#bask in his gloriousness

[frenchkisstheabyss]

♡ ｍｙ ｔｙｐｅ♡

♡ Pairing: friend!yeosang! x chubby!fem!reader

♡ Summary: While getting ready for a night out with your friends, you get to see a different side of the sweetheart that is Yeosang.

♡ Genre: oh honey, straight up smut

♡ Word Count: 1.9k-ish

♡ Warnings: posessive yeosang, fingering, face fucking (m recieving), rough sex, creampie, unprotected sex (as always, ya'll know better), pet names (slut/good girl/bad girl/etc), hair pulling, manhandling, marking, yeosang has a filthy filthy mouth, masturbation, a lil bit of coochie slapping if you squint.

♡ A/N: My dear darling @anyamaris needed some Yeosang filth in her life and hopefully this delivers for the Yeosang biased babes out there.

 “Can I have a little help in here?” you shout over your shoulder, eyes locked on the full length mirror reflecting your battle with this dress. A part of you regrets having ordered it. It’s skin tight and much shorter than you expected. The only way to make it fit seamlessly has been to swap your normal panties for the tiny black thong you hardly ever wear.

Putting on a bra’s completely out of the question. Every single one you put on makes the fit of the dress awkward. Whatever. You already agreed to go out with your roommates. It’s too late to turn back now. You’ll make it through the night. If only you could get this zipper to work.

“Someone call for help?” Yeosang asks, popping into your doorway with the sweetest smile. You let out a sigh of exhaustion and relief. “Oh thank god. I’m fighting for my life with this zipper.” “No worries. I’ve got you.” You should’ve known Yeosang would be the one to come to the rescue.

He doesn’t even live here like Yunho, Woo, and Mingi do yet he manages to do more in the way of assisting around this place than the three of them combined. Yeosang comes up behind you, pinching the base of your zipper with one hand and whipping the slider up with the other. “There. All done” he says, stepping back to bask in the glory of having saved your life.

“Kang Yeosang, you’re an angel!” you squeak, hands smoothing the dress along your curves. Yeosang nibbles at his bottom lip, following every arch and dip your fingers ride along. “Mmm, sometimes” he shrugs, his gaze lingering on you a few seconds longer before he snaps himself out of it. You scan his body in the mirror, taking notice of that gloriously muscular frame and the rosy glow on those perky cheeks of his.

Is he flirting with me? From day one you’d wondered if there was some sort of tension between the two of you. After a while though, you wrote it off as being all in your head. Yeosang’s the same kind, soft-spoken man with everyone. Any time you thought he was giving you special attention that was simply him being himself. Right?

Something in you says this is the time to find out once and for all. You narrow your eyes at him, lips curved into a shy smile, “And what do you mean by that?” “Nothing” he shrugs, “Just that, you know, there’s two sides to everyone.” “Oh really? And when do I get to meet this ‘other side’ of you?” He comes up behind you again, only this time his hand’s against the small of your back simply to elicit those shivers currently traveling up your spine.

“Whenever you want. You just have to say the word.” You lean back into his hand, poking your ass out the slightest bit to gauge his interest. When his hand slips down, taking a handful of your ass, the question you’ve had for months is immediately answered. “What’s the word?” “Yes” he whispers, the innocence dropping from his voice. You’ve never seen Yeosang look at you this way before and you never want him to look at you any other way again. “I..uh…yeah” you stutter, “Yes.”

Silence hangs in the air for what seems like an eternity before he’s taking a leisurely stroll over to your door, locking it. With his back still turned to you, he pulls the silver rings from his fingers, tossing them onto the bed. “Y/n, you have no idea how long I’ve been waiting to hear you say that.” You turn to face each other and the clashing of your bodies is cataclysmic. Galaxies are created and destroyed by this type of collision. Yeosang’s pillowy lips capture yours, his tongue sweeping yours into a dance of pure chaos.

Immediately, you’re tearing at each other’s clothes. The zipper on your dress puts up no resistance now, coming undone at the lightest tug. Pinning you against the wall, he kisses his way down your chest, leaving a trail of almost heart-shaped red marks behind. “Yeosang…ah…” you moan, grabbing his hair as he tears your dress down. Your breasts spring out, one into a strong hand that immediately starts kneading it, the other into his mouth where his eager tongue swirls around your nipple.

“Hmm?” he hums against the plump flesh, his knee pushing between your legs to rub against your heat. The friction of his pants teasing your pussy through the barely there material of your thong has you choking on the most desperate moans. You rock your hips forward, grinding your clit along his thigh. “Fuck…mmph” you mewl, fingers trembling in his hair. Yeosang grabs your ass, bringing his leg flush against your core. With one last lap of your bud, his lips skim the surface of your skin until you’re eye to eye again.

“Such a needy little slut. So desperate for some friction” he teases, nibbling at your bottom lip, “You want my cock that badly? Hmm?” “Mmhmm” you manage, hips stuttering at the overwhelming pleasure of such a simple motion. Yeosang steps back and you fall to your knees, your legs much too weak for you to hold yourself up. He grabs you by your hair, tilting your head back to stare into those deep, starry eyes of yours.

You’ve always been his favorite thing to look at but fuck was there something special about having you on your knees like this, your chin resting against his arousal. Without taking your eyes off of his you undo his pants and his cock pops out of his boxers, brushing against your lips. It’s much bigger than you expected, the anticipation of it stretching your tight cunt getting you even wetter. Yeosang taps the head of his cock on your lips, precum coating them like a gloss.

You part your lips and he’s thrusting into your mouth, groaning as your spit soaks his length. “I want you to play with that sweet little pussy while I fuck your throat, okay?” he coos, slowly pressing deeper into your throat. You gag the deeper he goes. Music to his ears. Blindly, you run your fingers down your stomach, the same way you have so many nights alone in bed, and dip two of them between your folds.

Yeosang feels you moan around his cock and can’t wait any longer to fuck into you. He pumps in and out in short strokes, never giving you a break from the strain on your throat. The ridges on the roof of your mouth and the grooves on your tongue drag noises out of this man that he didn’t even know he could make. Spreading your thighs as far apart as you can, you guide your fingers into your core, you wrist bumping against your clit each time you curl your fingers against your weeping walls.

With your lipstick smeared, teary eyes smudging your mascara, you look an absolute wreck. And what a pretty little wreck you are. Drool drips down your chin, glistening on your tits. Yeosang wishes it were his cum, thick white pearls decorating your chest, but he has to save it for your pussy. Pulling your head back just enough that his cock still rests on the tip of your tongue, he kisses you on the forehead. “On the bed” he orders, “And keep fucking yourself until I tell you to stop.” Yeosang steps to the side, having far too much fun watching you stagger over to the bed. You’re like a new born giraffe, not a stable muscle in your body, but you make it.

Falling onto your back, you close your eyes and continue to explore your depths. He approaches the edge of the bed, parting your legs so wide that every velvety detail of your cunt is on display for him. He presses his thumb against your clit, making small circles as your slit gobbles down your fingers. “Oh, fuck!” you moan, choking it down once again. “Y/n, what are you doing?” Yeosang pouts, taking your hand away from your cunt and bringing it to his mouth, “We aren’t holding back are we?”

You open your eyes to him licking your fingers clean, his still moist cock dancing above your warmth. “I didn’t…want…the guys…uh…to hear.” Yeosang laughs, running the back of your hand along his cheek, “What if I do?” “What if?” he asks, spreading your pussy lips and spitting on your throbbing clit, “I want them to hear you scream for me?” Using the tip of his cock, he smears the spit through your folds, coming down to your entrance. “What if…they want to hear you scream too?”

Yeosang’s pressed against your core just enough to feel it flinch when he says this. Nothing had ever happened between you and your roommates. Not even a drunken hookup or a late night kiss. You can recognize though, that the three of them are incredibly handsome. Knowing that they might hear you…that they might like hearing you…turns you on in ways you don’t understand just yet. He sinks down into you and, with this new possibility in mind, your declarations of pleasure fill the room. “Yes…oooh…shit! So good! So…fucking…god…” you scream, your words trailing off into nonsense as he picks up momentum.

No matter where your roommates are in the house they can hear everything. You calling out Yeosang’s name. His dick stirring your completely drenched pussy like the world’s most delectable pot of macaroni and cheese. The sharp slaps he dishes out to the sides of your ass when he throws your legs over his shoulders to bottom out. “You belong to me now. You understand?” he growls, kissing your quivering legs. “Y…yes” you gasp, not even nearly loud enough for him. “Louder!” “Yes!” He fucks into you harder with each pump, the tremors spreading all the way to your chest.

“Louder! Who owns this sweet little pussy? Tell me!” “You, Yeosang!” the words grate your throat on the way out, “You…own…my pussy. Fuck, yes. All yours. All yours. All…” Your stomach sinks. Your back arches. Your soul may or may not leave your body. When it returns you’re twisting amongst the sheets, soaking his cock so heavily in your cream that even his balls are covered. Letting your legs fall to the side, he brings his sculpted chest against your lush body, kissing you like he wants to taste your insides. And he does.

“Inside or out?” he whispers and you instinctively know what he means. “Both” you say, tugging at his hair again. “Fuck, you’re so nasty” he grins, “I love it.” His body curls against yours as cum coats your walls from the deepest point to your very entrance. There’s still enough when he pulls out to empty all over your pussy, laying claim to every bit of you. 

Rolling onto your side, you chase a breath that seems intent on eluding you. Yeosang cuddles up behind you, kissing you on the neck. “Too much?” he asks, genuinely concerned about your feelings. You shake your head, settling into his arms, “No. It was perfect.” “Oh, good” he says, reaching an arm around to prop your legs open, “It’s going to be so much fun breaking you.”

[outerrimhours]

Brahms Heelshire X Fem!Reader

{Part One} / {Part Two} / {Part Three} / {Masterlist}

Notes: I most certainly sat in the dark by candlelight listening to dark classical music when I wrote this.

Warnings: Smut, needy virgin Brahms, sub Brahms, 

Song: Ghost Song - Max Ablitzer

Without the candlelight, the guest room is crepuscular. Shapes of the furniture almost discernable in the flickering ivory gleam. The silk of your nightgown glowing with the kiss of a fire’s light. It had been too many nights alone, but you knew Brahms was okay when the new book you had bought him from the store disappeared. Your perfect ink penmanship written along the opening, “Even in the darkest nights, your spirit lingers. Mine ever waiting for its presence.” 

As you leaned down to blow out the first candle, a shadow crept and elongated against the floorboards. The Hillshire phantom lingered in the doorway of your room, peering at you through porcelain eyes. 

“Brahms”, you whispered, eyes fluttering at the sight of him in front of you once more. 

He studied you with soft, observant eyes like an artist in the Louvre, drifting and lingering over the shadows in the candlelight. A shift in the atmosphere, like drifting weightless through water. 

No matter how many times he laid his eyes upon you, you stayed the most intricate thing, blessed by an absolute delicacy that he so craved and desired. 

Your eyes lingered by his throat, watching him swallow, down until your gaze met the dip in his chest, fingertips aching at the fascination to touch him. 

You stepped forward, reaching tentatively out to grasp his wounded hand. Pink, angry scars littered the pallid stretch of skin and you pulled it towards your eager lips, placing the softest kiss against the flesh. 

You swore you could hear the faintest gasp when you guided it to your chest, allowing the warm, claminess of his palm to rest against your beating heart. Wild and eager against his own pulse. His eyes drifted, gazing under hooded eyes at the low cut edge of the gown. 

Too many nights Brahms dreamed of how you would feel. Heart raging with ragged breaths, he stepped closer. Electricity prickled his fingertips at the smoothness of your arm, dragging long, eager fingers down the flesh. Goosebumps rising. 

