifts it off the shelf.

“That’s over 20 kgs.” He comments as he curls the box. “Around 24 kgs, I’d say.”

You stare at the box as it moves up and down, then at him. He approaches the large food scale and places the box on it. As he predicted, the box weights precisely the amount he estimated.

“Do you do this a lot?” you ask.

“No,” he says, chuckling, “I normally curl barbells.”

“Estimating the weight of something just by lifting it?” you clarify, “I saw you do it before when we were packing stuff from the armoury.”

“Ah,” he says, flicking his wrist, “it’s nothing.”

He surely doesn’t act like “it’s nothing.” He’s trying to portray himself as humble. But he looks far too cocky about it. He puffs out his chest and places his hands on his waist. His head tilts a little higher, and he squints his eyes, resulting in narrow creases at their corners. There’s also a slight stiffness in his upper body muscles. Is he flexing? Yes. Yes, he’s desperate to show off his skill once more. And, of course, you don’t waste the opportunity.

You gesture to a massive stalk of bananas. “How much does that weigh?” You ask.

He walks towards the bananas, his hands still on his hips. “Ah,” he says as he lifts the stalk, “this should weigh around 1.3 kgs.” He states and places the bananas on the scale. He waits for the scale to flash and then turns to face you when it indicates just a little over the amount he predicted.

“Wow, Lieutenant!” You yell and clap your hands together. “Do it again!”

He takes a sharp breath from his nose and gestures with his hands. “Give me something more difficult this time.” he says with pride.

You look around the storage room and spot a pile of sandbags in the corner.

“Okay, how much does one of those weigh?” you ask.

He redirects his gaze to the sandbags. He shrugs. “30 kgs.” He says.

“That doesn’t count, Lt.,” you frown, “you didn’t even lift them.”

“I don’t have to lift them, Y/N; we fill sandbags to exactly 30 kgs each.” He explains and turns to look at you with a you-should-have-knew-that expression.

You decide to step up your game.

“Okay, Lt., what about me?” you ask, pointing to yourself.

He raises his index finger at you. “I’m not lifting you.” He states.

“Why not?” You ask, and he goes on to explain how it put him in trouble on a deployment about a decade ago. “Bananas, don’t get offended when you estimate them to be a few grams heavier.” He explains. You promise him you won’t be insulted, and he brings his right hand to your face, squeezing your cheeks to stop you.

“O’ay,” you mutter through your pinched lips, and he lets you go. “See this cardboard box over there?” You ask, and he turns to look in the direction of a big, beige-coloured box on the ground. It’s taped shut and sealed with no hint or label of what it might contain.

“Can you estimate its weight without looking what’s inside the box?” you ask.

He gives a short chuckle and mutters something like “if I can, she asks” under his breath before walking to the box. He tilts his head, trying to estimate its weight by looking at it. He stretches his arms and cracks his knuckles, readying himself for what he’s about to do. He gathers his cargo pants from his thighs, and lowers himself to the ground in a deadlift position, grabbing the box by the handles. He takes a deep breath and pulls the box up with all his might.

But the box turns out to be lighter than you both anticipated, making Ghost lose his balance. He stumbles backwards, his arms flapping as he tries to regain control of his body. In his panic, he forgets to let go of the box which seems to defy gravity, and it flies through the air, driven by the momentum of his fall.

“Lt.!” you yell as you hurry to him, kneeling on the floor, “are you okay, sir?”

He stares at the floor, then at you, then back at the ground. You grab his arm to pull him up, but his ego is too bruised to allow you to do that to him. He gets up on his own and dusts his trousers.

“I’m sorry, sir,” you apologise, “I had no idea.”

He crosses his arms in front of his chest—he looks defensive. “Neither of us knew, soldier,” he says, trying to reassure you, and walks towards the box.

“Huh,” he says as he lifts its flaps. “I fell backwards by a rocket explosion before,” he recalls, “but never by a cardboard box filled with sanitary pads.”

You giggle, and he shakes his head. He picks one of the packages and shows it to you. “Will you need a couple of these during our mission?” He asks.

“Yes, sir,” you reply, lowering your eyes to the ground.

He picks up two packs and puts one of them under his arm. “No shame in that, soldier,” he comforts you and shakes the other pack, “these babies almost broke my hip about a minute ago.”

You smile in response—at least he can make a joke out of this uncomfortable situation.

“You’re impressive, Lt.,” you comment, “a walking and breathing human scale.”

“Eh,” he shrugs as he crosses the final items off the list, “it helps with missions and loading up the trucks.”

“Now,” you continue, looking at the boxes you’ve collected for the mission, “how about we fill up the truck before one of us gets hurt in this warzone of a storage unit?”

He lets out a laugh. “Yes, let’s get outta here,” he agrees, “I don’t want to get jumped by a bunch of Kleenex.”

———————————————————————

[heliosunny]

Any plans for Luocha in the lucky egg series? :3

LUCKY EGG

Yandere!Luocha x Reader

The darkness inside the coffin was stifling. Trapped in the cramped space, you tried to focus on your breathing, listening intently for any signs of movement outside. Luocha had left you here, he promised to return, but the unease crawling up your spine wouldn’t settle. The strangers chasing you both wouldn’t give up so easily.

As you lay still, your mind drifted back to how this all began.

Two hours ago.

You stood before a Lucky Egg Dispenser, eyeing the colorful selection of eggs rolling within the machine. With a deep breath, you inserted a coin, twisted the dial, and watched as an egg tumbled into the slot. The moment you picked it up, a strange feeling settled over you.

The egg was different. While most were smooth and uniform, yours had an intricate golden pattern along its shell. Attached to it was a small label: "Hatching Time: 3 Days. A great fortune awaits."

You had barely processed those words when a group of men nearby suddenly turned their attention toward you. They whispered among themselves, eyes darting between you and the egg. Then, they snatched it.

"Hey!" you yelled, chasing after them as they weaved through the crowded marketplace.

One of them, clearly in a panic, fumbled with the egg—and dropped it.

The world seemed to slow as the egg hit the ground, a crack spreading along its surface. A golden glow seeped through the fractures, illuminating the stunned faces around it. Then, with a soft shatter, the shell broke apart.

And out stepped Luocha.

Dazed, you barely registered the gasps of shock from the bystanders. He was tall, composed, dressed in elegant robes that seemed entirely too refined for someone who had just emerged from an egg. His emerald-green eyes flickered toward you, recognition glinting within them.

Without hesitation, he extended a hand.

"We should leave" he said, voice smooth and unwavering. "Now."

A loud noise outside the coffin jolted you back to the present.

Your heart pounded as you strained to listen.

Damn it, Luocha, where are you?

