#the way he removes that compass from his mouth

[mystery-star]

Russell Crowe as Jack Aubrey and James D'Arcy as Tom Pullings in Master and Commander (2003)

[hiaennyddei]

is the King in Yellow phallic or yonic ? Discuss. [i am sent to the Dreamlands for 20 years]

Design notes under the cut !

John :

his coat has 2 layers. the outside is always the same shape, the inside is a mess of fabric that doesn't make much sense and whose shape changes depending on what he needs.

his outer cloak separates in 4 large ribbons that act more or less as legs. they're very strong but not very agile.

there's a darker ribbon going from his hood down his back that acts roughly like a tail. he uses it for balance (like a cat), mobility (like a snake), or attack (like a scorpion) depending on what he needs

thin ribbons float and wrap around his arms, and some more can come from his inner cloak. they act as precision limbs.

his hands look human-ish, but very bony and with short claws. the skin feels like porcelain.

he usually has 4 hands out, but can remove or add some as needed.

the brooch on his cloak has the same sigil than the one on his book

the teeth in his mouth are ivory-white

some areas of him are always in complete darkness (the inside of his hood, the deep folds of his cloak). you can only ever see the outline of his face.

the cloak is part of his body as much as the arms, possibly more so

the halo/crown melts more the more he strays from godhood. it is always tilted towards Arthur. (it built back up to an extent during his stint in the dark worlds in s3, then started melting again)

the crown's spikes always point straight up, regardless of how tilted the crown is

King in Yellow :

Some common points with John : hooded cloak with sharp tails, yellow, ribbons/tendrils, vertical mouth, crown, jewelry, bony arms, some areas are comletely in darkness, obscured face, glowing eye(s)

Some differences : John's yellow is warmer ; John has fancy embroideries, King is much more uniform ; John's cloak has natural folds, King's looks more geometrical ; John's eye is bright all the way in, King's is dark at the center like a black hole ; John's hands are human-like, King's has two opposable thumbs like owl talons

Generally they have similar building blocks (cloak, yellow theme, ribbons/tendrils...) but John is warmer, has more human traits, and is generally more organic/more natural-looking.

The King's crown has two points broken off (one for John, one for Yellow)

If you stand in front of the king it always looks like light is coming from behind him, so the side you see is always is semi-darkness and the cast shadow is always on you. If you could circle around him, the shadow would follow you like a compass

The hands are more "puppeted" additions than actual body parts

Yellow :

Basically the King in Yellow forced into a situation of weakness and fragile humanity

Shade of yellow is closer to the King's than John's

Coat's cut has the sharpness and geometry of the King's, but it's imperfect and has visible folds

Crown is broken as representation of his weakness, but unlike John's it's forcefully and neatly broken instead of melted

Him having hands is representative of being forced into a human, but they still take inhuman shapes with two opposable thumbs

Makes a point to keep up appearances, hence the jewelry and coat patterns, but doesn't have the King's glory

Has two eyes because he has Arthur's

Has the king's monstruous tendrils, but a lot more disorganized and more fabric-y than shadow. They spill out of the area where his coat's symetry is broken.

[jinisnuggets]

➳ 𝓝𝓸𝓽 𝓼𝓸 𝓘𝓷𝓷𝓸𝓬𝓮𝓷𝓽 𝓪𝓽 𝓓𝓸𝔀𝓷𝓯𝓪𝓵𝓵

PAIRINGS | Dom! Idol! Sunoo x Sub! Gn! Reader

GENRE | Smut

WORD COUNT | 0.7k

WARNINGS | Nicknames (Love, baby), swearing, (chest) play, rough dom Sunoo, overstimulation, A little time-skipped

SYNOPSIS | In a fan's eye he may be innocent, but to you he is your little monster

NETWORK | @en-diaries @starlit-network @k-library @blossomnet

A/N | Hi! This is my first time writing smut in a LONG time, so I'm open to any feedback/criticism you may have :D

His hips grinded against you as he pinned you down onto the bed, holding your arms tightly to ensure your stay. Light groans escaped from his mouth, as he kept his lips glued onto yours, not daring to separate from your warm touch.

“Sunoo- stop..” you spoke softly, seeing him smirk at you knowingly. He knew what he did to you and felt proud of it.

“Love, you know you don't mean that.”

His bulge grew, moaning in response to his tightening pants. Your ears burned, you couldn't focus and it was his fault.

Commenter: You're so cute and innocent! My Sunoo!

He read the comment out loud and smiled at the camera, making half a heart against his cheek and speaking in a somewhat high pitched voice, as a form of aegyo.

“Thank you!” He said, and shortly after the conversation took place, he ended the live, walking into the room where you found yourself, pushing you up against the wall roughly and beginning to sloppily kiss you.

At first there was nothing concerning about it, that was until you decided to be a bit of a tease and lightly massage his still covered dick, which you could tell was hardening.

“Fuck.” He groaned, feeling his pants tighten around his length, as he became desperate for more of you.

His finger found his way to your pants, undoing the buttons and rolling down the zipper, slowly lifting them from your thighs and taking them off of you.

That's how you ended up here, slammed against the bed cushion with your partner on top of you, grinding his dick into you with little to no compassion.

“Ne - Need you.” He groaned vaguely. His dick began to ache from the prolonged erection. His eyes squeezed shut as you nodded, assisting him in the removal of your clothing.

“Sunoo, don't tire yourself too much.” You said, making him nod though you knew he likely didn't put any sort of mind into what you said.

He lifted your leg, putting it over his shoulder as he practically slammed into you, showing zero mercy as he did so.

He lined himself up with you, starting to slide his long and thick friend into you however stopping due to the overwhelming tightness which had been wrapping around him. He cried in response, making you blush due to the sight of your sensitive lover.

“Shit Sunoo, so big and for what..?” You moaned, tears already flowing down your cheeks as he couldn't hold back his chuckle.

“Please, I know you can take more than this.”

He was never this rough with you, you never even expected this from him.

You guessed it was supposed to be his warning as the very next thing he did was start rapidly slamming into you. It took you by surprise, immediately covering yourself with a pillow to reduce the noise of your loud screams.

This was the same man who rarely ever initiated physical contact with you due to the fact he felt shy about it, he rarely ever intertwined your fingers together and he always preferred to have safe sex over anything.

But today, he was abusing your walls harshly, with a force you weren't even aware he had. His cock was bare and the simple thought of it made your stomach tangle into tight knots, ready to snap at any given moment.

“Sunoo-” you moaned, needing to stop in order to catch your breath. “I'm.. close.” You muttered.

His pace slowed down, making you cry in desperation at the sudden disappearance of feeling.

“I'm not done yet.” He hissed, which was enough to scare away the building up orgasm and make you sink back into the mattress, nodding in understanding.

He picked up his pace once more, this time leaning down to kiss your chest, flicking your nipples as his tongue toyed with the other; you held your mouth, once more feeling those tight knots forming in your stomach.

Your arms wrapped around his neck, uncontrollable tears flowing down your sensitive skin.

“My poor baby,” He teased, “I'll be done with you soon, no worries.” He reassured, landing another kiss onto your nose. You nodded in understanding, preferring to remain silent; it wasn't like you could even say anything.

“Fuck- Y/n, I'm close.” He said, feeling his dick reach its limit before cumming, making a mess all over you.

He picked up his pace, feeling his parts squish against your soft outsides, causing him to let out loud moans and screams.

You both came at the same time, he fell onto you making you wrap your arms around him, cuddling him.

“Thank you..” he muttered, leaving his cock inside of you, allowing it to rest in the depths of your warmth.

[crimsonmoonlight88]

You Belong With Me

Pairing: Mae x Noa

Note: Inspired by the photo Freya shared and this gorgeous rendition by @cj-k. Thank you for letting me share this beauty!

Mae found him by the fire, sitting with his pile of books and rolls of parchment. The hut he had crafted reminded her of a scholar's study, and she supposed it was. Or as close to one as it could be. It was still a shock to her that he could read, that he was teaching the others in the clan.

She told herself she did not wish to disturb him, but the truth was that her throat had closed up. This ape...he was the first that had showed her mercy and compassion, and he had nearly died saving her life. She had later saved his in return, but it did not feel enough, somehow.

"So late," Raka observed, glancing up at her at last. "And so..." His voice trailed off as he squinted in the dim light, trying to read her expression.

Mae quickly morphed her face into neutrality. Steeling herself, she forced herself to speak, to move forward with the inevitable. "I wanted to return this to you," she said, removing the familiar medallion from around her neck. She hesitated, feeling oddly bare without it, before extending it to him. "It is yours, after all."

Raka did not take it. He merely looked at the circular symbol, then met her gaze. "It was...a gift," he said gently. "For Noa. And now...it is yours."

Mae's hand shook. "Just take it."

"It is yours," Raka repeated.

"I don't want it!" she snapped, her voice cracking in the night.

Silence fell, heavy and uncomfortable. Raka closed his book, his dark eyes narrowing in a way that saw too much.

Mae let out a sound of exasperation and looked away. Her eyes wandered until they focused on the fading words of one of the tattered old books: The Words of Caesar. She knew this book. Raka read from it weekly to the others; she had listened only twice, too afraid to hear more.

With a sigh, Mae took a step forward and gently laid the necklace across the book so that the medallion rested on Caesar's name. She stared at it only briefly before finding Raka's gaze once more.

Sadness--and knowing--shone in his too-human eyes. She opened her mouth, but no words came out. She felt as stripped of voice now as she had in the wilderness. So she forced herself to turn, moving mechanically to the flap of the door. She reached for it, but then Raka halted her when he spoke.

"I finally found..." he started, "why we call them...Nova."

Mae hesitated. She did not want to know the reason, and yet she turned, angling her head slightly. Waiting. Dreading. Curious, despite herself.

But Raka only smiled gently. "A tale...for another day...I think."

"Maybe someday I could hear it," Mae whispered.

Raka bowed his head, his eyes shining. "I look forward...to that day...Mae."

Tears welled in her eyes, but she nodded, not trusting herself to speak. She darted outside into the chilly night. The moon shone brightly in the sky, and Mae practically sprinted away, heading past the rebuilt structures and toward the small hut the apes had built for her.

Her breathing was ragged as she flung back the animal pelt that served as a door. She she stood there a moment, taking in what had, for the past few weeks--or months--been her home. A bedding of blue cloth and sack stuffed with feathers for her head. A blanket of warmth. Pelts draped over the sides like makeshift walls for privacy. A bucket. A basket of nuts and fruits.

It was not like the bunker with mild human comforts, but it was...hers.

Mae did not know how long she stood there in silence, but a hoot of an owl had her finally moving.

Her hands shook as she knelt and hastily stuffed the few items she possessed into her ragged rucksack. She swiped at her face angrily, wiping away the tears that threatened to fall.

"Going...somewhere?"

Mae whipped around in alarm, reaching for the knife in her boot on instinct. Noa stood in the makeshift doorway, watching her with a sort of calm wariness, his stance almost defensive. She hated that look, that stance--it was so frighteningly human.

His eyes tracked the knife in her hand, his nostrils flaring. In his right hand dangled the medallion. Her throat went dry.

Mae slid the knife back into her boot. "I have to leave," she managed to say, her voice hoarse.

Confusion gleamed in Noa's eyes. "Why?"

"I can't stay here. I'm not..." She struggled to explain how she felt, but forced her way through. "I don't belong here."

"You..." Noa's mouth worked as he mulled over her words, as though he could find no understanding in them. "You would...disappear into the night?"

Mae swallowed thickly, but said nothing. Could say nothing.

"Where would you...go?" He took a step inside, his face incredulous. "You said...you said you had...nothing left."

He had not spoken cruelly, but the words found their mark and Mae flinched. When she had returned here with an injured and scarcely-breathing Raka, she had planned on staying only long enough to see him recover. But then she had stayed longer, and finally admitted the truth to herself, to Noa--that she could not return to the others, to the bunker. That was the agreement, the price for her mission.

He had only asked if she had delivered her book. She said yes. They had spoken no more of it.

Mae had seen the satellites rotate, and knew she had succeeded. That hope for humanity had burned so brightly in that moment, but at some point these past few weeks, she had started to feel a sense of impending doom. She didn't know when she stopped hoping to be found by more humans and when she had started to dread it.

