#drabble: peckish

[warriorslantern]

Tags

[dreaisgrayte]

Moonlit Monsters | Muzan x FEM!reader

SYNOPSIS: Reader is having a nice night time dip in the lake not too far from her village, when a mysterious man appears on the shore (omg it's like that one story in the Bible) anyway- the man stakes claim to the shadowy heart of reader.

CONTAINS: smut, female naked, one mention of a boner, claws, teeth, blood kink, oral sex (fem!receiving), kissing, a bit of wounding, outdoor sex (almost?), dirty talk

WORD COUNT: 1.6k

A/N: A little drabble I just had to get out of my system. I'll have a lot of free time coming up so I'm trying to get some of the shorter ideas I've had out of the way so I can crank out those longer fics. I hope you enjoy!

Moonbeams create a sky of their own on the water’s surface—the liquid forms around your naked body, welcoming you into the environment with ripples from your movement. There was a strong waterfall about 20 feet from your current spot in the lake creating small waves that would lap at the shore. The waterfall, a celestial cascade of liquid silver, descends gracefully from the heights above, its sound a lullaby that resonates through the night. The surrounding nature seems to hold its breath as if joining the observer in silent admiration of the nocturnal spectacle. Trees guarded this oasis with ancient splendor. You felt safe. That was until you heard the foliage rustle behind you. 

“You’re quite a pretty thing.” A smooth voice sneers. Your brows knit together as you turn in the water. There’s a figure leaning against one of the trees – face shaded by the lack of light. 

“I’m afraid this lake is already taken.” You call to the shore. You can’t see, but you swear their lips lift in a devious grin. 

They shift forward, still within the shadows. “And here I was hoping you’d invite me in.” The voice is deep, deeper than a woman's. You’d assume this was a man leering at you – like they usually did – but there was something off about this one. He carried himself in a way that made you think twice about crossing him. “What’da you say, Nightshine?”

A nickname, already? He moved quickly. “What if you’re dangerous?” An elegant laugh rumbles out of the man. His next move is at the speed of light as he almost teleports behind you. A chill runs through your body as his hands grip your shoulders. Claws dig into the tender skin, pricking blood. They also prick a low desire in the core of your stomach. 

“There is no if, my sweet, but you already knew that.” He purrs into the shell of your ear. Your body fills with heat at the way his hot breath makes your nipples stiffen. The prospect of what he was about to do excited you in a way that probably should be looked at by the village healer, but that was if you lived past this evening. 

“What do you plan on doing to me?” You question, stupidly, perhaps. A delighted hum vibrates from him, his fingers trailing down your arms. 

“I’m feeling a bit peckish after my last meal. I think you’ll be a delicious dessert.” The point of his sharp fingernails traces a swirling pattern on your collarbone. Without a moment's hesitation, the span of his hand wraps around the base of your throat, pushing your head to where it was resting on his shoulder. You could almost make out the shape of his face before thick curly locks fell in front of his face. You don’t miss the glint of pointed teeth in his lecherous grin. You notice he smells like the city, with aromas of food and women imprinted on the clothes he wears. There was a secondary scent, one that was pungent enough to make your nose crinkle. It was coppery and meaty, it didn’t mix with the first smells. The latter felt like part of him as if he carried the waft of blood on his body. 

His nose drags up the length of your jugular, stopping when he meets your ear lobe – licking the spot with hunger you could feel radiate off of him. His hand on your throat squeezes tighter as he slips it under your jaw. As he turns your head to face him he covers your eyes with his free hand. Your senses felt like they were on fire, everything making your ears perk up. “If your eyes meet mine,” He pauses, hot breath spreading over your exposed face. He must’ve moved closer to you. You can almost feel his proximity with the slight movement of his lips. “I will snap this pretty neck of yours.”

Soft, feverous lips meet yours. Feasting on the moan that escapes your mouth as his hand slides to the back of your neck, keeping you pressed to him. “Fuck you taste divine.” He growls, clamping down on your hair. Your yelp cracks into a gaspy moan as he bends his head to suck on the junction of your shoulder. The creatures of the night had always enticed you, even as a young girl you explored the forest in hopes the shadows the chief warned you about would appear. 

When he was kissing you this man tasted like fresh blood. A fact that should’ve made you run, but something told you that you wouldn’t make it very far. In the meantime he’d made his way down your body, scraping a claw down your abdomen. It stung with an exhilarating pain, making you press your thighs together. He clicks his tongue, pressing the muscle to the wound he’d created and licking up the blood that spilled from it. A whiney moan tumbles into the open when he takes your stiff nipple into his mouth, swirling his tongue around it with dexterity that even the warriors of your village would be envious. 

“M-more I need more,” You pant out, reaching down to grip his cheeks. They’re soft, and sunken in as he sucks on your hard peaks. A chuckle vibrates his mouth and the sensation makes you nearly scream. 

He lets go of your breast with a loud pop that echoes around the lake valley. His mouth is on yours, feeding you that same taste as before. It makes your knees weaken to the point he wraps an arm around your back, supporting you against his own body. He breaks from the kiss, the shadows only allowing you to see his mouth which turns up in a smirk. “I thought I was the hungry one, but it turns out you were ready to feast on me my little siren.” 

A warmth spreads over your body, your gaze falling to the reflective water you both stand in. “Who are you?” You find yourself asking, expecting the man to not respond. There’s a long pause before he wraps his massive hands under your thighs, pushing lightly so you��ll allow him to pick you up. He brings you around his waist, the hard planes of his chest exposed from where his clothing had parted slightly. 

“The monster your mother warned you about.” He responds, splashing through the water, toward the shore. Your heart pounds in your chest and chills run up your exposed back as the water drips to the ground. 

“I was hoping you’d say that.” You whisper, finding your back aggressively pressed into the trunk of a tree. 

“Is that so?” He chuckles, kissing at your neck. You try to bite back the moans, but he nips at the splotchy skin he left from earlier, eliciting a garbled whine from your lips. 

“Oh heavens,” You cry out, gripping his shoulders. Another laugh, this one more devious than the last graces your ears. 

“No my sweet, the things I’m about to do to you will not be heavenly.” He huffs, lowering your body slightly to where you can feel something hard press into the apex of your thighs. 

“Then stop talking and take me already,” Exasperated from his teasing tongue your mouth turns down in a frown. 

He pulls you away from the tree, slamming you rather roughly into a large boulder near the shoreline. The wind is knocked out of you with his action. He slides you upon the boulder, grasping at the plush skin of your thighs. “Hold on darling.” He mumbles and before you have much time to regain any form of thought his tongue plunges into the place no one else has ever touched. A scream of pleasure rolls from your throat, the movement against the sensitive bud making you squirm. It felt so good like you were becoming a piece of glass about to explode. 

“Ngh–yes, oh my – f’eels so good.” Garbled nonsense sputters from your mouth as the man works the folds of your wet cunt like a master. A moan shakes from his throat, sending shockwaves through your nerves. 