The muffled voices outside grew louder, more urgent. Then—a sharp cry, followed by the unmistakable sound of steel slicing through the air. A heavy thud.

You pressed yourself against the interior of the coffin, straining to hear more. Moments later, the lid of the coffin creaked open.

Light flooded in, forcing you to blink as your eyes adjusted. Luocha stood above you, his golden hair catching the dim glow of the surroundings, expression as calm as ever.

"You can come out now" he said, offering his hand.

You hesitated. Something felt…off. His robe, always pristine, had a small stain—a dark smear of blood near the hem.

The ground was littered with strange, blackened vines, their thorny tendrils twisted unnaturally. Some coiled around fallen bodies—the same men who had been chasing you earlier. Their faces were frozen in expressions of horror.

Luocha followed your gaze, then gently took your wrist, guiding you out of the coffin with ease.

“There’s no need to worry,” he assured, “They won’t bother us anymore.”

Then, before you could say anything, the coffin beside you vanished. Not folded away, not carried off—simply gone, as if it had never existed.

“…You can make it disappear?”

“Of course.”

The walk home was quiet, but you couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off. Though you were the one leading the way, Luocha’s grip on your hand never faltered—gentle but firm, like he had no intention of letting go.

At first, you chalked it up to caution. Maybe he was just making sure you didn’t get separated again. But then, as the streets twisted and turned, a realization settled in.

He knew exactly where to go.

Even when you hesitated at a crossroads, he subtly nudged you in the right direction. Even when you thought about taking a shortcut, he was already steering you there before you said a word.

It was like he had been here before.

Still, you were too exhausted to question it right away. By the time you reached your home, you were desperate for a bath, the events of the day weighing on you like a fog.

“Go ahead. I’ll prepare something in the meantime.”

That should have been your first warning.

Stepping out of the bathroom, wrapped in a robe, you froze at the sight before you.

Luocha stood in the kitchen, an apron tied neatly around his waist, golden hair cascading down his back. The soft glow of the kitchen lights framed him perfectly, making the entire scene look like something out of a dream—or maybe a very well-written romance novel.

The smell of whatever he was cooking filled the air, warm and inviting.

You sat down at the table, staring.

For a moment, neither of you spoke. Then, unable to hold it in any longer, you blurted out:

“…Are you sure it’s okay that you hatched early?”

Luocha paused, then turned to you with a knowing smile, as if he had been waiting for you to ask that.

“Why?” he mused, placing a dish in front of you. “Do I seem… incomplete?”

You hesitated, watching as Luocha removed his apron with a graceful ease, folding it neatly before taking the seat across from you.

The food in front of you smelled incredible, but your mind was too tangled with questions to appreciate it fully. You picked up your utensil, poking at the dish absentmindedly.

“…You just came out of an egg a few hours ago” you said slowly, eyes flicking up to meet his. “Shouldn’t you be—”

“Weaker?” he supplied, head tilting slightly.

You nodded. “Or… at least confused about the world? Learning things? Adjusting?”

Luocha chuckled softly, resting his chin against his hand as he regarded you with amusement.

“Do I seem like I need time to adjust?”

That was the problem.

He didn’t.

You set down your utensil. “What… exactly are you?”

“Does it matter?” he asked. “Would you send me away if I wasn’t what you expected?”

“I wouldn’t just abandon you, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“Then there’s nothing to worry about” he said simply.

You weren’t sure if that was supposed to reassure you.

And yet, when he reached forward and gently tucked a strand of damp hair behind your ear, you found yourself unable to pull away.

You forced yourself to eat, but the food—despite being perfectly cooked—felt tasteless in your mouth. Luocha, on the other hand, watched you with patient interest, as if studying your every reaction.

Something wasn’t right.

He hatched too early.

The label said three days. But it had only been a few hours. There was no way that could be normal.

“…You’re not completely stable, are you?” you asked, watching him carefully.

For the first time since he hatched, Luocha’s expression faltered.

Then, just as quickly, he smiled. “What makes you think that?”

“You haven’t eaten,” you pointed out. “Not once.”

"And when we were walking back" you continued, "you never let go of my hand. At first, I thought it was just because you didn’t want us to get separated, but now I think it’s something else.”

Luocha tilted his head, but said nothing.

“You needed to hold onto me. Didn’t you?”

“…You’re perceptive” he admitted, closing his eyes briefly before opening them again. “Yes. I need to be near you.”

“Why?”

“Because I wasn’t supposed to hatch alone.”

“What… does that mean?”

Luocha glanced down at his hand, flexing his fingers as if testing them. For the first time, he looked uncertain.

“My body is formed, my mind is intact… but my stability is incomplete.” His voice was softer now. “The process that was meant to strengthen me over three days… was cut short.”

You suddenly remembered the vines from earlier—the way they had erupted from the ground, the eerie way they pulsed like something alive.

“The vines…”

“A manifestation” Luocha admitted. “A consequence of my early birth.”

"So, what happens if you’re too far away from me?"

“…I start to unravel.”

If he unravels completely… he might not come back.

A strange ache settled in your chest. Luocha wasn’t supposed to be like this. He was supposed to hatch properly, take his time adjusting—but because of you, because of what happened… he was here too soon.

You clenched your fists. This was your fault.

Luocha must have noticed your expression, because he let out a soft chuckle. “You’re making that face again.”

You blinked, confused. “…What face?”

“The one that says you’re about to take responsibility for something beyond your control.”

“Well, I did get the egg. If I wasn’t carrying it around, those guys wouldn’t have stolen it, and you wouldn’t have—”

Luocha reached out, placing a cool hand over yours.

“This is not your burden,” he murmured. “You don’t have to—”

“I want to.”

“I promise,” you said firmly. “I’ll make sure you’re safe. If staying close to me helps you, then… then I’ll stay close. No matter what.”

“…You would do that for me?” he asked quietly.

You nodded.

“Then,” he said smoothly, squeezing your hand ever so slightly, “I suppose I’ll be in your care.”

From this moment on, you had already decided.

You would keep him safe.

No matter what.

That night, you couldn’t sleep.

Even with Luocha resting on the couch nearby, the weight of your promise pressed heavily on your chest. You had told him you’d stay by his side, that you’d make sure he was safe—but what if that wasn’t enough? What if his condition got worse? What if someone else found out about him?

BEEP. BEEP. BEEP.

A low, rhythmic sound outside your window.

Slowly, you sat up, peeking through the curtains. In the dim glow of the streetlights, you saw three figures approaching.

They carried a strange device—a handheld scanner with a pulsating blue light. It emitted a faint hum, and every time it pointed toward your house, the beeping grew faster.

Your head whipped toward Luocha. He was still lying on the couch, eyes closed, breathing even.

