#that's on the ad-free feed though

[hephaestuscrew]

When it becomes clear that Pryce is threatening to walk Minkowski out of an airlock in Ep57 The Devil's Plaything, Eiffel says No for three lines in a row. The first of these lines is a low Oh no of horrified realisation. The third is a defiant shout against the idea that he'd surrender. But nowadays it's the second of these lines that gets me the most: a No that's soft, understated, almost breathed, not addressed to Minkowski or Pryce, just a word which escapes him as the full reality of what might happen sinks in. It's quiet enough that it'd be easy to miss if you were listening in a loud place. It's not an initial sound of realisation. It's not an attempt at defiance. It's not Eiffel trying to plead with Pryce or snap Minkowski out of Pryce's control. He'll do those things later: yelling at both Pryce and Minkowski, banging against the airlock door, crying out in desperation. But before that, he breathes the word No, and he's not trying to communicate anything to anyone. He's just whispering No, expressing beneath his breath - perhaps unconsciously - that this cannot happen. Minkowski cannot die.

[delgado-master]

Testing if AI can understand otherwise nonsense phrases with meaning and no it in fact does not understand Man Door Hand Hook Car Door.

[letteredlettered]

feedback and fic in fandom (3 f's of our own)

This conversation about feedback on fic says everything I’ve been wanting to say better than I could say it. But I’ll go ahead and try anyway.

Over the last five years or so there have been some great discussions around the rise of commodification of fanworks and decline of fandom community. This commodification looks a bit like enshittification of the internet: a cool site exists; its popularity makes someone realize they can get money from it; it has more and more ads; the site adds features to drive engagement, including The Algorithm; the things that made the site cool start to fall away. The site exists now as a vehicle purely to get clicks, and the people on it are on it solely to get clicks—to make money, to be successful, for some kind of social cachet.

AO3 doesn’t have advertisements. It’s not making money. But what is happening to fandom is proof of concept that enshittification changes the way we as humans engage. A cool website in 2004 was often a community space where you could meet people, have conversations, find cool things, and make cool things. A cool website in 2024 is either a content farm that will continually feed you enough content to hold your attention, or a social media site where your participation will come with stats to show you whether you are holding the attention of others.

AO3 wasn’t built to be a community space. It doesn’t have great functions for meeting people and having conversations. The idea was that, because fandom community spaces already existed, AO3 would serve the part of that community where you can find the cool things and store the cool things you made. It was meant to be a library in a city, not the whole city itself.

But it was also never meant to be a website in 2024, a content farm constantly generating content solely for your clicks and eyeballs and ad revenue, or a social media site where the content creators themselves vie for your clicks and eyeballs.

The most common talking point when people discuss the enshittification of fandom is the folks out there who are treating AO3 as that first kind of enshittified website: the content farm. This discussion is about how people treat fanfic as a product for consumption.

The post that kicked off the discussion on @sitp-recs’s blog was about someone who wasn’t getting very many kudos or comments on their fic, and was feeling pretty demoralized about it, then joined a discord server and found an entire channel dedicated to people loving their fic. But those on that server had never come to share that love with the author, which the author found really discouraging.

There are more and more stories like this. Someone on tiktok pulls a quote from a fic on AO3 and makes a 10-second video with them staring at a wall, the quote pasted at the bottom, music playing over it. It has 100,000 hearts, and 100 comments with people gushing over the fic, which has 80 kudos on AO3. Overall, people notice more and more hits on their fics, but fewer and fewer comments or even kudos. Fewer and fewer people seem to feel the need to interact with the author, instead treating the fic like a product to be used and discarded—which the enshittified internet (a stunning feature of late-stage capitalism!) encourages. The fandom community is dying, these stories conclude.

I agree. 100%. Both of the stories above have happened to me—viral tiktoks about my fic, secret discord channels to follow and discuss my fic—and let me tell you, it fucking sucks.

But from these observations about fandom enshittification, the discussion continues in a very odd direction. The solution to the death of fandom community is our favorite enshittification buzzword: engagement. We should engage the authors. They’re producing these products for free. We consume them at no cost. We must demonstrate our gratitude by paying them back.

It’s as though the capitalist consumption that the enshittified web encourages is so ingrained within us that we must think in terms of payment, in terms of exchange, transaction. Or as though, by forgoing payment, authors are some kind of martyrs defying capitalism, and the only way to honor their great sacrifice is comments and kudos.

Indeed, the discourse around this sometimes does veer away from capitalist rhetoric into something that smells almost religious in desperation. Authors are gods who bestow us mere mortals with the fruits of their labor benevolently, through love; the least we can do is worship them. Meanwhile the authors adopt the groveling sentiment of starving artists: I produce great art; I only humbly ask that you feed me in return.

These kinds of entreaties make my skin crawl for a number of reasons. I’m not a god. I’m not writing because I love you. I don’t expect your worship or even your praise.

I think the thing that disturbs me the most about it is that it suggests that authors (or, if the OP is feeling generous fan work creators) are the most important people in fandom. I’ve even seen posts stating that without creators, fandom wouldn’t exist—as though readers aren’t just as important. As though conversations where people discuss characterizations and plot points and randomly spin out interpretations and ideas and thoughts related to canon are meaningless. I’ve even seen people scramble to include folks having these discussions as “creators,” as though realizing that these people are necessary and integral to fandom communities but unable to drop the idea that the producers are the ones who are important. As though that person who just lurks can never count.

Is this what community is? When you join the queer community, are you expected to produce a product of your queerness? If not, must you actively participate and give back to the queer community in order to be considered a part of it? Or is it enough that you are queer, that you exist as a queer person and want to be around others who are queer, you want to be a part of something? What is community, anyway?

The problem with people raising the authors above everyone else in the community and demanding that tribute be paid is that they are decrying the “content farm” style of 2024 website out of one side of their mouth, but out of the other side are instead demanding that AO3 become a 2024-style social media website. Authors are influencers. “Engagement” and clicks are the things that really matter. They are in fact suggesting that the way to solve the commodification of fanfic is by “paying authors back” with stats.

Before anyone comes at me with the idea that comments aren’t just “stats,” I will clarify what I mean. There are literally hundreds of posts on tumblr alone claiming that any comment “helps” the author. Someone replies that they are shy to comment. Someone else replies that incoherent keyboard smashes, a single emoji, or the comment “kudos” are all that is required to satisfy the author, all that is required as tribute—all that is required as payment to keep this economy healthy.

I’m not condemning the comments that are keyboard smashes or emojis or a single kind word. I receive them. They make me happy. If anyone wants to leave such a comment on my fics, I’m really grateful for it. But this is not community-building. This is a transaction. In @yiiiiiiiikes25’s excellent response in the post linked at the beginning, they point out that “you have a cool hat” is something that is “perfectly nice” to hear from someone—and it is! We all want to be told we have a cool hat! But as they go on to say, what builds community is interactions that are deep and specific, interactions that are rich in quality, not in quantity. A kudos or a comment that says only ❤️are lovely things to receive, but they don’t build community.

My reaction, when I see people begging for kudos and comments as the only means by which to keep fandom community alive, is very close to @eleadore's. I want to say, “No. Readers do not need to comment or kudos. Believe not these hucksters who claim to know the appropriate method of fandom participation. Participate as you feel able, or not at all; nothing is required of you.”

I’ve been told before (several times) that I’m not qualified to participate in such discussions because I am an established author who has some fics with very high stats. It doesn’t matter that I have also been a new writer with almost no one reading my fics. It doesn’t matter that I still write in new fandoms where no one in that fandom knows me. It doesn’t matter that I, like any human being, still care about receiving recognition and attention and praise.

And maybe that’s correct. I personally don’t think that billionaires have a place in deciding the direction of the economy, and--if we're really going to consider fandom an economy--in fandom terms, if I’m not a billionaire, or even a millionaire, I’m definitely in the infamous “one percent.” So, just as no one wants to hear Elon Musk say “money isn’t everything,” maybe it’s not my place to say “kudos isn’t required, actually.”

That said, I’m not the only one who has a problem with the stats-based discourse around fandom community. However, the main counter-response to this discussion I see goes something like this: you shouldn’t be writing fic for validation. If you’re writing for attention, you’re doing it for the wrong reason. Authors should write fic because they love it without any expectation of return.

This is, in my opinion, missing the point of what is meant by fandom community.

I wrote fanfic before I knew that fanfic, as a concept, existed. I read books; I wanted them to be different; I wrote little stories for myself with new endings, with self-inserts, with cross-overs, with alternate universes. I did it for myself in the 90s. It never occurred to me that anyone else would do this, much less that people would share.

As @faiell points out—creating and sharing are two different things. I created fics for myself, but I decided to share them in the early 2000s because other people might like them, too. And of course, I wanted to hear whether other people liked them. How could I not? I might decorate my home just for me and not for anyone else’s preferences, but when people come over and say my house is nice, how can I not enjoy that? And if a lot of people think my house is nice, which encourages me to post pictures of it online, isn’t it understandable I might do so with the hope that more people will say my house is nice? And, honestly, if no one is appreciating my pictures, I probably won’t continue to go through the trouble of taking them and posting them. I’ll just enjoy my house that I decorated without sharing, the end.

When I found out there were whole fannish communities where people discussed canon and tossed ideas around about it, made theories and prompts and insights into the characters, fics they had written and recs for other fics and analyses of fics and art based on fics and fics based on art—I wanted to be a part of that, too. Now, sometimes, I write fic not out of an internal need to do so but out of a desire to participate in that community.

The idea that we write fic only for the love of it, then post it only because we possess it, is a process entirely centered on the self. It’s fandom in a vacuum. The idea that we share this thing, that we feel pleasure if someone likes it but feel nothing at all if no one says anything about it, that it’s completely okay to be ignored and unseen—that’s not what a community is either. That’s some weird sort of self-aggrandizement through self-effacement—because yes, there is often a weird kind of virtue-signaling in this kind of discourse.

I say this as someone who has virtue-signaled in that way: “some people write for stats, but I write for myself.” It’s bullshit. Sure, I write for myself, but why post it on the internet? Honestly, said virtue has a whiff of the capitalist machine, which would like you to produce for the sake of production, work for the sake of work. The noblest among us expect no recompense for that which they give!

The reason that I’m bringing this back around to capitalism is that capitalism actively works to dismantle community. The reason that folks are out here pleading for “engagement” in order to “pay back” authors for the products they give us “for free” is because people no longer even have the language to discuss how to participate in meaningful community. And frankly, how to build back fandom community, in the face of enshittification, is getting harder and harder to see.

But I do think that if we value fanfic and the fanfic community, it’s really, really not constructive to judge whether someone’s reasons for writing fanfic are valid. It’s also weird to me that it would be considered wrong that someone’s reason for sharing fanfic is because they would like to receive some recognition for it, when in fact that seems to be the most natural reason in the world for sharing something so private and vulnerable with the world.

Let’s go back to that idea of how hurtful it is to find out your fanfic is trending on tiktok without anyone from tiktok saying anything to you about your fic, or how it can be painful to find out there’s a secret discord channel dedicated to your fic. The people who respond to that with, “Ah, but you shouldn’t be writing to get attention!” are missing the point. The fic did get attention. It got lots. Attention obviously wasn't why the writer was writing--they were writing to participate, and they didn't get to. At all.

However, if your conclusion is that the author was upset because these particular stats were not accruing under this author’s profile, thereby preventing them from achieving the vaunted status of BNF and influencer—I don’t know, maybe you’re right. But I don’t think that’s why I, personally, have been hurt by these things, and I doubt it’s what hurt the people in these posts either. They’re hurt because they want to participate, and they have been systematically excluded by the very people they thought were part of the community they thought they could participate in.

Sure, if those folks from tiktok and the discord server all came and showered the author with kudos and comments that said “kudos,” the author might have felt satisfied enough with the quantity of this recognition that they would continue writing. But in the end, this still does nothing to address the problem of fandom community, in which the deep, meaningful recognition, interactions, and relationships in fandom are getting harder and harder to have and to build, as a result of how people now expect to engage in online spaces.

So, how to address the problem of fandom community? You probably read this long, long post hoping that I had an answer, and for that I must apologize. I don’t have solutions. My intent was to be descriptive, rather than prescriptive. I wished to outline the problems that I’m seeing in what was hopefully a slightly new or at least thought-provoking way, rather than offer solutions.

But, now that I’m talking about being prescriptive, maybe I can offer one suggestion, which is—maybe the solution to this isn’t about prescribing behavior. I do understand the irony in writing a prescription saying we shouldn’t prescribe people, but I’m going to write it anyway:

Maybe we shouldn’t be telling anyone the appropriate reasons for writing fanfic or for sharing it. Maybe we shouldn’t be telling readers they need to kudos or need to comment. If we’re going to go pointing fingers, we should be pointing at the institutions of capitalism that have made the internet what it is today—but I don’t think that’s going to solve the problem either.

But I do think that describing this problem, understanding what it actually is, not blaming readers for it and not blaming authors for it—I do think that helps. The discussion I linked at the beginning of this post is what I think of as the fandom I miss, the fandom that's now harder and harder to access, the fandom that is dying. That fandom was a social space where people had opinions and disagreed and went back and forth and gazed at their navels and then talked about Buffy the Vampire Slayer.

In the words of @yiiiiiiiikes25, it was a fuckin’ discussion about hats. And we’re hungry for it.

[softly-faye]

𝐁𝐚𝐛𝐲 𝐁𝐮𝐧𝐧𝐲 𝐅𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 ˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚

Dumb!Ditzy!Reader x Rafe Cameron <3

౨ৎ

The big house was so quiet it felt like it echoed every time you sighed and today you’d sighed like a hundred times. Maybe more. You were laying on your stomach across the big fluffy pink rug in the living room your legs swaying in the air behind you as you stared at the little baby onesie on your iPad screen. It had frilly little lace sleeves and soft pastel flowers and you could already see it on a little baby with soft cheeks and a big gummy smile and probably the cutest laugh in the world

Your finger hovered over the screen as you whispered to yourself in your syrupy sweet voice

“If I just buy one onesie that doesn’t mean I’m like actually having a baby right it’s just like manifesting or whatever”

You giggled to yourself and tapped the screen and added it to your cart right next to the baby booties and the tiny pacifier with a rhinestone bow. You’d also pinned seventeen nursery ideas earlier and half of them were pink clouds and teddy bears and one had a tiny chandelier and you had bookmarked it twice on accident

That’s how your days usually went lately. You floated around the house in your frilly slippers with your lip gloss always a little too shiny and your brain bouncing between baby names and outfit ideas and what kind of diaper bag you’d get. You’d even practiced holding a pillow like a baby sometimes and talked to it like it was real. You got lonely. Like really lonely. Rafe was always out working or yelling at someone on the phone and even though you had this big beautiful mansion with a walk-in closet bigger than your old apartment it still felt so empty

So of course you wanted a baby. A tiny little person who would need you and love you and cuddle you all day long. You were made to be a mommy you just knew it

But Rafe didn’t think so

It started again that night at dinner. You’d made spaghetti because it was the only thing you didn’t burn too often but you forgot to make garlic bread and also forgot to tell Rafe the noodles were gluten free because they were cute and pink and you liked the box

And Rafe had one bite and set his fork down with that tight-jawed look he always gave you when he was trying not to lose his temper

“Baby we’ve talked about this. You can’t just buy things because they’re cute and not check the label”

You blinked at him fork halfway to your mouth and your lip started to wobble

“But it’s not like it’s poisoned Rafe it’s just little pink noodles and they’re so aesthetic and like I was thinking it’d be so cute if our baby had pink food too like matching lunches”

Rafe’s eyes narrowed

“There’s no baby”

You gasped a little like he slapped you and set your fork down too now suddenly not hungry

“Well not yet but like maybe soon if you weren’t so mean about it all the time” you pouted folding your arms under your chest and looking away dramatically “I’d be such a good mommy Rafe you don’t even KNOW how good I’d be”

He pushed his chair back and stood up running a hand through his hair already pacing and that meant he was really mad

“Babe last week you lost your phone for two hours and it was in the fridge. The fridge”

You gasped again more offended this time

“Well I was putting the soda away and then I had to check if the strawberries were still fresh and I needed to see if my lipstick melted and I just forgot for a little bit!”

“And two days ago you left the bath running and flooded the guest bathroom. Again”

“I was gonna come back but then Legally Blonde was on and I got distracted and also I thought the bubbles would like know when to stop!”