Mae wanted humanity to regain their dominance, their strength, but she wanted this clan, these apes who had accepted and forgiven her, despite what she had done, to remain untouched. She knew it was Noa and Raka's influence that aided in that forgiveness, but she was grateful none the less.

They did not deserve to be caught in the crossfire.

"Mae," Noa said, drawing her attention back to him. "It is...not safe," he insisted. "Out there...alone."

"It's not safe if I stay either."

He looked to her rucksack, then back to her, and took another step closer. "You are safe here...with Eagle Clan. With me."

Mae felt her heart shatter. He did not realize it was he who was not safe--because of her.

"I can't stay," she forced herself to say. "I can't, Noa. And whatever this is..." She waved her hand between them, letting the silence fall.

Noa angled his head. "What is...this?"

"It's..." Words failed her. She didn't know how to explain what it was between them. All she knew was that it would not end well. It couldn't possibly end well. "It's not important."

Noa stared at her.

"Not...important?" He angled his head slightly as he prowled closer, eyes narrowed. "Not important," he repeated, testing the words and making a face, as though finding them sour.

Mae could only say nothing. Could not bring herself to speak another lie. Not to him.

He stood close now, a mere inch taller but somehow towering over her. She glanced away, unable to bear the look on his face.

After what felt like an eternity, he reached up and gently slid the medallion back around her neck. Then he leaned down, bringing his mouth close to her ear. "You are a better liar...than that."

A tear slid down Mae's cheek. As he pulled back slightly, her eyes found his, and the intensity in his gaze took her breath away.

Against her better judgement, her right hand slid up his strong arm, curling into his fur. Her other hand found the band on his other arm, her fingers brushing against the soft feathers.

His arms went around her, angling himself almost protectively, like it was the most natural thing in the world. For a long moment they just stood there, locked in an embrace that seemed to stop time.

Noa's eyes seared into her soul, more human than she had ever seen. "You were...wrong," he breathed. "You belong...with me."

(This picture feels like a cliffhanger, so I ended this just so. In my mind, of course Mae stays. ;))

[itsabouttimex2]

Plot twist: the moment d!reader is set free from both of the circles at the end of the journey, they dissapear into the night, never to be seen again...or not.

I'm sorry i just, as much as i love yanderes, i want to see them suffer. At least a bit.

Ps. You're an amazing writer and i really enjoy your fics. Also, you really helped in getting my friend into yandere, so thank you for that🙂

Taken Aboard:

Running Away

(I’m super glad that you enjoy my fics! And I’m glad your friends enjoys them, too! Yandere is a really fun trope to play with!)

So, in the case that you do pull a runner at the end of this long and arduous journey, Y/N… your biggest enemy is now yourself.

Because, as hard as you might have tried to fight it, you have been civilized. You have grown accustomed to society. You have started to care. This journey has changed and bettered you, as it has all your companions.

You are no longer a mere demon tending to monsters great and mighty, no more a child planting seeds and spreading spores.

You can’t ever go back to being the wild little creature you once were.

If you’ve ever read Gilgamesh, I’d say Enkidu is a good comparison for your development. After he’s been ‘civilized’ by Shamhat, Enkidu can no longer return to the home he knows and loves, the animals who once accepted him now fleeing on sight.

Now, if you leave before the journey’s end…

You run, devastated and distraught that so much of yourself is gone and lost, never to be reclaimed. The forest may not be the home you know, but some part of it is still familiar.

You purge the hunters and loggers who have taken up residence within the Emerald Grove, violently spilling their nourishing blood across the hungry soil, pitch their flesh into the mouths of ravenous beasts.

It doesn’t make you feel better- you know that at least some of these men and women were trying to feed themselves, their children.

But at least the forest is newly quiet, contented by a fresh meal, leaving you in peace to mourn.

As for hoping to ‘never being seen again’…

Sun Wukong’s Golden Vision has a little something to say about that.

Within hours he’s stalking back to the Emerald Grove in a huff, hauling his way up the tallest tree he can find and unhappily making his way over to you.

The Great Sage snatches you off the bark and tosses you over his shoulder, clambering down the tree as you kick and scream. You demand to be released and removed from the group, biting and pounding your fists agains his invulnerable back.

“Being naughty today, bud? Here I was, thinking you had finally gotten past this ‘running back home’ phase.”

“I am not a baby,” you scream, digging your teeth into the base of his spine with all your demonic might. “PUT ME DOWN!”

You manage to draw just a few drops of blood, not that it phases the simian. He doesn’t even seem to notice.

“You’re making things harder for all of us, you know that? And you keep setting us back with all the running away nonsense. But I had Master call a certain someone up to maybe settle this for us all, bud.”

Against your angry protests and endless assault does the Great Sage drag you back to camp, switching to hold you in his arms instead of over his back.

Immediately do your screams of anger turn to pained wails, the sound of a holy sutra hitting your ears. The blessed bands around your wrists tighten, scraping the skin they compress to rawness.

And before you stands not only the holy monk who tricked you into wearing these golden hoops, but the goddess who gave them to him.

“Sun Wukong, please place the child down,” she lightly instructs, her tone even and polite. “Might I speak to them for a moment?”

The Handsome Monkey King obeys, nudging your towards the goddess after he releases his grip on you.

Guanyin comes to you slowly, kneeling to take your face into her soft and gentle hands.

And you bite her.

“You- you call yourself a goddess,” you scream, fangs wet with her divine ichor. “Of mercy and compassion! But all you do is hand out tools of torture and punishment! I wanted to stay in my forest! I wanted to stay with my friends!” A hard shove, nearly knocking her over. “And you helped Sanzang take me away! You gave him these awful bands and he pretended they were gifts to get me to put them on! But they weren’t! And you let him! And now he uses them to hurt me! I hate you! I hate him! I hate all of you!”

Finally you collapse, sobbing openly into your hands.

Tang Sanzang watches in horror as heavenly blood feeds the ground, causing new and gorgeous growth to break from the soil, flowers blooming in massive clusters.

Wukong seethes that you could be so disrespectful to the one and only god he actually cares for, the only one he finds to be tolerable and kind.

Everyone else just recoils in both fear and hurt, your last words ringing painfully in the ears.

But Guanyin approaches once more, kneeling to level herself with you. There is no retribution or anger in her touch, placing a light kiss onto your forehead.

“You’re right, aren’t you? This journey has not been easy, nor has it been kind- and for you especially, perhaps it has been cruel. And I too, have been unkind to dabble in your affairs. Will you allow me to ease the burdens of your travel?”

From a silk pouch does she procure a mirror, pushing it into your shaking hands.

“My child, I give to you this heavenly mirror, which has been forged from blessed steel and holy sand melted to glass by dragonfire. To look upon it will show you your beloved forest, and all those you have left behind.”

———————————————————————-

Now, this is super important- Y/N’s involvement in the journey is incredibly unfair. The others come because they seek personal growth or redemption, but Y/N?

They had to come. They were tricked into thinking those golden tightening bands were gifts and eagerly asked Sanzang to help put them on, jumping up and down in excitement at receiving something so pretty. The only reason they agreed to wear these ‘generously’ gifted bands was because they thought it was an honest gift.

So there’s already a sense of betrayal about the whole thing, that their first gift from anyone was actually just a trap to pull them along on a lengthy and dangerous journey.

Then, where the others were either entirely willing (Sanzang) or had to redeem themselves for crimes or mistakes (Wukong), Y/N was forced to come along with their worst crimes being: fighting off invaders and killing poachers. And all for that, they are ripped from home and forced to leave behind everything they’ve ever known and loved.

And Guanyin does three things here:

1. Acknowledges your anger/sorrow.

2. Validates your feelings without hesitation.

3. Actively works to soothe them.

With the mirror in hand, you can look upon the Emerald Grove and see your old animal friends, know that they’re safe even without you, and put your fears to rest.

It’s not perfect.

But it’s a good start to get you to actually care about these pilgrims, given that you don’t spend every night in flurry of nightmares, thinking fitfully of your beloved forest.

[honeyshiddendesire]

Pet Name Headcanon List

Mihawk x Female Reader - Princess

Warnings: BLOOD PLAY/blood tasting!! Possible yandere/ vampire vibes 🤷‍♀️ Use of dagger, bondage/ bound, blindfolded & gagged reader, Vaginal penetration, prone bone, dirty talk, praise kink, pain kink, pussy eating,

*Also a little long only cause it's hard for me to do Blood Play and not add context and compassion @aehtery *

*banner*

Your arms were bound behind your back, thighs tied to stay together with a plush pillow under your hips to keep you slightly elevated. A gag in your mouth making you drool profusely, breath shaky from anticipation as a blindfold was on you hiding his next move. You didn't fear what was to come, knowing all you needed to do was snap your fingers and he would stop instantly. A way he could enjoy you quiet but also be at ease knowing you could still warn me. 

“My sweet princess~ I hope you know how beautiful you look, all bound and pretty, perfectly still and completely under my control.” His smooth voice dripped over you like honey that seeped into your psyche and you wanted to devour the sound forever. You shivered slightly as you felt cool metal run up the back of your leg, his voice being heard again. 

“Princess princess princess~ always so obedient, letting me do absolutely anything I desire.” Mihawk smirks then licks his lips as he stares at your perfectly naked form. “You know princess~ you belong to me…mind and soul but I should make sure you're body knows it too.” His deep voice calls to you, making your breathing pick up. “You see…I want to mark you…forever.” 

Your noises were muffled into the gag as Mihawk sat on your legs and as gently as possible carved an ‘M’ on your butt. Small and not too deep but he wanted it to scar, needed it to scar. “Doing so so well for me princess.” He hums as he kissed the other cheek before moving to lick at your soaked slit. Little whines leaving you at the mix of pain and pleasure that he put you through.

It was maddening the way he spelled his name into your cunt, his tongue diving in to swirl around and go as deep as he was able to. Pulling back to sloppily kiss at your clit making you whimper before kissing his way over to the fresh wound he had made. “My dear princess I must thank you for being so obedient, so good to me. Allowing me this privilege and many others to come.” Mihawk thanked as he licked the blood that started to drip.

“Mmm~ so sweet princess~” Dracule Mihawk's infatuation with blood reminded you of a vampire especially when he sucked on the mark earning a muffled scream from you. “Shhh princess~ you know I can't help myself.” He says with a chuckle. His hands remove the last bit of his clothes making you whine as you hear pants hit the floor. 

“Can't wait anymore dear. Need to have you princess~ the taste of your blood is insatiable.” His words are barely loud enough for you to hear but you don't care as you feel him slide his cock along your slippery folds. 

“Mmm~ my dear, my love, my sweet bloody princess~” Mihawk groans as he bullies his cock all the way inside in one sharp thrust, his hands caging you in on either side. His creamy hips flush with yours making you whimper as they pressed into the fresh wound drawing more blood. “My sweet darling.” Mihawk grunts as he pulls back to admire the blood that stained both of your skin now before slamming back into you.

His fingers sliding down to scope up some of the crimson liquid that spilled as his hips back away. Dipping his fingers into his mouth with a deep groan before slamming back into you. Mihawk's eyes rolled back at the taste of your spilled blood and maybe he was a vampire or maybe he was deranged either way, he was yours. 

“So magnificent, mi princessa~” Mihawk moaned, sucking his fingers clean before leaning down to wrap his arm under your neck. Ripping the gag off your face to pull your head back for a deeply passionate kiss. A moan spilling from your mouth into his at the metallic taste that flooded your senses. 

“Mihawk~!” You cried out at the merciless pace of his thrusts, his other arm snaking it's way between you and the pillow. Skilled fingers vigorously toying with your clit as his cock drilled into your cunt ripping a mind tingling orgasm from you. “Mmm that's it~ my bloody princess~”

[munsonkitten]

cw: sexual discussions, gender dysphoria (trans Eddie Munson pov), virgin Eddie, mentions of period typical transphobia and homophobia

It comes as a bit of a surprise, when Steve comes out to Eddie as gay. Even more of a surprise when Steve follows it up with and I’m attracted to you. Eddie has to remind him, with clenched teeth, bracing for the impact of rejection, that he doesn’t have the parts Steve wants. 

