#that's allowed to be Disgusting (and frequently is)

[sentientgolfball]

Dew and phantom with 4 and 10 from the prompt list:3

I really love writing these two so much OUGH

went the hurt/comfort route for this one

It is one of those days. One of the days where Dew wakes with pressure in his head and the weight of the world on his shoulders. Days like these happen more frequently this time of year, when the sun is gone and snow covers everything green. It never used to be this bad. When he was water he would just spend the coldest days sleeping. Now that he is fire though, all he gets is this lousy seasonal depression. The flame in his veins means he is now connected to the Sun rather than the Moon, so when She disappears it is like his mind shuts down. 

All the fire ghouls get like this, but Dew suffers the worst. Omega thinks it is because of the remnants of his water. A deep, deep part of him tells him it is time to sleep, but the rest of him does not allow it. It is not in his nature anymore. So the two conflicting instincts cause him to get hit harder than the rest. 

He fucking hates it. He hates that he cannot even force himself to get up to shower or eat or do anything besides lay in bed and stare at his wall. He cannot even get himself to shower or brush his teeth. It all just feels so heavy. Subconsciously he knows it will pass. He knows there is nothing wrong with him, that this is just a part of him now, but at the moment all he can think about is how much of a waste he is. Which in turn makes him feel worse. Adds even more pressure. But he cannot stop it. Round and round his thoughts go as he gets trapped in a spiral of his own making. 

How pathetic. 

Waste of a day. 

Disgusting. 

Cannot even take care of himself. 

What is he even doing? 

He buries himself deeper in his blankets, trying to shut out the light. Maybe he can sleep it off. He may not be the kind of ghoul to take naps, but anything is better than his current state. He knows it will not happen, but at least if it is dark he can pretend. 

But then a knock at his door disturbs his cocooning efforts. Who the fuck could that be? His pack is aware of how he gets this time of year and after doing this for so long they know to let him have a day before pulling him out. A day to rest, if you can even call it resting, so he does not burn out. Alpha told him there is a reason fire ghouls hide away during the winter but Dew did not really pay attention. 

So the knock shocks him. He does not feel annoyed or angry or anything close to that. He barely feels anything other than the heaviness in his chest. He does not really have time to process a response because before he can decide if he wants to truly be left alone or have someone here, the door creaks open. 

“Dew? Are you dead?” Phantom’s voice calls out. 

The vaguely Dew shaped lump on the bed just shrugs. He cannot really find his words. Phantom does not mind though. They step into the room, shuffling over. Dew can hear a little tink nearby as Phantom places a plate down on his nightstand. The noise causes Dew’s ear to twitch. When the smell of food hits his nose his stomach rumbles. He did not even know he was hungry. Very slowly, Dew rolls around so he is now facing Phantom instead of the window. 

They look down at him with a nervous little smile, “When you didn’t come to breakfast I got worried cause I was like ‘Dew is always the first one here’ but everyone else told me it would be okay but then I felt bad cause you’re missing croissants and I know how much you like them so i thought it wouldn’t hurt to bring you one.” 

They gesture to the plate that has a large chocolate filled croissant and some bits of fruit. Dew still does not say anything. He cannot. Find it. And it frustrates him. But not as much as Phantom’s gesture warms him. Them and their stupid face and stupid big heart and stupid kindness. Even for a horrible creature like himself. He wants to tell them something, let them know he appreciates them, but his stupid brain will not let me say anything. 

After the silence stretches for too long, Phantom rocks back on their heels and looks away, “Aaaanyway I’ll leave you be since you’re not feeling well.” 

The moment they turn to leave, Dew acts on instinct. His hand darts forward, wrapping around their wrist with a slight tug. They stop dead in their travel and look back down at him. 

“Dew what—“ the words die when they see a tear roll down his cheek. 

Dew never cries. Ever. Phantom’s only seen him cry once and that was when he saw Aether for the first time when they got back from tour. They try not to panic because what the fuck could be happening to make Dew cry. 

“Hey it’s okay uh you’ll be alright. Do you…want me to stay?” 

Get it together Phantom, you’re a quintessence ghoul for Satan’s sake. 

Dew nods his head, still not letting go of Phantom’s wrist. Despite the circumstance, their tail happily wags behind them. They pull the edge of the blanket up and clamber under. Immediately they wrap their arms around Dew, cuddling close and twining their tails together. 

Dew does not stop them. It is actually quite nice. Their ozone and frozen apple scent is familiar. Comforting. It allows him to focus on something else that is not the screaming in his mind that tells him he is an inconvenience. A burden. 

Phantom. Does not really know what to do. Now that they are touching, they have an idea of what is wrong. Can feel the heaviness weighing him down. But just because they know does not mean they can do anything. They want to, of course they do, but what does he need? 

���Do you wanna stay like this?” Phantom mumbles into his hair. 

Dew nods. 

“Okay I can do that. We can stay here all day if you want.” 

Anything Dew wants. 

Phantom will do anything if it makes him feel even just a little bit lighter. So that is what they do. They lay in bed with him all day, scratchy little chuffs being the only sound in the otherwise quiet room. 

[feinyan]

WHAT THEY DO WHEN YOU’RE BEING HIT ON featuring. damon maitsu, kai monteago, wolfgang akire, desmond hall and mark berskii.

this sucks ! ill be posting a lot less frequently now, sorryyyy motivation gone and im supa busy now ><

# damon maitsu

who gets pissy under his breath, shooting mean glares from beside you toward the perpetrator, and hes not hiding it. the moment they continue making comments, immediately makes it known you have a boyfriend and you aren’t interested. “hey, can’t you tell they have a boyfriend? or do you choose to just ignore it? watch it.”

# kai monteago

who becomes pouty, somewhat jealous. tightening his grip within your fingers, sliding a hand around your waist in order to shoot them a hint. if they’re persistent, he’ll step in. “.. um, hey, like, could you not say those things to my so?”

# wolfgang akire

who politely tells them not to speak to you like that. his eyes staring at the person with a somewhat disgusted gaze. doesn’t waste any time with it, nor allow them to continue making comments. “i’d ask that you please don’t make suggestive comments like those.”

# desmond hall

who is pretty casual about it, not the type to get jealous in a situation where someone hits on you casually. doesn’t butt in, simply begins paying more attention to the conversation. if it gets to the point where someone is making you uncomfortable with their words, he’ll give them a gentle yet stern reminder to tone it down. “sorry, could you stop making flirty comments? we’d both appreciate it.”

# mark berskii

who grows irritated at comments. though he doesn’t mind much at first, the continuation and persistence with them sets him off. therefore, with a tight pull on your arm, he begins dragging you off. “what’d you say? creep. eugh, come on. lets go.”

@ feinyan

[pocket-notebook]

Uhhhhh he's just chilling with one of those neck pillows... yeah

[ourceliumnetwork]

the list of traumas i need to unpack still and my coping mechanisms (or, more frequently, lack-thereof) keeps getting longer and i'm not sure i like that. I think i like less how much i already know they're hangups before they become a problem i have to actively work on, too.

[preqwells]

downtime | logan howlett x reader

summary: logan had been meaning to show you the wooden cabin he'd visit when given the time— he didn't anticipate how enraptured he'd be with the the absence of chaos in his life

cw: slightly suggestive

domesticity looked good on logan in your eyes.

chopping wood for the fire you two would burn at night, making sure the weeds didn't interfere with the tomatoes you had been growing, and sometimes even fishing despite his lack of patience for it. his jeans hung low around his waist, hair speckled across his chest through his open-collared shirt—you had to admit, you liked this side of him. you two had decided you wanted to get away for a while since logan wasn't particularly needed at the moment. he had been wanting to show you the cabin he frequented when he wasn’t busy, daydreaming to himself with the thought of what your reaction would be to it. you weren't surprised at the nature of the wooden cabin. it was secluded and neatly tucked away in a corner of a vast forest that no one would dare to enter unless they were in for a rude awakening. maybe you were kidding yourself with the idea that you two might be able to go off-grid for a while, but it was a thought you both were willing to entertain.

you smiled to yourself as your eyes tore away from the much-welcomed sight of your boyfriend leaning back on the couch, hulking thighs spread as his head lolled back. your attention trailed back to the deer he had caught earlier in hopes you could do something with it. "should i slow-cook it? maybe even make it into a pot roast?" you suddenly spoke up from the kitchen, your lips pursed in thought as a lighthearted scoff left him, his eyebrow quirking up for a moment. "askin' the wrong person. never been known to be much of a chef, sweetheart." he gruffed out, too tired to allow his eyes to roll into the back of his head at the thought of even picking up on anything remotely related to cooking. "mm, you're right," you said through a small chuckle, your eyes still examining the raw meat, "could always just set up the grill out back. chop it up, make 'em into kebabs… but we don't have any skewers. if only there was something that we could use…" you playfully trailed off as you pressed your index finger to your lower lip as if conjuring a thought. logan quickly caught onto the fact that you were talking about using his claws as kebab skewers to which he shook his head in response, shooting you an amused glance.

he rose to his feet, floorboards groaning under his weight with each movement. "ha-ha, you're hilarious. damn near a comedian." he retorted as he made his way to you, placing his empty beer bottle on the counter before his arms wrapped around you, giving you a small squeeze. his front pressed to your back, your heart fluttering at the sudden contact. the contours of his muscles molded into your frame nicely, warmth emanating from him as his breath fanned against the nape of your neck. "well… i was thinking about signing up for the local comedy club. could be my big breakthrough, y'know?" you sighed in faux contemplation as you felt the softness of his lips pepper kisses from your nape to your pulse-point, his hands lingering on your waist. his thumbs found the belt loops in your jeans, tugging on them absentmindedly. "y'right, bet the squirrels and mornin' birds would love to hear the material you been practicin' on me." he murmured into your skin, eyes fluttering shut as he deeply inhaled your scent. seeing as how sensitive he was to scents, there were lots of scents he couldn't stand. hated the smell of gasoline, hated any kind of gaudy perfume— if he thought about it for too long, his nose would probably scrunch up out of disgust. yet he was particularly fond of your scent, fresh linen and cotton. your scent was as pleasing as your personality. you were good for logan. kind, compassionate— you smoothed out his rough edges. god knew he had too many.

domesticity looked good on you in logan's eyes. the wood you'd carry to the fire pit for your late-night chats recounting the events of the day, the tomatoes you'd complain about that wouldn't ripen and sometimes even fall off too early from local wildlife taking their swipes at it, and your insistence on him learning some proper patience for fishing since you still had a taste for wild-caught salmon. his hands found the hem of your flannel, sliding under the fabric as his fingertips grazed the softness of your skin, traveling down past your navel. warmth flooded your cheeks as a sheepish smile played at the corners of your lips, your hands on the counter to brace yourself. "logan— logan! i still have to marinate the meat." you hastily whispered before a breathy moan escaped you as his tongue rolled over your skin, teeth nipping at the crook of your neck. "mmm, don't worry 'bout it." he spoke into your neck before gently lifting you onto the counter, his eyes filled with affection. he didn't know how it happened, honestly. couldn't pinpoint it even if he tried to recall what you did that caused him to be so smitten with you. he quietly admired you for a few moments, taking in how hues of orange from the sun setting filtered through the window and cascaded onto the side of your face, his hand raising to cup the swell of your cheek. you didn't know it, but logan had made a quiet vow to himself to do everything in his power to make sure you were safe, in this life and the next.

he'd show you tonight how much he adored you, in more ways than just one.