You turned back to the window just in time to see the figures move toward your door.

—Bang! Bang! Bang!

A loud, deliberate knock.

Before you could react, Luocha’s eyes snapped open. As if he felt it too.

"Stay quiet" you whispered, already reaching for him. "We have to—"

The door burst open.

Three strangers in dark uniforms stormed in, their faces obscured by helmets. One pointed the scanner at Luocha, and the device let out a high-pitched screech.

"Found him!" one of them barked.

Everything happened too fast.

Luocha moved but the moment he tried to stand, his body wavered. His balance faltered, his breath hitched, and for the first time since he hatched—

He looked weak.

The strangers rushed him, and before you could react, they forced him to his knees, metal cuffs snapping around his wrists.

"Wait! Stop!"

Luocha struggled, but his movements were sluggish, his body trembling slightly. The vines from before—they didn’t appear this time.

He was too weak to summon them.

“Let him go!” you shouted, stepping forward—only for one of them to shove you back.

“We don’t have business with you,” one of them said coldly. “Stay out of this.”

“If you take him, then take me too.”

“…What are you thinking?”

“You said you needed to be near me, right?” you said, “Then I’m not letting you go alone. Wherever you take him, I go too.”

The strangers exchanged glances.

“Fine.”

And before you could react, a sharp pain struck the side of your neck.

When you woke up, the first thing you noticed was the sterile scent of antiseptic. The second was the sound of machines surrounding you.

You sat up too quickly, dizziness crashing over you, and a firm hand caught your shoulder.

"Careful"

Your vision cleared, and you found yourself staring at a man in a lab coat. He was tall and sharp-featured, with silver-rimmed glasses perched on the bridge of his nose. His ID badge read Dr. Erhardt.

"You've been unconscious for a while," Dr. Erhardt continued, letting go of your shoulder once he was sure you wouldn't collapse. "I imagine you're full of questions."

Your mind was still sluggish, but one question burned through the haze.

"Luocha," you breathed. "Where is he?"

"He's… stable. For now."

"I want to see him."

"Follow me" the scientist said, turning toward the door. "But first, I need to show you something."

Dr. Erhardt led you through a long, dimly lit hallway, walls lined with screens displaying fluctuating energy levels.

"Luocha is different from anything we've encountered," he began, gesturing to one of the screens. "His energy output is—frankly—unnatural."

You looked at the screen. At first, it just showed shifting graphs and numbers you didn’t understand. But then, as your eyes focused, you noticed something off.

His energy readings weren’t just high.

They were unstable, fluctuating in erratic patterns, constantly shifting like they didn’t belong in this world.

"...What does this mean?"

Dr. Erhardt exhaled, crossing his arms. "It suggests that Luocha isn't just some unusual being. He might be an entity from another timeline… or another universe entirely."

Another universe?

"But—he hatched from an egg" you murmured. "I saw it happen."

Dr. Erhardt nodded. "Yes, and that makes it all the more fascinating. Something, or someone, sent him here. But because he hatched too early, his body is incomplete."

Before you could ask more, Dr. Erhardt gestured toward a reinforced observation room ahead.

"You wanted to see him, didn’t you?"

Through the glass, you saw Luocha. He was sitting in a chair, strapped down, wires and electrodes attached to his body. His usually pristine appearance was gone—his golden hair clung to his face, damp with sweat, his breathing heavy.

His hands clenched at the armrests, knuckles white.

And despite the calm expression he always wore—he was in pain.

"What are you doing to him?"

Dr. Erhardt didn’t look away from the screen. "Testing his limits. Observing how long he can remain stable before his body begins to break down."

Then, through the glass, Luocha shifted slightly—his emerald eyes slowly lifting.

He was looking straight at you.

Luocha wasn’t resisting. He wasn’t fighting back. He wasn’t calling for you. Because he had already decided to endure every single experiment they put him through. All for one purpose.

To obtain a proper body.

One that wouldn’t unravel.

Days blurred into weeks. The experiments continued, each one pushing Luocha closer to his limit.

You stayed even when it was painful to watch. Even when he refused to look at you sometimes, as if ashamed that you had to witness his suffering.

Dr. Erhardt often warned you.

"He’s growing stronger. Faster than we predicted."

"If he ever decides he no longer needs this place…"

You didn’t want to think about what would happen.

The screaming started at midnight.

You woke with a start, alarms blaring through the facility. The stench of blood was thick in the air. Heavy footsteps echoed through the hallways—panicked, fleeing.

You barely had time to stand before the power cut out.

Red emergency lights flickered on, casting the walls in an eerie glow. You stumbled into the hallway, heart hammering in your chest.

A figure emerged from the darkness. Golden hair, green eyes, glowing faintly under the emergency lights. There was no more hesitation in his steps. No more exhaustion weighing him down. His presence, once fragile, now felt overwhelming.

Around him, bodies littered the floor, blood splattered across the walls, and broken machinery sparked uselessly.

This place—his prison—was no longer needed.

So he destroyed it.

"Luocha…"

"There you are.." he murmured.

Before you could answer, gunfire erupted.

Survivors- scientists, guards, anyone who had escaped his initial massacre were taking their last stand.

"Get rid of them!"

The moment the words registered, you felt the burn of a bullet tearing through your side, before you could hit the floor, Luocha caught you.

The pain in your side vanished instantly. You inhaled sharply, looking down to see the wound closing before your eyes.

Luocha had healed you.

And then, before you could even process it, he turned his gaze to the remaining guards— He raised his hand.

Vines—those same unnatural vines from before, but stronger, more controlled—erupted from the floor, the walls, the ceiling.

The guards barely had time to scream before they were ripped apart.

In mere seconds, the facility was silent once more.

Luocha exhaled, lowering his hand. He turned back to you, as if nothing had happened.

"I will not allow you to die." he murmured, brushing blood from your cheek with his thumb.

The facility was gone.

By the time you returned home, the scent of blood and metal still clung to you like a curse. Your mind was numb.

Luocha, however, was perfectly composed. As if the events of that night had never happened. As if he hadn’t slaughtered an entire facility full of scientists and guards.

You weren’t sure what scared you more—the massacre itself or how easily he had moved on from it.

Now, he was here. Living with you again.

And despite everything, he acted as if nothing had changed.

At first, you tried to pretend things were normal.

Luocha still followed you around the house like before, still cooked for you, still smiled that soft, unreadable smile whenever your eyes met.

But there were differences.

For one, he no longer seemed lost.

Gone was the quiet hesitation, the subtle instability that had clung to him after hatching too early. Now, he moved with a grace that was too perfect. His every step, every action was calculated, efficient.

It was as if he had finally become whole.

One evening, as you washed the dishes, you glanced at him from the corner of your eye.