“I would never leave you”, you proclaimed quietly, guiding him to the oversized bed. 

You guided him to sit, the anticipation in his stomach almost making him sick. 

Slow, deliberate fingers guiding the cardigan from his shoulders, suspenders along with it. You loved the curves and veins that adorned his shoulders, arms, over his hands. Hair darkening over the milky skin. 

You laid him back, candlelight catching the edges of your lashes in liquid gold, bathing you in an almost angelic glow, casting shadows on the wall. You couldn’t look away from his eyes, they moved with every movement you made. 

“Let me kiss you”, you asked, fingers gripping the edge of his mask, begging for permission. 

Brahms  would do anything you asked for in that moment, all you had to do was utter the word. 

At the nod of his head, you released the cover, allowing your eyes to bask in the gloriousness of who he was. Beautiful, anomalous. At the stroke of your thumb against the scarred skin of his left side, his eyes closed briefly in a moment of peace. 

You hadn’t even kissed him yet, and yet he was already achingly hard beneath you. 

You leaned down to kiss his eyelids, the bridge of his nose, the angular sharpness of his jaw and the stubble that sat against it. 

“Be a good boy for me and be so still”, you breathed, ghosting your lips over his own.

Brahms eyes were so blown out, needy and lustful as they looked up at you. The darkened pupils almost swallowing the pale blueness completely. And when you finally met his eager lips, he whimpered against you. Everything in him screamed to reach out and grab you, kiss you harder, but he obeyed your command. 

You tasted like the salt air of the English sea. Like fire to gunpowder, he consumed your mouth against his own, head swimming with desire. When your lips left to wet his throat, Brahms propped himself up on his elbows, head tilting back to allow you full access. Adam's apple bobbing in his throat with each swallow of saliva. Cold hands reached to lift the fabric of his wife beater, knuckles grazing against the hardness of his stomach, the soft pillowy hair that sat against it. Brahms couldn’t help when his hips bucked slightly to meet your center. Ever so satisfied when you allowed the faintest gasp to slip through. 

At the sight of his bare chest, you allowed the straps of your gown to fall ever so slowly down your arms, the tops of your breasts so perfectly teasing his line of sight.  

You hovered over him, thumb brushing against the swollen, pouty flesh of his lip commanding him to open his mouth for you. His mouth sucked softly against the thumb of your hand, needy, desperate huffs escaping his throat when your other hand reached down to unbutton the top of his trousers. 

He was already soaked when you released him from the confines of his clothes, precum leaking from the tip. When your hand wraps around his cock, he can’t help the boyish, guttural whine that builds from his chest. Gently shushing him, you move to kiss his chest, soft pillowy lips lingering over every inch of skin. The soft hair of his chest tickles your nose with every further movement. Your touches ignite a fire against his skin, and he’s shaking at the anticipation, eyes wide and waiting. 

You savor the way his stomach heaves with every nervous breath, your eyes never leave his the further you trail, saliva now cold against the places your lips had been. 

When your tongue finally found its place on his cock, ever so slightly licking the precum, Brahms cried out, fingers gripping through your hair, desperate to thrust into you. 

“You’re being so good”, you praised tenderly, igniting a flame so deep in his belly drool couldn’t help but drip slightly from his parted lips. 

Feeling the warm wetness of your mouth sink down upon him was the most intoxicating feeling Brahms had ever felt. He almost wanted to cry, the way his chest felt so heavy and breathless. 

Soft, little gasps left his lips every time you moved against him. Brahms was being so, so good for you and as a reward you slipped the dress from your body, letting his eyes take in every exposed inch of your bare skin. 

Hand wrapped ever so softly around his cock, you leaned up to lick the saliva dripping down from his lip and onto his exposed neck. 

“Please”, he cried out, one of the first words he had spoken all night. “More, I’ll be good, I swear.” 

Your hand teased him, slowly pumping up and down, fascinated by every whimper and cry until you felt him harden even more in your hand. 

Cum spilled over at every praise of your words,

“Such a good, sweet boy.”

He was gasping, desperate for air. The wetness between your thighs dripped down onto his leg, hair falling over your eyes, lips parted and mesmerized by him. He couldn’t help the arousal that quickly returned. 

“Be so, so still for me Brahmsy.”

You straddled his waist, cunt warm and eager to feel him inside of you. Brahms was so overstimulated, face flushed and feverish. Ragged, guttural breathes and moans at the sight of you on top of him. He wanted to reach out and feel your breasts between wanting fingers. You sunk down on to his cock, cum warm against the innerness of your thighs, tangled in the hair at the base of his cock. 

Brahms growled at the feeling of your cunt squeezing and constricting around him, hands gripping the sheets so tightly his knuckles were white. Sweat beaded over his skin, eyes so innocent and wide watching you ride him. He whimpered so helplessly, and when your hand reached to massage your clit, he choked on the babbles that he cried out. The most you had ever heard him talk. You hiccupped and gulped at the building pressure, reaching around to the softness of his hair to guide him into a sitting position. You allowed his arms to wrap around you tightly, forehead pressed against your own to peer into your eyes as you came. Crying his name over and over and over. Encouraging him to cum for you once more, tears brimming his eyes and threatening to spill over.

“There you are, cum for me, just like that. Such a good boy”, you cooed, his own cum coating your insides.

You were both heaving and shaking, holding each other tightly against sweat glistened bodies.

“I love you, truely, dearly, forever”, you said, kissing the tears that managed to slip down his reddened cheeks.

[bowieandqueen11]

Take Us Back / Izzy Hands Imagine

Request: ahh hope i didn’t miss the izzy request deadline!! honestly just a really fluffy one about what the reader and izzy might do on a day off on land would be super cute , could be either established relationship or the confessions could ensue during! whatever you think would work best, love ur writing sm 💘

Ahh I love this idea so much!! You know me I always love a good love confession. although this one is a little more subtle than I meant it to be!! Thank you so much :) Although this managed to turn more into hurt/comfort, so sorry about that!!

I'm sorry if this sucks ass, writer's block has been kicking my ass and I'm trying to write through it!

Warning: mentions of blood, mentions of child abuse, some strong language!

(I do not own OFMD or its characters, all rights go to creators. Gif credit goes to @tinylilvalery.)

☆.。.:・°☆.。.:・°

Izzy Hands had been seven years old the last time he had sat in the foot of a river's mouth.

Life had felt different then: harsher, colder. Even the sunlight had felt a pale wanton impression of the basking heat the crew lay under now, leaving nothing but pocked scars across his soul and a rigid fear woven through his lancinating ribcage.

But that day- god, that day. It had been one of the rare instances that his mother had been lucid, if not tolerant of the mere sight of him. She had just received news from his brother, informing her that he'd finally managed to wrangle his way into one of the crews dotted around the local docks. He still remembered pattering into their cramped kitchen that morning: remembered crawling into her lap, afraid that the shock slumping her usually sapless face as she leant her elbow wearily on the tablecloth was due to his tardiness, not registering in his tired state the opened letter his mother was clutching in her left hand. He had shut his eyes, expecting the usual sting of reproach to come burning across his backside, but instead he was met with shallow laughter and the feel of his mother's frigid hands wrapping around his spine.

She had carried him the whole way down to the bay, had spent the whole rest of that strange, surreal morning in a trancelike contentment. Instead of going to their usual morning prayers, his mother had taken his hands and had danced with him: her feet splashing across the slivering waves as they bit and hissed and fell in aglow bubbles around her feet. Instead of being sent down to the docks to haggle for some small scrap of leftover meat for him to come back and boil for their dinner, his mother had cupped his cheeks as if, for one glorious, unprecedented moment in his life, the hopeful smile timidly warming his cheeks was the most important thing in the world.

The thing Izzy remembers most, though, was the magical way his mother had sung. How the sound made his knees grow weak, tears collecting in the crinkles of his eyes as she sang a strange song about finding beauty in the mundane: of rosiness the shade of his cheeks, of the end of grief, of embracing the beautiful imperfection of our mistakes.

He was almost inclined to believe her. But even at that age, he knew reality was far crueller than her. Because even though she was still humming into the shallow depths, she had refused to even once meet his desperate eyes.

He knew the song wasn't for him. He knew, as he glanced down at the lonesome creek that he suddenly realised was bitingly cold against his waggling toes, that his life was resigned to one of subordination. How she had walked him into the water until their ankles were coated in a fine line of salt, clutching his hand to her heart as the invocation began to wear off. That this grandness, this gloriousness, was to be found inside the soul of others. As his mother began to lug at him again, drawing him further and further into the benighted depths he suddenly didn't want to wade into: was suddenly afraid to approach, he finally understood the truth of his life.

He knew he was just there as collateral to her joy. And as he began to cry out in fear, feeling that all too familiar burn against the ruddiness of his cheek, he realized that hope was created to dwell within other people.

'See child, I told you. Change comes with the tide. Fortune comes to those of us who are deserving of it', she took a deep breath and darted her eyes down to him in antipathy, before digging her spindly fingers into his wrist until they drew blood. She didn't even blink as she used her free hand to pull the letter out of her pocket, kissing its inked lines and clutching the crumpled parchment to her chest. The dying light of the day seemed only to coat her in cerement as she sobbed silently, Izzy too afraid to move in case the sallow light entombed him as well.

He hadn't allowed himself to feel the sunlight since. Instead, he shrouded himself in Stygian shadows, stifling himself under their abhorrence: he had tried to cage his heart to keep it safe. Little did he know, that instead he had created a shroud, and left the shredded remains of what was left to shrivel in the darkness.

You. You! You, god, oh you. Coming swanning into his life with the rest of Stede Bonnet's infuriating little toy miniatures, cresting with graceful consideration along the sinews he had long locked away, with a determinant hankering for his heart. Every look his way just to try and catch his wandering eye: every shit-faced smile in defiance of his crude orders and the callous bite of his words was exhuming an anguishing pain within his chest.

Which is why he found you so fucking obnoxious. Insubordinate. Just as obdurate as him. You seemed to make it your life's mission to get the tomb holding him captive to crack open.

And by god, if it wasn't about to.

He was almost embarrassed by how quickly he had agreed to join you on the shore during the crew's solitary day off that month: his head had nodded as if a screw had come loose in his neck, and although he had to punch Lucius in the stomach for guffawing at how absurd he looked from where he was pretending to mop by Stede's cabin doors, it was worth it to be able to spend some blessed time alone with you.

Which is how he found himself perched on the shallow end of a crag: the sand sifting off his boots and the midday sun burning a white-hot hole into the top of his head that even the nearby leaves of the shimmering banana tree couldn't defend him from. He kicks lazily at the water, scaring away a few darting fish as you finally give up your wrestling match with Jim and come to sit criss-crossed next to the rather forlorn looking man. He does his best to raise his frown once he feels your fingers poke at his stiff shoulder, but even you're able to see the way the smile barely makes it past the top of his stubble, let alone his crestfallen eyes.

'So...', you start with a twist of your lips, an idea suddenly popping into your head as you catch sight of a few lengths of haggard bark popping out of the mud. 'You ever fish when you were younger?' You pull some of the twine out of your makeshift rope belt, looping a knot around the cleanest ends and handing one of the makeshift poles to the first mate.

'Fish? Did I ever... fish?', Izzy asks incredulously, tilting his head at you as if in disbelief. He had fished before: in fact, he was actually rather good at it. When his mother's health began to fail and the poor relief filtering into their household in drips and drabs began to be unable to keep dire poverty from banging at their door, Izzy had taken to smuggling onto the back of boats and fishing out of barrels to get food.

'No. No', he lies. 'I'm not a fucking fisherman, I'm a fucking pirate-'. He didn't know why the memory was making him so irritated. Maybe it wasn't the recollection at all, he thought in a stricken horror, but the way you turned your full attention to him. That- that swinging gaze, that coy smile lifting your cheeks as you try your best to read every microcosm that flashes across his panicking face. That- that kindness in the furrow of your eyebrows, that forbearance as you gently took his shaking first and unfurled it, placing the fishing rod in his palm.

