#My poor muse rip

[witchcraftandburialdirt]

𝔾𝕆𝕆𝔻 𝔸𝔽𝕋𝔼ℝℕ𝕆𝕆ℕ 𝕄𝕐 𝕃𝕆𝕍𝔼𝕃𝕀𝔼𝕊! °˖✧◝(⁰▿⁰)◜✧˖°

It has been a very long time since I've posted some artwork, but below are two commissions requested by @dolls-runeterran-dollhouse for her Jhin! Doll was very easy to work with ( 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺 𝘱𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘮𝘦 𝘸𝘩𝘪𝘤𝘩 𝘐 𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘤𝘪𝘢𝘵𝘦 𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘯 𝘐 𝘤𝘢𝘯 𝘴𝘢𝘺 ♥ ) and her bratty rendition of Jhin was so fun to portray! I recommend you take a peek at Doll's blog because it’s a HUGE undertaking! (ღ˘⌣˘ღ)

I've been working on a few other things in the background too that I hope to soon be posting! I've been very dry with art lately but this piece definitely helped me get past that creative block ( ´ ∀ `)ノ～ ♡ You all have a beautiful day! ♥

[shadowedvales]

just another day where i am out here thinking about ghost jane! after closing the gate, and the impact it had on her physically and mentally, she's forever connected to the upside down, even when it's sealed off completely. due to jane's abnormal genetics and weak immune system due to what she was submitted to in the womb, her body begins failing her when she's nineteen years old, [after a specifically harsh winter day where she gets stranded at a bus stop for three hours, and is stuck in the cold, and gets sick with a slight fever. then that sickness turns into pneumonia, which leads to her spending six weeks in the hospital under owens' care]. when she's twenty three, her body begins fully shutting down, and she eventually dies at twenty five. her death is peaceful in a sense because it wasn't violent nor unexpected, but it is tragic. even more so, because she's reincarnated into a ghost, who can never move on because of the upside down imbedding itself into her skin, into her body when she was a child. she can venture outside hawkins, and isn't specifically tied to a place because the upside down is ancient, it spread amongst the whole world, and even though it's sealed off, still exists below. wherever the upside down is, active or not, jane can tread, but she was never given the real chance to ever leave hawkins, and knows very little of the world outside the small town. even in death, it frightens her to venture beyond. she's stuck in the town that she loves as much as she hates, wandering around as a mere echo of herself, reclaiming that lost black cat status who doesn't really belong to anyone or anything. there are people over the years who can slightly sense her, or see her completely so she isn't alone forever, but those people eventually move on after their death, where she never can.

[gu6chan]

*wailing, crying, stomping my feet on the ground* i want dobriiiii............ i miss dobri cola so bad....................................... its so much better than US "coca" cola i hate america i hate being here I WANT DOBRIIIIII

[redridcr]

Okay but part of me needs Tahno to have a Dragon Age verse where they try to see if they can make someone Tranquil and then reconnect their magic. Some bullshit Tevinter hokey experiment. And so he’s left with some personality dysfunctions and weird phasey abilities like Fenris.

[tojipie]

prison bf series linked here !

hii ! not rly phone sex, but sex nonetheless. i’m rly loving this series <33 prison toji unboxing fic coming someday in the distant future.

content: nsfw + phone sex

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the sudden vibrations of your phone’s ringer rips you from the boundary between sleep and awareness. you groggily reach for the device from it’s place under your pillow, clicking the off button twice to end the call.

the number rings again, then a third time before you finally pick up, ready to tear into the poor soul on the other line. it’s a facetime call from an area code you don’t recognize, probably just a misdial if you’re lucky.

you hesitantly accept and tilt the camera towards the ceiling, shielding your face from the stranger.

“hello..?” you mumble sleepily, trying to get a good look at your phone without revealing too much of yourself. the person’s screen is grainy from the lack of light, probably calling you on an older model.

the stranger’s camera pans down, revealing familiar tufts of straight raven hair. toji stares up at you from his bunk, shirtless with the sheets bunched up to his chest.

“you too good to pick up the phone now?” he asks, clearly teasing. the inmate’s voice is quiet, coming out in choppy rivets as his dated microphone picks up what it can.

“toji!?” you whisper scream, sitting up to turn your beside lamp on. the additional light helps illuminate your figure better, you notice his eyes perk up at the clearer sight of you.

“mmmh, happy to see you babydoll.” he grins, leaning closer to get a good look at you. your eyes are puffy with the promise of rest, giving you that extra bought of softness he loves so much.

“oh shit, were you sleeping? m’ sorry.”

he doesn’t sound sorry at all.

“nono i’m awake.” you reassure the older man, taking in the sight of him laid out on the narrow cot. your boyfriend had aged since the beginning of his sentence, though you figure that’s not out of the ordinary for someone serving time. “how’d you even get a phone?”

“s’ a secret.” he muses, clearly finding the situation amusing. “i get to talk to my baby though, isn’t that nice?” he states plainly, shifting to prop his head up with his hand.

“it is, actually.” you mumble apologetically, feeling bad at your initial lack of a greeting. “m’ happy you called me.”

you pause, choosing your next words carefully “don’t you have bunkmates?” you wonder, searching the background for any signs of other men in the dark cell. the promise of being ratted out by a cell mate was one that wouldn’t end well for either of you.

“nah, lawyers said i’m too dangerous to be staying in D-block with everyone.” he states boredly, shifting again to lie on his back with a grunt.

“wh— are you serious?” you whine, already mulling over the countless conversations you’ve had with him regarding his nasty fighting habit.

“pfttt, no?” the inmate chuckles, throwing his head back with a hearty laugh. “last guy in the cell got out on wednesday, ‘s just me in here till’ my sentence is up.”

he stills, looking you up and down quickly.

"fuck." he grumbles, you look real pretty right now."

you sigh in relief, ignoring the compliment to continue grilling him. “so you’ve been getting along with people?” you ask, skill skeptical.

“you know—hah- how i am.” he tells you, clearing his throat before continuing. the screen begins to wobble a little, blurring his figure for a moment. “when have i —fuck- ever been out of line, huh? ”

“i think you were pretty out of line when you went to fucking jail.” you tease, pausing to analyze his hurried breaths on the other line.

“toji? do you feel ok?” you ask, wishing you were there to check up on him.

“yeah—mmgh- why? his camera starts to pan up shakily, phone slipping from his hand. the last of his facade shatters as a pleased groan rings out in the tiny cell.

“fuck.” he whines, “fuck— oh my god. you’re gonna make me fucking cum.”

“show me.” you command, finally piecing everything together.

the older man flips the camera and brings it right up to his hard cock, stroking it from the base up with vigor.

his tip is an angry pink, weeping milky precum down his shaft to glaze his knuckles. the sounds coming from your phone are absolutely filthy, a hot mix of pants, groans and expletives .

“oh my god.” you giggle, propping your phone up to watch better. “is that all for me?” the dips and hills of his abs jolt as he laughs.

“all for you.” he pants, bucking his hips up every time his fist meets his tip.

“is this why you called me?” you tease, watching his cock bob back and forth in his hand. the older man stops to thumb his slit, massaging milky pre into the tip before starting up again. “you just wanted to get off? didn’t wanna talk to me or nothing?”

“no—hah. i mean—.” he groans, clearly too out of it to answer. “fuck. fuck i’m close.”

you squeeze your legs together to quell the ache between your thighs, content to just watch him enjoy himself.

sharing a room with 4 other people means little to no time alone, that much you knew from your visits. it wasn’t rare for him to pitch a tent during your supervised phone calls, squeezing his cock behind a glass barrier while you gushed about your day.

a hearty groan knocks your train of thought loose as ropes of cum stream down his knuckles and onto the sheets. you watch in awe as he milks his dick, slapping it onto his stomach for the added simulation.

you wait until his breaths even out to speak, watching him grab a towel from off camera to clean himself up.

“feel better?” you ask, so badly wishing you were there to kiss him in the midst of his afterglow.

“so much better.” he sighs, shifting to lay on his side again.

“they definitely heard you. i mean those rooms don’t have doors right?”

“of course they fucking have doors.” he grumbles, clearly embarrassed at the thought of getting caught dick-in-hand.

“did you..” he trails off, rubbing his eyes with a soft yawn.

“too tired.” you state plainly, shifting the focus from your pleasure to his.

“i don’t deserve you.” he mumbles, dark eyes barely open.

“course you do baby.” you whisper. “you wanna head to bed? i’m coming up on thursday to visit.”

“you are?” the excitement in his voice is adorable.

“mhm, might even bring you a charger for that piece of shit burner you swiped.”

the jab earns you a booming laugh, lulling you back to the precipice of sleep.

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tag list ! <3 🏷️

@honeybee54321 @m150-50up @kuryoomi @t4naiis @serendippindots @sillyalo @levixbby @powerrwa

[wordstome]

könig as the nutcracker 🥹🥹

you just brought some terrible sleeping beast out of me, anon.

nutcracker prince König x fem reader (mostly gender neutral but you're wearing a dressing gown)

tw: mouse murder???

He's a very odd looking nutcracker, all things considered, but you can't take your eyes off of him.

"If it's a nutcracker why does it have that stupid veil over its face?" Your brother asks, noisily crunching candies between his molars. You glare at him, both for the rude remark and for chewing with his mouth open.

"This is a special one," your aunt gushes. "He's based off of a legendary soldier who never showed his face on the battlefield. One of a kind, from a specialty toy shop.”

"How interesting..." You muse, gently rubbing the fabric of the veil between your fingers. It's sturdy fabric, but still soft to the touch.

"He was probably ugly as hell," your brother declares. You swat him, and he only cackles and gets up to graze at some more sweets.

"Maybe you should try covering that ugly mug up once in a while," you call after him. He pelts you with a walnut shell.

Your aunt shakes her head fondly. "This one's not just decorative," she says. "He's a real nutcracker by Steinbach."

You look at her, wide-eyed. "So he can crack nuts?"

She nods and tosses you a hazelnut. "Try it."

You lift the wooden man's veil a little to put the hazelnut in his mouth. You could just pull the whole thing up and out of the way, but that feels almost...forbidden? You're not sure why you feel this way—he's just a piece of wood, after all, and he probably doesn't even have anything painted on underneath the veil other than those vibrant blue eyes. But even so, you're hesitant to unmask him.

Cracking the nut works like a charm, though, and some childish excitement bubbles up inside you as the remnants of the cracked hazelnut spill into your palm. "That's incredible!" you gush, running your thumb over the nutcracker's lacquered uniform.

"What do you mean incredible, that's what nutcrackers are for." Your brother returns, a few walnuts rolling around in his palm. He holds his other hand out. "Give him here."

"No. You called him ugly, so he's mad at you," you say, teasing him by holding the nutcracker out of his reach.

Your brother rolls his eyes. "Give it here, you little shit."

"Crack your own nuts," you shoot back. "This is my nutcracker."

He makes another grab for it, and this time he manages to grab the nutcracker's arm. It's only a lighthearted tussle between siblings as you shove at your brother and he refuses to let go of the nutcracker's arm—until it's not.

A terrible snapping of breaking wood causes you to gasp. The two of you stumble away from each other from the force, your brother holding a tiny wooden arm in his hand. He's just pulled it clean off. On closer inspection, your idiot brother has somehow managed to Hulk-rip the arm piece off of the piece that fits inside the socket. "This is a brand new nutcracker, how did you fuck it up?!" you cry.

"Hey, you should have—" Your brother takes one look at your expression and decides not to give you a hard time. "Look, I'm sorry. I was too rough on it. Sit tight for a second." You sit there, numbly staring at the pieces of your poor nutcracker. Really, it's your fault too—why didn't you just let him have the damn thing?

And why is this upsetting you so much? The nutcracker's just a decoration, albeit one with a little more function than most. You feel a sort of attraction to this little wooden man in your hand, though. Maybe it's because his unique design is interesting, or maybe it's because you're intrigued by the idea of a masked soldier who never shows his face. Either way, he was your gift anyway, so it's not that unusual that you're attached to him...right?

"Here, let me see him." Your brother's back, but to your horror, he's holding a pair of needle-nose pliers. "Absolutely not," you respond, jumping up from where you were sitting on the floor. "You are not getting anywhere near my nutcracker with those things. You're just going to fuck it up even more."

"It'll be fiiine," he insists, clicking the pliers open and closed like some maniacal toy surgeon. You're not sure you like the devious glint in his eye. Your brother's a nice guy for the most part, but sometimes he gets this look in his eye that you imagine Dr Frankenstein must have had when he was assembling his creation.

You hold the nutcracker and his detached arm protectively to your chest. "I'll figure out how to fix him in the morning with glue or something," you insist. "I don't need you poking around with pliers and splintering the wood."

"Are you sure? I am sorry, for what it's worth."

You wave him off. You're still kind of mad at him, but you're both adults. You'll live. "Don't worry about it. I think I'm going to head to bed soon, anyway."

"You should keep his arm with him, dear," you aunt pipes up. She had gone into the kitchen during the whole ordeal, but had probably heard everything go down. "Tape it to his side or something. You wouldn't want to lose it."