He was sitting at the table, reading a book—one he must’ve picked up while you were out. His long fingers turned the pages slowly, as if savoring every word.

But then, you noticed something.

He hadn’t turned a single page in ten minutes.

You set the dish down, drying your hands. “Luocha?”

“…Do you regret it?”

“What?”

“Staying,” he said, “Watching what I’ve done. Seeing what I’ve become.”

So he noticed.

"I…"

“…No,” you said softly. “I don’t regret it.”

“You always were a terrible liar” he murmured, turning the page at last.

Maybe he was right.

Maybe you were lying.

But if staying by his side was a mistake—

Then it was one you would continue to make.

----

Luocha was never meant to stay hidden.

He had endured the experiments, endured weakness—but now, he was something greater. And greater beings did not live in the shadows.

Luocha understood that ruling through fear alone was foolish. No—he would shape the world itself.

One night, he spoke to you about it.

You had been watching him from across the room, trying to piece together what he had been doing in secret—when he simply set down his book and met your gaze.

“I will not stay here forever” he said, his voice calm. “This place—it is temporary.”

“What are you saying?”

Luocha stood, walking toward you slowly, as if giving you time to absorb what he was about to say.

“I will take what is mine,” he murmured. “An empire. One that will not shackle me. One where you will never have to run again.”

“An empire…?”

He reached for your hand, fingers gentle yet firm around yours.

“This home of yours,” he continued, voice soft, “I will sacrifice it if I must. If you wish to stay, then we will build something greater.” His emerald eyes gleamed in the dim light. “A place where I do not need to hide.”

You didn’t answer right away.

It was too much.

“Luocha,” you finally said, “I don’t want that.”

His fingers, still curled around your hand, tightened just slightly.

You took a breath. “I don’t want some grand empire. I don’t want to rule, or watch you build something just to prove you no longer have to hide.” Your gaze met his, unwavering. “I just want things to be the way they are now.”

“…I see.”

He released your hand, stepping back. His expression remained calm, but something in his posture shifted.

Not disappointment.

But understanding.

And so, Luocha stayed.

For days, weeks, months—life continued as it was. He did not speak of conquest again.

He cooked. He read. He stayed by your side.

It was enough to make you believe he had let the idea go.

But deep down, Luocha never stopped planning.

He had simply adjusted his approach.

If you wouldn’t accept a kingdom built for him—

Then he would create something else.

Something that would ensure you never left him.

[jelloooverse]

in my yhk stupid era

[ID: An Omniscient Reader's Viewpoint comic. Kim Dokja says curiously, "I wonder how Lee Seolhwa and Yoo Joonghyuk are doing..." and Shin Yoosung perks up and exclaims, "Ah!" She pulls out her phone to show a picture of Seolhwa smiling and holding hands with a blank figure labeled Y/N and exclaims, "Ahjusshi! I heard that Seolhwa unnie is dating someone! they went on vacation. "I don’t know about Joonghyuk ahjusshi though...)"

Dokja, a shadow stretching from him, says, "Oh. I see." Behind him is a collage of imagined Dokjas looking despairing over a broken heart containing a smiling Joonghyuk and Seolhwa, overlaid with the all-caps text "OTP is dead?"

Shin Yoosung cheerily waves, "Bye ahjussi!" and Dokja pensively contemplates, "..but if Yoo Joonghyuk isn't with Lee Seolhwa then..." He imagines Joonghyuk surrounded by sparkles and with his chest bared and thinks, "Maybe his personality could use some work.. But with his looks he'd be dating someone by now, right..?"

He then looks with surprise over a corner to encounter a sparkle-surrounded scene of Joonghyuk and Han Sooyoung with their heads leaned together. Joonghyuk looks down at Sooyoung soulfully while she laughs with a hand on his chest. Dokja hides behind the wall and wonders with shock, "With... HAN SOOYOUNG?!" Behind him, the real Joonghyuk and Sooyoung are arguing, looking annoyed and aggravated.

Dokja, sweating, goes, "No, that's... hard to imagine working out.." and envisions Sooyoung crossing her arms and exclaiming "Yoo Joonghyuk! You're an annoying prick!" plus Joonghyuk glaring "Han Sooyoung. You are intolerable." to equal cartoony versions of them being "lovey dovey" and sharing a censored kiss. A cartoony, flustered Dokja waves the thought away.

Then he looks back and thinks, "Well, if they're happy then.. I'll be a little lenient on our company's no dating policy..." He later walks in behind them to catch Sooyoung saying, "Blah blah that's fucking dumb. Right, Kim Dokja?" Dokja, looking disinterested, replies, "ugh, leave me out of your lover's quarrel."

Sooyoung turns to him with incredulous disbelief and raises a middle finger. "Shut the hell up??" Dokja grins, laughs, and returns her middle finger while Joonghyuk emits a question mark.

Then Dokja looks at his phone before beginning to grin increasingly obnoxiously as he says, "Should I leave you two alone this time, haha. Am I your guys' third wheel again? It's okay, I don't wanna get between you two! (Get a room alreadyy.)"

Sooyoung and Joonghyuk look at each other silently, Sooyoung looking bewildered and exasperated and Joonghyuk with his eyes coolly raised. Sooyoung runs a hand through her hair and says, "..Kim Dokja, did you develop a new strain of idiot?" Joonghyuk, looking put-upon, says, "A common case for him." Dokja looks offended before they both move around him, and Dokja goes "What-" as Sooyoung takes hold of his coat.

Sooyoung kisses Dokja on the cheek, leaving him blank with shock. Joonghyuk takes Dokja's chin to kiss his other cheek. Dokja is left standing small and comically stunned against a white backdrop.

The last panel simply shows icons of their heads. Sooyoung asks, "Hey, can we just order chicken for dinner this time?" and Joonghyuk frowns, "No. I already prepared for tonights dinner." Sooyoung shouts an incoherent "UGHGGH" of frustration. Dokja still looks shellshocked. End ID]

[k1nkyshitz]

"𝟏𝟎"

A decade is a really long time

10 years.

Such a highly regarded number. All things rated a 10 are considered perfect. The crowds favourite.

Sae was your favourite. Your number 10.

It has been 10 long years dating Itoshi Sae and it all comes down crashing on you. He's no longer yours. The number shines in your face on a billboard as you make you way back home as if mocking you. The man with his strickingly sharp features, long eye lashes and piercing turquoise eyes posed with a perfume he is advertising for. The number 10 shining on the label as the perfume's name.

You don't remember how long you spent suspecting it. How distant he had become like a stranger in your own home. You knew he'd might toss you aside for soccer when you first persued him. He knew nothing but soccer until you infiltrated his very small world.

