#since those are his Parts hes usually most Eager to cover up

[kotaromita]

Open Thread

Kotaro's thin eyebrows twitch nervously in the dressing room mirror, conflicted seeing himself in the outfit suggested to him. The way it fit his body, the skin it showed—was it too much?

He had only recently started to experiment a little more with how he dressed, given he was pretty picky with the genre of street fashion he wore. Having someone else choose for him was a surefire way to get him wearing something outside that comfort zone. But seeing his exposed forearms and collarbones made him wary.

Even so, he felt obligated to show them how he looked given they'd given him their assistance in the first place. So he steps out from behind the curtain. "So, does it suit me?"

[deen-djarin]

Suds n’ Trunks

Summary: Joel ordered a car washing service…bikini car washing service.

Tags: 18+, No Outbreak!Joel, Cheeky Flirty!Reader, Porn with a sprinkle of plot, Daddy kink, Choking, Joel is a menace and so is reader, Oral (m & f receiving), Unprotected P-in-V, Consensual Creampie

—

The sun shone on the perfect suburban streets of Austin, Texas. So hot you could fry an egg if you wanted to. You rolled your windows down, driving down a neighborhood you’re not familiar with, and pulled up at the house that sits in the cul de sac, a dirty- no filthy ford pickup truck parked on its driveway.

This must be the place.

A sigh fell from your lips as you hopped off your car with your supplies in hand; a bucket, sponge, microfiber rag, and various soaps for different parts of the car. The heat was even worse after you’ve left the comfort of your air conditioned car, but the thought of being out of your clothes and soaked in suds and the cool water excites you.

Once you’ve discovered this lucrative market of bored, horny, lonely middle aged suburban guys— eager to see a show, and maybe get their car cleaned as well, you start to do this gig every summer. The money is good plus these guys tip generously.

Your service by its core is nothing but a mobile car wash, but the carwash is being done by you, clad in a skimpy bikini. c’mon, who wouldn’t want that right?

When you scored your first customer, you became a spectacle for the neighborhood. Your client shamelessly pulls out a lawn chair, having a grand ol’ time “enjoying the sun” as you wash their car. Neighbors walking out their houses mowing their already perfectly trimmed lawn, walking their dogs, cats, and some approached your client for a neighborly talk they probably haven’t had in months.

You’ve gotten the whole neighborhood out of their house basically, then your client list doubles with those people coming over to you and asking to do theirs next. Some cars don't even need washing, but you do them anyway with a smile knowing you’re gonna eat good that night.

Ever since then you decided to do this gig every summer, cheekily naming your little business “Suds ‘n Trunks”.

—

You ring the doorbell of the Miller’s residence and step back. You could hear a soft grumble from behind the door before it opened and reveal a scruffy, middle aged, handsome man. your eyes scans him quickly, his hair tousled, his shoulders broad, big arms, big hands, Jesus Christ you want to just-

“Can I help you?”

His gruff, deep, Texan drawl snaps you out of your trance and brings you back to reality.

“Uhm yes, Mr. Miller? you called for a car wash?” You asked him with a sweet voice you come to learn that older men love, it always works like a charm, making them tip you a fat wad of cash— these men just craved attention from a pretty girl, and you’re happy to give that to them.

“Oh..yeah you could uh, it's that one right there,” he motioned to the dirty pickup truck. You give him a smile and nodded, “okay, i’ll go on and get started then.” Joel nodded and shut the door immediately.

—

A red Ford bronco sat on his driveway, absolutely covered in filth. You usually don't deal with this much grime, dust, and mud. Granted, most cars you’ve washed barely need a wash, the clients just wanted to see you wet and covered in suds, which you couldn’t really blame them.

You took a breath and started to step out of your tanktop and shorts, revealing the red matching bikini you’re wearing underneath and started to go to work.

—

Joel was exhausted after doing several construction projects back to back yesterday, from dawn to the ungodly hours of the night resulting in his beloved truck — Shirley— looking like it had been dragged in the mud…literally.

Joel likes to take care of his things, Shirley is no exception. His free time on the weekends is often spent on his truck in the garage, polishing her to perfection. But after all the hard work he did, just the thought of washing her made his back groan in protest.

So he got the number of your services from his coworkers after they commented on the state of Shirley, a smirk planted on their faces and they kept snickering which Joel found odd, but he was too fed up and exhausted to think twice on booking your services.

Joel grunts as he settles on his couch, his cold bottle of beer in one hand, the tv remote on the other. He kicked his feet up on the coffee table, and turned on the TV.

It's finally his time for him to take his hard-earned relaxation time. which should be easy, but he could hear the annoying sputtering sound of his neighbor’s lawnmower.

That thing needs more oil. He thought to himself as he took a sip of his beer.

Then another sound of a lawnmower sounded from the other side of the house, even more annoying than the first.

What the fuck? Why are they all mowin’ the lawn at the same time? at this hour? he thought.

Then comes the obnoxious yapping of Mr. Thompson's french bulldog and chihuahua.

What the hell is goin’ on? it's a whole ruckus out there.

He groaned, frustrated that the whole neighborhood seems to be against his well deserved relaxing time. He grumbled as he strides towards his window, drawing up the blinds to see what the fuck is going on out there.

His eyes nearly bulged out, blush quickly crept up his neck to his cheeks, and his cock twitching in his pants instantly at the sight.

You, bend over in the hood of his car, wet, covered in suds, in a fucking bikini. He tried to look away, he really did, but the way your hips sways, your ass jiggled, as you scrubbed hard with the caked on mud on his truck— it was hypnotizing.

—

“What the hell are ya doin’?”

The sight of Joel's furrowed brow as he stared at you in your revealing outfit was a mix of disapproval and desire. Your sweet smile remained as you answered his question, "Mr. Miller! I'm just washing your car."

His gaze roamed over you, making you shiver with anticipation. "In that?" He grunted, clearly torn between his disgust and arousal. "Well, yes… It's part of my service."

The man stood silent for a moment, his confusion palpable. "Part of your service?"

"Uhm, yeah... It's a bikini car wash service… You didn't know?" you tilted your head, confused.

Joel sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "How the hell was I supposed to know?"

"The name is Suds 'n' Trunks," you reminded him softly.

"I know what it's called!" he huffed, clearly frustrated.

Unsure of how to proceed, you hesitated. "So, uhm, you want me to just dress up and go or—"

"No, finish your job," he grumbled, still irritated. Your eyes trailed down to the growing tent in his jeans, confirming the source of his conflicting emotions.

You hid your smirk and purred, "Yes, sir," before returning to your task. The knowledge that you had such a potent effect on him only fueled your desire to please him.

—

Your back is even more curved now, ass sticking up more than they should as you washed the side of his truck, knowing Joel is looking– watching you like a hawk while he sits on the porch, a beer in his hand and a cigarette on the other. you turned your head over your shoulder just to give him a small smile, which he returned with his jaw clenching.

You bask under his gaze, your body tingling, giving him the best show you’ve ever given. you squatted as you started to clean the lower part of the truck, your ass jiggle with every hard scrub you give.

The tension between the two of you is palpable, leaving Joel frustrated, he knows damn well you’re taunting him. He’s torn between wanting to yell at you for acting so unprofessional and embarrassing him in front of the watchful eyes of his nosy neighbors— or fucking you against the truck for payback.

He sits there watching you, contemplating on what to do. You gave him another cheeky look over your shoulder and that was it, his last resolve snapped, fuck it.

—

“Careful with her,” he said lowly as he approached you.

You turned your head, batting your eyelashes, “Hm?”

“You’re goin’ too hard on her, just painted that part,” he murmured as he got closer, just right behind you.

“But the mud is really caked on this part,” you told him and went back to scrubbing.

“A-ah, hey,” he tutted and leaned down behind you, his large palms sitting atop of yours “Gentle…easy does it,” he murmured, his hot breath fanned against your ear.

You had to bite your lip to suppress a moan as you felt his hardness pressed against your thigh. Your hand following his movements, “There we go…there we go, good girl,” he murmured and you swore every part of your body shivered.

“This is gonna take longer to finish, sir,” you murmured, your voice a mere whisper as you turned your head to him.

“I know…but you’re gonna get a bigger reward out of it, how’s that sound hm?” he muttered to your ear before abruptly pulling away from you and sitting back on the porch.

your breath hitched, heartbeat skipping, and the heat between your legs grew hotter. You turned your head towards him to see him sitting back at his porch, his head nodded at you to continue your work, a small smirk curved his lips.

—

You’re halfway done with the truck when his neighbor starts to approach you, a middle aged guy you came to learn named Michael. He’s been clearly hitting on you, and trying to get a closer look on what you’re doing. which usually doesn’t bother you but you could practically feel Joel's watchful eyes boring into your back.

“So you do this for a living?” he asked as he stood a few feet away from you, “It's just a summer gig i do,” you replied with a small smile, keeping the response light.

"Sweet, it's nice seeing a young, beautiful, hard-working woman," he chuckled. Your jaw tensed for a moment before you forced a tight-lipped smile.

"Can you do my car next? It's pretty dirty too," he suggested, wiggling his eyebrows. You felt a flush of annoyance, but your eyes met Joel's, who glared disapprovingly from his porch.

"Well, uh..." you hesitated, glancing back at Joel. He shook his head, a clear indication that he didn't want you to entertain Michael's advances. "Sorry, Michael. I'm booked for today... I gotta go somewhere after this."

Michael sighed, "Aw, just my luck," he lamented. "I'll ask Joel for your number, huh? I'll book you as soon as you're free." You chuckled, "Yeah, you go do that."

Michael made his way over to Joel, asking for your number. Joel nodded, but with a grunt, he gave Michael the wrong number. A smirk played on your lips as you returned to your work.

—

After what feels like forever you finally finished with the last drag of your microfiber rag. You let out a sigh and turned around to Joel sauntering his way. “All done Mr. Miller,” you purred.

He looked at his truck, all clean and shiny. A satisfied smirk graced his face, “you did a good job” he praised. “Good enough to get that reward?” you murmured with your head tilted innocently. Joel let out a small chuckle “Mmhm... come on inside and i’ll get it sorted for you, pretty girl.”

Your eyes gleamed with lust and you bit your lip in anticipation as he led you inside his house. The wind hits your wet body, the coolness leaves your nipples even harder, your body tingling with need.

By the time the two of you were inside, Joel’s body was taut, like a spring ready to burst. He couldn’t hold it in anymore, his large palms grab a hold of your wet body and pinned you against his door, you let out a surprised whimper at his sudden actions.

“Been a good girl for me huh? Takin’ care of my truck,” he murmured as he leaned down and his lips grazed your jaw to the skin under your ear. “Been naughty too haven’t you? Tauntin’ me with this sweet ass of yours,” he grabbed your ass and gave it a hard squeeze making you let out a small moan, he pulled you closer, his hard cock pressing against your wet bikini bottoms.

You couldn’t help but grind your hips against him, needy and desperate for friction, eliciting a small moan from you and a groan from him. “What do you have to say about that huh? Pretty girl?,” he muttered and nibbled on your earlobe, “I’m sorry sir” you panted softly.

“Yeah? Doesn’t seem to be that sorry,” he chuckled lowly, his voice gravely and his accent was thicker than before “Think I would have to punish you… you thought it was funny huh? Makin’ me hard as a rock with those fucking neighbors watchin’?” he growled to your ear and slapped your ass, you whimpered and jolted forwards.

“I’m sorry sir..please don't punish me,” you whined and bit your lip. “You’re sorry huh? Go on, pretty thing, show me how sorry you are,” he murmured. You didn't need to be told twice, you fell to your knees, eyes wide as you looked up to his face, hands deftly undoing his belt and jeans and pulling it down along with his boxers.

Your mouth salivated just from the sight of his cock springing free, thick, veiny, and throbbing, just how you thought it would be. He gave you a nod to tell you ‘go on’, you leaned down and darted your tongue out, tasting the heady taste of his precum. He groaned and tossed his head back, hand tangling in your hair and pulled you in, you hummed and finally wrapped your mouth around his girth with a small whimper. Your jaw straining to accommodate him, tongue moving with practiced ease as you sink down deeper, taking in more of him.

“Fuck yeah..good fuckin’ girl…thats it,” he muttered and started to guide your head the way he wanted, you thrive with his praises, taking in him as deep as you could. Gagging and sputtering here and there but you didn't stop at all in search of his approval and satisfaction, you didn’t want to stop. The room was filled with the sound of his grunts and heavy breaths, along with the obscene sounds from you and your muffled whimpers.

Joel nearly came when he saw you starting to snake your hand between your legs, “Naughty fuckin’ slut, touchin’ yourself huh?” he groaned and started to thrust into your mouth, holding your head in place. “You want me to take care of that? Hm?” he growled and you whined as an answer. Suddenly he abruptly pulled you away from his cock, “get on the fuckin’ couch,” he muttered, you scrambled off the floor and quickly gotten on the nearby couch, “on your hands and knees, sweetheart,” he commanded and you did as he said, bending over, facing the backrest of the couch.

He stood behind you and pushed you legs wider, your head craned over your shoulder to look at him with your needy expression, bottom lip between your teeth. He gripped your chin and he leaned down, finally crashing his lips to yours. He was rough, didn’t even hesitate on pushing his tongue into your mouth, tongue dominating yours, making you whine and push your hips back, desperate, begging for him.

His kiss left you panting as he pulled away, he trailed kisses down your back, biting on the knot that holds your bikini top together and pulling on it and letting it unravel, his hand started to grope your tits, playing, pinching, pulling on your sensitive nipples. “Mr. Miller,” you panted “please..”

“Use your word, Baby, what do you need?” he murmured to the crook of your neck. You whimpered and kept moving your hips, “anything- please- your finger, mouth- anything, i need you,” you rambled desperately. Joel chuckled darkly, his large fingers playing with the knots of your bikini bottoms, “needy little thing,” he murmured before pulling on the knots and unraveling the red wet fabric, making it fall to the couch.

Joel practically growled at the sight before him, you, bent over with your ass high in the air, naked, your pussy dripping and ready for him. “Look at you..” he murmured and leaned down, groping your ass and pushing it apart to reveal more of you. “Mmh..” he grumbles before leaning down and placing a broad lick on your cunt. “Oh- god- Mr- mmhngh! Mr. Miller” you whined and pushed your hips more to his face. Joel groaned and started to really eat you out, his large palms splayed on your ass, face completely buried in your drooling pussy. “It's Joel, sweetheart,” he chuckled as he pulled away from your cunt for a second, “I wanna hear ya moan my name.”

“Joel..” you breathed, getting used to the feel of his name on your lips. Joel started to flick his tongue rapidly on your clit, making your eyes roll back and moan out his name, “fuck- ahh! Joel!” He grunted in response, “yeah that’s it, moan my name…mmhhh good fuckin’ girl.”

You were falling apart already at the hands of his tongue, moving on your pussy with practiced ease. Joel relished the sounds of your moans, and the sweet and tangy taste of your cunt. He groaned and started to push his thick fingers to your entrance, “Joel! Ahnghh! F-fuck! mmhngh!!” you cried out, he grunted and pulled away from your pussy for a second, “That’s it baby, you’re gonna cum hm? Gonna be a good girl an cum on my face?” he muttered and curled his digits to hit that heavenly spot within you, you whined in response, barely able to come up with words but nodded with your eyes closed in pleasure. “Good girl, c’mon, come on my face” he panted and started double his efforts, his tongue flicking on your sensitive clit, slurping all your juices, whilst his fingers kept hitting that sweet spot over and over again.

Your orgasm hits you like a freight train, you back arched and your eyes rolled back, you swore you saw stars. His name kept falling from your lips in between moans and whimpers which he responded with praises.

“good girl, that’s it”

“you’re so pretty when you cum for me”

“tastes so good baby, there you go..”

He peppered kisses across your shoulders and back as he waited for you to come down from your high. “joel..” you panted and kept pushing your hips back to grind against his throbbing cock, eliciting a groan from his lips, “yeah? you want my cock, pretty girl?” he muttered and rutted his hips against you, his cock sliding against your cunt. “yes- please joel- please-“ you let out a loud moan when he suddenly pushed his cock into your core.

“fuuuck” he groaned as he pushed himself in “fuck- shit, baby you’re so fuckin’ tight,” he panted and gripped your hips tight. “joel! oh- f-fuck hhngh!” you whimpered and gripped the back of the couch. Joel pulled back until his cock is almost fully slipped back, you whined at the loss of his stretch, then he slammed back in. “Fuck! Oh- f-fuuckk! Joeel!!” you cried out, “Yeah baby that’s it- shit- yeah take it baby, take it” he growled to your ear and wrapped your hair on his hand and yanked it back. Your head tilted back at the force and he crashed his lips to yours again, swalowing all your moans and whimpers as he fucked you with a relentless pace.

“J-joel” you warned between pants, “Yeah i know baby- fuck- yeah i can feel it,” he groaned and panted “c’mon baby give it to me, cum on my cock, c’mon” he murmured and went faster. The sound of his skin smacking against yours gets louder and louder, the couch groaned and creaked in protest. You could barely utter any coherent words at this point, just slurring his name and how good it feels between moans and pants.

Your back arched and trembles as you cry out his name like a prayer. Joel slowed down for a second, letting you ride out the orgasm, “there you go…hmm there you go” he muttered soothingly, his hips rocking deliberately, slowly. “You can take more, sweetheart?” he murmured to your ear, you couldn’t help but nod. ”Good girl,” he praised to your ear and kissed your jaw before his arm wrapped around your waist, the other around your chest and pulled you up until his chest pressed against your back. He resumed his hard relentless thrusts, his hand on your chest groping and playing with your hard nipples. you felt like floating at this point, just taking everything he gave you like a good girl.

“Who’s pussy is this?” He growled to your ear, you could barely talk just letting out sounds of pleasure, he spanked your ass hard and you gasped out a moan, “Yours! Hahngh! All yours!” you whined, Joel gripped your neck and pulled you closer to him “Who?” he demanded, you panted and choked out, “Yours daddy!” bingo.

He growled and bent you over again, his hand still tight on your neck, choking you just right. “Yeah that’s right, such a good girl for daddy,” he muttered and pounded into you. You kept choking out moans, calling him daddy over and over. He shifted his position, propping one leg on the couch to get a different angle, deeper, and it allowed him to reach that spot within you. “Oh my g- aahhngh!! daddy!! right there, oh fuck- fuck me right there!!” you cried out. He grunted and let out a dark chuckle, “there sweetheart?” he taunted as he thrusted extra hard aiming at that spot again. “yes!! yes- yes please- please i- daddy please” you rambled, begging for him, his cock has reduced you to nothing but desperate and needy. “well since you asked so nicely,” he said coyly before hitting that spot over and over again.

You felt you’re gonna shatter yet again in any second, a ticking time bomb set on your lower belly. “D-daddy i’m- hah- i’m-” you could barely finish your choked out sentence. “Yeah? Gonna cum again for daddy?” he panted to your ear, all you could do was nodded and give a whimper of confirmation. He chuckled darkly and his hand snaked down to rub your clit with fervor while his hips kept pounding to your ass, “Go on then, come for me, come for daddy,” he muttered to your ear.

Your vision blurred and you saw white. It feels like you’re barely conscious, your third orgasm hits you even harder than the last. You didn’t noticed whats happening until joel groaned, “Fuck yeah you’re squirtin’ on me baby- good girl- hhnngh good fuckin’ girl.” Your thighs trembled, wet with your release, red from his thrusts.