He looked at you like he couldn’t decide if he wanted to laugh or scream

“I’m not saying you’ll never be a mom I’m saying you’re not ready right now. I can’t just leave a baby with you and hope you remember not to feed it glitter cereal”

You gasped even louder and slapped a hand to your chest

“Okay first of all glitter cereal is literally edible I saw it on TikTok and second of all I would NEVER forget the baby I’d put it in one of those cute little slings and we’d match outfits every single day and I’d love it SO much and—”

“You’re not listening” he snapped and now he was mad really mad and you flinched just a little “Being a mom isn’t just about buying cute stuff and cuddling something all day. It’s hard work. Real work. And you don’t exactly have the best track record with responsibility”

That stung. And you hated when he talked like that like you were some dumb little girl who couldn’t do anything right and your eyes started to fill with tears even though you were trying really really hard to be strong

“I’m not dumb” you whispered voice shaky “I just get distracted sometimes and I love pretty things and I forget stuff but that doesn’t mean I’d be a bad mommy. I just get lonely. And I want someone who’ll love me and need me back”

Rafe’s face softened a little but then hardened again and he looked away shaking his head

“I just don’t think it’s a good idea. Not now. Maybe not ever if you can’t prove you’re serious about it”

That hurt more than anything and you stared at him your heart in your throat

“So you don’t wanna have a baby with me. Ever”

“I didn’t say that”

“You basically did”

You stormed off before he could say anything else and cried under your favorite pink blanket until your mascara smudged all over the pillow and you fell asleep clutching your baby Pinterest board like it was your last hope

The next day was even worse. Rafe left early without kissing you goodbye and you barely got out of bed until it was almost four and you had a bowl of marshmallows for lunch and watched baby animal videos on your phone until your eyes hurt

But then around six you heard the front door click open

And then you heard soft little noises

And then you saw Rafe standing in the entryway holding the softest fluffiest tiniest bunny you’d ever seen in your whole life

You blinked slowly in your oversized hoodie

“Am I dreaming or did you actually bring a lil cotton ball into this house”

Rafe chuckled under his breath and walked over holding it out to you

“She’s real. And she’s yours. You want a baby so bad I figured this might be a start. Bunnies are a lot of work. You gotta feed her and clean up after her and learn her moods and take care of her every single day. If you can do that then maybe we can talk about a real baby later. Like eventually. One day”

Your jaw dropped and you squealed grabbing the bunny like she was made of diamonds and immediately snuggled her to your chest

“She’s perfect ohmygod Rafe look at her little ears she’s got spots and her nose wiggles and I’m gonna name her Bemo and she’s our baby now I’m gonna be the best bunny mommy ever I swear on my lip gloss”

Rafe raised an eyebrow

“You sure? This isn’t just about dressing her up and calling her cute names”

“I already picked out six outfits in my head and a bow for every day of the week and she’s gonna have a tea party on Tuesdays and I’m gonna brush her fur every morning like a real princess bunny and she’s gonna sleep in our bed right in the middle and you better not roll over on her Rafe or I’ll cry so hard”

He laughed again and kissed your temple then led you down the hall to a room you hadn’t seen in a while

It was a full-on bunny palace

The floor was covered in soft pink rugs and there were little castle towers and heart-shaped food bowls and a playpen filled with little plush strawberries and everything was the exact shade of pastel pink you loved most

The walls even had bunny decals and Rafe had set up a little sign that said “BEMO’S ROOM” in glittery cursive lights

You burst into happy tears and fell to your knees hugging Bemo close and sniffling

“She’s so lucky I’m her mommy. I’m gonna love her so much and brush her and feed her and talk to her every single day and we’re gonna have matching outfits and ohmygod I wonder if she likes lullabies”

Rafe knelt beside you and wiped your cheeks gently

“Just take care of her baby. That’s all I’m asking. Show me you can do it. And then maybe one day… we’ll talk about adding another little someone to the family. For real”

You sniffled again and nodded so fast your hair bounced

“I promise I’ll be the best. Just you wait Rafe. Mommy’s gonna make you proud”

And that night Bemo slept right in the middle of the bed with you and Rafe and even did a little angry thump when Rafe turned over too fast and you giggled and kissed her tiny ears and whispered

“You’re the beginning of everything Bemo”

[zae-heeyyy]

Peregrine

Summary: Arthur misses your birthday. Pairing: Arthur Morgan x female!reader Word count: 2,124 Tags: angst, smut, high honor Arthur, oral, pnv, fingering Warnings: 18+ MDNI

an: A request fulfilment for my dear Kenny @emerald-ranch. I kinda added in the birthday thing, I hope that was alright! It became clear to me as I was writing this that I 1000% have a thing for Arthur on his knees...XD anyway, I hope you enjoy!

Peregrine: having a tendency to wander

The length of Arthur’s absences varied like the frequency of rumbles during a storm. Dark clouds hung heavy over every departure, and your tears threatened to drop like rain down a window.

“I’ll be back soon,” he always promised while kissing the top of your head and squeezing you tight. Some trips were short cracks of thunder, ending just as fast as they began; others would roll on for days, the heavy rain flooding the rushing river that was your anxiety. 

But in time, he’d arrive with blood, dirt, and sweat staining his shirt and the scar on his chin covered by his overgrown beard. Outstretched arms would warm you like the afternoon sun. You’d breathe him in, sighing contentedly despite scents of gunpowder and musk clinging to him.

This time was different.

The sun fell below the horizon for the fourth time since he’d departed. Glass bottles clinked as camp buzzed with the lively energy of celebration—a celebration for your birthday. You tried everything to enjoy yourself, forcing air through your vocal cords to mimic a laugh, stretching your lips and showing your teeth to fake a smile, all while trying not to panic.

All the possibilities of his absence spun in your brain in a demonic sacrificial waltz. Was he still alive? Did he get arrested? Was he captured by Pinkertons and tortured while the rest of you partied the night away? Or worse, was he out there, perfectly content with being away knowing you were desperately waiting? To keep yourself sane, you rationalized. He was out finding food and making money. He had mouths to feed and people to take care of. Survival was more important than a birthday.

Whether they were too drunk to notice or respectfully giving you space, nobody protested when you slipped away to Arthur’s tent for the night. Tears spilled down your face and onto his pillow as the last hours of your birthday ticked by.

The stench of dread infiltrated your dreams and ruminated even in your waking hours. Nothing you did could free you from the pain of missing him. At high noon, heavy footsteps prompted you to look up from the growing line of yarn in your lap. You’d memorized the sound of Arthur’s walk like your favorite song, yet the man standing before you felt like an imposter. He wore a familiar cattleman revolver on his hip and long silky locs of hair rested over broad shoulders like always–though more tame this time. And despite their vibrant colors, the wildflowers in his hands dulled in comparison to the bright white, freshly pressed shirt he wore.

And your heart plummeted like a stone in a lake; while you were crying yourself to sleep on your birthday, he saw to himself instead of you. Privy to your dismay, the cowboy’s features lowered into a frown. 

“Darlin,” he started, quiet and hesitant. “I–I ain’t got an excuse.”

You huffed, losing your stitch count and refusing to meet his eyes. “The king has returned.”

Leaves and twigs cracked under his uncomfortable shuffle as he faltered, “thought we could go for a ride, to–”

And you didn’t let him finish. “M’busy, Arthur.” 

Silence hung in the air while he thought of a response. “M’sorry.” He said, then continued when you didn’t acknowledge him. “I’m sorry, and that should’ve been the first thing outta my mouth.”

“Yeah, it should’ve,” you agreed grudgingly. The threads of intertwined yarn were jumbled and lopsided now, a tangled reflection of this whole week. You threw the needles and yarn down into the grass beside you and finally brought yourself to face him. He wanted to smile finally seeing you, but instead, something like a sigh of relief rolled out with his words.

“Time just…got away from me,” he admitted. “I’m a self-serving idiot bastard, and I’m just…sorry. Just lemme make it up to ya’.” 

You thought for a moment, then glanced over your shoulder at Grimshaw, trying to find an out.

” But I got chores,” you told him.   

“Don’tchu’ worry ’bout that.” He extended his free hand out to you, and dammit, yours was in it faster than you could deny yourself.  The outlaw lifted you up from your seat with one arm and locked yours and his together as he drew you away from camp. And you had to give credit where credit was due because he pulled out all the stops: a ride in a stolen stagecoach, wine, dinner, and a room. He spoiled you in the only ways he knew how, but still, you couldn’t rid yourself of the uninvited guest, unadulterated hurt, that squatted in your bones.

“How was the party?” He’d asked.

“Fine.” You replied, pushing food around on your plate.

“Charles told me the girls managed to get you a cake.”

“They did.”

And the conversation trailed off like it had so often tonight. Every time you glanced at him, the hair, and especially the shirt, hate-filled magma churned within, and you couldn’t hold it any longer, your words spewing out like lava. 

“S’a fancy shirt.” 

His chin touched his chest as he fiddled with the top button. He opened his mouth to speak, but you cut him off for the second time tonight.

“Glad you had time to stop and pamper yourself. Nice shave, fancy hair, new shirt. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think it was your birthday.”

You didn’t mean to sound so crass, but now that the pot had boiled over, stopping the overflow felt damn near impossible. 

“I thought–”

“Thought?” A curt laugh halted his attempt to explain himself. “It’s hard to imagine you doing any of that.”

And he hung his head, an old dog with his tail between his legs–shameful that he’d disappointed the one he loved the most.

“And you paid for a bath too. Tell me, was it twenty-five cents or fifty?”

Your chair screeched against the floor, and you jerked back before he could answer, fleeing to anywhere but that table with him. The room key Arthur gave you in the stagecoach burned a hole in your pocket. You trotted up the stairs, searching for 2C and ignoring his calls from behind you. The least you deserved was a night behind closed doors, locked away from everything, even if it meant locking him out in the process.

Warm light burst out as you crossed into the room. Lit candles lined the fireplace mantle, their flames casting dancing shadows on the walls. A brand new day dress draped across the chair, a decorative hair comb resting atop it.

“Saw it in a window.” His words poured out smoothly like aged whisky, the sudden sound causing you to jump but prompting the skin on your arms to prick up all the same. And you were embracing each other without another thought—your fingers intertwining behind his neck, his hands settling on your hips.

“M’sorry, sweetheart. Ain’t ever gonna forgive m’self for lettin’ you down.” 

And you listened patiently while he devolved into his long-winded explanation.

“Was hoping to make a quick house call. Get in n’ out in one night, quick and easy. And I did, but some goddamn bounty hunters found my trail on the way back. Spent a day hiding out, and knew I wouldn’t make it back in time. Figured I oughta bring something nice back with me, you deserved that much.”

Your eyes drifted to the buttons of the shirt again, and he tilted your chin to look back up at him. 

“I saw the dress in a window, and let the man sell me the shirt too. Wanted to be at least a little presentable–somebody you’d wanna look at. Ain’t much I can do about my face, but...” 

Chuckling under his breath, he snaked a hand into yours and flicked your stuck-out lip. “Then I saw a sign outside the barber. Buy some pomade and get a free comb for your lady,” he touched his hair and rubbed the grease between his fingers.

“Then I got the key, laid everything out nice, stopped for some flowers, and thought I was prince charmin’ off to sweep you away to the ball–well, the room, more like.” He scratched his neck nervously and shook his head. “I thought you’d think a stagecoach fancy enough to make you forget how much I screwed up. No magic pumpkins ’round here though,” he shrugged. “Just an idiot, head-over-heels, hoping you can find it in you to forgive him.”

And frankly, you’d forgiven him the second you stepped foot into the room. Trying to fight your smile was a losing battle.

“You’re right about the idiot part.”

The gunslinger let out a breathy, almost laugh, before taking your hands in his and ushering you to the bed. Relief ran through you. After four long nights, you could finally submerge yourself in those eyes, blue and gold-like specks of sunlight reflecting on the sea.

“Please, forgive me, darlin’, I’m beggin’.”

Rough pads of his fingers traced over your knuckles as he waited patiently for your response. You crossed your legs and bounced your foot playfully. 

“I don’t know, I seen dogs beg for scraps better than that, Arthur Morgan.” 

And while your words were harsh, both of you were smiling now. He grunted, a sure sound of him swallowing his pride, then sunk to one knee, then another.

“Sweetheart,” the pet name came out thick and rich like honey, “M’sorry. Lemme fix it.”

His hands gripped both your knees, squeezing them lovingly, his touch so reassuringly familiar. He scooted in closer, guiding your legs apart and settling them on either side of his shoulders.

“I can do that thing ya’ like.” he offered, his chipped tooth smile brightening his face.

You ran one hand through his hair and brought him in by the collar with the other, pecking his lips once, then twice. On the third, you slowed down, lingering with your mouth against his, savoring the all too fleeting feeling of home. Soft giggles slipping between your lips interrupted the moment. Arthur stared up at you with nothing but devotion in his eyes, that laugh like the sweetest medicine, healing his diseased heart long riddled by self-loathing and loss. His right hand had started slow circles on your thigh, reminding you of his proposition.

“Thing I like? Don’t know what you mean, Mr. Morgan.” 

But you were shimmying yourself back onto the bed, and he was grabbing at your bloomers at the same time. He lifted his brow knowingly, and hummed a “mhm,” while you lifted your hips, helping him take the garment off and toss it to the floor.

You bunched up your skirts around your waist and looked down at your lover as he lay on his stomach between your legs. His beard grazed your inner thigh, sending thousands of butterflies fluttering in your stomach. Squeezing your eyes shut, you sighed in relief, releasing four nights of pent-up anxiety as his lips found your center.

And minutes later, just after letting you come down from the first one, he got to work on another climax, fingers pistoning steadily while he whispered all the things he loved about you in your ear. He was on his side next to you now, his own arousal nudging your thigh. The gruffness in his voice sent another surge of pleasure through you.

“You know, I never stop thinking ’bout you when I’m away.” You fluttered around his fingers, and your hips arched a little higher off the bed, “always thinkin’ ’bout you like this, all pretty and spread open for me.”

His thumb started fast circles on your clit, and you braced yourself for another tidal wave as his passionate speech continued.

“Next time y’miss me, get on that cot, spread these pretty thighs, think about what I’m doing t’ya, and use those fingers to getcherself off, can you do that for me?”

Your eyes rolled back as your mouth fell open, but only sounds of absolute ecstasy came out of you.

“Whatd’ya say, darlin’?”

And with that last question, the dam broke, your orgasm busting out around his fingers. Your sounds were the most divine opera, rising in pitch with every “Yes, Arthur,” as you melted. 

And he wasn’t done with you yet. Despite being miles away from camp, both of you made a home with each other. Home was the trail of raised skin that followed his touch and pairs of eyes meeting in love-filled exchanges. Home was the first few flutters of your pussy as he sheathed himself deep inside you. One night or even a week’s journey wouldn’t deter him, for he’d claw his way through the fiery depths of perdition to get back home to you.

[luludeluluramblings]

Smalltown!Neglected!Meta!Reader x Yandere!Batfam ☁️ Part Four

☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️

Part One ☁️ Part Two ☁️ Part Three ☁️ Part Five ☁️ Part Six ☁️ Part Seven ☁️ Part Eight

☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️

Warning: Obessive behavior, Yandere tendencies, su*c*de/death.

A/N: Finally adding warning labels. We’re getting somewhere. I’ve had some of this written out, but had to add some stuff in to drive it home. Reader’s coping skills are failing, but everyone’s starting to get obsessive. Also, I’ve been fighting myself on drawing art for this. (I’m a bit out of practice.)

☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️

Reader has basically called befriending Damian and Jason a lost cause.

Bruce still avoids reader. And, everyone else is still busy with what Reader assumes is Batwork. (Which is fine, Reader is fine. It’s not like they’re stuck in the manor pacing the halls every damn day.)

Cass and Duke’s get back from their respective missions. They weren’t gone too long, but they’re come back a bit roughed up. They debrief with Bruce and then have to go back to being civilians.

Reader is waiting to comfort them. Not to confront them. Reader’s more concerned with how Duke has a mild limp and how Cass’s knuckles have some bruising than them ditching. Plus, reader is still not completely sure that her family is Gotham’s vigilantes. They need to confirm.

But, Duke and Cass both appreciate Reader checking on them and not asking questions. Cass suspects Reader suspects something, judging by Reader’s body language. But, it’s nice for someone who’s naturally soft to be soft with you.

Duke appreciates how Reader treats him so, normally. In a way it reminds him of his childhood, when things were easier. He has a normal friend now, completely mostly free of Gotham’s crazy.

Reader is happy their back, but disappointed that they won’t be going to the school gala. In fact, a few family members make comments about how it sounds like a waste of time.

Bruce, however, is actually happy Reader is excited. And, Reader gets even more excited when one of their new friends ask to be their date. Reader’s date is so genuinely excited about going to this Gala with Reader. (Uh-oh, that’s not good.)

Some of Reader’s other friends, the more haughty and wealthy ones, tell Reader that they should’ve picked someone more… refined. Which Reader defends that their Date is perfectly sweet and good looking to boot.

But, this leads Reader to decide not to tell anyone in the family about their date. They don’t want to hear the same thing from their Gotham family. Reader does inform BFF, younger brother, and Nana of their date. For some reason, BFF was a bit disgruntled, and even Nana tried to convince them it was probably best not to go. Younger Brother was encouraging reader to have fun. (But he was whispering into the phone, and asking Reader if he could come visit them soon. Please. People are acting weird here. Is everything okay, do you need me to come home. No. No. Don’t— It’s fine. I just wanna come visit you.)

But, reader was committed to going and enjoying their date and wearing their custom made outfit.

That night, Reader was given Bruce’s permission to get ready at one of their friends’ houses. Reader was practically spoiled by their friends, it was almost a bit overwhelming. Their date meet them at the Gala escorting them inside and having a wonderful time. (I hope it last. It’s not going to though. How sad.)

At the end of the night, their Date escorted them home. To end a near perfect night Reader got a kiss. A long and pretty heated kiss. Right in front of the Entrance camera.

Tim had pulled up the camera feed when Reader got home, at Bruce’s request, just to check on Reader. (He was going to do it anyway.) The entire family was winding down from Patrol in the Batcave when the feed came on. Leaving them all to get a front row seat to Reader’s little act of rebellion.

(That’s all this was, right. Just a little act of rebellion. This won’t happen again, obviously. They won’t fucking let it.)

Bruce is livid. It doesn’t help that Jason wolf-whistles to further enrage him. (Jason is making plans to break someone’s leg though. Possibly the Dates. How fucking dare they corrupt you, that’s his job.)

Stephane is honestly impressed, didn’t think Reader had it in them. (How cute! I wonder what we could get up to together.)

Duke, sweet Duke, didn’t want to see that. His (best) friend getting tongued down on camera. He’s going to need bleach and therapy. (Why would you do that? When you can just game with him. You’re his bro. Gross.)

Cassandra is… understanding. Reader has needs. Reader wants affection. That’s fine. But, not that one. Pick someone else. (Llet her pick, actually. You can’t read people like her, you need someone better. Someone you she can trust. She needs to approve of them first.)

Dick is more disapproving, but he understands. Still, this changes how he sees Reader. Sweet innocent helpless Reader has a wild side. (But still reader is clearly helpless, obviously they don’t know what they’re doing.)

It also changes how Barbara sees Reader. Or confirms. Barbara runs under the assumption that Reader is more like Bruce than anyone realizes. (She’s not wrong, but it’s not in the way she thinks.) Bruce is a bit of natural flirt, he just hides it in his ‘Brucie’ persona. Reader apparently takes after that. (Damian sure didn’t.)

Damian, is disgusted, disappointed, and disapproving. He doesn’t doubt Father will scold you, but your date needs to be dealt with and all other suitors as well. (He’ll take care of it. He’s your brother, that’s his job.)

Tim, however, is legitimately jealous. He wanted to see this side of reader first. He got a glimpse of it before, but he wants it for himself now that he sees the full thing. (Also, right in front of the camera? Did Reader know it was there? If they did, would they be okay with Tim filming them more? Just to observe, please.)

Tim immediately starts pulling up all the information he can about Reader’s date. Without Bruce’s prompting this time. Bruce does nod in approval before marching to the entrance. Intent on putting an end to this and giving Reader a firm talking to.

It goes, horribly. Date is forced to leave and Bruce tears into Reader. (What happened to the outfit I bought you? Why didn’t you tell me you had a date? I didn’t approve of this. I don’t care that you’re back on time or that you’re old enough, you’re my child! Mine! You get my approval first.)