Your fingertips tenderly swirl against the seamed linen of his wrist before you let go. Izzy blinks unsurely, something akin to trepidation making his breath choke in his nostrils, making them flare uneasily.

'I know you're going to be a natural', is all you whisper, sensing his alarm and placing the man's hand back onto his knee with great care. With a final nod, you turn your head back to the sea line.

Fuck. Fuck. How could you read him so easily? How could he, a man so ruthless in his faux arrogance, be laid so bare before you, when he had spent so many years devotedly poisoning that part of himself? He was about to fucking burst, and if you even fucking dared to place your warm fingers against his bare skin him one more time, he was going to draw his scabbard loose and lacerate his billowing heart himself.

The feel of you sitting next to him, holding your own fishing pole between relaxed fingers was almost enough to make the sound of Frenchie hollering in the distance bearable: the man trying to do half-crab like 'somersaults' across the sand. Izzy sighs, pretending the screaming cackle of Roach as he chased the Swede with one of his juggling pins was just the faraway caw of some mythical seabird. Even though the sound of your cheerful hums were sending spears of a long buried fear deep into his stomach, he was content to let the memories of his mother wash over him, to be instead overlapped with his rapt ruminations of you.

'Am I... am I doing this alright?', he asks, daring to break the silence, although his hoarse voice barely seems to penetrate the gleaming air at all. Thankfully, you have your ears finely tuned to hear both his scolding remarks and tender confessions, and so your reply is both astute and quickly timed as you whip your head to take an enthusiastic look at his pole.

You dart a finger out before he even has time to prepare for your approach, drawing his thumb further up the stick. 'That's it... that's it! See, I knew you'd be a natural at this!' It takes all of Izzy's self-control not to whip out his wrist, squeezing his eyes shut for a moment to instead try and alleviate the way his cells seemed to catch alight every time your skin brushed against his.

'Although', you start, poking your pointer finger against your chin and looking at him in contemplation. 'Your angle is a little wrong. Do you know how to fix it?', you ask, not wanting to offend him and have him scuttling off like a snow crab when you had put so much effort into getting him to trust in your company.

'I- I don't know', he lies, already moving his torso so you would have easier access to wrap yourself around his tensing shoulder blades send ripples spreading across the back of his vest.

'Here-', you reach an arm out, palm spreading against the rigid meat of his lower back as you turn the man to face you more directly. He jolts, and for a second you're worried that you've accidentally brushed against an old injury, but then the man unconsciously mewls, his thighs bucking forward against the sand grains.

'Like this', he asks breathlessly, knowing damn well that his posture was absolutely perfect.

'Like that', you reply with a smile as sweet and meek as the champagne bubbles lapping hungrily at his feet. It was almost enough to blow away the cankered cobwebs encasing his heart: almost enough to flood the chambers of his heart with a child-like resurrection, if he only wasn't stubborn enough to keep the latches of his heart's coffin lid closed.

'I'll tell you something, you're far better company than Ed', you say to alleviate the tension, feeling sorry at the way the man seems to be cursing himself with thick, inaudible swears. You let your fingers dart across the last few vertebrae's of his spine, enjoying the way his whole body seems to convulse like an electrified eel once you let go. 'The last time I tried to teach him to fish, I swear I was two seconds away from kicking him overboard. That man genuinely does not know how to stay quiet for two seconds.'

He grabs onto your wrist, so desperate to retain every ounce of your attention. So desperate to feel you set him aflame, without the embarrassment of having to ask. For the first time that day, he stares deeply into your eyes, his thick eyelashes flickering back and forth as if searching for something.

'You don't have to tell me. I very unhappily managed to overhear him talking to himself this morning about all the ways Captain had used his fingers last night-'

You clasp your hands to your ears, a high pitched giggle pealing out of the back of your throat. 'Oh god, please! Just stop! Whatever the hell our dads do, I don't want to know!'

God, you were bewitching.

'What about your father', you ask suddenly, raising a curious eyebrow at the man. 'I know that you, Israel Hands, must have had a phenomenal upbringing to turn out the way you did.'

'I can't fucking tell if you're being sarcastic or not', he replies curtly, but the edges of his lips are curling up despite of himself.

'Come on', you prod at his side with the jut of your fishing pole. 'I have to be completely honest, I've been dying to know your story ever since you got on the revenge. Until today, Mr. 'I'm god as far as you're concerned', you've been a bit of an enigma to me.'

He looks at you sharply, his lips lingering upwards and making the warm glow that followed through into his eyes paint him as an angel against the goldenrod hues of the sun’s rising throne. 

'Until today?'

You can't help but match his bashful smile.

'Something tells me you've fished before', you reply smartly, nodding your head down to his tugging line.

It seemed to come to him then, that hope he had long forgotten: reverberating through his already troubled mind like a deafening echo, screaming and writhing and cacophonous as it pierced every fragment of his brain it could, begging him to remember the days when love had been true. Pleading with him to allow veracity to forburn the self-inflicted death he had allowed to coat his now pounding heart.

His mouth twists, unsure as where to start. It had been so long... so long since he had been truthful with anyone, let alone with himself. He swallows thickly, eyes roaming over the scuffs of his boot that are sliding further and further into the chilled depths of the shallow water, before he curls his fingers into a fist and goads himself into being compliant.

'I used to... I mean, I used to go down to the river with my mother, when she could be bothered. Which wasn't very often.'

He prays that you won't notice the faraway look in his eyes. How they begin to cloud over with unshed tears for a life he should have known. Should have had. For innocence robbed, and exasperation capitulated into its place. How his hands were now beginning to jolt so harshly, he nearly sent his fishing role flying into the ocean with one particularly intense heave.

'My mother always used to tell me, that you could begin your life again if you could pinpoint the exact spot where the rivers began to merge with the sea', he seethes out through gritted teeth, a low whistle sliding over his tongue as you reach your hand out and offer him the only form of solace you can think to give. 'She used to say that this is the spot where Calypso fell after Odysseus left her. That if you sing to her, her face will appear within the waves and grant you immortality.'

'Did you believe her?'

'I didn't before.'

'Hmm, what made you change your mind?' You entangle your fingers messily with his gloved hand, allowing both your poles to clamber noisily into the rugged pit chipped out by the toes of your feet. You knew if you broke the spell, interrupted this moment, it might never come again for him.

‘It was you, for fuck's sake!’, he wanted to shout. It was the truest thing he had ever known, plain and so soul crushingly simple.

Instead he flops his head back, and looks dead-set into the blinding light of the sun. 'I heard you singing. Heard you with Frenchie earlier, when you were singing shanties on the deck. My mother also used to sing to me', he warbles, voice hoarse.

The swallow tattoo scored onto his neck seems to thrum to life with each pulse of his juddering arteries.

'Ah-', you frown, 'I-I'm sorry. I didn't mean to bring up all these... memories for you. That's why you've been brooding so much today.'

His head darts to the side to scrutinize you, but when you mumble another sweet apology he finally stops scowling. If you hadn't been so lovestruck yourself, you might have found the courage to tear your head away from the horizon in that moment to meet the look of gut-wrenching devotion that brightened the man's widening eyes, a vestige kind of hope widening the gloam of his pupils.

He tilts his head to the side: towards you, eyes dipping down to almost imperceptibly gaze over your pursed lips.

'Don't be sorry'. His bottom lip trembles as he heaves a breath and squeezes your hand tight against his own. He felt like he was falling onto the cusp of something dangerous, but he refuses to allow his obduracy to suffocate the words.

'You sounded...', he grits his teeth, trying to bury his words by seething them into his skin instead. You watch him shove his chin into the side of his shoulder with humoured curiosity, giving him the time, the space, the security to finish his thought. He buries his eyes into the water, watching the rippling reflection of his face wallow into the shoreline. 'You sounded beautiful. It was nice to hear music again. I haven't in so long.'

'Well, Israel Hands', he trembles at the feel of your warm breath brushing against the tip of his ear. 'Good thing I'm immortal now.'

He smiles at that.

'Looks like I have all the time in the world to sing for you, if you'd like.'

For the first time since he was seven years old, Izzy Hands felt like he was allowed to live again.

'I'd- I'd like that very much.'

[saphirered]

I have a request! I am in desperate need of anything for fenrys X reader 😩 I love a good enemies to lovers Trope 😏 (but you can do what you want!!)

It's been a while so why not kick off with a 3 part story. 1.5k each sound good? Here's the first part. Enemies comes first so expect some angst and canon typical violence. Happy reading! 😘

When he took the oath he followed his twin because they stood together. They’d remain together no matter what. Fenrys, though blinded by all that glory had to offer, was not entirely disillusioned with the strings that came attached even if he tried to desperately ignore them until he couldn’t. Things got worse of course. The further he strayed, the tighter the leash. He told himself it was simply a price to pay; one where his brother would be safe, where he could live his life freely some of the time and live gloriously. Was it worth it? He used to think so. Though what frustrated him is that no matter what, there would always be this thorn in his side, the true pearl in Maeve’s collection of empty shells. You. Maeve might lack the ability to love and truly care for anyone but herself but when it came to you there was a weird sense of possessiveness. The Cadre might have been the prized bloodhounds and guard dogs, but you were something different entirely. You were her songbird; to sing at her command, to be shown off as a prized possession and put on display for all to see. What made Fenrys hate you is that you seemed o bask in the glow of it all. 

You stood at Maeve’s side always. You never had the need to warp her words to take some illusion of freedom, to escape her clutches for a moment longer before the leash pulled you in. There was no leash on you. Maeve never had you swear the oath. You were just there, you could walk out of Doranelle but you chose to stay at her side. You stood there with your head held high. You needed not fear the strike of a whip. No rope would wrap around your neck and choke the air out of your lungs for a misspoken word. There was no reason for you to follow her commands other than loyalty. Your loyalty had to be a choice because you’d seen it all, you stood there and watched the bloodshed and torture and pain inflicted upon others. You did not even turn your head when faced with the horrors. You simply stared with cold indifference. 

What Fenrys didn’t know was you might not be on that same leash as him, you are caged either way. Maeve took great pleasure in the fact she did not need to have you swear the blood oath. No what she had on you would be more than enough to keep you from rebelling, from stepping even one toe out of line. You had been there before Fenrys so he had not witnessed the torture you endured; that if you looked away from the bloodcurdling screams, from the pleading and begging and met them with anything other than indifference at best or cruelty of your own at worst, you would be offered the same punishment as them. You were a prisoner and no amount of torture had you spill the secrets you kept. It was an eternal stalemate. Torturing and killing loved ones, that simply wouldn’t do. You’d die with them and you’d be useless, but keeping you around even if she would have to wait centuries for you to finally break and spill, not only was she patient but she took great pleasure in it all; in what you’d become. 

While the cadre was sent out to fight wars and bask in the glory of bloodshed, your dalliances with the upper class of nations were no secret. When those nations failed to submit to Maeve’s wishes, you’d swoop in and convince them otherwise. When rebellion arose, you’d be the face trying to quell and snuff the flames before they could spark. You’d use your charm and body to entice and bring the most favourable outcome for Maeve. At some point Fenrys considered you might have been as in love with her as Lorcan and you’re simply wrapped around her finger. He hated you for the special treatment you got. He hated how okay you were with everything you faced, how you presented yourself like you were better than them. He hated that in Maeve’s eyes you could do no wrong and they’d be sent to clean up the mess where your persuasions and deception failed where they got tortured for setting one foot out of line. So he would make you pay in his own way. Of course he would not dare lay a hand on you, especially unprovoked, be that out of fear for Maeve or simply because it felt wrong, there is plenty of ways to press someone’s buttons and he just happens to be very good at it. That’s exactly what he spent the next century or so doing. 