That's a good idea, you muse, examining your poor amputated nutcracker. You're just about to take her suggestion when you get an idea.

Your brother checks in with you later, right before he goes to bed as well. "You can't be serious," he says. "You made him an arm sling?"

You tie the knot on the little scrap of cloth around the little wooden man's arm nice and snug. "Oh, I'm dead serious," you say. "Doesn't he look cute?"

Your brother lets out a resigned sigh. "Yeah. Sure."

The rest of the evening is relatively uneventful. You put the nutcracker in your room, right on top of the dresser, while you go about your bedtime routine. It always brings you a bit of joy to walk out of the bathroom and see him there, standing tall and proud.

Well, your evening would have been uneventful...had you not bolted awake in bed an hour or two later.

You're groggy and confused, trying to figure out what the hell is going on, when you hear the cacophony of noise. It sounds like footsteps, dozens upon dozens of them, stampeding through your walls. And then the mice show up.

They crawl up from the corners and the floorboards, swarming across your room. You're too terrified to move or even scream out, sure that you must be having some terrible nightmare or hallucination.

And then your nutcracker moves.

You're absolutely positive now that you must be dreaming, watching frozen from your bed as your nutcracker leaps down from your dresser as if he's a living, breathing man and beginning to fight the mice. And he's even...talking?

"Finally, some worthy adversaries!" you hear him cry. You gape at this bloodthirsty little soldier as he beats through mouse after mouse with his tiny sword.

It's an impossible battle, you think. There's no way he can take all those mice alone, and with one injured arm aside...you're usually pretty squeamish when it comes to dubious little animals, but you can't just leave your nutcracker to be overwhelmed. Besides, this is all a dream, so nothing matters, right?

There's one mouse, larger than the others, who's at the back of the pack, squeaking as if giving orders. You're having quite a wild dream, honestly, because the mouse is even wearing a little crown. Like a king, you think with some amusement. You reach over the edge of your bed to pick the mouse up by the scruff.

You're not quite sure what happens next. One moment, the mouse is chattering angrily at you, the next you're on the floor. At first you think you've simply lost your balance and fallen onto the floor, but when you scramble to your feet, you nearly fall over again as you take in your surroundings.

You've shrunk.

Your bedroom is cavernous above your head, your bedposts and furniture as tall as skyscrapers. And worse still, the mice are huge too: the once palm-sized mouse king is now as large as you are, sneering down at you from his snout. You didn't even know mice could sneer.

You yelp and throw yourself to the side to dodge one of the mice lunging at you. "It's time to wake up," you mutter to yourself through clenched teeth. "It would be really really nice to wake up right about now...!"

The mice are unrelenting, a vicious gleam in their eyes as they nip at your heels. They manage to corner you against a piece of furniture, snapping their jaws menacingly. All you can think to do is pray as they draw ever closer, their breath hot as they crowd around you—

A sword neatly lops off the head of one of the mice in front of you.

You gasp and look upwards to see your nutcracker looming above you, his sword gleaming in the low light of your bedroom. He's incredibly menacing at this size, his veil becoming intimidating rather than charming. You're far smaller than him now—if he had been a normal sized man, he would have easily cleared six feet. His eyes are vibrant and intense, staring down at you for a brief moment before they turn back towards his enemy.

You sit there, stock-still in awe as you watch him mow through his adversaries. It takes you a moment to realize you probably shouldn't be hanging around and gawping. Good thing, too, because your knight in shining lacquer is too distracted to notice he's being snuck up on. The larger mouse is creeping up behind him, a wicked glint in its eye.

"No!" you cry. Thinking fast, you pull off your slipper and chuck it at the mouse's head, stunning it. I can't believe that actually worked, you think.

You have to give your nutcracker some credit, his reflexes are wicked-sharp. In a single heartbeat, he's run the mouse king through with his sword. He cuts an imposing figure, his eyes sharp and deadly. But there's a sort of glee in them as well, the kind of thing that should make you uneasy.

It doesn't.

The rest of the mice, seeing their leader fallen, beat a hasty retreat, tugging the corpses of their fallen comrades along with them. You watch them, fascinated, until all that remains of the bloody conflict are a few tiny pools of blood streaked along your floorboards.

"I must thank you," comes the voice of your nutcracker. You look at him, unsure of what to say. You're welcome for throwing a shoe at a giant mouse to keep it from killing you?

"I...of course," is what eventually comes out. You smooth out your dressing gown in a futile effort to look presentable. "I couldn't let him hurt you."

The nutcracker tilts his head curiously. "You don't know me."

"Of course I do. You're my nutcracker," you say, instantly feeling silly once the words leave your mouth. You just received him as a gift, and you only just found out he was sentient anyway. You don't know why you feel so protective...

He shifts his injured arm, the sling still in place. "You bound my arm, as well."

You flush with embarrassment. "I-it was the least I could do," you stammer. "I shouldn't have let my brother do that. Really, it was my own fault—" Your words die in your throat as the nutcracker moves in close to you, so close that you can feel his body heat. Since when did he have body heat?

"Pretty," he murmurs under his breath. You stare at him, dumbfounded. Is your nutcracker...hitting on you?

Suddenly, you snap back to your senses. "Oh my God," you exclaim, staring down at yourself and then back towards your surroundings. "I'm still small. And I haven't woken up yet. Am I dreaming? I must be dreaming. Please tell me I'm dreaming." You pinch your skin, letting out a small exclamation when it hurts. But you still don't wake up.

"Hmm...you won't solve your predicament that easily, little one," the nutcracker muses.

"Wha—do you know how to fix this?"

"I have a hunch," he responds, brow furrowing. You hadn't noticed eyebrows on him when you were examining him earlier in the evening, you note.

"Do tell."

"You've had a curse placed on you, but I don't know how to break it. I do, however, know someone who might know how."

"Well then take me to them!" You stare at him beseechingly. You watch as several indecipherable emotions run through his eyes, then he nods.

You visibly relax. "Thank you."

"You'll have to trust me. You may find the whole process a little...fantastical."

"More fantastical than my nutcracker coming to life and fighting an army of mice on my bedroom floor?" you ask, cocking an eyebrow. His eyes crinkle in a way that must mean he's smiling.

"More fantastical than that," he says. He offers you a hand like a true gentleman, and to your shock, it feels like flesh, not wood. His grip is firm but soothing, his hand so huge it dwarfs your own.

"Let's do this, then."

uhhhhhhh wow this got kinda long I had to cut it short. I'll probably write a part 2? But it's gotta wait because I've got a gazillion other things to write first :P Thank you for the inspiration, anon! 🥺

[save-the-villainous-cat]

I was rereading the hero x vampire heat season snippet you wrote and was wondering if you could do a similar one? Like a hero that is very shy and embarrassed about being attracted to villain, and maybe even really likes the villain's voice, and the villain teases and/or reassures them it's totally normal/okay?

No pressure at all, and regardless of whether you answer i hope you'll have a wonderful day! <3

“Did you know—” the villain’s lips were dangerously close to the hero’s burning ear “—I find your fangs adorable?”

The hero hadn’t expected a kidnapping to turn into this, to turn into a romantic conversation by the fireplace. It was cruel how sweet the villain could be. The hero had been nervous enough already when the villain had asked them kindly to get into the car.

Kindly with a gun pointing at them.

The hero had been shot before and they knew from experience that it wasn’t a particularly nice experience.

“Those fangs could rip out your throat,” the hero said. Slowly, the villain drew shapes with their index finger into the hero’s thigh. That was cruel, too. The villain knew they were sensitive, especially today.

“Wouldn’t that be wonderful?” the villain asked. “That way this spluttery mouth could finally shut up and find some peace…my colleagues hate how much I talk about you.”

“You’re mean,” the hero said. They could feel themselves slipping back into their desires. There was a line, a very fine line between control and instincts and somehow the villain managed to dance on that line with the hero perfectly.

That had its own perks. Sometimes, the hero welcomed the challenge. But not really today in particular. Some days were more manageable whereas on others the hero felt like a wild animal.

“You asked me to do this, don’t you remember?”

“I asked you to make sure I wouldn’t kill any people,” the hero said. “And that I wouldn’t go crazy.”

“And I’m doing that. This is called damage control, darling.” The villain leaned over and the hero could feel their soft breath on the hero’s neck. “I hope you like it.”

“Curse you,” the hero whispered. Instinctively, they cupped the villain’s jaw and pulled them close enough for their cheeks to touch. “You know what this does to me.”

“Poor hero,” they mused. The villain’s hand travelled down to the hero’s knee. “Tell me, dear. Is my heart beating fast?”

They took the hero’s hand and pressed it against their own chest.

It nearly broke the hero. Desiring someone was one thing. Being subdued to their own nature was humbling and embarrassing. It was something that plagued them regularly.

But being desired? Someone feeling the same things they did? Someone who was willing to treat them this well…?

The hero swallowed.

A while ago, some people they had trusted had treated them like an animal. They’d been imprisoned for being a vampire. Those people had promised them to keep others safe from them but it had been raw torture. And now, the villain let them walk around freely. They gave them delicious food and tasty drinks.

They spoiled them.

“Can you feel it? Can you tell how fast my heart is beating?” the villain asked. Their voice was deeper now, more alluring.

“You…”

“You want to bite, don’t you? Sink your teeth into my neck and suck…”

“I shouldn’t—”

“Why not?” the villain asked. Gently, they grabbed the hero’s hips and pulled them towards them until the hero was sitting on the villain’s lap. In response, the hero gasped softly and held onto the villain’s clothing. “Hm?”

“…I shouldn’t even like you in the first place. We are enemies.”

“And yet, you asked me to take care of you.”

“…maybe.” The hero closed their eyes. The villain’s heart was beating fast but it wasn’t only desire. They were nervous.

The hero wasn’t sure if the villain was nervous because of them or something else.

“I trust you,” the hero said. “I believe that you will make the right choices when it comes to me. I can’t explain it but…you can deal with me. You can handle me. You know what I need. And that is kind of scary.”

Despite the villain’s endless advances towards the hero, they had never forced the hero to do anything. They always let the hero make the first move.

“It’s perfectly normal to be attracted to me when you’re…in this state,” the villain said. “I will not—”

“That’s the problem. It doesn’t stop once this phase is over. It never really stops.” The hero’s ears were burning and they could feel the villain’s heartbeat increase quickly.

“We should get some band aids for my neck then,” the villain said.

The hero couldn’t tell who was more excited.

[illiteratedreams]

synopsis ⇒ breeding an extremely needy yaoshi

kinks ⇒ breeding, intersex yaoshi, tentacles, nipple play, overstimulation, creampie, mentioned lactation but not explicitly shown

reader anatomy ⇒ cock mentioned

wc ⇒ 1.3k

img credit

The gift of life was a precious one indeed. What greater blessing is there other than to live, to prosper, and to grow?

As the Aeon of Abundance, Yaoshi’s only wish is to spread this gift across the universe, to create and bloom and birth.

Usually, they do this with a simple glance of their thousands of eyes, or with a cradling of a planet in their six arms, or, if they’re feeling daring, a kiss.

But sometimes, the need to procreate, or rather, the need to be bred forces them to give life in… other ways.

And this is one of those times.

You glance over at the Aeon impassively, the slightest bit of annoyance washing over your face as Yaoshi tugs on your arm, demanding your attention on them instead of a planet that’s caught your eye.

“What is it now, Yaoshi?”

At the sound of your voice, Yaoshi lets out a beautiful whine. Almost pouting up at you, they press their body up against your arm and your leg, forcing you to feel their erection through the thin piece of fabric that covers their crotch.

Not that you needed them to do so. Yaoshi is big, and the cloth does nothing to hide the shape of their bulge, throbbing and leaking. From the looks of their soaked robes, their pussy isn’t doing as well either.

“Nngh… Please,” they beg, panting hotly into your ear. “I need you-“

They cut themselves off with a needy moan, humping you like an animal in heat. They hug your arm closer to them and lean their head on your shoulder - careful not to bump their antlers on you - and let out another whine.

“Need you inside me,” they whisper, voice deep and sultry with need. Gently, they trail an arm up your chest, squeezing every piece of skin they can find. "Won't you breed me, dearest? My body aches for you- ah, please, I need it, I need you."

You sigh, turning to face them fully. They brighten at your attention, their hips rolling once more to entice you. A knowing smile slips onto your face.

"You are so needy, do you know that?"

The Aeon gasps as you reach down and cup at their bulge. Their cock pulsates in your palm, heat radiating off it like a second sun. Their eyes roll, moans and repeated pleases and thank yous spilling from their lips.

"Already so wet for me," you hum, giving their cock a squeeze. "For such a beloved Aeon, you're nothing but a greedy slut who can't live without a cock in them. Aren't you?"

Yaoshi whimpers at your words.

"Please," they beg again, "fill me."

And when the Aeon of Abundance begs so prettily, tears gleaming in their eyes and cock so desperately leaking in your palm, who are you to deny them of their needs?

Your eyes gleam hungrily, and suddenly Yaoshi is yanked off your arms by cool, slimy tentacles that mirror the night sky. Their lips part in the beginnings of a protest, only for a surprised moan to be ripped from them as the tendrils rip apart their robes, leaving them bare in front of your gaze.