“P-please, h–ugh–harder.” He listens well, sliding one of his clawed fingers into your throbbing pussy. You squirm from the intense amount of pleasure. With just one finger it felt like he was stretching you out, but through the slight sting, your walls still clenched around his finger. “That feels so good, ha,”

His lips wrap around your clit, sucking on it while he moved his finger slowly in and out of you. You start to shake, an overwhelming feeling radiating through your entire being. Just as you feel the crest of whatever sensation that was he releases your abused clit, grinning up from between your legs. “Such a good girl,” He hisses, but a wash of realization crashes any pleasure you once felt as his red irises stare back at you. Illuminated in the moonlight a short gasp escapes your lips. You want to explain, it was an accident of course, but if the last thing you got to see was his eyes, you could die happy. His eyes glow with an ethereal gleam, his free hand clawing into your outer thigh. You let out a small cry as blood rushes forth. He lifts your leg, turning the axis of your hips to reveal the gash of flesh he tore into. He brings his teeth to the surface, sinking into the tender skin. You hiss in pain but the calming stare of his eyes brings you to a sense of euphoria. His tongue dances around, lapping up the copper liquid with appreciation. 

He lifts from your bloodied thigh, red painting his mouth as he smirks at you. “You are mine, little siren, you belong to me. You belong to the Demon King.”

[captain-huggy-bear]

cooking together with clayton?

We all know none of them can cook for toffee, but hey, everyone can learn right? (I tell myself as mediocre cook, but a great baker) Big requests/full fic/big idea requests are closed but drabble and prompt requests are still open. Writing Masterlist

When you first started dating Clay you tried not to blink at the fact he had a personal chef who cooked all his meals for him. It was weird to you but it made sense, he had to eat a balanced diet that fit his career and lifestyle and probably wouldn't have the time to do that well on his own. You had enough trouble eating healthy with your own work let alone as a hockey player with real intense nutritional needs.

But part of you had assumed that he probably knew how to cook, he just didn't need to. You'd been so terribly wrong. Clayton Keller couldn't even cook a fried egg without it sticking to the pan or being undercooked and you had decided that it was your mission to turn him into a somewhat decent cook. Something he'd surprisingly gone along with.

You didn't claim to be amazing yourself. You weren't Gordon Ramsey, and when you were just leaving home for the first time your dinners had mostly consisted of instant ramen...until you started getting sick from a lack of nutrients. You'd forced yourself to learn how to cook, to be able to take care of yourself and sure Clay didn't need to. He had a private chef, after all...but what if? What if one day he didn't? Surely, it would be a good thing for him to be able to fend for himself? What if he wanted to make someone something? He couldn't cook pancakes for pancake day...he couldn't bake a birthday cake or even just make himself an omelette if he got peckish in the middle of the night.

Still, you severely underestimate just how hard it will be to teach Clayton how to cook and just how much he hates it, more specifically how much he hates not being competent and good at something.

The way your eyes widen at how Clay holds a knife is probably comical to an outsider but inside you're terrified that he's going to cut his fingers off. Hands reaching out to adjust his hold almost immediately from where his fingers had been outstretched almost begging to be cut into.

"No, no, not like that you'll take your fingers off..." You adjust the fingers of his free hand, the one holding an onion, bending them at the knuckle until his delicate little finger tips are out of the way of the blade, "Bend your knuckles over like this and then that way if you slip with the knife you won't take your fingers off, Clay." You show him, demonstrating how the knife slides off your knuckles, how it can't catch your nails or the tips of your fingers, before handing the knife back to him carefully.

Clay studies your form carefully, intently, like he studies a play in a hockey match, the sort of focus that tells you he's dedicating his all to this. Lip bitten between his teeth in concentration.

"Like this?" He puts his studies into practice, large hands perfectly copying you and the relief you feel at knowing he's not going to take a finger off while trying to make pasta is immeasurable.

"Yeah, perfect."

It goes quite smoothly for a while, the two of you chopping veggies for the pasta sauce, he even manages to cook the onions without burning them, while still letting them get soft enough to be enjoyable. It's really when Clay starts to smile, feeling like he's got this, that maybe he's not quite as shit as this as he thought, that things start to go wrong.

"Clay, your pasta is boiling over!"

"The sauce is going to burn!"

He's torn between two things at once, the pasta sauce that's starting to smoke and the pasta that's boiling over, water falling over the stove top. You try to help, seeing how he gets overwhelmed, lowering the pasta down, stirring it while he sees to the sauce but you can see how much it upsets him.

The way he grips the kitchen counter, teeth gritted because Clay's a quiet sort of angry. He doesn't really scream or yell, occasionally raises his voice to swear but never at you and you can see he's angry. Frustrated. Not with you, but with his inability to do this easily, how hard it seems to do something that he feels should be easy.

"Shit! Fuck...I hate cooking..." You're straining the pasta for him, letting him have his moment as you drain it of water.

Even in his state of frustration he still thanks you when you bring the pasta over and dump it into the sauce he's made, letting him combine it all together. It doesn't look bad, even with the near misses, the suspicious smoking from earlier, it still looks good...dare you say edible.

"No, you don't." You press your cheek to his back as he stirs, trying to provide some physical reassurance as you feel the tension there. Clay's shoulders are so taut that you're sure it must hurt, "You hate not being good at something right off the bat...you've gotten used to being amazing at what you do." You get it. The first time you ever started cooking? When you weren't good at it? It sucked because it felt like everyone else could just do it...like it should have been natural and easy.

"Well, I'm just a shit cook." He grumbles, rasp in his voice as he aggressively serves the pasta into two bowls. You move with him, arms wrapped around his waist because you can feel how the tension is starting to ease a little at your touch, at your reassurances even as he grumbles.

"Baby, how often have you cooked in the past? And I don't mean making a sandwich or instant ramen." You follow him as he moves across the kitchen, still attached to his back as he puts the two bowls down at your place settings. Even with his sour mood he still pulls your chair out for you.

"Not often..." Clayton concedes as he sits across from you, tongue rubbing across his top teeth like admitting it hurts. Maybe it does. Maybe the idea of admitting that he's not really done this one adult thing properly is a hit to his pride.

You wait until he looks at you, till you actually catch his blue eyes with your own, hand reaching across the table to press your fingers to his.

"Okay, so when you first got on the ice, when you'd barely done it, were you good at skating?" He knows where you're going, you can tell because he starts to flop his head back like he doesn't want to hear it. Even as he needs to.

"No..."

"So why would you be instantly amazing at cooking when you haven't got any experience with it?"

It's a long suffering look he gives you, under his lashes, if he wore glasses you'd almost imagine him looking over the top of them. There's wisdom, frustrating, irritating wisdom to your words. They sooth him when he wants to be angry about it, it doesn't help that you're rubbing soft circles into the back of his hand, the sort that make him want to go soft for you because you're so good to him. You're just trying to support him and how can he be angry at that?

"I just...I hate not being good at it." He turns his palm over, capturing your fingers with his own, locking your hands together. Clayton knows it's his stupid pride that makes him feel like he should be amazing at everything right away...but he can't help it. The need to be great at everything, the powerlessness of feeling like he's floundering.

"You're not good at it yet, but you won't ever be if you don't keep trying." You smile at him smugly because you know you're right and he knows you're right and even when he sighs at you he's starting to smile, dimple starting to pull at the corner of his mouth because if there's one truly impossible thing for Clayton it's staying in a bad mood around you.