A decade full of memories. Fond and warm ones. You don't think you've ever seen Sae smile so much before. You grew up with him, beside him. Watching him under the field's spotlight. No one has ever taken such a big part of your heart and that's why even after he invited you to dinner that night, you still loved him

When was the last time you saw his eyes crinkle in amusement whenever you were trying to fix his unruly hair before practise? Or the small exchanges of your hopes and dreams with one another just before bed. How Sae would tell you he wanted to be the world's best mid fielder and you'll always reply with "you will be" with a soft chuckle as you trace his jawline.

Now the home shared between the two of you remains like an empty husk devoid of the memories that were once spent in there. Where was your sae?

1 year ago

Sae has been distant. It's been weeks since you both gone on a proper date or had a proper intercation. He's up before you and comes home once you've passed out on the couch. You can't help but feel likes he's avoiding you. The man whose grown to love you, cherish you is suddenly distancing himself? Impossible its all in your head.

You think it is anyway. You try from time to time reaching out to him and his replies are...disappointing.

He doesn't touch you anymore. His back facing you each night you sleep. Somethings changed. Your heart tugs at every short and cut off interaction you have with Sae. Even when you leave him his every morning kiss before you head to work, its now short and brief with a quiet 'love you' to which he only grunts in response, eager to leave the house.

You can't help but hear the doubts in your head, is he seeing someone outside? Did you do something wrong? Did something happen to him?

Pacing around the kitchen, spiralling into your own fears thinking about to approach this with him. You need to to talk to him. You always reminded him about how big you are with commmunicating. Even as closed off as he seemed, he would always reassure you and seek you out first whenever conflict bubbled between the two of you.

He knew how important communicating was to you. He knew how important he was to you.

"Dinner. XXX Hotel, 7pm". A wave of hope washes over you. This was his way of making it up to you think. You could almost berate yourself that you thought after a decade your boyfriend doesn't care anymore. But as you both finished dessert and the wine stops flowing, he speaks. A full sentence.

"Lets break up.' His eyes not daring to meet yours, choosing to stare at his half eaten tiramisu. You can hear how strained his tone is, how he must have worked up a lot of courage to say this.

"'I'm sorry" he clears his throat before sitting up straighter then before. "I should have told you before, when I no longer felt the same way I used to feel about you". The rest of his apology becomes background noise, a low droning. You swore you felt your heart drop. The dress you had sent for cleaning tonight was now crumpled at how hard you were clenching at it. You feel numb, like you had expected it. All these weeks of radio silence.

"We can ignite that spark again. We can make it work. You don't mean it" was what you should have said.

"I still love you" is what you wanted to say.

"Okay" was what told him. You had unknowingly prepared yourself for the worst. You knew him all too well but even so, it doesn't hurt any less. For a person who valued communication so much, you knew there wasn't much to communicate. Not when the man you love refused to meet your eyes.

All that weeks of ignoring you, refusing any time with you and touching you. It was all so clear to you now. You felt like a fool. You felt like a fool for thinking after 10 long years of love, he'd want to fight for this. Every conversation, every meal you tried to have with him was all obligation he felt like he had to do.

You would have rather he cheated on you, ended it on bad terms or even just create a flimsy excuse using soccer. Anything but this.

How could the spark that had been glowing so bright for a decade suddenly distinguish you think?

Sae sits opposite you, silent and as still as a rock. That expressionless face of his doesn't give away what he's thinking. He looks tired you realised. Incredibly haggard. The dark eye bags heavier and more prominent near the candle light. 'How long did he wait to tell me?' you think. He must have spent nights trying to find a way to tell you without crushing you. Even after everything, he still found a way to cushion the fall after pushing you.

You can't remember what else happened that night, only the brief flash of guilt that passed his eyes.

Present time

You look back at the bright billboard. The man you spent nearly half your youth giving your heart to only for him to return it.

You didn't cry. You didn't kick a fuss. You just left without saying a word. For the past year, everything numbed inside of you.

And the man infront of you, makes you realise how out of reach he has always been. How he will always be the world's favourite. How he climbs up that ladder of success so effortlessly leaving you behind.

You hope that someone else has got what he's searching for but you prayed that that person was you.

The tears fall without notice, your chest contracts painfully as you breathe. Gasping a sob before covering your mouth and containing your tears. Itoshi Sae, the man you still loved now gone. Everything comes crashing, as you quietly sob infront of the billboard. How the realisation that you've lost him forever.

That entirety of 10 years was nothing to him. Someone was playing a cruel joke you think as you looked at him through your blurry vision of his pretty features. How you'll never feel those lips, feel his warmth anymore. You can't help but wonder, how long did he have to put this relationship until he finally broke. That while you were still pouring your heart out for him, he had completely lost it. Did he only love you cause he had to?

As you grieve for what you had with him. It all came crashing onto you.

Your world, your everything, your 10 belonged to everyone but you.

The Real Madrid, the press, his fans.

Everyone but you

[sorrowfulrosebud]

𝕮𝖔𝖓𝖙𝖊𝖓𝖙: 𝔦𝔫 𝔴𝔥𝔦𝔠𝔥 ℌ𝔬𝔟𝔦𝔢 𝔦𝔰 𝔶𝔬𝔲𝔯 𝔟𝔬𝔶𝔣𝔯𝔦𝔢𝔫𝔡

𝕲𝖊𝖓𝖗𝖊: 𝔣𝔩𝔲𝔣𝔣𝔶, 𝔞𝔫𝔤𝔰𝔱𝔶 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔰𝔪𝔲𝔱𝔱𝔶

༺ 𝕱𝖑𝖚𝖋𝖋 ༻

❦ Hobie is 10000% the boyfriend who kisses the insides of your wrist. Imagine smushing his cheeks together to tease him and he turns the tables by pressing gentle kisses to each pulse point

❦ Loves to send you selfies of the villains he beats up with goofy captions and him posing

❦ Introduces you to his friends at the pub, proudly showing you off

❦ Then proceeds to drunkenly ramble to said friends, arm tight around your shoulder with a protective hand over your drink

❦ Is an incredible cook when he wants to make something special for you, but otherwise makes low effort meals

❦ He loves to tickle your sides when he’s behind you. He comes over to you from behind under the guise of wanting a cuddle, but a devilish grin appears as he presses his long fingers into your sides, making you ugly chortle and shove him away

❦ Hobie would 10000% do the spiderman kiss with you

❦ Protective as FUCK but doesn't show it outwardly. Like, you’ll be walking down the street and some guy would cat call you, but Hobie doesn’t say anything. His grip on your shoulder gets tighter, and it’s not till he comes back past midnight with a bloodied lip do you feel pride flush your chest