Your tentacles manhandle them as if they were nothing but a doll, forcing their legs apart to reveal their dripping and gaping pussy, clenching around nothing.

"You prepared yourself," you muse, a cheeky smile on your face. "That desperate to be bred full, hm?"

"Only for- Ah-!" Yaoshi throws their head back as two small tentacles latch onto their plush pink nipples, pulling and sucking until the poor nubs become hard and swollen.

"I wonder, if I sucked hard enough, would you lactate?" you croon. Yaoshi flushes at the thought.

"P-Perhaps..." they whimper. Their arms are held stiffly in place so that they can't fight back against the tentacles, but if their twitching cock, hanging hard and heavy over their pussy, is anything to go by, they enjoy more than anything.

You lift a finger, and three thicker tentacles arrive at the scene. You'd lubricate them, but from the looks of Yaoshi's hole, you won't need to.

One of the tentacles strikes Yaoshi's cock, swallowing it to the base with ease. It pulses eagerly, sucking and licking the poor thing while Yaoshi squeals in delight at the feeling. At the same time, the other tentacles prod and poke at Yaoshi's pussy, one even flicking at their clit curiously.

"Hurry~" Yaoshi whines, shaking their hips the best they can in your tentacles. "N-Need- "

"Yes, yes," you roll your eyes. What a spoiled brat you have on your hands.

With an apathetic flick of your finger, both tentacles thrust into Yaoshi's pussy with a debauched squelch.

"Yes~!" Immediately Yaoshi's eyes roll at the stretch, and they come with a shriek, squirting cutely as their walls clench around your tentacles.

They're almost confused as to where to come from, their dick shooting white streaks into your awaiting tentacle as their pussy sprays deliriously, some of their spend even landing on you.

But still, it's not enough. It's never enough for Yaoshi.

Without giving them a second to process their orgasm, your tentacles surge, speeding up and fucking unrelentlessly into Yaoshi, pressing every spot imaginable.

"Hnghk!~! Yes, yes, yes- M-more, need m-mORE~~!!"

The Aeon chokes as more and more tentacles come to slip into their pussy, pulling at their soaked rim and stretching them until their lean stomach bulges from the sheer quantity of them - some even brushing up against their clit. All the while, their pussy welcomes each new visitor eagerly, swallowing them up until it's practically overflowing with tentacles, stuffed almost full.

Keyword being almost.

Yaoshi comes again, and again, and again, pain from overstimulation melting into delicious pleasure that has them squirting almost without rest. But they still aren't satisfied, and they never will be, not until they're given what they need the most of all.

"C-Cock- Mmph-!" they come again, arching their back beautiful. "Need- UGNK~! Need your- full- so big~~"

How cute, you hum. Poor thing can't even speak coherently anymore.

You finally stand up from your throne in the cosmos. Sensing your movement, your tentacles shift Yaoshi's position once more before presenting them to you in a mating position, like a divine sacrifice.

Languidly stroking your cock, you gaze down at them, drinking in their state. You doubt they're even sane in this moment - how could they, with their nipples, cock, and pussy being toyed with beyond repair?

But that's just how Yaoshi likes it, the little freak.

Yaoshi giggles deliriously, watching excitedly as you line your cock up to their already-filled hole. And, like the slut they are, their exhausted pussy even dares to clench in anticipation.

Then you thrust in, and Yaoshi thinks no more.

They scream as you bottom out, coming yet again with a earth-shaking tremor. All they can feel is pure bliss as you jackhammer them, thrusting in and out of their pussy with blinding speed alongside your many tentacles, which still haven't managed to slip out yet.

Cum seems to drip from them like a fountain as they reach heaven again and again and again, trapped in eternal ecstasy as they are used like a sex doll. Vaguely, they feel you bite their fair skin, marking them eternally as yours. They think you come eventually, but with how full they are, they can't distinguish between gift and gift.

But did it matter? It feels good, doesn't it?

This is what they were born for, this was their purpose. To be bred, fucked full and content, to take cock for the many eons they would go on to live.

A satisfied smile breaks their lips.

This, this was life.

© illiteratedreams 2024 . do not copy, repost, modify, or translate.

[lyneyluv]

lengthy drabble. nsfw utc. mdni, 18+.

childe can’t keep his mind off you. you're like a magnet to him—no matter what you do, you pull him in. you can bet that if his gaze isn't on you, then something else is, whether it be his arm around your shoulders or a hand on your waist.

you've entranced him in a way that makes him need you like water—as if the very breath from his lungs would be ripped away from him if he's apart from you. his eyes are always searching for you- that is if you aren’t already by his side. yes, he's a teensy bit obsessed, but its all within reason! you're such a cutie; he's just making sure nobody tries to make a move when they see he's gone. you're his girl. nobody else's.

with that being said, loving you makes his business trips so unbearably hard. he can barely handle leaving the house every morning, how is he supposed to handle multiple days away?

he'll get back to his temporary home after a long day, all worked up and just needing you. lo and behold, you aren't there. poor guy has to fend for himself for a couple days. but he just can't stop thinking about you :( he can't help it!! you're the light of his life, and when you walk around looking like everything he has ever dreamed of and more, he can't help but want to indulge in everything you have to offer. unfortunately for him, you're a couple nations over.

despite the distance, he can't help but wonder what you might be doing. are you alone? are your showering? have you eaten? is your mind plagued with thoughts of him like his is with you? his hands drag over his face in a poor attempt to derail his train of thought, but the heat crawling up his body grows too hard to ignore. without even knowing, he's thought himself into a corner. he doesn't want to bother you this late, but he has to hear your voice.

picking up his phone as he lays in bed, ajax dials your number. "angel..." he muses as he hears the line pick up.

"hi, baby," you groan out—it might be late, but you're still happy to hear from your boy. "long day? i miss you."

oh archons. just hearing your voice makes his pants grow impossibly tight. "were you sleeping? i didn't mean to wake you," he hums, hit brows knitting in a frown.

"yeah," you yawn and stretch your limbs out over your fart too empty bed, "but it's alright, i miss you too much to be mad." you giggle out. "what's my handsome ajax doing right now?"

he exhales at your words. "oh, you know..." a blush creeps up his cheeks as he looks around the empty room, "missing you," he pauses, thinks, and proceeds. "missing the way you feel," he trails off, his free hand running over his growing tent. he continues through shallow breaths as he speaks mindlessly into the phone. "i miss your kisses," he undoes the zipper of his pants as he pulls the waistband down, "i miss your hands," he grabs his length as it hardens under his fingers, wishing they were your own, "i miss your mouth," his hips stutter as he spreads the leaking precum over his tip, "fuck—i miss your pussy..."

he continues his work as he babbles into your ear, a desperate effort to turn you on and have you somehow magically appear next to him so he could fuck himself dumb into you. his pupils dilate and a low groan erupts from his chest as he hears your soft mewls beginning to fall from the speaker. he's fucking his fist, trying his best to hold back his moans as deeps groans slip out here and there.

he loves you so much. he'd quit his stupid job if it meant he could stay buried within your cunt forever. "wanna fuck a baby into you so bad... jus' wanna be inside you all the time," he whispers out, his thrusts becoming frantic and rushed as he chases his high. "so perfect, i never wanna be away from you," he pictures you underneath him, legs wrapped around his torso as he pounds relentlessly into your core. "fuck—you miss me angel? y'miss me fucking you full? gonna let me come home and cum inside you?"

with whatever strength you have left from your own personal pleasure, you hum through the phone. that's all it takes for his release to come rushing through him, roped of white cum staining his tensed abs. you hear him panting through the phone.

"i'll be home soon, angel," he says sweetly, "you better keep your word." you can hear his smirk through the phone.

©𝑙𝑦𝑛𝑒𝑦𝑙𝑢𝑣 ’24

[yandere-wishes]

Yandere! Paul atreides x princess! Reader claiming us.... But literally claiming... Like... Kidnapping....

I'm going crazy.

☆★☆★☆★☆

Thinking about Emperor Paul Atreides sitting all high and mighty atop his galactic throne. With big scary Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen hovering behind him ready to kill on command. Now imagine poor little darling tide up at the foot of the throne. Captured and dethroned, a pretty prize for the two men who killed her father. Her chin ensnared between Paul's cruel fingers, forced to gaze upon her monstrous captures. Your crown lays shattered on the blood-red carpet, your dress ripped and ruined.

Funny how "princess" is just a word now, just a flurry of salt to marinate an open wound.

"Well princess, do you pledge allegiance to your new king?" Paul's words are all for show, he's being playful, trying to lighten a dull mood.

Loyalty or death.

You notice the knife twirling between Feyd's fingers. Gleaming in the fractured light. You gulp, your body quivering from the pressure, your knees dig into the hard floor, shoulders straining from your hands being tied behind your back.

"Y-yes Pau- my king," You notice the dark glint in his faux blue eyes. He releases your chin sharply, leaving a stinging pain in its wake. His ring hovers next to your lips, awaiting the sealing kiss. Your fate flutters between your teeth, round and thick like a transmute pearl. You kiss his ring, letting your lips feel the creases of the bird's wings.

You hear Feyd chuckle from above you, relishing your crestfallen state.

Harknonen beaste.

"My queen" Paul muses, his voice too gleeful for the setting. "My precious little queen, forever by our side."

Oh, who would ever want to be queen?

He owns you

They own you

Forever trapped

[buckets-and-trees]

Unholy Errand

Characters/Pairings: Lloyd Hansen x female!Reader, God the Bounty Hunter x female!Reader, Ransom Drysdale Word Count: 4k

Summary: You're caught in the crosshairs when a hit goes out for your boss.

Content Warnings: non-consent and dubious consent, cuckolding, bondage, knife play, dacryphilia, oral (m and f receiving), cumplay, spitting, facial/marking, groping, spanking, clothed males naked female, coarse language, mild but irreverent use of religious terminology/themes (we’ve got a bounty hunter who refers to himself as God – we’re not committing hard to the bit, but we are using the bit), use of pet names + no y/n

Notes: I was happily working on some other lovely things last weekend, and then Sunday afternoon, totally unprovoked, a rogue muse crept up and whispered, "Lloyd and God..." and my brain broke, and I told @navybrat817 and she immediately enabled/encouraged the sprouting of this fic (and helped identify exactly who these two would be after). I thought this might be fifteen hundred words... and then it hit 2k, and then 3k, and they still weren't done with poor Reader, so...

Additional Notes: First time writing Lloyd, God, or Ransom in any capacity. This is also straight up the filthiest thing I've gone all in on. Is it the filthiest thing that exists on the internet? Of course not, but my filthiest and READ THE TAGS. This is NOT your standard Aspen fic. But was this a bit of a riot to write? Yep. It had a chokehold on me all week, and I stayed up far too late to finish it off tonight because... if I didn't, life would've prevented me finishing for a couple more days, and I've been too eager to push this out.

The clearing of his throat is what pulls your attention. You look up from your desk, taking in long legs in impossibly tight white slacks showing too much ankle, and a torso clad in a black turtleneck and blazer. A thick mustache lives above his smirk. He was too silent entering the offices, and he knows it, seems to revel in unsettling you. “Lloyd Hansen, the six o’clock appointment.”

“Yes, if you’ll follow me right this way,” you proffer politely, and move smoothly out of your chair, leading him to the door of your boss’s office. You give a short knock and open the door, announcing, “Lloyd Hansen, sir,” as you briefly step inside, holding the door open for the man.

He’s still smirking as he passes by, and then you sweep back out, but not before hearing Lloyd whistle and say, “Fancy shit you got yourself in this office, Ran,” as you close the door on them.

You sigh as you sit back down at your desk. Lloyd is your boss’s last meeting of the night, and he had seemed more than perturbed when he said to go ahead and accept the last-minute request Lloyd had made for the appointment. While this is the meeting of the day, Mr. Drysdale had made it clear he was staying late, which means you are also staying late, so you pull out the file of menus you keep in your desk and begin mulling over where to order dinner from tonight.

There’s a succession of loud thuds on the other side of the wall, and you only hesitate for a second before rushing into the office.

You stop dead, a small cry escaping your lips as you watch Lloyd wrestling Ransom to the ground.

“You may be sorry you disturbed us, sweetie, but since you’re here, be a good girl and close and lock that door so we don’t get interrupted by anyone else.”

You hesitate, staring in horror at the display before you: books knocked off the shelves, everything that’s usually so immaculately placed askew on the desk, a lamp overturned, Ransom Drysdale on the floor of his office with Lloyd Hansen’s knee pressed into his back and both arms pulled taught behind him while Lloyd binds his wrists together with the Hermes ascot scarf ripped from Ransom’s own neck.

Lloyd clucks his tongue. “Lock the door or I start cutting his fingers off. Barnes and Rogers only said they want your boss alive; they didn’t say how much of him still needs to be intact.”

“Do it,” Ransom grunts, turning his head away from you, clearly embarrassed at his predicament.

