#while there was a creature burrowing under his skin???

[shy-sapphic-ace]

Fellas is it gay to tell a man you believe he’s your purpose and that you were put on this earth to guide him??

[luveline]

hiiii not sure if your requests are open but if they aren’t just ignore this😭

imagine getting into an argument with james, sirius, and remus because you brought a stray kitten or something home and you really don’t have the room for a kitten

“but look at him🥺”

“no”

“🥺”

“… no” *less convincingly*

You hold the kitten in your hand. Remus strokes her head, her little damp ears. “It's not about that, Remus, I just couldn't leave her there, the box was falling apart and… I thought that only happened in movies.” 

Sirius leans forward on his knees to give the kitten a stroke of his own. “She's lovely,” he murmurs, scratching under her chin and grinning when she moves into it for more. “It's too bad the flat's so small. Otherwise we could keep her.” 

She's tortoise shell with a white half circle around her mouth, eyes squinted closed as she shivers. You've wrapped her in a tea towel like a blanket. She is, without a doubt, that cutest and saddest creature you've ever seen. “Where is she supposed to go, Siri?” you ask gently. 

“People love cats.” Sirius puts his hand on Remus' thigh casually, giving it a loving squeeze as he settles in. “Everybody wants a kitten.” 

But not everyone will be nice to a kitten. She feels like your responsibility now; how can you leave her? She's burrowed into you from the moment you picked her up, shushing and murmuring, your knees sodden in the puddle of rainwater beneath you both. 

“We have to keep her, please,” you say. 

There's a mutual surprise. “Dove, we can't,” Remus says. “The bathroom barely fits the toilet, shower, and sink, we'd never be able to have a litter box.” 

“It wouldn't be fair,” Sirius agrees, “on us or the kitten, she'd have no room once she turns into a cat.” 

You bring the kitten close to your chest and show them her helpless face. “But look at her,” you say softly, widening your eyes gently, your brows bunched together in the beginnings of heartbreak. 

“No,” Remus says, shaking his head sympathetically. 

You frown at him and Sirius in turn, your bottom lip jutting out ever so slightly. 

“No,” he says again, sounding unsure. 

Sirius rubs his leg. “Stay strong, my love.” 

“There's just not enough room.” 

You fear you may be losing this battle, and if they really don't want a cat, maybe you shouldn't force them. But then your trump card comes out of the bathroom with a towel around his neck, shirtless, grey joggers low on his hips, and you know you still have a chance. 

“Wow, Jamie,” you say, not having to act very much to give your voice a hoarse rasp, “you might need to shower again.” 

His smile is magnetic. “Yeah?” he asks, immediately delighted by such a brazen comment. “How's the little sweetheart? Reckon we can leave her alone?” 

“She's cold still,” you say.

James visibly melts at your sad tone, while Remus rolls his eyes. “She's just trying to get you on her side, James. I've said we can't keep the cat and she's–” 

“Taking advantage of her feminine wiles?” Sirius suggests. 

“Cheating,” Remus finishes. 

James leans over the back of the sofa between your head and Remus to kiss behind your ear, a brief press of the lips. “Why should I care? Doesn't she deserve her own way?” 

“It's not as though I'm lying,” you say guiltily. 

James laughs and kisses your jaw. You bring your shoulder up to your chin and flush with heat at such a simple thing, trying your hardest not to jostle the kitten in your hand as he wraps an arm around your front, resting his face against yours. The wet curls of his hair are cold on your skin, and the straight line of his jaw digs in. “I know,” he says. 

“Catch on, Jamie,” Remus says. 

“Shan't, won't.” Another kiss to your cheek. 

“Please, Remus, I promise if you don't want her then I won't make you, but if it's about room, of course there's enough. The four of us manage to squeeze in, don't we?” You lean into James’ embrace, eyes melty-soft. You're practically batting your eyelashes at him. 

Sirius flops into Remus’ lap with a resigned sigh. “If you don't say yes, I will anyway. Look at her.” 

You don't know if he means the kitten or you, but you choose to believe it's you he's complimenting, and you react accordingly, your little smile pushing Remus completely over the edge. 

He sighs. “Yes, alright. Fine.” 

You pass James the little warm parcel of fur and use your freshly emptied hands to grab Remus by both arms. “Thank you! Aw, thank you, Remus. Sirius. I'll be so absolutely clean and if it does seem too small I promise, I won't make anyone suffer.” 

“I never thought you would,” he says. “If you really want to keep her, I can't stop you. I'm your boyfriend, not a prison warden.” 

“Well, we share a home–” 

“I know,” he says warmly, “it's alright. Keep your kitten, dove. Looks like you've found her for a reason.” 

You laugh happily and gather him up for a hug. “Oh, I love you.” 

“What shall we name her?” Sirius asks around you. 

“I'm not fussed. What do you like?” James asks. 

Sirius meets your eyes as you and Remus pull apart. “You always get your way, hmm? Why don't you name her?” 

Oh, you could hug him to death too. He looks comfortable where he is, his face on Remus thigh, hair fanned out over his joggers, and you don't want to disturb him (he's not quite as tactile as the others), so you stroke a curl from his cheek and offer him a cheeky smile. “Don't you have any ideas?” you ask. 

“About you, or the cat?” 

You laugh at his teasing. “Which one do you think?” 

Remus nudges you in the ribs. “Don't start. If we're keeping your cat, we need to go out, don't we? You'll have to go get dressed again.”

You give them all a glowing smile and clamber off of the sofa to find your shoes. 

[shibaraki]

BITE INHIBITION ┊ CHOSO

tags: GN reader, no curse au, human reader, vampire choso, bites (aphrodisiac effects), drinking of blood, creatures and monsters aren’t widely known, sexual tension, kissing, ambiguous relationship

wc: 1.3K

Above, you note that pinpricks of light are beginning to show behind rust-edged clouds as the sky darkens.

You inhale.

The hug of old houses act as sentries to the alleyway. A narrow space covered by a canopy of vivid neon signs, washing the darkened surroundings in a red-yellow glow. It’s crowded. There’s nothing unnatural about the scene in front of you, just everyday people gathered for drinks to wind down after work, and yet knowing what—and who—could be hiding amongst them has you on high alert.

You exhale. With resolve you begin to weave through the throngs of tipsy salarymen. They slur apologies and obscenities and stumble at your intrusion. Your eyes scan their flushed, slack faces, unsure what it is you expect to find there. Something fearsome and monstrous and unfamiliar.

“In here”.

Ice coils around your wrist. You yelp as you’re tugged aside and pulled through a pair of curtains hung across a dim-lit doorway. Immediately, as if stepping into an entirely different world, the noise lowers into a pleasant din. You land against a solid surface and start to squirm.

“Be calm. It’s me. Are you alright?”

Hushed and gentle, Choso’s breath puffs right against your ear. A plush lower lip brushes the delicate shell. You shiver, and in realising he is holding you to his chest, your heartbeat ricochets—blood rushes to the surface of your skin, heat slipping in the cracks between capillaries, and when his fingers dig deeper into your hip you know he can sense it.

“Yeah—I’m alright. Nobody followed me,” you reply, making no effort to extract yourself from him. “Give me some warning next time. Fucking hell”.

He kisses your temple in lieu of an apology.

Choso is deathly cold. You can feel it under his simple, loose clothing. Today he’s wearing a t-shirt with a low collar and dark jeans, fitted around his thighs and his ankles, paired with laced up heavy duty boots. Unfairly handsome. You know well enough that the absence of warmth has nothing to do with his lack of layers. And despite that absence, you burrow closer as though he were a hearth.

Choso tenses beneath your casual affection, hands intermittently flexing before he ultimately decides to keep you close while guiding you deeper into the building. This was not your usual meeting place. From what you can discern it is just another izakaya—or at the very least, it’s masquerading as one. The waitstaff doesn't so much as bat an eyelid at Choso as he whisks you through the main seating area to the few private rooms in the back.

“Are you sure it’s safe to do it here?”

There’s little detail about the small space but it is cosy. You’re pliant as you allow him to usher you in and recline you into the plush couch cushions. “Yes. We won’t be disturbed,” he says, tone needlessly quiet.

The air around you feels unusually charged today. Trepidation prickled at your nape. You observe while he perches beside you with a darting-rabbit expression and arch your brow. Loose strands of dark hair slip forward to frame a pale face. Paler than usual, a shard of moonlight. The black markings that extend over the bridge of his nose have begun to bleed outside the lines and his irises are ivory-red, thin bands around dilated pupils.

“Choso…” you murmur with realisation. You reach to touch him and he flinches, shaking under the effort of his restraint. Your fingers snaked into his hair, a tangle of silky, black strands. The long spill of it slips through your knuckles and back over his shoulders. “Why didn’t you call me sooner?”

“There wasn’t any need,” Choso’s eyelids shutter, feline how he turns into the tender caress. “I have endured worse than this,” he replies.

“That hardly matters. You shouldn’t starve yourself. You’re shaking with it—”

Any further admonishment you might’ve had is immediately cloven to the back of your teeth as his nose bumps the heel of your hand. His lips part against your wrist and he inhales deeply. He groans. A crease forms in his brow, pinched in helpless desire.

“Not because I’m starving. Because of you,” he says. “I promised to pace myself with you but I needed…” there’s a sort of mindless drawl to his words. Lost in your scent, and in the healthy beat of your pulse. “Everything else tastes so dull in comparison”.