What a blessing it was to have you be sent along on a mission. There was no escape for you, and no one to truly punish him for his awful behaviour. If you were to be his warden then he would make that a living hell for you. He’d done so successfully that now you sent Gavriel with him in your stead to negotiate with the Pirate Lord. He’d watched you burn from within but then you’d take that frustrating breath and all emotion would ebb away. Your pretty face would turn ever so cold once more and thus with it the small spark of satisfaction on his end died away. He submitted to your command either way. He had to. Maeve’s orders. 

When he returned he saw you on that couch, head bowed forward, hands in your hair. If he dared be so bold, he would have sworn he saw the light tremble to your body but it instantly disappeared upon his arrival. 

“Why so glum, sunshine?” He decided to gracelessly drop himself onto the couch opposite of you. You brush your hair from your face and look up, once again eyes deadly cold, though right now there’s an exhaustion haunting your entire being he cannot quite place. 

“I’m not in the mood for your teasings, Fenrys.” You struggle to keep the inner turmoil from your voice. You have to be strong. You have to be thick-skinned. You have to keep taking the blows. Not like you don’t deserve them. Now more than ever must your resilience last. 

“You never are. Now are you going to tell me who pissed in your soup? I’d like to personally thank them for getting you to show even an ounce of discomfort and might want to ask for some pointers on how to wear you out like that. You keep refusing my other advances after all. I’d say exhaustion suits you but…” You can’t do this. You’re hanging on by a silken thread and it’s about to snap. You rise to your feet and make for the door but just before you reach he is blocking your way. You try to get around him but he holds you back.

Fenrys is too caught up in his own mind to realise you flinch at his touch, how you pull away. He misses that paranoia and drop of remorse blinking through you. He’s too focused on making your life hell and right now you’re making it very easy for him. You’re not one to run away but rarely there is no one else to tell him off, to face him with the consequences and remind him of his stupidity. He’s had his toes stepped on already. He’ll take great pleasure in playing this eternal game with you. He might not be able to get to Maeve to get recompense, but he sure as hell can take those grievances out on you. 

“Fenrys let me go.” You demand. Your breath is high in your chest as he holds onto your shoulders. You shake him off and step out of reach but still he stands between you and your escape to the outside. 

“Or what? You’ll tattle on me to Maeve?” He mocks. You can clearly see that frustration burn beneath his skin and he has every reason to be frustrated. You’ve stood by for decades. You were perfectly fine letting his brother suffer, letting him suffer if it meant you kept the strings in hand. If it takes being cruel then so be it. You’ll be cruel. You’ll strike where it hurts. Your words are much sharper than your claws and they cut far deeper. He was not prepared for what you said next. He did not count on his impulsiveness to be so crippling to his better judgement.  

“If I do we both know you won’t be the ones to suffer at her hand for it.” That’s it. Fenrys snaps. Next he knows you’re against the wall and his hand grabs your throat. You struggle to breath from the crushing force and claw at his hand to no avail. No, you weren’t truly trying. He sees it now; acceptance, relief even. In that very moment you are prepared to meet your end. He wouldn’t have done it of course, he might be stupid but he’s not outright suicidal but you didn’t know that. It’s the first time he’s truly seen you break. He has half the mind to wonder; never has he seen you break, so what has gotten you to do so now? He noticed the crack in your perfectly crafted armour. It took him a while before he realised there were many more. 

“Lay a hand on Connall and I will personally repay you in kind. With interest.” He lets go and air enters your lungs once more. You wobble on unsteady feet as he exits through that door and leaves you alone with your thoughts. Once you are sure he’s truly gone you simply drop to the ground, hug your knees and stare into the abyss. You’d ran out of tears a long time ago. 

[radiantteacup]

ੈ‧₊˚ 𝐀𝐇, 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐆 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄!

༊*·˚ It's Leopold's birthday and the day of his Coming of Age Banquet. After three years of being together you're both finally adults! The two of you spent the banquet lost in each others embrace, and stay that way long after its over. When your dance nears it's end the two of you begin to explore each other more, ad not in an innocent way. (Ps. I suck at writing summaries :p)

˗ˏˋFeaturing ´ˎ˗ Leopold Vermillion

˗ˏˋWarnings ´ˎ˗ Fem + AFAB! reader, Virginity loss, tongue sucking, Cunniligus, getting caught, Vaginal penetration, foul language, overstimulation, light dacryphilia(?), nipple play, licking, fingering, tongue-fucking, edging(?). Not Proofread (I’m tired lol)

˗ˏˋAlso includes´ˎ˗ Spoken Consent! (Queen shit), lots of fluff, very very sweet.

: ̗̀➛I was listening to this while I wrote this.

His heart is hammering in his chest, the thought makes your tummy flutter. Even after three years of dating 𝐋𝐞𝐨𝐩𝐨𝐥𝐝 still gets nervous when he's close to you like this. Looking up at him you can't help but smile, he'd grown to be handsome young man. Man. That's right, your sweet boy friend is a man now, he's officially 18.

You're pulled from your thoughts as 𝐋𝐞𝐨 dips you down, his hand cradling your back as you dance across the ballroom floor. His coming of age banquet ended hours ago with only the two of you still remaining but the music still played, though now the candles burned low, leaving the room dimly lit. The ballroom left a mess, gift wrapping, wine glasses, and platters of food scattered across the hall. Yet you two still danced, lost in each others embrace. It's like time stopped for the two of you, for two hearts that beat in a harmony for each other.

When 𝐋𝐞𝐨 pulls you back to his chest you let go of his hands, instead standing on your tip toes and wrapping your arms around his neck. He seems to understand as he leans down, both of his arms fall to your waist, his feet swaying the two of you side to side as he presses his forehead to your own. You close your eyes basking in the gloriousness of it all, nothing could be more perfect than this, than him.

When your eyes open again you find 𝐋𝐞𝐨 staring at you. The loving look in his eyes makes your heart buzz in your chest. You leaned closer to him, ghosting your lips over his own, smiling when he chased the kiss. His slightly chapped lips pressed against your own with such fervor it left your head spinning. His warm tongue slipping into your mouth and dancing with your own. Before too long he took your tongue into his mouth sucking on it gently. The sight was nothing short of erotic and it left your heart pounding almost violently in your chest. Even more so when 𝐋𝐞𝐨's lips slipped from your own down to your neck, sucking pretty purple bruises into the delicate skin there.

A soft sigh escaped your mouth as you tilted your head to the side, giving him more room to work with. You let yourself bask in the feeling of 𝐋𝐞𝐨's affections as his tongue peeked out of his mouth, slowly licking a line down to your breasts. You flinched in surprise when you felt one of his hands begin unlacing your dress. Looking back down at him you could see the raw hunger in his eyes and feel the warmth gathering below your belly right before his recaptured your lips with his own. Slipping out of your high heels you deepened the kiss, letting your tongue dance with his once more.

When his hands got to the last lace of your dress he broke the kiss, his eyes looking to you for permission to remove the gown. Your shy nod was all he needed to drop the silks from your body, leaving only the tight corset and your panties to cover your figure. He wasted no time continuing his assault on your neck, making sure there was no way you'd be able to hide them tomorrow. You were pretty sure he hadn't even thought about that, too lost in marking you as his to consider the aftermath of your rendezvous. Especially if his older brother saw them. Fuegoleon still saw 𝐋𝐞𝐨 as his sweet innocent little brother so you can only imagine what he'd say if he saw you, Leo's girlfriend, covered in hickies. You're sure his reaction would be nothing short of hysterical. But you couldn't find on yourself to tell him to stop, not when you were so focused on the feeling of his big hands pawing at your clothed breasts.

Your thoughts were interrupted by one of 𝐋𝐞𝐨𝐩𝐨𝐥𝐝's warm hands traveling to the back of your corset, and the other to the hem of your panties. "C-Can I take them off? Please baby? I'll make you feel so good. I promise!" The desperation in his voice had your tummy doing flips but you couldn't say yes. yet.

"Not here, 𝐋𝐞𝐨𝐩𝐨𝐥𝐝. Lets go back to your room, I'd like to avoid any unwanted interruptions." He looked a little disappointed, but it faded quickly as he slipped his long, red cape off his shoulders and over your own before picking you up into his strong arms. Quickly but quietly he carried you to his room, setting you down on his plush mattress. You let yourself sink into the deep-red, satin bedding which cradled you gently while you watched 𝐋𝐞𝐨 strip himself of the luxurious suit you'd chosen for him, for this occasion. By the time he crawled on top of you, he was bare before you and you were even needier than before.

"Can I take them off now? I wanna see you baby. All of you. Pretty please?" The way 𝐋𝐞𝐨 pleaded with you had you growing wetter, god he sounded so hot when he begged. You, again, gave a shy nod before flipping over and propping yourself up on your elbows. Wasting no time, he got to work untying the laces on your corset, pressing gentle kisses to your shoulder every now and again as he worked.

When 𝐋𝐞𝐨 untied the last lacing you tried to shuffle out of it but, he stopped you. "Turn around baby, wanna see your pretty tits." You blush at his words but obey nevertheless, turning over and laying on your back. Licking his lips, he slides the loose corset up and over your head, groaning at the way your breasts jiggle as they're freed from the constricting material.

Then, without warning 𝐋𝐞𝐨 attaches himself to one of your pebbling nipples. The sudden, unexpected feeling of his warm tongue on your sensitive tits has you moaning into the back of one of your hands, the other burying itself into his hair, tugging gently on the roots. You can feel goosebumps rising on your skin as one of his hands slowly slides down towards your panties. He looks up at you, asking for permission once more, but this time he doesn't take your half-assed nod as an answer.

"I wanna hear you say it, baby. Tell me you want this, that you want me." His voice was low and husky as he whispered in your ear, his warm breath tickling your neck.

Cupping his cheeks in the palm of your hands you pull his face close to yours, his lips mere inches from your own. "I want you, 𝐋𝐞𝐨𝐩𝐨𝐥𝐝 𝐕𝐞𝐫𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐨𝐧. I want to be yours, and for you to be mine. I want you to take me, and for us to be one." Your voice wavered towards the end of your confession, the intimacy of the moment flooding you with warm emotions. The look on his face told you he was feeling the same way, and your suspicions were confirmed when he kissed you.

The kiss was sloppy and rushed but it was still perfect, because it was him. When you parted, both of you were panting loudly, out of breath from the passionate kiss. But, with one final peck to your lips, 𝐋𝐞𝐨 began kissing down your body again, taking his time to worship every inch of your skin. Then, gently, he slid his finger under your panties, gripping the hem of them delicately. With a comforting kiss to your navel, he slowly slid your panties off before tossing to the floor.

You felt your face grow red as 𝐋𝐞𝐨 sat up from where he was on top of you, admiring your body with a look of awe on his face. Gently, his rough hands traveled your body, just taking in your beauty. Then, he took one last look at your face before he backed off of you, grabbing your hips carefully and pulling you to the edge of the bed. For a moment you were confused, but the realization hit you as he kneeled on the floor in front of the bed.

"L-𝐋𝐞𝐨 don't do th- mmh!", you were cut off by a moan as he licked a long stripe through your folds. You could feel your back arch as he continued to lap at your clit, the stimulation sending shocks of pleasure through your entire body. One of your hands buried itself in his hair, the other covering your mouth, desperately trying to muffle your moans. Gently, he brought his thumb to your clit, rubbing small circles on the little button before burying his tongue in your sopping cunt.