You turn and slowly close the door. You know there are still people working at Blood Like Wine tonight, and while it’s not likely that any of them will be passing through this wing after normal business hours, it’s probably safer that they stay out than accidentally stumble into whatever this dangerous mess is evolving into. You wished you had suppressed your own urge to investigate.

When you turn back around, Lloyd is unbuckling his belt as he continues to kneel against Ransoms back. He pulls it out, uses it to gag Ransom, giving it an additional tug after already pulling it tightly, and fastens it off.

“There, that’s just about perfect.”

“What are-?” You venture to ask, but he abruptly cuts you off.

“No one asked you to talk, sweetie, now come away from that door.”

You only take two reluctant steps towards them when there’s a scraping of wood that draws everyone’s attention to the opposite side of the room.

A piece of the floor is slowly being lifted from below, pushed out of the way, and then another man pops up from out of the floor. He hefts himself out of the hole in the floor and then drops a duffel bag on the floor, the heavy sound of muffled metal hinting at the equipment he’s brought with him.

“Oh, good, you’ve already done some of my work for me,” the tall, dark-haired man appraises the situation he’s just stepped into.

“Who the fuck are you, and where’d you come from?”

“Clearly you watched me ascend from a trapdoor in the floor.” He stalks over to stand in front of the large mahogany desk and sits back on the edge. “You didn’t think Harlan Thrombey - noted mystery author - wouldn’t have a publishing house full of trapdoors and secret passageways?”

“Didn’t need to, walked right in the front door. Still waiting to find out who you are.”

“God the Bounty Hunter.”

“Ooh,” Lloyd cocks his head, and another one of his smirks returns, “I can’t say I hate the audacity. Very bold. But there are a lot of gods and only one Lloyd Hansen.

“Now we’re clearly both here because of the hit put out for this prick, but since there are two of them and two of us, why don’t you make yourself useful, God, and tie up this little Margaret while I get Ransom nice and comfortable here.”

“With pleasure,” God says, and beckons you over to him.

The way he fixes you with his gaze is so intense you can’t to resist his silent command. He stands when you’re just a foot or two away, puts a ringer under your chin to tilt your head up, and looks down into your face. You don’t dare look away, nor do you want to, for some reason.

After another moment, he lets your chin drop, and God begins to circle you, looking you up and down. You hold very still. “You don’t need to be tied up, do you? You like to behave, to be praised.”

Lloyd lets out a loud, longsuffering sigh. “Fine, it can be more fun when they’re tied up, but I’m not picky as long as I get what I want.” Then his tone changes, directing his next words at you. “Understand, sweetie?”

You nod.

“Good.” With that, Lloyd pushes his knee roughly into Ransom’s back, drawing a painful groan from the bound man, before standing and hauling Ransom up with him. He shoves Ransom down to sit on the couch that faces the desk in the small entertaining area of Ransom’s office. “Now Relax, let me pour myself a drink. No reason we can’t enjoy ourselves for a few minutes, for old time’s sake.”

While Lloyd pours some bourbon, God steps right up behind you, close enough that you can feel the heat of him. He moves your hair off your shoulder, and leans close to whisper in your ear, “You be very good, and I’ll make you my angel.” You can’t help but shiver - it’s the heat of his breath at your neck and the promised threat - and you know he notices your reaction, because there’s a soft, dark chuckle before he presses a hot kiss to the base of your neck. His hand comes around to your front, toying with the edge of your open collar, and then he lightly draws his index finger along your clavicle and then up the other side of your neck. You don’t realize you’re holding your breath until you gasp when his other hand quickly pushes a small piece of metal right below your ear.

“And what’s that?” Lloyd asks, not missing the tagging.

“A little incentive for obedience,” God answers. “Fifty-thousand volts when fully unleashed.”

There’s a non-electrically generated jolt in your stomach, but it’s not pure fear, it’s tinged with a little adrenaline as well.

“Huh. To each his own. Now down to business, Ran.”

God steps back and then leans on the edge of the desk again. He pulls you to stand between his legs, your back up against his chest, and his hands settle on your shoulders. Standing against him like this has your hips aligned with his, and you have no doubt it’s setting the stage for his intentions, even if it seems harmless enough now. It mimics a familiarity between partners that is both soothing and unsettling.

Across the room, Lloyd takes a seat on the other side of the couch from Ransom, drink in one hand, and draping his arm casually along the back of the couch. “It was quite a convenient circumstance that even had me nearby to make this social call Ransom. Couldn’t be happier that I’d get to drop in on you for something like this. Ransom and I both went to Yale, you know,” he tosses this part across the room to you and God. “Even ended up in the same fraternity. But he was a senior, I was a freshman. Didn’t spare me the time of day except for the hazing, right?”

His focus shifts back to Ransom, who only gives Lloyd a cold stare, unmoving, clearly not wanting to give Lloyd the satisfaction of any emotional reactions.

God’s hands shift from your shoulders and begin to stroke up and down your arms.

“Why am I boring us all with the backstory though? Old college buddies is pretty typical. You know what’s not typical? Barnes and Rogers putting a bounty out for someone. They’ve got their own guys, and you’re not hard to find.”

The hands move from your arms to your waist, moving up and down your ribs, and still Lloyd keeps talking.

“So, either you’re too important and they wanted the closest person available to pick you up and make a rush delivery to their door, or you’re not important enough for them to want to dispatch any of their own men to deal with you. Outsourcing because you’re still an inconvenience to them, and they can’t let you go unpunished.

Strong hands on your hips.

“Maybe you can prove to be useful tonight, sweetie. How long have you worked for Ranny here?”

You don’t know if you should be surprised that he’s turned his attention to you for questioning, but you do your best to keep your mind focused as you answer him. “I’ve worked for Mr. Drysdale for – oh –” God starts rubbing circles over your hipbones, applying more pressure and pushing you back against a very prominent erection “– a little over seven months.”

“Mr. Drysdale, eh?” Lloyd’s perennial smirk grows, and he tilts his head, tsking again. “You don’t have to pretend like you’re not assisting him after hours, I told you we were in the same frat, so I know what this bastard gets up to.”

Your mouth drops open a little, and Lloyd looks from you to Ransom, whose cold stare has turned into an unmistakable glare.

“Oho! So, she does only assist you professionally?” Lloyd laughs, seemingly out of genuine amusement. “You really are useless, Ranny.”

God is still relentless in touching you, exploring over and even under the clothing, one of his hands sliding down your leg to slip under your skirt to skim up your thigh, and the other stroking just under your breasts, calculated touches to evoke responses but not yet to take or give any more satisfaction.

Both strangers are demanding your attention, and you’re almost evenly divided between Lloyd’s words and God’s actions.

“She probably would’ve slept with you the first two weeks on the job, but now she’s gotta know you’re an insufferable prick.”

Would you have? You don’t think either statement is true. You were never drawn in by Ransom, and since working for him, you’ve only been focused on doing your job well, getting a good paycheck, and going home. Ransom wasn’t particularly demanding compared to other executives, and so you had only wanted him to continue to respect and rely on your assistance so he’d find you indispensable and raise your salary regularly.

God finally speaks again. “We should let the man see what he’ll never have.”

Lloyd sits back in the chair. “I’m not opposed.”

Your face burned. There was no question what he meant, and you did not want Ransom to see you on display, but Lloyd is intimidating and God is intoxicating, so you can do no more than comply as God unzips your skirt and pushes it to the floor.

Next he turns you around and works on the buttons of your shirt, in no hurry, putting your ass on display for Lloyd and Ransom while torturing you with more of the heated, intense eye contact that makes you nearly forget to breathe.

You’re only warned that Lloyd’s behind you when God looks over your shoulder, and you turn your head, but before you can fully face him, his hand has come down against your ass with enough force that you fall against God’s chest. He spanks you again, harder, and you whimper in God’s arms, your head falling against his shoulder with the sting and shock and humiliation.

Then, in another quick turn of events, Lloyd grasps the waistband of your panties with one hand, and you briefly feel the chill of metal against your skin as he slips a knife under the fabric and then slashes them away with two strokes and throws the fabric on the desk.

“Move, God, I want her up on the desk.”

God stands again, and he pulls your shirt off your shoulders as he moves away.

Lloyd could unclasp your bra, but of course Lloyd uses the knife to slice through the band.

“Drop it,” he instructs.

With a deep, steadying breath, you do as he says.

“Turn and sit up on the desk for us.”

You’ve taken hundreds of orders from this office, completing tasks you enjoyed and hated, this can be just another of those.

“Open those thighs for us all to see, sweetie.”

You close your eyes. You know what they will see, and the shame burns in your stomach.

Lloyd taps the flat part of his knife just above your knee. “Now.”

You bite your lip and look at the ground as you spread your legs. Lloyd presses the edge of the knife to the flesh of your inner thigh, forcing you to spread even wider if you don’t want him to cut into you.

Lloyd brings his knife to your chin to tilt your face up to look at him as he traces your wet folds with two fingers. The smirk is gone, replaced by a wicked grin. “Nice and slick for us.”

“God’s handiwork,” the other man is quick to note.

“Sure. A nice little sacrificial offering. Now, Ransom, since you’ve never had a taste, seems a shame not to give you a sample,” Lloyd says.

Ransom shifts and begins to stand, but Lloyd turns abruptly and points at him with the knife. “Stay there, you dumb fuck.”

Ransom sits back again.

“And don’t you dare look away.” He looks to God. “Shoot him if he does.”

God pulls a gun from behind his back that he must have had tucked into his waistband. You watch as he moves to the other side of the room and stands behind Ransom. He plants his gun at the base of Ransom’s skull, then locks eyes with you again. It’s clear he doesn’t want take his eyes off you if he’s going to have to ensure Ransom doesn’t either. Something in your chest stirs under his rapt attention.

Lloyd demands your attention again as he grips your hips and pulls you to the edge of the mahogany desk. He slaps your pussy, drawing a sharp cry from you, then drops down to delve between your thighs. He gives your clit a vicious nip, and you bit back another yelp. His tongue plunders into your cunt, licking and sucking, and your hands are moving to grasp his skull to anchor yourself, but he’s already pulling away. As he stands, he yanks you off the desk, and strides across the room, dragging you with him.

He spits directly in Ransom’s face – a combination of Lloyd’s saliva and your slick that he’s not able to do anything but let drip down his face. Your mouth is agape, truly shocked. Ransom’s entire body radiates rage and embarrassment.

“That’s all you’ll be getting from her, Drysdale.”

Then Lloyd’s shoves you to your knees, putting you on display in profile to the other men. He undoes the zipper of his pants, releasing his cock, no underwear to fuss about.

“Open up,” he demands, and you comply, unwilling to provoke this demon who clearly doesn’t play by any rules.

He slips the angry red tip of his cock into your mouth. “Be good,” he warns. You give a small nod, closing your mouth around him. With one hand, he grips your head and begins to thrust in and out of your mouth. You and gag, and your eyes close as you try to focus very hard on breathing through your nose. He’s hitting the back of your throat with each brutal thrust, and the tears spill quickly down your face.

“Eyes on me,” he grunts, and you force them open and look up at him, knowing what he wants to see. He groans in approval. “You are a pretty little trinket, prettier when you cry.”

Then he abruptly pulls you off his dick and grips you by the chin and turns your head for Ransom and God. “Fucking look at her, swollen lips, gasping for breath, desperate.”

Just as quickly he slots his dick back in your mouth, this time gripping your head with both hands and he fucks your face with abandon. Fast. Hard. Your whimpers turn into sobs, and your hands come up to brace and grasp desperately at his thighs. “You can still take it,” Lloyd growls, undeterred, and you’re powerless to stop him. The tears are not just running but flooding down your cheeks. It’s too much now, and you can’t get enough air, and vision is going black. Finally he throws you off and away from him, and turns to aim his cock at Ransom, shooting his load over his face and shoulders, letting out a hiss that turns into a hum.

You’re hunched over and you wretch – blessedly only once – bracing your hands on the floor, and you gulp and heave, lungs fraught for the necessary oxygen.

Lloyd is talking again. The voice registers, but not the words.

And there are warm hands on you again. One rubbing small circles at the base of your spine, the other pushing your hair out of your face and coaxing you to look up at him.

With enough soothing, God has you breathing evenly again, and you’re still crying a little, but he helps you up onto the couch and sits next to you, very close, and he tucks a hand under your chin and lifts your face up, then he licks your left cheek, then the right, lapping up the tears. You hiccup, not sure how to react. Then he merely strokes your cheek, and the fingers trail down your neck, down your chest, down, down…

“Boring,” Lloyd announces.

You look up at him for a moment, but then God’s questing fingers reach the point he really wants to concentrate his might on, plunging into your wet cunt, and your eyes flutter closed.

“I’m eager to be done here,” Lloyd continues while God continues pumping his digits in and out of you. “We don’t need any more dumbasses showing up for this fool.”

“Agreed,” God says, casually as if he’s not beginning to pull you apart softly but surely. “You take him. I’ll keep her. There’s room for her in the trunk next to the cargo.”

“Fine, I wasn’t fussed about the goods anyway, I only took this job for the satisfaction of humiliating Drysdale, and that’s already exceeded my expectations. I’m sure Barnes and Rogers will give you enough for the recovered inventory even without him, and I’ll do you a solid and not mention the little side piece you’ll be keeping for yourself.”