[konigsblog]

König who has a somnophilia kink. (🌽 kink)

TW/CW: NON-CON/DUB-CON, SOMNOPHILIA, DARK CONTENT. MDNI 18+

König knows it's wrong to have sex with you while you're asleep and unable to make a conscious decision for yourself, but he can't help himself from the irresistible, delicious sight. You have the tendency to sleep bare and naked, and König frequently wakes up in the middle of the night after having a night terror, desperate for something to soothe and comfort him. Of course, how can he resist the pretty little thing laying beside him? To König, it's as if you're offering yourself to him, allowing him to take what he believes belongs to him. I mean, if you didn't want to be used like a fuck toy, you would've covered up, right?

Instead of talking about this with you, discussing whether it's alright to take you while you're asleep, König goes for it anyways. He lifts your leg up and grinds against you, admiring your soft facial expressions when he rubs the wet, sticky tip of his hard cock against your cunt back and forth. He breathes out, relaxed and comforted by the familiar sensation of your wet pussy. It's like heaven for König, who can't stop himself despite the terrified and mortified expression on your face when you're finally awoken. He should feel guilty and sickening, but instead of stopping, he gazes into your glassy eyes and promises to be quick and gentle, even if you're already crying through discomfort and fear.

Don't cry, little bunny. You know it's just König and his selfish desires taking over. He'll take good care of your gorgeous pussy, like he always does.

König pushes himself inside your slick pussy and groans out painfully at the tightness, his eyelids heavy with exhaustion and lust as your smooth, soft walls clamp down around his thick base. His grip is firm and leaves indents along your skin, digging into your flesh as he holds you still. He'll quicken his pace if you squirm or tremble, if you whine or weep. Don't you want König to be at ease, relaxed after a nightmare, don't you care about him? Your pussy does wonders for König. Please, Mauschen, let him have you.

“Please, Maus— I need it. You’d give me it if you truly cared, wouldn’t you? You say you care about me, so prove it.” König frowns at you, shame leaving him feeling disgusted with himself. He shouldn't tug at your heartstrings and shame you for not complying with him. He comforts himself by telling himself that it's not rape, that if you really didn't want it, you'd speak up, even if he knows that's not true. You're frozen in shock and don't want to anger your boyfriend.

At last, König finally reaches his orgasm, spurting thick creamy loads of his hot arousal inside of your hole, only to roll over and pass out, his anxieties vanishing from his mind, while you're left shaking, whimpering at the creamy mess left between your thighs and the dirty feeling of König's touch all over your skin.

[ozzgin]

The Mean Girl Bully Reader x Nerd Loser Yandere story sparked another red flag reader idea I had 😈

Imagine a Bratty Female Reader x Well Mannered Wealthy Male Yandere. Unlike our favorite monster whore gal, and two-faced bully, this new reader insert is super vocal about her distaste in just about everything. Hardly anything is up to her “standards.” She not only complains, but whines too! 🥳

Then her poor beau weirdly loves her despite her horrid personality. I don’t know how, I’ll leave that part of imagining up to you, but there’s my request 🥺

I just like morally grey or blatant antagonistic readers. A lot of times, it’s more fun if the reader is attractive this way to a yandere, than having stereotypical good traits, like being compassionate or respectful 😔

So please, a Bratty Female Reader x Well Mannered Wealthy Male Yandere?

-👘

I was wondering if I should just incorporate this into the Yandere CEO draft I have, but I had this sudden idea for a downright shameless relationship between a beloved, well-respected politician and a perverted, needy brat of a Darling. (I don't like politicians but alas, I needed a high-stakes public profession for this)

Yandere! Politician x Bratty! Reader

Mr. Politician is a true rarity in his field of work: well-mannered, articulate, and most importantly, genuine in his dedication. He works tirelessly for change and improvement, earning the adoration of the people. There's only one exception to his loyalty: no country ever comes before his Darling. And what a demanding Darling you are...

Content: female reader, older yandere, NSFW, some exhibitionism

Many would describe their interactions with Mr. Politician as follows: he's disciplined, confident and resourceful. A natural born leader, you can tell within seconds of meeting him that he is a man to rely on. He's spent many years in the game, and nothing can shake him out of his signature calmness. He keeps everything in pristine order, and nothing escapes his scrutiny.

There is, however, one quirk only few select people know about. A detail no one dares to discuss. It is common knowledge that Mr. Politician has a partner, yet the particularities of it are kept private. His beloved is a much younger girl, rotten to the core. It is unclear how this pairing came to be; the day Mr. Politician won his place in his prestigious office, he showed up with the mysterious feminine figure at his side.

What's certain and obvious to all witnesses is that his vocabulary quickly discards any meaning of refusal whenever he's dealing with you. It almost feels like the man worships you. He's never alluded to being religious, most likely because that role's been taken already. His eyes soften whenever directed at you, gleaming with raw adoration.

Splurging on expensive things is a given. Money has never been an issue for someone of his status. In fact, it's a handy and convenient tool he frequently uses to dampen the damage of your tantrums.

"Disgusting", you spit between your teeth, pushing the plate away and crossing your arms. The renowned chef of the Michelin star restaurant can only stare in horror before Mr. Politician intervenes with a chuckle. "Not feeling it today, huh?", he coos at you with loving strokes. "May I ask that you bring everything else from the menu?" he says in a sterner voice to the employee. "E-everything, Sir?" the waitstaff questions. "Well, naturally. I can't let my Darling starve."

"I'm bored. Let's leave now", you mention bluntly, standing in front of the heavily ornate table with a huff. "Are you sure, Darling? It's an important meeting for the country", Mr. Politician tries to plead. Around him, the other men sit baffled, observing the outrageous exchange. "Now!" you conclude louder. Before anyone can protest, your boyfriend stands up obediently and reaches out for your hand. "Then allow me to guide you, love."

A paradox. His earnest work is put to a halt if you require anything from him. Somehow, he has until now managed to juggle the two with little effort, and to his credit, there have been many instances requiring nerves of steel. Such as you paying him an unannounced visit to the office, and disliking the fact he was unavailable due to a meeting. So, you marched over to the window and promptly flashed your chest against the glass. Everyone else was focused on the opposing whiteboard; he was the only one who immediately noticed your arrival. "As you can see, the expected result is irresistible", he continued with a professional smile, tapping the graph with a marker.

Everyone knows Mr. Politician is fervently devoted to his principles. Take his last public speech, for example. Knuckles white from gripping the podium, he'd nearly choked during an eloquent -but passionate - conclusion. His face was red, his jaw tightened. He needed a moment to recollect himself, and the public waited with bated breaths, visibly emotional. Of course, they couldn't tell the outrageous truth: that you were shamelessly kneeling at his feet, pumping and teasing his erection until, at last, he let go all over your face.

"I wanted to see if you'd stumble on your words", you explain afterwards, wiping the sticky liquid off with a damp cloth. "That would've been unpleasant", he responds with a shiver. "It was live on national television."

He does not seem too bothered by the potential risk of being caught. Truly, his nonchalance knows no bounds when it comes to you. Or perhaps it is part of the charm. There's something quite depraved yet tempting about this perpetual contrast.

To return your daring favor, he gently places you onto his desk and spreads your legs, leaving trails of kisses along the inner surface of your thigh. A quick glance down confirms his suspicions: your bare bottom lays on top of confidential, rather important documents he dutifully signed hours ago. How thrilling of a feeling! He already smiles in anticipation, picturing himself as he hands over the folder to the oblivious party. He's not breaking any rules, now, is he? Nowhere in the book of etiquette does it state you mustn't fuck your beloved on top of official papers.

You gaze at the disheveled face underneath you. "One day I'll get you in trouble", you blurt out between whines. "Me? Oh, Darling. You know I always have everything under control." He lifts himself up and gives you a quick, desperate kiss. "Including you."

[shy-writer-999]

One Piece Men and Their Kinks

ZORO, SANJI, and ACE, 2-3 kinks each. (✧��✧✿) (ʘ‿ʘ✿) (+ written descriptions of what they'd do with afab reader!)

WARNING: MINORS DNI. THIS IS NSFW CONTENT.

Zoro who has a breeding kink: Zoro never thought kids would be in the picture for him, given the intensity, violence, and danger of his life. However, when he’s with you in bed, he allows himself to indulge in the fantasy of filling you up with his kids, getting you pregnant, and making you a mom. He gets hard at the thought of fucking you raw, cumming in you, and seeing his cum leak out of your pussy—he gets even harder thinking how you would look pregnant carrying his child (and of course he wants to put you in a mating press). When he’s going crazy with his breeding fantasy these are some of the things he says:

“You’re going to be such a good mommy” “I’m going to breed this little cunt—fill you up with my kids” “Do you like how it feels when I fuck you raw? Do you like it when I cum inside?” “Your pussy feels so good Mommy” “Breeding you full of all my kids” “I’m going to cum in you and get you pregnant, do you like that?”

Zoro who loves other forms of dirty talk, too. Zoro just has a dirty mouth and an even dirtier mind. Besides telling you he’s going to breed you, he also likes calling you a good girl and fucking you senseless. It feels so dirty to him to call you a good girl, it gets him rock hard immediately to even think about it. It’s even better if you call him daddy or sir. He gets off on the idea of some sort of domination or power imbalance—he loves to be in control. Roleplay goes hand in hand with this kink, but he’s very mindful, attentive, and strict about safe words. Of course, you’ve never had to use one, but if you did, he’d drop everything immediately and tend to you so sweetly. When Zoro is pussy drunk and using dirty talk, these are the things he says:

“Do you like taking my cock like that?” “Yeah, take my cock just like that, you’re such a good girl” “Taking daddy’s cock like such a good girl” “Beg for it like a good girl” “You’re doing such a good job for daddy” “Do you like taking my cock, you fucking slut?” (this one he only pulls out once in a blue moon when he’s feeling feisty, but he goes crazy with the aftercare to make up for it)

Honorable mentions: Spanking and choking.