"Stop being so wise, that's supposed to be my job."

"You asked me to cook with you, don't ask if you don't want my Yoda-like wisdom."

"You're insane." But, he's grinning at you. Straight white teeth peeking out from behind his lips, eyes crinkling at the corners because God, he decided to date a fucking nerd, but also maybe the best person he's ever met?

You take a bite of the pasta he's made, pausing for a moment as it hits your tongue because...well, it's actually kind of good. It needs more garlic and sure, the sauce has a slight smoky taste from it's near burnt experience, but compared to the inedible things he's made in the past? It's decent, you can eat it and maybe even enjoy it.

"Maybe, but this pasta that I taught you to make? Actually pretty nice." You smile at him softly, watching the way his grin softens into something unsure, expectant, seeking reassurance that you're not just saying that to make him feel better.

"Really?"

"Dare I say more than just edible." His grin comes back as more of a smirk, that teasing gleam in his blues that makes you want to kiss him, the smirk that tells you he's about to start trouble. Like always.

"So you're proposing to me now?"

"Shut up, Keller."

"You want me so bad."

"Yeah, your mediocre cooking skills really get me going." You roll your eyes at him even as you smile because he's ridiculous but he's also right...despite his ability to burn water you do want him, forever, every day, for the rest of your life.

"Knew they were good for something, sweet girl."

[eggluverz]

A STARE WORTH A THOUSAND WORDS

PAIRING. dan feng x gn!reader

WORD COUNT. 1.4k

SUMMARY. you and dan feng were just friends. close comrades who challenged each other. but you were starting to suspect that just friends don't stare at each other like this...

NOTE: dan feng on the brain !!!! i was looking thru some writing prompts and there was a list of friends to lovers that inspired meeee :> i hope y'all enjoy this lil dan feng drabble!! :o ~sof

It wasn’t always easy being a friend of the esteemed High Cloud Quintet, but it sure was fun. In a group of warriors and leaders, some of your morals seemed to go against the grain. With your more pacifist approach, you preferred healing and mediating disagreements rather than resorting to a clash of the swords.

Still, you were not young with folly such as before. You understood there was a time and place for everything and, sometimes, war was inevitable in this world. You could only sigh to yourself, wishing it weren’t so.

But while battles waged on, you at least wanted to help those wounded trying to fight for what was right—no matter how misguided you thought their approach was.

Dan Feng was someone you chose to confide in. The great warrior, the Imbibitor Lunae, somehow empathized with your inner conflicts more than you would have expected him to. He may have been a cutthroat, fearless leader, but he was also gentle and thoughtful, pondering whether or not the ends truly justified the means in between brutal battles. 

The people he led could never see that ever-questioning side of him. Nor could he ever find the vulnerability to show them. That was something he reserved only for the closest of friends. 

That was something he reserved only for you. 

You let out a deep breath after a long day of work, smiling only to greet Dan Feng who had asked you to meet up with him over dinner.

“Like a date,” Baiheng sang with a grin when you had told her the previous day.

Your cheeks flushed at the memory. Two friends could certainly partake in evening consumption of sustenance together without it being a date, you had reminded her. And yourself. 

“Sure, but do just friends stare into each other’s eyes for seconds too long like you two do?”

With a small laugh and a shake of your head, you brought yourself back to present time with Dan Feng.

“Good evening,” you greeted with a wave. “Have you been waiting long?”

“I have been left alone here all day waiting for your arrival,” he jested with a dramatic sigh, one corner of his mouth tilting upwards to let you know he was only joking.

“Of course,” you played along, “I do not doubt that the great Imbibitor Lunae has plenty of time to spare waiting about.”

“For you? Most certainly.” 

You fought a grin off your face at his kindness. Dan Feng truly was a good person, always putting his friends first. For a moment, you wondered how much more thoughtful he would be towards a partner—towards someone he had romantic feelings for. But you did not allow yourself to entertain those thoughts for too long. After all, you had food to eat. 

“I requested your favorite dish,” he said as the meal came to your table. Establishments in which private outdoor dining was an accommodation were not common in your area, so you and Dan Feng often frequented the one closest to you. It was no strange feat for him to commit your favorite dish to memory. “I hope I did not overstep, but it was getting dark out and I know you tend to grow rather famished at this hour.”

You smiled as the scent of the food in front of you wafted through the air, causing your stomach to grumble quietly. “I appreciate your preparation, Dan Feng. You aren’t overstepping in the slightest.”

In fact, you quite liked that Dan Feng went out of his way to ensure you would have food to eat by the time you arrived for dinner. He was right— You were running late today and you were rather peckish by the time you had arrived. It was a simple act of kindness, and you were grateful for it. 

Dan Feng really was nice to his friends. 

If you did not have a good head on your shoulders, you might have let your emotions confuse the situation and misread his intentions towards you. He simply was a good friend to you and the High Cloud Quintet, though in moments of delusion you felt yourself imagining more. 

Especially moments of delusion fueled by the unnerving stare on his face directed right at you. Unnerving in a positive sense, of course. 

Unnerving in a way of not being able to understand the depth of emotions behind those bright eyes of his. Unnerving enough to pique your curiosity and want to learn just what that stare meant. 

The certain stare he was giving you right now. 

Was he looking at you like a confidant? A scholar to share his pacifist literature with? A friend? A lover? 

If Dan Feng noticed your inner turmoil, all he did was smile. It was a smile that said he knew exactly what was running through your mind. His piercing gaze stayed locked on yours as he tilted his head and took a sip of tea. 

Unable to help yourself, you blurted, “Do you intend to look at me in such a way?”

An expression of delighted amusement formed on his face before he regained his stoic composure. “In what manner are you referring to, my dear?”

Your heart stirred in confusion at his affectionate words. This High Elder truly had a disarming effect on you.

“Such as how you are staring at me right now!” you cried, feeling rather indignant. “It is how you’ve been staring at me for the past few months, even. It— It bewilders me!”

“And how, exactly, am I staring at you?” he pushed, a confident smile on his lips as he awaited your answer. 

“You are staring at me…as if you want me.”

His eyes widened for a brief moment, like he was shocked you gave in to his teasing and prodding this time. 

“You keep staring at me like that, and treating me in a special manner… You should be careful, Dan Feng,” you said with a sigh, slowly bringing your utensils to your mouth. Before biting, you stated, “You could confuse even the most refined of individuals that way, are you aware?”

He studied you before asking, “As an esteemed and refined Vidyadhara yourself, what do you find confusing?”

“Whether I am reading your intentions incorrectly or not,” you said, no longer bothering to hide you frustration. 

“It is not my desire to confuse you,” promised Dan Feng, a genuine look on his face as you finally met his gaze again. “For that, I apologize sincerely.”

Your stomach churned in dejected understanding. “Thank you for the apologize. It is okay.”

Perhaps you shouldn’t have gotten ahead of yourself and confused his kindness for interest. You shoved the food around on your plate, trying to downplay your disappointment that Dan Feng did not desire you after all.