“You think I care what’s in your pants, man? You’re hot, either way. I’m just saying, like, I’d fuck you,” Steve says, blowing smoke into the air in front of him. He’s sitting against the side of Eddie’s bed, hogging the joint Eddie rolled for them both. “I’m also, like, really fucking high. So forget I said all that.”

Eddie reaches over the edge of his bed and snatches the joint back before Steve can bring it to his mouth again. 

He takes a hit, letting the smoke fill his lungs while he ruminates on, well, all of that. 

“You sure you’re gay?” Eddie asks, settling on that question first. He winces as he says it, his own internal hangups taking hold of him. He knows he’s a man, there’s no doubt about that. He’s been validated to hell and back by Wayne, a bunch of older queers Wayne is friends with, and the one doctor in the state of Indiana that has shown him any kind of compassion. 

He just knows how other people are. How, despite him knowing who he is, a lot of people just see him for his cunt and his tits. Well, not like he has much of his tits left, not after the demobats performed a botched mastectomy on him and left him with one and a half breasts. The doctors that put him back together wouldn’t remove the rest. He knows that Steve could just be getting some wires crossed — yes, he could be attracted to Eddie, but Eddie has to ask if it’s really because he’s into men and sees Eddie as a man, or if… If it’s the alternative. 

“Pretty sure, man,” Steve answers. He tilts his head back over the edge of the bed and looks at Eddie, where he’s lying against his pillows. “Like, I don’t think about,” he waves vaguely at Eddie’s body, and Eddie knows he’s being careful, like he can’t just talk about him without overthinking each word. “I think about, like, how you pinned me to a wall with a bottle to my throat and I think about how you hotwired that RV. I was definitely into you during both of those things, and I had no idea about, you know.”

And that’s true. Eddie’s been hiding it pretty good since he moved to town. Buzzed his head in his bathroom the day his dad got arrested. Had a pretty good feeling his pops wasn’t coming back from this one before he even left. Usually he took Eddie along with him, but that final time he left him with a pile of change and a phone number and told him to call Wayne if he wasn’t back by the next afternoon.

Wayne took one look at him when he showed up, asked him about the buzzcut, asked him what name he was going by these days, and then took him to meet some friends. Didn’t even have time to meet any other kids before he started getting tips from an older trans man that Wayne met years back. Since then, Eddie kept his head down, his chest bound, and never uttered a sound until he got on testosterone and his voice started to deepen and crack along with all the other boys. 

“Okay, well now you do know, so,” Eddie points out. He shrugs, takes another hit and then passes the joint back down to Steve. “You’d really fuck me? Pussy and all?”

“I mean, I’ve got experience with it,” Steve says. “I just don’t like women, is all. You’re not a woman.”

Eddie doesn’t really get it. How Steve can go from Hawkins’ biggest lady killer to lounging on Eddie the freak Munson’s dingy bedroom floor saying he doesn’t like ladies at all. Steve Harrington, who, and it’s no secret, called Jonathan Byers a queer a few years ago and laughed when his slimy friends called other boys fags. Yet here he is, saying that Eddie’s a man. So much of a man that Steve says he’s gay and wants to fuck him in the same breath.

It doesn’t make any fucking sense. 

“What about you?” Steve asks. “Would you?”

“Would I what?”

“Fuck me,” Steve clarifies. “Want to get fucked by me. I mean, hey if you’ve got a dick laying around, I’d let you put it in me, too. I don’t think I’m picky.”

Eddie sighs, dropping his head down to his pillow. This is where it gets tricky. Yeah, he’d have sex with Steve Harrington. Who wouldn’t? But as much experience as Steve has with pussy, Eddie’s a pussy with no experience. Other than a few drunken kisses in dark clubs eighty miles from home, he’s completely terrified of putting himself out there, and honestly for good reason too. 

Being gay in this town is hard enough, but if anyone finds out he’s trans, he’s fucking done for. It was scary enough realizing Steve knows, and he didn’t even have a choice in Steve finding out. Next time he tries to die, he’s gonna make sure he gets to a hospital instead of getting his clothes cut off on Steve’s parents’ bathroom floor. 

But yeah, Steve knows, and there’s no more risk of him finding out, and that’s pretty much the main reason Eddie hasn’t had sex with anyone, so. 

“Yeah, I guess,” he answers. 

“Cool,” Steve whispers. 

And that’s it. That’s all the conversation is. 

Steve crawls into Eddie’s bed and curls up beside him like they always do when he sleeps over, and he takes the joint from Eddie to take one last hit. He reaches over Eddie to put it in the ashtray and then lays back down.

“So, um,” Eddie says. Because he’s confused. He thought Steve was coming onto him. He thought this was a precursor for Steve coming in him. 

“What’s up?” Steve asks lazily, voice catching on a yawn. 

“Well, I’m glad we established all that, but, like… Are we not going to…?”

“What? Oh, no. I’m way too high,” Steve whispers, turning his face into Eddie’s shoulder. “Another time?”

Eddie laughs because he has no idea how his life became this. 

“Sure,” Eddie agrees. “Another time.”

Steve sits up, presses a loud, smacking kiss to Eddie’s temple, and then drops his head back down. He turns his face in toward Eddie’s neck, arm finding its place around Eddie’s waist. Eddie can’t see his face, but he thinks Steve’s pleased smile might just match his own. 

Read More on AO3

[666writingcafe]

Conspiracy

Simeon

This is wrong. How is any of this deemed acceptable?

Ever since my and Luke's return to the Celestial Realm following the announcement of an indefinite postponement of the opening ceremony for Diavolo's school, these thoughts have been constant in my head.

You see, Father feels like the brothers haven't been punished sufficiently enough for defying Him. It's not enough for them to merely be cast down to the Devildom. In His eyes, they don't deserve the opportunity to live a happy life down there. He'd much prefer to personally torture them for the next millennia or so before casting their souls down in Cocytus for all of eternity.

So, He gave Michael permission to do whatever it takes to get the brothers back up here. Michael decided that the easiest way to convince them to leave the Devildom would be by telling them that we're willing to pardon them for their digressions. And since Michael's presence down there would make the brothers highly suspicious, he's planning on taking on the form of Raphael during his trip. After all, most of the brothers are scared of Raphael, so they'd do anything to avoid his wrath.

And guess whose responsibility is it to make sure that Michael's impression of Raphael is pretty much perfect?

Fucking Raphael. How dare he put this on my plate?

I've been disgusted with myself this entire time. Father is literally having us break one of His commandments for what? Petty revenge? What happened to "love thy neighbor"? Did Lucifer wound His pride so severely that He's forgotten how to act?

And the worst thing about all this is that I am powerless to stop it. As it is, if anyone found out I was questioning His will, I might as well be joining the brothers in Cocytus. I'm already on thin ice as it is due to me keeping vital information about the brothers from Him before and during the war.

And somebody has to take care of Luke. I don't trust the others to keep him from harm's way. They'd exploit his innocence for their own selfish needs, and I won't allow that to happen.

So I've kept my objections to myself. Through Michael's training, through my return to the Devildom to deliver the message to Diavolo about "Raphael's" arrival, and through this stupid meeting in the prince's home office. In His eyes, I'm behaving like the perfect angel, blindly doing what I'm told.

And then I made the mistake of making eye contact with Zephyr. It's only momentary, and yet time seems to slow down to a crawl.

I can't have them disappointed in me. We didn't talk a whole lot during my initial visit, but I know that they have a strong moral compass. They'd reject me if they found out that I kept this from them.

Before I can question my emotions too much, the meeting ends, and the six of us--Michael, Lucifer, Diavolo, Barbatos, Zephyr, and myself--walk out of the office and make our way down the hallway. Zephyr and I trail behind the others.

I have to move quickly. Before I change my mind and before anyone notices.

There's a nearby door that's slightly ajar. Perfect.

I quickly grab Zephyr and drag them inside the room, making sure to reposition the door back to where it was as to not cause suspicion. The second they make noise, I cover their mouth with my hand. Their eyes widen as I begin listening for returning footsteps.

Thankfully, no one comes to investigate.

"Will you remain quiet if I remove my hand?" I whisper urgently. Zephyr nods their head. Sure enough, they don't begin screaming for help when I let go.

"Good sheep," I murmur, mentally smacking myself when I fully register what left my mouth. Zephyr remains silent. This room is rather small. Did I shove the two of us in a closet?

Oh, this isn't good. I can already feel myself begin heating up, and I'm pretty sure it's not just due to the cramped space we're in.

"Listen carefully, because I'm only going to be able to say this once," I quietly tell them. Another nod. "It's a trap. They're not getting pardoned. You have to do everything in your power to convince them to stay here." Zephyr tilts their head and looks contemplatively at me. Are they questioning my intentions?

A moment later, they softly smile at me.

"Don't doubt yourself," they whisper softly. "You're doing the right thing." They gently push the door open again, allowing me to leave the room first.

I needed to hear that.

Taglist: @lost-in-time-wanderer, @fuzztacular, @dianedancer18, @sweetbrier2908, @flare-love, @completelyshatteredbrokenmschf, @thunderlightning351, @l3v1chan, @anxious-chick, @5mary5, @expressionless-fr, @tenkobitch, @interconnectedmatrix

[deangirlsstuff67]

Dirty Boy

Soldier Boy x Reader

Warnings: dirty talk, fingering, fluff, unprotected sex, P in V, period sex, blood, PWP

Summary: Y/N is trying hard not to let on that's she's in pain due to her period coming yesterday. Crippling cramps take over her body when she's left to baby sit Soldier boy and he notices.

Masterlist | Patreon

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Butcher and the boys left to do some recon and get supplies. Leaving you in charge of babysitting the nuclear bomb of a supe. To make matters worse your period showed up yesterday and your body has been in a constant state of pain all morning.

So far no one's noticed when cramps shoot crippling pain through your body. You've been able to fight against the pain. But it's slowly getting stronger and harder to hide.

Your going in to check on the supe and see if he needs anything when cramps take over your body and you double over in pain while standing in his door way.

Soldier Boy is over to you in seconds. Strong hands rub your back as you breath throw the pain in the fetal position on his bedroom floor. The pain eases enough that you can open your eyes, but you aren't prepared for what you see.

Soldier Boy kneeling over you with worry imprinted on every inch of his gorgeous face. Those beautiful bright green eyes are shining with concern... for you? You didn't know this man could even have compassion in him.

Never have you seen a supe look so genuinely concerned for someone's well-being before.

"Can you walk to the bed, Doll?"

You only nod and accept his hand to help you up off the dusty floor. He guides you to lay on the bed before disappearing into the ensuite bathroom. Moments later he's back with a hot cloth that he lays on your lower belly.

How the fuck does he know?

"Super hearing but also super smell," he looks nervous to even be telling you all this, "I can smell you." He gestures to your lower half.

Chuckling you can't help what comes from your mouth, "God that must be the worst." He joins you now both laughing out loud at this fucked up situation.

"Not as bad as one would think." He lowers his big hand to lay on top of the cloth. The heat radiating off him helps soothe my cramping lower stomach.

"You know it's none of my business, but I do know another way to ease your pain."

He's leaning on his arm as he lays beside you warming you with his body. The air around us changes as he peers down at me. I watch as he's green eyes turn black with desire. I've heard of people who claim orgasms help with period cramps, just never had the nerve to experiment with it.

"I, um... I've done that before. Don't you find it gross?"

His face softens as he takes me in, "Trust me sweetheart I've hand blood on my hands before, nothing about bringing you pleasure would gross me out."

With a dark smile he adds, "plus knowing I'd be the only one every in your body while like this..." He grabs my hand and brings it to rest on his harden cock in those fucking grey sweatpants, "makes me so fucking hard I could cut diamonds baby." He whispers in my ear.

I clench my thighs together at the picture he's painting in front if me.

"Of course only if you want to though." He adds.

Another series of cramps take over my body. I scrunch my body together in hopes to fight off the pain. It's so bad I feel sick to my stomach. Without thinking too far into it, I grab his hand and place it on the clothed core.