Reader stays composed, barely. The good news is that the brutal scolding is the only consequence Reader faces. (Bruce is more upset about Reader not seeking his approval than doing something he disapproves of. He’s your father. He should have a damn say. Would you have done this to D̴̖̞͑̊̓a̷͎͗̇d̸̜͍̩̓̎d̸̪̩̟̆̎y̶̛̼̌? Why are you doing this to him?)

The bad news, Reader’s date’s life is over. With just a few clicks from Tim and approval from Bruce, Date’s family company falling apart. Reported to the government, lawsuits filed by third-parties. Hidden debts needing to be collected NOW. Any misfiled taxes? Found and reported. And, most importantly, all calls and ways for Date to contact reader again, blocked.

Socially and financially, Date’s life is ruined in less than twenty-four hours. Worst of all, Reader doesn’t know. They’re still on cloud nine about the night, despite Bruce’s lecture. But, come Sunday morning, two days later, things fall apart.

Date is reported dead. Apparent suic1de just the night before. The financial implosion of the family was named the apparent reason.

Reader is distraught, confused, and hurt. What happened? What’s going on? This can’t be happening. I don’t want to lose anymore people I care about. I don’t want to lose someone like Momma and Daddy again.

Reader’s Gotham friends console Reader, saying it’s not their fault. That Date struggled with thought before. Don’t blame yourself. (They weren’t worth your time.)

Surprisingly enough, it’s Dick that finds reader having a borderline breakdown.

Dick clings and coddles and coos, but this time. Reader clings back. Reader clings back tight. Desperate for comfort. Which is surprising for Dick.

Most of the family tends to brush off his attempts at comfort until they hit rock bottom. For once, this isn’t someone hitting rock bottom before they need him. This is someone that’s just genuinely sad and overwhelmed and needs wants him.

Dick also ran under the assumption that Reader was allergic to affection, like Damian and Bruce. But, apparently, that wasn’t the case. It’s a nice feeling. To have someone not fight him when he tries to be comforting. Someone who is happy to take it. Of course, he doesn’t stay long. Once Reader pulls themselves together he’s got to get back to Buldhaven, but this time he leaves a bit slower. (But, him leaving somehow makes Reader feel worse.)

[leonalovesalot]

Freaky on camera I

Brother’sBestFriend!ArtDonaldson x Camgirl!Reader

18+ MinorsDNI

wc: 2.5k

.._.._.._.._.._.._.._.._.._.._.._.._.._.._.._.._.._.._.._.._.._.._.._.._

Being a student athlete while maintaining a high enough GPA to keep a full-ride scholarship was no easy feat. Art had spread himself too thin and had barely gotten a taste of that college life he had been so excited for. Between practice, tournaments, exams, and assignments, Art sometimes didn't have time to eat dinner, let alone party. And the one time he did force himself to go to a frat party on a Friday night, he began yawning and felt his eyes getting heavy by ten pm. He called it quits, left without saying goodbye to his friends, and just came back to his dorm to pass out.

He was exhausted and was counting down the days until the summer. A few weeks off school was exactly what he needed. He just had to get through the final stretch of exams and he'd be done. He was already dreaming of driving back home and seeing his parents. Eating a home-cooked meal and sleeping in a room that wasn't the size of a shoebox. He'd hang out with and finally catch up with Patrick after months- just thinking about it was making him smile.

Art had a pretty simple routine. After class, he'd have practice, then he'd come back to his dorm, shower, and study until the words on the page started blurring and floating around. He'd then call it a night, and get in bed with his phone in one hand and a sock in the other. What? He needed a way to relieve stress and it's not like he'd gotten a girlfriend during his time at college. A girlfriend who'd be eager to suck him off whenever he needed. A girlfriend who'd be ready to please him anytime. No, he hadn't found anyone and so his hand would have to suffice.

Lately, though, the usual videos didn't do it for him. Watching two people go at it wasn't personal enough for him- it got him hard but he was still craving something else. He was embarrassed to admit, but he wanted to feel seen, noticed - he wanted interaction.

Tonight, like any other night, he was ready with his earbuds in and phone in his hand. He looked up the usual site he visited and typed in his usual search. He clicks on a video that looks appealing and starts to bring his hand down under his boxers waiting for the page to load. The page loads but he's met with a pop-up ad instead. In large, pink letters it read "Want company? The hottest girls are only a click away. No bullshit!" Art groans, annoyed, and is about to click the small 'x' on the corner but something makes him pause.

Isn't this what he wanted? Interaction? Not to be alone?

It looked like a cam-girl website which intrigued him. Why hadn't he ever tried this before? He knew it wasn't free, but he was curious. Maybe just for tonight he could check it out? See if there's anything worth his time (and money). He pulls his hand out of his boxers and sits up in his twin bed. He goes ahead and clicks on the ad which then directs him to a new page.

A bunch of thumbnails of women, some naked, with a big red 'LIVE' in the corner. Woah, this was the real deal. He scrolls down for a moment, familiarizing himself with the site until it asks him to sign up and subscribe 'for all your fantasies in one place'. There was a week-long free trial, and after a few minutes of heavy debating, he decided to sign up.

Username: _________

Art pauses and thinks for a few seconds. He couldn’t use his actual name but maybe he could rearrange the letters?

He types in slowly: GoldenSon

He makes up a quick password and mindlessly agrees to the terms and conditions. The account was ready.

He repeats to himself he was only doing this to feed his curiosity. He'd definitely cancel after the free trial ended.

When the paywall finally went away, he continued scrolling. The amount of people watching some of these videos was blowing his mind. One woman had 12.6k viewers. So, almost thirteen thousand people were watching one woman pleasure herself. Art thought it was kind of laughable but realized he was here to do the same. He scrolled down further and the numbers of viewers began to decrease.

Coming upon people with a few hundred viewers was a lot less intimidating. He thought that maybe this is what he was looking for. His eyes raked over the whole webpage before him and suddenly widened at the sight of a specific thumbnail. His eyes squinted and he zoomed in to make sure he wasn’t hallucinating.

Art gasps, his breath catching in his throat. He turns his phone off, and hurls it toward the foot of the bed. His heart was beating a mile a minute and his face was burning up.

That couldn’t be right?

That… no.

No.

He sat on his bed with his face buried in his hands.

He thought he saw you. Patrick’s sister. On a fucking cam-girl site.

He shakes his head. No no. He was definitely mistaking you for someone else. No way.

He catches his breath and lifts his head from his hands. His eyes dart to his laptop on the desk across the room. There’s no harm in making sure right? He’d be doing this to keep his mind at peace.

He swallows and pushes the covers away. He knew his plans for the night were cancelled as he made his way over to his study corner.

Art sits down, opens his laptop and types in the website's name. He pauses to take a deep breath. Okay. Here we go.

He scrolls down slowly, eyeing every thumbnail.

He didn’t know what he wanted. If it really was you, what would he do with that information? Would he tell Patrick? Should he?

Even if it wasn’t you, he still finds the whole situation a little weird. Why was he picturing you, of all people, on this site? And at this time of the night?

Art had known you your whole life. At least that’s how it seemed. He didn’t know you that well because you were always just ‘Patrick’s sister’ to him. He could count on one hand the number of conversations he’d had with you, one-on-one. But he still, loosely, knew what you were up to and the type of person you were. A nice girl who kept to herself and had a tight-knit group of friends. Not much else to it.

He finally scrolls down far enough and comes across the videos with a few hundred views. He took a deep breath and carefully ran his eyes over each row.

His eyes stopped at one thumbnail. And he felt like his heart was going to follow suit.

It was you.

Holy fuck it was you.

It was larger on his laptop screen so he clearly recognized your face, your hair, your eyes, and your lips. He reads the alias you've created for yourself - 'YourRoxy'. He then hovers his cursor over the small box and debates clicking.

His curiosity was fist fighting his self-restraint.

Curiosity won.

Art closes his eyes tight and clicks on the thumbnail.

“Ooh! A new viewer. Hey, welcome.” Your voice sounded different than it usually did. You were putting on a persona, clearly. One with a low and sensual voice that spread goosebumps all over his body.

Art opens his eyes, and stares at you properly now. You took up his whole screen. His eyes began to look everywhere, but at you. It felt wrong.

The chat at the side of the screen was filled with men, and women it seemed, sharing their dirtiest thoughts and questions. There were currently a hundred and four people watching you. Some sent money along with their comments and those were the ones you were enthusiastically responding to.

Art takes in a shaky breath.

His eyes finally wander back to you. He’d never seen you in such little clothing. A skimpy, white tank top that barely covered your breasts. God, what were you doing? How was this real?

Your eyes narrowed at a comment and you read it to yourself under your breath, “are you single?”

Art’s ears perk up.

You giggle softly, “I am, yeah. I have yet to meet a man who can handle me.” You smirk at the camera and tilt your head.

Art hadn’t even blinked since he started watching you. You knew what you were doing. How did he not notice how fucking sexy you were when he’d come over before? He shakes his head. No, that’s wrong. Why would he think that way? That would jeopardize his friendship with Patrick.

“Yeah? You could handle me Dan96?” You smile sweetly, “I’d like to know how. Tell me.”

Oh my god. How could you say these things? And why couldn’t Art just turn away?

Dan96 had sent you $50 for that one question. You made fifty bucks in, literally, one second.

Art shakily brings his hand up to the keyboard and types in the question: how does this work?

He sends it in and notices that you hadn’t responded.

No, you were too busy flirting with Dan96.

You bite your lip and smile, “you’d choke me while fucking me? I like that. A little choking never hurt anyone”

Art’s eyes widened. He’d never heard you say such explicit things. What’s more shocking though was that he was starting to get hard. He groans- this was so wrong!

He swallows and decides to send in his question again, but this time attaching five bucks to it.

GoldenSon: how does this usually work?

He chews on his lip while he waits. You stop mid- sentence while talking to Dan96 and look at the new comment.

“How does this usually work?” You chuckle gently and Art feels himself grow slightly embarrassed.

“I’m guessing you’re new uhm.. GoldenSon. Aw, what a cute name.” Art covers his face with his hands. He couldn’t believe this was happening. He was getting more aroused by the second. It really had been a while since he talked to a girl. A pretty one too. God, you were pretty. How had he not noticed?

“This can work however you’d like. I’m here to chat.. we can talk about your day. My day- anything really. Or if you’d like me to do something .. like take off my clothes,” Art’s breath hitched. “Mm you want me to touch myself? You want me to talk you through it? I’m here for anything. I’m here for you. All I want is to make you feel good.” You lick your lips.

Art was drooling onto his keyboard. There was a tent in his boxers now that was getting uncomfortable to ignore.

Fuck, he wanted to touch himself so bad. He wanted you to touch him.

Oh, god. This was a mistake.

He should’ve just gone to bed. Why did he click on the ad? Why did he make an account? Why did he scroll so far down? Why did you have to be so alluring? Why was he typing into the chat again?

Why was he asking you to help him get off?

GoldenSon: Talk me through it

Art trembled as he moved his hands over the keyboard.

He watches your expression morph into one full of intrigue.

"Alright, baby. Are you hard for me?" You tilt your head and lean a little closer to the camera, accentuating your tits.

Art gulps and brings his right hand down to his throbbing cock. There was a wet spot forming on his boxers already. This was going to be quick.

GoldenSon: So hard

You read his comment and smile immediately. Art mentally pats himself on the back like he was desperate for your approval.

The disturbing fact that you were his best friend's sister was still rattling around in his mind but was silenced by the overwhelming arousal he was feeling.

"I like the sound of that. I wanna get you off. I wish I was there with you, GoldenSon," You brought your hand up to rest your chin on. It was all strategic because your pinky finger was resting on your bottom lip which was then parted and your pinky was in between your teeth.

Art stared like a deer in headlights at your pretty lips, and your pretty mouth.

Did you mean it? He shivered. Did you mean what you said about wanting to be there with him? Have you ever thought of him in a sexual way? Or was he just Patrick's friend to you?

A moan interrupts his thoughts as he looks down and realizes he had his hand wrapped around his girthy cock and was moving it up and down.

He brings his free hand to type into the chat again.

GoldenSon: wish ypu wer here too

Normally he'd be annoyed about the typos but his focus was fully on his pleasure and your face.

"If I was there, I'd be ready for you- on my knees. Ready to make you feel good. You must be a hard working man. You deserve someone to make you feel good. Oh, I wanna taste you so bad." You let out a small whine and brought your hand to your breast and squeezed it.

Art's eyes widened and he couldn't believe the sight in front of him. This was like a million layers of fucked up.

You were Patrick's sister.

He was Patrick's friend. Best friend.

You had no idea that he was the one speaking to you like this.

You had no idea he was jerking off to your fucking tits when he'd barely spare you a glance on most days.

Art tightened his grip, applying more pressure, and continued the motion as he stared closely at your breasts.

GoldenSon: im cloxer

You smile at his typo, which probably indicated to you that he was more focused on something else.

"I want you to cum for me, baby. Oh, I wish I could taste it. I'd lick it all off you- every last drop. Clean you up with my tongue. You want that don't you?" You pulled your tank top down and one of your tits sprung out, which you cupped and played with.

Art watches in shock. He then shuts his eyes tight and feels himself reach his climax with the image of your tits on his mind. He feels hot release drip down his palms and he groans as he milks himself. He pants and catches his breath, still in a daze.

GoldenSon: Thank you, Roxy

"Of course, baby." You blow a kiss at the screen, "I'm here Tuesday's and Friday's after ten pm," You cover yourself up with your tank top again. "Will I see you again?" You were staring into the camera with your twinkling eyes.

You had him in a trance. Patrick's sister had him in a trance.

GoldenSon: Yes

[GoldenSon has gifted you $20]

.._.._.._.._.._.._.._.._.._.._.._.._.._.._.._.._.._.._.._.._.._.._.._.._

If I told you I wrote half of this while in line at the bank would you believe me?

Thank you for reading, as always!!

[cult-of-husbandos]

yami ai [yandere] - Hot Yandere Singles Near You

synopsis: you click on a random pop-up ad and are visited by weird smiling man in suit.

genre: pure crack (like fr), fluff, tbh there's not really a plot

word count: 4.4k

warnings: implied stalking

Isn’t insomnia just the worst? Like, seriously? What’s the point of being a human being with antiquated thoughts and impressive cognitive and motor skills when your brain fights you on the most basic stuff. For example, like sleeping!!

You must’ve refreshed YouTube and Twitter over a thousand times. Over 8 billion people in the world and there’s no new content anywhere? You groaned and jumped back over onto Twitter, silently praying and pleading for something new to show up on your feed. Maybe a wacky billionaire got eaten by a mob of homeless people or maybe a news article about a Floridian doing something gross and outrageous and virtually impossible.

But nope. Nothing.

Not a single thing piqued your interest. You groaned again and looked at the time on your dimly lit phone. It was past 2 a.m. and you were bored out of your mind. You then lazily clicked on Google and sighed.

‘Maybe someone posted a new fanfic over something…’ you hoped. And even if there wasn’t a new fic uploaded you’ll just read the old ones you favorited. Perhaps reading something might put you to sleep.

As you were scrolling through your favorite ship tags, you were startled by a pop up ad covering up 90% of the screen and flashing emojis.

“Ugh… seriously?” you groaned. “They should make ad-blockers on phones for this shit.” You squinted at the bright lettering emanating from your phone even though it was at the lowest brightness setting.

⚠️(99+) Hot Yandere Singles NEAR YOU⚠️

Yandere’s…? Singles? Near me?

The pop-up ad had flashing peach, cherry, and eggplant emojis with a water splash emoji at the end to signify… well, you’re not sure what it was trying to signify. On the sides of the ad, it showed pictures of very gorgeous men and women, all striking suggestive poses. Underneath the title was a small summary that read. ‘These lonely desperate yanderes wanna meet you! They’ll most likely find you anyway, but wouldn’t you rather be the honey to a bee instead of a fly? Try it NOW for FREE!! No hookups! No catfishes! No sign ups!’ Then below that were a few empty boxes to fill out requiring your personal information.

"..."

Was this a porn ad?!

No way at 2:45 in the freaking morning did you just get a porn pop-up ad while googling mafia au fanfiction. This has to be some kind of joke. Maybe it was prank and someone was just fucking with you. And how and why would there be 99+ yanderes in your area?! You couldn’t be surrounded by that many psychos. Could you? Whatever the case may be, it was now past 2 a.m. and as the rule of life states ‘Nothing good happens after 2 a.m.’. You don’t know if it was the lack of sleep or just reckless curiosity, but you gave your shoulders a shrug and mumbled a ‘fuck it’ as you put in your information. Your name, number, gender, age, preferred sex, email, and mailing address. As you clicked submit and continued scrolling, you gave very little thought about how this would go down.

On one hand, the ad turns out to be real and you get a partner out of this. Or

You get quartered, stalked, doxxed, and murdered like the dumbass you are for putting your personal info into a sketchy porno-like pop-up on Google.

Or, it turns out to be a prank and some asshole sitting in a basement has a good laugh at you.

Meh. You’ll deal with it in the morning.

*****

You were jolted awake with the sound of rapid knocking coming from your front door. You groaned into your pillow as you tried to ignore the person desperately wanting your attention from outside your apartment. You finally got some sleep only for it to get interrupted. Only minutes and minutes of continued knocking without any signs of letting up, you decide to get up and shoo away whoever it was. You wearily grabbed your phone to check the time.

8:02 a.m.

You huffed as you stormed towards the front door.

“If this a fucking Jehova’s Witness, I swear to god…” you grumbled. You swung open the door and threw the person a harsh glare, only to be met with popping sounds as confetti flew in your face.

“Good morning, my dear darling~!! Are you ready to begin on the road to happiness and love?” the stranger shouted a far too happy tone for 8 in the morning.

You took a step back in shock, fully awake as you waved and dusted the confetti from your face and hair. You looked the strange man up and down. He was smiling ear to ear and wore an expensive looking suit to warm for the summer weather. A briefcase stood right beside him along with dozens of other party poppers and a white plastic bag filled with brown bottles with oddly enough no labels on them. You looked at the man’s face. He was surprisingly attractive and without a single flaw anywhere. His hair was jet black and shined a very prominent gloss. You were honestly kind of embarrassed to be seen by him when you looked like such a mess. The man let out a chuckle.

“Oh my.” he said, gently putting his hand over his mouth with vague concern. “I hope I didn’t startle you too much. I probably should’ve sent you an email notifying you of the time I was coming. I’m sorry that must’ve been a troubling awakening.”