Your eyes rolled back, the feeling of his warm muscle wiggling around inside of you was enough to make you go dumb. 𝐋𝐞𝐨𝐩𝐨𝐥𝐝 groaned as he basked in the taste of your juices bursting on his tongue. Loud squelching filled the room as he messily tongue fucked you towards your high. You tried so hard to muffle the lewd moans that escaped your mouth but it your attempts were fruitless, especially when the sounds your pussy was making were just as loud. Whines began escaped your puffy lips as you got closer and closer to your high, your resolve dwindling more and more with every passing moment.

Suddenly your entire body contracts, and your mind goes blank as a blanket of euphoria crashes over you. You feel 𝐋𝐞𝐨's left hand pin your hips down to the bed before one of his fingers pushes into your warm cunt. Tears roll down your face from the overstimulation as he pumps his finger in and out of your gummy walls. Before you know it he's adding a second finger, and then a third, until he's satisfied with how stretched out you are.

Then he's crawling back on top of the bed. You can feel him plant a gentle kiss on your forehead before he picks you up into his arms. Then, crawling his knees towards the top of the bed. 𝐋𝐞𝐨𝐩𝐨𝐥𝐝 gently rests your head on the pillows before laying you down completely. He plants another kiss on your cheek before crawling between your spread legs. His big hands slide underneath your thighs, placing them over his shoulder before he leans down, whispering softly in your ear, "you 100 percent sure you want this?" You nod, a warm smile gracing your lips as you cup his face in your palms. "I wouldn't want to do this with anybody else, my love."

𝐋𝐞𝐨 feels his heart swell at your words, how did he get so lucky with you? With a final kiss on your left eyebrow he begins slowly pushing his already-hard-cock into your gummy cunt. You hear him groan as your hands gently grip his shoulders. He continues pushing into you until he's buried to the hilt inside your warm pussy. He pauses for a moment, drunk on the feeling of you, of him inside of you.

It isn't until you mumble a soft, "please", that he comes back to his senses. When he does though, he sets a slow pace, drawling his hips back and pushing back in, savoring the moment as much as possible. After a minute or two, he's picking up the pace, thrusting into with more fervor than before. You begin moaning again, that feeling of euphoria drawing closer and closer as 𝐋𝐞𝐨's big cock pounds into your pulsating cunt. "Mhhh, Leo. Fuck, please!" You're so close to cumming, so close to that slice of heaven when you feel your heart drop and you blood run cold.

Bang! Bang! Bang!

"𝐋𝐞𝐨𝐩𝐨𝐥𝐝 𝐕𝐞𝐫𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐨𝐧! Open this damn door at once!" This booming voice of Fuegoleon sent both of you into panic mode. What was a romantic night of love making, had turned into the two of you trying to get dressed in a hurry without even a moments notice. You slipped your underwear on, desperately trying to find your dress. Then, the realization hit you like a cold bucket of water, your dress was in the ballroom. You turned to look at 𝐋𝐞𝐨, but the look in his eyes told you he'd realized it too. Rushing to his armoire he grabbed a T-shirt and some pants he'd outgrown ages ago and tossed them to you.

By the time the two of you opened the door it'd been a good 5 minutes, but whether it'd been 5 minutes or 5 hours no amount of time would prepare for the pure mortification you felt in this moment. Fuegoleon, your captain was glaring at you like you'd just killed his dog with your dress in his hand, and Mereoleona, the strongest woman you'd ever met, was laughing her ass off behind him.

After 2 painfully long minutes of silence Fuegoleon spoke while tossing you your dress, " I trust that you both know how much trouble you're in." You both nodded too scared to speak, as he stood there staring angrily at both of you. Sure, it was going to suck later, but you didn't regret what you and 𝐋𝐞𝐨𝐩𝐨𝐥𝐝 shared, not one bit. Even if you weren't able to finish, just the feeling of being one with him was enough for you.

[frogchiro]

pierro who loves praise, craves it and wants to bask in it. call him arrogant and maybe even narcissistic but he loves to be praised and told what a brave and smart man he is, how fiercely he fought and gloriously won a battle for Her Majesty, how his strategic mind helped to gain yet another win for snezhnaya; he lives for it.

it may seem uncharacteristic and strange for him, a man as stone cold as him? pierro, the jester, the man who never smiles, it would seem impossible that someone like him is so vain and full of himself.

and yet there he is, pride swelling in his chest and almost bursting it open as he looks down on you, pretty little you, as you sit nestled right into his side with a doe-eyed look in your adorable (e/c) eyes that look at him with the utter adoration reserved for a god and yet it it him you decided to look at like that.

he continues to tell you about one of his glorious conquests as he looks over and observes your face, the concentrated look on your face as you hold eye contact with him makes him quietly rumble in delight; he knows you hold onto every single word that comes out of his mouth, his sharp fangs glint ominously in the moonlight as he lifts his upper lip in disdain as he recounts a particular nasty opponent and pierro can feel his cock twitching when he hears that little gasp you let out and the quiet breath of relief as he continues with how he slew that very same person without mercy.

pierro loves praise. in his earlier days when he was still only some man in the vast court of khaen'rhia he was laughed at and ignored, not a single utterance of a good word in his direction even when he tried to warn those fools of their wrongdoings. no, all he got were sneers, laughs and snide remarks from the all-knowing sages.

'and look who's laughing now, fools' he thinks to himself as he lets you worship him like he's your god, your soft voice breathing all the praises under the sun into his strong neck and chest as he sits back and allows you to pleasure him, to worship him.

the next day he'll tell you to polish his many medals for him as he readies himself for another day as the jester, the lord harbinger. he'll tell you yet another story of his magnificent conquest and you'll have the very same doe eyed look in your eyes, full of adoration as you soak up his words like a sponge, his cute little mate.

yes, pierro loves praise~

[anonymoushouseplantfan]

I wonder if Meghan thinks that A-listers don't actually work? That they farm out all the work to underlings and just bask in the status.

Does she not get the level of personal work Brad and Angie put in individually after divorcing to try to reclaim their public identity? Brad didn't want to be known as a wife/kid basher and Angelina didn't want the divorce to be taken as evidence of the 'homewrecker' label.

I don't get why Meghan doesn't seem to understand she actually has to be repetitive, consistent, and believable in her messaging.

She doesn’t and to be fair to her, her experience bears that out. She had to hustle like crazy in Suits, but once she met Harry everything was done for her and it was all gloriously successful. The royal staff did everything for her and the press fawned over her constantly. She could go out in wrinkled clothes with messy hair and the press would call her a fashion icon. She could spout word salad and the press would laud her public speaking skills.

Harry’s experience was just the same. His life was one disaster after another—cheating, drugs, fights, Vegas, racism, leaving the Army—but the royal press office spun it so he became the most popular royal in the UK.

So they don’t think they have to do any work. They never have!

[popculturebuffet]

Uncle Scrooge: The Secret Santa Spell Review (comission by WeirdKev27)

Happy Holidays all you Happy People. It's that time of year again, time to haul out the holly and the breadcrumbs because we're talking about ducks again. Yes while I haven't talked about ducks nearly enough on this blog as of late, finding a Ducktale for christmas has always been a priority.

This year though Kev took the reigns on this one after realizing this was a tradition, and found me TWO. We were originally going to do the darkwing duck christmas special, something I didn't know existed and still know little about on purpose and still plan to next year.. but then... he found this. See back in 2021 I reviewed the Carl Barks comic a letter to santa. You can find the review here.

But the main takeaway is it features THIS iconic scene

Look saying i'm a simple man would be a boldfaced lie, but sometimes it's the simple things like an absurdly rich duck and his nephew fighting to the death with heavy machinery so one of them can give their nephew's the remaining machine as a christmas present that bring me joy on this holiday season.

That said after years of basking in the warm glow of having randomly found a comic about Scrooge and Donald battling to the death with steam shovels, I found something just as holly jolly.. and just as gloriously, wonderfully nuts. My friends it's time I introduced you to the Secret Santa spell.

Again Kev, my producer of sorts, deserves the credit here: he found this in Disney Christmas Parade, IDW's christmas anthology they printed every year for a while, and god bless him for it as this story is gold. It's a genuinely good, well done Magica story that thanks to taking place on christmas and involving a claus somehow less thought out than the one where if you kill Santa you become Santa, figgy pudding, a murder tree, and a volcano finale, is also completely bonkers and I love every second of it. This is a geninely fantastic scrooge story and one worth taking a look for yourself if you can find it online since it's out of print. For those of you who can't or simply don't wanna, come with me under the cut as we explore the hap happiest christmas since bing crosby tap danced with danny fucking kaye while Donald and Scrooge tried to pummel each other with steam shovels.

This story comes to us from writers Fransico Artibani, Lello Arena and artest Silvio Cambolli. I hadn't heard of any of these people before this as i'm not really up on my itallian duck comics but they do an excellent job here and I certainly will be looking out for more of their stories.

For this story we open at the bin a few days before christmas as everything's winding down for the holiday and Donald's doing one of his last bits of slave labor for Scrooge when two Scottish obviously suspcious carollers show up. Scrooge apparently gets so many that both are and aren't villians in disguise he's worked up a bit of an extreme solution.. granted he wanted to just pour oil on them but then legal got involved.

So he has to go with the Virtuetron 3000, an elaborate setup he had gyro work up that puts MIND READING HELMETS

Yup i'ts magica.. I mean I can't blame Scrooge for being suspcious, turning her shadow into a teenager to sneak into the mansion only for said teenager to fall in love with scrooge's daughter, this ain't, but i'm less concered with Magica and Co's half baked scheme and more concered a man who underpays his employees, quite literally owns the town, and already has a fairly sketchy moral compass has MIND CONTROL technology.. and giant killer robots

You'd think this would be an out of character expendature... but he got it from a reliable presidental source

Scrooge did all this so he could have a restful christmas. Magica.. isn't having the same as she has some uninvited guests.

Okay so some introductions are in order as i'm sure some of you had the same reaction I did

Thankfully Inducks also indexed who they are. Starting with the one I DID recognize, the little tyke is Magica's niece Minima, the basis for Lena and Magica's exact oppisite: kind, selfless, cheery. The only thing she isn't inverted on is magical talent, as Minima has a knack for it.

The two strangers are Rosolio and Gramma DeSpell. Yes GRAMMA, that's magica's grandma. What's intresting is there's two distinct versions of the character that don't really contradict each other, with this one in the 90's becoming a bigger fixture, and there being nothing to say this isn't the same character given a Sabrina the Teenage Witch style makeover, just a few years BEFORE Zelda and Hilda's got there's in fact. Go figure. She's a bit of a hippie and tries to talk down Magica from her schemes.

Her sidekick here, and sexual harasser, is Rosolio, a mildly inepet magician who followed her from italy to hit on her.

So Magica's about ready to just abandon her magic shop and go.. fuck off or whatever when Minima innocently brings up something...

Yes folks, this is indeed our premise: Santa put in a clause in his magic that's somehow weirder than "If tim allen shoves you off a room tim allen become santa claus" or "If tim allen dosen't find a wife in time he ceases to be santa claus" or.. let's just say anything tim allen adjacent. If you wish for something seven times and happen to be some sort of spellcaster, you get it, regardless of morality, intent or what it actually is. Which DOES mean good news for one little boy man robot

But still raises a LOT of questions. It's not a bad concept, that asking for something enough means santa will take pity but why isn't their restraints? Why has Magica, someone Santa would objectively not liked asked 7 times? why have we only heard about a magic version of the junior woodchuck guidebook this once? why didn't we get a fourth season of ducktales so Frank could adapt this? These are the things that keep me up at night. This is also a thing that keeps me up at night.

Donald just admit you need glasses instead of taking it out on your children, for all our sakes!

So Magica goes to the north poll to deliver letter 7 personally while Gramma.. only stops Rogoilo from going with her then hopes she'll be okay.