Arousal lances through you at the first sweep of his tongue. You press your thighs tight and he shudders, a soft whine pulled from his throat. “Choso,” you whisper.

“I’m sorry,” and you hear the true meaning behind it. It’s preemptive. It’s a warning.

Choso gives a chaste kiss to your wrist. Then his fangs are splitting open the skin there like soft fruit. His frame shuddered as he drew a deep gulp. The pain is fleeting, a sharp pierce that dwindles into muted pleasure. You slump as his larger body cages you against the cushions to suck and bite and take his fill of you.

Around you the room turns rosy, and then shadowed, and then dark. Your shallow breaths come faster and the tendrils of want curling low in your belly are stark. They thaw the ice spreading outward from your chest and keep you in a state of oscillating bliss. Choso hums, then huffs through his nose as a thin stream of blood leaks to the crook of your elbow. Tendon and sinew, you lazily watch him unlatch from the fount of your wrist to chase it with his tongue, laving a wet stripe up your forearm.

The markings on his face have receded. His lashes flutter, framing elderberry eyes. His lips are rouge, rough—rivulets have seeped into the cracks between his teeth and stained his gums red. It should scare you. Had it been anyone else it might’ve; yet you find him beautiful like this.

Though sensation is subsequently returning to your throbbing wound, the discomfort comes second to your need to have him closer. You cup the back of his head, too weak to apply any meaningful pressure, but that alone is enough for him to understand. Choso dips forward. He kisses you, wet and sticky with congealed blood. He sips at your mouth, firmly, but petal-soft as not to draw more blood.

You arch into him, trying desperately to display your enthusiasm while having none of the energy for it. Choso hums and lavishes you with a leisurely pace, licking past the seam of your lax lips before drawing back. At your plaintive whine he smiles, trailing fingertips over your chin.

You sigh as his thumb swipes the blood that is no doubt smeared across your skin, “Did you make a mess?”

“I made a mess,” he echoes fondly. Then his focus drifts to the closed door. “You should eat too”.

You follow his line of sight, remembering that there are people behind it, sharing meals of their own, none the wiser. Your head lolls against your shoulder, conceding. “Your turn to feed me,” you tell him.

His smile widens a fraction. Blood or no, the gleaming pride and self-satisfaction on his face makes Choso look eighteen and thirty six all at once while being close to neither.

“I’d love to”.

[sirenmoth]

Monster Mash - Satyr

CW: Outdoor sex, Gentle sex, voyerism, thigh grinding, thigh riding, spanking, hand job, cum as lube

Monster Mash Masterlist

<- Previous || Next ->

The garden at the far end of the property was beautiful, different flowers grew wind and luscious of different sizes and colours combined with various trees where the birds liked to nest. It's a sanctuary for the Satyr, who usually spent his time here away from the chaos of the manor, sometime you would join him in this bliss. In a small wooden cabin that was barely big enough for two, hidden under a large oak tree and some forget-me-not flowers.

You always say it looks like a fairytale cottage. A place in a dream.

The collections of flowers, both wild and planted, laid in large and small mismatch patches around the garden, creating a natural feel, mixed with the trees of various types, both big and tall and small and wide, casts shadows in all the right places for a midday nap. A moon-gate archway sat at the entrance of the garden, giving it the final tough of a whimsical fairytale dream. Sitting to watch the birds and butterflies, the early morning insects or the nighttime fireflies is always your favourite pastime, a break from being tossed around like a toy between your monster lovers, not that you minded the life you live.

The manor sat in the middle of the large property, to the north of the large patch of land is a wide open pasture, the Centaur has his own barn and stable combo to go with the field he can run around in, and to the south was a massive lake-ocean for your Siren and Merman, the cool saltwater body complete with a sand beach and underwater caves and caverns. To the east is the Naga's burrow, made of rock and mud and sand, despite that it was still warm and homely, the Satry's cabin and garden was to the west, a border separating the four sections as a mutual resect for each other's territory.

The both of you at on the porch, on a wooden bench that overlooked the wild overgrowth, your partner played his panpipes all while occasionally tapping one of his hooves to the rhythm he was creating.

It was peaceful, calm, tranquil, Everything you could've asked for, relaxing in the rays of the sun, listening to the birds above in the trees sing and chip their songs in tune with the creature next to you was emitting. You felt at peace, tugging the oversized woollen blanket tighter around your shoulders, wearing liminal or no clothing was the better option when you never know when you're going to be bent over and stuffed next, plus most of your lover wore liminal or no clothing.

Closing your eyes, leaning back onto the woven cushions that decorates the bench, resting your head on the Satyrs left shoulder carefully as to not disturb his melody, a short sounding like heaven right now.

The music from the pipes stop, followed by a soft chuckle, "Not falling asleep on my, are you?" the creature next to you laughs, setting the pipes down on the table in front of him and pulling you into his lap, facing him and forcing you to rest your head on his chest.

"No, I'm just resting my eyes." You mutter, moving your arms up and around his neck, allowing him into your blanket cocoon. The wool blanket was enormous and dwarfed you, dragging along the ground and trailing behind you every time it draped it over you, it drowns you in its softened fabric that was hand-woven together with such care and was a gift from your orc from one of his many travels. You feel the Satyrs' hands hold your waist, leisurely stroking your skin in feather-like touches. Nuzzling into his neck, playing with the baby hairs at the nape of his neck, you move to straddle his left thigh, feeling his plush yet coarse fur underneath you. The Satry locks his arms around your waist and interlocking his fingers together behind your back to keep you in place, the two of you sit and enjoy the last of the birdsongs and late-day warmth.

His hands disconnect and move to your ass, slowly kneading the flesh in his hands in slow movements. Flinching after a practically hard squeeze, rock your exposed clit against his thigh you're straddling, the fur catches your bundle of nerves. Burrowing your face into the Satyrs neck as he continues to squeeze and knead the globes of your asschecks, his blunt nails leaving crescent marks in their wake as you whimper from the combined sensations of his hands and fur bumping against you.

"You like this? Grinding against my leg, getting my fur all wet with your slick?" He teases, landing a hard slap to your right butt cheek, rubbing over the now redden mark left behind where the Satyrs hand made contact. Moving your head down, still keeping your forehead pressed against his skin, arms still around his neck, you spot an appearing damp patch of now clumping fur from where you've been sitting, the sight alone makes you moan out loud softly. The woollen blanket slips down a bit from your shoulders, pooling around your waist and his thighs, the ends still held tight in your hands. The Satyr laughs, roughly squeezing the flesh in his hands at your hip and rear, guiding you to grind gently against him, forcing you back and forth and down onto the wet clutch of fur over and over and over.

Tangling your fingers though his hair, the Satyr bends his neck forward to leave butterfly kisses on your neck as his nails dig deeper into your skin. A sudden breeze of cold air rushes through the garden, rustling the tree leaves and sending shivers down your spine, causing you to remember how exposed you are for all to see. The wind didn't seem to bother the goat-hoofed man, simply returning the sheet of coloured strands of woven wool back onto your shoulders and securing it in place, neatly smoothing down the fabric before returning his hands back under the cloth to return them to their previous places.

"Can't have my sweet songbird getting cold now, can I?" The Satyr whispers in your ear, "Not before I've had my fun with you." The leg you're currently straddling starts to lightly bounce, causing you to gentle rock forward and back. His hoof tapping a hollow rhythm agasint the wooden planks of the porch decking, possiblely denting the wood. Running a hand down his torso and midsection, tracing the happy trail and following it down towards his sheth hidden amonsgt the short hair, rubbing a hand over it in time with your movments

The Satry buries his head further in the crook to your neck, muffling his groans as you play with his balls, massaging them in your hand, keeping on his shoulder for leaverge, toying with his emerging cock. Stroking up and down, thumbing over the leaking tip and smearing his warm pre-cum over your hands and down his dick, using it as lube to speed up your movemnts. You both move in tandem, each time you rock your hips, you move you hand up, dragging your thumb over the tip every few stroke to collect the fresh white fluid spilling out before moving your hand back down, occasilny playing with the Satrys hanging sack.

The Satyr dig his fingernails in further into your skin, fresh bruises and deep crescent marks appering that are sure to cause a few bets and competitons between your monster lovers that will last for weeks. You moan after he bounces his leg faster, the wood under his tapping hoof creaks and groans at the pressure of the Satry exsecntric movments, the thoughts of a dent in the boards is now proven right when you hear a faint crack. An abrupt, sharp thrust forward and the stinging feeling of a hand coming in sharp content with flesh, making you jump and thighs to tighten around his in pleasure.

Another and another and another.

One right after the other, forcing you to flinch and squirm against his hold, the imprint of his fingers darkening the more they dig in to keep you still. The Satyr moves his head from your neck to lock his lips with yours, tongue dancing with yours as you moan and groan and whimper, exploring deep inside your oral cavity, sloppily, as you both let yourselves get lost in the waves of pleasure and each others embrace, the sounds of the birds and wildlife bleeding into the background of your little bubble, the noise ringing in your ears as your blood roars in your ears, mixing with your raging heartbeat in your chest.