You quirked your eyebrow and took another step back, grabbing onto the doorknob so that you could slam it right in his face if things got too weird.

“And… you are?”

“Oh my, oh my. Where are my manners? How careless of me to assume.” The man bowed with a curtsy. “I am the ‘Matchmaker’. My job is to pair two people with their fated soulmate and give each of my clients their happily ever after. It’s very nice to meet you, (Y/N) (L/N).”

You felt a chill crawl down your spine. How’d this weirdo know your name?! You tried to close the door as fast as you could, but the ‘Matchmaker’ was even faster. He clicked his tongue at you, his smile unchanging, but his eyes seemed to harden his gentle tone.

“My, how rude. Is that any way to treat a guest?” He let out another chuckle. “You’ll never find love that way.”

“H-How did you know my name?” you stuttered.

Again, another chuckle. What was so funny? “My dear~. You gave it to me.”

What the hell was he talking about? How could you have given this creep your name? Was he a stalker? A junkie? Noticing the confusion on your face, the man spoke up again.

“Oh my dear. Do you really not remember?” he asked, tilting his head in feign innocence. “You filled out an ad to meet singles in your area. And here I am, coming to fulfill that ad.”

You eased up on the tension you had on the door and tilted your head in surprised confusion. “That was a real ad?”

The man stood up tall and smiled earnestly again. “Of course. However, you are the first person to actually fill out that ad. Really, this is more of a celebration to both of us.”

Huh, so the pop-up ad was real.

Not a prank.

And now there’s a psycho standing at your front door promising you a partner from an actual yandere.

“I honestly thought it was a prank. I mean… yanderes? Isn’t that just an anime thing?”

“Oh, I assure you my darling.” he said with a snide smirk. “Yanderes are real. And when they heard about signing up, it was like tossing chicken in a sea of alligators. All clamoring to be the first person to take a bite.”

Okay, gross but kind of sweet.

“May I come in?”

“Huh?”

“Well, my dear. It would be easier to come in and talk through the process of how this goes instead of standing here.”

“Oh, um… Suuuree-”

“Great! My my darling~. What a lovely home. Very well decorated.” The man quickly strided into your house and made himself comfortable in your living room, looking as if he was analyzing every detail about your house.

Richard Chase would’ve loved your dumbass.

You shut the door and followed him into your own apartment and offered him a seat on your couch. Might as well, right? You’ve gone this far and you're still alive.

“Umm…” you hesitantly shifted from one foot to another. “Do you… um… want some coffee maybe? Or tea? Maybe a glass of water? If you haven;t eaten breakfast yet, I whip you up something.”

Yeah, sure. Feed the man with only a title for a name and waltzed right into your house after showing up after you put in your personal information into a random pop-up ad at 3 a.m. promising you a happy life with hot single yanderes in your area. You are the pinnacle of human genius. The apex of natural selection. The creme de la creme of common sense. Charles Darwin would be so impressed.

“How thoughtful. Just coffee would be fine. Thank you.”

After brewing a quick pot, you sat across from the man facing him heads on and gently slid him his steaming cup. After a while of taking little sips in weird silence, he spoke up again.

“Before we continue, I’d just like to say: Thank you so much for applying for this wonderful opportunity!! Not many people would click on an ad requiring doxxing information to meet their soulmates! Again, congrats on being our number one willing client!”

“Willing client?” you asked.

“Well, of course! For some reason, humans seem to really love the idea of a yandere until there’s one standing on their front porch!” he laughed.

“Humans? I’m sorry. Are you not human, Mr…?”

“Ah ah! No need for formalities! Just ‘The Matchmaker’ or simply ‘Matchmaker’.

“Oh, so… you don’t have a true name? Or is that just a title?”

“Oh darling~.” he sang sweetly. “That’s none of anyone’s fucking business, is it?”

Your eyes widened and let out a nervous chuckle. “Okay, got it! Just Matchmaker. Lovely name. Adore it. In fact, I love when strange mysterious men only give a title for a name.” What the hell does that even mean? You had no idea what you were saying anymore.

“Heh, smart cookie.” He winked. “Shall we begin?”

“Um, yeah, so… how does this work exactly?” you finally asked.

“Simple, my dear darling. Think of this as an ordinary matchmaking appointment. I have a stack of potential soulmates all ready to meet you. I have the same information about them that I also have of you. Each potential soulmate also has a picture so if you don’t really feel up to meeting face-to-face just yet you can look over the picture and see who captures your heart.”

“Face-to-face? So these guys have my picture too?” “Of course! And might I say, those pictures don’t do you justice. In all my years in this business, I’ve never seen such an obsession and overload of potential soulmates for just one person.”

You lightly blushed. “I-I don’t know about that… I barely got any sleep last night so I probably look like a zombie right now…”

“Au contraire, Darling. You look absolutely stunning. If I weren’t such a professional I would burn all these forms and claim you as my one and only~.”

You felt your entire face flush red as the Matchmaker pierced your soul with his longing gaze. It felt like he was staring into your very essence – like he could read you like a book. You nervously cleared your throat and shifted your eyes away, hoping to bring down your blush.

“S-So! Um… should we get started?” you stuttered, internally kicking yourself for being so easily flustered by a couple of smooth words. Ted Bundy would’ve had a field day with your dumbass.

“Ready whenever you are, my dear.” The Matchmaker set his briefcase on your coffee table and pulled out a single form and slid it over towards you. “Let’s start off with an easy one.”

You looked at the form along with the picture of a very attractive man paperclipped to the paper. According to the form, his name is Hamazawa Akita. He was in his early 20’s, had a varying array of hobbies from hiking to scuba diving, and was very much in love with you.

“Well, what do you think?”

“Hm, well, he’s very cute. And very active.”

“Would you like to meet him?”

“Um, sure… is there a number I could call or…?”

“No need! We can bring him in right now.” The Matchmaker snapped his fingers and you whipped your head towards the front door where Akita strolled in, all smiles. You looked back over the Matchmaker. “Did I not lock my door? Wait. More importantly, how’d he get here?!”

The Matchmaker smiled. “My dear, when you’re in this business you pick up a few tricks.” He then turned his attention towards Akita who now stood in the middle of the living room. “No. 1 would you like to introduce yourself?”

Akita stood tall and his eyes seemed to beam directly at you. “My name is Hamazawa Akita. Ever since I saw your picture I’ve dreamed about sweeping you off your feet and claiming you all to myself!”

“So, like 8 hours ago?”

“Yes!! But those hours feel like years when being away from you.”

“Hmm.”

“So, what do you think? Are you feeling the butterflies?”

You looked up Akita up and down and your face twisted as if you’re deciding on whether or not to buy a car or a piece of clothing.

“Um, to be honest my guy. I’m not feeling it.”

“Huh?”

“Excuse me, my darling?”

“Weeeelllll…. I mean, don’t get me wrong! You’re very attractive and your words are sweet, but I don’t think I believe any of it. Like, you just admitted to wanting me all to yourself only 8 hours ago, but I don’t really feel anything. Not even a shiver.”

The Matchmaker and Akita both looked at each other like they weren’t really expecting that. With a quick wave of his hand, Akita slumped his shoulders and headed towards your front door. You shouted out an apology as the dejected suitor walked out.

“Well, I didn’t expect that. I don’t normally get such competent clients. At least those that get past kicking and screaming.” The Matchmaker grinned. You shrugged.

“I guess I just know what I like. All the anime I’ve watched kind of gives you that high standard of what makes a yandere a real yandere, y’know?”

He nodded. “I cannot agree more. Well, we have plenty more where that came from. Shall we continue?”

*****

Papers were strewn across your coffee table in an unorganized fashion as both you and your estranged guest were tired beyond belief. You had no idea how many hours had passed nor how many guests were in and out of your apartment. You’re honestly surprised none of your neighbors complained or called the police. Your apartment would’ve looked like a clown car if anyone had been watching from the outside. You honestly lost count after No. 256. You let out another yawn and laid on your side trying your best to keep your eyes open. Maybe 2 hours of sleep wasn’t enough for the multiple interviews you had to conduct today. Maybe your 9th grade biology teacher was right. Maybe you are going to die alone. A weary sigh brought you from your thoughts.

“My, my. You are definitely the most high standard client I’ve ever had. I didn’t think we’d get to the triple digits in just one day.”

You also sighed and sat up in your seat. “I know. I’m sorry. It’s just… All these guys are cute and all, but they’re all lacking something. They’re either too forceful or not forceful enough. Too wimpy or too strong. Or too obsessed or just incredibly so lovesick that I feel like they’d fall in love with just about anyone who’d be willing. Ugh, why can’t this be simpler like adopting an animal?” You groaned. You also hadn’t thought this would take this long. You didn’t really think of yourself as having high standards until today. Until today, you’d be happy with anyone close to you in age and with a heartbeat. Who knew picking out a yandere soulmate would be so challenging. And who knew that there’d be so many willing participants! The Matchmaker reached into his briefcase and pulled another stack of forms and slid them over to you. There must be at least over a hundred papers in front of you. How did he have so many?!

“How about we switch things up, hm? You’ll look over the papers and when you see someone that catches your eye, I’ll bring him in.” He made it sound like you were adopting a dog or a cat. But if this made it go any faster, you were willing to try.

After about 3 more stacks of papers, you were starting to lose hope and patience. When you got to the last few papers, you stopped dead in your tracks. Woah baby!

“Woah baby!” you exclaimed.

“Did you find someone you like?” The Matchmaker asked hopefully.

“Oh yeah. This guy.” You showed him the paper. He furrowed his brows a little.

“Are you sure? I don’t think I remember this man. His name and face don’t seem familiar.”

“Really? Maybe he’s a late entry or something?”

Matchmaker stroked his chin in thought. “I’ll go check it out. Be right back, dear. I’m very sorry for this inconvenience.”

You waved off his apology with a smile and he left your apartment. You then leaned back with a groan. You just wanted to find your ‘soulmate’ or whatever and move on with this day. You closed your eyes for a second and waited patiently for Matchmaker to come back.

Tap tap tap

Just like deja vu, you were awoken by rapid knocking. Except this time it wasn’t coming from your front door.

Tap tap tap tap

It sounds like it’s coming from… your window?

Tap tap tap tap tap tap tap

You quickly got up and walked towards your window and opened it.

“Woah!” You jumped back a little as you were met face to face with the man that you had picked out and that the Matchmaker went to go find.

‘Wow… he’s even cuter in person!!’

He let out a delicious chuckle and gave you a charming smile.

“I didn’t mean to scare you, darling~. Hehe, though I think that fear in your eyes was worth it. So adorable~.” For the second time today, a complete weirdo stranger has made you blush. Wait…

“Wait! I don’t have a balcony and I’m on the third floor. How’d you-?” You peeked over the window to see if he was pulling a Criss Angel.

“I have incredible grip strength~.” he winked.

“Oooh I’m sure~.” you swooned. For a weirdo, he was a smooth talking weirdo.

“Oh, I got these for you, sweetheart~.” He pulled himself up and sat on your windowsill and pulled out a bouquet of roughly cut flowers from behind him. You gasped and grabbed them, giving them a smell.

“These are my favorite!! How did you know? I don’t think that was one of the pieces of info required for the Matchmaker.” you asked.

The stranger chuckled. “Easy. I never filled out that stupid application.”

You looked up from your flowers and titled your head like a confused puppy.

“I already know everything about you. I don’t need a stupid piece of paper to tell me what I already know about you. Like, how I know that you have secret sweets hidden all throughout your room. Or that whenever you have a good day you love to sing Stray Kids.”

He inched closer to you as you backed up further into the room.

“You won’t eat frozen pizza, but every so often you eat a lobster roll from a food truck from Gary on Main St.. You have life destroying evidence of your boss that you’re planning on using on your last day. You’ve seen the Barbie movie 5 times. And…”

You felt your legs hit the couch and tried to keep yourself from falling onto your back like a defenseless turtle.

“Your favorite anime is… Dar-” You quickly covered the stranger’s mouth with a furious blush.

“I only watch it ironically!! I don’t love it! It’s not my favorite!” you quickly clarified. The gravity of the situation was made perfectly clear after that. This man really knew all about you. Honestly, you’re so loud that you’re pretty sure that people on the ground outside could hear you singing. And you don’t really pay attention to your surroundings so it's easy for someone to know that you eat from a food truck every other week at specific times. But, knowing your favorite secretly watched anime?

“W-Who… are you?” you stuttered. You’re pretty sure you already knew the answer.

He laughed and you felt his lips brush against your fingers. You blushed and tried to pull back, only to be stopped by his hands.

“Sweetie~. You already know who I am.” He grabbed the paper from the stack and put it next to his face. “See? I’m Yami Ai. Your soulmate.”

Before you could even process what was happening, you were gently pushed onto the couch with Yami hovering over you holding your hands beside your head. You couldn’t stop the blush erupting from your neck to your face. Your heart was beating way too fast and your stomach felt jumpy and queasy. Butterflies.

You cleared your throat. “Um… so, if you didn’t fill out a form then how come The Matchmaker had your profile and picture? And why didn’t you use the front door?”

Yami smirked and leaned in closer. “It’s pretty simple to pull off when your apartment does security checks on new guests entering the building.”

“But, my apartment doesn’t–” you stopped. “Ooooh… So you impersonated a security guard, slipped your profile and info into his briefcase, and were planning on showing up as one of the potential singles? That’s… convoluted. But, smart.” You shrugged. “And since you obviously knew which floor I was on and which window was mine, I assume you’ve been watching me for a while and were watching me last night when I couldn’t sleep?”

Yami laughed again. “You are so smart~. You really catch on quickly, don’t you?”

You shrugged again with a nervous smile. “W-Well, obviously not smart enough to not put in my personal info and have strange men come in and out of my apartment.”

Yami was quick to turn his gentle smile into a hard, harsh frown. His grip on your wrists grew tighter and you winced under the force he placed in you.

“You know, my darling. It’s partially my fault. If I hadn’t backed out and taken you that night, you’d never be in this situation. With those men eyeing you up and down like you were theirs. Having that smiling freak calling you ‘dear’ and ‘darling’ when only I can call you that. I was planning on getting rid of the competition, but you did that for me.”

Yami loosened his grip and lifted you up, staring into your eyes. You blushed again.

“Rejection after rejection. Some guys didn’t even get 2 words out before you turned away. Of course my darling would only want the most perfect man. Isn’t that right, darling~?”

“Hehehe~” you leaned in with a giggle. “You’re so sweet~.”

You are such a baby for flattery.

*****

“My dear darling, I’m so very sorry for the inconvenience. I didn’t mean to be gone for so long, but I could not find this person you–” Matchmaker explained, rushing in and stopping dead in his tracks when he saw both you and Yami, the man who left 30 minutes ago to go find, eating breakfast in the living room.

Sitting in his lap.

And feeding each other.

“Oh! Matchmaker!” you exclaimed, quickly swallowing your food. You didn’t notice Yami tightening his grip on your waist nor did you notice the cold glare and tense atmosphere enveloping the room. “Look who I found~.”

“I see…” he said hesitantly.

“He climbed up the building and came in through the window.”

“My~. How romantic~.” he sang. “So, I take it that you are satisfied with your soulmate? Or… do you wish to continue searching?” he asked teasingly. Before Yami could say anything, you quickly spoke again.

“Yep! I’m sure.” You ruffled Yami’s hair and nuzzled up against him. “I wouldn’t trade him for anyone else.” Yami hugged you closer to his chest as you giggled. “Plus, he makes the most amazing breakfast in the world, so extra points!” you cheered. You reached out towards the Matchmaker’s briefcase.

“Here you go! I put all the papers back in for you.”

Matchmaker quickly walked over and grabbed his briefcase along with your hand. “Well, my dear. It’s been an honor. You are truly the most remarkable and memorable client I have ever had.” he said with a bow and made his way towards the door. However, before leaving he chuckled and looked back at the both of you. “Although, it’s a shame,” he sighed. “Maybe if I had stayed, I would’ve snatched you up myself.”

And with a final loud laugh, The Matchmaker disappeared, but not before Yami stood up to lounge and attack the fleeting man like a guard dog. You snorted and caressed his face to calm him down. “Relax, Yami. He’s just joking.”

“Well, I hated his joke. Fuckin’ freak…” he grumbled. “And it’s Ai. You’re mine now. You should get used to calling each other by our first names.”

You smiled and leaned against him. “Okay, Ai. Whatever you say.”

“And if a man comes to the door, never EVER answer it, got it!”

“Mhm.”

“I’m serious, darling. I’ll gouge their eyes out right in front of you.”

“Yes sir.”

The rest of your life was going to be very interesting. Suck it, Ms. Braxton. I guess you’re the one dying alone. Because you have a yandere boyfriend! And she has gonorrhea. Bitch.

---

a/n: this is so shit. i'm so sorry that i've been MIA for a while. work has been pretty crazy and i haven't really felt much motivated to write. however, i'm trying to get back into it now. with this goofy shit. kind of a joke piece, but i needed to write something silly and not serious at all to relax. (also i've been writing since 4 a.m., so...) anyways, i'm going to try and update regulary or at least post something.

Here's my YouTube. I make anime playlists.

[octaneink]

Sky + Seafoam

Will Lenney x Reader

Summary: Painting + yap session Warnings: None Notes: I saw a video of someone painting their bf's back it was too cute so I thought 'Why not write it for Will' so here we are lol. Enjoy!

The living room was bathed in the soft glow of the TV, the volume turned low so it was little more than background noise. You were curled up on the sofa, your legs tucked under you and your head resting comfortably on Will’s shoulder. His free arm was draped loosely around you, his fingers occasionally brushing against your sleeve as he scrolled through his phone with the other hand. The faint sound of his occasional hums or quiet commentary on whatever he was looking at filled the space between you, warm and familiar.

Your own phone was in your hands, though you hadn’t been paying much attention to it until now. A video autoplayed on your feed, catching your eye. It was an artist, their hands moving with practiced ease as they painted a stunning landscape across someone’s back. The colours blended seamlessly—soft blues melting into whites for the sky, rich greens and browns forming trees, and a shimmering river that seemed to ripple with every breath the canvas took.

You sat up abruptly, your head lifting off Will’s shoulder so fast he flinched.

“What?” he asked, his voice tinged with amusement as he glanced at you. His eyebrow arched, and the corner of his mouth twitched like he already knew something was coming.

You didn’t answer right away, your eyes still glued to the screen. The artist was adding tiny details now—a sailboat and the reflection of the trees in the water. It was mesmerising.