At your lackluster response, he cleared his throat. He looked at your downcast expression and frowned. “Perhaps I am not making myself clear enough. Believe me, you are certainly not misinterpreting my intentions.”

Your eyes widened at his clarification. “Meaning…?”

“I do want you.” Dan Feng set his teacup down with a conspiratorial glint in his eye. “I admire your strength and your intellect. Your desire for peace and your willingness to do what is right. You are nuanced and complex and, at times, even oblivious,” he smiled at the thought of you misunderstanding his initial confession, “and you are my close friend I have found myself getting more and more drawn to.”

Giggles bubbled up from inside you, more so in excitement than in amusement. If it weren’t unbecoming of an unpartnered Vidyadhara to show public displays of affection, you would have ran over to Dan Feng and given him a hug by now. 

“I want you, too, Dan Feng,” is what you said instead. “You are cunning and sharp, yet understanding and gentle. Your thoughtfulness is inspiring and I have never met anyone more loyal than you.” 

The apples of his cheeks tinged the lightest pink you had ever seen, and you fought the urge to continuously shower him with more compliments.

“You’re the only one I could confide my potentially treasonous thoughts in,” you laughed while he nodded with amusement. Your gaze softened as your tone grew more serious. “You are one of my best friends, but I can envision a road in which we are more than that, even— Lovers.”

If he was surprised at all, he did not show it. 

“That is the path I would prefer to take.” Dan Feng extended his hand from across the table as if it were a mere offering to your boundless grace. “Do you desire to take it with me?”

“With you?” you repeated, slipping your hand into his with a smile. “Most certainly.”

[armysantiny]

The Pale Idol – PSH

P: Seonghwa x gender neutral reader | G: fluff, fantasy, drabble | Inc: Baldur's Gate 3 au, vampire elf!Seonghwa, Seonghwa is basically Astarion, tiefling!reader, mentioned Jongho, mentioned Wooyoung, tiefling!Wooyoung, makeup artist!reader, mentioned San, drow!San, implied Hongjoong mention, high half elf!Hongjoong| Wc: 1.1k | W: mentioned blood, old bite marks | R: G

Min's notes: This idea struck and would not leave me until I wrote it out. This fic's quality is questionable lmao, but I like it and that's enough for me. If I like this enough I'll do headcanons abt what the other members are lol. Also fuck tumblr's 5 link/tags per line thing-

Seonghwa lifts his head from his phone when his name is called, abandoning the green room’s sofa in favour of the stool his makeup artist is calling him to. He’s not the last one to have his hair and makeup done, but he has been able to relax while the others get ready. Precious minutes of simply sinking into the sofa and scrolling through the device in his hand.

Once he settles in his chair, his head turns to y/n, politeness melting away into a smile. They’ve got the brightest expression on their face, an eagerness he can feel in abundance. It’s rather charming, and a wonderful start to his day.

Even if he’s feeling a tad bit peckish.

“Morning to you too, y/n,” he chuckles, letting the Tiefling go about putting on his makeup for the group’s upcoming stage. “You seem excited today, something lifting your spirits?”

“Hm? Oh, yes! I have this new palette, you have to see the shades, Seonghwa, it’s going to highlight your eyes perfectly for this stage!” Y/n answers, bringing over the eyeshadow palette in question for Seonghwa to inspect. Much to their luck—and intuition—the makeup gets the idol’s seal of approval, and y/n gets to work right away. And Seonghwa is just the perfect client; holding himself just how y/n needs him to, closing his eyes exactly when needed.

The perfect symbol of grace, Park Seonghwa is.

Just as their close attention comes to an end and y/n goes to put their equipment away, the Tiefling’s gaze catches on something. It’s so small, so inconspicuous, clearly a small miracle they ever notice it at all. Hidden just below Seonghwa’s collar, in the crook of his neck, are two little scars.

And old vampire bite. Pale skin, the red eyes, the bite…

“Am I free to sit back on the sofa..?” Seonghwa’s watching them. Right. He’s caught them staring, surely the elf is uncomfortable.

“Yes! Yes, sorry, of course… you’re free to go.”

“Great. Thank you as always, y/n. Can we talk later?”

Later. The promise of conversation after the day’s recordings is daunting. Why he even suggested it in the first place, Seonghwa can’t recall. Y/n had seen it, his bite marks, and now he owes them an explanation, at the very least. Or a well-meaning half-truth if he has the heart to lie to them. His brow furrows, or well he supposes they do because Seonghwa feels a stare burning into the side of his head, San watching him with all-too-knowing eyes.

Damn the Drow for being so observant and empathetic. But San is a ray of sunshine, warm and loving, so all is forgiven. As it always is.

“Hyung,” San begins, “everything alright? Do you need..?”

“No, no, I’m okay,” and he is, “just a few things on my mind. It’s nothing to worry about, San-ah, promise.” Seonghwa isn’t lying. There isn’t anything—or at very least there shouldn’t be—to worry about. The performance will go well, he’ll smooth things over will y/n and maybe he’ll bother their high half-elf leader for a bite or two once night falls.

The performance ends almost as soon as it begins, adrenaline coursing through Seonghwa’s undead veins as the music comes to an end. Even as the idol works his charms for the close-up camera shot and the audience screams their praises, the prospect of confronting y/n hangs back in the crevices of his mind. Just like that horrifying mindflayer tadpole he once harboured, but that’s neither here nor there. So, after a few minutes of waving to fans onstage, Seonghwa tags along with his members and heads backstage, the green room and a darling Tiefling awaiting him.

What fun.

Y/n can barely look Seonghwa in the eye when he and the others walk back in, hands clamming up while they spend another minute or two or three distracting themselves with mundane tasks. How are they supposed to confess to the vampire that they’ve figured out that Seonghwa isn’t just an elf? It’s a small miracle in of itself that Jongho pulls them aside, needing y/n’s assistance, a clasp stuck on the idol’s mic pack.

“…mind if I interrupt?” y/n nearly jumps out of their own skin as Jongho’s clasp comes unstuck. Hells, was Seonghwa always this good at moving around silently?

“Nothing to interrupt,” they say, composure recovered, “is this going to be a private conversation?”

He nods. Very well, they can give him that much.

Following Seonghwa to a rather unused section of the green room, y/n stays decidedly quiet. Sure, the Tiefling knows, but this is Seonghwa’s secret to share. It’s not hard to see the nerves play out on his face either, the way the elf’s expression holds itself a little too stiff.

And then y/n blinks when Seonghwa just comes out with it.

“I should have told you sooner, y/n, really,” the elf continues, “but surely, my friend, you understand just how risky it is to admit my nature as a vampire. Especially in this line of work.” They understand. Of course they understand.

“I do, Seonghwa, really. And thank you for telling me, though…” y/n trails off, reaching for Seonghwa’s hands when said elf stares at them with panicked eyes. “It’s nothing bad, I promise! I didn’t want to intrude on your revelation, just now, but I did figure it out. Earlier.”

Never has the Tiefling seen Seonghwa so flustered before. They watch the way he clears his throat, avoids looking at them for all of ten seconds before plastering on a nervous grin.

“How— how did you..?”