Sanji who has a degradation kink… Of course, this one makes sense. Usually, Sanji is loving and worshipping you in bed. I imagine that he has a lot of missionary sex, kisses while fucking, he’s great and tender with aftercare, pets your head and gives you forehead kisses after… but he has a fantasy of you actually treating him like shit, calling him names, calling him a disgusting pervert. He frequently gets called a disgusting pervert in real life but there’s something about you doing it in bed with his cock in you that makes his dick twinge. You'd call him names and he'd fuck you doggy then cum on your ass (or something like that). Sanji fantasizes about you saying these things in bed:

“Why are you getting harder when I call you names? Fucking pervert.” "You're so nasty, getting turned on by fucking me in secret—you like putting your dick into your own crewmate?" "Depraved freak getting off at fucking your own crewmate” “It’s disgusting how hard you get just looking at me” “I bet you play with yourself thinking about me every night, you touch-starved freak” etc. etc.

Sanji who gets off on cuckolding and voyeurism… Sanji would never do this in real life (because he has too much pride), but he fantasizes about watching Zoro or Luffy fuck you. Sitting next to the bed watching another man’s cock glide in and out of your pussy, he’d fist and stroke his own dick to completion. Just imagining you moaning and getting off on another dick makes him hard, and it makes him even harder to imagine you looking at him and moaning while you get creampied. Cuckolding feels dirty and pathetic to him and he likes that. Sanji would also like voyeurism—he would get off on the thought of spying on you while you fuck someone else (ideally a crewmate, to make it feel nastier). He’d touch and tease his cock while he watched in secret, trying to make as little sound as possible, and when he’d finish, he would slink off, feeling like the guilty and disgusting pervert he is. But part of his fantasy is also getting caught and told off for being a pervert (that’s where the degradation kink comes in). Bonus points if they let him watch after catching him (like in this fic by @cloudzoro... spectacular) and say scornful things to him.

Honorable mentions: food kink (licking whipped cream off you, using chocolate, cake, etc).

Ace who likes to tie you up and edge you until you cry… Ace likes to tie you up, putting you in the most embarrassing poses with your legs spread all the way. Tying you up is an artform for him, and he gets more creative every time. He pulls the ropes tight enough so they hurt, too. When you’re bound and can’t move a muscle, Ace likes to make you suck his dick until you’re gagging on it, he also likes to finger you, eat you out, and fuck you until you’re on the verge of orgasm, literally dripping wet. Then he’ll make you wait until you’re all the way back to where you started before he does it again and again. Ace edges you until you’re crying with frustration and need, until you’re begging him to let you cum and for him to cum on you, in you, anywhere he wants. He wants to watch you squirm, plead, toes curling, convulsing, shaking, and trembling. The whole time Ace edges you he calls you sweet names like princess, baby, sweetie, and sweetheart, in his low and deep voice, which melts like honey in your ears and goes straight to your core. He’ll whisper in your ear and hum when you start really going crazy begging for orgasm. Ace encourages you and reprimands you softly, keeping you in check, making you know that you have to wait until he says you can cum. These are things Ace says when he’s edging you until you can’t take it anymore:

“Not yet princess, you have to wait” “Mmmmm you’re sucking my cock so well sweetie” “Keep going baby, you can’t cum just yet” “I’ll eat you out as much as I can, but you can’t cum yet baby” “Wait until I tell you baby, no matter how much you beg you still have to wait” “I didn’t say you can cum yet, sweetheart” “Good job baby, you’re hangin’ in there so well” “Now you can cum for me princess, good job, good girl, there you go”

Ace who likes to play with toys (in any hole he can use)… Ace loves to fuck and tease you with any kind of toy he can get his hands on. He has a penchant for vibrators of all shapes and sizes, and some of his favorites are: Bullet vibrators (he likes shoving them up into you and fucking you with his fingers at the same time), g-spot vibrators (he fucks your g-spot continually until you can’t take it anymore, then he takes the vibrator out and fucks your dripping wet cunt with his own cock), and suction vibrators (he loves to latch the vibrator onto your clit and watch your eyes roll back in pleasure, he loves to see the pool of slick seeping out of your pussy, and loves to finally fuck you when you’re begging for it). Ace likes being in control and he likes watching you writhe from pleasure, but he also likes to exercise love and care while he’s doing it, and that’s where the previously mentioned pet names come in. He loves to fuck you and use toys at the same time, too. He’ll hold a vibrator to your clit while he eats you out and fingers you, or, even better, he’ll hold a vibrator to your clit at the max speed (or pulse setting) while he fucks you silly.

Ace also is a fan of ass play—he’ll get you shaking with the clit vibrator and then start slowly working your asshole open and loose with one finger, then two, until he puts a butt plug in. He likes to see your holes plugged up with toys, and gets off on seeing you go crazy from the pleasure. His love for toys goes along with his love of edging you, and he'll frequently tie you up, fuck you with toys, edge you, and then cum on/in you.

Honorable mentions: Hot wax & fire play (duhhh).

Okay thats all for now!! thanks for reading ily ʕ ● ᴥ ●ʔ (✿˘ω˘)˘ε˘˶ )

also here is my masterlist <3 -- Z

[inkskinned]

no, but really, we need to talk about the casual objectification that has become the fallback discourse of the internet: if you're pretty and dressed nicely, you're a slut. and if you're even vaguely outside of their body standard, you're fucking disgusting.

too-frequently, people position sex workers as being "the problem". they sneer you're addicted to pornography, you don't know what a real woman looks like. but real women are in pornography. the real bodies on display are not the issue here: the issue is that other people feel extremely confident when commenting on someone's physique.

2000's super-thin is slowly worming its way back into the public ideal. recently i saw someone get told to "go for a run", despite the fact she was on the thinner side of average. not that it would ever be appropriate to say that: but it's kind of like sticker shock when you see it. people think that is fat? holy shit. do they just have no idea about things?

but what are you going to do about it? that's the problem, right. because chances are - you're a normal person. we can say normalize carrying fat on your body, but we are not the billion-dollar diet industry. we are not the billion-dollar fashion industry. we are just, like. people. who are trying to make content on the internet, without being treated shittily.

as someone who has been on both sides of things: you are treated better when you are thin and pretty. this is statistically correct. i am not saying that you cannot be bullied for being thin; i'm saying there are objective institutional biases against certain bodytypes. there are videos of men and women who lost weight all saying: i now know for a fact exactly how much worse you're treated. in the comments, some asshole inevitably says something akin to you deserved to be dehumanized when you were fat.

which means that ... the easiest thing to do is be pretty and thin. it is the path of least resistance, because of course it is, because any time you post a picture of yourself without a thigh gap, someone immediately comments something like you need to try a diet.

the other half is also dehumanizing though, huh, just in a different way. when i put on makeup and nice clothes, i am told i slept my way to the top as a professional. do you know how many women in STEM have told me they purposefully dress to "unimpress" because they already struggle to be taken seriously and if they're ever considered pretty - it for some reason takes away from their authority.

so they make it seem like it's your fault. you, existing in a body - it's your fault! if you didn't want shitty comments, don't have a body. they position us against each other like chess pieces; vying for male attention we don't even need.

and i can be an authority on this unless you think i'm fat and unattractive. when i am pretty and thin, i'm an activist. when i am just a normal person who makes a good point: i am immediately dismissed. nobody fucking believes you if you're not seen as attractive. you literally lose value. you cease to exist.

but the whole time, it feels like - is anyone actually grounded the fuck in reality? the line of "pretty and thin" keeps shifting. nobody seems to understand what "a normal weight" even looks like, because it's not something that exists - you cannot tell a person's health by looking at their body. even if you think you could tell that, even if you're sure a person is dangerously overweight - people are not your dolls. they do not need to be dressed up or displayed properly to soothe your aesthetics. you aren't concerned for them, you're stealing their agency. you don't get to say if they're "allowed" to take pictures and post them on the internet - you don't get to tell them how to exist.

people hide behind "the obesity epidemic" without any actual qualifications. they crow things about "normalizing unhealthiness".

but it's bullshit. i have visible abs. there is a pair of parallel lines on my body, even when i'm relaxed; where my obliques meet my abdominal wall. i am proud of this because it means i'm strong, because i overcame an eating disorder only to be ripped as fuck. it is genetic and physical luck that i even get any definition, i'm pleased as punch.

but it does mean that my abdominal wall sticks out a little bit. the other day i posted a video of myself dancing, and, for a moment, my shirt slipped. you could see a little bit of my stomach. i was cartwheeling to the floor. moments before this, i'd had my foot over my head.

a guy slid into my DMs. a row of vomiting emojis prefaced: you should really lose some weight before you think about dancing.

i stared at it for a long time. there was a time when i would have been triggered by this, where it would have encouraged me to starve myself. i would have ignored the fact i'm flexible, agile, good at jumping: i would have lost the weight for a stranger's passing comment. i would have found myself and my body fucking disgusting.

and for what? to please what? because why? so that he can exist in this world without an unchallenged eyeball? what would my self-hatred even accomplish? usually i write paragraphs. obviously. on this particular occasion, in this body i've been at war with for ages: i just felt exhausted.

it shouldn't be even worth saying. it shouldn't be hard to explain. all of this emotional turmoil when he cannot even comprehend the most basic truth: i am not an object on display for him.

[yuoimia]

50% YOU AND ME

summary: you two as parents

characters: alhaitham, diluc

notes: gn! reader, fluff, diluc is noted to have a daughter (alhaitham one isn’t specified), wc: 600.

alhaitham

unknowingly spoils his child. both behaviour-wise and financially. which, perhaps, makes the sentiment even more sweet. his tender actions don’t match the sharp words of warning that frequently spill from his lips, diminishing like a blown candle from faltering disappointment. no, he’s most definitely not smiling, let alone smirking from behind his palm!

the one to wake up your child through the late hours of the night to give them a dose of medicine when they’re sick, despite his preference for getting a full eight hours of quality sleep. “i don’t want to deal with your grumpiness in the morning,” he claims when you volunteer. it’s half true, but wouldn’t it be a thousand times more efficient and straightforward if he could just say that he just didn’t want to see you disturbed from your beloved sleep? overworking was something alhaitham could not easily allow.