“You’ve got that look,” Will said, setting his phone down on the armrest and turning to face you fully.

“What look?” you asked, finally tearing your eyes away from the video.

“The one where you’re about to ask me to do something ridiculous,” he said, his tone teasing but his eyes soft. He reached over, his fingers brushing against your side in a way that made you squirm immediately. You tried to twist away, but he was already poking at your ribs, his touch light but deliberate.

“Will!” You squealed, laughter bubbling up as you instinctively curled into yourself, trying to escape his fingers. “Stop!”

He didn’t stop. Instead, he grinned, his eyes lighting up with mischief as he shifted closer, his free hand joining in to tickle your other side. “Spit it out,” he said, his voice playful as you wriggled under his touch.

“Okay, okay!” You gasped between laughs, batting at his hands. “I’ll tell you! Just stop!”

Will relented, pulling back with a satisfied smirk, but he kept his hands hovering near your sides, ready to strike again if you took too long. You caught your breath, your cheeks flushed from laughing, and held up your phone so he could see the video.

“What if I painted something on your back?” You said, your voice still breathless. “Like, a whole scene? Look how cool this is!”

Will leaned forward, squinting at the screen for a moment before leaning back with a dramatic groan. “Absolutely not.”

“Why not?” you pressed, scooting closer to him again. “It’s water-based paint! It’ll wash right off. And it’ll be fun!”

He shook his head, his smirk returning as he reached for your sides again. “Fun for you, maybe. I’ll just be lying there, bored out of my mind.”

You squeaked, scrambling backward to avoid his hands, but he was faster. His fingers found your ticklish spots again, and you burst into laughter, collapsing against the couch cushions as he loomed over you, grinning like he’d just won the lottery.

“Will!” you managed between giggles, trying to push him away. “Stop! I’ll—I’ll make it worth your while!”

He paused, his hands still hovering threateningly. “Oh? How so?”

“I’ll cook your favourite dinner,” you said, still catching your breath. “And you can pick the movie for a whole week. Deal?”

Will tilted his head, pretending to consider it, but the way his lips twitched gave him away. “Tempting,” he said, his fingers brushing your side one last time, making you yelp. “But no. I’m not your personal art project.”

You pouted, leaning your head against his shoulder again. “You’re no fun.”

He chuckled, his arm wrapping around you as he picked up his phone. “And yet you still love me.”

You smiled, your mind already racing with ideas. Will might have said no for now, but you weren’t giving up that easily.

Over the next few days, you didn’t let up. You were determined, and Will was going to crack eventually—you were sure of it.

It started small.

You (10:43 AM): [Image of someone’s back, on it is a painting of a pirate ship.]

You (10:43 AM): Imagine this, but on you.

Will (10:44 AM): 😐

You laughed at his response, but you weren’t deterred.

The next morning, you left your sketchbook open on the kitchen table, a half-finished landscape scene staring up at him as he poured his coffee. He paused, squinting at the page, then glanced at you over his shoulder. “You’re not giving up, are you?”

You shrugged innocently, sipping your tea. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

He rolled his eyes but didn’t say anything else, though you caught him glancing at the sketchbook a few more times before he left for work.

That night, during your usual movie night, you saw your opportunity. Will was sprawled on the couch, one arm draped lazily over the back cushions and the other resting on the seat between you. His attention was half on the movie—some action flicks he’d picked—and half on his phone, which he was scrolling through absently.

You glanced at him, then at the fine-tipped marker sitting innocently on the coffee table. A slow grin spread across your face as you reached for it, uncapping it with a soft click.

Will didn’t notice at first. His eyes were still on his phone, his thumb swiping lazily through some app. You shifted closer, your knee brushing against his thigh, and gently took his hand in yours. He didn’t pull away, too distracted to question what you were doing.

You started with the trunk of the tree, drawing a thin, wavy line up the back of his hand. The marker glided smoothly over his skin, and you added a few branches, then some tiny leaves. You were so focused on your work that you didn’t notice Will had stopped scrolling and was now watching you with a raised eyebrow.

“What are you—?” he started, pulling his hand away to inspect the little tree now permanently inked on his skin. His expression was a mix of amusement and disbelief. “Really?”

You grinned, holding up the marker “It’s practice. For the masterpiece I’m going to paint on your back.”

He groaned, dropping his head back against the couch cushions. “You’re relentless.”

You scooted closer, your knee bumping his as you leaned into his space. “Please?” you said, batting your eyelashes dramatically. “I’ll make it worth your while. I’ll cook your favourite dinner, and you can pick the movie for a whole week. No complaints from me, even if you choose something ridiculous.”

Will tilted his head, pretending to consider it, but the way his lips twitched gave him away. “Tempting,” he said, his voice teasing. “But what if I want more than just pasta and movie rights?”

You narrowed your eyes, poking his side lightly. “Don’t push your luck, Lenney.”

He chuckled, catching your hand before you could pull it away. “Fine,” he said, his tone mock-resigned. “But if I regret this, you’re buying me that new game I’ve been eyeing. No arguments.”

You squealed, throwing your arms around him in a hug that nearly knocked him over. “You’re the best!”

He laughed, wrapping an arm around you to steady himself. “Yeah, yeah. Don’t make me regret it.”

You pulled back, grinning at him. “You won’t. I promise.”

Will raised an eyebrow, clearly sceptical, but the way his lips twitched into a smile gave him away. “We’ll see.”

Will lay shirtless on the bed, a soft towel spread beneath him to protect the sheets. The afternoon light filtered through the curtains, casting a warm, golden glow over his skin. You couldn’t help but pause for a moment, taking him in. His back was smooth and relaxed, the muscles faintly defined under the faint scattering of freckles that dotted his shoulders like stars across a night sky. You’d always loved those freckles—how they seemed to tell a story, each one a tiny mark of something uniquely him.

He rested his cheek on the pillow you’d fluffed for him, his arms folded loosely beneath his head. The position stretched his shoulders slightly, making the freckles shift and settle like constellations rearranging themselves. You reached out, brushing your fingers lightly over one near the curve of his spine, and he shivered at the touch.

“Tickles,” he mumbled, his voice muffled by the pillow.

You smiled, pulling your hand back. “Sorry,” you said, though you weren’t really. How could you be when he looked like this? The light caught the faint golden undertones in his skin, making him glow like he’d been kissed by the sun itself.

“You’re staring,” he said, though he didn’t turn to look at you. His voice was soft, teasing.

“I’m not,” you lied, dipping your brush into the palette of paints balanced on your knee.

“Liar,” he shot back, a smirk in his tone.

You rolled your eyes, even though he couldn’t see you, and began to paint. The first stroke of blue across his shoulder made him tense slightly, but he relaxed almost immediately, his breath evening out again.

“Cold?” you asked, pausing.

“A little,” he admitted, his voice drowsy. “But it’s not bad. Keep going.”

You nodded, adding more blue, then blending in white to create soft, wispy clouds. As you worked, your eyes kept drifting back to those freckles, the way they seemed to guide your brush like a map. You couldn’t help but admire him—not just his back, but the way he trusted you so completely, lying there without a hint of self-consciousness.

“You’re beautiful, you know that?” you said softly, more to yourself than to him.

Will huffed a quiet laugh, his shoulders shaking slightly. “Flattery won’t make me say yes to this more often.”

“It’s not flattery if it’s true,” you said, grinning as you added a tiny bird to the sky you were painting.

He didn’t respond, but you could tell by the way his breathing slowed that he was smiling.

You worked in comfortable silence for a few minutes, the only sound the soft swish of the brush against his skin. The sky was coming together beautifully, the blues and whites blending seamlessly. As you dipped your brush into a soft green to start on the grass, your mind wandered to the park you’d visited earlier in the week.

“So, I was people-watching at the park the other day,” you began, your voice light and conversational.

Will hummed, a quiet sound of acknowledgement that encouraged you to keep going.

“And this guy was walking his dog—this tiny, fluffy thing that looked like a cotton ball with legs. Anyway, the dog suddenly stops in the middle of the path and just refuses to move. Like, full-on stubborn mode. The guy’s tugging on the leash, but the dog just sits there, staring at him like, ‘What are you gonna do about it?’”

Will chuckled, the sound low and warm. “Sounds like my kind of dog.”

“Right?” you said, grinning as you added a few more blades of grass. “But then—get this—the guy just picks the dog up, tucks it under his arm like a football, and keeps walking. The dog looked so offended, like, ‘How dare you?’ It was hilarious.”

Will’s shoulders shook with silent laughter, and you had to pause for a moment to keep from smudging the paint. “Careful,” you said, tapping his shoulder lightly. “I’m trying to create a masterpiece here.”

“Sorry,” he said, though he didn’t sound sorry at all. “Keep going. What else happened?”

You switched to a darker green, starting on the trees that would frame the river. “Well, after the dog drama, I saw this couple having a picnic. They looked so cute together—like, straight out of a rom-com. But then the guy accidentally spilt his drink all over the blanket, and the girl just started laughing. And then he started laughing too, and they just sat there, covered in lemonade, cracking up. It was kind of adorable.”

Will hummed, his voice soft. “Sounds like us.”

You smiled, your chest warming at the thought. “Yeah, it kind of does. Remember when you tripped over your own feet at the grocery store and knocked over that display of cereal boxes?”

“Hey,” he said, his tone mock-offended. “That was one time. And in my defence, the floor was slippery.”

“Sure it was,” you said, laughing as you added a few more details to the trees. “But you have to admit, it was pretty funny. Especially when you tried to blame it on the cart.”

“It was the cart’s fault,” he insisted, though you could hear the smile in his voice.

You shook your head, dipping your brush into a rich brown to add texture to the tree trunks. “Anyway, after the picnic couple, I saw this little kid chasing pigeons. He was so determined, like he was on a mission. But every time he got close, the pigeons would just fly away, and he’d throw his hands up like, ‘Why is this so hard?’”

Will laughed again, the sound muffled by the pillow. “Kids are weird.”

“They really are,” you agreed, smiling as you added a few birds to the sky. “But it was kind of sweet, you know? Like, he didn’t care that he wasn’t catching them. He was just having fun.”

The room fell quiet for a moment, the only sound the soft swish of your brush against his skin. You switched to a lighter blue, adding ripples to the river. “It made me think,” you said, your voice softer now, “about how we don’t do stuff like that any more. Just… silly, pointless things that make us happy.”

Will shifted slightly, his voice drowsy but thoughtful. “What kind of silly things?”

“I don’t know,” you said, tilting your head as you considered it. “Like… flying a kite. Or building a pillow fort. Or—” You paused, grinning. “Or letting your girlfriend paint a landscape on your back.”

He chuckled, the sound low and warm. “Yeah, okay. That’s pretty silly.”

“But fun, right?” you said, adding a few final touches to the river.

“Yeah,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. “Fun.”

You smiled, setting your brush aside for a moment to admire your work. The scene was complete—a serene landscape that seemed to come alive on his skin. The river wound its way down his spine, the water shimmering with hints of silver and white. Trees stretched across his shoulders, their branches reaching toward the sky, and birds dotted the clouds like tiny brushstrokes of life. It was beautiful, but not nearly as beautiful as the man beneath it.

You didn’t notice when Will’s responses grew quieter, then stopped altogether. His breathing deepened, the steady rise and fall of his chest lulling you into a peaceful rhythm. The room was quiet now, save for the soft sound of his breathing and the occasional rustle of the sheets as he shifted slightly in his sleep.

“And then I saw—” you began, your voice soft as you reached for a smaller brush to add a few final details. “Wait, do you want to make some chicken souvlaki and tzatziki for dinner? Will?”

No response.

You paused, glancing down at him. His cheek was still pressed into the pillow, his face relaxed and peaceful. His eyes were closed, his long lashes brushing against his skin, and his lips were slightly parted as he breathed deeply. The faintest hint of a smile lingered on his face, as though even in sleep, he was content.

He’s asleep.

Your heart swelled with affection, a warmth spreading through your chest as you watched him. How long had he been out? You’d been rambling for who knows how long, and he’d drifted off to the sound of your voice. The thought made your cheeks warm—not with embarrassment, but with something softer, something that made your chest ache in the best way.

Careful not to smudge the paint, you leaned down, brushing a strand of hair from his forehead. His skin was warm under your touch, and he stirred slightly, a soft sigh escaping his lips. For a moment, you thought he might wake up, but he only shifted again, settling deeper into the pillow.

You sat back, your gaze lingering on him. The afternoon light had shifted, casting a golden glow over the room and making his skin glow like it was part of the painting itself. The freckles on his shoulders seemed to shimmer, and you couldn’t help but trace one lightly with your finger, careful not to wake him.

“You’re ridiculous,” you whispered, though there was no bite to your words. “Falling asleep on me like that.”

But you couldn’t bring yourself to be annoyed. Not when he looked so peaceful, so completely at ease. Not when the sound of his breathing was the most comforting thing in the world.

You reached for your phone, snapping a quick photo of the painting on his back. It was too beautiful not to capture, but even the photo couldn’t compare to the real thing—the way the colours seemed to breathe with him, the way the scene felt alive because he was alive beneath it.

Setting your phone aside, you began to clean up your supplies, carefully capping the paints and rinsing the brushes. The room was quiet, the only sound the soft clink of the paint tubes and the occasional rustle of the sheets as Will shifted in his sleep.

Once everything was packed away, you stood, stretching your arms above your head. You glanced at Will one last time, a soft smile tugging at your lips. “Sleep well,” you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper.

You turned to leave, tiptoeing toward the door, but before you could take more than a few steps, a hand shot out and caught your wrist.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Will’s voice was low and drowsy, his grip gentle but firm, his fingers warm against your skin.

You turned back to see him looking at you through half-lidded eyes, a lazy smile playing on his lips. His hair was mussed from the pillow, and the faintest hint of stubble shadowed his jaw. “I was just—”

He didn’t let you finish. With a quick tug, he pulled you down onto the bed, his arms wrapping around you before you could protest. Before you could even react, he flipped you onto your back, his body pressing you gently into the mattress.

“Will!” you squealed, laughing as his weight settled over you. The warmth of him seeped into your skin, his chest pressing against yours, his legs tangling with yours. “The paint—it’s still wet!”

“Don’t care,” he mumbled, his face buried in the crook of your neck. His breath was warm against your skin, sending a shiver down your spine that had nothing to do with the coolness of the room. His lips brushed against your collarbone, feather-light, and you felt your breath hitch.

You squirmed, trying to wriggle free, but he only tightened his hold, his arms like a cage around you. His muscles flexed as he shifted, pinning you more securely beneath him. “You’re impossible,” you said, though your laughter betrayed your words.

“Yours, though,” he murmured, his voice thick with sleep, the words muffled against your skin.

Your heart melted at his words, and you stopped fighting, letting yourself relax beneath him. His weight was comforting, grounding, like a living, breathing blanket that anchored you to the moment. You couldn’t help but wrap your arms around him, your fingers threading through his hair. It was soft, slightly messy from sleep, and you twirled a strand around your finger absently.

His breath tickled your neck, steady and warm, and you felt the rise and fall of his chest against yours. The scent of him—clean and faintly sweet—filled your senses, and you closed your eyes for a moment, savouring it.

“You’re going to ruin the painting,” you said, though you didn’t really care. Not when he was this close, not when his warmth surrounded you like a cocoon, safe and familiar.

“Worth it,” he said, his voice barely audible as he nuzzled closer. His nose brushed against your jaw, and you felt the curve of his smile against your skin. His lips lingered there for a moment, not quite a kiss but something just as intimate.

You smiled too, your chest swelling with something you couldn’t quite name. It wasn’t just affection—it was deeper than that, a quiet, steady ache that made your heart feel too big for your chest. His weight, his warmth, the way he held you like you were the only thing that mattered—it was overwhelming in the best way.

You ran your fingers through his hair again, your touch gentle, and he sighed, the sound soft and content. His arms tightened around you, pulling you even closer, if that was possible.

“Stay,” he murmured, his voice barely a whisper.

You didn’t need to be asked twice.

How do people like this layout? I removed the dividers from the scene so its just one whole block. Is that alright? Im not sure honestly. But I hope people like it!

[cherienymphe]

There Will Be Blood

Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen x Reader x Lady Margot Fenring

Summary: Knowing that you are too afraid to ever find yourself alone with the Harkonnen heir, Lady Margot secures his heart's desire for his celebration day.

warnings: Dub-Con (use of the voice), blood, knifeplay, choking, threesome, mentions of cannibalism, non canon ages, spoiler free

➥ banner by @vase-of-lilies 

⭑

“She looks almost good enough to eat,” were the words that reached your ears in that low timbre, head tilted as he gazed at you. “I don’t know whether to feed her to my darlings…”

The feeling of his finger underneath your chin was almost nonexistent as he tilted your head up. You were too anxious to look away—his reputation preceding him—and even if you wanted to, you couldn’t. You felt paralyzed, held captive by that dark blue gaze you swore was actually black as night in certain lighting.

“…or make her one of them.”

You swallowed at that, and you didn’t miss the way his eyes followed the subtle movement.

He was referring to his ‘pets’ as you knew he sometimes called them, the three strikingly beautiful Harkonnen women with an appetite for human flesh. The thought of being killed and fed to the women in question made your heart skip a beat…but the thought of being added to his harem made you shudder.

…and you couldn’t tell if the feeling was good or bad.

Hands slid over your shoulders from behind, making you shiver again, and your lashes fluttered at the feeling of soft lips grazing your throat. You faintly tried to remember how and why you ended up here, and you could only recall staring into enticing blue eyes. Her familiar face was all that stood out in your memory, features soft and lips curved into an even softer smile. With all of that being said though, you couldn’t remember your thought process behind following her perfect figure down the hall.

Lady Margot Fenring—golden-haired and willowy with that Bene Gesserit serene repose about her that you found subtly disturbing.

Usually.

In this moment, her calm disposition and quiet authority made your heart race. She was a comforting contrast to the man before you, his intense gaze and sharp features serving to make your imagination run wild with what he was capable of. He was so different from his brother, vastly so from his uncle, but he still possessed similarities with the two that made you nervous all the same.

Especially with his hand so close to your throat.

“This one isn’t for consumption.”

Her lips brushed your skin as her soft and even tone filled your ears.

“Not in the literal sense, at least…” mirth colored her voice at this remark. “I saw you watching her.”

Those words made your heart sink, and you were sure that the brief stab of fear you felt passed through your eyes.