God moves you off the couch, coaxing you to lean over the coffee table and kneels behind you. “Good.”

You moan as God slowly pushes his hard length inside your cunt.

There’s a thud next to you, and you turn to see a pile of Ransom hit the floor a few feet away.

“I assume you’ve got a way to move this man through down in that passage?” Lloyd asks, dragging the unconscious figure across the floor by his feet.

“Mhmm,” he responds, more intent on the movement of his hips against yours, slowly pistonning in and out of your tight heat.

“Good. This was fun enough, but let’s not do this again.”

God pulls your head up roughly to look at Lloyd just as he’s about to drop into the floor. “Say goodbye to Lloyd, Angel.”

You’re barely able to make the, “Bye,” tumble out of your lips, you’re so full of this man behind you, and his sudden roughness taking you by surprise.

Lloyd chuckles, then disappears.

God lets you drop back down, leaning on your elbows.

“I thought he’d never stop talking,” God murmurs.

It’s bitter, but a laugh actually falls from your lips, but you still can’t form words.

“There’s other things I’d rather do with you around than talk.”

He adjusts his angle from behind you. It allows him to plunge more of his cock into your slick channel, and you groan, but then after only a few thrusts, he pauses, balls deep inside you.

“You took what he gave you, but I think you don’t want me to stop, do you?”

You’re breathless. You can’t speak. You don’t want to speak?

He places his right hand, palm flat, at the base of your spine and presses it slowly up your back, his middle finger trailing up the ridge of your vertebrae, and you can feel the metal of his ring draw a line along your skin.

“You were very good.”

He rocks his hips against you, and you whimper.

“I said I would make you mine if you were good.”

Another rocking. He moves his hand from the nape of your neck around to grip it fully, and he pulls you back up against his chest, and you’re gasping for air for a moment, both hands coming up to clutch at his arm.

He lowers his voice and delivers his next words right into your ear. “You want to be mine, don’t you?”

Your pussy clenches around him, and he presses a kiss against your throat, and you feel the smile of his lips against your skin.

His other hand moves down across your hip, to your vee, and his deft fingers stroke your throbbing clit. He doesn’t move his cock, but he does move those fingers expertly, drawing tight little circles that wind you up to the top until you’re flung off the edge and into pure pleasure.

Coming down from your first orgasm, you sink against him. As your breathing returns to normal, the hand on your neck remains like an anchor, but his other hand moves up to tilt your chin to the side and up to meet his lips. The kiss claims you, and you part your lips for him, just as you’ve parted your legs for him – willingly.

“That was one, but I want a trinity to secure your devotion here tonight. I’m going to fuck you dumb, dress you, and then you’re going to walk out of here like a sweet little angel and get in my car. Then I’ll let you choose. You can sit up front and keep my cock warm or you can crawl in the back of the trunk. Your choice.”

How are we?

I'm ruined.

Restore my health with your lovely reblogs, commentary, comments...

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

[jo-harrington]

Become What You Were Meant To Be (Eddie Munson)

Word Count: 2.4k

Themes/Warnings: Modern!Eddie, Older!Eddie, set in the mid-2010s, fandom lingo, nerd lingo, Star Wars, typical childhood bullying, angst, minor FOI reference, some canon divergence, coming of age themes, probably poorly written and not edited at all

Note: Happy Birthday to one of the backbones of this fandom, who supports and encourages so many of us, whose endless friendship I am so grateful for. Someone who has absolute endless creativity but doesn't give herself enough credit and grace, who is secretly sitting in the background pulling the strings on some of the best stories I've read and I've written. My muse, my life, my world, my cheeseburger. @fracturedarkness

Thanks to @dr-aculaaa for the beta.

You can find my masterlist here.

Please do not interact if you are not 18+.

Enjoy!

---

Eddie Munson was a nerd.

Point blank, end of story.

It was one of those badges he wore along with Freak and loser and...well, you get the gist of it. But it was a badge worn with pride. He owned his identity. Wasn't afraid to show everyone he came across who he was.

It hadn't always been that way.

There used to be a time when it felt like the worst thing in the world to be a nerd like that. The kids bullied him because he got overly excited talking about his favorite characters and favorite books that they found boring. They all teased him when he wrote stories about exciting heroes from fantastical worlds in English class, even though the teacher told him that his stories were ambitious and imaginative. And when he spent lunch doodling in his notebook instead of playing kickball or foursquare? Well, you get the point.

"You're so weird." They mocked him. "You're a freak. Draw normal things. Like normal things. Why can't you just be normal?"

It was cruel, in the way that children naively become perpetrators of cruelness. And it made Eddie sad.

Because what did that mean? He couldn't draw normal things, or like normal things, or do normal things. Then he wouldn't be himself anymore.

And that was the point where he decided normal was overrated. Why would he want to be normal when he could be...anything else.

He could pretend he was one of the Pevensies upon a throne at Cair Paravel. Or one of the Ghostbusters. Or a Jedi...

Of course, he couldn't actually be anything else; he was stuck being boring, old, nerdy Eddie Munson.

It wasn't until middle school--you know, middle school, when everyone decides to embrace who they are and become an individual--that he decided being Eddie Munson wasn't all that bad after all.

This epiphany definitely didn't happen after a Hot Topic opened up at StarCourt Mall. No sir. Not when one of the older kids that worked there, sporting armfuls of tattoos and a lip ring, told him the pen drawings on the toe caps of his sneakers were cool. Of course not. And not after he used the last bit of his birthday money to buy a cool band t-shirt and colored hair gel. Pssshhh...

So on the first day of 8th grade, he showed up rocking his dad's old leather jacket--the one that practically swallowed him--jeans that he ripped himself and a poor excuse for a mohawk, ready to accept the Freak label proudly.

He also accepted detention for breaking the dress code.

And a grounding from Wayne for cutting up a nice pair of jeans.

And a buzzcut because he'd done that poor of a job of cutting his hair for that mohawk.

But he'd gained a friend.

Several friends actually.

Ronnie Ecker and Doug Teague. They were both in the same grade as him, and shared many classes. And it might have been a little embarrassing, but a sixth grader named Jeff who told Eddie that he was his hero. That made Eddie feel like he was on top of the world!

They were friends that stayed with him all through high school, and when he repeated his senior year twice, even more joined the mix along the way.

Band kids and science fair nerds and...and...and...

He called them his sheepies, and he their shepherd clad in black band tees and ripped jeans.

And Eddie?

Eddie just got nerdier.

Got weirder.

Dug himself deeper into the pit of stark individualism that the close-minded town of Hawkins didn't know how to react to.

It was glorious.

He listened to music that made other kids cringe and turn away and neighbors complain about the noise; he liked it so much that he made his friends start a band with him. They played at every single school talent show until they graduated; they never won and sometimes people tried to plug their ears, but to Eddie and his friend, their sound and that stage was exactly what their hearts yearned for. To them, the auditorium might as well have been Madison Square Garden.

He started playing Dungeons and Dragons--started a club of his own design, Hellfire--when he found the guidebooks on a dusty shelf at the library. They were seemingly untouched since their initial publication in the 70s, but they were like a key that unlocked something inside of Eddie. Something that he seemed to have forgotten along the way of reclaiming the name "Freak."

Through DnD, the imaginary worlds that he left behind early in his adolescence opened their doors to him once again.

And his friends, his players, never made fun of him for knowing the ins and outs of the worlds of their fantasies. Worlds like Greyhawk and Faerûn.

Worlds like a certain galaxy far...far away...

---

Eddie's re-entrance into the world of Star Wars had been...an interesting one to say the least.

To Eddie, Star Wars meant the original trilogy. Cut, print, sign the check.

When he thought of Jedi, he thought of Luke Skywalker and Alec Guinness as Obi-Wan and a puppet Yoda. And of course he thought of the dreaded Darth Vader.

Yeah he had his books from the library, a whole extended universe with Mara Jade and Jacen and Jaina. But he'd missed out on the prequels growing up; from being a little too young to see them in theaters, to the whole fiasco of his mother's passing right before Revenge of the Sith had premiered.

As he got older, the need to see them just wasn't there, and hearing from friends and enemies alike that it wasn't anything to write home about was the nail in the coffin.

Until he met one Dustin Henderson.

It was the Jar Jar Binks t-shirt he wore on the first day of his freshman year that got Eddie's attention.

"What is that?" he flicked a finger against the graphic as he ran into Dustin and his friends in the lunch line. "Something from that new Star Trek movie?"

Cue a whole rant about the Gungans and the Separatists and an inter-galactic conflict that made Eddie happily fold Dustin and his band of nerds into the protection of the Hellfire Club.

Eddie still refused to watch the prequels, no matter how much Dustin begged.

"I like it when you guys talk about them," Eddie shrugged off the pleas. "Even better when you guys act out the whole fight between Anakin and Obi-Wan. I'd sell my left nut to relive seeing you and Lucas do that in Wheelers basement; it was the best day of my life Henderson, I swear to god. There's no way the movies could actually beat that."

He hasn’t expected that those little idiots would trick him into a movie marathon for Lucas's birthday.

Even Gareth was in on the whole plan. Traitor.

But it was the beginning of the end.

From the movies to the books to the cartoons, Eddie's love of Star Wars was rekindled. He even spent a short stint as a gamer playing The Old Republic on the old PC that was tucked into the corner of the trailer.

And when a new movie was announced, Eddie happily took his nerd-dom to the next level.

Yes, he was the one to suggest they all dress up for the midnight showing of The Force Awakens, but if anyone asked it was Mike.

He spent hours on a stupid Boba Fett costume. It was a different set of skills to the mini-figures he was used to crafting for DnD. He had to think on a different scale. Hot glue and spray paint and too much cardboard. Only to find real cosplayers used foam, not cardboard. His paychecks from Thatcher Tires went straight to the project, until he had something halfway decent for the premiere.

"What?" he laughed along with his friends when they joked about the hot glue spiderwebs that he'd been too lazy to clean up. "It's not like I'll have to do this again; we're not dressing up next time."

Or so he thought...

There was something so magical about sitting in a movie theater, in the middle of December, at midnight, surrounded by other people who decided to dress up for the occasion, and a few dozen plastic lightsabers all lit up.

To listen to the theme, to read the crawl on a big screen, to see the camera pan down into the vastness of stars...

This was what it was to be a nerd.

There was something extra special about finding a new favorite character. Something that touched something deep down inside of you when you saw something of yourself in them.

And Eddie had always been drawn to the villains. Whether in the media he consumed or the characters he created for DnD. He knew why; he wasn't totally oblivious. To be the hero of his own story, he often had to become a villain to someone else.

Besides, villains always had a little bit more fun.

So when Kylo Ren first made his way on screen, Eddie knew that he was done for.

The mask, the lightsaber, the Dark Side of the Force, the anger...how many times had he almost given in to the anger he felt at being mocked and teased. He'd overcome that time and again; what if he'd just given in?

There was also something about being Al Munson Han Solo's son.

Yeah. He could understand the anger there.

But then he was also Elizabeth Leia's son...the conflict.

It took Eddie a few days to get over the initial flurry of thoughts after seeing Force Awakens for the first time. That was when he realized he needed to see it again. And again. A matinee showing on Christmas Eve with Wayne, who he also treated to lunch. The last showing on a Thursday in January. Another outing with the guys, refusing to admit that he'd already seen it a few times between opening night and then.

Thankfully, this time, Mike was the mastermind behind their plans for the next movie as they waited for the previews to finish.

"So," Mike sat up straight. "I think I wanna get an early dibs on dressing up like Poe when Episode 8 comes out."

"I think I wanna try my hand at making an Admiral Ackbar costume," Dustin said with utter confidence, and then turned to Eddie. "What about you?"

It caught Eddie off-guard for a second; should he just say Kylo? Did they expect him to want to dress up as anyone else? Maybe they thought that he would want to be Poe, leader of their misfit group as he was.

"Eddie's obviously Kylo," Jeff piped up. Eddie's head immediately turned to him. "What? Don't think we didn't watch you drool over that lightsaber last time."

"And his ship?" Gareth cackled one seat over. "Fuck the Falcon. I swear, if you could turn the van into something that looked like that ship..."

"Oh my god, you're right!" Lucas cackled.

"Hey I think I could figure out a pretty convincing Snoke," Eddie argued, trying to deflect their teasing, but secretly pleased that he'd gotten exactly what he wanted.

And that his friends knew him so well.

---

For two years, Eddie worked on his costume.

Two. Years.

He was practically a different person by the time of the Last Jedi's opening night.

And yeah his motivation faltered, but he never quit.

It was strange, the need to perfect the costume. He’d almost given up many times. When there was a certain skill he wasn't good at or when he'd felt like it would never be finished. Every time, he felt like that silly kid who everyone just told to be normal. To like normal things.

He was growing up. He was a grown up! Shouldn’t he be passed all of this…silliness? Everyone else in the world seemed to think so, as they put away all the frivolities of childhood. Were they working round the clock and pricking their fingers on needles and burning themselves with hot glue?