(also because he knows considers himself a little more lenient than you when it comes to parenting…hearing with an argument at 1 in the morning in the next room about how disgusting the medicine tastes for twenty minutes would be far worse than sacrificing five minutes to reach a more successful outcome)

with love comes discipline, knowledge is important, but happiness is too. to maintain equilibrium between the two is his greatest rule. nights will roll past, not finished without a book or two, a few questions, answers, and inside jokes, ending with a secret snack in the dim light of the kitchen when he checked you had certainly fell asleep (he can’t be caught for a third time, surely? he had just made it up to you..)

alhaitham is handsome. you are ethereal. of course, it’s practically guaranteed from the start that your child would be devastatingly beautiful. at least twice a day, he’ll catch himself completely awed. is that child really 50% of him?

diluc

diluc is a gentle father, his love is like the walls of crimson blossoms blooming all year, around the cobblestone edges of dawn winery’s manor, tendered so they remain exquisite and flowering, but left to their own winding paths and bonds alongside the golden honeysuckles.

morning adventures worthy of trailing journal entries, when the air outside is still crisp and fresh, the swatches of condensing clouds brushed across the pale blue sky. plates of homemade breakfast arranged on the table, your voice reverberating through the quiet halls as pairs of footsteps patter down the stairs.

“will i be able to take a bit of the clouds to put in my box?” your daughter asked, eyes wide and sparkling with the same alluring tint of carnelian as her father. excitement fizzed from her eyes to the tips of her brown boots, now jubilantly kicking the air under the table. from the satchel thrown around her shoulders, she pulled a rectangular box, approximately the size of your hand, decorated with sprawling doodles and glitters. “will it fit in here?” she questioned again, sneaking an apprehensive glance through the arching windows, now biting her lip.

“what are you planning?” you suddenly muttered anxiously, just loud enough, unaware of his previous promise. “you know she can’t actually grab a cloud.”

diluc smiled, facing you with a pleasant expression of satisfaction. “dandelions.”

celebrates the smallest achievements. they aren’t anything short of monumental to him; a significance in their life is just as important to be engraved into his. he keeps a diary of sorts, nothing too extravagant, occasionally entries with the date, maybe a few polaroid pictures, but overflowing with tender dreams, memories and hopes. and his greatest hope of all—that one day, the two people he loves most will be able to read it.

[writergeekrhw]

Hi there! I’m a huge DS9 fan, and I wanted to thank you and the other DS9 writers for how respectfully you portrayed Jadzia’s gender history. I understand from your previous answers that you weren’t necessarily thinking of her as trans (allegorically or otherwise) while writing her, but, considering the era you were working in, it’s really amazing to me how clearly and forcefully you chose not to go in a transphobic direction with her character. Like, she’s an attractive young woman who frequently and unashamedly tells people that (in her own words) she used to be a man, and she was in a TV show that began airing a year after The Crying Game came out; it’s very easy to imagine a version of the show where she is seen as (to use Julia Serano’s term) a deceiver and the object of either disgust or perverse fascination or both because of her change of sex. But instead, she’s allowed to be proud of her history and unashamed of her sexuality without either being seen as a threat to her womanhood. No one cares that she only came into a female body recently. She has nothing to hide or be ashamed of. She is loved for who she is. I’m a queer trans woman, and I mostly live in stealth (in the “I let people assume I’m a cis woman” sense) because of the discrimination and othering I’ve faced when I’ve come out to people in the past, which can be deeply isolating. At the risk of being embarrassingly sincere, Dax helps give me a vision of the future worth looking forward to. I truly can’t thank you enough <3

Thank you so much for sharing your story. It means a lot to me that Dax was helpful in your journey. Live long and prosper.

[affableramen]

suitable for: dottore, pantalone, ayato || geto suguru, sukuna, nanami kento || dr. ratio, sugilite, sunday, luocha

slight tsundere character x tsundere reader dynamics + any of your condescending/dominant aura favs

“I dislike it when people who have more power than others use it so bluntly to put them low. You’re disgusting.”

“Oh, you think so? Then why don’t you fight me now?” He throws your weapon to the ground near to your feet. “Don’t be a coward and fight me.”

Just when you grab the weapon he shoves you against the wall and steps back, as if giving you some space to think your strategy and prepare to strike (or defend).

“You are even more pathetic than me!” You raise your weapon, but your powers meet. The elemental energies of the both of you… too strong, too emotional… no, they’re rather filled with negative emotions. Your spirits meet and create a blast. The both of you fall back, yet he gets up sooner, faster that you and presses you against the wall, gripping your hands together.

“Someone’s walking on a thin ice. Don’t you know who you’re speaking to? You’re but a little annoying weakling, causing trouble here and there for me.” He presses his forefinger against your cheek. “A brat who gets on my nerves so frequently I lose my mind.”

You block a series or his merciless, furious attacks.

“Damn you! Do you even realise your place, you fool? I’m a gooddamn (—)! You should be bowing at my… mmm—” his lips close around yours, “…feet.”

The kiss is rough, dominating, but sweet at the same time. It is hot, but loving. The coldness is absent, leaving space for emotion, sacred tenderness and burning desire all at once to fit in one room. His grip closes ‘round your waist getly, you feel the heat spread through your body. You grip his hair, scratch his neck. You protest.

“Mmm!”

No… It’s not a protest. Before kissing him back you bite his lip. Painfully, but in a way that bluntly shows your earnestness. His voice breaks, he moans into the kiss, sensitive to your burning touch. Take his hair in your grip once again - and he’ll shatter into a million pieces.

“Fuck you”, you say but keep kissing him.

He moans and grunts against your lips, his tongue seeking entrance rudely, decisively, as if it’s the only time he can do that with you ever. He is so desperate, he fears, he is trembling. 

“Look at yourself… swearing at a (harbinger/sorcerer/king of the curses/etc)”, still pinning you against the wall he almost tastes your flesh as his tongue smoothly runs down your chin, later - your neck. “Freaking gonna eat you.”

You grip his hair just firmer once he attacks your neck.

“You get me so worked up, and you barely even did anything, you little minx.”

“Do not kiss there - it’s embarrassing!” You shout at him but you do not mean it, no, not at all. 

“Where should I kiss you then, hm? Tell me.”

His rings and gloves are cold to the touch, the metal grazing over your neck brings shivers down your spine. You’re speechless.

“Oh, baby….”

And just when his tongue stops licking your neck after you asked him, his hands slide to your hips.

“Mmm… Delectable”, he squeezes your butt, your eyes widen and you shake with irritation. 

An instant pull on his hair signals for him to not go past the line. He unwillingly returns his hands to your waist and up, to your back. 

“Sorry, I touched where I wasn't supposed to.”

“You idiot…”

He laughs bitterly and tastes the aftermath of your kiss on his lips. He wishes you would leave marks on his neck, but not this time, probably. You were too shy, too bashful, while he decided to take it all. 

“Ahem…” he clears his throat, the affection almost completely vanishes into a professional look. A look of someone who is not entirely your friend. “Our fight isn't over. This isn't the end. The next time we meet, I will most certainly crush you.”

“Looking forward to it.”

“Be ready, little minx.”

When he leaves in the gloomy shadow of the dusk, you finally allow yourself to touch your own lips - where he was touching. How utterly pleasant and captivating. To consume you in one go, but leave a lingering feeling of gentleness and affection marked on your body and mind. Perhaps, the next time you fight, you won't let him go.

divider: @anitalenia

taglist: @silverstardream , @shirenui , @lavandulawrites , @orphic-musings , @sagyunaro , @mienroe , @minichampagne , @ichikai3 , @venicecherryblossom

[zoropookie]

SWEET MELODY

☆ chapter twenty — get the fuck out (🎂)

The wind was carrying a chill on his skin like it lived on his being, a cold damp fog.

The sun was sinking beneath the homes, and the evening seemed to hold his break with him. He, Ei, and Yae were standing there in front of the familiar door they've all frequented. One leading the way, calm and resolute, the other begrudgingly trailing behind her while his mind gloomed. The third? Amused, eyes glimmering with merriment at the mother-son relationship.

"I reckon you tell them that you'll leave them alone," Yae suggested. "All of it is quite petty, I'm sure they'll understand why we're here to have you two make amends anyway."

"I have no doubt that's what you think, especially since you both love to be resolute bitches about it—"

"Oh? No, continue, I'd love for you to finish that thought." Ei replied, standing tall and unmoving, face of quiet authority. After a brief interlude of his quietude, she ground her teeth. "Do not cross me, you are already in hot water."

Ei's gaze burned into him in front of that door, she knocked, the sound echoing with enough command. Kuni's throat tightened in disgust, mind racing for an immediate escape, any way out of this predicament, but Ei was always one to play her cards well. He was trapped here whether he liked it or not.

The door opened slowly upon looking through the peep hole, revealing you, who looked at all three of them with weariness. "Hello..." You said awkwardly, but there wasn't much of a smile on your face than usual. Kuni's heart skipped a beat, and there was a heavier feeling to the air that he couldn't shake from you. It was easy talking shit to them on the phone, but when he knew something was wrong here, it was strange.

"We won't take up much of your time, I apologize if we burdened you right now!" Yae chirped. "I'm so glad to see you yet again. You get cuter and cuter each time I see you, (Y/N). Like a little button."

You didn't know how to respond to that, frankly, except with a half-hearted smile. Your eyes moved back to the other two, your heart dropping at the situation. Ei's grip on Kuni's hair was sudden and firm, her thin fingers weaving through his mauve filaments with a controlled ease. She forced his head down, tugging him into a bow.

"No more. No more fighting, no more altercations. Apologize, Kunikuzushi," She said, her tone ironclad. "For all of it."

He bit the inside of his cheek, losing the hope he had for this going how he wanted it. He refused to let his own pride be threatened as it roared in seething rebellion. Up his neck creeped humiliation, but his mother's grip tightened. She refused to let go. His head still bowed, he forced the words out, all of the syllables dripping from his lips were involuntary.

"You've been through a lot because of me. I shouldn't have done what I have, and maybe I should have also realized that when I was doing it. I'm still learning how to regulate, it doesn't come to me naturally." Kuni said, hollow, half-hearted. He couldn't help it. Every tendril of his being wanted to rip away from how pathetic this display looked.

He felt their gazes on him, like a lion in a circus, studying his every move and reaction, waiting for him to crack under his own ego. "Oh, you think that's enough?" Yae said, tilting her head. "You're still acting as if this is a game, but there's no place for them anymore. How unfortunate."

"...We will move on from this. Please consider forgiving me in the future, when your heart allows it." Kuni hissed through clenched teeth, fist trembling at his sides. Fury boiled under his skin, but he kept his eyes locked on the ground like he was commanded, avoiding eye contact, wincing at his mother's nails digging into him. "Let me go. You're fucking hurting me."

"Words. All words, but I haven't heard an actual apology yet." Ei replied calmly.

You didn't know how to react still, all of this rushed in your face like it was a surge of energy. You seemed calm and measured, but looking at how your ex-boyfriend was being handled by his mother yet again, watching him struggle with the prospect of even apologizing to you, knowing that you hardly deserved one yourself...it was hard. Too much to deal with right now.