Your orgasm creeps up on you, thighs clamping around his furry thighs as you shake, soaking the Satyrs hair further as you detach your spit-covered lips from his, head thrown back and mouth open in a silent scream, hand still working along his cock until he joins you in pure orgasmic bliss, shooting his load over where his skin meet his fur and your hand, that's still slowly pumping his dick until he's shooting blanks. Both sitting, basking in the late-day sun just peeking over the horizon bleeding oranges and pinks and reds along the sky that makes your skin glow, the Satyr moves his hands around your waist again to re-interlock his fingers behind your back, pulling you closer towards him, not caring about the mess on his torso or on his thigh.

Wrapping your arms around his neck, one hand still slightyl covered in his cum, the woolen blankent cocooning you again from the chill of the early night air. The Satry humming a gentle lullaby to soothe you into a peacful sleep, to which you happily accept, safe in his arms and in your shared sanctury.

[diejager]

Hi:D👋 can I request again about the hybrid centipede!reader? Now I'm interested in that article again😋

Cw: insect stuff, canibalism?, human eating, death, gore, blood, imprisonment, torture?, tell me if I missed any.

One of the many things you could do as a myriapode, a creature made of many other beings - a hivemind, essentially - was the job you were employed for: doctoring and scolding. You could easily scurry under fallen rubble and metal pipes to get to the wounded when parademics and other aids couldn’t reach them in time. It was magic at times, the only excuse you had for your clothes and equipment to follow you in and out of shifting. You would dress with all the bandages, gauze, morphine and tourniquets you’d need and pop into the destroyed building. 

That was your main obligation, the second depended on your ability as much as it did on your resourcefulness. Your size and ability to seamlessly blend into your surroundings made infiltrations and spying easy. Arthropods were found on every continent, be it cold or hot, adaptable and evolutionarily ingenious, and if you couldn’t find any, it only meant that they were hiding somewhere they couldn’t be found. 

You, as a hybrid, was a double edged sword, one who could slip through the smallest of cracks and find your way into a nest of wolves, listening to their every whisper, any secrets that slipped from their lips were a meal for you; but then it could be used against the people you worked for, any ounce of attempted betrayal of planned misdemeanour - pranks, you’d like to call them - would be caught.

When you weren’t in immediate need for patching up someone, you would infiltrate first, gather intel on both the enemy and traps. Your little antennae feeling the subtle differences in textures and chemistry in the walls and floors, ears perceiving the distinct click and clacks of metal bolts and screws, or the deep vibrations of walking, conscious and careful steps over the relaxed or frantic ones. You’d report it all to Price or Laswell, help them build a better plan, careful of every trap and give any intel you gathered. 

and in this situation, where you weren’t needed for just a regular patch up, but a rescue as well, you worked in silence when there weren’t any windows, any opening big enough to get to into or guarded entrance. Gaz, a man unfortunate enough to fall out of a helicopter twice, was trapped behind a guarded door at gunpoint. Price sent you first while he and Soap positioned themselves around the guards and Ghost - as always - was the coverfire and sniper. 

Scattered around the room and under the floorboards, every steps were vibrations sent into your many limbs, the chatter over the radio and the hushed whispers of rats and others insects crawling around you. You were stalling, a small wiggle on the wall, another near the man holding Gaz prisoner and a stray centipede to comfort him with the familiar wiggle of your “ultimate” legs against his feathers, a dance you used for recognition. All you were waiting for was Prices signal, whispered over his shoulder for a piece of you to hear. 

“In 3,” Price counted slowly, his words running through the earpieces, “3. 2. 1- Now!”

Before Soap could rush at the guards, you had the man before you swarmed, a dark mass of biting and hungry centipedes crawling over the man. You ate him alive, his terrified screams drowned by the dying gargle of blood and the squelch of devoured meat. You weren’t slow, but you weren’t fast, eating in a mass of hundreds took a while —a painful while. You stripped him of his skin, the bigger organ gone in seconds as you reached the muscles and fat under it, rich and creamy to you, pinched and ripped apart by your forcipules and swallowed down. 

You were still eating by the time Price rammed in, freeing Gaz from his bindings. They watched the man fall, tripping over a chair and writhing on the ground until he took his last, dying breath, a raspy gag as you burrowed into his chest, eating lung and heart, diaphragm and liver. Anything that was fat and meat were gone, leaving him a pile of bones still weakly attached by tendons and the few ligaments you left. 

No one gaped at you, they neither stared in fear or disgust, they simply nodded at you with stoicism, motioning towards Gaz for his scrapes and dislocated joints that you’ll have to pop back in. 

“Let’s get you looked at.”

Taglist: @craxy-person @crowbird @dead-cipher @iwannabealocalcryptid @iizx7y @mxtokko @capricorn-anon @perfectus-in-morte @sae1kie @yeoldedumbslut @bvxygriimes @distracteddragoness @konigsblog @angelcakes-22 @ramadiiiisme @ramblingsofachaoticthinker @im-making-an-effort @love-dove-noora @jinxxangel13 @daisychainsinknots @h0n3y-l3m0n05 @mul-pi @danielle143 @beau-min @makayla-666 @urfavsunkissedleo @notspiders @brokenpieces-72 @luvecarson @petwifed @randominstake @heartelysia @jggykhug09090 @haven-1307 @shironasumi @sparky--bunny @bloobewy @call-me-nyxx @sans-chara @cod-z @sweetnanah @aldis-nuts @thigh-o-saur @evolutionarry @kaoyamamegami @cassiecasluciluce @sobbingnshtting @mysticalcollectionheartme @openup-yourmind

[potato-lord-but-not]

I have an idea about oscar knowingto cut his arm OFF instead of cutting the thing Out. So his arm like, skitters away right after arthur cuts it off. Like this thing was crawlin through the veins in Oscar's arm, which i think would be kinda hard NOT to notice if it was happening to you. Like, Oscar is losing control of his arm, but unlike arthur and John's hand, he can still feel it. So while the most obvious plan from an outsider's perspective would be to cut it out (seeing as john can see the creature moving around under the skin) oscar knows that this thing isn't just going to burrow into his heart or something, it's going to Spread.

Or at least that's how i interpreted it? I still really want to know more about Oscar, and the idea that he knew to cut the arm off because he's encountered these bugs before is really interesting lol. (Sidenote: I Also NEED Noel to come back. Like so badly. He's my second favorite after the butcher and unless harlan's planning on pulling some supernatural bullshit and bringing him back to life Noel is my only hope. Thank you for your time.)

honestly that was also my first line of thinking… that still brings up an interesting angle on Oscar tho, like he’s that quick on his feet to be able to make a tourniquet and assess the best way to keep himself alive while a fucking ELDRITCH BUG crawls thru his veins. he’s such a baddie and we don’t give him enough credit for it.

[lvsifer]

Paul Atreides denies him an easy death. Feyd-Rautha has to deal with his new position.

tags: Canon-Typical Violence, Slow Burn, Sexual Tension, Explicit Sexual Content (in the later chapters), Other Additional Tags to Be Added, feyd-rauther is his usual little freak self, will include mentions of noncon later on

Read all under the cut:

Paul Atreides denies him an easy death. Feyd-Rautha does not bleed out in front of the emperor and the terrorist’s household, his Fremen filth and whore mother. Instead, Feyd-Rautha dreams of death on the dirty floor of a prison cell. 

Blood rusts over his mouth, dries to flakes before his body hits the stone, and Feyd-Rautha tongues at it as his hands try to staunch the bleeding of his wounds. He presses where Paul Muad’Dib Atreides has pushed inside him with his blade, hot from the desert air, a pleasure so close to pain or pain so close to pleasure, Feyd-Rautha cannot name the difference.

He writhes now where he lays in a silence more shameful than defeat. All his life he has fantasised of dying in battle, perhaps in the arena, broken by a stronger hand with the rush of fighting still hot in his blood and the screams of the masses in his ears. Triumphant. Foolish of him. Such wishes come to nothing. This is one lesson the Baron could not teach him, not while he had held Feyd-Rautha under the monstrous wing of his tutelage. Sheltered is what he had been, he realises as flies start to buzz around him, landing on his opened flesh. He swats them away, but they circle him as merciless as any blood-drinking desert bird. No, he rots as any piece of meat left under Arrakis’ pitiless sun.

But he will not die. Or have they thrown him into this cell to find an ignominious end and shame the house of Harkonnen? But what advantage would that bring? Half-delirious, Feyd-Rautha shoves a swath of his leather pteruges over his wounds and pulls it tight against his opened skin to shield it from the flies and what eggs they might burrow into his flesh. A shaky exhale flees his lips as he tries to slow his breathing. What would Uncle say if he saw him like this, disgraced and defeated? Would he have fallen from the favour he clawed his way into? Then again, Uncle is dead. Slaughtered like a pig. The memory stirs Feyd-Rautha’s blood and he moans through his teeth. 

The door opens. Feyd-Rautha looks at the upside-down figures, dark-robed, Suk-braids over their left shoulders, a man kneels down beside him, painted lips, cold eyes, and a finger presses into Feyd-Rautha’s mouth with a salve so bitter and tingling he forgets all else for a moment. 

Then darkness sears his eyes shut.