Feyd-Rautha was psychotic. He was the kind of man that would kill someone solely because he felt like it. He had an animalistic stare that made alarm bells go off in your head, telling you to never take your eyes off of him—to always keep him in your line of sight. He was the kind of man you couldn’t let your guard down around.

He was the kind of man you didn’t want watching you.

As if he could read your worrisome thoughts, a glint passed through the man’s eyes, and he leaned in closer. Not one to conceal his feelings in any situation, his expression twisted into one of amusement, a sight that made your hair stand on end. Those soft hands slid over your shoulders and down your arms, gently caressing them.

Don’t be afraid.

A voice that didn’t sound like your own filled your mind, its influence settling into your bones and deep into the crevices of your subconscious. You felt yourself relax, felt the tension leaving you, and her soft hum had you leaning back into her chest. You didn’t want to be afraid, and you felt confident in repeating those words to yourself, confirming that there was nothing to be afraid of.

“You want her,” her fingers grazed your jaw, briefly touching his own. “…but she fears you far too much to ever find yourself alone with her.”

“I like them afraid.”

Those words made you blink, your lips parting at the sincerity in them. By the way he held your gaze, you could tell he wanted you to know he meant it, but that voice in your mind assured you that you had nothing to be afraid of. Not when he leaned in closer, and not when his hand traveled from your chin and down to circle your neck.

“You get too excited,” the blonde woman steadily told him, a hint of authority in her voice. “You would kill her.”

Her fingers on your jaw forced you to turn your head, making you look at her, and when she kissed you, you welcomed it. It was a comforting kiss, one that relaxed you further, and you couldn’t help but to close your eyes and bask in the feel of her lips touching yours. Your skin grew warm, and you touched her arm.

“I’m here to keep you in line.”

She spoke the words into your mouth, but she wasn’t talking to you.

Feyd-Rautha’s lack of protest or anger at her words gave you the impression that you were being included in something that already existed. He let her kiss you, the heat of his gaze burning a hole into the side of your face as she drew you in closer. The feeling in your chest was both light and heavy, and you felt as if you couldn’t get close enough to her.

Lady Margot had an aura about her that you’d always been ensnared by—the way she talked, the way she swayed when she walked, and especially the way those attentive eyes watched everyone and everything so closely. She smelled fresh and crisp, an airy feminine aroma filling your nose as her hand rested on the side of your throat, Feyd-Rautha’s arm long falling back at his side.

When she pulled away, only the tip of her nose lightly touched yours.

“He wants you to touch him.”

Her voice reverberated in your mind, influencing your thoughts and movements, and you found yourself turning to look at the man in question. Your advance was slow, hesitant in reaching out to place your hands on the black fabric of his shirt. He visibly shuddered at the contact, and despite the fact that you were clothed, you felt vulnerable and naked underneath his intense gaze.

“This one is fragile, Feyd-Rautha,” amusement danced around her words. “You have to play gentle if you want to keep her.”

Almost as if he wanted to defy her, his hand quickly wrapped itself around your throat, forcing you closer. Your heart stuttered at the action, and despite that brief bout of adrenaline—your body’s way of telling you that you were in danger—that influential voice in your mind told you that you were safe. Your breathing was shallow as you looked at him with wide eyes.

His own gaze traveled over your form, his perusal slow and his hand tightening. You reached up, grabbing his arm, and the noise of protest he made was a cross between a grunt and a hum. His nose touched yours, and when he spoke again, it sounded like there was gravel in his throat.

“Do you fear me?”

The thought settled in your mind that he wanted you to say yes, and so you did, barely whispering it.

That pleased him, and he presented you with a terrifying smile. His fingers were pressing into the skin of your neck, and his blue gaze studied yours, eyes flickering between your own. There was a carnal excitement there that told you he lusted for more than just your body, and when you winced at the grip he had on your throat, it only grew.

“Good,” he praised in a guttural tone.

Kissing Feyd-Rautha was nothing like kissing Lady Margot.

It wasn’t meant to be a gentle and comforting experience, but instead one that forced you to face every one of your discomforts head on. His teeth pressing into your lips, his hand cutting off your airway, the lack of warning as he pushed you back. Every action was designed to make you squirm, and despite that feeling, heat still settled in the pit of your stomach as his weight pressed down on you.

Lady Margot’s gentle touch made your leg tingle. She was pulling on it, making room for him while her other hand grabbed your arm, and you shuddered at the feel of her lips kissing a path to your wrist. The contrast in their efforts made your head spin, and Feyd-Rautha’s constricting grip on your throat only disappeared when his lips replaced his hand instead.

Pain blossomed beneath where his teeth were, and you gasped, chest arching up into his involuntarily. His hands on your frame were tense, like he wanted to twist and tear you apart, but something disallowed him from doing so. When he kissed you again, the pain in your neck lingered, flaring from spot to spot, and you didn’t doubt that bruises would be there.

When you were forced to sit up, the soft and thin fabric of your dress was pulled at by two sets of hands. A feminine touch loosened the back, her lips following behind where his once were, soothing the irritated skin there. He, on the other hand, was yanking your sleeves down, and the sound of a slight tear or two in the fabric could be heard.

The cold air hit you for half a second before a warm mouth covered a sensitive bud before it even had time to harden. The sharp feeling of his teeth pressing into the skin of your breast made you shy away, but with Lady Margot at your back, you had nowhere to go. Her lips along your neck and shoulder was a welcomed feeling, a soothing contrast against the pain the Harkonnen man was inflicting. It almost faded to the background completely when her hand found its way between your thighs.

Your lips parted, and your lashes fluttered, and you couldn’t help but to lift your hips. Her fingers were soft against your skin, the appendages sliding between your folds and stroking you. One of your hands reached down to rest on hers, riding along with her ministrations while the other reached up to grip the arm of the man intent on breaking skin.

The feel of Lady Margot’s fingers pushing into you and curving against your walls made you circle your hips.  The pain and pleasure were starting to blend together so closely that you couldn’t tell what you liked and didn’t like. His teeth scraping down your torso had your breath hitching, and the Bene Gesserit woman behind you hummed when you clenched around her fingers. It sounded like a noise of approval, and when she spoke, her tone and words confirmed that suspicion.

“She likes that,” she mused, her free hand coming up to run over your chest. “She’s starting to like the pain.”

She was right.

Almost as if that triggered something in him, the blue-eyed man relinquished control completely, fingers digging into the tops of your thighs as he pulled you forward. The action caused you to collapse, your head resting in Lady Margot’s lap as he finished removing your dress, the fabric falling around you in tatters. There was only a brief bout of alarm when he brandished a small blade from his waist.

There was that voice again, settling and taking up residence in your mind, telling you not to be afraid.

Pain flared along your skin in a singular path as the tip of the blade just barely grazed your flesh. It was so sharp that a thin line of blood followed the weapon’s descent, but it was gone as quickly as it came as his tongue slipped past his lips, ingesting your essence and soothing that sting. Your eyes closed, and you welcomed her kiss as she leaned over.

Feyd-Rautha’s own lips kissed you too…just before he sank his teeth into your skin.

You were given bites and nips between the kisses—along your hip and along your thighs and eventually in between your thighs. Your hips lifted, and your back arched, and you unintentionally bit Lady Margot’s lip. She smiled into the kiss, and you knew that she could taste the same blood you felt on your own tongue.

Feyd-Rautha was a mad man between your legs, tongue and teeth playing with you, the blade in his hand pressed against your thigh. The soles of your feet pressed into the bed, wanting to both run away from the pain and run towards it. Every shallow cut made into your skin was soothed by his tongue almost immediately, and you wanted to be embarrassed by how wet their combined ministrations made you.

When you found yourself on your knees, the blade at your throat and his naked chest at your back, you could see the way Lady Margot’s gaze held his. Her face was serene and thoughtful, almost as if she were having a silent conversation with the man at your back. The sharpness of his blade drew blood, and by the way his free hand smeared it along your skin, you knew that it turned him on.

“Gentle,” she reminded him, standing.

He wasn’t so gentle when he pushed his way into you, making you sharply inhale, but the blade remained light against your throat. You tilted your head back, both to relieve the sting and because the feel of his cock sliding into you had you submitting. His own deep grunts were right at your ear, and his bloody hand trailed down your frame to roughly knead into your skin.

The sound of skin slapping against skin made your ears twitch, and when he roughly pushed you down with a hand on your back, your fingers twisted into the sheets of the luxurious bed. Your head was bowed, forehead grazing the fabric as he fucked you, power and aggression driving every thrust. Lady Margot was right, you were afraid of the Baron’s sole heir, positive that you’d never find yourself alone with him before today.

Even if you doubted it, you would have never guessed this is how he’d choose to spend his birthday celebration. While fireworks were exploding and food and drink was being passed around, Feyd-Rautha was spending his time burying his cock in you. His fingers twisted painfully into your hair, making you yelp, and the sound only made him fuck you harder.

“Are you still afraid of me?” he roughly asked you, and when you started to nod, he pushed your face down into the bed.

Understanding what he wanted, you managed to force out a small affirmation.

“Yes,” you choked out.

The low laugh that he let out was menacing, and he was aggressive in pushing you onto your back. His hand was tight when it found a home on your throat, pinning you in place as he snapped his hips into yours. The force was enough to make you wince, and his brutal treatment didn’t go unnoticed, the blonde woman coming up behind the man.

Her gaze found yours, holding it as she whispered something into his ear that yours weren’t privy to. Her beautiful hands came around to slide along his smooth chest, her lips still brushing against his ear. Her lips traveled to his throat as he pulled away from you, pulling out and allowing the other woman to guide him to sit back.

He was uncharacteristically still as he watched her take his place.

“Come.”

Her simple command was impossible to disobey, and you sat up, doing as she said. With a hand on the back of your head, she guided you towards the man, an imposing urge to touch him descending over you. With your hands sliding along his lithe frame, her fingers applied pressure, and your head lowered.

Your lips stretched around him as you tasted his cock, tongue flat and cheeks hollowed. Feminine hands were gliding over your curves, fingers eventually sinking into you again. You closed your eyes at the feel, relaxing and heart calming at the 180 from Feyd-Rautha’s earlier brutality. At the thought of him, you peeled your eyes open, looking up at him from beneath your lashes.

It amazed you, how he could be so dominant and forceful with you but so obedient and almost subdued with her. With one look into his eyes or the feel of her hands against his skin, he became a momentarily tamed wild animal. The feral glint in his eyes couldn’t be done away with, the desire to cause pain coloring his features whenever his gaze connected with yours.

As Lady Margot gently curved her fingers into you, you found yourself craving that feeling again.

Your neck and torso still faintly stung from where his blade had drawn blood, and you got the feeling that your skin was already starting to bruise from where he’d tightly held you. You recalled her earlier words, about her presence serving to keep him in line, and your mind lingered on the aches you felt from what he’d done while she was here. You wondered what would be in store for you should he ever get you completely alone.

You suspected that she was right.

He would get too excited…and probably kill you.

When his lips curved into a small smirk, you knew then that your thoughts were written on your face—along with your fear. His hand on your head made you nervous, and still you slid your mouth up and down the length of him. You could feel yourself dripping down your thighs, Lady Margot’s soft ministrations stroking that fire deep within your stomach. It made you moan around him, and if possible, you swore Feyd-Rautha’s eyes darkened at both the sound and feel.

“She would make a well-behaved pet,” he haughtily said.

The way he stared into your eyes told you that was meant more so for you than her. They both shifted, leaning in and you heard them kiss above your head.

“I knew that you would enjoy her,” the blonde woman confidently said, her even tone unable to hide her satisfaction. “Provided you don’t break her.”

When she pulled away, she pulled away from you too, and with a hand on your chin, she lifted your head. She guided you to kiss him, her own lips resting against your cheek, her soft voice telling you not to be afraid. You wanted to listen, your own mind agreeing, and so you welcomed the pain when blood bloomed along your lips.

Feyd-Rautha enjoyed the taste, roughly grabbing your hands and pinning them behind you at the small of your back. He didn’t tell you to lie down, instead making you, and you winced at the feel of your hands trapped beneath your own body. His lips were stained red when he pulled away, and your mouth parted into an ‘O’ shape when the head of his cock started to stretch you out again.

You were completely powerless—at his mercy—and you cried out at the rough curve of his hips. He looked vicious above you, focused not on chasing his high but on seeing the register of pain on your face instead. That was what brought him pleasure, watching you wince and squirm beneath him and his intense thrusts. If his hand wasn’t on your throat then it was yanking your hair or digging into the soft flesh of your breast.

He seemed to like the sight of marking you up whether it be with his teeth or his hand…or that blade.

He held it against your throat while he fucked you, sometimes sliding the flat part down your chest, blue eyes transfixed by the metal pressing against your skin. Occasionally he’d turn it, the edge grazing you, making a cut just shallow enough and then he’d lean down to taste you. Spots of his own flesh was marred by your blood, and he obviously didn’t care as he smeared it over both of you with every movement.

With your hands free, you clutched onto the sheets, eyes rolling into the back of your head. His hands were painfully tight on your waist, keeping your hips lifted for him as he thrust into you. Lady Margot—silently and appreciatively watching—slid her hands along the bed to grab your hands. Her fingers intertwined with your own, holding them down, and you welcomed the gentle kisses she placed on your wrists and then your cheek before finally your lips.

The man above you made a noise of disapproval, and after some time, she granted him what he wanted, his own rough lips replacing hers. You panted into the kiss, tasting your blood on his lips, and you felt almost delirious. It was a constant cycle of pain and pleasure that had you chasing him when he started to pull away. The laugh he gave at the sight told you his thoughts on the matter, but you didn’t care how much power you were giving him.

His gaze suddenly lifted, and his thrusts didn’t stop as he faced Lady Margot. You felt hypnotized as you watched them, eyes focused on the way Feyd-Rautha stuck out his tongue, elongating it in a way you didn’t think possible. The willowy woman had let you go, taking his own blade and dragging the edge of it down his tongue.

It was then that you realized the man inside of you enjoyed pain almost as much as he liked inflicting it.

You wondered if that was why he was so submissive towards her, why she could order him around and why she was so confident that she could keep him in line. You were unsurprised when they kissed, the brutal man kissing you after a while when they finally parted. You swore that his blood tasted completely different from your own.

A thin layer of sweat coated your skin, and you felt almost completely spent. You were sure that the celebration of his birth was still being had while he chose to celebrate between your legs. His strength and the knowledge of how easily he could snuff you out played a part in the way you clenched around his cock. You could feel that you were close—and so could he.

His hand completely obstructed your breathing, and you could only hold onto his wrist. With every thrust into your cunt, the heat in the pit of your stomach grew. Your heart was racing, and your eyes struggled to remain open, and your toes curled as he stretched you around him. A noise of appreciation reached your ears, and for a moment you wondered if he was going to snap your neck.

He could do it. The strength in his hand told you so and that he would probably barely exert himself doing so. You felt your neck strain underneath his fingers, and your nails drew blood over his skin. You knew he liked that because he kissed you again. Your shallow breaths hit his face, and just as you were on the verge of passing out, you came.

…and his hold loosened.

The rush of air into your lungs coinciding with the release of pressure inside of you made your world momentarily go dark. All you could feel was the snug fit of his cock—and the way your walls fluttered around it—and his teeth against your lip. You could faintly feel softer hands on your face, and a choked moan left your lips his hips continued to connect with yours.

His hand tightened again just as your vision started to return to you, and the smile you were met with was chilling. So turned on by watching you straddle death, the fearsome fighter came too but much more violently. He practically growled above you, the noise so animalistic and inhumane sounding. Your neck almost cracked beneath the force of his hand, and the overstimulation from the feel of his cock made you want to clench your thighs together.

You were struggling to breathe when he stilled, chest burning, and when he roughly let you go—pushing himself away from you—you gasped for air. You turned on your side, sweaty and bloody and feeling like you couldn’t breathe deep enough. A hand smoothed along the side of your face—a feminine hand—and when you looked up, the blue-eyed man was cleaning his blade with a crooked smile, terrifying teeth on display.

“I think I will keep this one.”

[muletia]

✧˖° 𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐃𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐆 — 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐄𝐄

mer!optimus x human!reader

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐎𝐍𝐄

word count: 4400

The familiar weight of sleeplessness and fatigue greets you the moment you wake up, like an old toxic friend, pushing your head flat to the ground, adding phantom kilograms on top. Your first thought, the ID of a modern human, immediately shifts to calculating how much sleep time you have left before the alarm goes off.

You like waking up before the alarm. Who doesn’t, especially when it gives you those precious few or, if you're lucky, a dozen extra minutes of dozing? That last moment of coziness in a warm bed, the pleasant weight of the comforter, flipping the pillow to the cool side, that was the simplicity of life you’d come to know and grow used to. Familiarity is good, because it can’t scare you, you think, your thoughts still drifting in the haze of morning fog.

But you are surrounded by the familiar, aren’t you? You have no idea where such thoughts are coming from, especially this early in the morning. There’ll be time for daydreaming and philosophical pondering during an especially boring shift at work or during lunch break. And it’s sad, and perhaps unfair, that this is the most stimulating thing you get to do in a place that drains every drop of energy out of you, until you finish your shift a hollow shell — a place commonly known as work. For now, you still have those few blessed minutes of extra rest, and your only concern is whether you'll be able to enjoy them before the alarm rings and shatters this lovely little idyll.

You try to pull the blanket tighter around yourself, searching for it with your arm, but instead of the familiar texture of cotton, you find only your clothes. Hmm, that’s strange. You don’t remember the state you came home in after work, but it wouldn’t surprise you if you were so exhausted you just collapsed on the couch without even grabbing a blanket, sleeping straight through all your precious free time.

You forgot to set the alarm for your afternoon nap again, you scold yourself. Your brain feeds you made-up stories, fueling your irritation at yourself. You had so many plans yesterday. You really wanted to finish that drawing you’ve been slaving over for weeks. But no, you didn’t set that damned alarm, and now you feel like kicking yourself hard in the ass.

And great, now you’re too upset to even try to chase those last few minutes of rest. Beautiful. Wonderful. A textbook case of self-sabotage. Too bad it had to catch you now, when you genuinely wanted, and more importantly needed, those extra minutes of sleep.

For a few seconds more, you live in the illusion that you need to get ready for work soon. Until you reach for your phone, and instead of your fingers tapping the hard surface of your nightstand, they sink into the sandy ground.