Y/n launches into their explanation, suddenly very aware that they probably should have brought up their suspicions ages ago. Like how they hadn’t wanted to point out how rare it is for high elves to have crimson-red eyes, or how the idol is paler than most and spends a little longer just observing his own reflection. Not that y/n always knew, but the old bite mark did play a decently large part in them finally putting two and two together.

“I was that obvious, was I?”

“…a bit?” Seonghwa groans. His hair falling across his face as he hangs his head in defeat. All that effort, all that time spent crafting his illusion and y/n figured it all out. Just like that. Now they’re laughing! All bashful and giggly and—

Hells below he wants to hide.

“My dear, can we please put this conversation to bed? Preferably before I go and ask Wooyoung to smite me?”

Y/n nods, not without stifling the rest of their laughter.

Thank the hells.

© copyright work of armysantiny 2024-2025

Networks: @kwritersworld, @kdiarynet, @ultkpopnetwork, @whipped-kpop-creators, @ateezlovenet

@cromernet, @illusionnet

If you’ve made it this far, thank you for reading! Consider reblogging, leaving some feedback or donating to my kofi!

Taglist: @teeztheflag, @jeonqquk, @mikailo666, @blonghoonie, @xavi-in-kpopland

 @marxenash, @honey-andmilktea | Taglist form

[katyawriteswhump]

(vampire) nesting season—steddie microfic, steddie holiday drabble.

WC: 388. CW: none. Rating: M. Tags: vampire eddie, vampire au, established steddie, angst, fluff, non-explicit bloodsucking, dark undertones.

For @steddieholidaydrabbles spring pop-up event, and @steddiemicrofic March prompt, ‘pin.’ Also for @sidekick-hero and littleskit on Ao3, who kindly requested more vampire eddie/human steve fic… Sorry, I haven't had time to get a longer fic going this month. In the meantime, hope you enjoy this companion piece to A deep and dreamless love (also on Ao3)😉 This fic can also be read standalone without reading the companion fic.

....

The gigantine crash from the backyard awoke Eddie. It was dark, he’d overslept. Was Steve in danger?

Eddie rushed to the yard—his cold dead vampire heart thudding—and stopped by their storm-shelter’s opened trapdoor. Beneath, bricks and debris buried the ladder: “Steve?” 

“Who else, genius?” Steve sounded muffled.

“Thought you were spring-cleaning?”

“I am! Use your vampire super-strength to shift this fallen crap NOW.” Steve coughed, doubtless on the dust. As Eddie cleared the fallen-in roof from the ladder, a sumptuous scent hit. Blood! He prayed Steve wasn’t pinned down, hurting, bleeding badly…

After shifting the final rubble, Eddie sighed with relief. Steve looked okay, mildly dirty, his hair decorously wrecked. Black fabric swathed the walls, at which Steve now pointed:

“Stabbed myself pinning up silk.” He sucked his finger. “No major bleeding—don’t freak out.”

“You could've been killed.” Eddie tentatively looped his arms around Steve, grateful for the usual precautionary scarf covering Steve’s delicious throat. “Sure you’re okay?”

Steve glared: “Do I look hurt, idiot.”

“You look…” Edible. “Adorable.”

“Dumbass crumbly basement. Ruined my surprise present.”

“Uuuuuh, whose present? And why the slinky-yet-hazardous subterranean boudoir?”

“Christ, you’re slow tonight.” Steve threw himself onto a sea of black cushions, tugging Eddie with him. “Longer spring days equal less nighttime with you. I built you an underground vampire nest, so we can…”

He pulled Eddie into a messy kiss, knees hitching round Eddie’s hips, forcing Eddie closer yet. Eddie kissed back—groaning, rutting, basking in Steve’s pulsing heat. His soul yearned only for Steve. His body hankered to drain Steve’s veins dry.

Shiiiiit, I need breakfast.

Eddie tore himself free. Steve laughed, dabbing wet lips, luxuriating on the cushions. A squirming mouse ready to be pinned by a cat? Steve’s fingers lovingly threaded Eddie’s hair, thumb caressing Eddie’s cheek. “You like?”

“Love it, Babe, but…” 

Eddie grimaced. Temptation burned. Steve simply ripped away his scarf, revealing Eddie’s many previous bite-marks on his neck. These never healed, because: “You’re peckish, huh?”

“Holy shit, Stevie. If I can’t stop drinking, you’re totally trapped here.” The truth tolled like a death knell: This is no nest. You’ve built a goddamn tomb! “Unlike you, I’m noooo hero.”

Steve rolled his way-too-trusting eyes, and pressed Eddie’s face into the scrumptiously thrumming curve of his throat. “Jesus, bite me already.”

Eddie’s fangs erupted and pierced Steve deep.

[emeralddoeadeer]

31 Prompts for 31 Days

@jilytoberfest is back! Happy October

A collection of drabbles

17. “It’s cute when your face gets red like that.”

-

When a voice travels to reach them, they find themselves in a laundry room, unfamiliar to the borrowed house.

Neither ready for this moment to end.

Sirius opens the door without warning, buzzing with barely contained glee.

“What’s on?”

James stands with his back turned, head tilted to the ceiling, shoulders shaking.

It’s not the first time they’ve been found like this, privacy at Hogwarts led to some interesting trysts...

Lily clears her throat, “We thought this was the pantry, feeling peckish.”

“Work up an appetite, did you?”

“Piss off Padfoot.”

“It’s cute when your face gets red like that.”

-

[oreosmama]

hi um so two of my fav writers on this platform literally reblogged another of these drabbles as i was writing this one so?? I'm buggin.

It’s the long-drawn snapping of neurons that prickle at you, eyes closed and forearm thrown over your face. A slow peel of eyelid after eyelid, foggy thoughts wisping away at a moment’s notice in the blackness of the bedroom; the ceiling is more a theory of shapes inferred from moon-coerced shadows than its usual cragginess, and you unhook your arm from the dip between your nose and forehead to reach up. Comb your fingertips through the air. 

Was it the breeze through your ever-closed window? Open now, a new development, but surely one that would rouse you like a bear from slumber. You feel large enough to be a bear, warm enough to feel tarped in fur, lethargic enough to clamber off your mattress and land on all fours and grunt like an animal. 

Maybe it was the slice of light underneath your bedroom door. You never forget to turn off the switches in your living room, the LED bulbs too glowy and insistent to sleep the way you do, curled up on one side and facing the doorway. 

Or maybe it’s because you’re not sleeping the way you always do. Not at the moment. Right now, you’re tipped onto your back, each limb swallowed up by an inch of cushion, flat like a slab of carbonite. Your body and the bed are inseparable—each pore on your skin is looped through with a stitch that dips into the sheets, rises back out and finishes with a double knot. 

All you can do is lay there. Willingly, you suppose, despite the spasms. 

A new ozone layer has settled around you, consistency of molasses, and hot to inhale. It stinks of past activity, like breaths that have been used up and tossed out. All of it cloys against your skin, maintaining a sheen of sweat to add to the discomfort. 

You’re awake now, though. 

Unhappy, but no longer unconscious. A bit bitter that you’re all alone. 