When next Feyd-Rautha wakes, it’s in an airy room. Black night outside. Translucent white curtains billow and desert wind scatters fine dust over the luxurious trappings of the room: a massive wooden table shining with polish, jewels set into silverware, finely wrought tapestries depicting one of the Arrakeen beasts, a sandworm— 

A figure moves from between the curtains, a slow, irregular step. The tall and lean silhouette of the would-be emperor. Feyd-Rautha feels for his wounds, bandaged, then tests his muscles and grits his teeth as pain shoots through him so incandescent he sees lights behind his lids.

“Cousin,” Paul Atreides says in his slow, dragging voice, a voice that holds witch-power as they all heard when Muad’Dib silenced Shaddam’s Truthsayer. 

Feyd-Rautha groans as he tries to sit up. 

Paul watches his efforts from above with cold blue-within-blue eyes. Eyes that are not his own, it seems, eyes that shimmer with a strangeness that makes Feyd-Rautha shiver. 

Paul slinks closer, desert-creature, false prophet, predator. Killer. Except, of course, Feyd-Rautha is alive and by his wish. Or has he died in that filthy cell?

“You recover well,” Paul says. “But I will need you to heal faster.”

Feyd-Rautha sits up with all his strength, feels one of the stab-wounds’ stitches rip. Blood blooms through the white bandages on his torso. Paul tuts. Then Paul is beside him and pushes him back down, efficient, his hands warm on Feyd-Rautha’s skin, black dusty curls brushing his cheek, and Feyd-Rautha breathes him in, spice and desert and a hint of the acrid stench of stillsuits, and beneath it something boyish and honied. Feyd-Rautha wants to sink his teeth into it, tear him apart. 

“Why?” Feyd-Rautha rasps. “Why didn’t you kill—”

“I don’t waste my resources,” Paul says. 

The Atreides lets go of him as though he’s handled some unruly hound. 

“Resources…?”

“Don’t play dumb, Harkonnen,” Paul says evenly, and after a moment’s hesitation he sits on the mattress beside Feyd-Rautha. The oddness of it strikes him, no-one has ever sat beside his sick-bed, certainly not Uncle, nor maid or doctor. He would have killed any who’d have tried. He looks for a weapon now. His eyes sink to the crysknife at Paul’s hip. Iron tang of blood in his mouth.

“Try it,” Paul says, steel in his voice that he’d already shown when confronting the emperor. Power too, the fierceness of a demigod. 

“I just might,” Feyd-Rautha says and finds Paul’s gaze, grins, “Make you kill me after all, cousin.” He bares his black teeth, “All this for nothing.” 

And Feyd-Rautha spits his blood into Paul’s face. Paul does not flinch. His blue-within-blue eyes seem to burn in the glint of the glowglobes. He’s beautiful like that, with his blood on his face, and it hits Feyd-Rautha unexpectedly. Time stills around them. Breath does not come easily as he inhales. 

“I rule you now,” Paul whispers, dips two fingers into the blood on his cheek and sucks it off his fingers, “Your water is mine.” 

A shiver runs down Feyd-Rautha’s spine, humiliation and with it the hook of desire low in his stomach. If Paul notices what it does to him, he does not show it. 

“What do you want of me?” Feyd-Rautha curls his fists in the bedding.

“You’ll know soon enough, Baron,” Paul says and stands. “Heal quickly.” 

With that, he leaves.

The rush of wind and sand fills the room. The grating of it, abrading all it touches. Feyd-Rautha bites his lip, breathes in deeply until all scent of the boy-prophet has gone and cold darkness envelops him whole. 

This planet holds nothing but strangers now. The only family Feyd-Rautha has left is Paul Atreides.

[sukunasun]

i always thought of dilf geto suguru loving skin-to-skin contact with his newborn baby😔❤ with the twins by mama's bedside as she rests from the birth days ago while suguru, shirtless, sits at a chair nearby, lovingly cradling his baby, who only has a diaper and a cap, in his chest looking at his family with so much love in his eyes

dilf nanamin too....skin-to-skin contact with his baby in the nursery as mama rests in their room hhhhhh why arent they real :*(

"we're not having a baby," you tell him time and time again. and geto just chuckles then, getting lost in the smell of your shampoo, in the lingering perfume by the nape of your neck, arms encircling your waist, and just...accepting it as fact. he's content with this. he's already got two beautiful girls who call him by the name papa, so why should he want more. he doesn't. he's sure of it.

then he'd pull back, looking to where his forearm rests against your middle, bringing his palm down to your lower belly and kinda...feeling the space there. wishing and wishing, that tug in his chest calling out to him, urging him, "what if..." he whispers, words caught in his throat, unable to say the rest of that sentence for fear of what might come next. your reaction, your rejection...would be too hard to bear.

and you know what exactly it is because you've seen the way he lingers just a little bit longer inside you every time he finishes, eyes staring at what's not there. lost in a daze, in his own world imagining his release taking root with hands splayed across your womb. for a second picturing you full with his child, glowing and resting under warm blankets, burrowing in soft pillows, waddling around your kitchen in the middle of the night hoping to satisfy a craving. he'll stop at nothing to deliver, not even if he has to make a drive out or if he needs to pay extra for same-day shipping.

you'd smell so good, feel so soft...my wife, my wife, my wife—is pregnant. she's carrying my child. he won't stop saying it, he wants it so much... and he knows you've talked about it, you don't need to have a baby now, had agreed that your parenting days are yet to be over anyway. of course, you'd want a little baby made up of the two of you, but the thought of going through a pregnancy is a lot. or at least, just for now. "its for the best," you tell him while on your tip toes, leaning in to kiss the pout off his face, "besides, we could still make babies, isn't that the fun part?" so he'll swallow it down. you'll seduce him, and the both of you will forget about it for the time being.

but his want only grows stronger. you'd see it on his face, in the way he looks at the pamphlets at the nursery when he drops the girls off, at the squirming little bundles in incubators and carriers, newborns swaddled in pink and blue, he stares at strollers by a display window and when they cross him by on the street, his fingers caressing the wool straps of a onesie at a store as he sighs fondly. "how cute..." he mutters, in awe of the detail and the craftsmanship at work, olive greens and navy blues with the cutest embroidered stitches of flowers and woodland creatures, "this would keep him warm...a warm portable boy..." he chuckles to himself, doesn't even realize the things he says, or that he says it aloud, but your heart clenches at the thought...would it be so bad to give him another.

and maybe you should have seen it coming, but the two of you weren’t the most particular when it came to protection, and by the time winter arrives, your belly swells and so do your ankles. “this kid doesn’t move or make a sound, i think he’s only kicked once the past six months,” geto says from behind you, his hands feeling over your bump. and you sigh, leaning back into his hold, about to nod off into slumber when he feels so warm, so comfy, relieved when he takes some of the weight off in his arms, lifting your belly up and keeping it there.

“you’re just looking out for mama aren’t you?” you coo, hand over geto’s and at that very second, your baby kicks and you both feel it in your palms. “im thinking he’s a mama’s boy," he laughs, can’t stop caressing where his baby’s foot had been. grinning wide, you admit to him something you already know, “you're gonna be his favourite...i feel him responding to your voice more, and he'll be just like you…i bet you’d been a quiet baby yourself…”  

he's not geto when he holds his baby for the first time. special grade curse user or villain extraordinaire, but suguru...just suguru holding a baby in his arms while he gingerly feels the fine hairs, fixing the little cap atop their head, watching as a tiny fist wraps around his one index finger. oh, his heartbeat pounds when they gurgle and fidget, pulse jumping with sudden fear, before he calms again, smiling, cooing at them, a steady lup-dup, lup-dup beats through the cotton, soft and constant against his palm, trailing up his fingers, and down his spine. a life he holds onto. a life he's made.

[jeridandridge]

Puppy Love

You and Melissa unexpectedly get a puppy.

When you leave Melissa’s house to head to work you have to put your wipers on full speed while you lean forward keeping your eyes and ears alert because of the pelting rain. You knew Melissa would be okay in her truck, but you’re relieved when you get to the school already seeing it parked.

Sitting in your car for a few minutes debating if you should get out and make a run for it, you see something small and fluffy shivering next to a box near the dumpster. You put your headlights back on and squint seeing what you think is a little puppy.

“Shit.” You huff turning the car off and moving as fast as you can in the downpour. Head down you try not to slip on the slick cement as you get to the dumpster. “Hi, baby.” You smile at the scared puppy. Taking your jacket off you move forward and grab the black and brown creature, the both of you totally drenched.

Wrapping the puppy up you hold it against your chest as you run up to the door letting out a breath when you get into the school. “Okay, it’s okay baby.” You hum drying him off as best you can with your jacket. You’re shivering yourself, the October air mixed with the rain chilled you to the bone. Walking down the hall in your now squeaky shoes you get to the teachers lounge meeting Melissa’s eyes right away with a soft smile through your chattering teeth.

“My lord, y/n, what happened?” Barbara gets up, Melissa hot on her heels coming over to rub her hands up and down your arms.

“I p-pulled in and saw th-this puppy.” You laugh through a shiver nodding to the shaking bundle in your arms, his little ears flopped to the side.

“Of course you’d save a puppy, hon.” Melissa smiles as Jacob brings you a blanket putting it around your shoulders.

“It’s not a towel but it’ll work.”

“Thanks. He was h-hiding in a box.” You explain trying to dry the puppy off more.

“Looks like a German Shepard.” Melissa comments moving to your side.

“He was outside in a box?” Barbara asks.