Probably not.

Eddie found himself still stuck there, watching a world lose its joy and think that it was normal, and he always wondered if he should try to be normal too. For once in his life. The first time in his life.

But every time he thought about letting it all go, about putting his dream aside...something would come and drive him to keep going.

New promotional images, a new trailer. Especially the ones focused on Kylo himself.

"Let the past die," Kylo Ren grumbled in the voice over. "Kill it if you have to."

That became Eddie's driving force.

He owed it to himself to finish. He owed it to his younger self...not to let his dream die...to keep being weird and nerdy and happy.

"Let the past die," Eddie told himself as he stitched the hem of the tunic the week before opening night.

"Kill it if you have to," he said as he distressed the plastic helmet that he'd ordered, giving it the right amount of realism so it didn't just look like something so fake and commercial.

"Let the past die," his child self muttered, front teeth missing from the day Johnny B pushed him over on the playground because he was playing superheroes wrong. Eddie put a hand on his head and then stepped into his boots.

"Kill it if you have to," his preteen self urged him, self-assured, mohawk looking stupider than he realized way back when. Eddie flicked his ear good-naturedly before adjusting the cape on his shoulders.

There he stood--Eddie Munson, the young man, the freak, the nerd--in his bedroom before the mirror. He was adorned in pieces of foam and layers of fabric from the craft store, helmet tucked under his arm.

But in the mirror itself? There was Kylo Ren...there he was as Kylo Ren. In the hallway of a Star Destroyer, layered in armor and the shadows of the Dark Side itself, like he was ready for a battle with the Resistance.

Ready for the battle within himself.

But there was no battle, and the armor was actually Eddie's skin. This was his real self, his true self. All of his work came to fruition, all of the time and effort that he put into the craft. Not just two years working on a costume, but an entire lifetime poured into becoming an Eddie Munson who proudly wore the title nerd and freak and loser.

The destroyer melted away, and he was back in his bedroom once again. Surrounded by posters and books and drawings, by all of his crafts and his guitars and his endless clutter.

He smiled at himself, feeling lighter than he had in a long time.

Eddie Munson was a nerd, and as he lit the lightsaber and he was washed in a glow of crackling red light, he knew that this was who he was always meant to be.

[theshinazugawaslut]

Sanemi knows how to sew.

The fact is surprising to you as you sit beside him in the Butterfly Mansion - both of you injured from your last mission together, bandages across every inch of you, but the throbbing of your wounds seemingly dulls as you watch the man in front of you.

You had sighed loudly when you had been given back your haori and had whined aloud that your sleeve was ripped at the seams.

Sanemi had been uncharacteristically gentle as he took your haori off of you.

And now, you were watching the man's rough hands deftly sewing your haori together for you, usually bloodshot eyes now gentle and focused on the task at hand.

When he catches you staring, he says quietly, "I grew up poor... I didn't want my mum to fuss over buying the seven of us clothes, so I used to sew them back together or sew new ones from any old fabric i could find..."

And your eyes soften.

You can imagine Sanemi as a little boy, nimble fingers sewing his brothers or sisters a new kimono from old, tattered fabric bought for too cheap at some shabby stall.

"You're not bad," you muse. "Not bad at all."

Your shimmering eyes continue to stare at the man who keeps his head down and sews away.

"Can you cook?" you ask him suddenly.

He looks up and gives a small nod. "Mum was always working so I used to cook for my siblings..." he says gruffly.

It's a sensitive topic, you can tell, and so you decide to change the subject.

"...Do you have a favourite book? A favourite poem?" you ask, and you think it's a brilliant question, truly, there's no way that question could make him feel bad.

"I can't read or write... very well," he mutters but hes not scowling; he seems to trust you with such information. "I'm not the best at it since I only learned the basics as a kid, and then a bit more when I joined the Corps... I grew up in a place where reading and writing wasn't really essential to survival but..."

"Oh, I could read some stories out to you one day," you offer on the whim and he looks up at you. "And if you ever want me to, I could help you improve your writing."

His lilac eyes stare at you for some time until they crinkle up as he smiles. "Aye, that'd be nice."

[talesofesther]

sweet calamity | ch 6

Wednesday Addams x Reader

Series Summary: It was something people described as the sweetest pain, the feeling of when the soul that’s destined to find yours is closer to you. Wednesday saw it as a curse, promised herself she would hate whoever was chosen for her; but it’s easier said than done.

A/N: Enid loves playing matchmaker, even if she's not the best at it. Things are progressing interestingly. <3

Masterlist | Read ch 5 here

Wednesday is considering ripping her own heart out.

There's a Poinsettia in a pot in front of you. The incompetent botany teacher asked you to make it bloom, just so she could show everyone where the toxins come from and how they can be used.

You're two tables to the front, sitting beside Xavier while Wednesday has a staring contest with the back of your head.

She wants to rip out her heart and have a very serious talk with it, because it appears to be noticing your absence and making it her problem too. How tragic.

You wanted space and Wednesday gave it to you, she just wasn't anticipating that it would affect her this much.

"I can't decide if you have a crush on her or if you're planning her murder." Enid mused from beside the Addams girl, her chin propped up in her hand.

"The latter." Wednesday deadpanned.

Enid hummed, her eyes slowly moving from you to Wednesday, "you know I'd appreciate it if you didn't murder my friends though."

Wednesday kept quiet, in her hands she was picking apart a poor jasmine flower, its petals being discarded on top of her open notebook.

You'd be mad if you saw her do it.

Wednesday's eyebrows scrunched together in a frown. Why is she thinking about that?

"I haven't seen you two speaking these last couple of days," Enid tried to sound nonchalant, "did something happen?"

For a moment, Wednesday considered saying something, her old therapist did tell her it was healthy to talk about her emotions.

Yet she settled for; "nothing happened."

Enid rolled her eyes, she could see right through Wednesday's little lie because it wasn't the first nor the second time that she has caught her friend making heart eyes at you.

In fencing class, Wednesday keeps her eyes on you like a hawk stalking its prey.

If you're walking around the cafeteria with Andrew, Wednesday is crushing her soda can as if it personally offended her.

Whenever you're out working in the gardens, Wednesday is making up excuses to go check the bees outside.

Enid has never seen her best friend this taken with someone, and part of her thinks not even Wednesday has fully realized it yet. So, being the good friend she is, Enid has made up a plan to help her out.

"Wednesday," the werewolf said her friend's name in a singsong voice, scooting closer so she could lay her head on Wednesday's shoulder.

The raven-haired girl huffed, "Enid, your death wish is showing."

The empty threat was ignored with a grin, "me and the girls are going shopping for the Rave'n tomorrow, and since you're my bestie, I would really like you to tag along."

"While I appreciate your attempt at torture," Wednesday side-eyed her friend, "I'd rather dump my eyeballs in acid than spend an afternoon picking dresses for a frivolous party."

Enid picked at her colorful nails mindlessly. "Our resident flower girl is coming with us too," she said quietly, but her wolfish smirk was unmistakable.

Wednesday tensed, crushing in her hands the last bits of the jasmine flower she was still holding. Damn you, damn you, damn you.

"Fine," she said through gritted teeth, "if you insist this much."

———

You're sitting on one of the benches just outside Nevermore, waiting for Enid so you can all leave for town together.

The sun's warmth isn't doing much nowadays, there's a permanent coldness to the air. You tightened your scarf around your neck, partly wishing you'd put on gloves as well before leaving.

Chatter reached your ears and you turned your head to see Enid coming to you, there was a bounce on her step and a contagious smile on her lips; Divina and Yoko walk beside her, holding hands.

"I hope you're ready for the best girl's trip ever," the werewolf exclaimed as she stopped in front of you, clasping her hands together.

"So much that I couldn't even sleep last night," you smiled back.

"Perfect," Enid's cheeks were pink from the cold, they shaped her smile adorably as she took hold of Yoko's arm, "we should hurry, the trolley is leaving, like, really soon."

Enid hurried towards the station, tugging Yoko with her and consequently Divina; their absence revealed Wednesday's presence.

You flinched when your eyes met her dark ones, your breathing getting momentarily stuck. You had not been expecting her to tag along at all.

"Uh hi," you stumbled out.

"Hello," she raised her chin in a way you're familiar with, her hands gripping the edge of her hoodie.

"I didn't know you were coming," you said awkwardly, not knowing what else you could possibly say.

You thought you saw Wednesday's posture deflate a little. She slowly blinked once, her gaze roaming over your features; "Enid has been begging me incessantly, she'd be devastated if I didn't come today."

You shifted your stance and glanced away from her, pursing your lips with a nod, "I see."

A beat passed, you could hear the wind, feel the cold of it on your bare hands. You really wished you had gloves on.

"You're not happy I'm here." Wednesday breathed. It was a statement, not a question.

You looked up at her, really looked, for the first time in forever, it feels. The black beanie she wore pushed her bangs down, she has to move the hair aside otherwise it'll cover her eyes; it was longer than it was the day you first met her. Her nose and the tip of her ears have a soft, barely there shade of pink to them, because of the cold or something else, you don't know. The outlines of her eyes and lips aren't as sharp as they used to be. It's different. She's different.

"Why do you say that?" You asked gently, because maybe gentle is what she needs right now.

"You wanted space. It's clear you don't enjoy my company anymore," Wednesday gulped, "and I'm breaking our agreement."

You shook your head softly, "it's not like I hate you, Wednesday."

Wednesday's lips parted, and she felt like a fawn in the middle of the road, paralyzed by the blinding lights of a speeding truck.

Your words cut deep. They shouldn't. But they do.

You raised an eyebrow at her, there's a smile playing on your lips but it doesn't hold much happiness; "I actually wanted space for the exact opposite reason."

Stop it. Wednesday wanted to say, words tangled in a lump in her throat. Please, stop making me feel-

"Guys, come on," Enid's voice captured both of your attentions, "we're gonna miss our ride."

—

It was the stuff of nightmares. No, worse. Not even in her worst nightmares, did Wednesday witness this.

She was drowning in a sea of satin. There was silk and velvet there too; overflowing pastel pink, baby blue, and luxurious white.

The store had endless rows of dresses to nauseate the Addams girl. The dark color of her attire stood out like a sore thumb in the middle of the fancy room.

Enid hurried in front of her, clutching close to her chest the dress she had chosen, "what about this one?"

"Disgraceful, just like the other six," Wednesday grunted.

"It's perfect, Enid," you were quick to interject, "you should definitely try it on."

The werewolf glared at Wednesday and gave you a thankful smile, before skipping over to the dressing room.

Wednesday crossed her arms over her chest, leaning back against the cream-colored wall to her right so she could lock eyes on you. "Aren't you gonna dive into this meaningless shopping as well?" She inquired.

You could see Yoko and Divina on the other side of the store, the vampire holding two dresses for her girl as she followed her around. It made you smile. You turned to look at Wednesday, biting on the inside of your cheek; "aren't you?"

"I'm not going," Wednesday said as if it was obvious, "even if I was, I already have an outfit. One is enough."

You're not sure why you felt a little disappointed by knowing she wouldn't be there. But you nodded anyway, turning your back to Wednesday so you could browse through the rack of dresses behind you. "No," you said to answer her previous question, "I actually already have my outfit for the party too."

There was a beat of silence, you could feel Wednesday's stare boring into your back.

"Who's taking you?" She asked then even though she knows the answer, telling herself she was just making conversation.

"Andrew," was your answer, taking a single glance behind to her.

The name makes Wednesday clench her jaw, "he's dull."

"He's nice to me," you said then, raising your eyebrows at her tone.

"He'll get you ashamed at some point, you can do better," she shrugged.

"He's my friend, Wednesday." You told her with a little more bite to your tone.

"You should tell him that." Wednesday's voice would always be harder than yours.

You chuckled, mumbling an okay.

Wednesday rolled her eyes. She doesn't care who you go with anyway. "Why are you here if you're not buying anything?"

"Same reason as you."

Wednesday tensed, getting ahead of herself and giving her own meaning to your words. She took a breath and held it in her lungs.

"Enid was very insistent I joined her," you explained further without looking at her, brushing your fingertips over the floral pattern of a dress. This one was indeed dreadful.

Wednesday released the air that was trapped.

You shrugged and turned back around, carefully closing the distance between you and her. The back of your head rests against the wall, your shoulder short of brushing Wednesday's.

"Honestly, I just wanted an excuse to get out a little."

Wednesday hummed, her fingers subconsciously tapping the mark on her wrist. "Maybe we should just leave then, let them lose their time trying out these obnoxious clothes while we do something actually entertaining," She suggested, a smile threatening to show on her lips.

You look at her with a grin of your own, eyes glinting with adoration at the suggestion, at her. "That would be thrilling wouldn't it?" You indulge her fantasy.

"They wouldn't know what happened, or where to possibly start searching," Wednesday met your gaze with her own, hyper-aware of how close you were; she could feel your warmth, count the specks of color in your eyes.

"Maybe even assume the worst," you said in a breath, eyes lazy as they focused on the burgundy lines of Wednesday's lips and then back on the mischief swimming in her gaze.