But a sharp trill pierces the air, and it hits you—that’s it.

That’s what had awoken you. 

Roused this grumpy, sticky, sore form of you that’s polyfoam-bound, torn too quick from a fundamental repose period. You’re too exhausted to moan, gripe, curse like you should. 

Even as the lights under the door flicker out, and something pushes it’s way inside with various scuffling movements. The room returns to stagnancy with a soft click, save for the lone gust of wind invading and receding at an unsteady tempo. 

Your next breath is a roiling mix of oxygen saturated with sodium and garlic. You hum aloud, a vague attempt to dissuade the bile crawling up your throat. Each time your tongue scrapes past your teeth, the morning grime collects and taints your tastebuds. 

You need water, and a toothbrush, and two tablespoons of toothpaste. Five minutes for an alcoholic rinse, too. 

Definitely don’t need the robust wafting of a pepperoni Hot Pocket up your nostrils at the ass-crack of dawn, as the mattress dips with a bulky outline. 

“Sorry, Bonnie,” a Scottish voice that is not apologetic in the slightest mumbles beside you. “Didnae mean to wake ye. Fuckin’ makes me ’bit peckish.”

[fuzzygoblin]

Happy Thanksgiving! Have some smutty drabbles...

@goodomensafterdark

Tumblr, as always coming through with the goods. Writers are challenged to create a smutty drabble to distract and delight people trying to read on their phones at the dinner table. Enjoy the filth wherever you are and whoever you are with!

For my own offering:

Why write one drabble when you can write 5?

Get through Thanksgiving dinner with a smorgasbord of smut:

Basted 

Peckish 

Buffet 

Stuffed 

Dessert 

All 100 words. Chapters 1-4 rated E.

[anony-man]

You’re in for a treat, anon! My good friend @siberat and I collaborated on this request, and they’ve produced gorgeous art to go with the story! Their art is at the bottom, and will be updated with a link once the post is up here on tumblr!

Chubformers drabble #86!

Character: Swoop (TFA)

Word count: 950

The comically large egg he now held while huddled in a nest of blankets and twigs felt impossible. It was impossible that after weeks of eating and brooding and sleeping that this was to be the result. And yet…

Primus help him. He was reverting back to his natural roots now, and there seemed to be nothing that could be done about it. Swoop reclined against the sharp barrier of sticks and sat the egg in his lap, his beak curled in a frown.

As he absentmindedly stroked the top of the egg—his egg, Swoop thought, the egg that he had produced—he found his servo drifting towards the soft flab of his belly.

It’d been quite a sight, getting fatter and fatter as the days went by with no real reason why. Swoop didn’t mind the egg so much now, especially not when it meant the massive dome of a belly he’d been stuck carrying had disappeared (or at least reduced some—he still had plenty of pudge to his frame that would be a killer to burn off).

It almost felt unreal, like he’d fallen into a deep recharge and woken with an egg in his lap and a nest for his bed. Swoop could still recall every waking moment that lead up to this though, if only in hazy detail. It was a new experience, having his processor become so easily overridden by natural instincts and a prehistoric drive.

There was nothing that could be done about it, he supposed. It happened, and it was over, and now he was left to deal with the aftermath.

Swoop shuddered at the memories clouding his processor. It’d felt so right in the moment, yet so wrong, but there was nothing that could be done to change it.

The egg was held close against his side, its shell kept warm by the pillows and blankets hoarded in the nest. Swoop held it closer still, a small smile twitching at the corners of his beak as he watched the curved surface melt into the pudge of his belly.

That egg had been inside him not long ago. It was his accomplishment, his egg, his offspring. The signs of his carrying remained, worn on Swoop’s frame in the form of fat thighs, jiggly hips, and a roomy belly. He was the perfect vessel for an egg, really, and he’d done something impressive.

It was just…

The Dinobot clicked his beak and hissed, a lingering feeling of guilt and dissatisfaction poking at the back of his small processor. It was infuriating, this back and forth between worry and pride. He’d done something amazing, after all. What was there to be ashamed of?

The nesting period itself, perhaps. Swoop was sure he must’ve looked rather ridiculous gathering up as much supplies as he could to build the perfect home for himself and his infertile offspring. He could still remember the shame of sneaking up on hoards of sleeping Dinobots, a cool and aloof bot such as him bloated with a belly a staggering on his pedes as he snatched up the nearest unoccupied blankets.

It wasn’t like him. None of this was like him. But he couldn’t help it. He couldn’t stop it, either.

They wouldn’t miss those, he reasoned with himself. He needed them more, especially now that he had company. If they could see him now, fat and glowing in the aftermath of producing something so perfect… they would understand. They wouldn’t miss the extra blankets and pillows.

Still, he thought nervously, drawing the egg closer to him. Blankets were one thing, but food was another.

It was hard to justify stealing scraps of another bot’s food when he looked like he’d already eaten ten times as much as he could normally stomach. In his defense, he was feeling peckish, and constantly so.

No matter how much he ate, it never seemed to be enough. Before long, Swoop had amassed a frame far too big for flight, and he was forced to sit in his nest and wait until the next bout of hunger pains came along. It was either that or doze off for a few hours, which… well, he did that a lot, too.

Nesting really was a mess when he wasn’t prepared for it, that much he was certain of. Swoop shuddered at the thought, giving his helm a firm shake when the memory of his attempt at a mating dance for some confused bystanders started to creep up.

Even so, it was his first nesting experience. There was bound to have been some unfortunate happenings, especially when he’d been thrown in unprepared.

For not knowing a thing of what was going on inside his own frame, Swoop was sure he’d done a pretty good job at preparing for the worst. The egg had been quite the surprise when it finally came out, but seeing that shiny pink shell had immediately put all thoughts and fears to rest inside his helm.

With a sigh, Swoop nuzzled the egg close and settled down against the pillows. He still had plenty to process, but for right now, the only thing he wanted to do was snuggle with his egg and sleep.

The pillows were perfect against his frame, a soft cushion for aching parts that soothed his processor and relieved him of his worries. Infertile or no, he’d done something incredible. The egg was held close in his arms, warmed by the cozy nest and the heat from Swoop’s fat frame.

He was long overdue for a bit of a rest, the Dinobot decided. Everything else could be figured out when he awoke. For now, it was time to sleep.

(Art by @siberat! Link to their post: https://www.tumblr.com/siberat/759087338956767232/illustration-for-mr-miss-anonymous-story-my-fav)

[olderthannetfic]

I can sympathize with the anon who stink-eyed a deluge of drabbles flooding a small fandom. I don't hate drabbles—I think they're rather artful, and I've tried my hand at writing them on occasion—but I wouldn't want to eat one unless I'm feeling merely peckish. It's like a shiny plate with a lot of drizzle, some sculpted garnish, and a tiny chunk of meat. Impressive, but I'm not interested in whetting up an appetite unless there's a lot more substance down the line.

--

[prettyboyhowl]

side wip mostly just lives in my brain... but i'll write lil drabbles for it anyways...

"If I was your witch," they wrap their arms around you from behind, resting their chin in the crook of your neck, "I would've never left you."