He finally let go of your neck and you gasped out for much needed air, his thrusts started to stutter. “Where do you want it?” he panted to your ear, “Inside, inside daddy, please,” you begged and started to move your hips to meet his. Joel couldn’t hold back any longer, 1, 2, 3 hard thrusts later and he came completely undone inside you. “Fuuuckk!! Fuck yeah- oh shit baby” he moaned, “fuck! makin’ me cum so much, pretty girl…oh yeah good fuckin’ girl,” he panted to your ear.

After his hips stilled, he pulled out of you, making you whine and clench around nothing, pushing his hot sticky seed out of you.

He chuckled and whispered to your ear, “look at you…all messy n’ dirty,” he cooed. “You cleaned my truck now it's time for me to clean you,” he murmured before peppering kisses down your spine yet again.

—

author’s note: THIS WAS MY FIRST FIC EVER AHSHSHEH so forgive me if its shitty or the grammar is horrible bc english is my 2nd language:3 ALSO i have never written smut before heheheh, your feedback is greatly appreciated!! thank you for reading this horny piece of literature!!

[jezebelblues]

in body and blood | h.s

pt. i, pt. ii

summary: over a century adrift in darkness, he found his sun—not in the dawn, but in the quiet fire of her love, a light fierce enough to bind even eternity.

cw: fem!reader, blood+blood drinking (bro is literally a vampire there's going to be blood) 1700s!harry, mentions of death

word count: approx 7.3k

I yall this excruciatingly long so i just figured it was better to split this into four parts. it starts off kinda slow i knowwww but i feel like it fits his character. anyway I hope u will like. mwah :* also YES his heart beats idk i took creative liberty in assuming the blood he drinks would give him some sort of circulation and YES i drew inspo from tvd i like their vamp lore the most ok bye

Fourth of November, 1701

The English flag thrashed wildly in the biting wind, its edges snapping above the clank of chains and the groan of wood as boats were fastened to the harbor. Hooves clattered against the cobblestone, mingling with the grumble of cart wheels as townsfolk hurried homeward, eager to escape the deepening chill of evening.

Winter crept in with an ill-fated air, a shadow over the town. The fishermen’s hauls dwindled to nearly nothing, their nets coming up bare. Squash and pumpkins, once abundant, softened and rotted on their vines before they could be harvested. Livestock, struck by a strange sickness, perished too soon, their spoiled meat no longer fit to eat. Lately the townsfolk scraped by on what little they could hunt—rabbits, mostly—a meager fare that barely stretched to sustain a family for more than a few days.

YN stood at the end of the dock, the sea’s bitter wind pulling at her hair. A basket woven by her mother dangled from her arm, half-covered by a cloth beneath which a few herbs and stunted vegetables peeked through. She waited for Niall, a fisherman she’d known since childhood, to come ashore. His face was grim, his knuckles pale as he secured his boat. “Any luck?” She asked over the wind, though she already knew the answer.

His mouth twisted into a scowl as he wiped his hands on his trousers and approached her. “Lucks got nothin’ to do with it. s’the new king, swear it. God turned his back on us ‘cause of him.”

She winced and swatted his arm lightly as they started toward the stone walls encircling the town. “Don’t say such things, not out loud.” She kept her voice low, though she too had her doubts about the new ruler. “Best not to tempt fate with those words.”

He rolled his eyes and took the basket from her arm, letting it hang from his own so she could tuck her hands into her sleeves. “You agree with such things. S’pose God does as well from the lack of bloody fish.”

They passed under the worn stone archway marking the entrance to town, their footsteps echoing against the ancient stones. Dover was nestled between the English Channel and rolling green hills, hemmed in by rocky shores and the stark rise of the cliffs, standing watch like grim sentinels over the troubled little town.

As YN and Niall made their way up the winding path from the square, the quiet crept in around them, settling like a thin mist. The evening was thick and gray, heavy clouds stretching over Dover and flattening the light into a cool, uneasy dusk.

Each face they passed, they recognized. it was impossible not to, in a town so small. There was old mrs. Harris, hunched beneath a weathered shawl, who gave them a knowing nod as they went by, as if she alone were privy to the day’s secrets. And mr. James, pulling his cart toward home, who offered a quick tip of his hat, but avoided meeting their eyes too long, as if a weight hung over all of them that no one cared to mention.

Niall, walking beside her, held his silence longer than usual, and there was a flicker of something unreadable in his eyes when he finally turned her way. “You’re still makin’ that stew, yeah?” He hummed, nodding toward the basket swinging lightly in his hand. His tone was casual, almost lazy, yet she sensed something else beneath it, like he was testing the waters of a conversation he couldn’t quite bring himself to start.

“Mum has already started it,” YN replied, keeping her voice as light as his. “Cabbage, onion, bit of thyme. barely a stew, more a broth.” She cast a sideways glance his way, catching the faintest hint of a smile pulling at his mouth.

“No doubt you’ll have your sister servin’ it, then?” He asked, as though it were an afterthought. “I hear she has a way of makin’ anything taste finer.”

YN’s lips twitched, a hint of humor flickering in her eyes. She knew well enough where this was going, but she didn’t indulge him outright. “Oh, she has her charms, but she’s picky ‘bout who gets to see ‘em.”

He laughed quietly, a low sound that seemed to carry on the breeze, soft and uncertain. “She's got the whole town near dreamin’ of her, from what I hear. never seen her eye stray toward anyone, though.”

YN glanced away, her gaze drifting over the clustered rooftops, the narrow chimneys stretching into the dimming sky like spindly fingers. “You’d need more than a bowl of stew to catch her fancy, Niall. You’d best hope for a rich merchant or a duke comin’ ashore.”

His chuckle died off, and for a few quiet moments, they simply walked, the soft scuff of their shoes blending with the distant murmur of the sea. Yet something hung between them, unspoken, like the faintest shadow shifting at the edges of their conversation.

It was Niall who broke the silence, his voice lower this time, his words careful. “Have you heard the talk? About the old watchtower?”

YN’s gaze drifted to the far side of town, where the dense stretch of forest gave way to a steep rise, the silhouette of the abandoned tower just barely visible through the trees. “Folk say all sorts of things,” She muttered, almost to herself. “Been empty as long as I can remember.”

Niall’s eyes narrowed as he looked out toward the darkening line of trees, his jaw set. “Empty, maybe, but someone’s taken to hauntin’ it now. The lads swear they’ve seen a figure up there at night, just a shadow movin’ about, like he’s watchin’ the town from that high window.”

She felt a faint chill that wasn’t from the cold, and she pulled her shawl tighter around her shoulders. “They say a lot of things,” she repeated, her tone steady but soft. “Could be nothin’ but the wind playin’ with shadows.”

He tilted his head, the edge of a smirk softening his face. “Aye, that’s what I'd think, too. But seems each person’s got a different tale to tell. Some say he’s a protector, sent to keep us safe.” He shrugged, his gaze still fixed on the distant woods. “Others say it’s somethin’ darker—maybe one of the king’s men, sent to spy on anyone who dares breathe a word against him.”

YN’s lips parted, but she hesitated, the words hanging unspoken as her gaze lingered on the watchtower. Her grandmother had told her stories of that tower once, years ago, when she was still young enough to believe in the old tales without question. But she’d since brushed them off as the ramblings of an old woman long passed. Now, though, the stories flickered back to her, sharp and vivid as they’d once been.

“I heard some folk say it’s not a man at all,” She murmured, so quietly that her voice nearly vanished into the chill air. “Gran said it’s a spirit—a demon.” she let out a breathy laugh, sending a glance his way. “You believe my ol’gran true?”

Niall made a sound, halfway between a scoff and a chuckle, though he didn’t argue with her. “You don’t seem the sort to believe in demons,YN.”

She didn’t answer him, and for a moment, they stood in the gathering dusk, looking out toward the distant, looming shape of the tower, as if something there had caught them both in its thrall. A strange, unsettling weight hung in the air, pressing down around them, and neither seemed willing to break it.

The faint toll of the chapel bell echoed across the town, marking the evening hour. The sound seemed hollow, almost mournful, as it resonated through the narrow streets, slipping into every crack and crevice, lingering like a warning in the growing dark.

The path wound through the clustered homes of their town, each one narrow and stacked close beside the other, the rooftops tilting like old friends leaning together to brace against the coming winter. Flickers of candlelight peeked through small, thick-paned windows, casting brief glows over doorsteps worn smooth by years of footsteps. Voices drifted out faintly as neighbors settled in for the night, the low buzz of comfort after a long day’s labor.

As they neared her door, YN glanced sideways at Niall, a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. “Well, no use lettin’ the stew go to waste with just me. You might as well come in and help make somethin’ decent out of it. And,” she added, with a playful glint, “my sister will be there, too. Might be the only chance you get to impress her.”

Niall feigned indifference, though she caught the hint of a flush in his cheeks beneath the dimming light. “Well, if it’s to spare you from that sorry excuse of a stew, I s’pose I could lend a hand,” he said with mock reluctance, yet his steps quickened as they approached the small wooden door.

Inside, the house was simple and small, with a low ceiling that sloped slightly, forcing even YN to duck beneath the beams as she led him in. A narrow hearth crackled with a weak but steady fire, casting warm shadows across the modest room, which served as both kitchen and living space. The scent of herbs, drying in bunches along the walls, mingled with the faint tang of smoke from the hearth. A single table stood in the center, its edges worn smooth, surrounded by a handful of mismatched stools and chairs, each one slightly wobbly but bearing the marks of care and countless meals.

“Is that you, YN?” Her mother’s voice came from the corner, where she was bent over a pot, stirring with steady, practiced hands. She looked up with a gentle smile, her face flushed from the warmth of the fire. “And Niall too! Just in time. I was about to send Arthur to fetch you, but he’s off fiddlin’ with somethin’ in the corner.”

Ten-year-old Arthur looked up at the mention of his name, a wide grin splitting his face when he spotted the blonde. “Niall!” He called, scrambling to his feet and darting over, a wooden sword in hand. “You’ll stay for supper, won’t you?”

He placed the basket next to the older woman before he tousled the boy’s hair, giving a wink to YN. “That depends—will your sister cook, or will your ma have mercy on me?”

YN rolled her eyes as her mother chuckled, stirring the stew with a knowing look. “I'll make sure to keep it fit for eatin’. Now, why don’t you both make yourselves useful and set the table?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Niall replied with a quick bow, flashing his best charming smile, though his eyes lingered on the slender figure by the fire.

YN’s older sister, Ella, sat with her needlework in hand, her fingers nimble as she embroidered a delicate pattern into the edge of a linen cloth. She looked up as Niall approached, offering him a nod and a faint, polite smile, though a flicker of amusement danced in her eyes.

“Ella,” Niall greeted, taking the opportunity to lean a bit too casually against the edge of the table. “Now there’s a sight finer than any supper, if I may say.”

“Oh, you may say.” Ella sighed, her tone as mild as her smile. “But sayin’ doesn’t make it so, does it?” Her eyes sparkled with a touch of mischief, and she kept her gaze on her stitching as if he hadn’t said a word.

YN snorted, reaching past Niall to set the bowls on the table. “She’ll need more than empty flattery to be wooed, Niall. You’ll be talkin’ all night before she so much as bats an eye.”

“Empty flattery?” he echoed, feigning shock as he helped with the cups, placing them with exaggerated care. “This is pure honesty, YN. Your sister’s a vision, though I'm not sure she sees it herself.”

Ella finally looked up, one eyebrow arched. “Perhaps that’s ‘cause it’s hard to see with all the bluster in here. Is it flattery or just another of your tales, Ni?”

Arthur laughed as he climbed onto his chair, his wooden sword clattering to the floor. “Tell a tale, Niall!” He urged, his eyes bright.

He obliged with a grand sweep of his arm. “Ah, tales are easy to tell when the company’s fine.” His gaze drifted meaningfully to Ella, who only smirked, clearly unbothered.

“Enough of your foolishness, Horan.” YN’s mother cut in, though her tone was warm as she dished the stew into the bowls. “There'll be time for tales when your stomach’s full. Now, all of you—sit, before this stew turns cold.”

They settled around the table, the simple meal set before them steaming in the flickering firelight. YN ladled out servings, keeping her own expression solemn as she dished out the rather grayish stew. Niall took a tentative sip, raising his brows in mock surprise.

“Well, I'll be,” he declared, setting his bowl down as if astonished. “Tastes just like stew!”

YN kicked him under the table, rolling her eyes. “Don’t sound so shocked, else we’ll make you eat the scraps.”

Ella, watching them from across the table, hid a smile behind her hand. “It's better than you deserve,” she teased, offering Niall a faintly teasing look that sent Arthur into a fit of giggles.

As they settled into their meal, the conversation turned to the familiar rhythms of the day—the fish hauls, the scarcities at the market, the latest mischief Arthur had managed, and the townsfolk they’d seen along the way. Laughter bubbled up around the table, filling the small room with warmth as the stew slowly disappeared, their bowls clinking softly with each spoonful.

It wasn't until they’d nearly finished eating that YN’s mother’s voice turned low, a faint shadow crossing her face as she glanced at arthur. “Arthur,” she said gently, “I don't want to hear any more of you playin’ outside the town walls.”

The boy frowned, his spoon paused halfway to his mouth. “But ma, I’m careful,” he protested, glancing between her and YN as if hoping for support.

“She's right,” Ella added, her voice calm but firm. “The woods aren’t safe, especially with winter comin’ on.”

He looked to Niall, his face a mask of confusion and a bit of defiance. “Niall plays near the woods, don’t you?”

He shifted in his seat, his smile fading just slightly as he glanced at YN. “Aye, lad, but it’s different. I'm older, and I keep my wits about me. Besides,” he added lightly, though his voice held a trace of something darker, “there’s been talk of someone wanderin’ near the old watchtower.”

YN’s mother sighed, folding her hands on the table. “Too much talk.” She said quietly, her gaze drifting toward the narrow window. “I don’t care if s’only lore, you’ll be safe rather than sorry.”

A hush fell over the table, and Arthur's wide eyes darted from face to face. “Who is it, then?” He whispered, his voice trembling slightly. “A man?”

Ella reached over to ruffle his hair, her voice soft. “No one knows. could be a man, could be no more than shadows. But some say it’s best not to linger too close to it, just in case.”

Niall, watching Arthur's reaction, leaned in with a grin. “There now, it’s probably nothin’ more than a lonely ol’ fox. But best stick close to home, eh? Can’t have you disappearin’ on us.”

YN tried to keep her voice light as she chimed in, though she felt the faintest prickling unease beneath the laughter. “You heard him, Arthur. best keep to the town, else you might end up a story yourself.”

The boy’s eyes grew even wider, and he gulped, glancing nervously toward the window as if expecting to see the mysterious figure standing just beyond. He fidgeted, his hand reaching instinctively for his wooden sword on the floor beside him.

With a faint, tired sigh, YN’s mother rose and began clearing the table, signaling the end of the meal. The warm glow of the evening seemed to have dimmed, and even Niall’s usual cheer was muted as he helped gather the bowls, his gaze drifting back to the light flickering along the walls.

Outside, the wind picked up, brushing against the windows and rattling the latch ever so slightly, a whisper against the warmth of the firelight. The small house was silent for a long moment, each of them lost in thought, each glancing occasionally toward the dark window where the night gathered, close and watchful.

Morning seeped slowly into Dover, pale and cool, bringing with it the damp scent of the sea and the faint call of gulls overhead. YN was awake early, as was her habit, slipping quietly out of bed while the house still lingered in the soft dimness of dawn. The fire in the hearth had died to embers, and a chill clung to the air, but she moved quickly, tucking a shawl around her shoulders as she crossed the small room.

Arthur, already up and dressed, was tugging at the latch on the back door, eager to start his morning chores. He looked back when he heard her steps, his face lighting up with a grin. “Thought you’d sleep through it, lazybones.” He teased, though his eyes sparkled with mischief.

She snorted softly, pinching his cheek as she passed him. “Cheeky lad,” she muttered. “Come on, then. Let's get to it.”

They stepped out into the brisk morning, their breath puffing in the cold, and began making their way down the narrow stone path that wound through the small patch of yard behind their home. Frost clung to the grass, glinting in the pale light, and the chickens shuffled restlessly in their pen as Arthur went to check on them.

“Careful now.” 

He bent down next to them to scatter their feed. The hens fluffed their feathers, clucking contentedly as they pecked at the ground, and Arthur kept one eye on the rooster, who strutted about with his chest puffed, keeping watch over his domain.

“Look at him,” he whispered, stifling a laugh as he threw a handful of seed. “Thinks he’s king of all creation, that one.”

She grinned, crouching beside him. “Well, he’s a rooster. not much else to do but look important, is there?”

The boy giggled, tossing a bit of feed toward the rooster, who eyed him warily before puffing up even further. YN kept watch as he finished the feeding, carefully securing the pen’s latch when he was done.

They moved on to check the small patch of herbs and vegetables that clung to life in the early cold, though the frost had already done its damage. The leaves hung limp and dark, and YN  frowned, brushing a thin layer of frost from a withered cabbage leaf.

“S’not lookin’ good, is it?” Arthur said, his voice dropping to a murmur as he followed her gaze.

“No,” she replied softly, her fingers brushing over the leaves. “But we’ll manage. Always do.”

He gave her a solemn nod, but she could see the worry in his eyes, the way he seemed to glance toward the woods, as if he might glimpse the shadowed figure their mother had warned him about the night before. She reached over and squeezed his shoulder, offering a smile.

“No need for lookin’ so glum, Arthur,” she said, keeping her tone light. “We've plenty to keep us busy, and I'll wager you’ll see that rooster crowned king before anything happens to us.”

He managed a faint smile, his spirits lifting just enough to reassure her. They finished up quickly, making their way back inside, where the warmth of the house greeted them. YN set about preparing a quick meal for Arthur and her mother, who was just beginning to stir, her tired eyes softening at the sight of her children.

Once breakfast was sorted, YN returned to her small room to ready herself for the day. She tugged off her worn nightdress, slipping into the fresh linen undergarments she’d set aside, and carefully pulled on a plain woolen dress that hung neatly from a peg beside her bed. It was a simple dress, but a neat one, its modest collar and long sleeves making it suitable for the chilly weather. she straightened the fabric, adjusting the waist so that it lay just right, and wrapped her shawl back over her shoulders, pinning it at the front with an old, weathered brooch that had once belonged to her grandmother.

She caught her reflection in the small, scratched mirror by the window—a young woman with steady eyes and a hint of determination in her gaze, her hair braided behind her, a few strands slipping free to frame her face. After a moment, she tucked a few stray wisps behind her ear and gave herself a brisk nod, turning to head out.

The streets were beginning to stir as she made her way down to the docks, the early morning light casting a soft, muted glow over the cobblestone. A few shopkeepers were already sweeping their doorsteps, preparing for the day’s trade, and a handful of townsfolk passed by, nodding their greetings as she walked.

When she reached the docks, she found Niall already there, standing by his boat, his hands working quickly to secure the ropes. His coat hung loose over his shoulders, and his hair was tousled from the morning breeze, but there was a contented look in his eyes as he glanced up and saw her approach.

“Well, if it isn’t the queen of the cabbage patch,” he greeted her, a grin breaking across his face. “Come to see if I've hauled in a king’s feast for ye?”