Your heart tightened, eyebrows furrowing as you avoided eye contact with Kuni as well. "...This seems like a waste of time. Get home safely." You said, the emotional storm raging moments before in your mind was rid of promptly, more stoic and irritable with your speech. You turned around, shutting the door quickly behind you, cutting through that moment with air taut like a wire.

To what you thought was normal, infuriated him. Kuni's teeth grinded together, his eyes darkening in annoyance. The way you said that so casually, like you just washed your hands for ten seconds of the entire ordeal and left it. Like you were already miles away from him, digging under his skin tauntingly. You got the last word in, watching him be humiliated under the guise that you deserved that forgiveness.

He couldn't stand it. Being dragged here, forced to grovel, after he had swallowed his own dignity while it tasted raw and bitter in his throat. Spitting out an apology to you...one you hardly had any business responding to. You dismissed him, as if none of what he did matter. As if he didn't matter. It was gnawing at his core, left sweltering in his mess.

His movements were stiff and jerky as he followed the two women to the car, silently fuming. You were not going to take control of what he thought he was warranted.

It was surreal to think that the remains of your brother were in your hands rather than his own arms encompassing you. In those warm, now unfamiliar feeling hugs he gave you.

The day had been spent finalizing the plans for Kazuha's funeral. The weight of your heartache overwhelmed you a lot, especially when Kuni and his family stopped by. The bakery had closed for the day, and your employees, more like family than staff, had insisted on joining you as moral support. You didn't feel comfortable with their continuous acts of kindness towards you, but you accepted anyway. Who were you to deny any more help, anyway?

It was a private funeral, bringing you strange comfort barely anyone except other family members and distant friends knew about it. Their faces softening the edges of your overall sorrow.

You sat in front of the altar with tired eyes, rubbing them to rid of your tears and to ebb the exhaustion. Your hands shook as they rested on the smooth, cold surface of the urn that held his ashes. It wasn't real to you, the only one after your mother's death who was always able to help you live in quiet grace, had been reduced to this. You lived yet again in your sorrow, except extra this time.

With no energy left to think about anything else, the details crafted with care in Kazuha's funeral spoke wonders. The cherry blossoms arranged, incense burning softly, candles delicately flaring. There was nothing left to distract you from the possibility that he was gone.

The filling air of sandalwood neighboring the air while the incense curled smoke into the room. White lilies around a large photograph of Kazuha that you had to retrieve from your mothers room. No longer dusty, but the sanctity of the promise that you kept to Kazuha disappearing as well. You didn't even want to look at it, feeling the sense of betrayal rotten your heart with guilt. He was in the peak of his youth, eyes bright with the amicable, ethereal tranquility of his beaming face. A smile so gentle and sincere, haunting you forever. You never saw the photo before this, and now that you have, it'll follow you like a ghost.

Your flood gates cracked and spurted out, until your tears began to pour out uncontrollably again. Sobs raw and aching as your entire body wracked, echoing through the mildly quiet room. Your body was heavy to you, every bone in your body converting to stone, with a misery so sagacious that you weren't sure if you were stuck there for the next few minutes or hours.

Weeping like a baby, allowing your tears to drip onto your clothes, the memories you could never share with him again, for the future planned that would never come to pass. He died in the past, the reassurance he left you with when you were just breaking up with your ex-boyfriend and you were shattered once again. But not like this, not like how you wept for the moments you had taken for granted with your family. For the times you assumed you would have more time.

Xingqiu, Chongyun, Bennett, Beidou, and Gaming stayed there beside you, presence warm but quiet as they ruminated in the sorrow themself. One by one, they knelt beside you and bowed their heads in respect to the memory of Kazuha, a quiet prayer escaping their lips every now and then that you could hear.

"It's okay," Beidou softly whispered, rubbing your back. "It's okay to take your time. There's nothing wrong with taking a break, kid. Feel out your emotions."

"To you." You choked out, tone exerting a little snappy.

As Beidou's eyebrows raised, your gaze sharpened as you stared at the photo again. This time, a glint of hopelessness and null in your expression.

"I genuinely hope that none of you ever have to feel what it's like to come home, and be crushed by your own dejection. To feel like there's a giant anchor pressing down on your chest, every single second. Pummeling you from the inside out, stripping you down until you're weaker and weaker." Your voice trembled, leaving the rest of them quiet again. "I don't have the luxury to feel out my emotions, or I crumble again. I'm so tired of crumbling."

The following days, the bakery remained open after the funeral. You didn't give yourself time to exactly take a long break. It should have been expected of you, or forced, but the rest of the employees figured it would a better idea to let you do what you need to do to cope with it.

The bakery was dimly lit, with the television in the corner of the room playing Balladeer and the Cult's new music video for the fourth time today. The entire staff were quiet other than the frequent chatter, and the soft clinking of dishes as the workers cleaned up for the night. It was the kind of silence that would tell tales of wonders involving your situation. You were in the back, wrapping everything up and making sure you wrote what needed to be stocked for the morning.

"I like when they do that fun lyrical thing that starts with 'I had my pants on my head like a hat', and ends with...'the police department's refusal to comply in a timely manner with open records request is a middle finger to the marginalized'. You know what I'm saying?" Gaming rambled.

"No clue." Xingqiu said dully.

"They have to make the feds give up early on the song, so they turn it off before they get to the part that calls it out." Chongyun grinned.

"It's like when you steal sandwich bags from the burger shop across the street, and you think the sandwich bags have shit in it, right? No. The entire layout to a compartment of different type of bombs located in Natlan."

"Why are you stealing sandwich bags from them? I'm telling." Xingqiu's eyes narrowed. "Snitching to the court."

"You do that, and I'm not letting you use my Dreamcast anymore. I'm tired of you ratting me out." Gaming scrunched his face up before walking to the back to clean the kitchen with Beidou.

The atmosphere was considerably lax, but there was always a shade of apprehension all of them shared with your newfound attitude. You forced yourself to focus on closing, the others trying to keep a bright side about them. You could only target yourself to think about Kazuha, the pain of absence. Knowing that when you go home, he'll be there, but not as a physical body.

The sound of the front slamming open jarred everybody who heard it, the small bell above the door rattling aggressively against its frame. Chongyun stiffened at the abrupt sound, it being cut short as they all turned toward the person who walked in. The boy's jaw dropped, blinking twice to make sure if who he's seeing wasn't the guy who was just on TV.

"Uh—" He wanted to keep his wits about him and start spilling fan-made excitement, but he was too floored to even do that. "We're...about to close, sir!"

"Not here for bread, or whatever the fuck you guys have. Fetch (Y/N)."

Xingqiu's eyebrows furrowed. "They're...not here right now. If you want to talk to them, come back tomorrow, we'll be open for a while."

"Oh, are they not? Crazy, considering I see their car behind the lot. I checked, don't think I'm one of your little customers." Kuni cut him off, voice dripping with venom as he sized the workers up. "I'm not in the mood. Either go get them now, or I'll run through all of you."

Chongyun hesitated, awkwardly turning his body towards Xingqiu who shrugged in response. He headed towards the back to relay the information, while you were still working. When he reached you, his voice went quiet while he told you what was going on, almost apologetic. Your blood ran cold.

There was an anger that swelled in your chest, hands squeezing into fists. Without a word, you stormed out quickly, expression set with burning fury. The sight of him again, this time in casual clothing and a neutral demeanor, your vision blurred with rage and small guilt. "Why are you here?!" Your voice shook with rage, your voice could barely raise at him. "Haven't you done enough?"

"Have I done enough? Understand this, you bitch," He immediately started coming closer to you. "You're not off the hook for what you did. You may be used to people forgiving you instantly after batting your eyelashes and giggling like fucking Minnie Mouse, but I'm not the one.

"Okay? Then, what do you want from me?!" You grit your teeth. "You say all this, and then have a hard time not being vague. What is it?! Tell me!"

"Coddled your entire life, skipping out on your responsibilities because things got a little hard," He took a step closer, which lead for you to open the distance again. Except this time, his hand swiped the entire row of glasses that were on display down on the wooden floor with a loud crash. Your eyes widened. "Now you get to stay here, complacent in my misery, just because you think you deserve it? I'll take all this shit away from you."

His anger marinated long enough, it bubbled to the surface like a volcano ready to erupt. His chest was tight looking at you, suffocating in his grip of emotions he buried deep for too long. Enough was enough, he felt sick with the flour and sugar clinging to every surrounding. Everything was quiet to him here, too perfect. And for him, wrong.

A sneer warped his lips, and there were more crashes. The noise cut through the bakery, the workers flinching, but you couldn't even move. Beidou immediately ran to the front, her face twisted into rage. "Get the fuck out, now! You have no business being in here."

She was about to rush over to kick him out, but you shook your head, subduing her form from going closer. "You're not mad because of me, get your facts straight before you start talking to me like that."

His chest heaved at that, and he could only laugh. The sound of his ragged breaths became aggressive, grabbing at dishes and sending them all careening across the floor with a brutal snap of his wrist. "All of this shit," Another one, the sound harsh against the floor. "ALL OF IT, I want all the good things to fucking rot for the part you played in ruining the good things we had."

Your heart pounded in your ears in moderate fear, louder than the crashes and the gasps coming from the rest of your workers. You felt yourself become suffocated, like there was thick smoke restricting you. Everything felt too tight, your skin and the walls of the bakery itself. He kept shattering your things, breaking every single item that came across his path. There were crimson cuts on his hand, the bleeding on his hands and the glass embedded on his skin making you flinch. He welcomed it.

"Deluding yourself with all of this! You're fucking delusional!" He screamed in your face, "Why can't you wake up and take fucking charge of your own destiny, rather than following a dream you made up because you don't want to be reminded that HE'S FUCKING DEAD. WHERE ARE YOU?"

You could only laugh at him, feeling your cheeks burn from how flustered you were. "Get out." Your voice was dangerously low, trembling as you barely controlled your fury. Those words poisoned you, and tears immediately started rolling down your face, lip quivering.

Kuni just stood there, taking in your words as his breath labored, chest heaving up and down, eyes scanning you in disbelief. But you couldn't stand to see him anymore, because you knew what he was saying about you was true. You grabbed your own glass from the counter and hurled it at him, "Get out," smash, "GET out," smash, "GET THE FUCK OUT."

You grabbed another, and another, before entirely ridding of the glass pieces and started throwing chairs at him for him to swiftly dodge. Your hands were shaking uncontrollably, feeling humiliated that you were losing your mind in front of your employees, but you could not do this anymore. "You didn't want to see me anymore, right?! You've got it. Get out! I don't EVER want to see you again."

"So he is dead?" He taunted, voice lower as he started laughing too, his throat hardly making out the sound while it only came out choked as well, too stunned to care. "How's that fantasy working out for you now? At least persistence is a great substitute for actual talent."