At this point there isn't anything I wouldn't do just to feel some relief.

Soldier Boy just smiles before diving his big strong hand into the sides of my sweats and pull them down, "alright."

Before I can think too much of it I feel him removing my tampon and then two thick fingers going knuckle deep into my sore, angry center. He finds my g spit within seconds and starts pumping hard and fast. A man on a mission.

I can't bring myself to watch his hands in me. Scared of what kind of murder scene I'll find. He leans of to kiss me gentle before watching where our bodies are connected, "fuck that's hot y/n."

Your orgasm is fast to appear at the hands of this powerful supe. Before you know it your clamping down around his digits and soaking the sheets below.

A growl vibrates his chest when you whisper out, "fuck... Soldier Boy."

"Doll, I'm about to be balls deep in your hungry little pussy and stained with your blood, pretty sure you can call me Ben."

How does he make it sound so fucking hot. Sex on your period shouldn't be this hot. He rises on the bed taking his sweat pants and shirt off. Then he crawls over me and starts undressing me slowly. Nipping and licking his way down my body.

When he gets to my hips I tense, "relax Doll, I won't go there unless you want me too." Fuck this man is a dirty bastard.

"You're a dirty boy, you know that?" Ben pushes a finger back into me, playing with my soft walls, "in a minute you'll enjoy that about me."

Then he's feeding his big cock into me. Inch by glorious inch slide deep into my heat. Ben eyes are glued to where we are connected, watching my body wither and shake as I struggle to take him all.

What feels like hours later he's balls deep in my cum and blood soaked pussy. A grunt leaves his chest when our hips meet. Kissing my lips he lowers his head to my ear, "you feel too good clinging tp my cock pretty girl, I'm not going to last. This is going to be rough and fast."

All you can do is nod and moan as he withdraws to the tip before slamming back into you, knocking the air from your lungs.

He didn't lie, he took you fast and hard. Making you cum three more times before he let's out a growl before you feel his cum paint your inner walls.

When the last of his semen leaves his tip, he slowly pulls out of you with a squelching noise. He gets off the bed and you see the mess of blood and cum all over his dick and public hair.

Covering your face in embarrassment, you sigh. What he must think of you now.

Your arms are pulled from your face, "don't hide from me. You have no reason to be embarrassed." Your eyes are still closed, unable to meet his gaze.

"Look at me y/n." You do as your told, only to be met with such a loving sight. "That was fucking incredible. And I will be doing it again with you..." He moves your sweaty y/h/c hair away from your face, "are you feeling better?"

"Yes."

"Good. Now let's go get cleaned up. I wanna make you dirty again. I like you in red." He bends to pick you up as if you weighted nothing and sends you a sexy wink.

"You're a very dirty boy, Ben."

[buckets-and-trees]

On this fine Sunday morning, enjoy the thot of Bucky and Ari waking you up too early, but in a way that you can't complain about (you literally can't complain since something's in your mouth....)

To wake up to this ask? Have you no compassion on this the Lord’s day of rest?

No rest for the wicked on Sinday though…

So how about just a little drabble in the sheets?

Title: Crimson Mornings Word Count: 500

Content/Warnings: explicit smut: mmf threesome, implied Somnophilia, fingering (mouth, vaginal, anal), light cumplay

You moan, stirring from sleep, but then you’re jolted from sleep and your eyes fly open, slight panic rising when you register your mouth is filled with two fingers, and you feel like you can’t breathe.

“Shh, doll,” Bucky’s deep voice the first thing for your brain to process, “close those lips and breathe through your nose.”

“And don’t let your pretty little head start to think,” Ari murmurs in your ear, his body pressed up against your back. “We finally broke you last night. Didn’t think we’d wait to play with our pretty girl again, did you?”

Ari brings one of his hands up to hold and caress your throat while Bucky begins to stroke his fingers slowly over your tongue. You whimper and close your eyes again. It’s too early to see anything yet in the dimmest traces of dawn nudging into the room. But you don’t need to do anything other than give your body over to these two men who were relentless in getting you between them and proved to be insatiable once they’d conquered you.

And you had tried to evade them for too long. Unable to move between them now, part of you wondered why. But a small whisper in the back of your mind still prodded around the edges of the pleasure they were already plying to your body that it was because you were certain they would consume you between them.

Bucky’s thigh was already wedged between your legs, opening you up, and with how wet you were with Ari’s fingers delving between and along your slick folds, you had no idea how long they’d been manipulating your body this morning.

Removing his fingers from your tongue, Bucky presses closer, chest to naked chest, laps at the drool that’s spilled out of your mouth at his ministration, and covers your lips with his, kissing you with unsatisfied hunger. His wet fingers join Ari’s at your cunt, and you writhe in pleasure, basking in the bliss.

But it was only a moment. They had other plans.

Ari’s fingers draw long strokes through your slick from your clit down to your hole, up and down, working in tandem with Bucky, and then he draws them further back, splitting between your ass cheeks and nudging at your tight puckered hole.

You yelp in surprise, turning your head abruptly to escape Bucky’s lips. “No, I’ve never-“ you protest.

“You will,” Ari growls into your neck. He presses his finger slowly but determinedly into your anus, only just enough to breach.

You gasp at the feeling.

Bucky mouths hot, wet kisses along your jaw. “We will only stop if you say the safe word.”

“You remember your word, right, Baby?” Ari prompts. His finger coaxes gently but insistently right there inside the entrance of your tight virgin hole.

You whimper and nod.

He squeezes at your neck. “Gotta hear it for sure.”

“Crimson,” you keen, both of your hands gripping Bucky’s shoulders.

“Good girl.”

“Now we’ll wreck you,” Ari promises, and he presses his finger further in.

↠ Main Masterlist | Aspen's Ask Box | Field Guide to the Forest

I do not do tag lists, but FOLLOW @buckets-and-stories and TURN ON NOTIFICATIONS to be updated any time I publish a new work!

[five-and-dimes]

Body and Soul

(Apparently my specific genre of writing is “shapeshifter having a panic attack”.)

TW for body horror (I think. It’s nothing gory, just losing-control-of-shapeshifting shenanigans so tagging to be safe.)

Dream doesn’t believe in miracles the way humans do. But, he thinks, there must be some sort of magic responsible for the way he is currently being kissed passionately by Hob Gadling.

When he had arrived in the New Inn some weeks ago, he could barely bring himself to hope for forgiveness. Yet what he had been given was that and more. Hob had smiled, happy to pick up where they left off, no anger, no resentment, just joy and companionship and Dream thinks his legs might have given out in relief if he had not sat as quickly as he had.

Of course, Dream was under no illusion that he did not owe Hob a great debt. The immortal was one of many he had wronged, and he desperately wanted to make it right. He spent much of that first meeting making offerings. His name, his being, his regret, answers and explanations and anything Hob could ask for.

Whatever Hob wants, he thinks to himself, he may have.

So amazed was he by the friendship so easily offered, that he felt almost blindsided by the progression he now found himself in. He had buried his love for Hob a long time ago, so certain that there was no greater injustice than to be loved by Dream. But here he was, being kissed and too weak to do anything but kiss back because the idea of Hob loving him had always been an impossibility.

Hob had a few drinks before they made their way back to his apartment, the taste of wine still on his lips, but his hands are steady as they grip Dream’s hips, and his voice is sure as he whispers between kisses, “Sweetheart” and “My Dream” and “Love, love, love”.

Dream sighs against his mouth, ghosting his fingers across the soft fabric of the sweater covering Hob’s chest. “Hob…” There is so much he wants to say, but the words catch in his throat and all that escapes is his name, and he hopes Hob can hear the devotion woven through it.

His knees hit the back of Hob’s bed, and then they are tumbling together, Hob laughing into his neck as he lays himself gently on top of Dream, pressing him back into the mattress. And it’s fine, truly. Dream has always craved closeness, always desired to be held even if he never sought it out for feeling he didn’t deserve it. So to have Hob choose to pull him close makes his heart light up, a warm glow in his chest as he kisses him again, happy to stay in this exact spot as long as Hob will allow him.

And then Hob is leaning back, tugging his shirt off and the warmth dims, just slightly. He feels like a fool for not realizing what was happening. Of course Hob would want a more intimate closeness from him, simply laying together would not be fair to him. And Dream doesn’t mind, exactly. He is no stranger to sex, and can appreciate Hob’s strong chest now revealed to him, even reaches a hand out to pet through the hairs there, would not mind mapping out the fine muscled planes of him.

But when Hob leans down to take Dream’s shirt off, he can’t help but shiver at the ghost of a memory, fabric sliding off his skin, leaving him exposed on the ground within a seal, eyes, so many eyes watching him, too weak to lift a hand, to hide or fight or flee-

It feels like too much.

More clothes are removed, pants slid down until they are both in their underwear. Skin is pressed against skin, and part of Dream feels good and part of Dream wants to run away, wants to go back in time just a few minutes, to when he was clothed and held and didn’t realize that it was only a prelude.

Taking a deep breath, Dream closes his eyes, skimming his hands down Hob’s back. He loves Hob. Loves him so much, too much, he is certain, for he is always too much, and maybe he doesn’t want this, but he does want Hob.

He thinks of his kindness, his compassion, his laughter and joy and passion. Dream would not dare to deny him anything, would not risk losing such a source of good in his life. He does not think he could survive if he was too much and not enough at the same time, would let Hob do whatever he liked if only he would forgive Dream for all he has done and all that he is. Yes, he can do whatever he wants with Dream, whatever he wants.

Anything he wants.

There is a sharp gasp above him.

“Dream?” Hob’s voice is thick with concern, and Dream opens his eyes, following Hob’s gaze down to his own body and is mortified by what he finds.

His skin is still a shining, pale white, but it is no longer skin. Fine, cold porcelain takes the place of flesh, his joints split and hinged, with wisps of gossamer thread tied around them. Hob is carefully laying above a life-sized marionette doll.

“I…” Dream feels breathless, wonders if he even has lungs in this unintentional manifestation, “I apologize, I…” Frantically, he forces flesh across his body, pulls a cover of his usual form around him like a shroud. He can still feel the clicking of hinges, and knows intrinsically that there is a puppet in place of a skeleton beneath his skin.

“Hey, are you alright?” Hob’s brow is furrowed, running a hand gently up Dream’s arm, and Dream nods quickly.

“Yes, I apologize, I simply… became overwhelmed for a moment. I did not intend to change forms.”

Hob smiles soothingly, “We can slow down? If you want?”

What Dream wants is for Hob to be satisfied. Everything else is irrelevant.

“No, you may continue.”

Reaching up, he cups the back of Hob’s neck, gently threading his fingers through the fine hairs there, tugging him down for a kiss. It’s more hesitant than before, but Hob sighs into his mouth, and runs his hands down Dream’s sides until they can rest on the sharp edges of his hips, and so perhaps Dream has not ruined the evening, perhaps he can still make Hob happy.

He focuses more on his own hands than Hob’s, savors the silky strands of his hair and the stubble against his cheek, only distantly feels how Hob’s hands slide down his thighs. Absently, he hopes that his body is to Hob’s liking. He doesn’t often think about how he looks compared to human standards of attractiveness, or how pleasurable it would be to another, and he wishes now that he had thought of this sooner. He should have asked, offered to reshape himself for Hob, because he would, gladly, be anything he wanted-

“Holy shit!”

Hob’s hands are gone, his weight shifting as he surges back onto his knees, looking down at Dream with wide, almost horrified eyes. Dream’s eyes snap down and he gazes in equal horror, though perhaps for a different reason.

Dream’s thighs have become misshapen. Two handprints press into the outsides of his legs, deep and twisting and unmoving, and Dream realizes as he stares down at himself that his body is currently made of soft, malleable clay.

“No…” Dream’s voice is less than a whisper, his mouth simply shaping the word more than speaking it, “No, this is wrong…”

“It- it’s okay,” Hob’s own voice is soft and gentle, hands held out as if soothing a frightened animal, “I was just surprised, is all. Maybe we should-”

“I can fix this.”

“Woah, hey, you don’t need to-”

Dream clenches his eyes shut, trying to make his body right, something Hob would want, something Hob would be willing to keep. He feels like crying, but he pushes it away, pushes any thought of tears or rain or saltwater far, far away.