“He was under it trying to avoid the rain.”

As you talk to Barb Melissa helps dry you off, scrunching your hair with the blanket causing Jacob to look curiously between you two before his eyes go wide.

“Maybe Mr. Johnson can watch him for me until the end of the day.” You hum trying to come up with a plan.

“Let’s worry about getting you warm before you worry about the dog, hon.”

“It’s just rain.” You smile with a little shiver, enjoying Melissa’s touch. Normally you stay clear of each other at work wanting to keep your relationship quiet until you’re both ready to tell people.

You stand closer to Melissa almost leaning into her, still feeling the cold deep in your bones while the puppy cuddles into you, his head tucking under your chin. Giving your girlfriend a soft smile you know you two will have to talk about keeping the dog.

“Cmon, bring the gremlin to my classroom and I’ll give you one of my back up shirts.”

You follow Melissa out, her hand on your lower back.

“So do they still think we don’t know?” Jacob asks Barb who sits at the table with a smirk.

She can only hum.

-

“I know a pet can be a lot but I couldn’t leave him out there, Mel.” You explain setting the small bundle down on the floor next to her desk.

“I know, Tesoro. It’s how you are.” She smiles pulling a soft sweater out of her drawer, the puppy wagging its tail at her.

“Oh no.” You laugh watching the small bundle of fur burrow into your jacket.

Melissa hands you the sweater then the coffee thermos from her desk with a smile. “You warm up and I’ll keep this one entertained.”

You were glad there was still a half hour until the kids got there. You quickly get out of your wet dress shirt shivering when the air hits your cold skin.

As you dry your hair a bit more you smile watching Melissa sit at her desk with the puppy in her arm.

“Definitely a boy.” She says rubbing the pups belly.

“What do you think? German Shepards are loyal, very protective. They remind me of you.” You smile.

Melissa gives you a goofy smile cuddling the puppy. A smile that says you two now have a pet.

-

The next evening Melissa comes home from work to dim lighting and the tv playing softly. She smiles coming over to see you and little Franklin asleep on the couch, the puppy tucked into your hoodie. Reaching out she puts the back of her hand to your forehead checking for any lingering fever. She knows you didn’t mind catching a cold after the previous mornings events, especially now that you both get puppy cuddles.

[sunflowers4life]

Marauders - Remus - Furry Little Problem

@blondwhowrites based on their blurb abt Mattheo being a werewolf - I was considering this but with Remus, hope this is ok

Art of Remus by @sophithil on instagram

When Remus had first met James Potter and Sirius Black on the Hogwarts express in first year, he immediately felt a sense of want to protect and care for. Through his short amount of research at the time, he knew it had to do with packs, where his wolf felt bonded to certain people around him.

Hence, currently, in seventh year, his pack was made up of 5 other people. James, Sirius, Peter, Lily and finally, you. Remus first met you in fourth year, hiding in the back of the library, adorning yellow and black uniforms, a small plate of brownies he’s sure you had taken from the kitchen, that familiar pull took over. Remus wasn’t confident like James and Sirius, didn’t have the people skills of Lily, but Moony didn’t seem to really care. He could feel the wolf inside him nudging him slowly, and so, for the first time in a while, Remus had to be confident.

“Hi, sorry, do you mind if I join you?” You almost jumped out of your skin, looking up, before you cheeks blazed pink, making eye contact with the caramel eyed boy you had had a light infatuation with since 1st year. He was cute, kind, confident in his own reserved way, and unlike his counter parts, he was peaceful, and not as chaotic. Quickly, you nodded, shuffling in your seat so as to give him more room. “I’m Remus, and you are..?”

At that, Remus noticed the slight shell shocked smile on your face fall a little bit, and he could feel his wolf mourn, howling pathetically, and Remus had to fight the urge that was trying to take over and to gather you in his arms. “Y/n.” You muttered quietly, eyes being captured by the book in front of you as a distraction, trying to keep your eyes from highlighting the slight hurt that in the 5 years you had shared classes with him, and had a small school girl crush on, he didn’t even know your name. You considered for a moment, that it was foolish to believe the boy knew who you were. In most classes, you sat in the back, often alone or next to someone who had unwilling been separated from a trio. You didn’t put your hand up much, too scared that your answer would be incorrect, and would cause a roaring laughter to mock your ears.

“I’m sorry, do we have any classes together?” Remus was trying desperately to bring back that smile on your face, or to return your eyes to his own, and he didn’t particularly know what else to ask. Again, your eyes stayed trained on the same word, the book infront of your for the essay due for your herbology class. “Uh, yeah. We have DADA, herbology and care for magical creatures.” Remus’ eyes quickly widened, feeling foolish and a bit ignorant that he had no clue that you had been in so many classes with him. For a minute, silence filled the library, the only sound being your quill quickly etching the paper, trying desperately to not show any emotion.

“O-oh, really? I thought I would have noticed some as cute as you.” Remus was shocked at his own response, and suddenly realised, he had spent far too long with Sirius in his life. He noticed colour returning to your cheeks, a pink appearing just under your eyes. “So hey, would you possibly want to go to hogsmeade this weekend? We could discuss the herbology essay, possibly look at some books?” It was then your head raised, finally making eye contact, and Remus quickly realised he never wanted to let you go. The sparkles in your eye at the mention of books made him melt slightly, and he could hear moony rambling about innocent, and needing protection inside himself. “Oh, I, I mean I guess? I mean sorry, I’d love to.” You tripped over your words, but when a reassuring smile graced Remus’ face, you returned it with your own, before again your cheeks turned pink, and burrowing your head back in your book. “I’ll meet you this weekend at the Three Broomsticks?” Not trusting yourself to speak again, you nodded your head quickly, before Remus wished you a good night, the ridiculously tall boy wandering off, leaving you feeling lost in the interaction.

In your years of observing the marauders, you had expected for Remus to be relatively shy like yourself, and had not expected that level of confidence. It was then, you decided, that herbology essay be damned, Remus had completely disrupted your study time, and it was now that you needed to retire to bed, and instead of considering herbology, daydreams of your date with Remus filled your head.

“Now what time do you call this?” Sirius quickly yelled out from his spot on his own bed, spread out like a starfish, with James laying above him. In his third year, Remus had come clean to the boys about how he consider them his pack, and had forced the other 3 to merge the beds together. Often Lily was invited over, as Remus found it comforting to know his entire pack was there, where if there was any danger, he could protect them. Tonight was one of those nights, and Lily + Peter were sat together on Peters bed at the end, reading alongside each in silence.

“I met someone.” That quickly brought the attention of all 4 to the lanky boy, and James immediately noticed the love sick look that encapsulated Remus’ face. With a quick gasp, James jumped onto Remus, the burly boy e capturing the 6’8 boy in a complete hug. “How’d Moony react?” Remus’ cheeks were completely red. “He had a few things to say.” Remus’ words were muttered, which caused Lily to tut at the boy with glasses, yanking him off. “James Potter, you are not the only one who wants to hear about Remus’ new love life. Now sit down on the bed so we can all hear.” James, like a dog, looked as though he had his tailed tucked between his legs, before clambering onto the bed, getting comfortable with his head in Lily’s lap. The redhead spoke up again “So, who is it?”

“Uh, Y/n, the hufflepuff in our year. She’s in like 3 of my classes, and I never knew, and I felt really bad, but she agreed to go with me to Hogsmeade this weekend!” That caused everyone to gasp, but Sirius quickly clutched his pearls. “That’s my son! See, he does learn stuff from me! I never thought I’d see the day you’d be so brave” Sirius continued to wipe fake tears from his eyes, Remus couldn’t help but roll his eyes.

The day had taken a toll on Remus’ body, his back killing him, so he quickly laid down in bed, feeling the strands of sleep tugging on him. Pj’s adorning his body with a flick of his wand, and his pillow, aka Sirius’ comfortable chest, got into position. Moony enjoyed having something of all of his pack on him at all times. Like, right now, his Pjs were made up of a mix of James’ Gryffindor hoodie, Sirius sweat pants, Lily’s t shirt on underneath, and Peter’s stuffed rat, Remus was expecting a great nights sleep. Except, that is not at all what happened. Once everyone else had retired for the night, Remus tossed and turned, Moony mournfully circling inside him, and the lack of you around him left him restless.

When James awoke, an early bird at heart, the extra energy he gets from Quidditch, he makes eye contact with Remus. Concern immediately takes over. Remus was always the last to awaken, an old man truly always. Remus frowned, before looking at the clock next to him, groaning at the realisation it was 6 am. It was only Monday, Hogsmeade was Saturday. How in the world could he wait until then?

[seriouslysnape]

Saving a Life

Aesop Sharp x Fem! Student! Reader Tags: None. Word Count: 2.8k “I’m really happy you did.”

꩜꩜꩜꩜

When you came barreling into the classroom, he was sure that something horrible had happened.

He was used to you coming by pretty much any time of day, but when you came rushing in positively panicked and frantic, he knew that something was wrong.

You looked as if you had sprinted all the way from Poidsear Coast based on the way you were barely able to stand. There were beads of sweat scattered across your forehead, despite the frigid January air outside. Your breathing was short and rapid, both from over exertion and emotional turmoil.

This was not normal behavior for you. He found it peculiar, which is why he dropped everything to assist you. He shot up from his chair at his desk, making the quickest strides towards you that his battered leg would allow him to.