Your knuckled connected with his jaw as soon as he leaned in closer, and you fucked him up hard. Sound coming off as a dull thud, followed by a grunt coming from Kuni's throat. You got him in between his lips and the center of his nostrils, causing the crimson blood to sputter immediately once he stepped back. He held onto his nose, instinctively going for his face while his liquid red stained exterior dripped.

The bruise was already beginning to form where your punch had landed. He hadn't expected you to fight back, but something flickered in his eyes. Something that wasn't rage this time, but delightfulness? You stood there, panting, your own hand now pained from how hard the clash was. "Leave," Your voice cracked. "Leave...before I do something worse."

It was obviously a serious reaction, he realized it by the time you were screaming at him. So as the adrenaline dissipated, the power of everything hit him all at once, and he narrowed in on your tear-filled gaze with incredulous relief.

"Welcome back." His pride fought him again to say anything else, so he wiped the blood on his lip, and turned on his heel to leave.

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THERE ARE not many things that can sway your interest ever since the "incident", but in spite of that, you pushed forward. you are now the owner of the biggest bakery chain in your city, consistently seeing couples and catering to them as such. you've been a big host at weddings, events for celebrities, and even a big support for your friends and family. you've even earned yourself a niche following as well by how sweet you are to everybody around you. but, even with your kindness, you don't have a particular spark that keeps you going anymore these days. that is until one of your employees starts suggesting you write love letters to customers who request your services. at first you thought it was a horrible idea that could easily turn into trouble, but that was until you were tasked with writing one to your own (very very famous) ex-boyfriend.

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[sscieloz]

Unnie’s sweet girl

Yu Jimin x Ning Yizhuo

Synopsis: Ningning is exhausted. Aespa’s 2024 schedule has been cramped for the entire year, and SM isn't of any help, with the way they keep fucking her over in every situation possible. She's stressed, overwhelmed, and upset. Thankfully, her unnie knows just what she needs to forget about all that.

Warnings: smut. breastfeeding. mentions of blood & anxiety. ning just needs to suck on some titties to feel better tbh that’s what this is about. you name it now

Word count: 3.3k

Notes: FIRST OF 2025!!! love that 😤😤

—

Ningning is exhausted. Aespa’s 2024 schedule has been cramped for the entire year. The girls spent months without a break, bouncing between practice rooms, award attendances, and airports no matter how exhausted they were. The price of being SM idols had hit them especially hard, this year— more than anything, the company keeps treating them like dolls. No breaks, no opinions, no excuses. They’re nothing but a form of profit, unable to do anything but obey orders and act like puppets 24/7.

It’s rough for all of them, naturally. Still, even though Karina, Minjeong, and Giselle are just as exhausted as she is, Ningning still gets it the roughest. All because of that bastard company— the one who went so out of their way to scout her back in China, with their xenophobia and misogyny. Their endless sabotaging will to be the end of her, Ningning knows it. Everyone does so, too.

They’ve been doing so more than usual over the last few months, somehow. It’s no news that SM has been cutting her from brand deals, fan meetings, and fashion show appearances— even though Donatella's emails are frequent.

She wants Ning to be her it girl. It’s what she was born to be, the woman tells her. Ningning wants it so bad, too.

Frustration gnaws on her stomach, building up her throat until she’s so disgusted and disappointed with the company’s blunt xenophobic attitudes her entire body trembles, as she sweats and gulps in hopes this uneasy sensation will soon fade.

It doesn’t. Never does, for a fact. Yizhuo should be used to it, by now; it’s been weeks since she’s pretending not to notice her constant trembling, the way her hair keeps falling out despite not being bleached or trimmed in months, her clothes getting looser… being an idol is hard enough, with the amount of expectations and personas she’s supposed to live up to, and SM does an excellent job of making every second of Ningning’s life a living hell.

At least she knows she’s not alone in her miserable feelings. Just like Aespa’s members blossom together in every victory they get to celebrate, their struggles are rather similar. It’s easy to tell how they’re all barely pushing through: Minjeong’s body is covered in bruises, Giselle’s just recovered from an allergic reaction that is so bad her eyes are still puffy, even after weeks of treatment, and her coughing fits haven’t yet ceased. Karina is the only one who still seems somehow unharmed, pulling off their scrutinizing routine with a smile on her face.

Ningning knows she’s trying to keep it together so they won’t break, but it’s an unspoken truth that their bodies will soon give in if they don’t get some rest.

She was currently in bed, regretting her life choices after Giselle murmured a bland excuse and left their shared hotel room to stir off her own nerves on some other idol’s account. Not that Ningning minds it, of course. If anything, she’s envious. As much as she loves the rapper’s confidence to go have her fun and screw a bunch of idols whose identity she refuses to reveal to her bandmates, a part of Ningning also wishes for the guts to risk it all too. To allow herself to have some fun, just for one night.

Heaven knows how much she needs it.

Instead, Ningning’s boring self is entertained by her favorite TV show, Love island, in the company of her favorite plushies, the ones she takes with her everywhere, wondering when she became that lost in life.

Her sheets feel too hot. Ning’s sweating, even though the AC has been turned on for ages now. Suddenly, she can’t breathe. It’s too much, she can’t keep going like this. It hurts. The pain of existence hits her like a strong hit of wind, cutting through her chest and placing the heaviest burden on her heart. It infiltrates in her lungs, and she can’t breathe. Ningning’s hands go to her chest, trying to get the air she so desperately needs, but it does nothing to ease her suffocation.

There isn’t much she can do, then. Usually, Ningning would practice the exercises her therapist recommended to her, but her mind is currently too troubled to focus on anything but her agony. She chokes on air, pausing her the TV so she has at least something to occupy her hands with.

Thankfully, a knock on the door pushes the maknae’s darkest thoughts to the back of her mind. Ningning is soon presented to her leader’s smiley face, then, as the oldest enters her room without an invitation.

Not that she needs one, anyway. Karina is every bit of the perfect, caring girl she portrays herself to be on camera— she doesn’t need an invitation to her maknae’s bedroom. The leader always makes sure everyone around her is safe and cared for, often going out of her way to take care of others.

“Hi, Ningie,” Karina says, with a muffled voice as the youngest hugs her with a strength that is nearly suffocating. She doesn’t mind, though. If anything, Karina chuckles, trying to hug her back despite having both of her hands busy. “I thought you looked a bit down today, so I brought some snacks to cheer you up.”

In the older girl’s arms, Ningning melts. As always, Karina always knows what her members need, sometimes before they do so themselves.

Ning buries her head on the crook of Karina’s neck, pliable in the girl’s arms. She’d accept everything Karina suggested, eager to please her leader.

“Thank you, ‘Rina.” She murmurs, still clinging onto Karina’s neck like a koala. There are no complaints— instead, steady arms circle her waist and the maknae is urged up, locking her legs around Karina’s waist as the leader carries her to bed like she weighs nothing.

To avoid the leader’s worried gaze, Ningning gets busy with arranging the snacks the older girl had gotten for them once Karina delicately places her down on the bed. If the leader took as much as a glance at Ningning, she’d be able to see right through her. And the last thing the maknae wants is to be vulnerable like that.

She could handle herself, just like she’s always done.

Yet it’s hard to not fall apart when the eldest adjusts herself next to her and brings her closer until there’s barely room for air, as they cuddle and watch a random couple have clothed sex on the TV. As much as Karina frowns at Ningning’s choice of entertainment, she doesn’t comment on it.

Ning’s starved. It’s always like that when the leader is present; a few words of validation, some head pats thrown around and she’s sold, completely surrendered to the idol’s mercy.

A mess, that’s what she is— mostly one of the consequences of being thrown around to the public as soon as she could walk. In her 22 years of life, she’s attended so many survival shows and singing competitions that work became more than just a part of her routine, it defined her entire self. After some time coping with her feelings, Ningning came to understand that her lonely life led her to be touch-deprived to an embarrassing amount. She craved people’s recognition, their praises, and most of all, their uttermost affection.

Usually, this desperate need of hers would be carefully hidden in a quiet, obscure corner of her brain. But Ningning can’t help it, at the moment. Not when her unnies’ validation hit so deep.

Instead of being annoyed with the maknae’s clinginess, Karina sighs, brushing her thumb against Ningning’s mouth. Her lips are bruised and sensitive, but because it’s Jimin, she doesn’t mind.

Karina can do to her as she pleases.

“Ningie…” Her voice is low, almost as if she’s afraid Ningning would break. To avoid that, the maknae invites her in with an open mouth. As if they were made for that, Karina’s lithe fingers slide easily, depriving her of any clear thoughts. “I thought you had that handled. Have you been going to therapy?”

It’s Ningning’s turn to be annoyed. She moves her head abruptly, choosing to focus on her balcony’s view instead of Karina’s worried gaze. “You know we don’t have time for that, Jimin. Or for anything else.”

Anxiety is a fairly common disorder. It’s hard not to be so anxious about everything when they’re constantly overstimulated from the time they wake up until they go to sleep. Because of that, Ningning would often be caught chewing on her lips or biting her nails until they bled, in hopes of calming herself off from her overwhelming mind. During better days, her unnies used to tease her nervous mouth— she just had to have something to occupy herself with, in order to calm down.

Fortunately, her therapist had helped her find better alternatives to her harmful tendencies. With time, Ningning started to feel better and less anxious in her daily life. So she decided to discharge herself from her sessions.

It was obviously a dumb decision. Not that she would ever admit it, much less in front of her leader, who’s already so worried about all of them.

Although Karina doesn’t judge her. She never does, for a fact. The leader has seen Ningning in her darkest moments, helped her through panic attacks, bathed her drunk self, and sang her to sleep so many times the maknae couldn’t even count. They’ve laughed, cried, and gone through nearly everything together. Karina knows Ning’s issues, likes, dislikes, and preferences more than Ning does so herself. She knows what the maknae wants— or better, what Ningning needs.

There wasn’t anything she could possibly hide from her bandmate, leader, and most loyal friend.

“My poor baby.” Karina pouted, as if the mere thought of Ningning being uncomfortable was enough to leave her twice as upset. “You’re so stressed, aren’t you? Those months have been tough, for sure. Don’t worry about anything now, though. Unnie’s going to take care of you.”

No other word was necessary to know the comfort Ningning needed.

With eased practice, Karina unclasps the hook of her bra, getting rid of her shirt soon after. It’s hard not to stare at her bare torso; Aespa’s leader is perfect in every way, especially with her pristine skin and her big, perky breasts, begging to be touched, adored. Her gentle hands guide Ningning’s mouth to her nipple, smiling faintly at the maknae’s eagerness.

It’s a routine they’ve done a few times, before, so both of their moves are precise and forward rather than awkward or uncertain, even.