“Dream, stop!”

Snapping his eyes open again, he sees that the clay has begun to dry rapidly, crackling across his body like a barren desert. When he moves to pull his limbs close to his body, chunks of dry earth break away onto the bedspread, and they both see the porcelain hinges that were hiding underneath. Dream is shaking, and there are two cracks running down his face from each of his eyes.

Oh God, Dream thinks. I’m breaking.

He curls up tighter, trying to hide the way his body is crumbling around him, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’ll-” This shouldn’t be this hard, why can’t he make his body right? He’s too fragile, he’s breaking, and he looks down and sees his reflection in his skin.

His glass skin.

Without thinking, Dream shrieks and throws himself from the bed, landing harshly on the floor, spiderwebs of cracks bursting from his knees before curling up against the wall. Hob follows almost immediately, kneeling in front of him.

“Sweetheart, love, it’s alright, just take a deep breath, okay?”

“No, wait, I, I can fix this, I-”

Hob’s eyes widen, frozen as he watches Dream’s body shudder as if in slow motion. Glass darkens and morphs into rough, black stone, and then that begins to crack as well, deep fissures splitting across his face and ribs. Grass begins to grow from between the crevices, only to wither and die just as fast.

On the side of his neck, a mouth full of broken, yellowed teeth opens and starts screaming, only for thick, white threads to sprout and stitch it shut. An identical mouth appears on the other side of his neck and just screams louder.

A pair of arms emerge sluggishly from Dream’s back before twisting around to cruelly grasp his original arms, holding himself down and digging his nails in until his wrists begin to bleed sand. When he curls forward, face forced almost to the floor as he’s pinned by his own hands, Hob catches a glimpse of his back, a row of rusted wind-up keys along the knobs of his spine.

He’s crying, and his eyes are clear glass orbs, and his eyelids are spiked iron struts.

“I’m sorry,” Dream sobs, voice staticky and distorted, “I can fix this, I promise, please don’t-... I didn’t mean to, I can fix this-”

It’s very possible that this is a terrible idea. It’s very possible that Hob is as crazy as he’s always suspected. But Hob looks at the roiling mass of shapes and forms, the ancient being crying and screaming and fighting his own body, and all he wants to do is hold him.

So he does.

He moves slowly, hoping that Dream will tell him, with words or with his body, if he makes it worse, before gently draping himself across the shuddering figure. He can feel the ripples under his hands, feels clay and plastic and tree bark and he pets all of them with equal softness.

“There’s nothing to fix,” He tucks Dream’s head beneath his chin, and carefully works to uncurl the claws from his wrists, lacing his fingers with them and wishing he could grow more arms himself if only so he could hold Dream better. “There’s nothing to fix,” he repeats, “Nothing is broken. Just breathe with me for a minute, okay? I’ve got you, Dream. I’ve got you my Love.”

With Dream’s arms freed, Hob is able to settle both of them more comfortably, shifting to sit with his back against the bed with Dream nestled in his lap. He keeps his face tucked against his neck, two hands laced with Hob’s and two hands tentatively wrapping around Hob’s middle, fingers fluttering as though afraid to touch.

It takes a long, long moment, but eventually Hob feels Dream’s fragile chest expand with a shaky breath.

“There you are,” Hob sighs, squeezing him a little tighter, “There you are, just relax.” There is another deep, shuddering breath, and then another, and another, and slowly Dream begins to still in his arms. The mouth on his neck quiets, and slowly smooths over. Hands tug away from Hob’s and retreat back into Dream’s body, bones shifting and crackling, little ripples shimmering across him as a patchwork of texture turns back into soft, pale skin.

Hob can still feel tears dripping against his neck, but he has no intention of letting go anytime soon, especially now that Dream is hugging back more firmly, pressing himself against Hob’s body. Running his hands down Dream’s back, he feels a shiver run through him, and is suddenly aware of the fact that they are both nearly naked. He had nearly forgotten how this all started. Keeping one arm tight around Dream’s body, he fumbles behind himself until he’s able to snag the comforter off the bed, tucking it around them and feeling the last of the tension bleed from Dream’s frame.

The silence stretches, and Hob lets it, lets Dream take however much time he needs, content to simply hold him. But eventually, Dream shifts against him, as though he cannot decide whether to pull away or burrow closer.

“I’m sorry.”

His voice is raspy and soft, and Hob thinks about the screaming mouth in his neck. “Nothing to be sorry for,” he insists, placing a gentle kiss to the crown of his head.

This time, Dream pulls away, frowning, “I did not mean to ruin your evening,” he won't meet his eyes, the guilt in his voice slides between Hob’s ribs like a dagger, “I would ask for the chance to try again. To fulfill your desires.”

At those words, Hob takes a moment to really look at Dream, to take in the body settled in his lap and wrapped loosely in his blanket. There are many things about Dream that Hob has a hard time understanding, things he knows without understanding how he knows. And in this moment, he knows that despite his stillness, despite the lack of tension, Dream is consciously focusing on keeping his body human-shaped.

“You didn’t ruin anything,” Hob can’t keep the sorrow out of his voice, and he brings a hand up to cup Dream’s cheek, brushing a thumb against the drying tear tracks.

“But… you wanted-”

“What I want,” he interrupts gently, “is for you to be comfortable, and happy, and safe.”

Dream furrows his brows in confusion and Hob feels his heart break. “Come here,” lacing their fingers together, Hob tugs them both to their feet, taking a moment to wrap the comforter more securely around Dream’s shoulders. “Will you sit with me for a minute?”

He receives a shy nod, and maneuvers them both back onto the bed, but this time they sit against the headboard, and Dream remains cocooned while Hob pulls the thin bedsheet across his own legs before pulling Dream against his chest, petting his hair and waiting for him to relax that last, undefinable part of himself.

Eventually, he whispers against Dream’s hair, “Can you tell me what happened, Love?”

There is a long pause before Dream responds, gathering his words and choosing them carefully, speaking slowly and deliberately, “I am very grateful for… you. For your friendship, and your willingness to be with me despite my past actions.”

Hob hums, Dream’s answer not what he had been expecting, seemingly not an answer at all. So he rests his chin against the crown of Dream’s head and waits for him to continue. Because he knows there’s more.

There is.

“I do not want you to regret it.”

“What?” Hob frowned, pulling back just enough to look down at the being in his arms in confusion, “Why on earth would I regret it?”

Dream won’t meet his eyes, “I have not treated you well in the past. You would be within your right to make me leave, so I must give you a reason to let me stay. It wouldn’t be fair to expect you to want me here if I am more trouble than I’m worth. If I take more than give.”

It feels to Hob like the wind has been knocked out of him, not a sigh, but a great whoosh of air escaping him, and Dream makes a small noise of surprise as Hob tugs him back against his chest, holding him tighter as though afraid he might slip through his fingers.

“Dream,” He pours as much of his devotion as he can into that name and it still overflows, “Love, that is not how this works.”

“But-”

“My love isn’t something you earn. It’s not something you-... you pay me back for. It’s a gift. You have it because I want you to have it. Unconditionally.”

Dream pulls away again, looking at Hob in something close to disbelief. “But you wanted more tonight.”

Hob shook his head, “I don’t want to do anything like that if you’re afraid.”

Immediately Dream’s eyes dart away, “I’m not… afraid.”

It’s such a blatant lie that Hob can do nothing but stroke his cheek, “We don’t have to do anything. There’s no requirement. You being here is enough to make me the happiest man on Earth. If we do, we can figure it out together.” He pauses for a moment in consideration, “That’s what I want. I want us to be in this together.”

He can practically hear the gears turning in Dream’s head as he turns those words over in his mind. Finally, he brings a hand up to cover Hob’s hand on his cheek. “I… want that as well.”

Hob can’t stop the grin that spreads across his face, “Well there we go then.” He leans down to kiss Dream’s shy smile chastely. “Will you stay tonight?” he asks, “I have a whole drawer of soft sweatshirts and I think one of them might even be black. And…” he hesitates, looking over Dream’s face for any sign of discomfort, “I’d love to hold you a little longer.”

He doesn’t understand it. Doesn’t understand how he knows, because all Dream does is close his eyes, but Hob can feel that last, Endless part of him, the part that was holding his body together with both hands, uncurl and relax, settling into his form with an unseen, ancient breath.

“Yes, please.”

They both bundle up in soft fabrics and tangle together under the covers, and Dream whispers words against Hob’s neck, and Hob kisses his affection against Dream’s forehead, and for tonight, it is enough.

It is more than enough.

[cookeybg]

Autumn's Loss of Petals - Chapter 1

Title: Autumn's Loss of Petals

Various POVs : Damian Wayne, Tim Drake, Jason Todd, Dick Grayson

Tags: Angst, Loss of love, amnesia, brotherly love, familial love, will add more if relevant

Obviously, I do not own any of the rights to any of the DC comics, animated cartoons or movies and I am not getting paid to write this. This is purely for my enjoyment :)

Word Count: 1,936

Table of Contents

Chapter 1 - Damian

“Before I have you sign, I must ask, are you sure you want to go through with this?” Dr. Sato’s soft kind eyes looked at Damian with compassion. "Must you keep asking me such an inane question, I've already said yes." Damian snapped, he hated seeing the look of pity everyone kept giving him. "It is an important question, many think they can go through with this without fully grasping the consequences." Dr. Sato's eyes somehow turned softer when he smiled, a tinge of sadness marred the corners of his eyes. "It's just protocol, little D." Dick reached out to pat Damian's hand only to be swatted away. "He is my child, once he has made up his mind he will stay strong." Talia stroke Damian's head gently, she was not swatted away. "If you would only tell us who it is, we might be able to set things right. Before going through with such a major surgery." Bruce crouched next to where Dick sat, his hand hovered over Damian's. Jason snorted where he leaned against the door frame and Tim, sitting in the chair next to the door, paused in his typing. "There is no point if the object of his affection doesn't reciprocate." Talia glowered at Bruce, who glared back, finally placing his hand on Damian's. "Yes, well," Dr. Sato cleared his throat, "if you have determined that this is for the best, please sign the release form so we can begin the surgery." Damian rolled his eyes. He didn't understand why his family had to be here, he would have been fine on his own. He grabbed the clipboard the doctor had handed him and signed his name neatly. He coughed, his hand shooting up to cover his mouth. He was too late, a bit of blood had splattered on the consent form. Removing his hand he stared down at it, a clump of thick white petals came with it. He felt the room silence, his family ready to fight an opponent they could not punch. He felt weak, his breath coming in short, burning his throat, leaving a sour taste. He felt pathetic and that was the worst feeling of all. He hated that this was what had become of him. That he had let his feelings rule him in this way. His mother had warned him all his childhood that love would only hurt him, would hinder him; yet here he was beholden to it, ruined by it. "Tt." He crushed the petals in his hand. He grimaced, feeling the hateful tears, that he had tried to keep at bay, drip down his cheeks. A choked sob escaped him, before a hacking cough over took it. He clutched at his chest, the noise from the heart monitor attached to him rising to dangerous levels, the temperature in his head skyrocketing, forcing his veins to bulge, a high pitched ringing overtook his hearing. His fingers dug into in cheeks, his palms covering his open mouth, preventing the bloody saliva from splattering out. His forehead bumped his knees with the force of the last cough. With watery eyes he saw a full flower in his cupped hands, it's waxy white petals let the blood it came out with slide off with ease, dripping, staining the white hospital blanket. The strong sweet smell of it mixed sickeningly with the smell of iron and bile. The ringing gradually dropped and when he looked up his family were being pushed to one side, their panicked faces pale under the florescent lights. A nurse pat his back, telling him to lay back, trying to comfort him. Dr. Sato pushed his medical bed forward, his calm soft demeanor gone, replaced with the concentration and determination of a doctor who had been working in this field for decades. They rushed him out of the room, the white sterile walls blurring in their wake. He knew he was dying, his head light, his limbs heavy. He felt relief. When they placed him on the metal bed of the operating room, they placed a plastic mask over his nose and mouth, told him to breathe in and count backwards. He saw a pair of blue eyes reflecting the sky, tousled black hair and a smile brighter than the sun, his arms opened wide, beckoning him for one last hug.