YN rolled her eyes, crossing her arms as she stopped a few feet away from him. “I wouldn't go that far. but I'll settle for a decent fish, if you’ve managed one.”

He laughed, giving the rope a final tug before stepping back, wiping his hands on his trousers. “Oh, a decent fish, she says. Well, lucky for you, I've got just that.” He reached into a small wooden crate and held up a plump haddock, its scales glinting in the early light. “Not a king’s ransom, but it’ll do for stew, won’t it?”

She eyed the fish, unable to suppress a smile. “Aye, it’ll do. Might even save us from havin’ to wrangle another cabbage.”

Niall chuckled, tucking the fish back into the crate. “Couldn’t have that, now, could we? I’m doin’ my part to keep your cookin’ passable.”

“Passable?” She laughed, nudging him lightly as she stepped up beside him to peer into the crate. “You’re just glad to have an excuse to come round, steal our bread, and charm my sister.”

He gave her a mock-offended look, though his eyes glinted with humor. “Now, that’s hurtful, YN. I'm here for the food and the fine company, naturally. If your sister happens to be nearby, well, that’s not my fault, is it?”

She rolled her eyes, unable to help the small laugh that escaped. “Poor Ella’ll need more than a fish to be impressed. Best not get your hopes up too high.”

“Aye, she’s a hard one to please,” he admitted, a faint, wistful smile crossing his face. “But I'll manage somehow. or at least, I'll keep tryin’.”

They both fell silent, their gazes drifting out over the water, where a thin mist clung to the surface, casting an eerie calm over the harbor. The other boats rocked gently in the quiet, and the gulls called out above them, their cries echoing faintly across the empty stretch of sea. Together they turned back toward the town, the mist curling softly around them as they walked, side by side, in the quiet of the morning.

The midday lull brought a hush over the town, as folk took their brief respite between the day’s labors. The soft light of afternoon slipped over the rooftops, and YN found herself winding her way down one of the quieter streets toward Maura’s, a modest little cottage that doubled as the gathering place for the women in town. Here, around a crowded table of mismatched cups and chipped saucers, town gossip simmered as steadily as the tea.

Maura's door was open, the sound of voices spilling out into the cobbled lane, and YN slipped in quietly, greeting the women with a polite nod before finding a seat near the end of the table. The familiar faces of neighbors turned to greet her—Maura herself, with her cheeks flushed from the warmth of the kitchen, mrs. Harris with her ever-watchful eyes, and a handful of others who paused only long enough to give YN a quick nod before returning to the subject that had clearly held their interest long before she arrived.

“I'm tellin’ you,” mrs. Harris was saying, her voice low and edged with certainty. “There's somethin’ in that tower. maybe it’s a spy, maybe it’s worse.”

Maura scoffed, shaking her head. “If it were a spy, we’d know by now, wouldn’t we? why bother lurkin’ about if there’s nothin’ worth seein’ here?”

“There’s plenty to see, Maura,” the older woman sighed, leaning forward, her teacup nearly sloshing over the rim as she gestured toward the window. “Who’s to say he hasn’t been watchin’ us all along, takin’ note of who’s loyal to the new king and who’s not?”

Maura snorted, but one of the other women, Anna, leaned in, her voice barely a whisper. “or worse—what if it’s no man at all?” Her gaze darted to the others, her eyes wide with a kind of fearful excitement. “There are tales, you know. Of things that wander the woods. Spirits that linger in dark places, things that only come out when the days grow short.”

Mrs. Harris crossed herself, nodding solemnly. “Aye. folk say it’s a night creature—a demon, even.“

YN listened quietly, her fingers tracing the rim of her teacup, but she held back a smile. as the women exchanged anxious looks, she leaned back, sipping her tea, the warmth of it calming her nerves. To her, the stories felt like little more than old wives’ tales—a way for folk to pass the time when the days grew cold and bleak. A lonely man, perhaps, who’d taken to the tower for solitude, a soul with nowhere else to go. Nothing so sinister as the women here believed.

“You've a skeptical look about you, dear” Maura said, catching her eye with a wry smile. “Don’t tell me you’d walk up to that tower yourself, would you?”

She met her gaze calmly, setting her cup down. “I'd sooner believe it’s a wanderer, Maura. Maybe one who wants peace more than anything else. Don’t see why we should fear him.”

“Peace, or no peace, he’s still up there, watchin’ us all.”

YN didn’t reply, only nodded politely as the conversation swirled on, the voices around her swelling in speculation and rumor. After a while, she quietly rose, setting her cup aside and offering Maura a grateful nod before slipping out the door and into the fresh air.

The chatter of the women faded behind her, and she took a deep breath, the cool air filling her lungs and clearing her thoughts. She knew she was unlikely to shake their unease or convince them of her view, but as she thought of the lonely figure up in the tower, something tugged at her—a kind of curiosity that gnawed gently at the back of her mind.

Without a second thought, she made her way home, moving quickly and quietly, her mind already set. She slipped through the door, pausing only to grab her small woven basket from its hook. Her mother glanced up, but YN offered her a calm smile, murmuring something vague about a quick errand before supper.

IN the small corner of their kitchen where they kept their stores, she selected a handful of berries from the last of their foraging, a few slightly bruised carrots, and a small bunch of herbs tied with a thin scrap of cloth. Modest offerings, but enough, she hoped, to serve as a token of peace, a sign that she meant no harm.

She took a deep breath and headed toward the edge of town, her footsteps light as she made her way past the familiar lanes and toward the narrow path that led up to the old watchtower.

The path leading to the watchtower was narrow, winding its way up the hillside in gentle, uneven curves. YN had walked these woods many times before, though never with the purpose she had now. Above her, the sky was beginning to darken, clouds gathering in ominous clumps, casting long shadows across the land as the sun slipped lower.

Her heart thudded in her chest, not from fear, but from a strange mixture of curiosity and anticipation. The stories she’d heard that morning lingered in her mind like faint echoes, each warning a small reminder of the mystery ahead. But she felt something else too—a quiet resolve, an odd certainty that she had to see this figure, whoever he might be, with her own eyes.

The watchtower loomed before her, its crumbling stone walls climbing into the sky, weather-worn and scarred by time. She could see now why the townsfolk feared it; it looked like a relic from another era, half-hidden by the dense growth of ivy and the creeping fog that clung to the base of its walls. It was silent here, too silent, as if even the birds dared not sing in the shadow of the old tower.

Steeling herself, she moved forward, her footsteps muffled by the damp earth. The closer she got, the more the watchtower’s age showed itself in cracked stones and vines, a darkness that seemed to pool between the stones, deepening the gray of the twilight. At the base of the tower, a narrow door sat slightly ajar, barely wide enough for her to slip through. She paused there, glancing up, feeling an odd twinge of nervousness as her gaze drifted to the upper windows, dark and empty.

Drawing a deep breath, she pushed the door open, stepping into the dim interior.

The inside of the tower was colder, the air thick and still. Faint light seeped through cracks in the walls, just enough to reveal the sparse furnishings—a wooden table, books, a chair beside the hearth, long since gone cold. Dust motes hung in the air, catching the dim light like fragments of stars, and a faint, earthy smell lingered in the space, as though the room hadn’t seen another soul in years.

Yet something else lingered too, something that made the hair on the back of her neck prickle—a sense that she wasn’t alone.

A figure stepped forward from behind a wall, emerging so quietly she almost missed it. He was tall, with dark curls that tumbled around his face, shadows clinging to his features as though he belonged to the darkness itself. His eyes met hers, a piercing green that seemed to hold an entire century’s worth of secrets, and for a brief, unsettling moment, she felt as though he could see straight through her.

“What brings you here?” His voice was low, quiet, each word clipped and precise, yet holding a softness that surprised her.

YN swallowed, her hand instinctively tightening around the basket she held. “I–I thought you might be hungry,” she stammered, offering the basket forward with a hesitant smile. “Folk talk of you up here, you know. Thought it might be nice to see if you wanted some company.”

He raised a brow, a faint trace of amusement softening his gaze. He didn’t reach for the basket, but instead continued to watch her, as though trying to make sense of why she would come here, alone, to his solitary refuge.

Didn’t seem exactly the safest thing.

“People rarely visit me,” he said finally, his voice barely more than a murmur, as though he were speaking more to himself than to her. “Especially not with offerings.”

“Well, it’s no great feast,” she laughed breathily—nervous, setting the basket down on the table. “But it’s enough for a quiet meal.”

He looked down at the basket, his expression unreadable. The shadows seemed to deepen around him, and for a brief moment, she wondered if he would turn her away. But then his gaze shifted back to her, gentle, as though something in her gesture had reached him in a way she couldn’t quite understand.

“I don’t need much,” he breathed, finally stepping closer, his movements careful, almost tentative. “But thank you.”

The silence stretched between them as Harry’s eyes lingered on her, his regard tracing every movement of her face, the subtle rise and fall of her shoulders, the way her lips pressed together as if searching for words. He could feel it—her pulse thrumming in her neck, the warmth radiating from her skin, the soft, steady rhythm of blood rushing through her veins. It was maddening. The sound alone clawed at the quiet corners of his mind, stirring that old, cursed hunger he’d worked so hard to bury.

But he couldn’t let her see that. Couldn’t let even a flicker of it touch his face.

With a composed nod, he turned his attention to the basket, using the small action to steady himself, to pull his focus away from her and fix it on the modest offering she’d brought. Herbs and roots, earthy and clean, none of it touched by blood. He forced his breath to steady, aware of her watchful eyes on him as he sorted through the items, careful to keep his hands stable.

“Are you here… often?” She asked softly, breaking the silence in a voice that felt almost hesitant, as though unsure whether it was allowed. Her gaze darted around the room, taking in the sparse surroundings, the thick shadows that crept into every corner.

Harry let his fingers linger on a sprig of thyme, keeping his voice level as he answered. “Yes,” he confided simply, his tone giving nothing away. “I find it… peaceful.”

“Peaceful,” she echoed, a faint smile touching her lips as she looked back at him. “It doesn’t frighten you, being all alone up here?”

He allowed himself the smallest of smiles—him—frightened? How sweetly ironic. “Sometimes solitude is easier than the alternative.”

She studied him, and he could feel the weight of her eyes, searching for something beneath his answer. Her heartbeat quickened just a bit, a small, steady thump that seemed to reach straight through him, its warmth coiling like a spark inside his chest. He could almost taste it—the sweet, heady pull of her pulse.

But he forced the thought down, burying it beneath years of restraint. Instead, he tilted his head slightly, redirecting the focus onto her. “And what about you?” he asked, his tone soft but steady. “Doesn’t it frighten you to come all this way, alone?”

She gave a small laugh, shrugging one shoulder. “Maybe it should. But I suppose I don’t scare easily.” She paused, her gaze slipping to the narrow window where the trees outside swayed gently in the wind. “It’s quiet here, almost like a different world. Sometimes it feels like our town is shrinking, like it’s closing in. Out here, it’s–it’s freer.”

Harry’s gaze softened, though he said nothing. There was something in her words he understood, something that echoed faintly in his own memories of why he’d chosen this place—this forgotten, lonely tower—to escape. A life he could no longer live, a curse he couldn’t risk unleashing.

She looked back at him, curiosity bright in her eyes. “People say you’ve been here a long time—I mean, they say the tower’s been abandoned forever. But you don’t seem…” She trailed off, biting her lip as though she didn’t quite know how to finish.

“Don’t seem what?” he asked, his voice low, inviting her to continue.

She waited, and he watched her carotid flicker in her throat as she searched for her words. “You don’t seem like someone who belongs in a place like this,” she murmured. “Like you’ve got more in you than—than just seclusion.”

He felt a tug deep in his chest at her words, something he hadn’t felt in a long, long time—a faint longing, a half-forgotten ache for a life he’d once dreamed of. But that life was gone. He’d buried it the night he’d been turned, when the world as he knew it had collapsed into a semblance of hell.

“It’s strange,” he replied carefully, his eyes drifting toward the flickering shadows on the wall. The hunger gnawed at him, unrelenting, every second reminding him of how close he was to her. She was standing barely a foot away, her warmth filling the small space, her heartbeat a steady, maddening drumbeat that drew him closer, closer…

He straightened slightly, pulling himself back. “Solitude,” he said quietly, almost as if reminding himself, “sometimes feels simpler.”

She nodded slowly, but her eyes stayed on him, and he could see the spark of curiosity still there, unquenched. She was brave, this girl. Far braver than most. And something about that bravery—the quiet way she stood her ground in the face of shadows and rumors, in the presence of a stranger—intrigued him. She wasn’t running away. And a part of him, despite everything, wanted her to stay.

“Thank you,” he mumbled—almost a dismissal, gesturing to the basket, his voice softened with a touch of genuine gratitude. “Not many would bring gifts to a stranger. Especially not one so isolated.”

She smiled, her cheeks flushing faintly in the dim light. “Well, maybe I’ll bring something better next time,” she replied with a small laugh. “If you’d want that.”

He paused, her words lingering in the air between them. Next time. It felt dangerous, allowing the thought of it, letting her return. But as she looked at him, her smile warm and unguarded, he found himself nodding almost without thinking.

“Yes,” he murmured. “I’d like that.”

But even as he spoke, he felt the old thirst stir beneath his words, a dark reminder that she was flesh and blood, and he was anything but.

Harry watched her retreating figure until the last of her shadow disappeared down the winding path. The silence settled thick around him once more, yet it felt different now, charged with the lingering warmth of her presence. The faint echo of her heartbeat still pulsed in his mind, like a phantom drum that refused to fade. He drew in a slow, deliberate breath, pushing down the hunger that had clawed so violently to the surface, fighting a void that had nearly overpowered him the entire time she’d stood there.

He had always been a weak man for the living.

Turning back into the tower, he closed the door and leaned against it, his hand flexing as he grappled with that old, familiar agony, the ache that thrummed through his veins whenever he was near a human. After all these years, after countless nights spent mastering his restraint, he still struggled. The curse was unrelenting—an obstinate thirst that he could never truly silence, only suppress.

Memories rose in him unbidden, dark and sharp, clawing their way out of the places he kept them buried. He could still recall the crisp air of that autumn night in 1601, back when he was alive, when he’d believed his life was bound for something beautiful. He’d been a poet then, a young man enamored with language, eager to make something of himself. He’d had dreams of attending university, of pursuing a life dedicated to literature and ideas, a life where he could spend his days wrapped in thought and art.

But all of that had been shattered in a single night. He had been walking back from a small tavern in London, tipsy and laughing, still reciting lines of poetry in his head, the night air filling him with a light, exhilarating hope. He remembered it so clearly—the dimly lit street, the damp chill creeping into his coat, the rough hand that had seized him by the throat and dragged him into an alley. He’d thought it was a robber at first, maybe a cutthroat from the docks looking for a quick coin.

But then he’d seen his attacker’s face.

The man’s eyes were inhuman, glinting with a feral hunger, and his skin was pale, almost translucent in the moonlight. Harry had fought, struggling against the impossible strength of those arms, but it had been useless. The man had pinned him down with a brutal ease, baring his teeth—a flash of something razor-sharp, malevolent—before sinking them deep into Harry’s throat. The pain had been excruciating, and then everything had gone dark, his life draining away into a cold, endless void.

He hadn’t known what had happened to him for days afterward. He’d awoken alone, hidden in the dark recesses of a forgotten basement, his body shuddering with an unholy thirst that tore through him like wildfire. The transformation had left him a half-mad, hollow shell, consumed by an insatiable need he didn’t understand. He’d stumbled through the streets, eyes wild, hunting without even knowing what he was hunting for. And when he’d finally cornered a man in the dead of night, tearing into his throat with a frenzy he could barely comprehend, he’d learned what he had become.

The first months were a blur of blood and horror, a nightmare he hadn’t known how to escape. He had been controlled by an ache, a greed—enslaved by it, a wretched creature lost to bloodlust. He’d fought it as best he could, but each time he tried to resist, the thirst only grew stronger, until he was reduced to a brutal, savage need that erased everything else.

It had been a year later, in 1602, when he encountered another vampire. His name was Thomas, a wily, unrepentant creature who fed freely and without remorse. Thomas had found Harry alone and ravenous, nearly mad from weeks of starvation in an attempt to restrain himself. He’d taken Harry under his wing, teaching him how to survive in this new, cursed life, how to hunt, how to kill cleanly. But while Harry had been grateful for the guidance, he quickly saw that Thomas reveled in the whispers of the devil, that he viewed humanity as little more than prey. He was malignant. 

His own heart was too soft for such cruelty. He’d hated the feel of human flesh beneath his hands, the way his victims’ eyes widened in terror as he held them down, the way their life drained away in his grasp. He hadn’t wanted this life. But the need was too powerful, too all-consuming, and he had been too weak to fight it.

And then, in 1643, came the night that shattered him completely.

Her name had been Beatrice—a young woman from Manchester, one of the few souls who’d looked past his oddity, his quiet reserve, and seen something in him worth knowing. She’d been kind, curious, always showing up at his door with a warm smile, her laughter lighting up his otherwise bleak existence. For months, she’d been a balm to him, her presence a brief reprieve from the loneliness that gnawed at him. He’d been so careful around her, so painfully restrained, never allowing himself to get too close. But one night, after days of starvation, he had faltered. She’d come to visit him, concern etched on her face, her hand reaching out to touch his cheek.

And in that moment, he’d lost himself.

The memory of that night was burned into him like a scar, the scent of her blood, the warmth of it cascading from his lips and developing him whole— the sound of her heart slowing as he drank from her—all of it haunted him, even now, decades later. He had tried to pull away, tried to stop himself, but the hunger had overpowered him, consuming her life, taking everything she had. When he finally came to his senses, she lay cold and pale in his arms, her eyes staring up at him, empty and accusing.

After that, he’d fled, haunted by the horror of what he’d done, determined never to let it happen again. He’d hidden himself away in this tower, learning to feed from the animals that roamed the forest, forcing himself to endure the hunger rather than inflict his curse on another innocent soul. He would never again allow himself to feel that agony, that terrible loss.

And yet tonight, with her presence in his small, empty world, something had stirred in him, a strange, aching reminder of what it meant to be human, to crave connection, companionship. It was dangerous, foolish to even entertain such thoughts, yet he couldn’t deny the faint spark she had left behind.

He closed his eyes, forcing himself to breathe slowly, steadying the wild, restless energy that surged in him. She couldn’t come back. He couldn’t risk it. He would have to find a way to make her think the tower was haunted, or evil—something to scare her off for good. Because he knew himself, knew that he was a creature of hunger, bound to a curse he couldn’t escape.

And if she returned—he wasn’t sure how long he could resist.

[ch3rriiii-bunn]

I'm here again (⁠.⁠ ⁠❛⁠ ⁠ᴗ⁠ ⁠❛⁠.⁠)

I was thinking of headcanons for the hantengu clones with a black s/o

Like I see aizetsu as a boob man, he just likes the feel of a boob and they are soft and he likes to suck on em he likes resting his head on your chest, wants to fuck your titties

Sekido is a lil bitch and likes your ass, he stares at it intensely but also smacks it very hard just to watch it move, sit on him trust me he will be so thankful, he won't show it though, once got the balls to ask if he can try anal with you

Karaku, horny mf likes your thighs, they squish and mush, he likes the feel of it (and he wants you to crush him with them) will also fuck your thighs (ain't that a bonus)

Urogi likes everything about you, your ass, your thighs and your boobs, although he likes the squishy parts of you and he's always eager to touch you in some way (it can be nsfw or not when he touches) but he likes you for you

Plus it wont matter since he fucks you anyways

Well I just came to share some things about this cause it has been in my mind eating me alive and I wanted to see your own headcanons on this 🙏🏾

Tits, ass or all?