Magicia isn't as an elf being pulled by a sleigh full of pengys and getting there late notices her. Honestly we wouldn't have this plot at all if the best boy pengy wasn't busy.

Magica is frozen solid and is revived by 30 cc's of hot chocolate. I don't know if Tom Hanks sang to her, he was also busy that christmas

Magcia repays this kindness by busting up the north poll, going on a rampage to find Santa since the elves handle letters. Keep in mind this ENTIRE act of the story, her getting frozen, her going on a rampage, her bringing an evil dead tree to life before fighting an army of teddy bears and snowman

YUP. You didn't think the insanity stopped at mind policing, killer robots, santa clauses and improperly placed penguins did you? Nope we get a full on offscreen lord of the rings battle complete with ents simply because Magicia wants to gloat in person. And despite this section being padding.. it works. of COURSE magicia would want to gloat to santa, of COURSE she coudln't wait for Christmas day. It's totlaly in character and her singing oh christmas tree or spitting out hot chocolate are just.. such nice character touches. Of course she's so dedicated to being evil she hates something sweet. OF COURSE.

It's something neat about this comic: i'ts bonkers, no question.. but it's also simply fantastic on it's own merit. The idea of Magica getting a santa wish is neat on it's own, but the story then uses Minima to anchor it: she's frustrated it seems her aunt will never be happy and always obess over the dime, and thus teleports to the bin to take it from her, not understanding WHY it's precious to scrooge or WHY her aunt wants it, simply wanting to make her aunt happy. No one even knows; the thought police helmet's don't scan ill intent.. because there isn't none. It's just an innocent child wanting to bring her Aunt christmas. This version of Minima reminds me a LOT of 87 webby, and it's in the best way: innocent , kind, selfless.. all the good things.

Anyways Santa finally goes to confront magica, wondering why she's doing this the answers no.. and forgetting his own stupid policy until it's too late, with her asking for the dime and him entering a trance to go get it.

It's christmas eve and Scrooge is bored as nothing's going on. Disturbingly he wants to know how litigatoins are going. Those orphans aren't going to be forced out into the snow themsleves, ghosts of past buisness partners be dammned!

Scrooge is interuptted from taling to Mrs. Quackfaster byt he arrival of santa. Thinking it's magica in a disguise , he sicks a robot guard dog on her he turns into a sheep.

But then we get the crowner, the weirdest, best, and most wonderful thing in this story.. I present...

I"ll level with you all, while holiday shopping was easy this year, i've still been dealing with a lot of seasonal depression and regular ole depression. It's been a long month with loved ones in the hosptial (nothing serious but also nothing you need to know about in full), work piling up and me not even taking the time to enjoy some of my gifts. I've had plenty of kind people, thoughtful gifts, and wonderful friends but sometimes the stress of this job, as much as I love it, and the world can get to you. So getting to just relax and review a comic where Santa turns Scrooge's bin into a giant figgy pudding while under hypnosis.. it helps> it warms the spirit and reminds me why I do this. For the joy of good stories.. and for the wonder of nonsense.

For those who like me wondered what Figgy Pudding actually even is, wonmder no more: it's a traditional british pudding made out of animal fat. You no doubt have more questions but we have more story

So Santa snaps out of it once he gives Magica the time and she teleports out. Scrooge asks santa to go get it.. but despite you know having TURNED SCROOGE'S BIN INTO PUDDING and stolen his prized possesion, he's .. less than helpful.

I just.. dude... man.. santa dude man claus... Christmas is important. It brigns joy to children and it's why youd o this. I get that. But how does "I need to return the dime I stole while BRAINWASHED due to a stupid bit of magic I never bothered to undo or work up a backup plan for", equate to "greed begats greed'.

For starters the Dime.. isn't just a dime.. and you should know this. Your santa. You know everything about a person, it's your deal. This dime was the first bit of honest money Scrooge ever earned, a reminder of what he started, something he dearly loves and treasures not because it's MONEY but because of what it means. And even not knowing that Scrooge didn't start any of this shit. Scrooge has to constantly ward off Magicia's crap, something you DO for a fact know as you rejected her wish till your dumbass magic kicked in. She's not trying to steal his hoarded gross amount of money, she's trying to take the dime and she's trying to do it for an evil plan. YOU KNOW BETTER SANTA.

Granted this could be a christmastime grift as Santa gets Scrooge to promise a big dinner and bonuses for everyone in duckburg, so he could've simply been fleecing scooge.. and I prefer that interprtation as it fits santa better: Santa would WANT to make up for what he did with magica and WANT to stop her because Santa is a kind, caring person. And even if she hadn't used the santa spell against him, she still attacked his elves out of spite. I prefer to think he would've helped anyway but knew Scrooge deserved to be taught a lesson which, fair play to the big guy.. Scrooge ABSOLUTELY did.

So they go to stop him while Magica goes to show off her dime.. and minima realizes Magica didn't open her present and thus dosen'jt know and is about to make an oopsie.

So Scrooge and Santa go to stop her, but can't... luckily thanks to Minima giving Scrooge a chocolate coin instead of giving her the midas touch, the spell gives her...

It's an excellent brick joke on Magicia hating chocolate, and a great visual. it temproarily makes her the sweetst duck in the world.. which leads to some shipping bait

But a genuinely sweet ending for Minima who, if for one moment and only thanks to magic.. gets to enjoy her aunt. I mean Magica becoming sweet thanks to choclate magic is KINDA Messed up.. but it's hard to not enjoy a child who simply wanted her aunt to be happy.. getting that for one breif moment.

I still feel bad for her as this won't lass, Magicia will be back to her abuse hateful self.. but I can't begrudge a kind, innocent little witch her happy ending. I just don't have it in me. It's not forever, Magicia gets herself back.. but for one day.. she'll treat her family how they deserve. And Rogilo how he really dosen't but you can't have everything now can you?

So because we can't just end on the sweet moment, Santa assures Scrooge the figgy pudding bin will turn back after christmas.. but until then.. he has a promise to fufill.

Every christmas story should end with the whole town eating a rich man's property. Hell EVERY christmas should. Eat the rich's buildings kids!

This story is excellent. Really werid? yes. Having a pretty bonkers ending for no reason? Yes. Is said ending hilarious, the throughline of Minima heartfelt, and the zanier stuff also really funny? Entirely. It's a well done Scrooge story set around christmas with santa's indgiance at helping scrooge being the only thing I really don't like. Had he phrased it less as "you brought this on yourself" and more "you don't deserve it after how you've treated your employees" it'd make more sense. Still one little bump dosen't ruin the figgy pudding.. I think. I don't know how figgy pudding works. I do like this story though and highly recommend it. Thanks for reading.

[maelstroms-blog]

A relaxing day at the park brings out some intrusive thoughts for a certain Dream king

Tw:intrusive thoughts, low self esteem

The park was busy, as usual, because of the sunny weather or the fact that it was school holidays, whatever the reason, the place was packed. Hob walked along, nodding at everyone he passed. It had been a long day, so many conferences, so many essay consultations, but his exhaustion didn't matter. Not when he spotted Dream.

It was hard to miss him, he stuck out like a sore thumb. He was sitting on his usual bench, shoulders hunched under his usual black coat, despite the sunny weather. He was like a splotch of ink that spilled on an acrylic painting. Surrounding Dream was a crowd of birds, waiting for the golden baguette in his hands. The entire bird population of London must gave gathered to him.

Hob smiled at the sight, especially when one brave bird hopped onto Dream's knee, it pecked happily at the offered handful. A tiny smile appeared on the dream king's face. Had Hob still been mortal, the scene alone would have killed him. Hob cautiously approached, clearing his throat so as not to startle his friend, or his captive audience. Dream didn't even look up,

'Greetings, Hob Gadling,' he tossed another handful of crumbs, 'You are late.'

'By five minutes,' Hob rolled his eyes. Over the cooing of birds, the screeching laughter of children washed over them.

The Dream King's eyebrow twitched.

'I would not like to spend any more time thsn i have to in the Waking,'

'Not even for little old me?'

Dream finally looked at him, his icy blue eyes shining,

'No.'

Hob, taking a page from his lover's book, pouted. He blinked his big, brown eyes, Dream looked back, his own pout stronger. Hob leaned in close, still pouting, Dream didnt even blink. Without warning, Hob planted a kiss onto Dream's cold cheek. His reward was a startled gasp and the subtle flush of alabaster cheeks.

'You scoundrel.'

Hob grinned, 'I've been called worse.'

At that, Dream finally smiled. If Hob hadn't been sitting right next to him, he would have missed it. He stole another kiss, basking in their closeness, even if it was just for a moment.

The pair chatted for a while, pausing so Dream could coo a question to his avian audience. Then, something caught Hob's eyes something colourful and loud.

'Ice cream van!' Hob declared, his excitement raised an eyebrow,

'Why is that cause for celebration?'

'Because, my broody lover, it's ice cream!'

And with that, he was off, getting in line with the other kids.

Dream couldn't stop himself from smiling, watching Hob bounce from foot to foot.

He didn't deserve Hob. He truly didn't understand what Hob saw in him. The intrusive thought settled heavy in his mind like a parasite.

Why was Hob with him?

What did he have to offer someone so happy and full of life?

Look at them, they were here on a date, in the date, on a gloriously sunny day, surrounded by life and laughter, the two things that fueled Hob Gadling, and here he was, choosing to spend time with Dream. The most miserable of the Endless, as Desire eloquently put it, Despair even agreed with them.

Dream sighed, feeling the oh so familiar tensing of his shoulders. The birds cooed, trying to remind their king of their hunger. His fingers tore at the bread but he was no longer paying attention.

He was sinking, it was a familiar feeling. Sinking down into the dark whirlpool that was his mind. It brought the familiar lurch in his stomach, the pain that made him want to curl up and retreat to the Dreaming.

He would have, he was about to, then, his warmth returned. The bumping of shoulders doing little to ground him.

'Hey, love,' Hob chirped, he brandished a cone,

'I thought you might like strawberry.'

Silence.

'Now, I know what you're going to say, "Hob Gadling, this is unnecessary, I do not require sustenance," I know, but you haven't tried strawberry ice cream.'

Dream still didn't look up, Hob, realising that this wasn't his usual brooding silence, instantly dropped his good humour.

'Dream, is something wrong?' He reached out but both hands were occupied with ice cream cones, instead, he settled for gently bumping heads with Dream.

'Love, please, did I do something wrong?'

Dream's head shot up,

'No, never,'

Hob waited, Dream sighed,

'Why...?' He searched for the right words,

'Why do you choose to be with me?'

Obviously raised his eyebrows, whatever he had been expecting, it hadn't been that.

'Well, that should be obvious,'

Dream blinked,

'Because I love you.'

Usually, that would be enough to get a smile from his lover, instead, it just brought out another sigh.

'But why?'

Hob leaned forward,

'What brought this on? I was only gone for a few minutes.'

He handed Dream his ice cream, now using his free hand to cup his face,

'Look at me, Dream.'

He did, his blue eyes filled with so much emotion Hob thought he might drown.

'I love you, I've loved you ever since that day you walked into the tavern, you were all I could think about. You were, and still are, so elegant and mysterious, I didn't think I'd have a chance.'

Dream opened his mouth,

'Ah, ah, no self-deprecation, I forbid it.'

'I love you, Dream, I love everything about you. Your fathomless eyes that reflect the night sky, your rosebud mouth that whispers sweet nothings and that messy bedhead that annihilates any comb,' he emphasised his point with a peppering of kisses to his raven hair.

Dream couldn't stop himself from leaning into his touch. Hob continued,

'And it isn't just your looks, don't worry about that. You're also sweet, sensitive, so sensitive, and soft.'

Dream blinked, 'Soft?'