❦ He lets you sit on his lap in bed as you do his eyeliner for his upcoming show. Gentle fingers rub against your hip as he looks at you with hooded eyes, letting you smudge his eyeliner. He looks at you with a charming grin, “thanks babe,” he’d say as he kisses you deeply

❦ Hobie lets you pick his nail polish colour and watches you delicately apply it to his nails. He thinks it's adorable when your tongue sticks out in concentration or when you nibble on your lip

❦ He invites the rest of the spidey squad to come to his dimension to play cards and other games, having you sat in his lap the entire time. If you’re playing poker or something, he nudges you in an attempt to silently communicate what he should pick. He gives you the occasional discreet kiss as Gwen cackles at Pav winning go fish over Miles

❦ Soft, classical music is NOT his style at all, so don't expect him to start playing Ed Sheeran on a regular guitar. If you struggle to fall asleep, he sets you on his tummy and makes patterns on your back based on the way his fingers would position themselves on his guitar

❦ He loves causing chaos with you, be it spray painting a Winston Churchill poster or statue of another bigot, or blasting his guitar near MPs houses, he loves it when you’re there, smiling happily with him

❦ DEFINITELY THE BF TO SMACK YOUR ASS. I SAID WHAT I SAID

❦ Doesn't have a set nickname for you, usually a play on your name or “luv”

❦ The type of bf who gets really invested in his S/O’s drama. Like you could be sat sipping tea, rambling about how this bitch tried to make you feel like shit and he’s just sat proudly like “oh yah? Then what’d you do babe?” With the dopiest ass look on his face

❦ Really stinking cute when drunk. Full on ambling into his flat, making you take care of him. Loves when you clean his piercings and rub off his eyeliner

❦ “Mf, thanks babe. Eyeliner makin’ it difficult to go to sleep,” he mumbles as you prop him upright on the bed. You roll your eyes fondly as you clean him up and start cleaning his piercings

❦ Thinks it's funny as fuck to make you smell his crust jacket. Punks are known to have jackets and not wash them to make them look as grunge as possible and Hobie is no different (bc fuck consistency)

༺𝕬𝖓𝖌𝖘𝖙༻

ఌ Is really stand-offish at the start of your relationship. His dislike for labels put a strain on your relationship; he would kiss you and make you feel loved, and then rip your heart out by saying you’re just friends to his pub mates

ఌ Struggles to fully take things seriously. You could be arguing over something and Hobie would just smirk, making the anger boil over. He doesn’t do it to emasculate or intimidate you, he just thinks it’s cute when you’re so passionate. This has definitely caused some worse arguments and either of you storming out

ఌ Definitely struggles with time and dates. If you arrange a date and he’s Spider-Punkin’ that day, be prepared to walk home and cry after waiting so long that the owners of the restaurant have to gently nudge you away

ఌ It can be seen as angsty or horny, but if you’re trying to start a fight or fussing over him when he’s tired, he’s not above shooting his web at your mouth to shut you up

ఌ Is low-key petrified every time he can’t get hold of you if you’re apart. He doesn’t want your death to become another canon event for him, so days where his anxiety manifest into something way deeper, he keeps you either at arms length or doesn’t let you out of his sight

ఌ Can actually be really mean in arguments if pushed far enough. Man is all for communication, but days where his mental health is struggling are usually days where his temper is short. He does his best to communicate to you that he’s not doing great but is physically fine and just needs some time, but if you keep pushing then he knows where to hit deep. (This is so so incredibly rare though)

ఌ Unintentionally gives you the silent treatment after an argument. If you had a really bad fight and he is still trying to cool off, he is in no mood to talk to anyone. I may be projecting, but I imagine Hobie is the type of person to need to be completely left alone to cool off and gets really upset again if someone tries to ask. He always wants to answer your text but sometimes forgets

ఌ Doesn’t let on but sometimes he has really bad nightmares from his role as protector of London. Sometimes it’s you getting hurt and sometimes it’s him. Either way, he wakes up in cold sweats and immediately feels for you before sighing in relief.

“Hi sweetheart, are you alright? You kept making noises in your sleep,” you murmur to him. Hobie’s eyes fluttered slightly before sinking back under the duvet with a sigh.

“Ughhhh, yeah. ‘M fine babe, jus’ a stupid bad dream,” he mutters, throwing his arm around your waist and nuzzling into your chest. Your arm wrapped around his lean tummy and rubbed soft circles to the skin.

“D’you wanna talk about it hun? I’m here for you,” you whisper softly into his ear. Hobie thought for a minute before shaking his head.

“No thanks. Not now. Jus’ lemme hold ya,” he grunts sleepily. Your fingers found a steady rhythm against his back as you heard him sigh deeply into your neck.

“I love you so much Hobes. I’m always gonna be right here, waiting for you,” you promise him. Slender fingers intertwined with yours, the slight tremble being the only movement in your dark shared bedroom. Tender but firm kisses were placed along your neck in silent thanks as the two of you slip back into dreamless slumber.

༺𝕾𝖒𝖚𝖙༻

༒ Is SUPER easy to turn on. The softest of praises is enough to turn his cock rock hard, but is also a major horn dog for being degraded 🤭🤭

༒ Gets SUPER horny when he catches you wearing his jewellery and jackets. He WILL fuck you right then and there

༒ He’s more of a grunter than a moaner, unless he’s quite deep in subspace. He’s definitely not above whimpering

༒ Hobie loves to send you videos of him wanking off, angled so you can see every lustful touch and hear every choked gasp

༒ A very versatile man. Doesn’t mind whether he’s domming or subbing, or even if there’s no dynamic

༒ Some of Hobie’s biggest kinks: edging, slight overstim, light impact play, light sensory deprivation and wax play

༒ If you’re female or someone without a peeny weeny, he would definitely take some good old cock up the ass <3 the male G spot is up there for a reason!

༒ He can often get lost in pleasure if he’s penetrating you, making his thighs shake as sweat drops and he’s biting into your shoulder like a man starved

༒ Definitely skilled with his fingers 😝😝 loves to finger you until you’re shaking and crying from overstim

༒ Is such a huge brat you wouldn’t believe 🤭🤭 he doesn’t deliberately say things to rile you up, but rather small displays. Rubbing his hands up your sides, murmuring soft teasings into your ears, lingering kisses right before a mission so you end up beating a villain with fire burning in your crotch

I absolutely adore this man, send asks and thots 🤭

[breelandwalker]

Magical Oil Recipes - Buffs and Blessings Edition

For anyone looking to brew up a potion for the purposes of augmentation or blessing, here are some recipes I’ve created that you might find useful.