LITERALLY WE HAVE THE SAME HEADCANONS AJDHEJD but since u asked for mine here's a very detailed version I got carried away with 🙈🙈🙈

Warnings: fem!reader, mention of stretch marks, chubby reader, cellulite, body worship, spanking, praising, marking/possessiveness, size differences (?)

Aizetsu

Aizetsu holds your boobs for comfort more than you do. He's not picky with the size, but what matters most is that you'd let him touch and hold your boobs whenever he wants

Aizetsu is too shy to admit this but when your boobs are tender around the time of your period he'd offer to message them which dose feel rexlaing to you but he's only doing it for his own pleasure to have his large hands on your breasts. He also loves how your veins show on your boobs

Aizetsu likes to randomly put his face between your boobs. Your demon slayer uniform had your chest exposed like mitsuri so when he sees you come back to the house where him and his brother live at he'll go to you and shove his face first then wrap his arms around you not caring if people are looking or not

Aizetsu will lay on your boobs a lot for comfort, but it always ends up sexual no matter how many times he apologizes. He won't take your unform off, instead he'll just move it enough to have your boobs exposed and gulp at how your nipples will harden from his touch and even his staring "I'm sorry y/n... j-just give me a few minutes."  Liar

Aizetsu purposely forgets when you tell him not to leave marks on your boobs. So when you scold him for still leaving marks, he frowns more than usual. "But y/n... what if those other male slayers look at your boobs? I need to show everyone your mine... even if I have to have my marks here.."

Aizetsu will get on top of you and holds your boobs together himself as he slips his cock between them, stroking it between your boobs being a moaning mess. "Your boobs are just so soft a-and so pretty" his voice becomes broken moans "your boobs are going to look s-so much prettier when I cum on them, stick out your tounge, that's it. Good girl" he throws his head back, feeling your warm tounge touch his tip each time he thrusts making him cum on your boobs and mouth moments later

Aizetsu loves to watch your boobs when his hips snap hard fucking his cock deep inside you. When you cover your boobs to stop the intense bouncing they make he'll grab both your wrist and pin them above your head "please don't hide yourself from me. You're so pretty, so beautiful I love seeing how these beautiful tits bounce when I fuck you. Your nipples are so hard for me too" he sucks on them "be a good girl and cum on my cock" he'll say while sucking on your boobs

Sekido

Sekido was furious with your demon slayer uniform when you guys first started going out. "What kind of perverted human makes you wear this? The skirt is way to short I'll kill him" he said but after some time he Forbid you to wear pants since he had a obsession for your ass and loves how your skirt showed your ass when you'd bend over

Sekido will never admit he loves your ass but won't deny that he isn't obsessed with it. He would always ask you to pick up unnecessary things for him and be in the right place just to stare at you from behind, looking at your skirt ride up just enough to see the underline of your ass. "Don't pull down your skirt when you pick that up. No one's looking, " he'll say, but it's him looking, having his eyes locked on your ass

Sekido will get "mad" at you and "punish you," but it's just to have a reason for him to slap your ass and that's the only place he'll slap you. When he slaps your ass he'll watch as your butt jiggles, and he makes sure to slap each cheek. "Sekido, that hurt!" You pout lifting up your skirt to see a redness "humph. Stop being a baby it wasn't that hard, " he'll say, but spank your ass again

Sekido would pull you back to him and rub your butt with his hand after he spanks it and giving your ass little squeezes. "It's your fault. Don't make me angry like that again, " he'll say, but have a smirk on his face

Sekido secretly loves it when you surprise him by not wearing any panties. There will be times where you will come into your shared room with him, sit on his lap when he's sitting on a chair and write your report for the demon slayer core but not have any panties on

Sekido will take notice when he feels your bare ass on him. He won't say anything but lift up your skirt and watch his cock grow against your ass. He'll have you ride his cock, reverse cowgirl style and watch when you jump on his cock or bend you over the desk snapping his hips harshly while spanking your ass "don't you have a fucking report to write?" He asked and spanks your ass hard "get to it. Y/n"

Sekido always cums on your ass, he likes to watch his cum run down from your ass to your legs

Karaku

Karaku has no shame when he talks about his physical attraction to a person, and that's the thighs. When he started dating you, he loved how your unform was designed as shorts for the bottom. That way, he could see your plumbed thighs

Karaku will actually get upset if you wore the regular pants like what most demon slayers have on. "Karaku, I only have these on because it's cold. I still have a job to do, " you said,"so!? I like seeing your thighs jiggle every time you step... these pants hide that!"

Karaku never minded the cellulite on your thighs and would make some very unsettling threats about anyone who would think badly about them. He'll even trace his nail over them, which would always make you jump and shiver, but it always brought a smirk on his face

Karaku found it fun to always grab the back of your thighs when you stood up and put his hand on your thighs when you sat down since he love how your thighs spread out when you sat down even on his lap

Karaku loved having his head between between your thighs. Most boyfriends would lay on your chest or stomach for comfort, but for Karaku, it was lying between your thighs. You could be reading a book or just laying down, and Karaku would lay between your legs in silence and even wrap your legs in a criss cross way to lock his head between your thighs

Karaku will call out when you're in the mood when his head is rested between your thighs and will turn around, taking off your panties and going down on you. "Feels good, princess? I know it does. " Karaku will hold your hands when he eats you out because he loves it when your thighs lock his head in when you're close

Karaku loves to leave marks on your thighs. "What? Are you worried your slayer friends will find out your fuckin a demon? Don't worry princess I'll leave my marks right here" he'll say trailing his fangs to your inner thighs and leaving his fangs marks and love bites there

Urogi

Urogi almost lost his mind when you came to him with a new unform. Your uniform had your chest exposed, arms exposed, and you had on a skirt with slits at the sides. He says this often, but he loves it when you're confident about your body since he found you very attractive both in the face and body

Urogi was never the jealous type when it came to your physical appearance since he knew other men in the demon slayer core would fond over you because of the stories you'd tell him. "Well, I can fight, so I'll just fly high and drop them down from the sky." he'll laugh

Urogi's big claws take up a good amount of your body. When he puts his claws on your sides, he'll examine your body, holding you still and moving his claws up and down. "Are you done yet?" You giggled, and he chuckled, "nope. Need more time to feel you"

Urogi's sharp talons will rome on your body but mainly your love handles, tracing out the lines of your stretch marks and is very grabby when it comes to your love handles. You can tell when his touch is innocent and when it's not because when he's in the mood he won't tell you, you'll just know from how he touches and kiss you "if you want to do it just say so" you'd spit out but too shy to say you want it too "what about you baby? Your thighs are squeezing on my claw. You won't let me go, " he'll chuckle

Urogi worships your body. Before fucking you he'll always kiss your body from your lips all the way down to your legs, praising you each time. "You're so fucking gorgeous" he kisses "my pretty slayer" another kiss "let me make you feel good baby, spread yourself for me. Good girl look how wet this pussy is for me~"

Urogi likes to have you riding his cock but always loves to give you a hand by placing his claws on your ass and moans deeply from how your pussy clenches around his cock. "I'm hitting the right spot aren't I? My cock is so deep inside you you can't help but squeeze me can't you" he whispers in your ear and nibbles on your neck

Urogi will let out a surprised moan when your hands are on his broad muscular back and you accidentally grip onto his wings "Fuck~ not the wings" he'll grab your ass harder thrusting his hips up into you, filling you up with his cum.

[tokoyamisstuff]

Note: The reasons may vary, but I personally think none of these men care about their spouse's body type or beauty standards in general. So I wrote about body parts instead, hope that's alright with you. 💕

gn! Reader I not all of those are sexual

Featuring: Alucard, Anderson, The Captain, Walter, Maxwell, the Valentine Brothers, The Captain

Alucard

Neck obviously, since it's something so symbolic about you willingly exposing this vital spot to a monster like him. Loves digging his teeth into the tender flesh, mesmerized as he watches the liquid cascade from your collarbone down to your breasts/chest (his second favourite part).

If he feels like it he'll play with your blood as well, painting it across your skin and then licking it off, eager to not waste any drop.

Too shy to focus on inheritly sexual bodyparts, would always gaze away (even though he's craving to look, it just goes against his teachings). Since he's used to be surrounded by fully covered women, he gets excited by the smallest amount of exposed skin. Indulges in the soft feeling of it against his rough hands.

Anderson

Also, the size difference (idc how tall you are, it will be there) wakes his protective instinct. Cradles you in his arms as often as possible, putting his head on top of yours.

The Captain

Thighs and ass definetly. Will act chivalrous and open doors for you or let you go up the stairs first just to see it wiggle. It's driving him crazy. Digs his fingers into them at every opportunity, leaving marks with his bruising grip.

Also anything that's sensitive to his touch, not only during intimacy. Believe me he'll find out your weak spots. Man has a map of your body drawn in his mind.

Walter C Dornez

Hips, as well as good hip dips and belly. He's most likely responsible for them growing on you, since he likes you well fed. Loves kneading them or seeing his wires lace into the cushion of your plush.

Got stretch marks? Even better! Absentmindedly traces them with his fingers or rubs oil onto them...for skincare purpose and not his own satisfaction, of course.

Enrico Maxwell

Your hands in general, will always want to hold hands or feel them somewhere else on his body. At the beginning it shot pleasant tingles through his nerves, unused to closeness. But later on it becomes a soothing and reassuring sensation to always feel he's not alone anymore.

Will demand lots of massages or for you to run your fingers across his scalp while his head is in your lap, his favourite spot.

Luke Valentine

Anything about your hair, from color to it's texture and smell. Enjoys twirling it around his finger, playing with it, combing and styling it, or tugging on it during the act.

Prefers you (at least partially) dressed rather than naked, especially if he gets to choose outfits for you to wear. He's a man that likes to let his imagination run wild.

Jan Valentine

Literally anything, this guy's a freak. Doesn't matter at all, you could wear a fucking potato sack and he'd get aroused. If you ask him he'd just say anything works as a hole if you try hard enough. Sorry, he's not that romantic.

If you catch him at a good moment he'll babble something about how you're just so gorgeous that he simply can't decide on a single feature of yours.

The Major

Eyes are the windows of our soul, or so he says. Gets captivated by yours each time, his intense stare searching them whenever you're in the same room.

Usually at some point his gaze always wanders down to your lips, relishing the way they move as you speak and running his thumb across it before relishing in the taste of you.

[waywardsou2]

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ General Bad Batch Head Canons ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

Hunter

He was secretly always jealous of Cut getting to settle down, have a life, a family, getting away from all the war and bloodshed. Hunter had wanted that but never thought it was possible

Hunter cried, fully cried to himself the night after Crosshair, despite everything that had just happened on Kamino, had still chosen the Empire over his brothers. Despite all he had seen on the battlefield all of the people he had failed to save, nothing hurt more than losing his brother.

When he was young, and ever since then Hunter has only ever let his brothers trim his hair. And he helps them cut theirs too. Hunter is very particular about his hair being a certain length and usually only trims his hair a few inches at best.

Hunter's face tattoo is actually to cover a birthmark. His other brothers (not the batch) used to tease him about it when they were cadets. He eventually got the tattoo to cover it up. These days he regrets it and doesn't understand why he folded to their teasing but he's still happy with it anyway. He doesn't regret the tattoo perse more the reason he felt the need to get it in the first place

Wrecker

Wrecker got Lula from a kid he helped on Ryloth when the Separatists were attempting to invade the planet, he loved it and was very attached to the toy. But he knew how important it was to the kid and he kept it with him for years until he gave it to Omega. He thought it made sense to give it to her, a young kid he had helped gave it to him and now he had passed it on to the next kid who needed it

Wrecker used to place fake bombs or stink bombs under his brother's bunks as pranks. He was always so obvious whenever he was doing this because he would be over-eager and giggle to himself, but he did manage to jump his brothers a few times with the prank

When Wrecker was caught in a bombing accident that messed up his eye and scared his face, he had a hard time adjusting to the way he looked, he didn't recognize part of himself now. And he especially hated when his hair didn't grow back the same way, and because of that he decided to shave it all off and continue to keep his head bald

In addition to that I think that when Wrecker was younger, he had hair a similar length to Hunter, and he liked it, despite the Kaminoans telling him to cut it several times. He does miss his hair at times, but he does like it better without hair hindering him.

Tech

Techs goggles function the same as prescription glasses, he's actually far sighted, this is why his helmet was built to fit around his goggles because he basically cannot see without them

(less of a head canon more of a canon fact with my personal twist) Tech is the youngest of his brothers but he was the quickest to mature and grow, which he likes reminding them about constantly.

(this one is gonna hurt, sorry in advance) When he fell off of the rail car into the ravine below, he didn't instantly but have some very fatal wounds and wasn't far off, Hemlock and his men found him and Hemlock took his goggles from off of his dying body and left. Leaving his men to dispose of him (I don't know what my mind was thinking when I wrote this, I guess I just love angst too much)

Tech had feelings for Phee but he never knew if she was being polite or flirting with him. He never said anything about it to her or his brothers because he figured that there was never going to be a time for him to ever act on those feelings so he never did anything about them.

Echo

(keep in mind I haven't seen any pre Bad Batch content of Echo so some of this stuff might conflict with his canon)

When Echo got blown up and had to have his face reconstructed he was awake for most of the procedure because if he slept or if they induced him it wasn't likely that he would wake up again, especially considering all of the damage done to his body and brain.

(Idk why but this one is super random but just feels right to me) Echo really likes butterflies, he likes the delicacy and beauty that comes from the creature's existence, the first time he saw one he was taken aback and had stopped to admire it. His Commander scolded him for getting left behind at the time

Echo used to pick at his head implants, they made him really uncomfortable and self-conscious, and his brothers used to have to stop him from damaging them and endangering himself. It was a really big issue of his for a while.

Crosshair

Crosshair's tattoo is also a cover-up for a scar, it's the right side of the crosshair that touches his nose. That line is actually a healed over scar underneath. He thought considering his nickname that the tattoo wasn't a bad idea. He was also secretly just copying his big brother Hunter, not that he would ever admit that

This guy can nap anywhere, and I mean anywhere. He doesn't sleep so he naps when he can. In trees, standing up, in the cockpit literally any where.

Adding onto the head canon from before I think Crosshair would have insomnia. But as he would do he never told the Kaminoans because he didn't want them to "fix him"

Crosshair has a nervous/general tick where he chews on his lip, he used to chew it so often that he often had cuts all over them. In place of cutting up his lips he decided to try and alternative - toothpicks. This was a good way to hide it but to still be able to tick when he needed to, plus the toothpicks were easy to access because he could collect them from the mess hall on Kamino

I realised at the end that I hadn't written any for Omega. How dare I? I promise I'll upload some soon

Hope you enjoyed these! Tell me your head canons below!

[arcann]

For Taigat

16 in dreams

The sky looks beautiful from down here. Gray clouds would usually cover it but now they were splitting in an almost perfect line to reveal what they were hiding from the ones below. The firmament shows itself in a million shades of blue, turning into myriads of red as the sun passes by. 

I used to be part of something monumental. Vast. 

The skirmishes and strikes all over Zadnor went on, despite the wonders above it. 

Then I became larger, for a moment. A short breath of a moment.

And then those things appear. Like blackened clots of blood.

Taigat stretches their hand upwards so it would seem like their palm could hold one of the assault crafts that had polluted the heavens with their presence. They squeeze it until their forearm begins to shake.  

One of them. He could be inside one of them. 

“It was not you who was larger, but the one that led the horde’s body. You could do nothing but follow.” Taigat whispers to the voidsent, now that no one is around. Their avatar shakes with indignation.

Those are words for the one you can’t stop longing for. Not me.

The voidsent tries to push them, annoyed. When its host pointedly ignores its efforts it chooses to continue reminiscing somewhere inside the viera’s body, silently this time. They are allowed to, now that they’re back in camp Vrdelnis.

Taigat lowers their hand and stares at their empty palm. They could let memories consume them as they do with their steady companion but they prefer to occupy themself imagining what paths an airship like that could take. 

It couldn’t have taken to the skies of Ghimlyt, as wary as the Alliance was. Action would be taken immediately, especially against a lonesome ship.

It could circumvent all of Ilsabard through the south, then reach Garlemald from the east. The problem would be wasting much more fuel. How much could a machine like that store? Enough to reach their destination on their own, or would they need to restock, a place to land, more resources to keep going? If so they would need help from another faction.

Would the Fourth Legion welcome him?

"They're all eating their rations now. We should join them." A clear voice pierces through their thoughts and Taigat turns around, to find Cid watching him attentively, as if they were a noisy machine that was fighting with its cogs. 

"You should eat. They're not going to leave you anything if you delay." he reasserts and makes his way back to the more crowded area of the camp.

“I should…” Taigat says to no one in particularly, Cid is too far away to listen now but the voidsent perks up.

Eat. Yes. We haven't eaten well since the castrum. Only metallic bodies to throw at the void. No end in sight. 

The people in charge of cooking do have something for Taigat when they reach the right tent. A couple of soldiers even waited for them, eager to be with the warrior of light even if they didn't talk much. Cid however had already left when they walked inside.

Pray that we eat. We eat and don’t get eaten by painful dreams.

—

When the Diabolos Armament unfortunately escaped from the Dalriada, it swatted most of the 4th Legion’s aerial ships like flies. The extent of the damage was yet unknown.  It finally reached their Aurora class aircraft with one hand and crushed it before its final attempt to unleash its full power over Bozja. 

It was in the way. As metal usually is.

The voidsent comments, jealousy ringing in its voice when the Armament climbed across the skies. After the monstrosity was destroyed Taigat felt its humor decay for days.

The legatus of the Fourth had given his Aurora aircraft to the field commander, his oldest friend. Now it burned over the Dalriada, above the man that led it last.

It ends as it should have. Our dire enemy turned to cinders. This time a reality.

The thought repeats itself in their mind, in their dreams. It repeats itself until it’s not their voice that says it. He keeps pushing it forward, the knight making himself known, surging from the darkness to expose the idea, to insist on it. 

The enemy. The fire. The end.

“It’s for the good of everyone.” 

Taigat wakes in their bunk, reaching for someone that isn’t there.

Then why do I feel so scared?

[rinwellisathing]

You're Awful, I Love You: Part 13

Enver Gortash/ Trans male Tiefling Durge

Content warning for misgendering and trauma, the usual Durge specific violence and gore, and the intro to what might be a sex scene if I feel confident enough to write it.

After dinner, it was Sentry's turn to take the lead, to bring his companion to a place he knew well and only his presence offered safe passage. He gripped Enver's hand as he led him eagerly down into the sewers and through the twists and turns that led to the ruins. Manic glee crossed the tiefling's face as he thought of showing his muse what he had been working on since their last encounter.