To Wednesday, every minute with you was torture. Sweet, blissful torture as you dangled something in front of her. Something she saw as unattainable. She saw herself captured in a haze, unaware that she was shifting closer, closer.

"You said I can do better," you hushed, so quiet you doubt she'd listen if she wasn't this close but you were afraid to break the spell of the moment. Your lips hovered before you kept going, "who's better?"

Wednesday felt the shape of your words with each breath you took, raising goosebumps on the back of her neck.

No one is good enough. Wednesday decided.

No one, except-

"I loved it!" Came Enid's sudden animated voice, successfully breaking the bubble you had created around each other.

It was like a slap to the face when Wednesday realized the position she found herself in. She had been totally taken by you, forgetting any and all types of rational thinking.

She blinked several times, running her tongue over her bottom lip because her mouth was suddenly dry.

What just happened?

When you awkwardly cleared your throat and kept your gaze on your sneakers, Wednesday knew it had been the same for you.

"Oh," Enid looked between both of you back and forth, "did I just interrupt something?"

You groaned, feeling heat creeping up on your neck and to your cheeks.

"Nothing to interrupt," Wednesday snapped, pushing herself away from the wall and briskly walking to the kid's section of the store.

You figured she just wanted to get away. You can't blame her.

Enid was exasperated. She slung her chosen dress over her shoulder, placing both hands on her waist, "okay, I am done with you two. What is going on?"

You pouted, sliding yourself down against the wall until your butt hit the cold floor. "It's really complicated, Enid."

"Yeah, no shit," the werewolf started, "I can see that, but-" she cut herself off when realization hit her. You saw it in the way she lit up like a Christmas tree, mouth hung open with the beginnings of a smile. You cursed under your breath.

"Wait," Enid breathed, having trouble containing her excitement, "ARE YOU THE-"

"Enid!"

She crouched down to your level after the halfhearted glare you gave her. "You are, aren't you? You're Wednesday's soulmate." She squealed, her hands clutching at her dress.

You leaned your head back against the wall, closing your eyes and that was answer enough for her.

"I knew it, I knew there was something going on between you."

"Enid, no," you reached forward and took one of her hands in your own, "there's nothing going on between us and please, keep it down."

Enid shook her head as if you were speaking a foreign language, "but this is the best thing, I mean, you've found each other, you found your-"

"You know as best as I do who we're talking about here." You insisted, your chest tightening with each word, "it's a delicate situation so please, keep it down. Don't tell it to anyone else, okay?"

That seemed to bring Enid back from her high, she sighed, holding your hand between both of her own, "no, you don't get it. She likes you."

You closed your eyes, "Enid…"

"I've never seen Wednesday act like this with anyone else before, okay?" She pressed, "and I've known her longer than you," she teased, raising a brow at you.

You want to believe her, you really do. But you don't allow yourself to. Her hands are warm against your cold ones, the blonde of her hair is getting a little blurred in your sight.

"Then I hope you're right," you smiled.

She squeezed your hands and got up, pulling you with her, "come on, get up, you look like a lost child."

After locating Wednesday and saving her from a chatty five-year-old, Enid wanted everyone to stop at the Weathervane for some coffee.

It was a nice, cloudy day outside so the prospect of a hot beverage was welcomed; you felt all warm and fuzzy on the insides, both from your drink and from sitting in a booth surrounded by friends who enjoyed your company.

Of course, Enid made sure that you and Wednesday sat side by side, your shoulder brushing hers each time you raised the mug to your lips.

Wednesday kept quiet most of the time, her eyes focused on the window beside her, watching as the people walked by on Jericho's streets; sometimes, she'd lean her weight just a tad more against you, personal space being a forgotten concept.

Maybe it was because there was little room on the booth, or maybe Enid's idea of Wednesday actually liking you wasn't too farfetched.

⋆* ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ

Read ch 7 here

Thank you for reading this little story. Feedback and reblogs are literally what keep me motivated to continue posting here, so I'd appreciate it if you could take some time to reblog and comment if you want. <3

Wednesday’s taglist: @milkiane @bookfrog242 @heelaechan @imagine-reblog @simp4wanda26 @sakurarukas @bluetreecloud20 @the-night-owl-blr @imlike-so-gaydude @user284747 @dreifhraniquo29 @emeraldevan @simp4nat @boobabietch @impossibleliv1031 @deadpool-in-a-snood @rainbow-love4ever @maria-403 @pompompuri @halleest @wandaromanova @marveloussimp @rainbow-hedgehog @left-and-right-up-and-down @get-the-fuck-outta-here @awolfcsworld @elduster @alexkolax @georgi-salva @imdumbhi @youralphawolf72 @reginassweetheart @justyourwritter69 @yangsroboarmm @8e-h-e8 @irish-piece-of-trash @femalehomosexual666 @thenextdawn @trishatheotaku

[angel-of-the-moons]

A Rose Under The Moon

Moon Knight System (Marc/Steven/Jake) x Fem!Reader

TW/CW: None really, chit-chat between some gal pals, some implied bi/pan reader.

A/N: Never fear, best gal Layla is here! Also the Hippo-Mama!

And I totes recommend reading the Hobby Headcanons that @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction wrote on the boys! I plan on implementing them all! (Also read all their other things, their Nathan Bateman shit is *insert Paccha meme here*) I need to read up on American football because frankly I have no clue how sports worked since I played soccer and baseball as a kid, before I write about Marc's lest I sound like some plebeian who's guessing everything lmao

Taglist: @bad4amficideas @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction @shirukitsune @lokisremainingsanity

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Chapter 5:

Old Friends

You were minding your own business, cleaning up the mess of tossed books that a couple was oh so kind enough to allow their child to scatter.

You hoped you'd never see them again. While they sat at the nook, sipping coffee and eating the muffins, their child was running around, causing havoc and destroying your beautiful, well-organized shop. Oh, your poor shop…

The couple weren't happy when you charged them for the books their son had ripped up and destroyed beyond salvage, the books he colored in.

Yeah, you really hoped they would never come back.

You looked at your burned hand with a frown. It had been a few days since you hurt yourself, and while painful, the burn wasn't actually that bad. Some aloe, some ice… And it started to clear up after the first day, the blisters receding quickly. You flexed your fingers and tilted your head, curiously wondering if your soulmate could feel the burns, as well. When the thought crossed your mind, you pulled up your sleeve and looked at the mark on your wrist, checking to see which moon would be full today.

The bottom right one. It had been that one a lot, lately.

The bell to the front door dinged, and you straightened up, mentally preparing yourself for the forced smile you were going to have to put on, now.

You cleared your throat and spun around, broom in hand, looking at the woman who just walked in.

She was beautiful. Her tanned skin complimenting her dark eyes and mass of wavy curls. She smiled at you, a bit more genuine.

"Oh! Hello, welcome to Here Today Books." You say politely. "Can I help you?"

"You look like you need it more, sister." She sighed, smiling sympathetically, nodding to the pile of ruined books you now had to put into recycling. Her accent was… it wasn't American, like yours. It sounded similar, but her words had some kind of twinge to them.

"Ah, yeah… a couple and their lovely child were my most recent patrons." You joke dryly.

"Ah, a little tornado, huh?" She snorted, shaking her head.

"Yep. For sure." You sigh, giving her a new, more genuine smile. "Now, were you looking for anything in particular today?"

"Oh, actually, a friend told me about this place, and I was curious." She mused.

That… took you by surprise. People actually talk about your store? Like, as in tell other people about it? This was news, for sure.

"O-oh?" You blink.

"Yeah, he said you made good muffins and tea. I'm more of a coffee fan in the morning, myself, though. Tea is more of a night thing." She chuckled.

You tilt your head at her, gears in your brain whirling.

"Are you friends with Steven Grant, by any chance?" You ask.

She laughs. "Yes! I'm Layla. Layla el Faouly." She holds out her hand for you to shake, and you, without thinking, extend your healing hand.

She shakes it gingerly, her eyes focused on the rosy skin like it was the most interesting thing in the world.

"That… looks like it hurt." She said.

"Oh, this? I was just dumb and grabbed a hot pan without thinking." You said, examining your hand casually.

"Oh… Yeah, that's not good for you, y'know?" Layla joked softly.

"Yeah, not the worst pains I've ever had, trust me." You reply. "Now, uh… are you looking for a book? Or after some of the coffee? Or my muffins?"

"Oh! I think I'll just explore a bit, if that's all right with you." Layla said with a nod.

"Oh, I don't mind! If you need anything, just holler!" You wave at her as she disappears into the shelves.

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"You saw it?" Layla muttered softly to herself; or more accurately, to the giant hippo-woman clad in gold and jewels standing next to her, only visible to her eyes.

"Yes, yes I did. Didn't Marc mention that he had phantom pains in that same hand?" Taweret chuckled.

"Yeah. I mean… It could be coincidence, but…"

"You should talk to her. The poor dear looks dreadfully lonely." Taweret sighed, looking even more gargantuan as she peers at the contents of the shelves pressing down around her, her cute little ears flickering back and forth.

She picked up a book on psychology, finding it suddenly terribly interesting, her eyes widening as she scans the pages faster than a human ever could.

"I will. If we're right about our assumption, then, maybe we can… I don't know…"

"Play matchmaker?" Taweret giggles.

Layla softly smiles, not paying attention to the open book in her hands as she chuckles.

"Yeah. We can play matchmaker."

"Oh, let's just see how this plays out first, m'love?" The goddess giggled.

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Layla wanders to the front of the store, two hardback romance novels in her hands and you smile as you restock some old sci-fi novels into your discount rack.

They were the kind of romance novels with the covers reminiscent of oil paintings, the pretty ones. Not the stupid photoshopped ones that are being printed nowadays.

"Find something you like?" You chuckle.

She waves the books with a wide grin, "I've actually been looking for these copies for ages. At one of the places I was working, some jerk stole them from my locker."

"Oh gods, that is horrible!" You gasp. Why would anyone steal books?! At most, those particular novels, even new, only went for a few pounds!

"I know, right! They were autographed and everything!" Layla groaned.

You felt even more offended on her behalf. If those books were autographed and authentic, they would go for actually a decent sum for a collector online...

"That's even worse than just stealing a regular copy!" You clucked.

Layla wiggled the books in her hands. "But, hey! You have hardback copies, and in very good condition. Mine were old, beat up paperbacks!"

"Well, I'm more than happy that you found them!" You grinned widely.

Layla tilted her head to the left slightly, like she had heard something from behind her, and then she looked right at you, eyeing you up and down briefly, as if she were thinking.

You quirked an eyebrow at her in concern.

"Is everything all right?" You ask.

"Hm? Oh! Yes, yes I'm okay! I just have this... thing. The ringing in my ears?" She coughs, abashed.

"Oh! You have tinnitus? I have a booklet or two on medical things that might have something in it for you if you'd like." You chirp helpfully.

Layla put her hand up, chuckling as she declined politely. "Thank you, but no, I'll be okay. It's not constant or anything like that, it's just that I got off a plane the other day and my ears popped and haven't righted themselves yet.."

"Ooooh..." You nod in understanding. "Where'd you fly in from, if you don't mind my asking?"

She smiled. "Cairo."

"That's the accent!" You gasp in realization, pointing at her.

Layla laughed when you blushed and apologized for the outburst.

"It's fine, and yes! How'd you guess?"

"I used to have an exchange student, he would come in here and buy books for his college courses all the time! He was born and raised just outside Cairo." You chuckle.

"Ohh! Interesting." Layla hummed, looking at the books in her hands.

"Hm... you mentioned you had a menu of sorts?"

"Sure!" You lead her over to one of the nooks, and hand her the laminated mini menu you had available.

Her eyebrows raised, impressed at the various items you had available.

"Oh! This is actually nice..."

"Yep! Most of it is made to order by me, so some of it'll take a bit to bake." You grin proudly.

"Oh... well in that case, is it okay if I ask you to keep me some company? If you're not busy? I don't actually have too many friends other than Steven and his... er, brothers and my... uhhh... surrogate mom, so being able to have another woman to chit-chat with would be very welcome..."

To say you were surprised at the offer was an understatement.

"Oh! Uh, sure! I don't... I don't mind!"

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You and Layla clicked very well. You had similar tastes in things like reality TV, romance novels, even skincare routines.

But when she started talking about herself, is when it got interesting. It turns out she had been married to Marc at some point.

She was his ex-wife. The one he told you about.

"I imagine it's kind of awkward for you two, huh?" You remarked.

"Oh, me n Marc? Not at all! We're still good friends, it's just..." Layla set her coffee down, frowning as she tried to think of how to describe it.

"...After a while, whatever we had... like... the spark, I guess? It just... faded. Marc went through a bit of soul searching and after he did that, well..."

They weren't soulmates.

"Ah... I understand." You sighed.

"What about you?" She asked, a small sly smirk playing her lips.

"Oh! Uh... yeah. No. Nothing for me, I'm afraid." You chuckle awkwardly, rubbing the back of your neck.

"Oh? Nobody special or anything like that? Never kissed someone?"

"Well, I mean, when I was in highschool I kissed a girl on a dare." You sip your own coffee.