Soft light streamed in through the large window, gently waking Damian up from his dreamless sleep. His mouth felt like sandpaper, his throat felt worse, he tried to lift his hand to rub at it but a weight prevented the action. The weight was warm, comforting and when he looked down he saw Talia holding his hand, half her body laying on the mattress. He tried to call her but all that came out was a rasp, the effort was too much and he fell back into unconsciousness.

“When do you think he will wake up?” Dick asked, pacing the room. “According to records from other’s surgeries, it can take anywhere from a couple of hours after surgery to three days.” Tim said sitting next to Bruce on the beige couch, his face hidden behind his opened laptop. “How do…did you hack the hospital records?” Dick asked stopping in front of Tim. “Is it really considered hacking if it was so easy?” Tim scoffed. “Yes. Yes, it is.” Dick said. “What, you going to arrest him, pig?” Jason was lounging on the recliner, an open book in one hand. “Boys, please let’s be respectful to your brother’s recovery.” Bruce pinched the bridge of his nose, his hair looked like it needed brushing, his dress shirt rumpled and unkempt. Damian watched his family bicker with half opened eyes, he was already annoyed with them. He carefully glanced around, he no longer stayed in the sterile white hospital room he had first been admitted to. He could tell that his father had put him in a private hospital room complete with a two seater couch, two reclining chairs, a coffee table and a giant 4k television hung on the wall. The walls were a light warm colored wood and the giant window that basically covered one side of the room faced the peaks of mountains. He tried to tell them to shut up, instead what came out was a soft gasp. The gasp left a burning sensation in his throat, he needed water. “Little D!” Dick rushed towards him, “How are you feeling? OMG I’m so relieved that you’re awake.” He sobbed, clasping Damian’s hand to his chest, being careful of the IV needle embedded in it. Bruce and Tim had followed Dick, but were much more reserved. His father looked relieved, smiled at him and ruffled his hair. Tim smirked, the bags under his eyes looked darker and more defined. Jason had left the room, when he returned he brought a nurse with him. The nurse worked around them, checking Damian’s vitals, while Dick prattled on about how relieved Kori and Mari would be when they found out he had woken up. Damian did not have the energy to make Dick shut up, though he was relieved he was there, something he would never admit to. The nurse gave Bruce a cup of shredded ice, giving him instructions to feed it to Damian slowly. She helped put him in a sitting position, adding pillows for back support. She then excused herself, stating that she would inform the doctor of his wakefulness. The ice that his father fed him was the best thing he had ever tasted. He wanted more, was frustrated when he couldn’t snatch the cup away due to his heavy limbs. He was shaky and uncoordinated, Tim and Jason teased him, taking advantage of the fact that he couldn’t retaliate both physically and verbally. Bruce scolded them, feeding Damian another sliver of ice that melted far too quickly on his overheated tongue. The room quieted down when Dr. Sato walked in, his soft smile directed to the whole room, when it landed on Damian it softened further.

“I am happy to see you awake. If you would allow me to do a few tests?” He indicated for the rest of the family members to leave the room. They all reluctantly complied, Bruce squeezed his shoulder telling him to call if he needed him. Damian rolled his eyes, why would he need him? Dr. Sato gave him a brief check up, checking his breathing with a stethoscope and his eyes with a small pen light. When satisfied, the doctor brought the stool chair that had been under the hospital computer in the room, close to the bed, sat on it, looked at his clipboard and then gave Damian a serious look. “Physically, it seems that you will recover wonderfully.” Dr. Sato stated, “Do you remember why you had this operation?” Damian scoffed, opened his mouth to respond, but when he realized that he couldn’t remember his mouth shut with an audible clack. He rubbed at his neck, trying to message it, trying to distract from the uncomfortable feeling of blankness. He looked around the room, did he get hurt? Obviously, his throat burned and he had bandages wrapped around his neck, but what hurt him? His hand slowly drifted down to his chest, he had bandages there too, the skin felt painful, inflamed, he hadn't noticed before. "I was hurt." Damian rasped, unsure of his respond. "In a way," Dr. Sato nodded, "we removed a growth from your lungs and heart, it was causing an obstruction to your airways." He tried to remember, a subtle image of a memory crept up and quickly slipped away. It felt like a cold bolt had struck him, the sudden pain making him wince. "No, don't," Dr. Sato patted the blankets next to Damian, "rushing it will do you no good and will only hurt. Many patients in your shoes will have temporary amnesia, slowly you will regain most of your memories." "Most?" Damian couldn't go above a whisper, his throat burning with any effort of speech. "Hm, yes, all of the relevant memories will return, except for the ones that caused the injury in the first place." Dr. Sato wrote something on his clipboard and stood up, "You were very brave, I am glad you pulled through. I will inform your family to give you some time alone to process, I'm sure they would like to go eat and shower. Please rest, you need plenty of it." He smiled and left, the door giving a soft click as it shut. Damian stared at his hands, a faint image of white petals lingered, but he couldn't remember the shape. He shakily touched his chest, it was solid, his flesh intact under the gauze. He took a deep breath, it tasted of blood but it was clear. His heart beat without constraint, comfortable in his chest. Damian could feel it, that something was missing, he gripped his hospital gown. It felt like he could reach in if he pressed a bit harder, like he could fill the cold void left behind by whatever they had removed. Fill it with his fist, squeeze his heart so that it could feel warm. It was an silly thought, dangerous even, he should be grateful that it was gone. Wet droplets landed on his hand, large and hot, with a shock he realized they were tears. He was crying and couldn't figure out why, all he knew was that this emptiness was unnatural. He had forgotten something important. He wanted his father, he wanted his mother, he needed his family.

I will be experimenting with different POV's for this fic, but they will all be Damian-centric. I hope you enjoyed it and I hope I got the imagery across.

[fun-k-board]

AVATAR : WAY OF WATER with a Moth from Sky Children of the light Pt. One.2

Prologue - Part One.1

Inspired by : @dizzythediasy

Characters included : The Sully family, Spider and Norm Spellman. Mention of Grace and Eywa.

Pronouns used : They / Them

Note(s) : Writers block is hitting hard, if there's any inconsistencies please tell me so I can correct them. Na'vi language in bold.

The Sully family stood by the child sleeping soundly in Kiri's lap, given they seemed to have an iron grip and refused to let go of her, they all chose to sit and wait for the young one to wake up. When the scientists had tried removing their small wooden mask on the outside of the lab, they thrashed and seemed to be uncomfterable with the thought, constantly slapping and hitting the oxygen mask that would drift their way. Norm let them have their mask, as long as he got to make sure they could properly breathe.

"They aren't a human." Norm said, who looked at confusion at the snoring one. At first most in the room had believed they were just a strange looking sky person, but Jake and Norm confirmed that to not be the case.

"Then what could they be? Another creation, like dreamwalkers?" Neytiri looked between Norm and Jake in fear for her clans safety, while she wasn't opposed to leaving them behind if they proved to be difficult, she has compassion. Jake hmm'd.

"No, I do not think so. They do not seem human at all, science can only be based on existing DNA, neither me or Norm have seen anything like this before." He insisted, sighing and gently holding Neytiri's hand. "We should teach them our ways, they don't seem to have relation to sky people." Neytiri was reminded of her and Jake's time, still unsure, she sighed and gently wrapped an arm around him.

"We shall see, ma jake. We shall see."

Kiri moved to sit atop her mothers tank, carefully placing you in her lap and gently playing with your hair. Speaking to Lo'ak, Neteyam, Tuk and Spider while their parents spoke with Norm about you on the other side of the lab. Unconsciously, you began moving your head from side to side, slowly opening your eyes. They trailed up at your comfterable pillow to see brilliant blue skin and shining yellow eyes, shyly, your finger moved upwards and gently poked her cheek. Kiri smiled and laughed, and so you done it again.

"They seem to like you." Lo'ak laughed at your actions, leaning against Grace's Avatar's tank and grinning at your curious eyes that bore into him as he spoke.

Tuktirey noticed the new attention on you and ran over to her sisters side, her sharp fangs showing as she smiled brightly. You tilted your head and gently put your hands on her cheek, squishing them. All the siblings melted at the adorable interaction, her hands moving to your cheeks and squishing them yourself. The boys laughing as you tugged on Kiri's tail when it entered your point of view.

Three pairs of footsteps and a masculine cough quieted the laughter, only Tuk and you still curiously poking each other. Too enraptured in childhood innocence to understand your enigma of an appearance.

Your eyes drifted to see two very large Na'vi and an Avatar, though to you, the differences weren't too noticeable. Neytiri picked up the youngest Sully and moved her off Grace's tank to the ground, now Jake was right in front you and Kiri.

"Hello." He whispered, assuming you'd understand him if you were related to humans given English was the most widespread language humans used on Pandora. From what Kiri had told him, she wasn't sure if it was English or her careful and slow actions that'd earned their trust.

Tilting your head, instead of responding you reached a hand out and pinched his nose. Neytiri held a hand over her mouth to silence a laugh. Lo'ak and Neteyam looked at each other and tried to silence their own laughs like their mother, however, the young Tuk didn't have that thought and pointed at her dads wince, loudly laughing. Kiri grinned and tried prying the young ones hand off, who just pinched harder as a result.

"I'm not sure they know English." He quietly spoke, voice nasaly from their pinching of his noise, Neytiri's eyes softened at the adorable sight, hardening when she had a sudden thought.

"Maybe another sky person will be of comfort." Looking down on Spider, motioning for him to go forward. He awkwardly shuffled forward and smiled, trying to appear unthreatening as he moved next to Jake.

"Hello? Uh, the name's Spider." Lo'ak snickered and muttered a 'bro', proceeding to get slapped in the back of the head by Neteyam. You still didn't seem to know what was going on. Grabbing his nose like you did with Jake's, reaching your other hand to said Na'vi, leaning your head to study them and their differences.

"I don't think this is working." Spider's voice, now nasaly, spoke. Kiri laughed and pet your head which tipped up to look at her. Even if you didn't have a mouth, your bright eyes could show a thousand smiles if only for a moment.

While Neytiri had a sudden soft spot for you, she gently held her hand on Jake's shoulder. Words unspoken yet understood perfectly, not only through the couple, but through the entire family. Kiri tapped your hand, making you let go of the poor guys noses.

"We need to talk about this." Neytiri looked between the family, eyes studying your figure with an almost regretful suspicion. Kiri jumped down from the tank, gently trying to pry you off holding onto her torso, but you whined and gripped hard onto her, afraid of being left alone.

"Norm will take care of you, okay?" Kiri freed one of her arms and pointed to the very awkward Avatar, huffing but seemingly satisfied with at least not being left alone, you let go of her and she let you stand on the ground. You held out your hand for Norm to hold, but they could all see your eyes locked into Kiri as she left.

Nobody understood the connection you had with her, you felt like a piece of her and she felt the same way, unsure of what you were but all she knew was that she needed to protect you. Kiri heard Eywas mighty heartbeat thump louder than it ever had when you were with her. Your own heartbeat making you feel as if she was your only home.

Taglist :

@eywas-daughter

@sparklyphantom

@littleshybunbun

@evanswife1918

[sailoryooons]

Trick or Treat!🎃

Kit kat+ Frankenstein + The Addams Family!

Happy Haliween!!🕸🎃💜💚

☾ Pairing: Serial Killer! Seokjin x Serial Killer!f. reader

☾ Summary: For as long as you’ve worked at the upscale grocery store in the northern part of the city, you’ve hated Seokjin. He’s charming and smooth and you’re always fighting for employee of the month. It isn’t until you both show up at a house in the middle of the night that you realize how much you have in common. 

☾ Word Count: 3,245

☾ Genre: Enemies to Lovers(ish), Slasher, A little humor

☾ Rating: 18+ Minors are strictly prohibited from engaging and reading this content. It contains explicit content and any minors discovered reading or engaging with this work will be blocked immediately.