Ningning’s worried, troublesome thoughts vanish within seconds, and her content hums send a shiver straight to Karina’s core. Although the feeling is promptly ignored, so she can focus on the needy, whiny girl on her lap. It’s time to take care of her baby girl, only.

Drool leaks from the maknae’s mouth, desperate as always to have her leader’s big, juicy tits all to herself. Ningning’s own clit pulsates as she suckles on Karina’s breasts, tracing circles around her areola with her tongue before gently nibbling on her nipple.

“That’s it, baby girl. Take as much time as you need.” Karina reassures the maknae, running her pointy nails through Ning’s scalp in a gentle caress. “I’m always here to take care of you.”

Even though Ningning knows there’s no need to be exasperated, a part of her can never help it. Not when Karina uses that soothing tone, the one reserved for the times when the youngest is feeling the most vulnerable, craving attention. It melts her completely; Ningning’s panties are soaked as she attempts to get Karina’s entire breast to fit in her mouth.

How pathetic she must look: so small and vulnerable, latched onto her leader’s body, so messy the gushy sounds of her mouth surpass the TV noise. These are the times when Ningning’s reminded of how much taller and stronger than herself Karina actually is, even though the eldest rarely flexes or comments on it.

In fact, she gets rewarded for her mess with a laugh from Karina, which deepens the heat in her core. Small acts of validation have always affected the most— like the subtle glances the leader would sometimes send in her direction, when Ningning aced a difficult part of their choreography, or even small moments like the current one, with a laugh or a brush of fingers on Ning’s skin.

It’s always more enough to get her on fire.

Yizhuo loses track of time, lost in the paradise Karina offers her. At some point, the leader holds her chin and guides her mouth to her other nipple, but other than that, the maknae is content on emptying her brain’s thoughts just as she had been told. Soon enough, she’s too hot, bothered by the aching feeling in her cunt to keep suckling any longer. Ningning’s pussy is throbbing, pulsating as she rocks herself against the older girl’s lap for some relief.

While it does work— the friction between her clit and panties is much welcomed, Yizuho still wants more. So she moans, loud and clear as her fingers make their down inside the leader’s toned abdomen to announce Karina’s tits are no longer enough.

“Unnie…” She whimpers, looking at Karina through her lashes. She knows how Karina likes her the most, and there’s nothing more she likes to do but please her leader. “Unnie, please. Touch.”

Ningning’s last words are rushed, as impatient as her unsettlement in between Karina’s thighs. It’s not her fault, obviously. If anything, it’s solely Karina’s, for spoiling her rotten. The maknae’s hands flutter to her arms, then to her neck, placing kisses on the corner of Karina’s mouth for what it feels like an eternity.

“Are you all messy, my love? Do you want my help, is that it?” Karina’s voice is drenched in fake nonchalance, adoring the lost gaze in her maknae’s eyes.

She grabs Ningning’s hand, taking her time as she kisses Ningning’s ruined nails, unaffected by the dry blood beneath their skin from how much they’re picked on.

There’s only one thing Karina likes to do more than giving Ningning everything she wishes: making her beg. Getting Yizhuo’s pretty knees bruised from the time spent on her knees is Jimin’s favorite activity, indulging her brattiness until all that’s left are pretty lips and obedient aura, greedy and ready to be played with like a doll. It’s an opportunity she waits eagerly for.

But Ningning had been so stressed lately… She spent so many weeks bottling up her feelings, and made sure to use her manners and address Karina with the honorifics she usually refuses to use, arguing that they’ve already gotten past the need of formal language.

Who’s Karina to deprive her of anything?

One small, shy nod from Ningning and the leader is ready to grant all her wishes.

After helping the maknae out of her pajama shorts, Karina’s knuckles brush her pussy through her panties. There’s a wet spot on her entrance, one Yizhuo closes her legs to cover after she feels Karina’s burning gaze on her pussy.

“Look at how wet you are just from sucking on my tits, Ningie.” Karina grips Ningning’s thighs, preventing the maknae’s to do so as she murmurs, enamored with the sight of her beautiful girl. “I guess you must really like them. Do you, baby?”

Ningning nods with enthusiasm this time, rocking against the girl’s fingers in hopes of being touched.

Still, her answer doesn’t satisfy her unnie enough. Pushing Yizhuo’s panties aside, Karina slaps her pussy twice before gathering some slick and circling the maknae’s clit, shushing her whines with a quick kiss.

“I’d like an answer, Ning.” Karina’s too soft on her. Even with the subtle reprimand, the leader doesn’t stop touching her cunt.

Doesn’t stop building up the familiar knot in her lower abdomen, the one who makes Ningning so driven by lust she can’t even see past the little black dots that adorn her vision.

Ning’s answer comes in heavy pants, and she’s encouraged to rock her bare pussy against Karina’s hand, this time. “Yes! Yes, I love it unnie. Your tits are the best, I love to suck on them. I’d do it all the time if you’d let me— ah!”

Karina adds a finger to Ningning’s soaked entrance, loving the way she’s so responsive to her touches. The action sends joints through Ningning’s body, making her grasp loudly as Karina enters her deeply.

“More fingers, unnie.” She tests the waters, biting her lips to keep herself from smiling when Karina raises her eyebrows in response. “Please?”

Yizhuo’s good manners are rewarded with two of Karina’s fingers. They slide in easily, thrusting in and out with swift motions on her soaked slit. The sudden invasion erupts a burning sensation that mixes up deliciously with pleasure, so good it’s addicting.

“That’s my sweet girl.” Karina praises, using her free hand to grab and pinch Ningning’s nipples beneath her tank top. “Always so good for unnie. You’re perfect in everything you do, Ningie. Fuck, I wish you could see yourself right now. So sexy…”

Yizhuo is absolutely sure she’s going to explode. Karina’s words, along with her fingers and the wet kisses she places the maknae’s shoulders are more than enough to send her to the edge. She feels her orgasm coming up embarrassingly fast, her inner walls tensing up to prepare for the overbearing feeling.

Her leader feels her clench too, and smiles even more.

“You can cum anytime you want, sweet girl.” Karina tells her, using her thumb to play with the maknae’s clit just how she knows Ningning likes it.

The effect is immediate: with a high cry, Ningning orgasms, holding onto Karina as her legs tremble furiously throughout her orgasm. She loves the sensation: the heat of her body feeling tingly all over, working its way down through her lower abdomen until she’s left panting, lightheaded from pleasure.

“No more, unnie.” She whines when the leader’s fingers doesn’t stop moving inside her. When her attempts of leaving Karina’s lap are unsuccessful, Ningning resumes to grabbing her bandmate’s wrist. “’M too sensitive. No more.”

Karina laughs, giving in to Ningning’s wishes as the maknae buries her face onto her neck once again. “Okay, okay. No more.” She runs her hands up and down the maknae’s back, soothing her until she’s calm again. “You were so good for me, Ning. Truly unnie’s sweet girl.”

Although she can’t see Yizhuo’s face, Karina is positive her bandmate’s face is all red, flushed with embarrassment as if she weren’t cumming all over her fingers moments ago.

“Thank you, unnie.” Ningning murmurs, kissing Karina’s cheek as she leaves her lap this time. Karina merely shakes her head, grabbing the maknae’s chin as she places a chaste, gentle kiss on her lips instead.

What an honor it was, to be the one to make Ningning cum all over. Karina adored her maknae, and she’d gladly do anything to make sure Ningning was happy and well.

“You do know I’m here for everything, right? Please don’t shut yourself off for any of us, Ningie. We just want to help you.”

She’s worried about her, naturally. Ningning knows that no matter what happens, her bandmates will always view her as the awkward, shy trainee they met years ago.

They don’t need to worry, though. With them by her side, Ningning feels strong enough to go overcome all of her demons and difficulties.

“I know, ‘Rina.” Is what she tells her unnie, instead. After they get their clothes back on, Ningning clings onto her again, opening one of the snacks as Karina turns up the TV’s volume. “I love you. Thank you for being here, always.”

Karina hugs her with full strength, laughing when Ningning complains about the lack of air. “I love you too, baby. You’re unnie’s sweet girl, ok? I’ll do whatever it takes to make you happy.”

Love island’s drama soon catches their attention, and they spend hours lost on the reality show, in a warm bubble. Ningning doesn’t even recall the anxiousness she felt earlier, and another feeling takes place in her chest as she realizes how lucky she is to have someone to take care of her.

Love.

[eratosmusings]

Stolen Destiny (II)

Feyd Rautha x fem!reader

summary: the na-baron takes an interest in you

warnings: adults only, all characters are over 18, smut in future chapters, misogyny, dark themes, canon typical violence

word count: 1.8k

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“...humiliating…disgusting…barbaric…”

You flinch as your father’s anger roars. Nothing you do will ever please him. 

“What do you think will be said of me? Of how I raised you?”

“You didn’t,” you want to say. Instead you apologize. Harkonnens are animals you rationalize. They were testing to see if you were prey and you had to show them you aren’t. 

“And in doing so you’ve tainted yourself.”

It’s like a slap. The cut on your hand still stings from the solution they’d scrubbed on it. It had only been a handshake. It was a show of strength. He’d understand that sentiment if there was a cock swinging between your legs. He doesn’t stay to say more, leaving you to nurse the wounds alone. 

A feast is held that night. A welcome to your guests. You're squeezed into a new outfit, one you've been told your father deems more appropriate than the one you’d had chosen. It’s the first time he’s ever taken the initiative to dress you. It gives you no pleasure to recognize the dress as one of his courtesan’s.

“Your dress is lovely,” says the Princess Irulan when she sees you again after the food had been taken away and the party mills about in the Hall. She takes your arm and strolls with you between the bodies. The familiarity between you is striking. She speaks of her sisters, the planet she calls home. You tell her of your studies. It seems you share a fondness for the same authors.

It’s odd to feel her warm smile. There were few women in your life. Maids mostly, though they rotated frequently. A few of the castle’s regular entertainers when allowed. You don’t count the courtesans who keep your father company. 

“Princess,” Paul greets her with a bow, intruding on your talks of taking an excursion around the palace grounds. Those green eyes turn on you and sweep across your form. “My lady, you look stunning.” He takes your hand again and bends to kiss it while you try not to flinch. “I hope I’m not intruding.”

“Not at all,” Irulan says with more kindness than deserved. “We were just making plans to visit the lake the day after tomorrow.”

The way his face lights up has your excitement plummeting. He’s eager to join. You stay as long as you can stand his conversation. It’s not long. You excuse yourself, claiming the need to check on the rest of your guests, and extract your arm from the princess’. You accept a kiss on your cheek from her before disappearing into the crowd.

You have no desire to mingle more. Whatever consequences you’ll face when your father finds out about you slipping out don’t worry you. His anger would have found something to punish you for anyways. Cool air greets you as you step into the gardens. It’s not your favorite place, but the training yard is too far in this getup. 