Hob gestured to the well fed birds, 'Soft,' he wrapped his arm around Dream's slender shoulders,

'That's just a few reasons why I love you, I would love to list more but my ice cream is turning into soup.'

He quickly ran his tongue along his cone, trying to salvage his sweet treat, leaving Dream to stare.

'I do not deserve you, Hob Gadling.'

'Ah, ah, what did I tell you about self-deprecation'

'Very well, you are too good to me.'

Hob frowned, but at slight smirk of Dream's lips, he let out a chuckle,

'I hope my words got through to you, prince of Stories.'

Dream looked down at his ice cream, idly watching it drip down his arm.

'Thank you, Hob.'

'You don't have to thank me, love,' he leaned over and kissed Dream fully on the lips, cementing the words in the latter's mind.

'Now, hurry and eat your ice cream, I want to see your reaction.'

Dream rolled his eyes but complied, tentatively licking the bright pink liquid. Sweet strawberry exploded on his tongue, it was better than any dessert the Dreaming could produce. He must have made a sound of pleasure due to Hob's sudden exclamation.

'Oh lord,'

Dream turned to find him clutching his chest and holding his phone, recording to Dream's annoyance.

'That was the cutest thing I have ever seen, you eat like a kitten,' Hob grinned.

Dream merely rolled his eyes again, he licked again at the ice cream,

'So? I take it I made the right choice?'

Dream looked at him, grabbing his sticky hand,

'You did.'

[tarabyte3]

I don't want to pressure you!! But I'm so excited for the next chapter of TDMUS 😫😫Please give us a sneak peek--or a hint about what's coming? I would appreciate it so much!!!

First, I'm SO glad you're enjoying The Devil Makes Us Sin! 💕 I'm ecstatic that people like this slow descent into corruption and debauchery. Second, you'll be pleased to know I'm over 3.5k words into the next chapter and it's all plotted out. I can't promise when it will be done, but I have been working on it! (Though perhaps not as quickly as I would like.)

So just for you Anon, here's a snippet from Chapter 4 (without final edits so it may change slightly in the final draft). Enjoy 😉😏

The next morning, you sleep in until a gloriously late hour. Just because you can. And because last night was emotionally exhausting—you're certain the wine didn't help. Even when you're no longer tired, you lie in bed, wrapped in the warmth of your blankets, and bask in the knowledge that you never have to go back to that office ever again.

Or speak to your mother.

You feel untethered, but not adrift. No, you know exactly which direction you're headed and now you have the freedom to do so.

Eventually you resume your search for a new bed on your phone as well because you start to think about how blissful this would have been on a comfortable mattress. With silk sheets. And a new nightgown. Oh, maybe something with lace. Or silk. Or, even better, something sheer that barely covers your ass.

You also think about how much David would enjoy all of those things.

You start off looking at sleepwear that leans more sensible than sexy, but as you begin to wonder what David would think of each one, you quickly find yourself clicking on more and more revealing pieces.

It's when you're looking at a see through, drapey number that comes off with only a clasp between your breasts that your phone buzzes with a new text message.

You grin because you wondered how long it would be before he reached out to you. Now you're absolutely certain he's keeping tabs on you and saw how racy your searches were getting. Part of you was doing it on purpose—baiting him until he couldn't resist any longer. Even if it gave him away.

Are you enjoying your first day of freedom?

"Immensely. I haven't even gotten out of bed yet." You feel very smug as you hit send because now you've added the thought of you in bed to his mental image of the lingerie.

Is that so? Sounds as though you're having a lovely morning.

Any other exciting plans for the day?

"Not unless you count a date with a book on my nightstand."

Depends on what kind of book.

"Well, there are two of them for me to choose from. One is a murder mystery. The other is a steamy romance novel." It's a lie. You have two art history books and an Amedeo Modigliani biography on your nightstand.

I see. Two very different types of thrilling.

"Exactly. On one hand, the murder mystery would stimulate my brain."

It takes a minute longer for you to get a response to that.

And what would the romance novel stimulate?

"My heart, David. What else?" You grin at your phone.

"Now tell me which one you would like best."

If I had to choose between the two, I would prefer the murder mystery.

"Of course you would. But I meant which of the lingerie you would like best. Because I know you were watching."

There's another pause.

All of them.

[lullabyes22-blog]

Probably to “boost moral” or something (at this rate they don’t know what the fuck it wants) the new being controlling their world introduces itself, by ripping into their dreams and talking to them.

they learn that their new “overseer” is rather benign, or perhaps a better word would be indifferently amused. It’s not cruel but it’s not kind or even nice.

when it gives a name they feel like they’re mind is tearing in half like peeled orange. It’s so bad that the lucky ones awaken feeling as though their entire body is engulfed in fire, the ones not so lucky are bleeding out of every orifice on their face as well as feeling the burn, and the really unlucky ones are completely inverted.

anyway before they wake up and regret existence, they look upon the godling. They experience another pain not unlike one’s gets from looking directly at the sun. Except it’s accompanied by the feeling that their body is unwinding on a spool.

then the godling turns into a form, it’s appearance varies as it it’s taken on the shape or person that the dreamer finds most soothing. It’s message also changes depending on the person with the same purpose. To placate.

a) what form do different characters see when the being talks to them, and how do they react?

b) what does it tell them?

P.S. I hope your having fun with this I certainly am.

Hehehe I like how they keep being exposed to celestial/eldritch horrors in true Lovecraftian style XD

Silco: A sense of being at the bottom of the sea, staring up at the broken refraction of sunlight on the surface. Deep-sea fish float around him, and there's a sense of belonging and tranquility. The voice is what his childhood self used to imagine Janna's voice sounded like, with a tenor similar to his mother's.

It soothes him with one word he's made into both a weapon and a war-tactic, "Patience."

Jinx: She's at the arcade where her family used to hang out. Now it's a gigantic box of gearworks, all clamor and colorful chaos, and yet there's a sense of sublime order underlaying it all. Best of all, she's part of that order, the heart sparking the chaos. There are arms encircling her, and a warm voice like Vi's whispering in her ear.

"We'll always be together."

Sevika: She's alone somewhere warm and dark. The thought flashes in her mind that it's a dragon's belly, yet there's no horror in the fact. It's a gestative process that promises to birth something strong and wonderful. In this dream, she still has both her arms intact. They are being clasped by a pair of feminine hands that could be her sister's.

But the red eyes glowing in the gloom remind her of Silco.

"The price is paid," a whisper comes, "now you'll bask in your reward."

Vi: A childhood memory. Herself and Powder nestled together under blankets at bedtime. Powder has a sketch pad and is showing her schematics for a new toy. Except the schematics are gloriously intricate and contain, in Vi's dream-mind, the secrets to past loss and its erasure.

Powder's little voice murmurs instructions, "That's the way," pointing at the design, "you'll find us both again."

[umber-cinders]

Title:  𝑊𝑖𝑛𝑡𝑒𝑟 𝑀𝑜𝑜𝑛 🌕❄

Chapter 16: Sweetner

Chapter Summary: Inyanga spends some quality time bonding with her alpha. A few revelations are made and some fluff and minor hurt/comfort and smut ensues.

Warnings:  MATURE, EXPLICIT 🔞 ‼🚨READ THE TAGS🚨‼ Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Rape/Non-con Elements, Dubious Consent, Extremely Dubious Consent, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Recreational Drug Use, Blood and Violence, Smut, Forced Bonding, Claiming Bites, Mating Cycles/In Heat,Knotting, Breeding Kink, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Wakanda AU, Dark AU

❥Chapter Index ❥

Being curled into the safety of M'Baku’s chest provided a tranquility and peace that Inyanga was unsure she could achieve through conventional means. They’d both slept soundly, his arm draped securely over her hips where a pillow kept the heating pad pressed against her lower abdomen. It had turned itself off somewhere in the last hour but that was fine. The cramping had settled to something more tolerable now and left her to bask in the gloriousness of M’Baku’s scent.

The mixture of alpha pheromones thickening the air had put her in a hazy sort of dreamstate, prompting her to stay nice and warm in his embrace. Being so comfortable with having him so close was—on some level—a bit startling. It was rare that she ever shared her nest with anyone; oftentimes opting to construct them in the confines of her bedroom, away from her previous beta roommates. Was this what it felt like to have an alpha’s full attention?...

It was horrifyingly addictive. She felt so connected to him through the bond at the moment that she could sense how far away he was when he got up to go to the bathroom.

❥Read The Rest On Ao3 ❥

[dckweed]

hi kara :)))

Can you do billy hargrove x f!reader?

him and reader are in a relationship and they are driving round late at night reader gets a bit hansy ;) and end up giving billy a bj or hj whilst he’s still driving this is his reward for not getting in a fight all week? i understand if you don’t wanna do it, it’s your choice don’t feel pressured 🤍

hi love :)))))) you ask, and you shall receive! how's everyone doing today? this probably isn't going to be overly long but that's okay !

this got filthy.

1 down, 5 more to come.

warnings: MINORS DO NOT OPEN! semi-smut, oral (male receiving), use of pet names, reader being an absolute horn dog. car play. deep throating, ball touching and sucking and kind of maybe sub!billy with a ma'am kink?

".. HAVE YOU BEEN A GOOD BOY?.." billy hargrove x fem!reader

Aggressive music played in the background, the wind rushing through your hair as the breeze came through the open window, spattering your flushed skin with the cool whisps of air, the weather was just beginning to turn to autumn and you were more than happy to be out of the raging heat for a while.

You squirmed in your seat, rubbing your thighs together as you bit on your thumbnail, face flushing as you looked over to your boyfriend, his fingers drumming on the steering wheel of his precious camaro as he rambled on and on about Steve Harrington and how he just got under his skin in ways he couldn't explain, but he didn't act on them, infact, he promised that he had been good, that he had been patient and understanding with Max and his stepmother, and even Max's friends.

You thought you might reward him, you could tell he had had a long week, and honestly, you had too. It would only be a taste of what was to come later on, when he finally got you to your empty house, your family gone for the night. God you had been day dreaming about the way that he would absolutely ravish and ruin you all at once, turn you into a filthy, slobbering, begging mess right there on your dining room table if he so pleased, his perfect little personal whore. You quiver at the thought, biting back a moan as you rub your legs together the right way and a jolt of pleasure goes through your core, your pussy clenching around nothing as your panties dampen even farther.

Just a taste would have to suffice for now, you thought. You whimper and Billy looks over at you, eyebrows knitted. "What's wrong sugar, you cold?" He asks, concern lacing his tone.

You take your thumbnail out of your mouth and turn to face him in the seat. "Billy, baby, have you been a good boy this week?" You ask, your voice more sultry than you expected as you lean over the console, seatbelt forgotten, and your nose brushing against his ear as you press a light kiss to his neck, your tongue darting out to lick one of the fading hickies you had given him days ago.

You hear him swallow thickly, and shift in his seat, legs spreading farther apart, unintentionally giving you more access to the place you so desperately wanted to be. You bring your hand to his thigh, lightly ghosting it over his denim clad limb as you make your way up, up, up, stopping right above the button to his jeans.

His grip on the wheel tightens and you hear the quiver in his voice when he speaks. "Y..yes, ma'am," He says, and you hum at his use of the word ma'am, your pussy almond fluttering excitedly. Generally, Billy was the one to be in charge, to have the more superior name, but you knew good and well you had the upper hand for the moment, and you were going to bask in it. "been such a good boy, i promise.."

You hum once more, making your way down to his lower half, you struggle for a moment to unbutton his jeans, and he lifts his ass just enough for you to pull them down his hips. When his cock finally springs free you notice how gloriously hard he is, precum already leaking from his beautifully red tip. "Mm, a good boy indeed." You mewl, not missing that groan that he breathes out at your words as you slowly lick up his long, thick shaft, collecting the small bead of precum on your tongue before swallowing it, closing your eyes as you enjoy the taste. "My favorite.."