To prepare them, blend the ingredients in such proportions as feels correct for your purposes (or as supplies allow). Use dried material except where indicated. Place a few spoonfuls in a mason jar with a screwtop lid and fill the jar with a bland oil of your choice. (Vegetable oil of the sort you would buy for cooking works fine.) Screw the lid on tightly and shake well to combine, then leave the jar in a dark dry place for 2-4 weeks to steep.

Once steeped, prepare a clean storage bottle (also with a secure lid) and label with the type of oil and the bottling date. Strain the oil through paper towels or cheesecloth to remove the plant material, then bottle immediately. Store away from sunlight and heat for up to one year. Use for spellwork as you see fit.

(Please note that NONE of these potions are meant to be taken internally by any means. Observe all proper safety measures related to glass, fire, and potentially harmful plants as necessary during preparation.)

*- Ingredient is potentially harmful if inhaled or ingested. **- Ingredient should not be used or handled if you are pregnant or nursing.

All-Purpose Blessing Oil For blessing, purification, and consecration.

Lavender

Sweet Basil

Bay Leaf

Patchouli Note: Use Olive Oil for the base.

Brim With Vim Vitality Oil To restore flagging magical energy and clear post-spell haze.

Tangerine (Satsuma) Peel

Cinnamon Stick

Ginger Root

Vervain

Cauldronkeeper Wisdom Oil To enhance intuition and wisdom.

Hazel (leaves or bark)

Elder (berries or bark)

Sage (any color)

Peach Pit (in master bottle) Note: Peach pits contain a small amount of cyanide, which may be released if the pit is broken down. Exercise caution with the finished oil.

Clear the Way Obstacle Remover Oil For overcoming difficulty and attracting new opportunities.

Dried Sumac Berries

Ginger Root

Sweet Basil

Full Moon Lunar Affinity Oil For augmentation of spells attuned to the lunar cycle.

Willow Bark

Jasmine Flowers

Fennel

Mugwort** Note: Use With Caution.

High Noon Solar Affinity Oil For augmentation of spells attuned to the solar cycle.

Calendula Petals

Chamomile

Bay Leaf

Eyebright Note: Use With Caution.

Golden Fields Prosperity Oil For abundance, good fortune, and general well-being.

Sesame or Pumpkin Seeds

Wheat or Barley Kernels

Orange Peel

Honeysuckle

Get Me Through the Day Endurance Oil For a tiny extra boost on those low-energy days.

Lemon Verbena

White Oak Bark

Rosemary

Echinacea**

Hearthside Home Blessing Oil For a comfortable and harmonious home.

Sweet Basil

Vervain

Pine Needles

Willow Bark

Jack-of-all-Trades Work Enhancement Oil For augmentation of workplace abilities.

Sweet Basil

Meadowsweet**

Borage Flowers

Vanilla Bean

Magical Me Power Boost Oil For augmentation of spellcasting.

Ginger Root

Rosemary

Bergamot

Cedar Tips

Steel Backbone Fortitude Oil For bravery and endurance.

Blue Vervain

Pine Needles

Cedar Tips

Yarrow**

Truthteller Divination Oil For augmentation of divinatory practices.

Evening Primrose**

Hibiscus Flowers

Celery Seeds

Tea Leaves

Watchful Eye Viewing Oil To enhance powers of observation.

Grape Leaf

Lemon Balm

Rosemary

Celery Seed (or dried leaf from stalks) Note: Do not apply to skin around eyes. Do not apply directly to eyeballs either.

Should the reader require supplies, I recommend the following:

Penn Herb Company

Starwest Botanicals

Bulk Apothecary

Mountain Rose Herbs

Specialty Bottle

Image Credit - VeraPetruk

All recipes are © 2017 Bree NicGarran, published in Pestlework: A Book of Magical Powders & Oils. Please check out the book if you would like more recipes.

If you’re enjoying my content, please feel free to drop a little something in the tip jar, tune in to my podcast Hex Positive, or check out my published works on Amazon or in the Willow Wings Witch Shop.

[lookingforariaa]

Attack On Titan: Eren Headcannon ᝰ.ᐟ

ᯓ★ If you and Eren were secret highschool sweethearts, I could honestly imagine Eren making out with you whenever, wherever and however he got the chance.

eren x f!reader highschool au

You were wearing your signature navy blue jersey jacket with Shiganshina High Schools crest embedded into the fabric of your sleeve, paired with your white button up that strained against your tits along with a white tennis skirt that rested just slightly above your knees. You sported this look proudly, sticking to your label of the high schools pride and joy-- the best student these primitive and graffitied walls had ever witnessed.

The good girl who wore long skirts paired with those long ruffled socks that came up to her knees and the signature part that tied her look together, setting her innocence in stone-- the shiny Mary Janes settled on her feet and the bow that tied the front strands of her hair to the back of her head.

You looked exactly how a respected conglomerate's only daughter should look like: An innocent, naive doll.

But Eren Jaeger, the embodiment of someone you should've stayed away from, knew you were anything but innocent. He was the only one in these brisk hallways who knew the kinds of filthy sounds you made, where to touch you to make you feel good, what kind of faces you make when you're pleased, how much you beg for release, the kind of magic your mouth can do.

He wanted to let all the guys who gave you obscene looks when you passed by them, know that you're his. He wanted to walk down the hallways holding you close to him, show you off to the world and let those other fucking runts know that you only belonged to him. That your eyes were only on his.

But he couldn't. Because of the predicament of you being a heir to a successful family and keeping a clean, non-flithy image.

Nothing about you was non-filthy when you were alone with him.

You walked down the hallway, your books clutched to your chest with that signature smile that almost seemed etched onto your face.

God, he loved that smile.

Your attention drifted to your phone stored into the confines of the pockets in your skirt and a knowing smile played on your lips as you went to grab it.

1 new message from E 🖤 meet me in the science room You bit down onto your lip to hide your grin and instantly rerouted to meet your boyfriend. Well, secret boyfriend.

≪•◦ ❈ ◦•≫

The groan of the ancient classroom door echoed as you slammed it shut. Before you could take a breath, a whirlwind of movement pinned you against the rough wood. The handle dug into your spine, a dull ache blossoming instantly.

"Eren," you gasped, your voice muffled against something warm and hard. "Handle."

A flicker of recognition crossed his face before his hands, quick and strong, found your thighs. With a powerful lift, he swept you off your feet. Legs instinctively wrapping around his waist, you found yourself sitting on the cool surface of the nearest table.

"Hey beautiful." He said in between kisses, "let's finish what we started last night."

[lena-in-a-red-dress]

Musician Age Gap AU Pt 15

Kara sleeps hard and deep next to Lena that night, when they finally run out of energy and tension and need. She wakes hours later flat on her back, a starfish-shaped pillow for Lena to wrap herself around.

Realizing the younger woman is indeed tucked against her side, Kara curls her arm around Lena's shoulders, earning a moan of malcontent. "Five more minutes..."