“It’s rude to leave your own party.”

Hair raises on your arms, but you don’t turn to the voice. “You have my apologies for my rudeness then.”

“And it is unwise to keep your back to an armed man.”

“What fun is life without a little risk, na-Baron?”

He chuckles at that. There’s quiet footsteps as he paces behind you like a panther appraising a potential meal. You keep your eyes forward. “You and the princess seem to have bonded quite quickly.” He’s been watching you.

“She is easy to be fond of.” 

Shadow swallows you as he steps behind you. Breath ruffling your hair he asks, “But Paul Atriedes is not?” He’s been watching you closely. A fingernail scraps down your bare arm. “Do you resent him for what he’s stolen from you?”

You spin.

The black void that is his smile is wide on his face. Humiliation sears your throat. How many people know of your father’s deepest shame? Feyd-Rautha seems to revel in that silent moment. Your pain brings him pleasure. 

“I must return to my guests,” you say and step around him. His hand shoots out to grab your arm, but you're prepared. You evade, pull your arms taut to your chest, and dart down the hall as his laugh taunts. The respect you built with the Harkonnens was nothing more than delusion. It doesn’t matter what teeth you bare or claws you present, any show of weakness will be exploited. 

You round a corner and nearly crash into a guard. The same one from earlier. He questions if you’re hurt, eyes darting the corridor behind you. He seems to find nothing. You agree with his warnings now. It’s best you don’t wander alone.

You wake unrested. Images of blackened teeth, slicing blades, and hoarse laughter haunt you into the morning hours. You’ve made the decision to retain a personal guard. The choice in who is easy. 

You spend the day reviewing everything for your coming of age in a couple of days. Your father is supposed to do it, but he’s nowhere to be found. It’s tedious but the hours of distraction are welcome. And it gives you reason to decline Paul’s lunch invitation. It’s only when the sun is past its peak that you’re forced to hand over the remaining duties to your grumbling father. The swordmaster demands your time to refine a performance you still can’t rationalize. Who is it for?

Your father? A man who despises any display of femininity from you? The princess? In some attempt at an apology for a marriage that can now no longer be? Or House Atreides? The ones who’d stolen your destiny before you’d been a seed in your mother’s womb? This artistry certainly isn’t for the brutes of House Harkonnen.

The music halts half way through the fourth run. “Your timing is wrong,” the swordmaster says and has you begin again. 

By time he’s satisfied, your legs burn and your patience is worn thin. You can only glower at your guard, Fandral you’ve learned is his name, as he compliments the dance. “I like the story it tells,” he defends. 

“There’s not a story.” You massage the shoulder of your sword arm. The ache isn’t unwelcome, but the cause is frustrating. The time would have been better spent actually training.

“All art tells a story,” he says.

You scoff. “And what’s the story? I go crazy and start fighting air?”

“You can see it that way, but I think there’s more nuance.” He eyes the girls as you hand off the swords as if expecting one of them to run you through. “It’s the story of a girl turning into a woman.”

A laugh erupts from you. It’s a fitting story for your coming of age, at least. He tries to explain his reasoning. The symbolism of the first sword as the first menstruation, the second as the final years of youthful rebellion, and the end is the acceptance of the new role as a woman. You don’t quite believe it.

There’s no dreams of black teeth or the bite of blades that night. This nightmare is of your mother. Her face unmoving. Silent as you scream. She never moves, but she’s forever out of reach. Then she’s gone and you’re left gasping in the dark alone. 

“This is beautiful,” Paul says in awe as he stares out over the lake.

It’s difficult to not let every word out of his mouth annoy you. You remind yourself he didn’t steal anything from you. His mother did. “You should see it at sunrise.”

He tears his gaze off the water. “I’d like that.” He says it so earnestly you feel you’re missing something. 

“As would I,” Irulan says. You turn your head to look at her on your otherside, but her eyes remain focused on the scenery. 

“And I,” the Harkonnen rasps in your ear.

His addition to the excursion had been as unexpected as it was unwanted. He didn’t seem the type to enjoy a day by the water. Even now, he’s at odds with the world around him. His stark white skin and ghastly black clothes unsettling out amongst the colors. You doubt he truly wants to see the beauty of first light. 

“Another day,” you say. It’s not a promise. 

You only plan to stay for an hour at most, enjoying a light lunch under your favorite tree, but Paul asks about going out on the lake. There’s only a small canoe available on such short notice, but it’s enough. Irulan has no desire to get on the water and says she’d prefer to ask Feyd-Rautha about the Spice harvesting on Arrakis. You aren’t keen on leaving her with him, but she insists and there’s guards to keep her safe.

Paul tries to play the gentleman and offers you his hand once he’s in the canoe, but he’s unsteady and nearly tips it over. You return his apologetic smile as you hear hoarse, barking laughter from the tree.

He’s inquisitive as you row out of sight. About your studies, arts you partake in, foods you enjoy. He even asks about your favorite color. You try to respond in kind, but he doesn’t leave you much time to catch your breath between answers let alone ask your own questions. It’s frustrating but you smile and bear it.

“What’s that?” 

Blinking at him confused, you follow his gaze. A few meters from the shoreline was a small marble pavilion. It’s overgrown with vines, graying from the accumulation of dirt and grime. You’ve forgotten it was here. It feels like there’s cotton in your mouth when you speak. “Just an old pavilion.”

You let him take the canoe further for a while longer, before turning it back. You don’t look at the pavilion when you pass it again. It’s a relief to come back into view of the others. The canoe floats to stop beside the small dock. Fandral is there waiting, his arm extended. But Paul stands too quickly and the canoe sways. Your hand brushes Fandral’s outstretched one for a moment, but you tilt the other way and spill into the frigid water. 

It's not deep. Once you have bearings you’re able to stand and your head breaks through the surface. You take in a deep, shuddering breath. There’s a commotion beside you. Paul’s head pops out and sprays more water in your face.

Someone’s speaking, but there's a river flowing in your ears that makes it impossible to understand. It's a difficult walk to the dock. Your dress is heavy and the water slows your steps. An arm reaches out to you and you take it to help pull yourself up. 

Feyd-Rautha stares down at you. Not with a smile. There’s no amusement on his face. There's something new in his eyes you don’t recognize. It takes Fandral’s interference to release you from the intensity of his gaze. The guard shrugs off the jacket of his uniform and drapes it around your shoulders.

Irulan frets despite your multiple assurances you’re fine. It wasn’t deep. There was no danger. You’re wet, that’s all. Paul apologizes over and over and over again. “It was an accident,” you say in hopes of appeasing his guilt. You want Paul Atreides to leave you alone.

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[boopshoops]

Ah, how odd. It appears one of the puppets in Playful Land aren't quite like the rest. Almost like it has one of those consciences everyones been talking about, huh?

oc template by ai-kan1!! dividers by dollywons! Sound on!

Name: Isola Pinacirco-Cira

Nicknames: Pin, Pinpin, Goby

Gender: Demiwoman (Though she has not fully realized it yet!)

Pronouns: She/they

Sexuality: Unlabeled

Birthday: May 5 (Taurus)

Age: ??? (She has been asleep for a very long time, but she has been awake for 19 years)

Height: 5'0" or 152cm, though the height of the doll is adjustable.

Voice Claim(s): Lisa Hannigan, Miyuki Sawashiro

Twisted from: Pinocchio, Wendy's Music Box (From Tinkerbell/Peter Pan)

Unique Magic: "I've got no Strings" - The bearer can control and grant practically any unliving, immobile object the ability to move under their command. The more objects are being controlled, the more magic is consumed. However, the generation of blot is shockingly slow, allowing the bearer to use the magic for hours or even days at a time. Depending on the object, it may appear as though it is being haunted by a poltergeist. The magic, however, has a very short range. The object must be within five feet of the bearer, or it is no longer effective. Isola uses this magic to move her body on a day-to-day basis.

Grade: Freshman, though only after the Playful Land Event

Class: 1-D

Job: Playful Land Performer

Hobbies: Dancing ballet, face paint, makeup, putting outfits together, singing, sewing, wood carving, ceramic/pottery/resin repair.

Likes: Feather accessories, being alone, birds, rodents, bugs, performance, applause, classical, soul, and lofi music, animal figurines.

Dislikes: Rain, being alone, excessive heat, winter, bass boosted, fast, or hyper music, too frequent of doll repair jobs, cramped spaces, being unable to eat.

Fears: Being unlovable, never loving someone else, living a life alone, never living in a body they feel comfortable in.

Summary: A quaint performer at the renowned Playful Land, constantly known for putting on a show of elegance and grace. With her unusual cadence, she often struggles to maintain an audience despite her immense talent. Isola frequently scares off certain guests on accident. They have a very hard time handling their emotions, causing them to either come off highly unnatural or lacking facial expressions to a degree that could disturb others.

That's just the cons of being one of the many puppets on the premises, though. She is often mistaken as being one of the other, more robotic workers. Isola's body is detailed and articulated enough to stand out among them, but off-putting enough to be immediately recognized as inhuman. Nonetheless, she remains on the traveling amusement park as what is considered a "highly prized item" by the owner. Of course, you don't come across puppets like her everyday, do you? Might as well put her on display.

When night hits and protocol begins, when the consequences of breaking the many rules of the park take their toll, they can do nothing but watch over it all. It makes her feel sick, quite honestly. Disgusted. Yet, she isn't allowed to help anyone. Her attempts to help usually cause the visitors to flee from her anyway, followed by her own set of serious consequences imposed by the owner. The most she can truly do is make it harder on the other workers: including those she has no choice but to be closest to on the ship: Fellow and Gid- Ah. Wrong Identity. Ernesto and Gino.

CHARACTER PLAYLIST - INSPIRATION - CREATION STORY

Author's Note: holy fuck they have a chokehold on me. hOOOO they have a chokehold on me. she came to me in a vision and did nOT let me go until she was created, holy fuck. UGSDBGSDIUAAAAA anyway, i love her and she is my baby. my slightly fucked up baby.

Note that relationships are up for possible changes in the future- I have thought about possibly involving them with someone romantically, but i feel like I want her to put HERSELF first before that. Her story is one about self love, self discovery, and self care, and I feel like throwing her into oc x canon romance too soon would negate that. ALSO she is NOT a part of my TCOAV au!!! i mean. im probably gonna still do fun stuff where she could interact with my ocs from there since im an au fanatic, but- yeah. tcoav is a story more focused on Yuu Shi, and I feel that would also take away from important parts of Isola's character and growth. tis an excuse to try a new oc profile format too <333

that all being said and on a somewhat less related note. i wanna make a comic of her so badly. fuCK. evaporates into thin air. thank u for coming to my ted talk.

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