You allow the embrace, tilting your head to face their teasing smile. "They'll be back for me."

They let out a breathy chuckle, ignoring the way their heart twinges from the conviction in your eyes. "I know."

And they do. They remind themselves constantly that your arrangement is temporary. But secretly, every now and then, they allow themselves to imagine. A future where your witch never comes back; a future where you abandon your wait and choose to stay with them instead.

You smile, oblivious to their thoughts, and bare your neck. "Peckish?"

Their eyes turn dark then, a hungry and possessive edge to their gaze as they trace their tongue along the edge of one fang.

"Ravenous."

[bocchithelewd]

For the one word drabble for Bridget: Burst~

"Ugh...t-thish ...blurrRRPPP... may not'sh hmmff h-have been de b-besht'sh idea" Bridget finally admitted to herself, her revelation only slightly marred by the slurring of her words. The bounty hunter had been invited by her friend May to a banquet that the Jelly Fish pirates were having. It sounded like it would have been fun, so she went along. Thing was there was apparently 'important pirate business', so none of them could attend, leaving Bridget alone in a huge feasting hall, filled to the brim with food. She couldn't quite remember why, maybe it was because she was feeling a bit peckish...but she decided to start eating. Turkey after turkey, tuna after tuna, entire cakes and flans...she devoured it all, unable to stop herself. Which is what led to the bounty hunter in her current predicament, practically the size of a whale, her belly red and taught due to all the food she had managed to put away! Her clothes were drenched in food stains and torn all across her body. Currently a large, gelatinous piece of flan rested between her fat tits. She looked at it skeptically, as if trying to puzzle out how bad it would be if she ate it. "Hmph. m-maybe jusht'sh ...hmphhh... a splat... b-bite..." She mused to herself as she used her bloated digits to prod at her belly. There was simply no room left inside of it, each poke shooting a spike of pressure through Bridget. Any sane person would have taken that to mean they should stop, but then again, no sane person would be in this situation to begin with. 'its basically a liquid' Bridget thought to herself 'It should be fine...' She managed to use her impressive strength to lift up her flab buried arms and grab her flabby tits, pushing them up and sending the flan sliding towards her mouth. The bounty hunter slurped it down with gusto. giving deep husky moans as she did so. The jellyfish pirates really knew how to coo- Pain, Unending searing pain shot through her as Bridgets expression of hedonistic glee quickly deformed into one of agony. She could immediately tell she went too and did her best to go back. She tried to throw up what she had eaten, but it was too late. The world became red, then black for the bounty hunter, as in her final moment before entering eternal darkness...she swallowed more of the flan. Sometime later the door opened, a cheery high-pitched voice entering the eerily quiet room "Alright! Sorry to have kept you waiting, we hope the food is sti-woah."

May nearly slipped on something as she came inside. She looked down to see a slippery white hunk of something on the ground "Whale blubber?" She questioned with some hesitation "Whats that doing here? and...wow I must have gotten hit in the head pretty hard. When did Johnny get the mess hall painted red?" She walked further in, careful not to slip on any of the 'whale blubber' as she looked at the devistation. It was like a bomb had gone off here. Tables were overthrown, sending plates and cups all over the room. The pirate wondered what could have caused all of this...before she stumbled upon her friend and wished she never found out. "Oh...." Was all she could manage to say.

[bookshopcelestial]

Random Character Development Questions | 008 | @tuppencetrinkets & @scottys-rp-blogs

          Aziraphale bears far too much love for the written word to ever claim one story (among so many) to be his favorite. Tales, fairy or otherwise, venture into the world as little more than whispers on human lips, held close in the intimate circle of a campfire. Some do not survive past the years of the person doing the telling, forgotten to history and an aural culture wiped from the planet's surface. But others... other tales resonate; across centuries, across continents, across cultures. Some tales persist, and Aziraphale has greeted them like old friends as they find their way back to him, now captured by a literary magazine, next bound in leather. 

         A few stories have even resonated with him personally, despite his immortality, and remind the angel of the great time and distances he's traveled to become the... not-quite heavenly body he is today. 

The Smith and the Devil (approx 600 BCE)           The literary world considers the tale of the Smithy and the Devil to be the oldest fairytale in recorded history. But, oh, Aziraphale remembers quite well when it was still new. Perhaps its narrative smacks of a trope (though, being the first of its kind, the it can hardly be blamed), but the angel still looks upon the story with fondness, a sort of nod to a time when he was much, much younger and far less learned about the shades of uncertainty existent between right and wrong, good and evil. 

          The tale is a simple one, following a human blacksmith who makes a deal with Lucifer himself. It takes place when mankind all thought very highly of their souls (for such-and-such reason), to the point that they'd convinced themselves Hell was eager to barter some ridiculous favor in exchange for such things. At  the time, Aziraphale had still believed in the righteousness of Heaven, and the thought of God's favorite creation pulling a fast one on his fallen brethren was... well. The angel did enjoy his indulgences, even in this. 

The Angel (1844 AD)           Aziraphale has never known a man quite like Hans Christian Andersen, not before or since. He was a character of singular moods and emotions, a sensitive soul filled with the kind of nameless pain that hid years of trauma, the likes to which even an Angel could not fully comprehend. At times, he was impossible to be around, no matter that Aziraphale loved him.

          But Oh.... how Andersen wrote! The man penned stories in all genres, from plays to novels to poems. He wrote with a slavish, obsessive fervor, and in doing so created works of transcendent beauty that Aziraphale shall never cease to admire. Most readers remember the famous ones, stories like The Littlest Mermaid and The Emporer's New Clothes. But Aziraphale's favorite shall always be (perhaps vainly) the one written for him. 

          The Angel tells of a child's passing, and his journey towards heaven. Guided by an angel companion, the child gathers flowers from his favorite places in life to present to God, who gives the best among them a voice to sing in Heaven's choir. It is revealed, shortly, that the angel assisting the boy was once also a child, and the withered flower of his life is brought to God to be kissed, wherein he "received a voice and joined the choir of the angels who floated about God's throne. Some were near, some farther out in great circles that swept to infinity, but all were supremely happy."

           Aziraphale has never been certain if Andersen meant the angel in the story to be a reflection of him, or of the author himself. Perhaps it is both. Certainly, he would have accompanied Hans to the throne of heaven, had life and Death truly worked in such a way. Maybe that explains the love he feels for this story,  even so many years later. A damaged boy, treated unkindly by the human world, transcends to immortality and everlasting happiness in the arms of an angel....

              What's not to love?

[angrythingstarlight]

Maybe when vampire Bucky is feeling a little peckish but can’t decide what he’s hungry for, he switches back and forth between biting your thigh and eating you out.

Pairing: Vampire Bucky x reader

Word count: written on my phone.

Warnings: Mentions of blood (but no blood play), biting, overstimulation, oral (fem receiving) smut, 18+, cocky vamp Bucky.

A/N: Do not copy, translate, repost, or rewrite my fics. Likes, comments and reblogs are cherished. Thirstday drabble #3. Let me know if you want a full vamp Bucky fic for Halloween.

****

"Oh god."

You stare down at the glimmering black eyes peering up at you. He retracts his fangs from your thigh, gently lapping at your broken skin until the small puncture wounds close.