Your arms were wrapped around your midsection, clinging to your abdomen for dear life. The expression on your face was particularly concerning, because you looked as if you had just witnessed something unthinkably tragic.

“What’s wrong?” He had asked, his hands gripping the bottom of your forearms as if you’d collapse. “Are you hurt?”

He felt partial relief when you shook your head no, but he still didn’t have an answer for what was happening.

He could feel the chill of your skin through the material of your robes. He couldn’t believe you were out in this weather so severely underdressed. You could’ve at least ditched the robes and put on a coat.

“Are you sick?” He tried again. “Talk to me.”

There was some slight movement underneath your robes, and the way that you had your arms wrapped around yourself made it clear that you were keeping something shielded underneath.

“He’s hurt!” You wailed.

“Who is hurt? What is that?” He asked, making the connection that whatever you had bundled up in your robes was the cause of your stress.

Your right arm freed itself to pull the left side of your robes back. Your left arm was supporting the weight of something, and the sudden exposure to the cold air of the classroom caused it to stir.

You presented a small creature, just barely small enough to fit in one of your palms. It had soft black fur, a long snout, and a fluffy tail. Aesop identified it as a Niffler, and based on its current condition, it wasn’t looking so good.

Its body was curled up in a ball, the muscles on the small animal were constricting and releasing rapidly, causing it to shiver like no tomorrow. It was lethargic and what little voluntary movement it did make was slow and weak — very abnormal behavior for a healthy Niffler.

“It’s a Niffler! I found him at the bottom of a tree up on a mountain.” You cradled its limp frame.

“Nifflers are usually burrowed down this time of the year. I wonder what it was doing all the way up there,” Aesop glanced over the critter. “What in Merlin’s name were you doing up there? And without a coat?”

Quite frankly, Aesop was much more concerned about you getting sick from being outside without a sustainable source of heat. The Niffler was the least of his worries, but it was at the top of your list.

“I was trying out my new Quidditch broom!” You shrilled, growing more upset by the second. “I was only going to be gone for a little while!”

It wasn’t necessarily uncommon to see a Niffler out and about during the winter months of the year, but it certainly was odd to find one so far from the ground.

A Niffler as little as this one would have a hard time traversing out in the open with all the snow and ice on the ground. Nifflers were meant to be underground travelers, and they typically thrived in the warmer months.

“You could’ve at least worn a sweater,” He grumbled under his breath. “What was it doing?”

“He probably escaped a poacher or something,” You rambled, clearly more concerned with the current issue at hand. “Aesop, you have to help him! He was nearly frozen when I picked him up, and he’s not getting any better.”

Aesop realized then that this was a rescue mission. You hadn’t brought this little Niffler all the way here just to show him off (which you had done before with Nifflers and other various beasts), you had brought him to seek help in trying to keep him from becoming a popsicle.

“I have no expertise in this area. Did you try taking it to Professor Howin?” Aesop suggested, clearly not confident in his beast tending abilities.

“I can’t find her! She wasn’t in the classroom and no one knows where she is.” Your voice wavered as if you were on the verge of tears.

This was far beyond Aesop’s skill set. He knew nothing about Nifflers or how to care for them. He certainly didn’t know how to reverse hypothermic shock on one.

“He’s so little, he won’t make it on his own!” You wailed, the tears welling up in your eyes and one more rejection away from spilling.

He knew how passionate you were about beasts. From the smallest Puffskeins to the largest Hippogriffs, you were a lover of all magical critters.

If there was anything that could get you this worked up, it was a beast who needed help.

“I wouldn’t even know where to begin, I have absolutely no training in taking care of wild beasts.” He persisted, but his voice was sympathetic.

That was when the waterworks came, tears leaking from your eyes and spilling down your cheeks faster than you could wipe them away. You trembled all over, both from nearly getting frozen yourself and with fear. You were shaking like a leaf and scared to death for what was going to become of this defenseless little Niffler.

“Aesop, please!” You begged. “He’ll die if you don’t help him!”

He was taken aback by your sudden passion and determination. It was very rare for you to get assertive and even more rare for you to be this desperate for help.

Him giving in to your pleas was mainly because he couldn’t stand to see you so frazzled and upset.

He wasn’t sure what he was going to do, but he had to do something.

“Alright, darling, alright. You must calm down,” He cupped your face in his hands, stroking the apples of your cheeks with his thumbs. “Look, I will…I will do what I can. Now, please — try to relax.”

He didn’t want to be responsible for whether or not this Niffler survived or not. But he supposed that doing nothing was worse.

He took the Niffler from your hands carefully, holding it close to his chest to keep him from losing any more heat. He seriously had no clue where to start, but he was going to do what he could to at least try to save him.

If nothing else, he could get the little guy stable enough to where he could make it to someone who did know what they were doing.

He carried him to his desk, setting him down carefully and with ease. He sat in his chair to get closer to the Niffler, and you were standing next to him.

His main objective first was to get some heat back into the Nifffler’s body…gradually, of course.

“I need your robes. Take them off.”

In better circumstances, you most definitely would’ve made a dirty joke and teased him. But you obliged silently, whipping your robes off of your body and handing them over.

Aesop made a silent note that not only had you failed to wear a coat or sweater, but you were also wearing short sleeves. From now on, he was going to start making you carry hand warmers around.

He properly wrapped the Niffler in your robes, bundling the shivering critter up as much as he could, leaving just his head to be sticking out. He drew his wand, casting a warming charm to speed the process along.

“As long as we keep it wrapped up-“

“It’s a boy.” You sniffed, correcting him.

Normally, he would’ve made some kind of sarcastic remark back to you, but he knew you were upset and only trying to do what you could to help.

“Right. Well, as long as we keep him wrapped up, I believe he’ll have a fighting chance,” He said. “I’m afraid I don’t know what else to do beyond that.”

A makeshift heating pad really was the best he could do. He had toyed with the idea of giving the Niffler some kind of potion, but he wasn’t confident that a critter this small could handle something that potent.

He was going on the theory that the robes wrapped around the Niffler would hopefully create an incubator effect, and it would bring him back and show some improvement in him within a few minutes.

Aesop knew that there wasn’t much else that he could do for the Niffler. It was up to time and fate at this point, and for your sake and the Niffler’s, he hoped it wasn’t too late.

You had gone quiet now other than an occasional sniff and sigh. Aesop watched the way that you were so attentive and focused on this Niffler. This was tugging on your heartstrings for sure, and he just hoped that he wouldn’t have to see what would happen to you if the Niffler didn’t make it.

He wanted to console you, yet he didn’t think he was doing a very good job of it. It was something he was working on. He was learning to be more sensitive and not so dismissive in situations like this.

While a nearly frozen to death Niffler wasn’t a big deal to him, it was extremely important to you. And if it was important to you, then it was important to Aesop too.

The next four or five minutes passed, and neither of you said anything. You were both silently monitoring the Niffler, anxiously awaiting any show of improvement. Aesop was nonchalant each time he checked to make sure he was still breathing and had a heartbeat. He didn’t want to do anything too urgently and make you more upset.

It was touch and go for a little while. It couldn’t have been more than seven or eight minutes total, but it felt like an eternity. Aesop had never tried to save the life of a Niffler before, and he had never felt more helpless than just waiting for something to happen…or not happen.

But just when he was beginning to feel defeated, the Niffler’s shivering began to slow down and he started making more consistent movements and sounding out a few squeaks.

Whatever he had done, it was working.

“What do Nifflers eat?” Aesop asked, stroking the fur on the head of the Niffler, trying to comfort him so that he wasn’t completely panicked when he fully woke up.

“They’re herbivores. Roots, shrubs, and weeds mainly,” You let out a shaky breath, but hope was returning to your eyes. “And treats too.”

“Do they eat dandelion roots?” He inquired.

You nodded, and Aesop took his next course of action.

“There’s a few jars of dandelion roots in the closet. Would you bring one?” He requested.

“Where in the closet?” You asked.

“Left side of the wall, second shelf.” He instructed.

There was a swiftness in your legs as you all but sprinted to the closet, quickly locating the roots exactly where he had said.

“He will likely be famished when he starts coming around. It’s best to have something for him to eat,” He said once you had returned to his side with the jar. “He’s going to need the nourishment.”

He was showing improvement. His movements and noises were becoming more frequent, which was a good sign.

“Nifflers are hyperactive when indoors,” You said. “He’s going to freak out when he fully wakes up and realizes he’s far from home.”

“I don’t think that’s likely. It’s going to take some time for him to feel energized again,” He remarked. “I just hope he doesn’t spot anything shiny around. I do know that they go ballistic over anything of that nature.”

Aesop felt relief when you laughed at that. It was a small one, but genuine. You were feeling better, which made him feel better.

The Niffler’s snout began to twitch, his eyelids slowly opening to reveal his black, shining eyes. He blinked a few times, confused as to why two human faces were in front of him.

“It’s alright…you’re okay.” You used your softest voice to soothe the Niffler.

Aesop screwed the lid off of the jar, the clinking noise causing the Niffler to twitch in surprise. Aesop kept his movements slow and calculated. He didn’t want to startle him any more than he already was.

“Do Nifflers bite?” He asked as he removed a singular root from the jar.