Kara is more than willing to give Lena more than that, but a knock at the door pre-empts that idea. Lena groans, this time loud enough to be petulant.

"No can do," Jess calls from the other side of the door. "You don't pay me enough to tell your mother no!"

It must be a long standing joke between them, because Lena snorts, even as she reluctantly rolls onto her back.

"I have coffee!" Jess adds to lessen the blow.

Lena perks up a little, but still takes her time stretching against the sheets. "Fine," she calls. "Tell her we'll be in the kitchen in five. She can join us."

"Thank you!"

Kara listens to the exchange with her eyes closed, mentally preparing herself to peel away from Lena. Lena seems equally disinclined. Finally, Kara cracks a smile. "You should pay Jess more, if it'll get us more than five extra minutes."

"There is no amount of money on Earth that could convince Jess to cross my mother." Lena sighs. "Honestly I don't blame her. If she wasn't *my* mother I'd be running too."

Kara wisely keeps any thoughts she has on the matter of Lillian to herself. The woman has yet to look on her with any other than complete and utter disdain, and Kara is more than happy to let that be as far as it goes. She suspects that if she and Lillian were ever truly at odds, well.... she doubts recent-girlfriend would win in a contest against mother-manager.

Eventually, they manage to crawl out of bed and throw on some pajamas for decency before making their way to the kitchen. Lena's cooking an omelette for herself when Lillian joins them, with Kara hunched over a bowl of cereal.

"Charming," Lillian comments, to Kara's consternation. It's just cereal. But Lillian has already turned to Lena, so Kara settles for sticking her tongue out while the woman's back is turned.

"You have a meeting with Morgan Edge this morning at 10:30am," Lillian announces.

Lena stiffens at the stove. Kara catches the stillness immediately, but keeps quiet.

"You mean *we* have a meeting--"

"No, I have a meeting with Maxwell Lord. If I'd meant we, I would have said we."

Lena turns to her mother. "We agreed--"

"You are an adult, Lena, and capable of conducting a meeting without me," Lillian chides. "The label simply wants to check in on the tour and your recent... escapades. Meanwhile I be sorting the details of releasing your newest single."

Lena's cheeks splotch with color, though she does her best to hide her distress. "But--"

"Morgan's schedule is already strained Lena. If you cancel this meeting, you risk losing the faith of the label, as would rescheduling my meeting with Lord. You're fully capable of handling this on your own."

"But--"

Lena's protest dies in her throat under Lillian's withering glare. She swallows thickly, ducking her head. Satisfied, Lillian nods. "It's settled then. You have a photo shoot at 2pm, and we're due at the hangar at 7."

Lena nods, but her gaze is distant. Her features are neutral, but Kara knows its a mask. Even so, if Lillian sees as much as well, it doesn't bother her.

"And try to dress presentably, dear. If you intend to convince him you have... this," Lillian waves vaguely in Kara's direction, "under control, you'll need to look the part."

Lena nods, prompting her mother to nod approvingly. "Good. Don't be late."

With that, she turns and leaves them alone in the kitchen. Kara watches Lena, who doesn't move, not even when the smell of just-burning egg begins to fill the room.

"Lena?"

Blinking back to awareness, Lena hurriedly turns off the stove. Her fingers fumble on the knob, and Kara sees that they're trembling.

"Lena?"

"I'm not that hungry after all," Lena says distantly. Before Kara can press further, she continues. "Do you mind staying here today? Well, not *here*, just--"

Just not with her.

Kara nods quietly. "Yeah. I've got some work I can do."

It's not a lie, but it's definitely an acquiescence. Lena clearly doesn't want company for the impending meeting, and Kara has no reason to insist she go with her save concern.

"Thank you," Lena returns, distracted. "I should go get ready."

She makes a swift exit. Kara retreats to her own suite soon after, her own appetite quashed by the sudden change in mood. By the time she re-emerges, Lena is nowhere in sight, and there's no answer to Kara's knock on her door.

Doing her best to ignore the ball of worry churning in her belly, Kara sets up shop at the kitchen island. She's all but taken a leave of absence, but Eve sends her enough to keep busy for the morning. Lena texts that she's on the way to her photo shoot, confirming she won't be returning to the hotel. Jess would pack her things and arrange their delivery to the airport.

Sure enough, Jess arrives barely half an hour later, cheerful and busy as ever. She offers to take care of Kara's things as well, but shrugs amiably when Kara declines. As she works, Kara takes her laptop and retreats to her bedroom.

After a quick check of the time difference, Kara facetimes the only person who could give her comfort.

"Hey," Alex greets cheerfully from the screen. "How's Paris?"

"Fine," Kara allows, but lacking enthusiasm.

Alex frowns. "What's wrong?"

Kara hesitates. She knows Alex will keep her confidence, but sharing what she saw this morning feels... intimate. Perhaps too intimate for the fact Lena has only met Alex via phone call a week ago.

"I've got a bad feeling," she allows carefully. "And I don't know what to do about it."

"About Lena?"

"More like... for Lena? Lena's been-- amazing. But this morning... I don't know."

Alex considers Kara's words, taking a moment to determine her path of approach. "Sounds personal," she allows. "But it doesn't sound like it has anything to do with you, or your relationship?"

Kara nods. "It's not about us."

"Then I think... I think you should consider whether it's something you should get invovled with."

Resistance flares in Kara. "But I care about her--"

"I know," Alex confirms quickly. "And I'm sure she does too. So if she hasn't shared with you about what's making her uncomfortable, maybe she just doesn't want to."

On the screen, Alex sits on her bed. The room is still around her. Kelly's probably already at work.

"You care a lot, Kara. You always have. And I know Lena is even more special."

Kara can't deny it. She's loved before, but not like this. Her commitment to Lena has been swift and complete-- but from Alex's tone now, it's something she should be wary of.

"Hey," her sister says softly. "Why don't you come home for a visit? Esme would love to see you."

Resistance twists Kara's stomach into a knot. But this time, Kara stops to examine it. She came to support Lena, but... she's also made Lena her world, even if just for a few weeks. Does her resistance to leaving mean she thinks the distance would lessen the feelings she has for Lena?

Or does she trust that they'll remain, even with an ocean between?

After a moment, Kara makes her decision.

"Yeah. I can catch a flight tonight."

At the very least, at the end of this visit she'll know whether her feelings are more than a proximity-fueled addiction. And when she comes back... she'll have her head on straight, and hopefully feel more grounded than she does right now.

On the screen, Alex smiles broadly. "We'll make sure to have the guest room ready for you. Esme is going to be so stoked. Prepare yourself for the inquisition."

Kara grins.

"I look forward to it."