He chuckles darkly, the sound rippling across you. Bucky places his hands below your ass, lifting you off his plush bed until you're almost levitating off it, only your elbows and upper back linger on the silk sheets. "Not quite a god, but I can see how you'd get confused."

He's so arrogant but you can't say anything about it. With the way he's pulling orgasm after orgasm out of your pliant body, he's earned every ounce of cockiness in his deep, gravelly voice.

You lost track of time, not that it would matter. When Buckys hungry for you, everything fades away.

And right now. He's fucking famished.

He drags his teeth across your inner thigh, the sharp scrape sends a shiver down your spine. The decadent taste of your blood melts on his tongue as he inhales your cunt, his nose brushing over your clit.

It's always so hard for him to choose where to start, your thighs are soft but your sweet pretty little pussy is right there, glistening and dripping for him.

Bucky angles his head, his fangs elongating to thin points, and he circles your clit with the very tip. The dangerous, dark glint in his eyes tells you he could do whatever he wants to your body and you'll fucking let him. He does it again, tracing small designs that mark his insidious intent over your throbbing bundle of nerves.

And it feels so good.

"Fuck, fuck," you gasp, your heart racing in your chest. He can hear your blood pounding in your veins and he does it again. His plump lips curling into a smirk. You jerk in his hold, feeling pure white heat explode in your belly. "Bucky, what-oh shit," your arms give out, your legs dangling in the air. "Buc-"

He laps at your clit, a slow long lick that you feel everywhere. Bucky hums under his breath, unleashing a flurry of licks intertwined with powerful sucks, it feels as if he's tearing you apart, you sob his name when he latches on your clit pulling you into his wet mouth, increasing the pressure on your little aching bud, he slides two long fingers into your sopping channel. Oh Bucky, Bucky please, yes, right there.

He mutters something about that's better, keep saying his name like that and he'll fuck you like the good girl you are. You can't hear him over the roar in your ears, Your body getting warmer and warmer until you're sure the sheets are going to burst into flames. You chant his name and he rewards you with a deep sloppy kiss on your cunt.

He curls his fingers inside your walls, finding your sweet spot with ease. You clench down on his thick fingers, a silent scream bubbling in your chest as he hits your spongy patch so good your vision goes white, the chandelier above you blurring into an array of golden sparkling lights.

The pressure in your belly cracks, splintering into shards. It feels like you're drowning in sensations, undercurrents dragging you down as he deepens his vulgar kiss on your clit, his long tongue flickering over you, his fingers slamming in and out of your cunt, stretching you with each twist of his wrist. You whimper, your body trembling as your orgasm takes over your senses. "Yesyesyes, Buc-" the rest of his name fizzling as you keen.

Bucky doesn't stop until you go limp in his arms, fine tremors wracking your body, soft gasps escaping your parted lips.

"Angel," he says, his tone dripping with a faux innocence that cuts through your groggy brain. He places you on the sheets, blowing lightly on your heated, swollen cunt. "Did I give you permission to cum?"

Your glossy eyes snap open, balefully staring down at him. His blue eyes shimmer to a deep black, your stomach drops in anticipation.

"First you speak anothers name in my bed." Oh, oh god. He tsks, spreading his large hand over your thigh. "Then you cum without asking me first." Fuck oh fuckfuckfuck.

He opens his mouth, your slick dripping off his bearded chin. "Since you want to cum so bad, angel, you're going to do it over and over."

He sinks his fangs into your soft flesh, the sharp sting dulled by intense pleasure. You don't mean to say it, you really don't but he feels so good, the way he's drinking from your thigh is incredible that it slips out.

"Oh god," the words hang in the air.

Bucky arches his brow, biting harder, you know he's going to leave a bruise and fuck do you love it when he leaves his claim on you. You slap your hand over your mouth holding back a scream, your eyes rolling back in your head, your cunt clenching down as another wave of pleasure soaks into your body.

He raises his head, sweeping his thumb over the marks in your skin. "You were doing so good angel, I was going to worship your pretty cunt, but now-" he moves faster than you can comprehend, suddenly on top of you, his heavy cock between your thighs, he tilts your head, exposing your throat. "By the time I'm done ruining your little pussy, you're not going to remember your own name."

He grazes your throat with his fangs, his cock stretching your pussy, going deeper and deeper until you're so full it almost hurts because of how good he feels inside you.

"But I guarantee you're going to be screaming mine."

[hp-fruit-fest]

HP Fruit Fest 2023

Welcome to the first (of hopefully many!) HP Fruit Fest! While the HP fandom has had a bountiful harvest of fics for many years, there is not nearly enough to sate us peckish fruit fanatics!

🍊 The Ap-peel:

Stress free fest! Few restrictions apply.

Are you interested in the symbolism of fruit? The aesthetic? The yumminess? This fest promises inspiration aplenty!

Do you like your fruit sweet or sour? Or even spicy? Go wild! The only real limit is your imagination, friends!

Ship & Kink positive! No ship or kinkshaming here, baby!

Non-anonymous posting.

No hard deadline. Just post to the collection anytime this spring, March 20 - June 21.

🍑 Fest Rules:

Participants must be 18 years or older. While the fest is not aimed towards explicit content, with the lack of content restrictions, I feel most comfortable having an age restriction.

No word count minimum or maximum. Do you wanna write a durian drabble? Or a lingonberry longfic? Don't let me stop you!

Must feature appearance of whole fruit. If you want to turn it into jam or juice or pie, feel free! But at least give us a glimpse of raw beauty, please and thank you!

No content restrictions (on fic.) All fics must be thoroughly tagged. But if you wanna write some feel good fluff or a dead dove monstrosity, that's entirely up to you! I only ask that you tag all content to the best of your ability. If you have any questions or concerns about this, you can email me at hpfruitfest@gmail.com.

Art restrictions apply (for legal reasons.) No explicit depictions of underage characters.

All fan creations allowed. Fic? Art? Podfic? Bookbinding? Other arts and crafts? Follow wherever your muse leads! The fest will run on AO3 and Tumblr to allow for all the goodies.

May combine with other events. If other fests/events are cool with it, I'm cool with it!

Self-prompting allowed. There will be a selection of fruit specific prompts (per the mod), and prompting will open to the public for more specific fruity scenarios, but as long as it as fruit in it, that's all that matters! If no existing prompt tickles your fancy, go for whatever does!

All works must be betaed. Or SPaG checked at the very least. We want this experience to be enjoyable for everyone, so please make sure those fruits ✨ shine ✨!

If you need a beta, please let us know and we'll help find one for you!

You must sign up to participate. A sign up form will be posted March 1. Please sign up if you want to prompt or create. Even if you're not sure you will prompt or create, if you even think about it, please sign up. This is just to ensure I can contact you if needed, for either the prompt or the creation.

🥭 Timeline

March 1: Mod Prompts go live. (here)

March 1: sign ups open. (here)

March 1 - 20: open prompting. (here)

March 20: posting opens.

June 21: posting ends.

Also: Join our Discord server!

Also also: FAQs

May the fruits be ever in your flavor!