“Not usually, no.” You said, continuing to speak sweetly to the Niffler.

Aesop was hoping that you were right, because he didn’t want to have his finger chomped on as repayment. Nonetheless, he offered the dandelion root to him, waiting curiously for a response.

The Niffler raised his head, taking a few sniffs before beginning to nibble on the end of it. There was no telling when he had eaten last, and based on how quickly he was chewing through it, Aesop guessed that it had been quite a while.

The Niffler made it through about half the jar before he sounded out a small belch, followed by a satisfied hiccup.

“That should perk him up,” He couldn’t help but grin when the Niffler nuzzled its head into his hand. “He looks better.”

He did indeed look better. Within five or ten minutes, he would be wreaking havoc and making a mess of this Potions classroom.

Aesop stood from his chair, standing tall and turning to face you. Not only did the Niffler look better, but so did you.

“I believe that your new friend is going to be just fine,” He declared, his small smile shining with pride. “No more tears, hm?”

He swiped at the last of your tears, pressing a kiss to your forehead with a hum. He knew that you would be okay now, but you had spooked him something awful.

“You really think he’ll be okay?” You sniffed.

“I do, but I suggest that you try to track down Professor Howin again and have her take a look at him.” He advised.

“Alright,” You scooped up the Niffler, keeping your robes wrapped around him snugly. “I’ll check her classroom again.”

He nodded, giving the Niffler one last scratch on his head. He seemed to like Aesop…that or he was just grateful for the dandelion roots.

“Thanks for helping him,” You almost glowed. “I’m really happy you did.”

That gave him a bigger sense of pride than saving the Niffler. There was nothing that he wanted more than to make you happy. He worked towards making sure you were comfortable, happy, and well. Suddenly, all the anxiety and stress of keeping a Niffler alive was well worth it.

“Once you’ve left him with Professor Howin, why don’t you come back here? Take a break for a little while,” He said. “And you can tell me all about your new broom.”

“Okay,” You smiled, and his heart fluttered. “I’ll be back.”

You turned to leave and continue your search for Professor Howin, but he stopped you before you made it far.

“Before you go…” He said, retreating to the closet. He rummaged around for a moment, but returned with an article of clothing in his hands. “Put this on. Please?”

You swapped the Niffler for the dark blue sweater, slipping it over your head and straightening it once it was on. It smelled like Firewhisky and sandalwood…Aesop Sharp’s signature scent.

He kissed the crown of your head once he returned the Niffler to you, his hands giving your shoulders a playful squeeze.

“Alright. Much better. I’ll see you in a minute.” He sent you on your way.

He returned to sit at his desk once you were out the door, a long sigh escaping from his chest. He chuckled to himself. What in the world had happened to him?

He couldn’t believe that he, the infamous and hardened master potioneer, was now bundling up frozen Nifflers and feeding them from his personal ingredients inventory.

He was suddenly filled with so much love and joy just by you thanking him for doing something seemingly so small…something that never would’ve moved him in such a way before.

He had changed much more than he originally realized.

And he was very, very thankful for it.

[studying-shrimp]

When the gold rays fell on your skin, and my hair got caught in the wind, the choir sang a melancholic hymn...

Inspired from the song "Lovesick" by Laufey.

------

As the color of the sky turns into a familiar hue, Kageyama takes a second to reminisce, taking several steps back to where the view in front of him started to become special. He turns to the figure walking beside him, a scene that he has constantly witnessed throughout these three years. He doesn't know when it really started (maybe from the first time they went home late from practice together, the two of them being the only ones left in the gym), this routine of them, some kind of unspoken rule, where they should go home together, walk home together, and sometimes (if they're not late) admire the sunset together. Silently walking side-by-side while his companion pushes his most loyal and trustworthy mountain bike, they never fail to appreciate the quiet and calm moment that came after a rigorous and stimulating volleyball practice.

And it sucks.

It sucks that this will be the last time that Kageyama will be able to experience this- this routine- this moment, a special moment only between him and Hinata, that rarely happens off-court.

Tomorrow, Hinata will be heading to Brazil, dead set on catching up to where Kageyama is. Ever since their middle school match, Kageyama had always found this side of Hinata endearing. The side that doesn't back down from a challenge. The side that gives his everything. The side that doesn't give up until the ball hits the ground. And he didn't expect that this endearment that was born from his frustrating curiosity towards the creature known as "Hinata Shoyo" would develop into something more.... solid.

It would be embarrassing to say that he only realized his own feelings just recently, but he was never really good with feelings in the first place. So, after days of deliberate thinking (which is weird because he rarely "deliberately" thinks about anything except for volleyball and food), Kageyama decides to "confess" his feelings for Hinata. And what's a more romantic way to confess feelings for someone while watching the sunset (or so the internet says). He braces himself, because three years worth of unsaid feelings and romantic admiration is about to flow out of his chest.

"Hey, Kageyama..." But the amount of mental preparation Kageyama did for his confession did not prepare him for whatever is happening right now. Hinata stops in his tracks, Kageyama following suit, blue and hazel eyes finally meet, after a long time of silence. Hazel eyes pierce into deep blue ones as if searching for a way to burrow into the deepest corner of its owner's heart.

"Wait for me." It wasn't a question, and it didn't sound like he was asking for permission either.

It was a command.

A promise.

"I'm gonna fly higher."

Kageyama has finally lost his wits over the sight of Hinata under the sunset skies, sunset colors illuminating every inch of skin that it could touch. Kageyama wasn't sure if his Sun could shine even brighter than he already does, until right now. Orange hair, so vivid that it can flawlessly blend into the sunset background. Eyelids and nose wrinkle as he pops up that all-too familiar toothy grin that gives Kageyama mild heart attacks.

Every word that was about to spill out of his mouth is now stuck in his throat. Something tells him that it doesn't have to be now, it's not like he'll never see Hinata again. They'll probably be separated much longer than the time they spent together, but that's okay. If it meant that Hinata would be standing side-by-side with Kageyama again, just like this, then he can wait-- he will wait. And a part of him believes that he won't be waiting for so long. It's Hinata.

It's his Hinata.

"Yeah." Deep blue meets hazel, now filled with burning determination.

[necros-writing-stuff]

Ok! There’s something HOT about Eden using wolf/puppy PC as an actual dog, like hunting etc.

If you’re able write a small fic/HC? Love it

What about yandere wolf PC who comes to Eden in hopes of mating, only to find themself put in the place of a pet while they pine after the hunter?

They want to crawl onto the bed, burrow under the furs and nuzzle against his crotch. Get that delicious scent on their skin. But Eden snaps at them every time they try to get up and tells them to get back to their cage.

They want to sit in his lap and eat together, but they have to settle for eating from their bowl on the floor. If they're extra lucky, Eden will hand-feed them scraps from his very own hands that they get to lick clean.

They've given up their pack, their family, their life all to be his. To have their tail lifted and body used as Eden wants. Instead, he refuses to see what good mates they'd be.

Until he's just too sexually frustrated to ignore the golden opportunity in his home. The willing, desperate wolf person he's been using to hunt, to tamper his loneliness just a tad. But it isn't enough is it? A pet isn't enough.

There's still guilt and shame in his heart when he does fuck you in his bed. You're ecstatic, howling out your joy while he scrunches his eyes closed and presses his face against your neck. He doesn't bite. Even when you beg for it. He can't go that far - not when he feels ashamed for laying with a beastly creature in the first place.

It's not your fault he hates you so bad for what you are. You weren't a wolf that tried to kill him. You weren't a client looking to treat him as an animal. The same way he's now using you.

No - not the same. You at least revel in your place. He never had.

That can't stop Eden seeing himself beneath his body when he fucks you to sleep.

[msfcatlover]

Tim walking into Corruption!Damian's room, and gently placing a weird package down on Damian's desk while Damian watches. Tim giving Damian what Tim probably thinks is a meaningful look, taking in Damian's blank expression, and snorting. Tim rolling his eyes and just saying "You're welcome," before walking out again.

Damian has absolutely no idea what to make of it, until the eggs hatch.

A month later, Tim walks in with a slightly different package and does the exact same thing. Desk, stare, "You're welcome." Damian opens his mouth to ask, but Tim's already gone.

Tim keeps doing it, sometimes when Damian's not even in the room; Damian will just open his bedroom door, and there's a new package on his desk. Which would all be weird enough, if it weren't for the fact that the packages are all different. Different labels, different brands, different logos, even different languages on the labels & instructions.

Damian doesn't know what to do with all these moths. He can't let them loose, this isn't their native environment. He can't send them back, they're too fragile; he's terrified something will happen in transit, killing them all. He'd love to adopt them into his swarm, but Damian is unsure of exactly how that would work—he's never added anything, the moths simply chose him— plus, he doesn't know where the limits of his patron's generosity lie. At this point , Damian has more caterpillars than biomass to potentially hold them, and Damian doesn't want to crowd out the few resilient moths he has left, while also making life worse for the new ones.

(Damian probably shouldn't worry about that, given Jane Prentiss had a literal flood of worms at her command, but then, Damian's relationship with his swarm at this point in time is a hell of a lot healthier than Prentiss's. And the Corruption doesn't really do "healthy" in any way shape or form. So maybe he's right to.)

.

Damian ends up with a new greenhouse. He fills it with plants from around Nanda Parbat, but especially caters to the ailanthus trees he has shipped in. A perfect little Eden for his moths to inhabit.