“So, there IS a 'secret murder cult' in the sewers. Of course I knew about you and your family, but I thought the location was pure fiction to sell copies of The Baldur's Mouth.” Enver chuckled, gazing around as his Dread Executioner led him across the threshold to what seemed to have once been a series of small dwellings. The amusement turned to awe, however, as the two entered an otherwise unassuming hovel near the entrance to the ruins. Gortash could see the tell tale signs of arson. Ashes were all that remained of any furniture or signs of life that had once made this perhaps a home. Old blood stains coated the walls and floors and apart from the main large room, which once might have held a small kitchen and sitting area, he noticed all the doors seemed to have been smashed and sundered before the place was set ablaze.

“Oh, you'll need to look up to appreciate the first exhibits in my sculpture garden, my muse.” Sentry grinned, eyes bright and eager as he pointed to the ceiling.

Those deep, dark emerald eyes flicked upward and Enver found himself smiling appreciatively at the sight above him. There was an artistry to the slaughter, a beauty to it. Two tieflings, similar in coloration to Sentry, hung from the ceiling, mouths slack and wide. Their tongues had been removed leaving a dried and lovingly preserved issue of blood covering their lips, chins, and necks. The woman had her stomach eviscerated and her insides hung like the chains of a fine chandelier. The man had been castrated and his hands removed as well. Both were missing their eyes. The preservation was immaculate and though Enver could tell from the state of the dried blood that these were old corpses, they looked otherwise freshly killed. There was beauty in the loving detail.

“My first kill, my parents. They misunderstood my true father's vision for me so I made them understand MY vision for them.” Sentry's expression was giddy and beaming with pride. “Just the first exhibit in my sculpture garden. But not what I wanted to show you specifically. Still, please, enjoy the tour, yeah?” He was practically dancing with excitement.

“I see, you're a natural, my dear Sentry. A prodigy, I dare say.” Enver's lips curled upward as he admired his companion's work. His parents. It may not have been what Sentry had planned to show him, but it resonated. It was a piece he certainly understood. He must have been lost in thought because he found himself coming back to the present as Sentry eagerly tugged his hand and led him to the next room.

This room had been completely destroyed, walls knocked down with immense force to make space, but it had been worth it. The place was filled with all manner of nightmares. Body parts preserved and sewn together from hundreds of different people, bones wired and fused to create creatures most of the city couldn't fathom in their darkest dreams. A massive skeletal structure of a four armed horned and tusked monstrosity wove its way across a vast space of floor, twisted and wicked looking, seeming to stalk the rest of the figures. It was crafted so delicately with a reverence beyond even the rest. But Sentry was quick to pull Enver past the creature and draw his attention to the most lovingly detailed creation in the room.

A throne of severed and preserved hands rose up just behind the monstrosity and mounted atop it was a sculpture of bones clad in a black horned half-mask, long black and gold robes, and decked out in jewels and gold. The hands were painted black and atop its head was a crown of carved and gilded ribs set with glimmering purple gems.

“A crown for my muse. A throne for The Tyrant.” Sentry's gaze was wild and eager. Lust and violence dancing behind those bright mismatched eyes.

Enver gazed quietly at it for a moment. Frozen, his body and mind blank and unsure how to react, torn between a thousand emotions before finally, he grabbed Sentry by the arm and pulled him close. The Executioner's reaction was swift, free hand flying to Enver's throat and tightening around it. The two grappled roughly before their lips met, nipping and biting between deep kisses. The copper tang of blood on their tongues.

Clawed, calloused fingers began to undo the laces of Enver's shirt. “Fuck, these are laced so, so poorly.” Sentry remarked between breathless panting.

“Meanwhile, who dressed you? The shirt is something from a bad romance novel.” Enver replied, nipping at Sentry's neck as he opened the black velvet vest and began to unlace the white undershirt.

Sentry froze a moment as the shirts were pulled away, tense and feeling blood pulsing in his head. Jackal's taunt filled his mind. 'Be sure to kill him before you get to the bedroom, he may not like what he finds'. Orin's constant reminders 'Vereena the breed-spawn.' Bile rose in his throat but he forced it down. If he doesn't like what he finds, imagine what he'll think of what I'll do to him. The sculpture garden could always use another piece, I could improve my Tyrant. He waited, breath caught in his throat. Enver's hands traced his scarred chest, lingering a moment on the precise surgical scars, but he made no mention of them and Sentry's eyes widened when he realized no look of shock or disgust crossed his muse's face.

He pounced, shoving his partner to the ground and straddling him, pinning Gortash's arms and kissing him deeply before trailing affectionate nips and love bites down his neck and chest. The thick hair that coated his muse's body was soft and the tiefling nuzzled like a contented pet against it. He admired the softness of the Tyrant's body. No chiseled muscle for his blades to contend with one perfect night he could imagine years from now. His tongue ran down over the soft flesh, tasting eagerly and burying his nose in that dark hair, inhaling the scent as he moved lower, achingly slowly. He felt fingers tangling in his silver hair and then, one hand gripping one of his horns. Heat rushed to his face and his vision blurred just a bit. A sound halfway between a moan and a purr escaped Sentry's lips, muffled by his muse's supple flesh.

[popculturebuffet]

Pride Month Triple Feature Finale: Rocko’s Modern Life: Static Cling (Commission for Weird Kev 27)

Well this last installment is a bit late, but any month can be pride month if you belivie in yourself, so we end this pride month trilogy with Rocko’s Modern Life Static Cling, something i’ve been wanting to cover for years, but usually something came up or I realized I forgot to include it by the time the schedule was already full up. But with violence, legeslation, and outright bigotry towards Trans Persons only escalating, it felt like the right time.

For those not as familiar with Rocko, quick refresher: Rocko’s Modern Life was one of the earliest Nicktoons, created by Joe Murray and being a hit not just with the networks target demo, but adults who related to the series, a 20 something hang out sitcom but with all the lunacy animation allows. Our Rocko, his doofy friend Heffer and nerdy best friend Philbert dealt with nipples of the future, death, time travel with the elderly, elves, and recyling. The show was very of it’s time but also timeless as MANY of the fairly adult subjects it tackled in it’s unique goofy way still resonate: the show tackled topics like your parents not approving of a mixed marriage, the struggles immigrants face, homosexuality (via clowns), a sexually unsatisfying marriage leading to a wondering eye (done ENTIRELY straight to the point the episode was banned), finding out your adopted, bosses treating their workers like a commodity instead of a person, megacorporations running our lives, credit card debt, and even sex work

It’s thanks to Rocko we have classics like Regular Show, it’s successor Close Enough and Tuca and Bertie. The kind of show that uses wacky humor while still showing some very real shit we have to deal with. 

So in hindsight. .it’s not really a stretch that with changing times, rocko would go from having to use clowns to cover queerness to doing a full coming out episode in it’s revivial special, a pogniant well done story that deeply reconteculaizes a beloved character

Pig you’ve been out since 1996. 

So let’s look at this touching tale and all the other neat stuff just in time for the show’s 30th anniversary shall we?

Static cling follows our boy, his bulbous buddy and his somethign else rhyming with b , picking up where we left off.. and the original finale to the series had our heroes shot up into space, returning as the elderly. The last part is stricken from the record Roseanne style, and instead our heroes have largely settled in: Filburt misses his wife tails, he misses her a lot, but otherwise our heroes are doing fine on fatheads reruns... till Filburt notices the remote has been jammed up Heffer’s butt for the past decade, they fight as usual and Rocko has to scream at them to “PUSH THE BUTTON”. TV’s Frank would not abide. 

SO with that our heroes return to earth. There’s also a nice small joke in that... most people really aren’t phased our heroes were gone 20 years: while we sadly dont’ get a scene with Heffer’s family , easily one of my faviorite parts of the series with Rocko’s dinner visit being one of my faviorite episodes, we do get to see his beaver hating grandpa, with all his innuendo glory, the only change being

And Filburt naturally easily reunited with Hutch because their perfect and we need that. It’s like our heroes were never gone for the most part.  The real exception is ROcko.. and i’ts easy to why: Filburt had a wife and four adoring children eager to finally get to know their dad. Heffer’s family is implictly there and his grandpa is still around only now he can posses lawn gnomes. Nothing’s really changed for either in a way that harms them. Filburt missed most of his kids’ lives, but they seem to have grown up fine.  In contrast when you think about it.. no one was really waiting for Rocko. He hit it off with Shiela well, but that was one episode towards the end. I mean he could look her up on face-o-rama, or something, so ti’s not lost, but when you think about the series with his family in australia.. all Rocko had were his friends, mrs. bighead (who warmly welcomes the guy back and gives him some needed support), and Spunky. Rocko really has nothign to come back to: his job is gone and while his friends adapt to the 2010′s really well... it’s all too much. it also makes sense: Heffer always went with the flow and while Filburt seems a bit too accepting on paper, he’ sa giant nerd in a world where he can livesteream being nauseous and blather about his opinons for an adoring public. I mean I woudnln’t of had the tools to do this when the show aired. I was two and the internet wasn’t easy to come by. Six maybe. 

While the montage of various “new” things was.. dated even by when it came out and is kinda just there outside of Schlammo, the unhealty energy drink , it hammers home that while his friends have accepted the present.. Rocko is lost in it. He was never one to easily accept new trends in the show itself, usually being pulled into things like health clubs or credit cards by Heffer, so it’s entirley in character that being stuck in a world 20 years later with nothing to really hold him there shatters his normal optimisim. I’ts pretty heartining to see rocko shattered a bit when bev finds him. It makes her trying to support him and help him heartwarming.. but it can’t really fix the problem of feeling like the world’s passed you by. It was striking to realize how deep Rocko’s story comes off, a story about nostalgia and how it can help us when we feel lost.. but how we can cling to it as our only salvation. I’ll admit to having dived into my various coping mechanisms, comics, games, tv, youtube, to escape... and to have a minor panic attack if one’s missing, so I may just relate to rocko a bit.. but it still works.  It also kicks off the plot as the fatheads is gone, and Rocko badly needs it. HIs cries for it fall on deaf ears for mr bighead though, who just oopsied at work.. and now his world is collapsing for real, with his job gone and his house soon to be gone. “A tv show won’t solve your problems rocko”. It’s a simple statment.. but one that’s true. TV can offer an escape.. but it’s not going to fix what’s wrong with yoru life. It’s the thesis statment of this special.  Granted it can at least save ed’s job and house and conglomo as the special revenue would do it. It’s heavily spoofing how much companjies rely on these revivials and nostalgia pops, with the series lovingly mocking how much money fans think a rocko special would bring nick.. and then accidnetly being accurate as while Static Cling didn’t bring in millions upon millions of dollars, it was still a success all the same. 

The problem is the head of congolmo wants the chameleon twins to make it cheap with CG. I mean grante dth eproblem is the fatheads also you know.. ende din the run of the show, but honeslty i’m willing to ignore that for what a good story it is and it could easily be said Rachel just had to go back and make more to pay the bills or something. This was also built both off the actual rumors, that later came true of a CG Rugrats reboot, which honestly dosen’t LOOK bad.  So with that our heroes decide to search for the series creator, “Ralph” Bighead, who disappeared during the time skip, as all the money, all the success didn’t make them happy. We get some fun gags including a faviorite of mine “Culturally ambgious pillows”, as our heroes tour the world to find the creator.  And thus about halfway into the special they find them int he desert.. and find out why no one had seen them. See while they last saw them as “Ralph”.... our heroes instead find RACHEL Bighead. 

And honestly ti’s excellently done for the most part. Before we get to all the good let’s get the elephant out of the room: Joe Murray should not have continued playing rachel. Joe.. is a cis man. A cis man should nto play a trans woman. I can however accept this wasn’t done with any malcious intent, and was likelky done to hide that Rachel was trans now, as the special has it as a twist, wtih Rachel having a hat on and only revealing their trans by steping out of her fatheads foodtruck. Having a new VA might give that away. I still wish they’d swapped them but I get Joe meant well.  I mostly get that.. because everything ELSE is done well. When you look back on who rachel was.. they were miserable. They had all the money in the world, but could never find creative fufillment with the fatheads, to thepoint they tried sabotaging a followup with wacky delli. I mean we got the cheese, the best character in the show, but Rachel never found fufillment. It was only by realizing who they always were and making their body into what they truly always wanted that Rachel is happy. Said happiness.. allows her the reconciatlion with her creatoion she never got in the original show, selling fatheads freezie pops. She found a new art, the life she alwasy wanted she’s content. She even refuses to do the special, and rightfully so: while the creator SHOUDL revivie a work if possible, if they don’t want to.. they shoudlnt’ be forced to. Rachel only agrees because her parents are in danger.  I also love the acceptance rachel gets: the boys all think it’s neat and instantly accept it, as you should. The reveal itself is simply done: Rachel steps out, says “I’m rachel now”.. and the boys all think it’s neat and accept it, attaching their drone to the ice cream truck and flying off. Bev also fully accepts it, happy their daughter’s happy and even finding her some cute shoes. It makes sense for all involved: while all from the 90′s, Rocko’s group has always been an accepting bunch for the most part, while Bev was always the parent that accepted their kid more.  It’s harder for Ed.. but it’s a well done harder. He’s bigoted, and potrayed as stupidly as that sounds: he rejects the idea of the special simply because he rejects the idea he has no son but a daughter. I also like the stealth pun there: he once claimed he had no son when he disowned rachel.. and it turns out he never did. Everyone around him rightfully sees this as stupid, and it’s portrayed as such, but what i Like is that they play this realistically. Instead of Ed throwing out slurs or throwing a tantrum, which sadly could very well happen, he just disowns his child, again, and storms off. He can’t accept a trans daughter because to him it’s a change. To Rachel.. it’ sbeing who she was always meant to be. Rachel ends up still making the special, remembering her past, including biting ed’s eye as a baby.. and using that. And while Ed has to be dragged to the premiere, as many a person has to be dragged into acceptaince... it’s said work that helps Ed see what a fool he’s been. Rachel reworks the fatheads.. but now includes a baby based on themselves. It adds great new jokes to the bit.. but it’s the last one, a reinactment of her “damaging her fathers retina”.. that makes Ed realize what he shoudl have all along: this is his child and who they always were. Being a woman not only allowed them to be happy.. but it dosen’t change who they are.. because this is who they ALWAYS were. And what helps is that... Rachel didn’t NEED ed’s acceptance. Their disapointed, but when he wails no at it, she simply says yes. They do the short because, even if Ed dosen’t accept her, she wont’ leave her parents homeless and still loves them both. And it’s ED who has to come around and accept that he has a daughter, he always did.. and that’s wonderful.  We also get Rocko.. not accepting the change. A baby, how dare he.. but ed talks him down, getting to the point of the special in a truly lovely speech. 

“Rocko we can’t live in the past, we can be grateful for it, but life isn’t permenant, and if we don’t embrace what’s now, we miss out on a lot of the important stuff. “ I couldn’t of said it better myself and belivie me i’ve tried. And it’s a perfect message for this special.. and for Rachels’ story. embrace what you have, not what you thought you had. This special is phenominal, with tons of great gags, a truly amazing story at the core, and lots of great cameos in some lovely animation. Check it out wether your new to rocko or want to revisit an old friend. Thanks for reading and happy belated pride. 

[zappedbyzabka]

So I just read a fic about this but I have a different idea

Sid cuts Johnny off after Laura’s death and Johnny, not wanting to be a ‘freeloader’ and asking his friends for help, turns to the streets and doesn’t tell anyone about it

Sid lies to all his friends and tells them he ran away to New York and it’s not till a couple of months later that Dutch finds Johnny on the streets and take him home

Johnny really doesn’t want to prove Sid right and keeps running away so Dutch decides to basically pay him thousand of dollars to stay and fucks him every chance he gets, after all, Johnny can’t up and leave if he’s in the middle of having his back blown out by his sugar daddy

👀👀👀👀 yesss

(My instant thought was that Dutch started working for Silver’s, who was another client of Johnny’s, and that’s why he has money to give. Timeline is a little ambiguous.)

Johnny tried to hide, making sure no one who knew him ever saw him, comforting himself with the thought that he’d be too unrecognizable, covered in dirt and malnourished, selling his body to every man that offered him a buck or ten, his throat raw and hole aching by the end of every day. He kind of…enjoys that part though; he likes that all these men, sometimes married, go out and find him, want him, tell him they’d leave their wives for them, put a ring on him, and give him everything he needed—of course Johnny never took them up on the offer, but it was fun to play along sometimes. He hated thinking about the women at home waiting for their husbands, but he needed money.

Turns out that his past training comes in handy for a job like that. He was still flexible, unable to get as easily into a split as he could before, but still very flexible, able to get his pressed to either side of him on a dingy motel mattress no problem. He also had a habit of sneaking some extra cash out of their wallets; who cares? Most of them are a waste of oxygen and don't deserve the money anyway.

Then Mr. Silver came along. Johnny must admit, he was a little frightened of the man at first; he clearly had power and money. He came in a limo, smoke seeping from the window as it was lowered. Rich men were the roughest and most sadistic. Or the opposite, and liked to be degraded by someone "lesser" than them.

He walked up to the door, putting a hand on the car and leaning down, glad he smoked enough in high school to not be coughing up a long; that’d lose him a client…usually. He waited for Silver to speak first. One thing he learned is that these men like it when you let them lead, it makes them feel like you weren’t always gonna try and charge them 30 bucks for a 1 minute make-out session and another 50 for sweet talk.

But he seemed nice, and he was handsome. Johnny has always been a sucker for danger. He greeted Johnny easily, offering him $100 up front to get in the car and ordering his driver to step out and open the door for Johnny. It felt nice, it had been a long time since he was treated with any semblance of respect.

Johnny felt eager to get in the vehicle, scooting close to Silver and putting a hand on his thigh, looking up at him through golden lashes. He’s been told his eyes make him look weak, innocent; guys like that.

Silver didn’t fuck him in the limo, but Johnny left his mansion with a limp and the corner of his lips red.

Silver told him he’d take him out, gave him modest clothes, and took him to McDonald’s. He bought him whatever he wanted, like it was a reward or comfort added to the filthy money. But Johnny didn’t care; he was hungry and lonely, and Silver thankfullly didn’t say anything when he started crying over his food. The last time he'd went to McDonald’s was with Tommy. He remembered every detail: Tommy ordered a cheeseburger and a large coke, and he was wearing one of those striped shirts he liked so much—pastel white, pink, and blue. He remembers the way the fluorescent light shined on Tommy’s thinning hair. He remembered thinking Tommy’s smile was his favorite. Tommy's voice made him feel twelve years old with his very first friends again. He was so tired that day, and Johnny couldn’t figure out why, but he still joked. Now he’s in a hospital, probably thinking Johnny abandoned him. The tables were different; everything was.

Silver offered Johnny a bed for the night and breakfast in the morning, and Johnny said no. He slept at Motel 6, holding the extra pillow in his arms the entire night.

In his dreams, he and the cobras get that apartment they promised to rent together, and they’re happy. The shouting is of joy, and the sounds of footsteps aren’t so scary anymore. All his friends are shielding him again.

Dutch had loved Johnny since high school and never stopped. He had a lot of competitors back then—italian slips of paper hoping to shove their stupid big dicks into Johnny and making Dutch want to punch their lights out—but the main ones were the other cobras. He’s still sure to this day that they felt the same way about their leader as he did. There was a reason they were so loyal: Tommy looked at him like the sun shone out his ass, and Bobby was so lenient with him even when he chided others. but all of them got it, all of them understood.

He’s told Johnny everything because he always pictured him in his future— gold gray hair and summer days. Sitting at their dining table, it would be small, so Johnny wasn’t reminded of the dining table he was always lectured and degraded at. The cloth Dutch’s grandma made on top. He can picture how the fabric would look under his and Johnny's held hands, he can picture the bands on their fingers.