Without warning you spit on his cock, wrapping your palm around it as you pump him up and down a few times, looking up at him. You can tell he's having a hard time concentrating on the road, and the thought alone makes you smirk. "Are you ready for your first piece of the prize for being such a good boy this week, Billy?" You ask, looking up at him through your thick lashes. He nods vigorously and you almost want to be a cunt and make him say the words but fuck it, you're too cock hungry yourself to even care.

You take him into your mouth slowly, your tongue swirling around his tip as you twist your hand in a jerking motion, your head bobbing. "Fuck.. shit.." he whimpers, you hear his head thud back against the seat, and you swear you feel the car accelerate. You hum in appreciation, taking more of him into your mouth as you go, going farther and farther until your tongue flattens our and you open your jaw as wide as possible, taking in every last inch of him.

You breath through your nose, eyes rolling as he holds your head in place, fucking up into your already full mouth, moving deeper into your throat as he drives the car, somehow keeping a straight line. After a few moments, and before you know he's about to blow his load, you lift your head up, smirking devilishly at the wine that emits from his throat. "Mhm, I'm not done yet baby.." You say, letting your tongue trail down his shaft right to his waiting sack.

Gently you take one in your mouth, sucking ever so slightly as you hear the hiss come from his lips, fuck, you didn't realize how you would affect him like this. After a few moments of paying his balls attention, you move back to his dick, slurping and sucking and making a sloppy ass mess of the thing as you twist and jerk, swirling your tongue in all the ways you knew he liked. When his whimpers and grunts became closer together, you knew he was almost done, and without warning you take him all the way back into your mouth again, his cock fitting oh so perfectly down your throat. He groans, and you can't help but feel superior as your swallow with his cock in your throat once, twice, three times before he makes a loud jumble of noises, the car swerving as he lifts up from his seat with the way your mouth all but pulls the cum from his cock, coating your tongue and throat, some of it even leaking out to your lips.

You pull back with an almost sadistic grin, opening your mouth to show him the cum that still littered your tongue, teasing him with it. He puts a hand on the back of your head, bringing you in for an open mouthed kiss, his tongue dancing with yours so that you both swallow his cum, something he absolutely loved doing with you.

"Sugar, I hope you can handle what you're in for later." He says and you moan, your hand on his jaw as you kiss him one last time before settling back in your seat, not even bothering to help him put his still hard cock away.

[vendyart]

I have noticed I didn't post His-Awesomesnes-Christmass Dragon so bask in his gloriousness 🐉

[elmindredaniq]

A glimpse of Heaven just to fall right back to Hell... . .

Do you think Kinn knew at first ?…..

Did he instantly know it was a goodbye kiss ?….. Is that why it took a while for him to wrap his hands around Porsche…. he was fighting not to give in, not to feel… Cuz he knew it’d hurt like hell when it was  over….. 

Or.….

Did he just for a second, one gloriously suspended moment in time ,think Porsche’s kiss meant that he’d stay …That maybe…. just maybe, even though Kinn managed to force himself to open the gilded cage……..

 …….the Phoenix wouldn’t fly away…… 

He’d choose to stay… For him… With him..

Did a tiny seed of hope ,the one that Porsche’s sudden existence threw into Kinn’s abandoned greenhouse, take root in his salted earth…

Did he live through one of those spell weaving moments of posability … where he flashed forward to a haunting vision of another reality …..  A glimpse of an impossible prophecy brought forward with a kiss…..A luscious greenhouse.....stained glass dome ceilings .... basking under kaleidoscope beams of sun rays while running his fingers through the grass....  The echoes of a bird song in the wind.. ..A sudden flash of white hot flames.... 

A Phoenix..... His Phoenix.... soaring through the clear blue skys.. Coming back to him.... Of his own free will... Again and again..... Ever since he chose to stay that first time....

Porsche pushes him away....

The Phoenix holts it's flight with a powerful flap of it's burning wings.... bursts into flames and disappears....

The glass ceiling shatters ... ... Everything green turns to ash...Droplets of ink stain the shards of glittering crystals littering the barren ground..... A cold gust of loneliness in the grey silence .....

If you love something let it go.... if it comes back....

[shih-coulda-had-it]

142 nana and her husband ❤️

142. "Okay, I did it. I restrained myself until our wedding night. Now take off the damn dress." | nana x sakumo [oc] (pre-OT3 with sorahiko) | wc: 1,313

a/n: I am sorry to say that the most lemony this gets is regarding Nana's underwear; along the way it definitely picked up 'we're adding Sorahiko to this' vibes, but is it legitimate lemon? not really.

a/n 2: maybe it's not very perfect of them, but i do think it'd be funny if both Nana and Sakumo came to the conclusion that if they agree not to fuck each other for the month, they can definitely work off some stress getting Sorahiko to come (ha) around to the idea of polyamory.

//

In the second-to-last month leading up to Sakumo’s wedding to Shimura Nana, he and his fiancée had what Sakumo would consider to be a gloriously indulgent life together. Her apartment was home; he’d cooked in her kitchen and slept in her bed for several years now, and Sakumo’s sense-memory was smug, knowing that nearly every square-foot had born witness to them having sex. 

They were all but married, in Nana’s eyes. They were somewhat married, in Sakumo’s.

Which made this last month… tense. If Sakumo was generous, he’d label the feeling as anticipation. If he was being completely honest, he was terribly horny.

(“It’s a challenge,” said Nana, her eyes creasing with amusement over Sakumo’s initial protest. Given that he’d been basking in an afterglow, his arguments weren’t as polished as they could be. “I’m not saying we should put chastity belts on each other, silly.”

“Easier that way,” he muttered.

She made an obnoxious error sound and nudged him out of her preferred side of the bed (the warmed side). Sakumo rolled sideways for a brief moment, allowing Nana to slip under the covers, and then held her in a tight embrace. She tucked her head under his chin. Their legs tangled together.

“... Sakumo,” his beloved fiancée said, “I meant for the challenge to start right now.”

He stifled a whine of discontent in the long raven-black locks of her hair, and instead counter-offered, “What if we started in the morning? One late night, to kick off a month of many early nights.”

“That sounds nice.”

“But we’re not doing that?”

“Nope,” she answered cheerfully. “It’s a matter of principle, the principle being our wedding night! I’m for sure not coming to you as a blushing virgin,” and here, Nana ignored the way Sakumo scoffed, “but it’s a special day that deserves to be capped off with a special night. Am I right?”

“You’re not wrong,” he sighed.

“It’s gonna be tough for me too, y’know! You’ve spoiled me! Ah, stop laughing, we really should get to sleep…!”)

It didn’t help that Nana liked to tease. If their nights had transitioned purely to cuddles before sleep, then Sakumo wouldn’t be feeling the loss so keenly. But because Nana was an incorrigible flirt who liked to tease, she kept coming to bed in different lacy lingerie sets; she dropped by at work and kissed him like he was a secret that needed to be kept. 

And he couldn’t even complain to Sorahiko about it! Because Sorahiko would have Jetted away the instant he connected the dots about the situation, and because part of Sakumo was still thinking about that trailing thought Nana had, concerning Sorahiko’s future in their relationship.

The only relief Sakumo found was in teasing her back, and that was a temporary solution since it just led Sakumo to want more again.

So he simmered in his want, grimly putting one foot forward at a time, all the way up to the wedding.

At his request, they performed the ceremony at a local Shinto shrine. Sakumo’s surviving parent and closest sidekick attended as his witnesses; Nana had both Sorahiko and Recovery Girl for hers. Before Sakumo turned his attention to reciting his vows and drinking from the nuptial cups, he met Sorahiko’s wistful stare.

A long moment. Sorahiko blinked away first. The only thing that gave him away was the slow flush of red blossoming in his ears and cheeks.

Sakumo restrained himself from reaching out and dragging Sorahiko between them.

There would be time for that later, surely. Sakumo was already breaking from tradition by marrying into Nana’s family; he’ll scheme with Nana on another day to court the man from the best-friend-zone.

For now: it was Nana, swathed in conservative traditional white like a chrysalis, smiling as she swallowed the first of three servings of sake. She slipped the gold ring onto his finger and smoothed her thumb over the gleaming surface. He slid her own ring onto hers, and he watched the diamonds glitter as they caught the sunlight. 

For now: it was the reception, where Nana emerged from a dressing room wearing a Western-styled wedding gown, baring her shoulders and arms in all their muscled glory. Their co-workers filled the seats, both pro-heroes and civilian staffers alike, but their toasts failed to distract Sakumo from admiring--longing, really--the arch of her neck as she bent her head to hear Recovery Girl’s low commentary.

Sorahiko delivered a succinct speech over dessert: an anecdote over how he met Nana, a recount of meeting Sakumo, and a conclusion that perhaps nobody had ever deserved each other more.

“You two are enablers,” Sorahiko joked, and pulled off a truly heroic smile. “I expect you both to break any limits set before you. Happiness, and good fortune--plus ultra.”

“Plus ultra,” Nana and Sakumo echoed. Under the table, their feet collided in a meeting of like-minded, ‘DID YOU HEAR HIM?!’, which was matched by a mutual clutching of each other’s closest forearm which communicated, ‘WE’LL TALK ABOUT THAT LATER.’

But for now: Sakumo suffered the end of the reception until he was shooed away from the clean-up by Sorahiko, whose warm hands likely hadn’t meant to brush Sakumo’s wine-flushed cheeks with that much tenderness but did anyway.

“Sober up,” said Sorahiko firmly. He was oblivious to Sakumo’s trembling control. “You’ve been on edge this whole month, and I think I’m finally understanding why. So get. I’ll kick Nana out after you.”

“Thanks,” Sakumo managed, paying strict attention to Sorahiko chewing his bottom lip in consternation--Nana was floating, no, Floating over the dance floor. She was less than a meter off the floor, thankfully. Recovery Girl was latched onto her like the world’s most inefficient anchor.

“Go,” the man ordered, and Sakumo obliged.

The trip from the reception hall up to their reserved suite was blissfully easy and absent of lingering well-wishers. Sakumo staggered into an elevator, arrived at his floor, and found his and Nana’s room freshly decorated with rose petals. He sneezed.

By the time the door swung open again to reveal Nana, Sakumo had splashed his face with water to sober up and swept the petals off to the carpet. He was still in the black and gray kimono robes when she glided into the bedroom, and was sitting on the edge of the mattress.

Sakumo spoke before she could. Hoarsely, he said, “Okay, I did it. I restrained myself until our wedding night.” His voice slipped into a growl. “Now take off the damn dress.”

Her eyebrows jumped, but Nana took it in stride, grinning at her new husband. “This damn dress cost a bit of money, you know! You should enjoy the view for as long as I’m renting it!”

“Nana.”

“Strip yourself,” she teased. “I’ll match you.”

And she did. When Sakumo jerkily moved to undo the ties keeping his kimono layers intact, Nana stretched her arms and rolled her shoulders, deftly unzipping her gown and letting it drift down to reveal a nude-colored strapless bra, practically all lace surrounding a ribbon over her nipples. 

He stood to disrobe; Nana shimmied the dress past her hips to display the rest of the lingerie, but instead of letting the gaze linger, she immediately stepped out of the rental gown to save it from further creases.

“Pass me your robes, I’ll hang them too,” she told him, cheerfully bypassing Sakumo to open a closet. He inhaled, sharp, just in time to catch a whiff of jasmine. Shadows played on the exposed flesh, flesh that Sakumo was now beyond ready to get his hands on.

… What was stopping him now?

Sakumo licked his lips. He threw his robes onto a chair, uncaring of how they fell, and stalked towards Nana on silent feet.

“Come and get me,” Nana dared out loud, and daintily set the Western gown onto the hangar bar.