You’re pretty sure the speed with which you jerk your hand back broke the sound barrier. You sit up just as quickly, torso and head upright, scanning your surroundings in panic for some explanation for your missing, ever-faithful phone. Luckily, you don’t have to look far. The evidence surrounds you from all sides. And the sight of every familiar bush and palm tree blows the morning fog away like a leaf blower, mercilessly revealing the memories of yesterday that had been so carefully hidden in the haze.

Everything comes back to you, every detail, though the chronology is a little scrambled. The airplane flight, the crash, the wound on your calf, the encounter with the tarantula, eating papaya sprinkled with sand.

And him. The merman.

Your first meeting, his pitiful moans, and how he searched the entire island for you. Searched… He was looking for you! Goddammit, he probably already spotted you between the leaves and is now just waiting for you to wake up so he can finally get a taste of that weird little toothpick. You idiot, what are you still doing on this beach, get out of here, now! You try to motivate yourself, but before the panic can spread through your entire body like a virus, you make a maybe not rational but very necessary decision under the circumstances.

You turn towards the beach. Slowly, carefully rotating your body so as not to make a single suspicious sound.

That is, until your spine suddenly decides to crack.

You immediately drop flat to the ground. The merman must have good hearing, he definitely heard that. Oh, you’re so screwed. Now you’ve done it. You forgot about being careful all night because you had to cry, and now you’re paying the price.

But… you hear nothing. No chirping or clicking. No sound of a giant body dragging itself across the sand towards your hiding spot.

Nothing. Only the gentle rustle of waves and… if your ears aren’t deceiving you, deep, even breathing.

Loud and distinct, but not close enough to make you think the merman is lurking right next to your hideout. A bit further off, closer to the water, where the sound of breathing blends now and then with the ocean waves.

That convinces you enough to lift your head from the ground. Using the same gap in the foliage you’d spied through yesterday, you peek out to see what he’s doing, fully prepared for your gazes to meet. You’re even mentally preparing to bolt into the depths of the island in case he decides to chase you.

But that turns out to be unnecessary. Enough that you subconsciously relax your tensed muscles, exhaling silently in relief.

The merman is asleep. Or at least, you think he’s asleep.

His entire tail is submerged in the water, but the humanoid half lies on the sand, occasionally brushed by shy waves. His large, stocky arms are folded in such a way they might as well be a comfortable pillow, because as you study the face of the sleeping mer, you find he looks… peaceful. No trace of the grim sorrow and despair you’d observed in him before, expressions etched deep in your memory.

You allow yourself a moment to look at him, finally able to do so. The feeling of curiosity has come full circle since your first meeting, but the fear has lost its edge, reduced now to a slightly racing heart and a quiet voice in the back of your mind reminding you to stay cautious. And maybe the island is messing with your sense of reality and whether everything around you is an illusion, but you still have enough strength to fight for your life.

It seems the merman has drifted far into the ocean of dreams, because even a stronger wave washing over his torso up to his crossed arms doesn’t wake him. His face conveys peace and contentment, broken only by the occasional twitch of an eyelid. Stoic expression isn’t invincible, though, because soon it's twisted by a smile. Small, shy, barely visible from your hiding spot but it’s real.

He must be dreaming about something truly pleasant, because then you hear the squish of damp sand being kneaded. And when you shift on the ground, gently pushing out past the comfort of dense leaves to get a better look at what he’s doing, you can’t help but smile too.

He’s kneading the sand with his hands. Like happy cats knead their beds before falling asleep.

And maybe it’s just another human flaw born from consuming too many cute cat videos on social media, but suddenly the merman doesn’t seem so scary. Not enough for you to feel immediately comfortable near him, but enough to ease your tension, because damn it, even if you were convinced he was a born killing machine, you couldn’t stop the fluffy warmth blooming in your chest. 

The kneading was adorable. Okay, insanely adorable.

Your thoughts stray too close to forbidden territory, because a sudden intrusive question pops into your head. You wonder if he can purr. And maybe if you rolled a coconut his way, he’d chase after it like a cat after a ball of yarn? Honestly… you’d like to try, if it meant finding a way to distract the merman whenever his presence became too intense and stressful.

Or you’ll just die trying, because those ideas are only funny in your head. His sudden loud exhale snaps you back to reality, so unexpected that your body reflexively presses tighter against the safety of the ground. With one breath, the merman reminds you who’s really in control here, and who the apex predator is. Big cats also have their cute moments, relaxing after being perfect killing machines.

And that thought alone is enough to wipe the smile off your face. He might look cute kneading the sand, but he’s the one in charge here. He’s the king of these waters, and you’re the uninvited guest on his territory.

Exactly, that’s what you realize. He has the whole island at his disposal. Why did he have to pick your beach?

It’s not your beach, you remind yourself, but the question still matters. The island’s got sand on at least two sides — couldn’t he have chosen a different spot to rest? Or his lagoon? Of course he could have, but he had to fixate on you. And even his cat-like behavior isn’t enough to buy your forgiveness or shield him from your wrath.

You know full well he hasn’t really earned it. You understand this is his territory and if he wanted, he could crawl right up onto the dry land next to you and deliver the most diabolical surprise — but as a castaway on a deserted island, you’re pretty sure you’ve earned the right to have your nerves frayed a bit, haven’t you?

So yeah. He really could’ve picked another spot to sleep. Honestly.

Unless… he knew you were here. Because for what other reason would he have picked this particular beach if not to wait around for you to wake up? It’s obvious, you tell yourself, he probably spotted your clothes through the gaps in the leaves while you were asleep.

Which only means that you need to get the hell out of here. While he’s still asleep and won’t be able to see you bolting right under his nose.

A dangerous thought suddenly forms in your mind. You could take advantage of him sleeping and grab a few papayas. Your hollow, ravenous stomach wholeheartedly agrees. You have to eat. And since fish and crabs are out of reach thanks to mermaid-related issues and lack of tools to start a fire, fruit is your only salvation.

But fruit will run out one day — a sentence that carries a terrifying sense of dread you’re not ready to face. Someone will rescue you before that. Eventually.

But that thought no longer brings you the comfort it used to.

Unable to endure the hunger and thirst any longer, you slowly rise into a crouch, careful not to brush against any leaves or branches. You manage it flawlessly, but just in case, you keep your eyes glued to the merman, who still appears to be sleeping soundly.

In the very corner of your field of vision, though, you catch a bright orange blotch. A color so unnatural for the island’s palette it practically begs to be checked out. Finding the courage, finally giving the merman a break from your intense, watchful gaze, you investigate what the orange outline is.

And you almost feel like smacking yourself in the forehead.

Under the palm you dubbed your camp lies your life jacket. In plain sight for any passing merman who might have unresolved business with the uninvited guest on his island.

You’re a fucking idiot, you know that? Crying was more important than thinking rationally about your safety, huh? Well, now you’re paying the price. The merman knows you chose this place as your little spot of existence, and if you take the life jacket, he’ll know that either you’ve moved again, and he’ll start searching the island for you, or he’ll figure out you hid the jacket behind the palm, and you’re still lurking around this beach.

You’ve fallen right into the trap, and the worst part is, you have no one to blame but yourself, no matter how badly you want to put it on the merman. Because sure, he’s making your life miserable but this is his home, and you’re the one who barged in with your filthy boots.

“Fuck my life” you groan, but you can’t even allow yourself to voice your emotions. You want to scream, but you can’t. Cry, but you can’t. Eat, drink, survive — but you can’t.

You swear you’ll never complain about traffic again. Or your job. Or the cockroaches in your kitchen. You won’t complain about anything anymore, because nothing compares to the shitty situation you’re stuck in now. You even catch yourself fantasizing about sitting in traffic and getting chewed out by your boss for being late. Oh, what you’d give to go back to normal life.

Luckily, you remind yourself that you’ll have plenty of time to daydream later. Right now you need to focus on stopping your stomach from digesting itself out of pure hunger.

You focus your attention back on the merman, making sure he’s still asleep. Kneeling deeper into the sand convinces you to take the next step in your food gathering quest, and you slowly straighten your knees.

Your joints aren’t too thrilled about suddenly bearing weight. Both knees pop quite loudly, rousing not only yourself:every sense suddenly sharpened a hundredfold — but apparently the merman as well, as he stirs restlessly. His face scrunches, cracking the peaceful, contented marble expression, but you’re not about to sit there frozen like a deer in the headlights and wait to see if he just shifts position and keeps sleeping or if you’ve served as his alarm clock today.

You pivot on your heel and, moving calmly and carefully around all the sticks and dry leaves, make it to the green thicket. You don’t start running until you hear a pleading, beckoning click behind you.

############################################################################

The x’s you carved into the tree trunks have already lost their green hue, drying into a pale brown, blending more and more with the bark. You realize you’ll have to carve them again soon, but then correct yourself, that you won’t need to. Surely someone will find you by then. The search already started, sometime this week, and it’s Wednesday now, so any day now a small plane will cut across the sky, spot you, and take you away.

This time, it’s hard for you to believe.

And what if they find the merman? You can’t stop that question from forming as you make your way to the lagoon. People like hurting freaks of nature. Locking them up in enclosures or aquariums in secret labs, taking skin and DNA samples, poking around in their guts, pumping them full of poison. Would you ever be able to sleep again, knowing that such a beautiful creature is suffering because of you?

No. No, you wouldn’t. Which only makes you hate the ocean more for spitting you out here, on an island inhabited by a mythical being. You think you’d rather be gulping down raw fish.

“Be glad you’re even alive” you mutter under your breath. “So lucky, ending up on an island with fruit and coconuts, and you still complain. You’ve gone soft from city life.”

“But maybe if it weren’t for the damn Cerberus guarding this island, I wouldn’t be guilt-tripping myself over, oh I don’t know, getting home safely? But nooo, had to get lucky there too.” You angrily kick the first branch in your way. “Fuck this goddamn island.”

“Oh perfect, now I’m talking to myself. Brilliant. Wonderful.” you sigh.

You cover the path to the lagoon in complete silence, which honestly unsettles you a little. The merman hasn’t made a sound in a while. He only treated you to a brief summoning song before falling silent, probably realizing that even this time you wouldn’t fall for his sad-puppy call for companionship.

You suspect he’s back to patrolling the island. You expect to see him at the lagoon, but the gnawing pain in your stomach isn’t about to let you search for an alternative. You need those papayas. Only after eating can you even think about searching for any other food source.

Reaching the lagoon, this time you first scan the area to make sure it’s clear but other than the trail of a large body dragged through the sand to the treeline, you spot nothing alarming.

He really wanted to get to me, you think. 

You can’t help but wonder… was it out of hunger or loneliness?

Eyes on the water, disturbed only by a gentle breeze, you slowly make your way to the ruins. But before stepping even a millimeter inside, you thoroughly check all sides for any disgusting eight-legged residents. Only after confirming the area’s clear do you rush in and jump at the tree, trying to reach the papayas. This time, whether from stress or haste, you’re not as efficient but at last, you’re hugging one ripe fruit to your chest again.

Hunger pushes you to fight for a second, which you manage to pluck but just as you do, the sound of splashing reaches you from the lagoon. Then, the slithering of a body across sand. And finally, chirping calls.

Oh, how long it’s been since you heard those. A whole ten minutes.

Wonderful. Perfect. Your sense of timing should be studied by scientists, surely no one could have worse.

Just like the first day, there’s no way out of here without catching the merman’s attention. No matter which direction you go, he’ll see you, and this time, you’re close enough for him to easily reach out and grab you.

You’re not going to avoid this confrontation. You have no intention of waiting in the ruins for another close encounter with a tarantula. No, one was enough.

The merman calls again, always in that same tone, dripping with hope, and for the first time, you’re forced to acknowledge it.

You gently peek your head through the hole that used to be a door, just like you did on the first day but it quickly becomes clear this trick only worked yesterday, back when the merman didn’t yet know you existed.

Now your eyes meet almost instantly.

Instinctively, you duck back behind the wall, but the merman’s soft clicking makes you realize how stupid that was. He knows you’re here. The only thing left to do is run.

So why the hell can’t you move?

Your legs are trembling like jelly, feet nailed to the ground by a hundred thick spikes. And even though you hate yourself for being such a coward, you have to do something if you don’t want to die from hunger or end up inside a merman’s stomach.

So you do what most people do when they’re overwhelmed by stress and have another person nearby.

You peek timidly from behind the wall, eyeing the merman cautiously, for now keeping quiet about the dead fish laid out on the sand, larger and different than yesterday's. You also try not to dwell on how his face suddenly lit up the moment your eyes met, how his mouth dropped open in shock, though his eyes sparkled with something you could only describe as wild, primal joy.

You start to speak.

“Um… listen.”

The merman brightens even more, though you didn’t think that was possible, softening his expression into a smile. A gentle one, just like the one you saw on his face before, when he’d slept while kneading the sand with his paws.

Once again, he ceases to be frightening, luring you in with friendliness, encouraging you to continue with an excited, single chirp.

With little other choice, you let yourself get caught in the trap.

“I don’t know why you have beef with me…” you try, but when he tilts his head slightly, you gather that although he’s clearly happy you’re speaking to him, he has no clue what you’re saying. “Okay, let’s try it a different way.”

You make eye contact with him briefly, but those large, azure, kind eyes gaze at you with such intense enthusiasm and hope that your own buckle under the weight of his emotion.

So you lean out more, revealing half your body.

“I’d like to go back to the beach” you begin, pointing first at yourself, then gesturing towards the beach you know. The merman watches you closely, brows furrowed, not in anger, but in focus, carefully analyzing your gestures. “And eat breakfast” you tap your finger against the papayas, “Without fear that, God, this is so stupid, I’ll be, um… eaten? Crap, how do I even show that, um…”

The merman tilts his head again but gives you time to demonstrate what you mean, and for that, you’re almost grateful. If it weren’t for the fact that he’s the source of your stress and awkwardness in the first place.

“Ugh, alright.”

You point at him, then at yourself, then chomp your teeth twice.

The enormous creature needs exactly one second to understand what you mean. His eyes widen in shock, as if genuinely offended that you’d even think your flesh might be appetizing to him, then he shakes his head, continuing his vocal side of the conversation with a few clicks and chirps, which you understand just as well as he understands your English.

“Um… alright. So we’re cool, yeah?” the merman tilts his head again. Oh. Right.

So you perform the only gesture your stress-cluttered brain can conjure up.

You give him a thumbs up.

Which utterly throws him off.

I’m such an idiot, you think to yourself, clutching the precious papayas tighter. That’s the second strike today.

With nothing more to say, and afraid you’ll blurt out another stupid line you’ll lie awake remembering every night, you summon a pinch of courage to glance at the merman, who is still entirely focused on your face.

Only then does the creature nod. A gesture so human, so intelligent, it stirs a sense of wonder in you so dense in your throat, you can’t even breathe, lips only parting in awe, not inhaling any air.

Which is why you don’t react in fear when he picks up the fish and places it near you, still maintaining a safe distance. Just far enough not to scare you. Not to break the fragile thread of connection.

He clicks a few times, and you manage to hear encouragement in the low tone. As if urging you to accept the gift, once again completely catching you off guard.

“Um… thank you? I guess…”

The merman sends you one last sweet chirp and smiles softly before pushing off the sand with his broad shoulders and fully submerging into the shallow lagoon water. He surfaces his head once more, casting you a final glance, then pulls back toward the pool’s outlet, shocking you with his speed and, more than anything, the silence of such a massive body moving underwater. If not for the gently rippling water brushing the sand, you wouldn’t have heard him swimming at all.

It hits you like a bucket of ice water. Suddenly, you can feel your legs again, finally piece together more complex thoughts. You can breathe, rediscovering the ability with a few quick gasps.

“Wow” you whisper, now that you’ve calmed down.

You just had a full sign-language conversation with an intelligent sea… creature? It suddenly felt weird calling him that. Knowing how clever he is, doesn’t he deserve to be called a person? A merperson?

“I think… I think I need to sit down. Yeah, I definitely need to sit down.”

You walk over to the soft sand, and your butt hits the ground immediately, no longer able to bear the weight of the thoughts swirling in your head.

And that’s when you remember the fish.

You stare at it for a moment, its dead eyes, body covered in sand. It’s larger than the one he’d held in his jaws yesterday, roughly the length of your forearm.

But what hits you the most is the realization that it’s a gift. A gift for you. From a giant, intelligent merman, not only capable of feeling empathy, but also of acting upon it.

And the worst part is, you can’t accept it. You can’t eat it raw, and without a pocketknife or any blade, you can’t start a fire. But if you just leave it here, won’t that betray the merman’s kindness? Maybe that’s all it would take to make him change his mind about using you as a toothpick.

“Well, now you’ve really screwed me over” you sigh.

You have to take the fish. You might not eat it, but you have to, too afraid of the consequences of leaving it behind.

But before you move from your spot on the sand, you glance toward the opposite direction of the familiar beach.

It would be so easy to bolt now. You didn’t owe him anything. You hadn’t made any promises. And above all, it was his fault your stress yesterday had reached cosmic levels, still towering over every other emotion.

You shouldn’t be kind to him, or accept gifts. You even regret igniting that stupid conversation, breaking the first unspoken barrier of untouchability you never should’ve touched.

But now it was too late. You’d made contact with an alien species, and now you had to face the consequences.

You punch the sand.

“Fuck.”

And grab the fish by the gills — slimy, wet, and disgusting — so unpleasant to the touch that you want to chuck it into the lagoon and forget it ever existed. But you can’t. You really don’t want to see what his rage looks like. You don’t want to see those teeth snapping, or that gentle face twisted in fury. You don’t want to end up like that fish.

“Fuck this island” you mutter.

And you head back towards the only beach you know.