He was in jail when Johnny "moved to New York". And It was hell not knowing what happened. Before that, Johnny had been visiting him, not super often but when he was able, but he’d frequently send him letters, long letters in Johnny’s surprisingly neat handwriting, all about what he’d been doing that week, whether he had gone to a concert or had a fight with Sid, he’d always tell Dutch. Sometimes they even smelled like the soap Johnny used, which made Dutch hope Johnny slept with them under his pillow before sending them. The other inmates teased him relentlessly about his "girlfriend", some even having the audacity to snatch one of the letters out of Dutch’s hands and read it; that dude got a concussion. That doesn’t even compare to when Johnny first visited him in jail. Johnny wasn't really dressed up, just had a hoodie and some jeans on, but that didn’t stop them from staring at him; their wants sickeningly clear. Then Johnny would press the tip of his shoes against his under the table and tell him he couldn’t wait to have him back, and suddenly Dutch wasn’t thinking about anyone else.

Dutch didn’t want to be away anymore. He didn't want to keep landing in jail and disappointing the cobras—the only ones he gave a shit about. And he didn’t want to keep leaving Johnny alone. Why did he always come back beaten and skinnier than before? Where were the others?

He’d been panicking when Johnny stopped showing up. He thought he’d for sure messed things up or that something terrible had happened because he wasn’t there to stop it, and he couldn’t stop picturing Johnny getting jumped somewhere and calling out for him. Would he call out for him? Does he know Dutch would help him?

After a few weeks, he called Jimmy to ask if Johnny was alright, he didn’t expect him to say Johnny ran off to New York. He didn’t believe it either

He stayed on his very best behavior, even letting himself get beat up, just so he could get out as quickly as possible and figure out what was really going on. It took too long, but he made it out, got a job from this nice fella with a ponytail, and started looking.

Apparentally, the other cobras had been suspicious too but were so busy with everything they hadn’t been able to look. Bobby had even convinced himself that maybe Johnny did run away; Dutch told him he was just being selfish and lying to himself so he didn’t have to face his own worries. Bobby didn’t deny it.

Sid was no help at all, insisting with a smile that Johnny left and sticking to it. Dutch got thrown out when he didn't give in to the bullshit.

When Dutch found Johnny again, it had been after a long day of trying to find clues, and he felt like one of those brooding detectives in those crime shows Johnny and Bobby loved so much. It’s so tiring to search and come up with nothing; it’s so hope-draining. He needed a drink, and on the way to the bar, he spotted that familiar face. Johnny looked different—somehow even skinnier than the last time Dutch saw him. Dutch couldn’t get over there fast enough. He parked his car and ran over there.

"johnny!"

Johnny had turned to him, eyes wide. "Oh my god. What are you doing here? I—You got out?"

Is he disappointed? Are those other makeup-covered faces his new friends?

"I told you I’d get out this time. I even got a good job! I’ve been looking everywhere for you, Johnny. Why is your stepdad telling everyone you moved? What happened?"

Johnny looked down, shoulders slouched. "We got into another fight after…" he swallowed, "after mom died, and he kicked me out."

Dutch felt his stomach tighten. He wishes he could have been there. "Where are you staying?"

Johnny sniffled, rubbing his eyelid and smearing up his mascara. "Different places."

Dutch knows what that means: "I’m homeless."

He knows from personal experience.

"Will you come to my place then? I’ve got weed and Monoply waiting for us."

Johnny picked at his nails. "You aren’t mad at me?"

Dutch tilted his head, brows creased. "Why the hell would I be mad at you?"

"Because I disappeared. I didn’t call. I mean, I don’t get paid a lot of quarters, just cash."

Dutch pauses for a moment, looking at their surroundings and the other people near them, who are also underdressed like Johnny and tired looking. He looks at the marks on Johnny's thighs and the rest of him. It clicks. He won’t say anything, not yet.

"When was the last time I got pissed at you, John? Sure. I get irritated a lot, but rarely with you."

Johnny nods; he can’t deny that. He doesn’t want to. Dutch grabs his hand carefully. "Will you come over like old times?"

"Yeah, okay."

It was the best night either of them had had in months. They didn’t talk about the time missed or the difference in them that it brought yet; they gave themselves over and lived in the past for the night.

Dutch didn’t want him to live. Never wanted him to go back to "work" again. Johnny didn’t either, he was honest about that, but he kept repeating that he refused to be a freeloader and refused to use Dutch like that. Dutch can’t believe Johnny can’t see how he’s helped him change for the better and how this love that’s been raging in him for years is the biggest reason he has money now.

He practically begged him to stay; there’s space for him on the couch, there’s space for him on Dutch’s bed—a spot for him everywhere Dutch goes.

He told Johnny to at least stay while he looked for a better job, that he really didn’t have to pay. Johnny told him he’d have to think about it and went to take a shower.

In that time, Dutch mulled over the idea he had in his head the second Johnny brought up being a freeloader: he could pay Dutch by dating him.

He felt creepy, he’d rather Johnny not pay him anything—feel right at home. But he’s been doing it with all those countless other guys, and Dutch would just…make the payments few and far between—no matter how badly he wants it more.

Dutch focused on the dripping ends of Johnny’s hair as he brought up his idea.

"I didn’t know you liked me like that." I love you. "But I think it’s a good deal."

He cupped Dutch’s face in his hands, looking over his features. "Do you want me to kiss you?"

Dutch pulled him in instead of answering, kissing him until he couldn’t anymore. "Stay."

Johnny stayed. Now he’s bouncing in Dutch’s lap, mewling shamelessly as Dutch’s cock hits his sweet spot over and over again, arching when Dutch grabs a handful of his ample ass, his other hand groping at Johnny’s pec.

"Fuck. Always loved your cute little tits, babe. Used to get so hard when you’d walk around without a shirt." Johnny whines, hole clenching like a vice around Dutch. "God, swear I had blue balls every day back then—fuck. I used to imagine how tight your ass would be too, and it’s so fucking tight—can’t get enough. You got me addicted, sweetheart. Even before I had it."

Johnny stares down at him. "So—ah!—so why didn’t you do something about it, huh? Coulda' wrestled me to the ground and pounded me, I would have loved it."

He’s suddenly thrown on his back, his wrists pinned firmly to the mattress. His hole spasms when Dutch brutally plunges right back in, giving Johnny no time to adjust as he starts up his hard, fast pace once more. No mercy. Johnny’s eyes roll back.

"Quite bein’ a bitch."

He tests Dutch’s grip; no budge.

He really can’t stop the pleased noise that comes from him.

Dutch grins, sweat glistening on his face. "Yeah. That’s right. You can’t get away from me, Lawrence."

You’re all mine now, he wants to say, but there’s a 50/50 chance that Johnny will like it or punch him right in the mouth. Dutch has always wanted him.

Johnny crosses his ankles behind Dutch’s back, relaxing against the bed with a glazed look in his eyes that he only got when Dutch did something about that attitude. "You’ve always been so strong."

"And you’ve always been so fucking hot, John. Like a damn dream."

"You dream about me?"

I have for years. I dream of being allowed to love you. "Yeah, I do. Dream about your sweet ass."

Dutch lets go of his wrists, wrapping his strong arms around Johnny’s waist and holding him as he ruts faster.

"I‘ve dreamed of you too. Heard you fucked good and couldn’t stop thinking about it." He throws an arm around Dutch’s shoulders and runs his fingers through that thick hair, kissing his cheek. Dutch has always had chubby cheeks. Reminds Johnny of a squirrel—adorable.

He can’t know about Silver; Johnny can’t lose Dutch again, not like all the others.

Moodboard

[softievante]

a request, if you're interested!

BIG mingyu finds a box of clothes that wonwoo is planning to give away. He gets curious and tries to try on one of wonwoo's shirts and its really tight on him(barely goes past his moobs). when he tries to get it off, he finds that he can't and wonwoo comes home to an embarrassed mingyu who is struggling to get it off

ANON THIS WAS SO VISIONARY OF YOU… i must confess i’m a bit vanilla when it comes to my own common writing about size, but i like to challenge myself + your req was like 🤌 hope i’ve met your expectations :3 i’ve also used it to test this try at writing about bigger boys :)

cw: (light?) humiliation (it’s consensual ok)

“the curiosity killed the cat, but satisfaction brought him back” says an ancient proverb that’s more well-known for its first part. the second one usually comes as a surprise for most people, and sure gives a new perspective to the saying. curiosity wasn’t supposed to be a bad thing, nor something worth of negative consequences. knowledge should be celebrated, after all.

to change the animal in question, though, would it make a difference? let’s say, a puppy. a very curious, nosy puppy boy who was all on his fours (not for the reasons he commonly got into that position), grunting and sighing as he didn’t find what he was looking for. would he end up in trouble for such eagerness to find out about everything and anything?

mingyu was, beyond all, impatient. and it seemed the bigger he’d gotten, the more impatient he’d grew, too, always whining and demanding and pouting when he didn’t get what he wanted. right now, the small noises of frustration came from the mystery of where had his boyfriend put his new pair of jeans, bought last week when mingyu decided his then current ones were getting too snug. all clothes seem too snug when you reach third digit lbs, you know. especially when you surpass the first hundred.

so there mingyu was, on all fours, belly touching the ground as he sweated due to the effort to keep supporting his own weight. the closet wasn’t the coolest place in their apartment, which only made him more miserable.

“where the fuck is this…” he paused in the middle of cursing when he found a cardboard box where ‘DONATION’ was written. “oh.”

he pulled the box out of its place, suddenly forgotten about his pants.

it wasn’t supposed to be anything interesting, nor surprising since the purpose of those clothes being there were literally stamped on the cardboard, but somehow mingyu started to grab and inspect piece by piece, laughing at some weird t-shirts and gasping at others that he considered too cute to be thrown away.

in the process of rummaging through them, however, an idea lit up in his mind. some of them were pretty. pretty enough for mingyu to take his time examining the fabric, the striped pattern. obsessing with how small wonwoo was in comparison to him.

if he took just an instant to think about it further, he wouldn’t do it. mingyu is not the type to ponder, though, so before he can understand how disastrous his actions can be, his torso is already naked, hands gabbing excited at wonwoo’s t-shirt to pull over his head.

it looks like a crop top. and that’s being gentle. the fabric got stretched, the effort to make it enlarged enough for mingyu’s width turning it into a second skin, almost. it barely covers his fat breasts, the sleeves are suffocating his swollen arms.

curiosity gets the cat killed, and the puppy… the puppy gets stuck, breathing hard when he notices it’s tight, tight, not the common tight of his clothes. the collar hugged his neck, making him realize how extra he got everywhere.

a voice sounds from the room, “mingyu-ya?”

mingyu froze. he knew what was coming for him, and it was not flowers and chocolate.

“hey, why are you…” wonwoo stopped mid-sentence when he saw the scene in front of him. “woah.”

“i think i stretched it,” mingyu spat out like it wasn’t obvious that he had completely ruined his boyfriend’s t-shirt.

“stretched it? baby, you’re about to rip it,” wonwoo chuckled, biting the inside of his cheek as he drinks in the sight of mingyu’s enormous frame displayed like that. his belly hung over his sweatpants, full of rolls and stretch marks, his navel deep and begging for a finger inside. “how did you find these? and why were you trying them on? there’s no way they’d fit you,” wonwoo makes sure to point it out, putting his hands over the soft skin.

“i was looking for my new pants and found the box,” mingyu explained, sighing when he feels his boyfriend caressing the large area of his gut. “and i just thought it’d be fun but… but now i’m…” the words struggled to be out, until he expelled them in a sigh, “i can’t get it off.”

wonwoo’s eyes glistened in both desire and malice.

“got so fat you can’t lift your arms?”

“t-that’s not it! i can lift them alright!” mingyu raised them in retaliation, which only made things worse. everything jiggled, in a way that was almost ridiculous.

“ooh, poor thing, need help from his boyfriend to get out from the tiny, tiny shirt you stole from him?” wonwoo mocked, pinching his boyfriend’s double chin. “god, it doesn’t even cover your tits.”

mingyu flushed. there was something terribly arousing about having his overgrown, fat chest called tits. especially when said tits were being squeezed by his lover’s slender hands with no mercy.

“w-wonwoo, please…”

“please what, baby?” wonwoo teased, holding the two breasts under the tight shirt. his cold hands provoked a shiver on mingyu’s skin.

“help me… h-help me take it off,” mingyu whimpered, face violently red from embarrassment.

“what if i don’t want to?”

“p-please.”

“alright, let me just have this for a moment.”

maybe there was a time wonwoo was less shameless. currently it was not the case, so he made no ceremony before putting his mouth over mingyu’s left nipple, sucking on it like it was a very sweet source of pleasure. he did the same with the right one, encouraged by the moans his boyfriend slipped, fingers entertained between wonwoo’s hair strands.

“already worked up, big guy?” wonwoo mocked when he let go of the right tit, a sly smile on his face while he gazed at mingyu’s wrecked face, lips circled in an ‘o’ and forehead painted by a thin layer of sweat. “can’t even stand up for a few minutes to have your boyfriend suck on you?” the only response he got was a mere whine. “alright, arms up,” wonwoo commanded, finally kind enough to help mingyu out of the t-shirt.

after some struggle, they managed to roll it up and pull it off, a fit of giggles elicited from wonwoo in the process as well as cries of protest from mingyu.

wonwoo folds the t-shirt neatly, like it isn’t all funny-looking after mingyu’s try-on.

“gonna keep this in case a good opportunity to make you use it comes at hand.”

mingyu smacked his arm.

“i’m not gonna wear it again. ever.”

“we’ll see about that.”

[nvrcmplt]

that guy. that one guy that said that they would fuck kinji like that. c: red sitting on their lap, straddling them. now, "now, you just have to get me to flip over for you." ;) should be easy, right? it should be easy, absolutely..

It wasn't like PChan wasn't used to forward beings, but this one was a little different! For one, they had fur! On the outside! It was a sight he was interested in heavily, but who was he to distract them from their desires of wanting to spread their legs for him? Pchan's gaze was soft for a moment but within that moment of nodding his head in agreement and allowing his lips to roll back in display of sharpened fangs - the alien couldn't stop himself from snickering. "Flip over, hm, okay… I won't stop until you're thoroughly a mess, okay?" Consent, the Earth thing - instead of going by body pheromones or body language, this planet had a rule with verbal communication. He was learning well.

Since Kinji was eager though, PChan didn't hesitate to reach out with one hand to grasp the back of their head and promptly raise it back, making his chin lift so that the fox would only feel the heat of Pchan's tongue, one at current, swiping from clavicle dip to chip end in a wet stripe. It could be disgusting but the saliva was pink, sticky and seeped with ease into the pores as he purred in a manner akin to a blend of earthen creatures. A second hand eased upon Kinji's waist, a third under his shirt and the fourth - yanking shoes and socks off to remove garments one by one.

Pants tugged down to knees, shirt shoved over head and tossed aside. Pchan's tongue yet again lapping a larger and longer stripe of his pink fluid secretion up Kinji's chest starting from his mid-stomach to stop at neck again. Shifting once, knees straighten carrying the nude fur-creature to the nearest surface. A table it seemed, and promptly deposited them onto it with a pop of his neck. "Ah - my name's Praecipua, but you can call me PChan… " Tongue overflowed, twisting and spread from one to four. The fleshy flower twitched with dripping pink strings before his hands grasped Kinji's hips, and ankles to raise that ass up for his meal.

"Sing for me, pretty?" Palms grasp upon globes of flesh, tugging apart and then the heated, sticky movement of tongues began their work of soddening the entirety of Kinji's backside. Crevice to taint, to balls and underside of dick. Consumption of their most intimate part - but most of all, the invasion of their eager opening from one tongue, then two, then all of them as he rests his teeth against flesh and allows his tongues to stretch deep, curving and bending to smear the walls of the tailed being in his drug like saliva. Nub covered tongues roll back and forth, twisting over the convulsing muscles to really open them wide.

Pressing down upon all areas until he found what he loved the most in human men. That little switch that made them see stars, make them drool, shut down their protests to pleasure and become putty in his hands. Whilst Pchan was going at Kinji's ass at that point, his body was too being stripped of clothing by a secondary set of arms, tearing aside shirt and unbuttoning jeans to kick off. Allowing his starry flesh to show through a touch more, his tail bone oozed a thick substance before it solidified like jelly and formed tendrils, lengthy and darker than his usual purple hue.

Those woke with a shift, and in turn parted from one being to eight to slither onto Kinji's frame. The tips peeling back to reveal fleshy mouths, some with tongues, others without, thick and stronger secretions began to be smeared over Kinji's frame to trigger his body more and more into the want for sex, to mate, to be fucked and bred. It took no time of course - Kinji could fight all he wanted logically, but his body was at PChan's mercy the moment he allowed the alien to eat.

Thus, with his vine like tendrils smothering Kinji in their touch - rubbing over nipples, licking over neck and nape, filling his mouth with a bulbous tip that oozed potent secretion into his throat, another tail-mouth was fastened to their cock, swallowing, twisting and eating its fill. PChan's tongues eased from the backside of the fox, swallowing the flavour and licking his chin clean from his own saliva with a hungry grin upon features. Watching their back tremble, their thighs tense and them just overall enjoying themselves.

The Alien moved forward to rest a knee besides theirs, towering as he leaned over the Fox to nose at ear and gently nibble the fur triangle as his hand fastened around their throat to squeeze. "Happy, pretty?" Kissing down the side of their face, he moved to stroke down their ribs, smearing his fluids into place, stroking over stomach and touching everything he could reach before humming in a decision made. "I'm going to breed you now, pretty… Make lots of cum for me, okay?" The weight of his erection rested over their tail bone, the heat from it was twice of that of his tongue's prior, and as PChan leaned back and up on his knees, he took pleasure in stroking his cocks head over the gaping hole, teasing with his movements until Kinji made some sign of want, to then promptly line himself up once more…

And with a hand upon their crown, thumb parting teeth and pinning tongue to his mercy. Pchan's shoved his entire length into their smaller body with delight - not stopping until his pelvis slaps against ass cheeks and their body succumbs to his saliva's gift of no pain and instead enhanced pleasure. PChan didn't do more but grin down at his precious partner, moving his free hand to hold onto Kinji's tail and use it as an anchor to fuck the male beneath him for the next five hours shamelessly devouring their entire frame in everything he was.

[heartlessfujoshi]

time to unwind - a gladnis one shot

Title: Time to Unwind Fandom: FFXV Pairing: Gladnis (Ignis Scientia x Gladio Amicitia) Rating: Explicit (NSFW - Blow Jobs - Explicit Sexual Content) Word Count: ~ 2160 

Summary: Ignis fears he’s forgotten how to be intimate with his lover, but Gladio assures him that that isn’t possible. 

A/N: Happy birthday to Ignis! :) This is what I came up with to celebrate his birthday. Please enjoy! 

---

Insomnia was shutting down for the day. Which would sound absurd to any person who didn’t live in the capital city, as the name would suggest that the city never slept. But when you worked at the Citadel, and were on the staff of the crowned Prince of Lucis, life would suggest otherwise. Ignis shut down the work he was doing on his computer, and heard a firm knock on his door. His heart jumped into his throat, as he knew who it was, and there was a very small part of him that was feeling rather nervous right now. And hearing that knock brought his nerves back, which had been quiet for most of the day. 