☾ Warnings: Thoughts about murder, references to murder, reflection on being a murderer - literally, this is a drabble about two serial killers, they do not actually commit murder in this but literally the entire subject is MURDER!! Like reader thinks about killing people multiple times, this is disturbing but not necessarily graphic, and there are overall just. Themes of insanely morally corrupt people. Also contains explicit language, breaking into homes, knives and threats, stalking, prepping to murder someone, profiling people to be victims, sexual tension, and implications. Ambiguous ending, we don’t know if they kill their victim. 

☾ Published: October 8, 2023

☾ A/N: I am so sorry if you don’t like strange serial killers to lovers(ish), but for this Haliween trick you have selected Kit Kat + Frankenstein + The Addam's Family which equals Seokjin, Enemies to Lovers, and slasher! I kept this light-hearted and there’s no actual murder or anything, but this is absolutely unhinged and was an experience for me to write from the POV of a killer. I hope you love these two competitive lunatics with zero moral compasses discovering they have more in common than they think! 

☾ A/N 2: Mini shoutout to @minisugakoobies and @daechwitatamic for their input on my ruminating about what to do with this Haliween combination. Their musings inspire this wild little masterpiece and I could not have gotten the brain chugging without their comments. 

☾ Disclaimer: All members of BTS are faces and name claims for this story. This is entirely a work of fiction and by no means is meant to be a projection, judgment, or representation of real-life people. Any scenarios or representations of the people and places mentioned in works are not representative of real-life scenarios.

| Masterlist | Ask | Haliween Requests

NOTE: TUMBLR PHYSICALLY WILL NOT LET ME ADD A READ MORE LINK TO THIS EVEN IN HTML, THEREFORE I WILL NOT REBLOG ANY REVIEWS OF THIS FOR THAT REASON AS OF NOV. 27 2023

There are days you wonder if you should kill Seokjin. 

It would be too complicated, though. Not only would someone notice if he doesn’t show up to work, but it’s too close to home. Murders should always be removed. There should be no connections between you and the victim. Anything within seven degrees of separation is far too close.

And everyone knows you hate him. 

Hate the way he charms everyone else so effortlessly. There isn’t a soul at the store who doesn’t like him except maybe you. He is perfect. Not a hair out of place, his handsome features painfully symmetrical and alluring, his ease with people so crystalline that you want to scream. Glasses that are perfectly perched on his perfect nose. Effortlessly chic hair. A knockout mouth structure. 

It’s hard to imagine anyone is that perfect, but it appears Seokjin is. No matter how much digging you do, you never find anything incriminating. There’s nothing. He hardly seems to exist outside of the store. 

You hate him for it. Especially when you see he has beaten you for employee of the month again. Seokjin walks into the break room, looking at the announcement on the board. He smirks when he sees it, eyes coasting over to you. The grin grows and he shrugs. 

“What can I say?”

“Nothing, ideally,” you offer. 

“You’re cute when you’re jealous.”

You feel your eye twitch. You imagine how satisfying it would be to smash his teeth in. To feel the bone break beneath your foot, to hear the crunch.

The thought of it makes you smile and turn to him, suddenly calm again. “Congratulations, Seokjin. I look forward to celebrating with you during our meeting.”

Tying an apron around your waist, you leave the break room and head out onto the floor. Your calm intensifies, muscles loosen. The store is not open yet. Outside, the world is gray. The fluorescent lights shine down on the perfectly lined aisles, every item in place. Above, soft music plays. 

Mornings at the grocery store like this are second only to the high of watching the light fade from someone’s eyes. Here, you are alone and in peace. You feel the quiet of the world, undisturbed. Like a god walking through the land of their creation while everything is asleep. 

But it’s when you see someone looking at you as they embrace death that you know you are a god. You are the final thing they see, and right before they fade, they see you as their ender. Their maker. 

Seokjin might be able to take the employee of the month from you, but he cannot have this. These two moments. Different sides of the same coin. He could never understand the power that peace and death give you.

No one else understands. No one else could. 

-

When the store opens, your day unfolds. It is an upscale grocery store with organic foods, fresh pressed juice and swollen, ripe strawberries. You see all manner of people come in and out: assistants doing the shopping for their wealthy employers, socialites snapping pictures of their smoothies and juices, the upper class toting name-brand bags and watches as they hand over metal credit cards.

It is disgusting, in a way. But in your way, it’s become beautiful. A hunting ground for people who jet around the world so often, no one will know if they go missing. You’re always so so careful with your marks. They have to be right. Perfect. You have to spend weeks making sure they are the one. 

The one problem with this ritual is how long it takes. The need to feel that power and the need for safety and caution wage a war inside of you, neither giving ground to the other. It’s been months since you’ve had a fix, and with Seokjin’s employee of the month win, you know it’s time to sift through your options. 

Your list is small. The sweet, doe-eyed boy Jungkook is an easy mark in the sense that he has a very small social circle, his life is built on routine, and he is wildly trusting. Because of his routine, though, he might present a problem when he goes missing. That, and he is physically a danger to you if you don’t knock him out first. 

Taehyung isn’t bad, either. He comes and goes, traveling the world and staying in hostels, losing his passports across countries and sharing all of his travels on social media. He lives loosely enough that if he vanished, it would take a while for anyone to find him. But that social media feed of his would eventually attract attention. 

When Hoseok gets into your line, you feel your heart stutter. Perfect Hoseok. He is quiet and solitary, a fashion designer who often vanishes for long periods at a time. He doesn’t leave his quiet, lofty mansion in the hills often when he is in a fit of designing for a new season, and he is prone to hospitalizations for working himself near to death.

Perfect Hoseok, who smiles like Apollo and smells like the sun. He is an entity. A light that you cannot help but stare at. And you decide him. What would it be like, to see someone like Hoseok look at you and beg. Please. Like you’re his god. The only thing between him and death.

Your palms get sweaty as your line shortens. He’s just four back - it’s a busy day - but you try to get through your customers quickly. You want to make small talk with him. To get his weekend plans. 

And then Seokjin steps into the register next to you even though he’s supposed to be on break, and he turns the light on. “Hoseok! Come on over, let’s get you through.” 

Rage. You stop ringing up items. The conveyor belt hums and the products on top of it begin to pile up. White noise roars in your ears. You watch as Hoseok gets out of your line and swaps to Seokjin’s. They shake hands and start talking, Seokjin leaning back with a laugh. 

High-pitched ringing sings in your ears as you watch Seokjin bag Hoseok’s items and offer to walk him out to the car after flicking the light off at his register. 

“Ma’am?” You blink and the ringing vanishes. The man in front of you stares, raising his brows. His cat-like eyes are sharp and concerned. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” you rasp, voice suddenly dry. It’s a lie. “Yeah.”

-

“Do you like stealing my customers?” you ask Seokjin, pressing the knife down hard through the apple you’re cutting at the break room counter. “Is that how you got employee of the month? Turning on your light to ring up one person and then fucking off?”

“Ooo,” Seokjin answers, closing the fridge with his hip. “We are still touchy about my great awards, are we?”

“You know that was a bitch move.” You slam the knife down on the cutting board. It’s a Wüsthof Classic Butcher Knife, which is wildly obnoxious for cutting fruit. And, you realize belatedly, it’s from Seokjin’s personal collection. You file it away, wondering what he knows about good knives. “Stay the fuck away from my business when I’m working.”

“Hoseok isn’t yours.” 

His tone makes you look up. Seokjin’s demeanor shifts, a chameleon adapting to a hostile environment. The telltale signs of his true annoyance are all there: red ears, vacant eyes, blank face. His shark face. You see it so rarely that it shocks you to see it now. 

It’s in moments like this where… he is almost your mirror. 

“He was in my line.”

“Funny how that isn’t the same thing.” 

“Customer poaching is desperate.” You pick the knife back up and slice through the apple, hearing the crisp, wet crunch like breaking a bone to get to marrow. “Are you that desperate, Jin?”

From the corner of your eye, you see his fingers twitch. For a split second, you think he might grab the knife. A flutter of excitement runs through you, unfettered. You wait to see what he does, holding your breath as you slowly turn to look at him. 

Is he going to do it? 

The moment clings to the air a moment longer. Then Namjoon opens a shelf and spills several boxes of granola, shattering the weaving tension between you and Seokjin. He takes a step back and you turn back toward your fruit, knife abandoned.

When he leaves, a shiver runs up your spine, quite unsure what that was. 

You also think that perhaps Seokjin is... more attractive than you give him credit for.

-

Two weeks. You tap through your phone, lighting up your face in the dark of your room. Hoseok will begin his descent into designing for his Spring collection in two weeks. It’s the perfect amount of time to prepare yourself, to begin the ritual of hunting. To watch, notate, and practice. 

You hit the button to turn off the lock screen and you’re bathed in darkness. 

Two weeks and you can feel the rush again.

Two weeks and you’ll be fed on the high for months. 

-

Not even Seokjin can get you down at work. You look at your time requested off on the calendar every morning you clock in. A blissful spread of days in which you’ll need to prepare, execute, and come down for the euphoria before coming back to work.

No amount of goading from Seokjin can upset you this week. You are locked in. Focused. So honed on your rapidly approaching desire that nothing can bring you down.

-

“Switch weekends with me,” Seokjin says, stepping in front of you before you can clock out. It’s late, both of you staying overtime to help unload a late shipment. You growl at him and try to jockey him out of the way, but he’s like iron. He doesn’t move. “I need that weekend off.”

“No.” Seokjin’s stance grows firmer. You push him again but he is unmovable, making your lip curl. You slowly start to drag your eyes to his, where he is pouting. “Move or I will make you.”

“That’s the best reaction I’ve gotten from you all week. What plans do you have, huh? A date night with a bubble bath and a vibrator?”

You frown. He isn’t entirely wrong. The need to lay in warm water in a post-kill daze and bring yourself to an orgasm is part of the after routine. Still, you manage to shove him aside and punch in your number.

“Please,” he says gently. “I need the weekend.”

“No. Not for you. Not in a million years.” 

“What do you want? I’ll trade you anything.”

You face him after clocking out, giving him a wonderful smile. “You have nothing to offer me, Jin. I know you’re not used to hearing that.” 

Slowly, Seokjin’s face changes. He goes from charming and warm and melts into something else. Ice in a glass, losing its form and weak attempt at holding false shape. 

“You’re lucky we work together,” Seokjin murmurs. There is something dark in his voice. An abyss you’ve never heard from Seokjin, but you’ve touched yourself. It is the secret, dark voice of threat. Of promise. And then he grins, shrugging. “I guess I’ll ask around. Have fun with your sex toys.”

You watch Seokjin walk out and all you can think about is that low voice. That darkness. Like the thing that lives inside of you. 

-

One day. Hoseok has locked himself away. His social media has gone quiet. You watch as the trash cans go without being taken out. No one comes. No one goes. The only light that remains on is the one in his second-floor office. Hoseok comes outside a single time to look at the rain as it comes down hard on a Thursday before going back inside and not coming out again. 

Tomorrow. 

You watch the office light go off at five in the morning.

Tomorrow. 

-

Making a murder look like an accident is not easy. It is your least favorite method, in fact. You prefer people who vanish. A ghost is harder to trace than an accident. There are too many questions involved. 

Hoseok, though, cannot be a ghost. You knew that when you picked him. You haven’t orchestrated an accident in some time, but you will now. 

Hoseok likes to drink. He likes to fuel his designs with so much whiskey that sometimes he falls asleep in his office with the lights on at his desk, glass full. Other times, he crashes into furniture and knocks it over, shattering lamps and slipping down the stairs to get to his bedroom. 

Tonight, you have everything you need. A little bit of Xanax, which he has a prescription for. A little bit of chloroform to help knock him out. Epinephrine for you to give you a carefully measured and tested boost of adrenaline and strength. Gloves. Wrapped shoes. A list of all the blind spots in his alarm system and its codes. 

Crickets sing to you as you watch. You walked the full three hours to his home tonight. It was nice with the rush of cars around you and the crunch of your shoes on gravel. Once in the hills, you meticulously changed your clothes at a gas station, wiping off sweat and grime before taking the fifteen-minute trek into the lower hills where Hoseok lives. 

Light pollution makes it hard to see the stars, but the world stretches out beyond you as you stand in the murky darkness of an unsold home across the street. For the past two weeks, you have been an impromptu gargoyle perched among the trees. 