Tim seems annoyed by this outcome. Damian finally loses patience, demanding to know what Tim thought the outcome would be. (What Tim's intentions were.)

Tim frowns, bemused. "You need more genetic diversity." Damian has no idea what he's talking about. "For your swarm," Tim clarifies.

"My swarm is fine!"

"Dames, you told me you had like 10 moths when you made it to Gotham." Tim raises his eyebrows, like he's stating the obvious. "You have to know that's not a healthy number. Right?"

Damian presses a hand to his chest, a protective tic Dick encouraged despite Damian learning years ago not to give away his feelings (especially not when they might risk his swarm.) "They're strong," he says, voice soft but firm, "they survived Grandfather, the Pit, my—recovery." (Damian doesn't like to think about those months, when his swarm was trapped under his skin, re-burrowing their tunnels, unable to spread their wings. The pain of his flesh being re-molded to its chosen purpose was nothing compared to the weeks Damian had thought the creatures he'd poured his whole being into nurturing, the special moths who changed in order to bond just with him, were extinct.) He glares at Tim. "We don't need your help."

"That's not what you said when I got back," Tim says with a smirk, and Damian looks away. Tim sighs. "I was going to stop soon anyway. Just... consider it, okay? None of us wants to deal with it if it turns out they're weak to the flu."

"They're moths," Damian snaps, more on instinct than anything else, "they can't get the flu."

"Actually, modern studies on transmissible disease—"

Damian scoffs and storms off. (Tim pats himself on the back for definitely winning that argument.)

.

Damian does not add Tim's foreign moths to his swarm. But... he does spend a lot of time in the greenhouse, reading or drawing, and letting his swarm run free. (Damian's their Hive, not their keeper. It's none of his business what his moths get up to when he lets them out to play.)

[katlyn1948]

Look, I honestly don't know where this is going, but I needed to write and this is what I came up with. IDK if this will be something but enjoy it!

The cool brisk metal tickled along the concave between her breasts. The silver chain cascaded through the air as it maintained its clasped position around his neck and the only movement it offered was the rhythmic synchronized motion of his rocking hips. As Gendry thrusted, the silver chain followed and the ring at the end grazed across Arya’s heated skin.

The steady cadences of their mingled breaths reverberated around the room while Arya’s throaty mews shattered the silence. They had been going for hours, completely lost in the euphoric oblivion of each other.

As the sweat began to trickle down Gendry’s chest, Arya couldn’t resist the urge to lap at it with her wanting tongue. His salty taste exploded across her taste buds, garnering a guttural moan from her chapped lips.

Egged on by her pleasurable sounds, Gendry’s pace shifted. What was once a steady metronome became an allegro of heated beats. His fingers dug into her supple skin as his grip tightened along her vivacious waist. His other hand burrowed into the headboard above them, and his brows furrowed as his concentration to rip her over the edge multiplied tenfold.

Arya gasped at the sudden tempo change, from soft and melodic to rough and raucous. She couldn’t keep her nails from digging into the curve of his rounded ass, imprinting him as hers.

Her pleasure was teetering and as he pushed deeper and went hard, she knew it was only a matter of time before she plunged from the precipice and into a shattering oblivion.

As her insides coiled, she clenched, gripping him like a vice and extracting his own reckless abandon, milking him of all he was worth.

His worn body collapsed onto the downy bed beneath him, and he curled his burly arms around Arya’s small frame, pulling her close to his heaving chest. She burrowed her face into the warmth of his embrace and took a deep breath. He smelled of her; their scents mingled together in a wicked dance.

“How long?” she asked, her voice rough from the strain it endured yelling his name.

“An hour before someone starts to notice.” He replied as his fingers tickled the ends of hair that gave way to the middle of her back.

A rigid chill swept across Arya’s spine as she took in the revelation. “When will you be back?”

“Two weeks, if the catch is good. Will you manage?”

No. “Yes.”

“And you?”

Arya sighed and pushed herself from his embrace. She sat up and curled her legs beneath her before resting her head on her waiting knees. She studied him then, letting her eyes roam over the dips and falls of his body. He was a stunning creature with his large shoulders and strong arms and the midnight black of his paired with the ocean blue of his piercing eyes. It's no wonder she kept crawling back.

“No assignment. I’ll be here in the apartment.” Alone.

Gendry chuckled, “You’ll go mad with nothing to do and no one to kill.”

“Maybe I will be able to rid my home of your insufferable scent.” A smile danced across her lips. “Do a bit of deep cleaning.”

“I find that doubtful,” he growled as he snaked his arms around her waist before pulling her back into the safety of his arms.

Arya felt content in the confines of his embrace. Just his presence alone set an ease to the raging sea that stormed her brain. It was such a powerful relief and one she hadn’t had in a long time. But his visits were far and few in between and in just under an hour her thoughts would be scattered once more.

“Be careful out there.” She breathed against his bicep that lay nestled just beneath her head.

She could feel the cascade of kisses he planted down her spine and she couldn’t help the goose flesh that echoed across her skin. “I always am.”

“I know you are, but the sea is a treacherous place. It can be calm and steady one moment and dangerously unforgiving the next. Trust me, I know.”

Her heart ached for the longing of wanting to be at sea. The adventurous side of her craved it. But the accident left her scarred with fear that nearly crippled her every time she set foot on a boat.

Her retirement forced by the hands of fate.

“The boys and I have handled our fair share of anger ocean. We will be fine.” Gendry placed one more kiss upon her shoulder before pulling himself away from her warm bed.

Arya could hear him rummaging for his jeans as she faced away from him, not wanting to see him leave.

“I have to go over checklist today. Davvos left me in charge.” He climbed in behind her, forcing her to face him. “Don’t I always come back?”

She huffed, “Yes.”

“Then I’ll see you in two weeks.” He captured her lips once more before pulling himself from the bed and grabbing his rucksack by the door.

“Gendry?” She said before he had a chance to open the door. “I’ll see you then.”

A smile crept to his face, “I’ll see you then.”

And then he was gone.

And Arya was left alone in her apartment with a dreadful feeling that she pushed to the back of her mind because he always came back.

[luvyjwz]

⎯⎯ ʚɞ ⁺˖ ⸝⸝⌗ drowning in moonlight ★— jake imagine.

⊹ ⋆ﾟ꒰ఎ ─── jake x reader, suggestive (jake potentially being a succubus/siren + nothing is clear bc this was entirely self indulgent), mentions of smut

the water droplets from jake's wet kisses on your collarbone began to trickle down onto the fabric of your blouse. the buttons and cloth messily separated as the article pooled around your torso.

you recollect memories of your past meetings and you fail to find a moment similar to how he caresses your skin at this very time. soft sounds of your clothes being discarded was drowned out by swishes of the ocean. sand crystals tickling your bare skin as he towers over your nearly unclothed body.

the beach was empty of souls and you knew your prayers had been heard. the sun began to set hours ago, families and friends hurrying to their homes leaving you all alone. waiting for the very man who tortured yet healed your soul.

"kiss me properly," you stutter when his thin fingernails prod at your lips. "i've been waiting all evening."

he scoffs to this statement, smiling briefly knowing the effect he had on you, your mind, and your body.

"you think you deserve it?" he whispers, an octave dropping and your heart begins acting under his command. his fingers wander to your back, playing with the elastic of your bra strap as he leans in to leave reddening marks on your neck.

and for another sunset, he left your lips cold.

the following morning you decide to visit the beach during sunrise. the honey sun was a new sight for you as your feet carried you through the salty sand and all the way to the familiar waves. only stray boulders and welcomed crustacean creatures kept you company.

your thoughts once again drifting to the man you loved to visit at sea. he made you feel things you couldn't name, things you couldn't quite comprehend. the way he touched you in the most intimate places, places which you never let a soul touch you before. the way he lured your body into a tantalizing state of mind with his seductive, enticing words.

just sitting here alone, basking in the sun's glory you feel an ache for his presence.

when you reach your hand out to dip into the silky waters, you question yourself, question your reasoning. however, when a familiar head of honeyed blond hair arises from the pits of liquid blue, his head tilted back and water droplets accentuating his built shoulders through a white tunic—the answer comes to you naturally.

you long for the water drops on your bare body as jake makes love to you in the moonlight. his pale blue, misty eyes peering up into your gaze when he pleasures you feverishly. a compassionate, yet thirsty desire in his eyes as he makes you his.

he reaches out for you from the ocean. in just a moment, your body is against his and he's brushing his hands over your features to cup your cheekbones in his grasp. his cold, wet jewellery pressing into your flesh.

"kiss me," jake whispers this time. "i've been waiting all my life."

fighting the urge to break down in his arms, you lean against him and kiss him as hard as your body would let you. numbing feelings and unsaid emotions are felt as you share breaths and after a while he groans, pulling away to burrow his layered locks into your collarbone.

"stay," his voice softer as he mumbles. "i'll take you with me."

he lifts away from you to meet your watery eyes. not much thought goes through your head as you nod profusely, willing to go anywhere as long as you're with him.

a cute smile appears on his puffy lips before he interlocks your fingers and begins takes you further under the ocean...

✧˖°💬📎⋆ ˚｡ 06/30/23

first writing for my bias wrecker x

with love, luvyjwz. ♡