“Come in.” He spoke towards the door, knowing that the person that was standing there could hear him. “I’ll be a few more moments.” His eyes returned to his monitor, making sure that the computer was shutting down properly. 

A very large body stood at his door, with their arms crossed over their chest. “Take your time, sweetheart. I’m in no rush.” 

“How did training go today?” He asked, looking over at the man who was both his best friend, and his lover - Gladio Amicitia. Gladio was tasked with training both the Prince and his best friend, Prompto, to fight combatively. Ignis was to train them in a few weeks’ time, but for now, they were under Gladio’s care. “Was the Prince any better?” 

Gladio shook his head, pushing himself off the door jamb as Ignis put his things into his bag. “No, he’s refusing to listen to what I tell him. Prompto is doing good, though. Kid is eager. He likes to please.” 

“That must go over very well for you.” A smirk began to curl on his lips, as Ignis took a moment to look over at Gladio. He saw that he had a towel draped around his neck, still dressed in the clothes he’d been training in. “You must really want to go home.” 

“Figured I was going to need to shower anyway.” Gladio didn’t say anything more, and Ignis really didn’t need to hear any more. 

They’d been having difficulty syncing up together for a proper romantic night. Ignis was usually too tired to think about those sorts of things as of late, as Regis was asking him to sit in on more council meetings as a manner of preparing him for assisting his son. He was at the end of his rope, and all he really wanted to do was have some intimate time with Gladio. Which was why he was nervous, because he felt like it had been forever since either of them had done something together like that, and he wasn’t sure if he remembered how. 

“Ready?” Gladio asked, as Ignis approached him. He held out his hand, and Ignis surrendered his bag to him, as Gladio liked to carry his items for him. “My car is down in the garage.” 

“Good. Because I don’t feel like taking public transportation today.” That would be more time wasted, and right now he had one thought on his mind. One thought that had been nagging at his brain for most of the day, making it almost impossible to concentrate on anything. But tonight, things would align and it would take away the edge he knew he’d been feeling because of it. 

“Don’t worry, sweetheart - I’ve got everything covered.” Gladio kept his distance, as the two of them had decided it would be better to keep their relations on a need to know basis for anyone that worked at the Citadel. They stood in the elevator together, and being in Gladio’s presence was already making Ignis feel more relaxed. “Let’s get you home.”

Traffic wasn’t awful as Gladio drove them back to his apartment. Ignis had offered his place, but it was much smaller than Gladio’s apartment, and he knew that Gladio hated imposing on him. So, back to his place it was. Upon entry, Ignis took off his shoes and then peeled his jacket off. 

“I’ll be right back.” Gladio kissed the back of his neck, causing him to moan softly at the unexpected intimate touch. “Go make yourself comfortable, Ignis. No arguments. We’ll eat afterwards.” 

He nodded his head, knowing that it would be best if they were to get things out of the way first. He heard the shower turn on, and could hear Gladio humming a tune as he got under the water. Ignis could feel his arousal beginning to start, as he loved listening to Gladio sing to himself. He went into Gladio’s bedroom, and began to take off all of his clothes. He sat on the edge of the bed, facing the door, so that when Gladio walked in, he would be the first thing that he saw. 

Gladio came into his bedroom, still slightly damp and without a towel on his body. Ignis felt his jowls work as his eyes naturally went to the beast between Gladio’s thighs, which was already nice and plump. He whimpered softly as Gladio came closer to him, his eyes staying glued to the flushed tip of Gladio’s cock. “Come here, sweetheart.” Gladio approached where he was sitting, and put his hand to the back of Ignis’ head. “Why don’t you give it a little kiss? I know you want to.” 

Ignis brought his mouth to the tip, and gave it a few little kisses before putting his lips around it. He moaned low as he slowly let it slip into his mouth, savoring the way the thick flesh felt pushing against his lips as Gladio’s cock made its way inside. He rolled his tongue out, letting the girthy flesh sit on it as he pushed against the bumps and ridges. Gladio moaned low, and Ignis felt the world slip away as he began to let himself get lost in the pleasure. 

Why he’d been so scared and nervous before, he wasn’t sure. Of course he was going to remember how to do things. Even though they hadn’t been intimate in almost three weeks, as soon as Gladio’s cock was in his mouth, Ignis knew what to do. He knew that Gladio enjoyed when he sucked gently on his cock, and then would push as much of Gladio’s thickness he could into his mouth. Ignis slipped off the bed and got on his knees, his nose now pushing against the dark curls at the base of Gladio’s cock, his mouth full of his meaty flesh. 

“That’s it, sweetheart.” Gladio’s praise made him moan low, as he felt the tip of his cock nudge against the back of his throat. “You can take it, can’t you?” He relaxed his throat and felt Gladio push it down further. He choked, gagging a little. Gladio began to pull his hips backwards, effectively taking his cock out of his mouth, but Ignis put his hands on Gladio’s hips, stopping him from doing it. He pushed his mouth back onto his cock, his gag reflex now relaxed as he was able to take the thick girth down his throat. “Yes, baby….That feels so good…” Gladio praised him again, his hand now touching his face, wiping away the tears that were falling from his eyes that Ignis had no recollection of them happening. 

He slurped on Gladio’s cock, moaning low as he felt him begin to rock his hips. Gladio set a pace that had him bobbing his head at a slow pace, and then increased the tempo to a pace that had him drooling uncontrollably. It spilled down his chin and down to Gladio’s ball sac, but his lover didn’t mind. Gladio liked a good, messy blowjob and Ignis was here to give it to him. He felt his cock slip back down into his throat, and he stayed there. 

“Gonna come now. You be sure and swallow everything, okay?” Ignis nodded his head, his mouth and throat working hard on Gladio’s cock. “Oh, Gods - yes, like that, Ignis. Just like that, baby. G-Gonna…” 

Gladio’s hips stuttered, and then Ignis began to feel warm cum start to shoot down his throat. He swallowed on reflex, and kept swallowing as he could feel Gladio’s cock throbbing against his tongue. He could feel cum spilling out of his mouth, but he didn’t care. He was too focused on finishing every single drop that Gladio was giving to him. As he felt him grow soft against his tongue, Ignis pulled his head back slowly and let Gladio’s cock slip out of his mouth. 

“Thank you for the meal.” He whispered, his throat a little raw from the way he’d been sucking on Gladio’s cock. A small string of spit was keeping them connected, and as he licked his lips, it broke, separating them. 

Two large hands grabbed him by the shoulders, and then he was pushed down onto the bed, stomach side down. He moaned low as he felt Gladio’s mouth touch his anus, his hands grabbing onto the bed as he spread his knees. The soft touch of his tongue against his puckering hole made Ignis holler as it was an intense feeling. Gladio’s tongue pushed into him, and then he felt his finger slip in. It was enough to make him beg him to stop, but the words came out as helpless moans instead. 

His hips were lifted up, and then Gladio’s tongue began to lick at his stiff cock. “Time to really let go, sweetheart.” Gladio gave his cock a few more licks, and then Ignis felt the tip of his thick cock push up against his ass. “I know you need it.” 

“I need it badly.” He moaned, nodding his head as he struggled to keep himself up. But then as soon as Gladio’s cock pushed into his body, the euphoria hit and he was taken away. 

Ignis’ inner walls stretched around the thick girth, and as Gladio’s cock pushed deeper inside of him, a deep feral moan left his own mouth. Gladio had grabbed a hold of his hands and was now keeping them behind his back, forcing him to be on his knees as he was fucked thoroughly by his lover. His cock bounced up and down, the force that Gladio used on him was pushing him flying towards the edge. But he held on, as he knew that if he were to come now, that it would be over too quickly. 

A large hand grabbed onto his cock, and all thoughts of keeping himself from coming were gone. “I want you to come, Ignis.” Gladio growled into his ear, his other hand keeping a firm grip on his wrists still behind his back. “I told you to let go.” 

A deep, sharp moan left his mouth as he began to come. The depth that Gladio’s cock was inside of him made the orgasm hit him hard. Gladio’s hand stroked him through until he was whimpering to stop, but Gladio didn’t relent. His cock became hard again, and then it was happening all over. His mind was slipping away, and all that he was feeling was the absolute pleasure that only could be brought to him through these carnal acts of desire. 

Gladio pounded hard into him, and pushed him into another full body orgasm that made him scream. Gladio groaned low, and then Ignis could feel warm heat spreading through him as Gladio came deep inside. He released a pleased moan, happy that his lover had come again. 

Dropping down onto the bed, the hands around his wrists disappeared, allowing him to flop ungracefully onto the bed, his arms now spread above his head. Gladio gave his ass a light tap before slipping out of him. He groaned low, not prepared for that loss, but then strong arms were around him, hugging him against Gladio’s muscular body. “I love you.” Gladio murmured into his ear. 

“I love you…too.” He managed to get it out after a few deep breaths, then released a breathless laugh as Gladio hugged him. “Please, more often.” 

“You got it.” Gladio turned his face towards him, and he moaned softly as Gladio’s lips connected with his own, the two of them sharing a deep kiss. “I won’t listen when you tell me you’re too tired.” 

“Please don’t.” Ignis agreed, relaxing in his arms. “Thank you, Gladiolus.” 

“Anything for you, sweetheart.” 

Once they recovered, Ignis got up and made the both of them some dinner. They ate naked on Gladio’s couch, putting on the news as background noise. After they finished, they went back to Gladio’s bedroom, where they engaged in a few more depraved acts that really made Ignis feel good. He fell asleep in Gladio’s arms, and in the morning, they went to the Citadel together. It helped having a lover that understood the complexity of their roles, and he knew that while it may be tough at times, Gladio was truly the only person for him. 

XxX

Cross-posted to AO3

[mel-the-pirate-writeblr]

The Night We Met (Isles of Ysamaldri)

This short is inspired by the song of the same name by Lord Huron.

Isles of Ysamaldri Masterlist

This is a piece of an original fantasy story that I’ve had kicking around for a good seven years now. Specifically, this short focuses on the relationship between two significant characters, Maple and Cedric (who I also wrote a bit about for one of the December whump events). I was listening to the song “The Night We Met,” both a female cover and the original, and I couldn’t get these two out of my head with how wistful it makes me feel, and how their lives (and relationship) had changed drastically, as they wish to go back to a Before.

This isn’t necessarily in any place in the story relative to the other short things I’ve posted here.

Story short (899 words) under the cut!

Cedric couldn't sleep – it was the full moon, and the thoughts of his past surfaced. Usually, these thoughts weren't pleasant, surrounding the few months he had spent as a test subject to improve the Queen's personal guard and royal warriors, in that lab. While his last memories of being a highly-ranked Shal'jí went sour rapidly, it didn't start out that way.

     Like his time as one of the Mion Isle queen's most loyal warriors, his last few months knowing Maple – a fellow Shal'jí – hadn't been a pleasant time. But it didn't start out that way, did it? The night we met, we knew – we knew.

Like many others before and after him, Cedric had been given into the service of the Queen of Mion Isle, Queen Tahl’drí. Those given into the service of the queen as future royal warriors usually came at young ages, between their first or second year of life. This was due to a family hoping to improve their favor with the queen, or give the child a better life than they could give them themselves. It was an honorable role to have, and a vital part of their society. 

     Each child grew up and learned within Mion's palace, taken care of by other, older Shal'jí when they outgrew specialized caretakers. It created a community of siblings, a family. Everyone grew up with each other.

     Everyone, except for Maple. She wasn't a normal Cí’mehia.

     Like everyone else, Cedric had had a family, and a family name, and, like every other Shal'jí, he shed it once he got adopted into his new life.

     Except for Maple, who never had either in the first place.

     One fateful day, when Cedric was five years old, one of the Shal'jí brought a strange child to Cedric's year-group. They said she was a Cí’mehia, but anyone who saw her didn't see the familiar blonde/black hair, or the small cheetah ears, tail, nor the emerald green eyes that all Cí’mehia shared. This Cí’mehia resembled a domestic cat fitted onto a humanoid frame. She had pale ginger fur that covered her, in contrast to the mostly-human-passing Cí’mehia children, and pale green feline eyes. Her ears had the same proportions as a housecat, instead of the smaller ear proportions that the Cí’mehia children had.

     The newcomer looked eager yet nervous at the same time, meeting the other children whose curiosity beckoned them forward toward her.

     Cedric was one such child. And, that night, he met his best friend in all the Isles.

     If only we could go back, and do it again, Cedric thought. I'd refuse Tahl’drí's request to be part of the Cerine tests. 

     But he knew that wouldn't help. He'd otherwise have been complicit in whoever became the first Cerine, and their imprisonment in the lab. And who knows what else since then. Who knows how they might have – or might not have – held up.

🙞 🙟 🙝 🙜

Maple only dreamed of her childhood once in a while, and even then, most of the dreams came from her time in the lab. I had spent so many years in the lab. But this memory wasn't from that cold place – this was the day she met her siblings. It was the day that she had finally had the family she was promised.

She hadn't expected them to all look... the same, though. None of them looked like her. They all looked the same as the scientists and lab technicians she had known all of her life.

     The other children surrounded her, the curiosity burning in her eyes and in all of theirs. Clamouring voices pressed in, and so did their hands, but the older Shal'jí didn't let her retreat. They were a comforting presence behind her, as if to back her up. 

     Then she met Cedric, and Chetchri.

     Maple had only just begun understanding that no one would ever look like her, and that mattered to a lot of the Shal'jí she shared a year-group with, and the ones younger, but of the couple who didn't, she held on to them with a vice-like grip. They didn't call her a lab-cat, or deny that she was a Cí’mehia, like them. They called her a friend.

     As time passed, she and Cedric became closer, and Chetchri took an interest with working in the lab under the Mion Palace. Things changed for the busier, but largely stayed the same. Maple and Cedric often guarded the Queen together, and were regarded as some of her most skilled and trusted Shal'jí. And they trusted the Queen.

     But not anymore.

     Chetchri was part of Cedric's guard, when he was down in the labs. She brought Maple updates on him when she couldn't bare to go down there herself, which was most of the time. Maple had only gone down there a handful of times in the few months he had been down there, and one such time was as he escaped.

     I wanted to go with you.

     He ran, and she couldn't do anything – she couldn't raise the alarm, but she couldn't help him, either. He ran, oblivious to her presence, and she watched in the silence.

     Part of me is happy for your escape from the Isle. Part of me pities you.

     Part of me hates you for leaving me without a word.

[shakesboo]

Queen in Heaven | An Anne Boleyn One-shot (The Tudors/historical fiction)

This is one of the first fanfictions I ever wrote, almost ten years ago! And it's about one of my favorite historical personalities of all time: Anne Boleyn, Queen of England and mother of Queen Elizabeth I

To write this one-shot I based myself both in the series' scene (The Tudors) and from historical descriptions of what truly happened.

I hope you all enjoy it!!

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

Tower of London, England. May 19, 1536.

Lady Rose didn't know how she put herself in that position. The execution wouldn't be open to the public, and not everyone was allowed to watch. Maybe it was because no one imagined that a girl like her could get in the way of anything; probably that was why.

It was colder than usual that morning, and although it was a little after nine o'clock, the sun threatened to remain hidden behind the clouds for the rest of the day. She – as expected of the rest of the Court – had gotten up earlier than usual, and the first thing she did when her maid entered the room was to order her dress to be prepared. She had chosen a French model (since she did not know when she would have the chance to wear French fashion again after this day), with a moss green petticoat under the skirt and a bodice of the same color. The cap, decorated with pearls and sapphires, held up her brown hair, braided and parted in the middle, and matched the pair of necklaces she had chosen to wear – one close to her neck, the other reaching down to below her cleavage. It was a provocation, Rose knew, since everyone knew the Queen's personal taste for wearing green and pearls, but she was going to the execution anyway. Everywhere she went, people were downcast, silent and mournful. There was no sign of the King or his precious Jane Seymour, and for Lady Rose that was a good thing, she decided she didn't have the patience for those two today.

The Queen had also woken up very early, or so people were saying. She attended her last mass and remained quiet and calm all morning (very different from her behavior of sometimes crying fits, sometimes terrifying silence on other days). Lady Rose speculated about what was going on in the woman's head at this time.

Now, standing on the cold stone floor of the Tower of London, she tightened her arms around herself to try to ease some of the cold she felt. Most of the people who passed by there gave her curious looks, probably because of her bold choice of clothing, or even were curious as to why a lady of her rank would be there.

The crowd began to gather in front of the Green Tower, a knot of people forming a sort of corridor around the small wooden door in the wall. Rose followed where they were pushing her, and before she knew it she was squeezed between a fat lady blowing her nose with a handkerchief and a tall, opulent man scraping his teeth with his nails. She suppressed the sick feeling in her stomach and took a deep breath. Standing on her tiptoes, Lady Rose turned to the warm crowd behind her. No more than a hundred people were there today, a mass of cocked hats and English caps, all eager for Anne Boleyn’s grand demise.

Gossip and whispers drifted from all around Lady Rose, making the room seem much larger than it really was. Some of the conversations were about how cold it was today, while others were about ladies comparing the size of their rings to each other’s. But one conversation in particular caught her attention. The man next to her and the other in front of him were talking about the Queen, more specifically about the choice of the executioner who would do the job.

“They say that the delay in the executioner arriving was due to the King regretting what he did to the Queen,” the man next to her said.

“I heard that story too,” the man in front of Rose replied. He was short, almost as tall as her, and had a blond beard that covered most of his face. “And that the Queen’s choice of a French executioner instead of an English one was just a ploy to buy time and try to convince His Majesty, the King, to change his mind about the execution.”

''Well, I heard that His choice was because 'A Queen of England does not bow her head to anyone and in any situation''. Brave, I have to admit.

''Whatever.'' The blond man shook his head. ''The important thing is that today some justice for poor Catherine, may God rest her soul, is done.''

Lady Rose tightly clutched her hands in the fabric of her dress. How dare they talk about the Queen like that?

''Look!'' The man next to her said and raised his finger. ''The witch is there.''

Rose felt an overwhelming urge to turn around and punch that despicable man right in the face, but her gaze was directed to the woman standing at the exit door of the Green Tower.

Anne Boleyn looked more like a child afraid of being alone than an adult, standing still while leaning with one hand on the wall. Her expression was one of terror and panic as she stared at the crowd. It seemed like an eternity when she finally broke free of the Tower and began to walk slowly towards the scaffold, trailing behind her were four ladies-in-waiting dressed from head to toe in black. Shouts and prayers intensified and Rose only caught a glimpse of the Queen's slender body before raised arms and moving heads got in her way.

When Anne was just a few steps away from the White Tower, Rose lifted her skirt and quickened her pace so as not to end up last and not be able to see anything. She stopped in front of the wooden structure – built right in front of the Tower, large and opulent like a theater stage – struggling to breathe, her corset seemed to have gotten tighter. A few seconds later, the crowd was already around her again. Further to her left she noticed that there were the Duke of Suffolk, Charles Brandon, and his son, little Frances Brandon. In front of Rose there were four more people, while on her side a fat woman in a horrible black dress sniffed her nose nonstop.

With slow and steady steps, Anne Boleyn climbed the scaffold and walked to the middle of it, facing the crowd. Lady Rose did not know if it was her expressive eyes or her calm and confident posture, but in a matter of seconds all the voices and cries stopped.