Hoseok should be happy he will not be around when someone moves in. The trees that offer the home privacy offer an entire vantage point to watch him through his uncurtained home. Even just climbing to other limbs gives you a view of other windows. Other ways in. 

The way in though, is easiest through the backyard where his spa room leads outside to the pool. The spa door has no camera and is in the blind spot for the camera under the patio pavilion. It additionally is rarely locked, a feature of Hoseok’s home he rarely uses. 

It takes five minutes to get from the spa bathroom to the office. His stairs are well-made and don’t squeak. He leaves no other lights on. It will be just you and the dark. 

You look at your watch. It’s four in the morning. For the past few days, Hoseok has gone to bed at five. He’s made it all three days in a row, not falling asleep at his desk. Tonight, he will do the same thing. He will get up, turn the lights out, and head to his bedroom. 

Except this time, you plan to be in the hall. A little chloroform. A little forced Xanax to make him weak when he wakes up and prevent him from fighting back. A jolt of adrenaline for you and a snap of his neck before he falls down the stairs and-

A shadow crosses the wall of Hoseok’s yard. You straighten in the tree, watching it make its way across the yard toward the back. Without even thinking about it, you move. The thought of someone breaking into the house and killing Hoseok by accident and stealing your high makes you bolt.

Your heart hammers. Your hands get sweaty. This isn’t how your night is supposed to go. You’re up and over the wall and sliding along the glass windows as you walk toward the spa bathroom door in a heartbeat. You feel rattled and out of sorts - not at all what you should be feeling on a night like this. 

Any other time, you might call it quits. Should call it quits. 

But you don’t. It’s been so long and Hoseok has been taking from you once this month already. You cannot let it happen again.

Like a shadow, you slide into the home. It is cold inside. Already you’re working out how to factor in another person. You had not intended to stage a home invasion, but the third person is a liability and a threat. You’ve never taken two at once before, and though the promise of what that might feel like makes you giddy, you also don’t know the math of this. You don’t know what this looks like.

And still you creep forward. 

Hoseok’s house is modern art. It is all sleek edges and warm tones washed in art on the walls and sculptures. Thankfully, it is also big and full of negative space. Nothing gets in your way as you creep up the stairs, eyes swiveling back and forth as you look for where the intruder has gone.

When you get to the top of the stairs, the hair on the back of your neck tingles. You swivel, bringing up your hand just as a knife stops in front of your face, only restricted by the iron grip you have on your assailant's wrist. You know the make of it immediately. It’s a Wüsthof Classic Butcher Knife.

Neither of you move. You cannot make the features on your attacker's face. Slowly, you see their other arm come up. You somewhat see they are holding up a hand. A white flag. Trembling, you loosen your grip on their knife arm, your other hand wrapped firmly around the hunting knife sheathed at your thigh. 

Together, you step away from Hoseok’s office door. One step. Two steps. A waltz backward and toward a guest room, where the door opens and you step inside with your opposite. Friend. Foe. You’re unsure. 

Moonlight filters through the window and your counterpart steps backward into it. 

Your breath catches in your chest and the urge to laugh suddenly takes you, swelling up so abruptly that you have to press your lips firmly shut to stop the madness from spilling out.

Seokjin looks good in all black, standing in the gray light of the moon. His shark eyes stare at you, face blank, waiting. The Wüsthof Classic Butcher Knife is still in his hand. It doesn’t shake. He holds it loose. Casual. A fast striker, you think. 

“What a strange thing,” Seokjin whispers. “To see someone so unlike me be my very mirror. What are you doing here?”

“It is impossible to say how first the idea entered my brain,” you whisper back, recalling a quote from The Tell-Tale Heart. “But once conceived, it haunted me day and night.”

He hums. “They who dream by day are cognizant of many things which escape those who dream only by night.”

Hoseok opens the door in his office. You both freeze, listening to his stumbling steps as he clambers down his stairs. Not a sound slips between you as Hoseok shuts the bedroom door downstairs. 

The silence is roaring.

“What well it be,” Seokjin whispers. “Friend or foe?” 

You tap the handle of your knife. “I want to be employee of the month next month. Try less.” 

“What do you like to do after?” 

“What was it you said? Take a bubble bath with a vibrator?” 

He sheaths the knife and offers a hand. “I can give you more.”

You carefully hold out a hand to him. Not an enemy. Not a friend. Perhaps… an equal. “We are the same, then?” 

“A mirror.” He pulls you in a little, just enough that his mouth brushes against yours. You want to take that dive suddenly. To lean into him. Past atrocities are forgotten in light of this new, beautiful darkness you share. “A mirror.” 

You descend the steps together, two workers from the store. And a little more. 

[keisurou]

greedy | jean kirstein x f!chubby reader

warnings: literally just.. masturbation. mention of public sex, and oral (m! and f!receiving)

Jean, if anything, is the epitome of a gentleman.

You can ask anyone, and they’ll all give you the same sort of answer. Oh, he’s such a great guy! Jean? You’ve got yourself a keeper with that one. He’s the absolute sweetest—and so responsible. Interestingly enough, that last one was always said with a particularly dreamy sigh.

And he never disappoints; his moral compass is unwavering. Or at least, it was.

It’s been three hours since he’s dropped you off at home, but with every passing hour it’s become harder to concentrate on anything besides you. Even back at home with the nature documentary droning on the TV in the background, you come to mind with the red dress you had on merely hours ago. It was a very nice dress; gave him the perfect view of your tits every time you shifted closer to kiss his cheek and when he was graced with the opportunity to walk behind you, he could see just how well it stretched snugly around the swell of your ass.

If he’s being honest with himself, you probably weren’t even wearing any panties. It’s something he had pushed to the back of his mind during the date because it’s a dangerous, dangerous thought and one he wasn’t ready to entertain in front of you or in public. But there was no way you had anything on underneath; he knows, he’s stared at your ass long enough, at the wide expanse of your hips with your cute love handles demanding to be seen. If he had splayed a hand across it, squeezing and lifting the weight of you, what would he have felt?

What would you have done?

He likes to think of you squealing a little before glaring up at him from under your lashes. You wouldn’t lose your composure in public—never. But behind closed doors? In the dark?

It’s all fair game.

His pants are uncomfortable tight now and he hisses as the material grazes against his cock when he lifts his hips to remove it. It's nothing new, but after months of dealing with such a.. hard issue, he’s more sensitive now. It’s fun to edge, of course, but he’d rather have you pressed up against the bathroom wall with your tits hanging out while you’re clawing at his back, begging him to fuck you harder.

His cock is standing at attention now, heavy and throbbing, and the chill of the night feel nice but your hands would feel much nicer. They’d be so soft and gentle, nothing like his own and he likes to think that you’d use both your hands; you always did give him all your attention.

He feels a little guilty if he’s being honest, thinking about how you’d lick him at the tip, kissing it softly before taking him into your mouth and struggling as you try to work in more and more of him inside you. You’d probably tear up a little from all the work; cry about how your jaw hurts and that’d be okay because he would end up making you cry out on his cock later on anyways. But he definitely feels much less guilty now than he did two months ago; at least now he can talk to you right after and act like he hadn’t just thought about how good you’d look after being fucked dumb on his cock.

But what he really wants is for you to sit on him. On his face so he can worship you the way you deserve, feel your thighs tremble and have you pull his hair when your squirt while he sucks on your clit. And then he wants to watch you make your way to his cock on trembling legs and sink down, inch by inch. Have your thighs spread wide for him so he can reach over and flick your clit every time you sink back down with the bounce of your tits and the jiggle of your stomach. He’s fisting his cock now, firm strokes up and down in tandem to the rhythm of how you’d take control. You’d go slow, you like to savour the moment and occasionally lean forward for a kiss. It’d be the change in angle that does it for him, the way he’d palm at your ass to bring you even closer, the delicious friction of your nipples against his chest that would make you whine out his name so he can fuck up into you even harder.

He finishes with a choked cry, fingers lazily still pumping up and down the length of him as the cum dribbles down over and over his knuckles until there’s none left. A while later he reaches for the tissues; it’s been long enough for him to feel uncomfortable, and he can’t help but wistful at the knowledge that if you were here, you wouldn’t have wasted a single drop.

[snowblack-charcoalwhite]

Hello, I just found your blog and after going through a lot of your posts/asks I completely agree with most of your opinions on HOTD ss2. I also wanted to ask your thoughts on the characterization of Aemond and Aegon this season. With Aemond there were a lot of disappointments for me in how the writer treated his character. I know the two nude scenes caused a lot of mixed opinions, but in my opinion, they were completely unnecessary and didn't contribute much to character building. Like Alicent's 3 sex scenes, I feel like the showrunner is just taking advantage of Olivia/Ewan's popularity. Aemond has very few lines, does not interact with anyone in his family, and we hardly know what he thinks about the events taking place. He is removed from the narrative and we hear about how others think of him rather than knowing what he really thinks. Him becoming a villain left a bad taste in my mouth because of the way the writer stuffed it and forced us to swallow it instead of finding a way to build it up properly. It makes me, an Aemond and Ewan fan, feel sad for effort that Ewan has put in just to receive little screen time and bad writing for the character he cherishes so much. With Aegon, even though I'm not a fan, I found him very interesting right from season 1. And in this part, I think the writer has put in effort to compensate for what is considered to be worsening the character's image. Overall, Aegon in ss2 was received very well and he won the sympathy of the majority of viewers in the fandom. Looking forward to hearing your thoughts, ss2 disappointed me a lot and I have very little hope for the second half of the season, but I still look for reviews in the fandom because it's still a highlight for me after every episode.

Good day/night!

The way Aemond has been treated this season is awful indeed. Of all the Green characters he suffered the most (maybe along with Alicent) from the writers attempts (regrettably, successful ones) to divide TG and deprive them of common purpose and pretty much any affection for each other. The scraps of the latter we got (for example, those between Aegon and Helaena) might have gone unnoticed altogether for the majority of the viewers if not for the actors' interviews (and I doubt that many of GA folks have watched those anyway).

It seems that the writers decided to make Aemond into a "lone wolf", so to say: a person who, due to some kind of mix between arrogance and grievances suffered in the past, feels like he doesn't need anyone in this life because 1) everyone he searched love and compassion from failed him, 2) he is utterly confident in his ability to handle every problem that may arise on his own. I personally don't like the concept of Aemond being isolated from his family - but the main issue here IMO is not even the idea itself but the execution. While I'm not a fan of the brothel part either, I believe that those scenes could have fitted into his arc better - if not for the sloppy and neglectful manner in which this arc has been built. Skipping the important bits of Aemond's story (like reaction of his family members to Luke's death), making him indifferent to the murder of Jaehaerys and depriving him of the scenes that could have connected the different points of his emotional and psychological journey (mainly of the scenes with other Greens) - all of it makes it difficult to perceive the different sides his character is supposed to have.

Ultimately, as I see it, both Aemond and Alicent are treated by the show as tools for presenting the audience with the story of Westerosi feminism: the former - to uphold the image of "cruel men", the latter - to paint the image of a victim (who is also kind of responsible for her own suffering at the hands of men because she chose the wrong side).

As for Aegon, he's been the luckiest out of the Green characters storywise - but it doesn't mean that I'm satisfied with the show version of him. Dumbing him down, using him as a way to show how callous and cruel other Greens (specifically Aemond and Alicent) are - that's not the treatment I wanted for one of my favourite characters. I would even go as far as saying that if the Aegon we have seen in the show so far was the only Aegon I knew (without me having any knowledge of either source material or Tom's interviews or participating in fandom) he wouldn't be one of my favourite characters as I simply would have very little interest in him. Once again, in comparison with other Greens he's doing really well, but I can't help but feel that Aegon - and Tom - are also being used to create a character the audience can pity and to have a good shot at the Emmy campaign. And as soon as HBO guys get what they want (or if they don't get it), Aegon might be thrown under the bus just as easily as it already happened to Aemond after he attracted lots of attention to season 1.

To sum it up, the main issue of HotD is that HBO doesn't care for the characters and for the story: it cares for the hype, viewing numbers, reviews and awards. And with this kind of attitude it's difficult to expect any significant improvements in the quality of the show.