[custardtartsfan]

U + Ur Alien Boyfriend - Adam Warlock thoughts

hello this is most likely nowhere near comic canon or anything canon, this is off the dome and wwas written in 17 minutes. most of my Adam experience is from rivals and the movie which i watched half asleep in my grandmas basement while babysitting 4 of my cousins so. dont jump me if this is ooc by leaps and bounds

im writing this from the perspective of you being an earthling soz to any aliens who read me i still love you

general adam-ary ‎꜀( ꜆-ࡇ-)꜆ ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁

BIG sweet tooth. i think hes a huge fan of custard tarts specifically. You took him to a sweet shop on your first date and it was his first time experiencing processed sugars. hes a big fan. he'll eat those things like cucumber slices. you could feed him sugarcubes like a trained horse probably

you showed him those pictures on pintrest of the tiny dogs with messed up haircuts and hes obsessed. hes got a big soft spot for little guys. he will come up to you and ask to see the silly dogs, thats what he calls them

this is what im referring to. i think he gives him names but in an Commedia dell'arte way. like all the fat ones with big noses are smunkles and all the ones with big round hair on their bodies but skinny legs are naboodle

adding onto this, i think he forgets words a lot. like he wants a clemantine, but he forgets the word. so he asks you for the orange sustenance sphere

thats the best of it though. the worst and most nonsensical of it is when he makes up a nonsense word for something when the word escapes him

hes a very quiet person. he likes to watch you do things. like he'll just stand over you while you cook or do your hair. hes a big fan of staring longingly at you. just a big shiny guy standing over you while you chop cucumbers

could he have some. of the cucumbers, please. please can he have

he likes having his hair played with. he likes having his face touched. he likes all physical affection

space is COLD and NOBODY gives him kisses there and hes NOT a fan. he likes it here, with you. you kiss him and love him. way better than space

he doesnt really know how to verbally ask for affection though, so he'll just sit or stand next to you and stare at you until you touch him in some way

i write about this guy like hes a dog lwk

he speaks very formally, but, he likes to copy you. if you have a phrase you like to say he will pick it up, and it will sound ridiculous in his voice

"i do not play about my face card" while fixing his hair in a car window. and youre just like..im sorry?

hes a big fan of birds. all of them. big Ornithology guy right here

you introduced him to the concept of a public library and now he likes to spend all his free time there. like he gets his book of choice, parks it at a table and will stay there until hes retrieved or he wants a snack

its like the boyfriend daycares at malls in china. you could just leave him there for a few hours and hed chill

More soft / cutesie stuff (╥﹏╥)

hes a sweet talker. without even trying

“let me see your eyes. they bring me great joy” like fuck off

hes a yearner too. when youre not with him he likes to sit and think about you, about what he’s gonna say when he sees you next

he’ll make a mental list of everything he wants to tell you when he sees you next. he saw a blue jay, he ate a quesadilla, he missed you a lot please hug him please

he LOVES listening to you talk about your childhood. he thinks you would’ve been best friends as children. he didn’t have a childhood since he popped out the cocoon fully formed, so he likes to think about being a child with you. looking at bugs and shit, county stuff. he’s really obsessed with rural areas

[demonic0angel]

Jason meet Jazz and, due to her highly liminal nature and some ghostly shenanigans, he gets the idea that she's secretly a vampire. He's kinda into the idea.

(They’re stupid, your honor 😭)

“So… what’s your opinion on Twilight?” Jason asked, leaning over the desk to look at Wolf.

She paused from reading her papers. Then she said, “Twilight by Stephanie Meyers?”

“Yeah. That one. Like with all of the werewolf and vampire stuff.”

“Well. In a way, I think it’s interesting how much of an impact it’s made, but I mostly think her writing is a reflection of her Mormon views, and the impact that it’s created on people isn’t so great when you realize that she’s discriminatory and judgemental.”

Damn, he agreed with her on everything. She was so perfect. It was almost a little sad how she was a vampire, which was probably why she covered herself so thoroughly in leather and fabric.

“I agree. I was asking more about the creatures inside though. It’s pretty fascinating that vampires sparkle in the daylight. It’s sad, of course, that they are dependent on blood and have to hide their immortality, but the plot point where Bella wanted to be immortal was quite interesting, even if a little tasteless. Not that it’s bad to be inhuman, y’know?”

She turned to him slowly. He couldn’t read her expression through her helmet, but he felt like her gaze was extremely confused. After a moment, she nodded quickly and said, “Uhm. Yes. Being inhuman is not a thing to be hated, but instead, respected like any other race. After all, we’re just trying to survive. I’m glad that you’re making your anti-discrimination policies even more clear, Hood.”

Jason blinked.

Why did he feel like they weren’t just on separate pages, but also on separate books?

He pulled down his jacket a little, revealing his neck. His armor loosened and Jason had the inkling of looking like a whore before he stomped down on the feeling. Not that it was wrong anyways. He was absolutely a whore for Wolf.

“Y’know, Princess,” he said in a very casual voice, “If you were a vampire or a demon, I’d let you feed on me.” He paused and added, “Only for research purposes, of course.”

She paused again, taking even longer to stare at him.

Jason also stared back at her, though he wasn’t really sure because both of them had helmets.

Eventually, she just awkwardly said, “Okay.”

“Okay?” He asked, hinting at her.

She nodded slowly. “… okay. I’ll feed on you if I need to.”

That was basically confirmation! Jason beamed and returned her nod. “That’s good. Feel free to do it whenever you need. I’m here for you, Wolf.”

“…….. thanks.”

[nottivagos]

notti's nightly thoughts (18+)

an: the first one went down a treat, so i made another one.....

“you’re such a messy vampire, charles,” you purred, looking down at the whining, drooling vampire below you with a devilish smirk. the sight of a naked charles, completely at your mercy and gagged made you lick your lips in anticipation as the low fire of sadistic excitement burnt in your belly.

it was beautiful. charles was so cute like this in your opinion. who the hell knew that a blood-thirsty creature was actually a drooling mess whenever you put them in mouth restraints and starved them of the one thing they craved badly? his arms were stretched open as handcuffs tied his wrists to the bed frame above him, gag shoved snugly into his mouth as his fangs pierced the ball, all whilst he squirmed, hopelessly trying to break free so he could feed from you.

“ah, ah.” you were quick to scold, the hand you’d placed on charles’s cheek burning his pale skin as his body yearned for you. he whined again, pleading green eyes wide and begging for the ongoing torture you were putting him through to stop. “such a needy vampire,” you mumbled, thumb tracing down his jaw before coming to wipe away his saliva messily drooling down his chin. “so hungry for me. aren’t you, charles?”

the vampire below nodded almost instantly in response. his cheeks were flushed, as pitiful tears begged to fall from his eyes. you revelled in the moment. charles, underneath you on the verge of tears and ferality just because he couldn’t sedate himself with your sweet blood. a part of you did sympathise with charles— it was wrong to starve him of the thing that he desperately needed to live— but something about this, having charles utterly hopeless and writhing below you, was a delight to witness.

“do you deserve my blood though, charles?” you mumbled, your fingertips grazing ever so slightly over his bare chest as your hand trailed down. he shuddered upon touch, the trail leaving goosebumps in its wake. “after all it’s not like you just need me to feed off, is it?” you teased with a raised eyebrow, hand now coming to touch his clothed erection ever so slowly. charles’s eyes squeezed shut as you played with his length, giving it a little squeeze which made his hips buck slightly.

“so excited and utterly desperate for me,” you whispered, coming to bring your head closer to his, towering over his bare body. “you’re beautiful like this, charles,” you added, leaving a chaste peck on his forehead. 

your hand still hovering on his cock moved slightly as your fingers came to claw underneath the elastic of his boxers, before slowly pushing them down past his knees, allowing it to spring freely against his stomach. charles groaned lowly as your thumb came to toy with his angry length, smearing the leaking precum around the throbbing red tip before your whole hand wrapped snugly around his shaft’s base.

a strangled gasp escaped his lips as you began to pump his length. his hips buckled again, craving an awaiting release dramatically as he tried to create more friction between his cock in your hands and your movements. a shiver of pleasure crawled up the vampire’s spine as he let you speed up, his hip’s jerking rhythm merging into one as he chased his release desperately.

drool fully dripped from his chin, head tilting back against the pillows beneath him as charles revelled in the pleasure. it was overwhelmingly ecstatic as he felt his cock twitch aggressively in your hands, a guttural groan following as his eyes squeezed shut again, a few meagre tears streaming down his cheeks as his fangs stabbed at the gag, jaw locking into place as ropes of cum shot out of his cock like it was the first time he’d ever came.

“that’s a good boy,” you praised sweetly as the cum coated your hand and his lower stomach, slowing down your speed before fully removing your hand from his softening shaft. you looked down at him again, smiling as your hands came to cup his burning cheeks. you then pulled the gag over his head, placing it on your bedside table, following with the handcuffs which you un-did and placed to the side as well,  before putting your full attention on him. 

“now that we’ve got that out of your system,” you mumbled, against his lips, the heat from your breath radiating them, “do you want to bite me?” you asked.

charles’s eyes lit up in that moment, the sparkle of excitement shimmering as you maintained eye contact with him. “really?!” he exclaimed, pressing his lips hungrily on yours as he kissed you feverishly. “please, ma chérie,” he gasped through kisses whilst wrapped his newly freed arms around your neck, sitting upwards on the mattress before he flipped you over onto your back with ease, to which you replied with a giggle as you continued to kiss.

“of course, charles,” you spoke through soft pants as your lips finally broke apart, a small line of saliva keeping you connected in the dimly-lit bedroom, “i think you deserve it. don’t you think?” you added, before he pounced onto your neck and happily fed from you like a starved man. <3

like sub vampire!charles? fancy sending me an ask so you can be included in my nightly thoughts! - notti <3

[revelboo]

HOLY SALMON MILK COW- TFA BLURR!??? IN MY FYP TRANSFORMERS X READER CONTENT??? OMG YES!!

THANK YOU,,, for adding blurr content because my goddd,, my starve for him is so NEEDED rn.

Thank you for feeding the blurr fans dear revel🙏

Zippy needed some love

A-Ok Pt 2

TFA Blurr x Reader

• Scrap. Darting into a shadowy alley, he feels your frantic squirming to get free as the shock wears off. Head tipping up to stare at the tiny, innocuous CCTV camera mounted on a wall. Scrap. How fast had he been moving? Fast enough it hadn’t caught him? Wincing as you start screaming, the sound not nearly muffled enough by the helmet, and he almost drops you in surprise. Scrap. “No. No, no, no,” he groans as you kick at him. Because everything’s gone sideways now because of one impulsive decision. He’s supposed to be beyond this. Calm, rational. “Stop, please.” Can’t think with you thrashing about making that noise and he needs to think. Desperately. There has to be a way to salvage this.

• Freaking out, adrenaline shaking through you, you try to claw at the buckle to your helmet. Can’t get enough air, can’t breathe as your mind struggles with this. You wrecked. Drag racing with that little blue car, the stalled truck. You lost control. Right. The sports car coming apart, transforming into a giant robot and grabbing you. Bike going over the side of the viaduct without you on it as the robot had moved you to safety with shocking speed. Yep. And that brings you to dangling from the giant robot’s arms. Finally you get the buckle loose and shove the helmet off, gasping as it hits the concrete and bounces. And you can breathe. Try to assess. You’re still alive. It saved you. Right? “Hey, Zippy? Put me down, please.”

• That calm, little voice cuts through his panic, stroking over him and he looks down in surprise. If he does set you down, you’re going to run. Of course, you can’t outrun him, but still. What’s he supposed to do with you? His mission, his cover all in danger because he couldn’t resist a little fun. Because he’d been bored. “That’s not my name,” he says finally, shifting on his peds. Turning to look and see that the alley dead ends at a low chain link fence on the other side. Can clear that easily enough. There might be another camera, though.

• “Well, what is your name?” Too nervous to shut up, you just keep going. Because if he’d wanted to kill you or hurt you, he’d have let you wreck. He hadn’t. Choosing to believe that means you’re safe, makes it easier to calm your racing heart. Turning in a circle with you still trapped in his arms, legs swinging with his quick movements, you think of a kitten being carried by a hyper toddler. Realizing he’s ignoring you, muttering softly to himself, the words too quick to catch. “You saved my life, right, Zippy?” Adrenaline starting to ebb, you feel strangely buoyant. Almost giddy.

• “Still not my name.” Why does that calm voice make it easier to think? To focus? Slowing him down some. Venting softly, his servos flex on you. “If I put you down, you’re not going to run.” Not really a question, but he still waits until you nod before he lowers you. Tensing when you take a step back, but you’re only retrieving your helmet before looking up at him. You’re not panicking, not screaming and it eases his own tension even if he doesn’t understand why you’re coping with him so well. Just able to roll with not only a near death experience, but meeting an alien. “Name’s Blurr.” Watches you turning the helmet over in your hands, muttering what sounds suspiciously like a ‘sure, Zippy,’ before your hands start shaking, you drop the helmet, and then you crumple as he grabs for you.

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[mmurderhousewrites]

Rich Baby Daddy pt. one (sukuna x reader)

Summary: You're invited to a party by a close friend and end up bumping into someone from your past.

Warnings: none.

The mornings used to be your favorite. Waking up next to your hunk of a man. The sun shining through your bedroom windows. Oh how you missed those lovely mornings.

Now however, your mornings consisted of you waking up at the crack of dawn due to your crying 4 year old. bathing and clothing not only yourself but your child as well, making breakfast, and somehow managing to get to work on time.

Now on your days off, if you were lucky, Yuji, your son, would sleep in. And if god was somehow on your side that day, your baby daddy might even come pick up his son for awhile, giving you some free time. But those days were rare considering Sukuna is a business man.

Sukuna is the CEO of jujutsu tech, a huge electronic corporation. you had met him through your close friend getou and hit it off. Eventually you two moved in with each other and not long after that he got you pregnant.

Times have changed though unfortunatley. Sukuna is a very hard working man, so hardworking that he put his job before his own family. About a year after yuji was born you decided to leave after getting into a big argument with sukuna, taking yuji with you.

At first you stayed with your parents for a while before finding yourself a cute apartment in the city, it was a two bedroom 1 and a half bathroom. That's where you and yuji have been ever since.

You and your baby dad have had a neutral relationship ever since, sukuna of course always trying to get you to go back but times have changed and you are a new woman.

As of now it was about 1:00pm. You worked as a journalist in the new station in the city, not to far from your apartment. sitting at your desk, going through old news feed, your phone dings.

Looking over you see youve gotten a message. It was from Getou.

Geto: hey, theres some kind of party later a friend of mine is hosting. Wanted to know if u were interested in being my plus 1 ;p

You giggle to yourself. What a flirt. You could always drop yuji off to your parents for the night, after all they loved your little pink haired baby. And on top of that you could use a night out.

Quickly typing back to geto you respond,

Me: Sounds interesting.. Whats the dresscode?

geto: formal. I figure you might get a good story out of one of these rich folks huh?

Me: hmmm i think im sold suguru.

geto: great! ill pick you up at 8.

"L/N! I'm not paying you to text on your phone! I need a story!" You hear your boss, Mark yell from his office behind you.

You roll your eyes before collecting your things, standing up you head over to marks office. "The Richardsons are hosting a party tonight, i'm gonna see what tea i can find. I know the juliani"s are hiding something." You say leaning against the door frame.

"yeah well the Juliani's have a mind of their own."

"im gonna leave to go get ready." you say turning around, heading to the exit.

"L/N!" Mark calls out to you making you stop and turn to face him. "be careful. I don't need another Journalist coming up missing." You nod your head before leaving the building and heading to the parking lot.

It was true, the last journalist who went to investage the Juliani family, they turned up missing. In fact it was your coworker Nobara Kugisaki. Police reports were made out by her family about a week ago and nothing has come up.

you shivered as you walked to your car, the cold making it so you can see your breathe. Once you reached your car, a small 2020 Honda civic, you opened your door and put your bags in.

"Y/n" you freeze, hearing that oh so sexy voice say your name for the first time in what? months?

Turning around you find yourself face to face with the man you once loved, oh who are you kidding still love. He was wearing a long black coat and black jeans, his pink hair ruffled as usual and his tattoos just added to his handsome features.

"ryo- what are you doing here?" You ask, crossing your arms.

He walks closer to you, making you take a step back, leaning against your cars back door.

"i just wanted to see you." He says quietly, swiping a piece of your hair out of your face and behind your ear. You can't help but blush.

Pushing his hand away, you roll your eyes. "What are you really here for" you werent an idiot. Sukuna is a powerful man and busy one at that, there was no way he got out of work just to come see you.. especially considering he barely seen your son. But you couldn't be mad after all he was sending you checks every few weeks with at least 3,000$ on them.. so he was still providing for you and yuji in a way.

He chuckles, "I heard youre going to that party later with Getou.."

Was he serious right now? "What about it?" You question, eyebrow perking up.

"Don't go." He says darkly.

"Are you kidding me? What are you jealous? I'm a grown woman i deserve a night out once in a while!" You say before turning away and hoping in your car.

Sukuna leans against your window, so you roll it down. "Look kitten, if i were you i'd actually listen to your baby dad for once. It's not gonna be pretty" he smiles before backing away from your car.

You take this opportunity to pull out of the parking lot, making your way to yuji's daycare.

When you arrive at the daycare. You are first greeted by gojo, one of the daycare teachers and also getou's best friend.

"Well hello there Y/N! Here for yuuji?" Gojo asks, leaning towards you. "Its nap time right now so the children are asleep."

"Well unfortunately i'm going to have ti disturb his sleep because we have a pretty busy schedule for tonight" you laugh. "How have you been?" You havent really had a conversation with gojo in a while, you and him werent close, maybe because of how much of an extrovert he is.

"Im alriiight! I got a new apartment on 37th its a real beautyy." He drags on.

"Nice! Thats good to here" gojo pulls out his walky talky and yells loudly, "yuji has an early dismissal!!"

Next thing you know, theres a bunch of crying children in the next room over. What an idiot. You mentally facepalm.

Shoko, another daycare teacher comes out with yuji in her arms. He looks over to you and smiles.

After you get yuji and yourself situated in the car, you guys make your way over to your parents house. You had called them on your way to get yuji and of course they were more then thrilled to take yuji for the night.

Your parents lived anout 25 minutes away from the city so the drive wasnt too bad. Yuji was in his carseat playing on his ipad and minding his business.

"Mommy can i have 100$" your four year old says randomly. You cant help but laugh loudly.

"What do you need $100 for butt?" You ask, looking back at your som through the rear view mirror.

"I want a trampoline" he says, looking at you.

"You already have a trampoline at Nana's house and youre going there right now."

"But thats at nana's i want my own! My friend megumi has one at his house" he says, rolling his eyes.

"Yeah yeah."

After dropping your sin off to your parents, and making your way make home, you look through your closet trying to find a decent formal dress. You did have quit a few dresses considering you and sukuna would attend parties and other get togethers for business reasons.

Coming across a long black velvet dress you stop your search. This dress is skin tight and strapless, but has small diamonds adorned around the dress, making it sparkle just right.

Once you got dressed and finished your makeup, you put your hair up into a slick back ponytail, and added a little star charm clip to go with it. You looked absolutely gorgeous. Though your choice in heels would definitely make your feet sore after a night of dancing, looking good is what truly mattered. After all you were really only going to collect some dirt on any of the business men doing work with the Juliani's.

Tonight sure was going to be interesting.