"A girl?" Her eyebrows raised in curiosity.

"Yeah, to be honest I'm not sure what kind of preference I have, because I've never really been attracted to anyone before, but it was... weird. Didn't feel like everyone talked it up to be."

"Ah... so... are you waiting for your soulmate, then?" Layla asked a bit tightly.

"Yeah... I know it's stupid, but..." You say, looking down at the mug in your hands.

"Not really. Who doesn't want to meet the one person that is your other half?" She said, smiling softly in sympathy.

Her finger traced the rim of her cup idly, trying to think of the best way to go about phrasing the next question without being obvious about her suspicions.

"Do you... have any ideas of who it might be?" She finally asked.

You shake your head and shrug. "D'nno. I don't know if it's a man or a woman or... well anybody, really. I don't know what it's supposed to feel like once you meet your soulmate because each bond is different so..."

Layla wanted to scream. She wanted to facepalm, she wanted to smack her head on the table. She wanted to splash her coffee into her face.

Taweret was giggling like mad.

"Not as easy as you assumed it was going to be, eh Little One?" The goddess smiled behind her hand at Layla.

Her eyebrow twitched, knowing full well she couldn't retort without looking insane or revealing her position as Taweret's avatar.

You had to be Marc's (and possibly Steven's and Jake's) soulmate. It was all just too coincidental for her liking.

"Oh! That's... well I hope they're close by!" Layla said, forcing a very strained smile.

How could you and Marc be this thick?!

That fact alone had to mean something.

"That's everyone's hope, isn't it?" You chuckled softly, a small fond smile on your face, a glimmer of sadness in your eyes.

Layla felt sympathy for you in the moment, realizing how terribly lonely you must be feeling. And how much pain.

Especially with Marc and the others doing Khonshu's will.

Taweret seemed to pick the thought out of thin air, so in tune with Layla she could tell by the flash in her eyes what she was thinking about.

"Ohhh! That bloody old bone-head!" She huffed, her nostrils flaring as she crossed her arms, her bottom lip poking out from beneath her muzzle.

"He needs to give those poor boys a break! Especially because whatever happens to them, happens to her!" She gestured to you with her big, yet gentle hands.

Layla cleared her throat.

"Well, uh.... since I've told you about me... why don't you tell me about you? Where were you born, stuff like that?" Layla asked you, still smiling.

"Oh! Me? I'm afraid it's not very interesting." You chuckled dryly.

Layla looked outside as the rain came down in sheets. Not very appealing to walk back to the boys' flat in this weather... especially not for her hair.

"It looks like I've got time, love. Go ahead! We can have some more drinks while we chat."

You smiled a bit wider.

It was nice to have a girl-friend to talk with, again.

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When Steven had woken up, Layla was gone, and Marc and Jake left Steven quite alone in the body, letting him front entirely for the day. She'd left a note on Gus and Co's tank saying she went out for a bit for some fresh air.

Which, quite frankly, Marc said was bullshit because of the weather. Layla wouldn't go out in a monsoon and risk her hair becoming an unmanageable spongy mop that would take forever to dry, unless she was going somewhere very specific.

It was one of the things she complained about the most when they were together, something he thought was amusing. He remembered one time they got caught in a rain after their wedding, and at the hotel she was fussing and muttering under her breath as her wet curls hung over her face, desperately trying to get the dripping mass of hair to dry, glaring at herself in the mirror.

Steven sighed, and made his morning cup of tea and went about his routine. He dusted some, and decided to slip on his apron and play with some recipes he'd found online.

The apron was a bit... "dinky" as Marc had called it. Jake apparently ordered it online when he saw the slightly cartoon'd Egyptian motifs on it and left it as a present for Steven, since his favorite thing to do other than read was to cook (and he was a major Egyptophile).

When he was finished, he'd placed the extra portions in a small container in the fridge for Layla when she returned, in case she was hungry.

Then, he sat down, ate, and read a book while he played some music over the cheap sound system Marc installed.

When Layla returned, she was... dry. Remarkably dry. Her hair was still perky and everything!

She apparently bought an umbrella while she was out, placing it in the holder so no excess water dripped on the floor.

"Ah! Hey Steven." She chuckled, walking up and kissing his cheek, knocking his glasses off to the side as she did, placing her bag on the little table nearby.

"How'd you know?" Steven chuckled, adjusting his glasses as he looked up at her.

"Well, aside from the fact you're hunched over like a goblin over a book... the flat smells wonderful. You've obviously been cooking. Not Marc." She grinned.

"Ha!" Steven giggled.

Layla hummed as she set her new purchases on the table, folding the little canvas bag neatly.

Steven's eyebrows shot up when he saw the books.

"Where were you..?" He asked, clearing his throat.

"Oh, y'know... exploring. Went out for a tea..." She grinned at him out of the corner of her still ridiculously beautiful eyes.

"Visited that bookstore you 'n Marc told me about."

Steven fidgeted in his seat.

"O-oh..."

"Mhmm." She tapped her nails on the books' hard covers; she then turned around and crossed her arms, still grinning as she leaned her hips on the table.

"....Why are you looking at me like that? And where did you get that umbrella..?"

"Oh, well..." She shrugged, sighing a bit dramatically, looking elsewhere in the flat for dramatic effect.

She looked back at him, her eyes twinkling mischievously.

"Your little girlfriend who owns the bookstore. She really is a sweetheart, she let me borrow it while I'm in town."

"Bloody hell! Layla! It's not like that at all--" Steven sputtered, almost dropping the book in his hand.

She started cackling madly, walking into the kitchen, and opened the refrigerator.

"Ooh! What'dja make?"

Steven made a noise, burying his face in his hands as he tried to hide the faint blush that crept up his face and set up shop in the tips of his ears, knocking his glasses up to his forehead.

"Bloody hell!" He groaned into his palms.

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Chapter 6: Link

[marvelmusing]

Ignite

Pairing: Dark!Alpha!Darklina x Fem!Omega!Reader

Summary: Aleksander and Alina return home from a date to find you on their couch, almost completely spaced out as your heat begins. But you’re on suppressants - aren’t you?

Warnings [18+]: a/b/o dynamics, dark!alina & dark!aleksander, manipulation, suppressants tampering, reader is starting her heat, mentions of smut and mating.

My Masterlist

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“Honey?”

Aleksander takes your chin between his fingers gently, guiding your head up so that he can observe your unfocused gaze. There’s a soft pressure against your temples, as if your brain is being compressed slowly, making your mind hazy around the edges.

The seat of the couch shifts beneath you, dipping as Alina sits down by your side. There’s a prickling sensation running over your skin, like the gentle caress of a flame flickering. A bead of sweat rolls down the length of your thigh and you shiver.

“How you feeling, sweetheart?” she asks softly, stroking your cheek.

They both look as incredible as they did before they left for dinner this evening. Aleksander in a dark grey suit and Alina in a black dress that hugs her every curve. Just one look at them makes your mouth water.

Aching for the cool press of their leather couch against your cheek, you had draped yourself here in their living room for an undeterminable amount of time. How long have you been sitting here? They had only been gone for around an hour when you had finished your shower.

She smells sweet and you swallow hard at the thought of tasting her. The weight of her dark eyes on your body feels like a confident touch over your skin, as she stares at the disheveled state of your clothing. She tilts her head aside, her fingers playing with the loosened drawstrings of your sweatpants.

“Did you touch yourself, sweetheart?”

Her words send your thoughts spiralling down into nothingness, like a whirlpool of water swirling into a drain, as you nod weakly. The pleasure of an orgasm had granted you a limited amount of reprise, leaving you more shaky than satisfied.

“Thought it would make my head feel better… but now it’s all fuzzy.”

She hums knowingly, squishing your cheeks together between her fingers. Such a demeaning action would usually make you bashful, but you’re almost drooling at the casual dominance of her hold on you. Alina and Aleksander share a hungry look.

“Poor little omega,” he coos. “You’re going into heat.”

Shaking your head, you begin to mumble quietly, stumbling over your words as you struggle to focus on speaking through the hazy fog clouding over your mind.

“Can’t be… I’m on… suppressants.”

Alina hums quietly, smoothing her hand gently over your head, tucking you into her body so that your cheek presses against her breasts. Subconsciously, you nuzzle closer to seek more of that wonderful feeling as your skin meets hers.

“Awful things,” she muses in a low voice. “It’s not natural to deny your instincts.”

Thinking is so difficult now.

“What?”

Aleksander grips a fistful of your hair and you melt against Alina’s body, slumping down to kneel on the floor between her thighs. The scent of her cunt sharpens now that you’re at the same level with it and a low moan rips itself from the back of your throat.

Alina grins, her lips spread wide to reveal a dangerous flash of teeth that sends a thrum of need down to your cunt. It’s only now that you notice the mess of slick soaking through the fabric of your sweatpants and you whine at the sticky sensation. Omegas like to be clean. You need to be clean for your alphas.

With shaking fingers, you tug off the little pyjama top you had dressed yourself into after your shower. Now the sudden urge to shave and moisture yourself earlier makes sense.

The disconnect you feel in your mind makes the removal of your sweatpants much less alluring than you’d hoped for, but Alina’s eyes darken and a deep growl of approval rumbles from Aleksander’s chest.

Omegas aren’t taught much about their pleasure or even how to satisfy an alpha in the bedroom. Most people agree that instinct takes over and whilst desperation claws beneath your skin you have no idea what you want from them both. Then again, no one had told you it was possible for two alphas to be mated - let alone want to share an omega like you.

“Alina,” you whine, nudging your way between her thighs to mouth at her cunt, currently shielded by her underwear. More whines catch in your throat, drool smearing over skin as you attempt to lick over her panties.

When Aleksander pulls your head away from her, you cry pathetically, struggling against his firm hold. Alina growls, her eyes narrowed.

“Aleksander,” she says warningly.

“Alina,” he says smoothly, a wicked glimmer dancing in his eyes.

She looks almost feral, her dress pushed up to her hips by your eager nuzzling. Her eyes bright with arousal, a pretty pink flush glowing over her cheeks. She puffs her chest up, shoulders straightening as she eyes Aleksander.

He drags you into his lap, bare cunt pressing against the rough fabric of his dress trousers as he sits on the couch opposite his mate.

“Silly little omega,” he murmurs. His nose nudges at the scent gland beneath your ear and you tremble. “We were expecting you to be nesting when we arrived home.”

“What do you- what have you done to me?”

They both laugh and the sharpness of the sound bites into you, making you blush with embarrassment. Then Alina softens, cupping your cheek in her hand.

“We didn’t do anything,” she insists, her thumb stroking over your cheek. “Living with two alphas is clearly too much for your suppressants to handle.”

There’s something mocking in her words, something you struggle to decipher the meaning behind them. Have they tampered with your suppressants? Aleksander’s chuckle thrums down your spine and slick gathers on the fabric of his trousers.

“And, of course, we had nothing to do with your landlord ending your lease without warning.”

Alina’s smile twists, a dark amusement building between the two of them as they seem to be indulging in some sort of joke you can’t even begin to grasp.

“How could we do something like that?”

She leans closer, caging your body between Aleksander and her. When she presses a gentle kiss to your cheek, you whimper and they both breathe in deeply, groaning at the scent of your arousal and confusion.

They both make animalistic little purrs as their mouths wander over your skin. Occasionally, they will bump heads, foreheads or noses knocking together and they will growl at one another, trying to claim a space of their own on your body.

Simultaneously, they lick over your neck, taking a side each as their own. As they nudge against the mating glands on each side of your throat, you writhe and attempt to escape them. Aleksander wraps his arm around your waist, pining you down, and Alina grasps a fistful of your hair.

“Are you going to be a good little omega for us?” Aleksander purrs lowly in your ear, sucking lightly on your earlobe. “Are you going to let us mate you?”

Another whimper escapes your lips and tears gather in your eyes. Alina curls her hand around your throat, squeezing in warning. The skin under her palm simmers with a warmth that rushes down directly to your cunt.

“You need us, omega,” she tells you. “We both know how much you want us. Aren’t you sick of struggling?”

“We’d take such good care of you, little omega.”

Their words set you on fire, need burning beneath your skin as they continue to mouth over your throat. Aleksander’s hands grasp at your waist, smoothing down your sides as Alina squeezes at your breasts, rubbing eagerly over your nipples.

“Our sweet girl,” Alina coos in agreement. “All you need to do is keep our house tidy like a good omega.”

Aleksander hums, his fingers stroking over your aching entrance that yearns for some attention. Swallowing hard, your mouth feels like it’s filled with cotton, your tongue heavy and unable to speak any protests aloud.

It sounds appealing. Even if you weren’t so desperate with need, it would take very little time for you to relent. You’ve always been weak for the two of them.

“And keep this tight little cunt wet and ready for us to play with whenever we want it,” Aleksander adds, smirking deviously.

A moan wracks through your body and you nod eagerly.

“What was that?” Alina asks, her smile sugar sweet as she teases you.

“Please, alpha.” The words tumble from your lips, moaning and sighing breathlessly as you continue to beg. “Want you. Both of you. Please.”

They both grin in triumph.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

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