Looking at the queen now on the scaffold, facing the crowd with her head held high, Lady Rose could tell that Anne Boleyn had never been so beautiful. It was as if she were not there to die, but rather to give a public speech about some deed. She was wearing her famous pearl necklace with the gold B pendant, and her hair was parted in the middle and held back – to everyone’s surprise or not – by an English cap; perhaps, Lady Rose thought, this was her way of showing that she was still the Queen of England. She wore a red skirt over a dark gray damask dress, and, to top it off, an ermine cloak. That dress was so beautiful. Too beautiful to be stained with blood and stored in a coffin forever. And the worst part was that poor Anne would not even be buried in a coffin. The King didn’t even bother to do that, Rose thought, but quickly covered her mouth with her hand. If she had said that out loud and anyone had heard, it would soon be her up there on the scaffold too. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the empty arrow box, with its wooden lid, resting on the ground next to it. Poor Ana, poor Ana…

Rose remembered when Anne and the king had met. She had been there. She had seen how the king could not take his eyes off the beautiful lady who had just arrived from the French Court, with her customs and tastes so different from those of the English. It had been long years and scandals since then. She sighed loudly. And to think that she had once wanted a romance like theirs, but who would have thought that this would be the end, after all.

The Queen's ladies-in-waiting perked up on the left side of the scaffold, while the executioner stood on the right side, with his face covered – which was already a custom – and his gloved hands lowered at his sides. But… Where was the sword?

Anne Boleyn seemed to clench her jaw as her chest rose and fell rapidly in her tight corset. She stood there on top of the scaffold facing everyone as if she were deciding with which words she would begin her last speech. Despite her high head and shoulders, Anne Boleyn looked more afraid and in pain than ever; and her eyes, Rose felt bitter, her eyes were so sad.

“Good Christian people,” she said, her voice as thin and weak as if she were ill, but then she cleared her throat and took a deep breath. “I am come hither to die, for according to the law, and by the law I am judged to die, and therefore I will speak nothing against it.” Her voice was still sweet and soft, but with an authoritative tone that Rose had never heard before. – I am come hither to accuse no man, nor to speak anything of that, whereof I am accused and condemned to die, but I pray God save the king – some people exclaimed ''Long Live the King'' and even ''God Save the King'', while Anne seemed to squirm at saying that – and send him long to reign over you, for a gentler nor a more merciful prince was there never, and to me he was ever a good, a gentle and sovereign lord. And if any person will meddle of my cause, I require them to judge the best. – She finished by waving to her ladies who approached, with tears in their eyes, to help her with the rest. One of the ladies removed her cap and covered her head again with a white linen cap, while the other removed her collar and ermine cloak. They returned to their places and the executioner approached and knelt before Anne.

"Madam," he said, and Rose noticed a certain emotion on his part. ''Forgive me for what I am about to do.''

The Queen smiled slightly and extended her arm towards him, handing him something Rose had not seen before; a small purse of coins.

''Gladly. And here is your payment.'' The executioner accepted the purse, fastened it to his hip and stood up.

Anne Boleyn composed herself and looked back at the audience.

''And thus I take my leave of the world and of you all, and I heartily desire you all to pray for me. O Lord have mercy on me, to God I commend my soul.'' Then she knelt, holding her hands over her chest.

To Rose’s surprise, everyone else knelt too – even those who had just condemned her were now there, teary-eyed, praying for her. Rose barely noticed her legs buckle, and only knew when her knees were pressed against the hard ground. The Duke of Suffolk and his son were the only ones who didn’t kneel, which didn’t surprise her at all, since he was the one who had started spreading the false accusations against Anne in the first place.

''Jesus receive my soul; O Lord God have pity on my soul.'' The Queen whispered, more to herself than anyone else, her voice as soft as a flower ''Jesus receive my soul; O Lord God have pity on my soul, Jesus receive my soul; O Lord God have pity on my soul…''

Her cheek was already wet, but Rose refused to sob or even open her mouth to breathe more easily. She didn't want to miss even a second of the Queen's voice. She wouldn't forgive herself if she did.

Everywhere she went, all she could hear was the Queen's soft voice, along with the suffering prayers of the crowd around her.

The only problem was that the Queen kept turning her head toward the executioner, she wanted to see where the sword would come from. Rose tensed. The cut wouldn't hurt, but only if she didn't move. She had to stay still, she had to stay still…

"Boy!" the executioner yelled. "Take my sword!"

Then Anne Boleyn turned her head toward the only boy present there, Frances Brandon, focusing her gaze on him. Rose held her breath. She knew what was coming next, and she didn't want to look, she didn't want to look.

The blow came fast as thunder. Lady Rose felt the air leave her lungs—as did the ground beneath her—as she watched the silvery glow descend and dance in the air. One second there was suffocating silence, and the next there was a multitude of screams and cries. The body fell whole, hard to the ground, and only when it touched the wooden surface did the head come loose and fall to the side.

The other ladies up there bent down to wrap the body in a cloth and place it inside the arrow box. Rose even saw one of them sniffle and press her lips together to keep from crying.

That was when the executioner lowered the blade—now covered in blood—and lifted Anne Boleyn’s head with his other hand. A lady in front of Rose fainted, and had to be supported by the gentleman at her side. She heard more surprised and horrified screams and even tired sighs.

And it was when she looked at the head hanging from the executioner’s hand that she was truly startled. Lady Rose had seen more than her share of executions in her life, but she had never seen anything quite like this. Anne Boleyn’s eyes were open, one side blinking rapidly while the other remained wide, and by God, her lips were still moving. They were still moving.

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So... What did you think?? 😉

[kaijime]

watch your mouth

includes. osamu miya x f!reader

cw. corruption kink, virgin reader/first time, osamu wants to breed u <33, dubcon, kitchen sex? [it’s in his shop so?], fingering, pierced dick [prince albert piercing], vaginal penetration, size kink, praise kink, tummy bulge, breeding kink, slight dumbification, creampie, thigh slapping?

wc. 3k

a/n. my piece for @seita’s corrupt-a-virgin collab, thank you for letting me join!!

osamu miya likes to think he follows a strict routine. he wakes up early, shows up for his job, works, and goes home, waiting for tomorrow to arrive and the cycle to repeat itself.

but ever since you've entered his restaurant, you've become a part of his routine.

he sits behind the kitchen counter, watching in admiration how you tend to the customers. he'd be lying if he said he wasn't staring at your ass, but it’s not a lie if he doesn't say it right?

"samu?" there's that nickname again, the one you deemed him ever since that interview for the part time job. "this customer says you forgot to give her a part of her order"

"no i didn't"

"yeah, look" you approach him with the receipt in hand, pointing to a small part of the inked writing. "see?"

he can't see. or at least he can't see the receipt. he's too focused on you, pressing up against him. he knows you're not at fault, but you couldn't be that innocent.

you couldn't be innocent enough to not know the things you were doing to him, the things you were making him feel, the urges that blossomed with every lingering look and longing touch you left on his body. you just couldn't be.

right?

yet, even when his idiotic brother dropped by his shop and shamelessly started flirting with you, you, it seemed like you didn't catch onto what he was doing.

"what's the freakiest place you've ever had sex in?" the fake blond asked, and osamu would've stopped him, if he wasn't curious to hear the answer for himself. still, he doesn't drive his full attention away from the counters he's been wiping, seemingly focused on the simple task.

you chuckled awkwardly under your breath. "that's inappropriate, tsu-"

"c'mon, tell me" he bumps his elbow against yours "can't be that bad"

"no i-... i've never uhm..." osamu can tell you're stumbling and stuttering to find an answer, so he lends you a few helping words.

"'tsumu” he calls "will ya stop harrassin' my employees?"

"'m just talkin' to her samu, no need to make a big fuss" he downs the last of his food and leaves, supposedly in a sudden rush.

it doesn't seem like it’s been hours since then, but the moon hangs low, and the crickets sing outside the window in spite of the late hour. despite the passing of time, not a single word has been said between you and your boss about the conversation you had with his brother, and every minute that passes only seems to thicken the tension between the two of you.

"shit" you mumble, mostly to yourself. you didn’t expect him to shoot up from his place, bent down searching through the lower cabinets.

"watch yer mouth" he says, an evident frown on his face, where he would once smile at you and nod in greeting.

"sorry" you reply, lip pouting slightly while you cleaned off your finger with a paper towel "just got a papercut" the blood tints the paper red and you wince at the stinging sensation.

"here" he holds out his hand to examine yours, even though you already cleaned most of it off, there's still a slight trickle of blood. he wipes it out with the towel he always hangs on his shoulder.

as he cleans your hand, he can't help but think about how it'd look so pretty wrapped around his cock. it would certainly bring more relief than his fist after all this time he's spent thinking about you while stroking himself late at night.

it’s not the first time thoughts like these cloud osamu's mind, but this time he's a little less discreet about it. he stares at your hand like he wants to devour it, and you'd be a fool not to notice it.

"samu?" you call out to his faraway mind, and he snaps out of his thoughs, loosening his grip around your hand.

"right" he mumbles, clearing his throat "sorry"

"thank you" you almost whisper, if he wasn't so close to you, he probably wouldn't have heard it.

he turns and goes back to the cabinets, thinking about what you answered earlier. you'd never what? had sex? were you that uncorrupted?

it would make sense to him, and it would help ease the pain of seeing you let his brother flirt with you like he wasn't even there, but those are all selfish reasons he wants to believe, and he's too scared to ask.

apparently not scared enough.

“what were ya talkin’ about with my brother” he asks, nonchalant as ever, making your breath hitch as you turned around hesitantly.

“we were just chatting” you say, the slightest purse on your lips that tried to relieve the nervousness of the conversation.

“sorry about that” he apologizes. “he can be annoyin’ sometimes”

“oh no, he wasn’t” you lie, clenching around the table cloth you held in your hands. even if the talk had been going smoothly, you still felt on edge after the question his brother left you thinking about. “he was really friendly”

“really?” his hands find comfort in his pockets, and if you’d looked close enough, you would’ve seen the slight smirk in his lip, one that indicates how eager he is to hear what you had to say. “then why didn’ you answer his question?”

if only you knew how much it mattered to him, to know if you were a pretty untouched virgin or not. osamu miya likes to go for girls like you, college girls who look for a quick cashgrab as a part time employee, innocent little girls who unknowingly fall for his charms and next thing you know he’s ruining them with his cock.

but you feel different, you feel delicate. like a pretty piece of porcelain he might break if he continues to toy with you under his calloused hands. yet, he can’t help but think about how perfect he finds your body. perfectly ripe and ready to be filled to the brim with his seed, the perfect age to be plump and round with a child. his child.

“does it matter?”

oh, it does, especially when he pins you against the counter and grips your cheeks between his thumb and his index finger. “samu?” you ask, displaying that innocent look on your face he’d grown to hate.

“i told ya to watch yer mouth” his hands roam down your body until they grab at the back of your thighs. “now jump”

“samu i- i’ve never done anything like-“

“i said jump” hesitant with your actions, you jump and wrap your legs around his waist as he settles you on the shop counter, where he takes off your pants and runs a finger over your clothes slit.

“please” you grip his wrist and beg in hopes for him to stop, but he slaps it away, pinning them behind you with his other hand. he slides your panties down your legs and plays with your clit, circling the nub with his fingertips and watching as your expression changes from one of fear to pleasure.

“please what?” his breath shudders against your neck, where he nuzzles his head and finds comfort in your scent. he slowly inserts a finger into your hole, scanning your face and searching for any signs of discomfort, despite him practically forcing you into this position.

you’re not strong enough to answer him, too lost in the way his fingers feel inside you. you’d been too afraid to do anything by yourself, but god did it feel so good when you gave yourself up to him, slightly bucking your hips into his thrusting fingers and arching your back into his frame.

he’s fond of every little expression you make, the bite of your lips, the clench of your thighs around his hand, and the tilt of your head, willingly granting him access to the skin, all for him to mark, bite and suck. all for him to claim as his.

“d’ya like it?” he asks, putting another one of his fingers to use inside your tight walls, feeling them clench and suck his fingers back inside every time he was close to taking them out.

“yes! yes! i-i... mmh!” you can’t even finish the sentence, not only because you’re sobbing and clenching around his digits uncontrollably at the foreign yet pleasurable sensation, but also because his lips suddenly enclosed yours in a hungry kiss.

he didn’t even have to put up a fight with you, pleased to find you let him do whatever he wanted with your mouth. his tongue tangles with yours in a passionate clash of lips, until he pulls away at the feeling of your hips wildly bucking against his hand, a sign of your inevitable orgasm approaching.

“feels weird ‘samu! ‘s-‘samu please!” the implication of your sensations being new to you made his cock strained against his pants, threatening the thick fabric of his jeans to snap if he grew even harder. the tight knot in your stomach finally snaps when he curls his fingers, sending you into ecstasy as your vision blocked out and you moaned uncontrollably loud.

still, after everything, osamu hasn’t forgotten where he is, and he knows his shop isn’t a decent place to lose your virginity. so he puts you down with shaky legs and slips up your panties, catching you before your trembling thighs can treason you and make you fall.

“do ya have a car here?” he says, grabbing his keys from the counter and puts a hand on your hip, guiding you over to the door which he locks before he continues to walk to his car. the dim lighting of the parking made this the perfect spot, if he were to fuck you in his car, no one would see it. but he has self control, or at least he tells himself that.

“no, my friend usually picks me up” he hums an answer and opens the passenger door to his car.

“i live a few minutes from here” he explains “wanna come over?” he asks, fully aware that he’s taking a leap of faith and you could just refuse him. but that’s not the case, and he’s more than happy to see you hesitantly get in his car and put your bag in your lap, covering yourself as much as you can since he ‘forgot’ to give you back your shorts.

the short ride to his house is awkwardly silent, and terribly torturous. his hand had found home in your thigh, and it had only sent an ache between your legs like you’d never felt before, prompting a clench from your thighs every so often.

he wasn’t lying, he only lived ten minutes away from his shop, but the distance seemed so much longer when his lingering touch would leave you high with the need for more.

“you ready?” he asks, holding the door open for you again as he waits for you to take his hand and get out of his car. he’s quick with hoisting you up and wrapping your thighs against his hips, carrying you to his doorway and leading the way to his room. there, he gently placed you on the bed and stripped off his clothing, taking off the apron he should’ve taken off at the shop, his shirt, his pants and—

“eager?” he can see the wanting look in your eyes, he’d be a fool not to notice it. his voice only startles you out of your thoughts, enough to make you stand up and take off your shirt as well, now fully exposed to him if it weren’t for the bra covering up your tits. there’s only so much he can hold back, but right now, with those pretty puppy eyes you unintentionally give him, he just can’t help it when he takes off your bra and slightly suckles at your nipple, circling his tongue around your perky nub and watching your face warm up in embarrassment.

he takes you to his bed again, this time while he plants kisses all over your neck. he’s hungry with the way he nips and bites at the skin, leaving a trail of teeth marks that would need to be covered up in the morning. in the morning, because right now, you couldn’t be bothered to care about anything else other than the way he rutted against you.

his cock already seemed big when he hadn’t taken off his briefs, so it shouldn’t have come as a surprise when he slipped them off and rubbed his tip against your clit, right?

he was huge, thick tip dripping precum, with a girth that looked too big to be real, pulsing against your pussy. he positions it against your drooling hole, using your slick to lube up his tip and feeling— metal?

you sit up, leaning against your elbows to see the prince albert piercing that runs along his tip, metal jewelry threatening to slip into your pussy, but you put a hand on his chest to stop him.

“i-it won’t fit!” you kick and shake your thighs around him, only for him to put your ankles together and fold your legs over his shoulder, pinning you down and slipping in the pierced head of his cock. you wince and gasp at the sudden stretch, silenced by his mouth clashing against yours, eagerly nipping at your bottom lip, desperate to drink in all your saccharine moans.

“good girl” he praises, slipping in inch by inch of his cock into your tight virgin walls “fuck- this tight little cunt is suckin’ me in, want ma cock princess? yeah? gonna stuff ya full of me ‘til ya can’t even speak, you’ll just be a dumb baby for me”

“hurts!” your words only drive him closer to shoving himself in one smooth thrust, but he holds back, he sees how much you struggle to take barely half of him, he wants to make this good for you to. he wants to make your first time your best time, the one you’ll remember and think about if you ever fuck another man. he wants to mold your insides to fit his cock perfectly, he wants to train you to be his perfect little girl who won’t find another way to get off if she doesn’t have his cock, he wants you to depend on him to always make you feel good.

“‘s ok princess” he leans down, folding you into a mating press as he kisses your neck and slips in the last of his cock, covered in a thin layer of white sheen. “my good girl, creamin’ around me” he mumbles against your ear while he starts a slow pace into your pussy, carefully rutting his hips into you, almost afraid he would break you. “so pretty”

“please!” you sob, tears stream down your face despite his carefulness, it would break his heart, but he can feel the way your own body betrays you, clenching around him and pulling him in for more of the delicious sensation of his cock dragging against your walls. “so big! c-can’t take it!”

“sure ya can, look” he puts a hand to your tummy, guiding you to do the same as he puts his hand over yours. there’s a small bulge, that appears and disappears whenever he thrusts in and out. “you’re takin’ it so well princess, keep yer hand right there” his other hand starts working tight circles against your clit, making you throw back your head at the sudden sensation.

“no! if you do that i-!”

“what are ya gonna do? cum? clench around my cock like yer doin’ right now every time i praise ya?” you fist the sheets to your sides, anything to relieve the aching between your legs and the tight knot that keeps forming in your stomach again.

“please don’t!” you desperately paw at his wrist, only to be slapped away and for him to increase the speed of his cock, rutting into your with more force. suddenly, the head of his piercing hits a different spot, one that left you gasping for air and arching your back against the mattress. “ah! right there- right there ‘samu!”

“yeah? you like it when i fuck ya right there?” he parrots, angling his hips at the same spot over and over, abusing it until he’s sloppily thrusting into you, on the verge of cumming and spilling all his load into you. “my pretty girl, moanin’ like a bitch in heat, all because i’m makin’ ya feel good”

“yes ‘samu! please please, please m-make me feel good! wanna cum, please!” fresh tears roll down your cheeks as you scream and beg for him, unwillingly rutting your hips against him as you cum around his cock, your high too much for your sensitive body as you whine uncontrollably when he doesn’t stop. you’re too overstimulated to say a word, gone too dumb on his cock to even realize that you’re babbling little nonsense words about how good you feel, and how much you want him.

“dumb lil’ thing” he says, giving one sharp, final thrust before he empties his load between your legs, deep inside you, careful not to move you too much in fear of his cum spilling out of your clenching hole.

he’s right, you are a dumb little thing, because as soon as he pulls out you’re desperately bucking your hips, blindly searching for him in hope he would fill up the sudden emptiness in your pussy, unintentionally spilling all his hard work between your thighs.

“no!” he grunts, slapping your thigh and grounding you to the mattress as you wince in pain, dark color blossoming at the skin where he’d placed the spank. “look what you’ve done, bad fuckin’ girl” he says, the sudden tone shift sends a tinge of fear all over your body, and you’re reduced to nothing but a kin to a stray puppy, a terrible look of guilt in your eyes, even if you don’t realize what you’ve done wrong.

“look at the mess you made” he mumbles, flipping you over and placing ass up “now i’m gonna have to fill ya up all over again”

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