#horizontal aggression

[liannaedgelord]

whenever i really want to start a fight on the internet that will lead to nothing useful, this song plays in my head and, most of the time, that's enough to talk me out of it

genuinely one of the more concrete impacts a piece of art has ever had on me

[furbearingbrick]

oh look, they finally said the quiet part out loud

[fisheito]

Big Agree... how could i have forgotten that olivine has SOCIAL SKILLS?!. he has siblings. He has followers. He knows how to deal with petulance. Of course he has the expertise to inadvertently bribe eiden... something something catch more with honey than threats...

Wait hold on it's like an interview question

MASTER EIDEN REFUSES TO STAY IN BED DESPITE HIS INJURIES. WHAT DO YOU DO?

[mylifeiscomics]

Part 32 - College AU

Mickey & Rose are on good terms but not that good lol.

[thelastevilregal]

"I don't like to judge people but-"

-Someone who loves to judge people

[hedgehog-moss]

In my neverending quest to keep Pampérigouste from achieving her dreams, I have launched a formal investigation into her last escape, which I had no explanations for at the time.

I figured it out! At the far far end of her pasture, near the road, a few fence posts have become more or less horizontal (the ground is quite wet / muddy there so they've never been very stable, especially with Pirlouit using them to scratch his forehead)—so instead of a high jump + long jump combo to get to the road, Pampe just had to clear the long jump over the ditch. Which is still impressive.

I also suspect that she chose to escape from this place near the road on a snowy morning as a deliberate strategy, knowing the snow plough would erase any traces of her jump, thus preventing me from discovering where the weak spot in the fence was. Well done.

You need 2 people to fix these fence posts so in the meantime I decided to kill two birds with one stone: cut all the broom and thorny bushes in this corner of the pasture and use them to form a discouraging barrier. I set to work earlier this week, and here's the same place as above, mid-process:

When I texted my mum to tell her about my new thorn-based anti-Pampe plan of action, she said "Like the Maasai who make fences with thorny acacia branches to keep out lions!" and it made me feel even more confident. I mean, I have neither acacia nor Maasai fencing techniques but my thorny shrubs are pretty aggressive, they pricked my fingers even through my thick work gloves—which felt satisfying in an anticipatory way. Excellent! prick Pampe's nose exactly like this. How could a llama not be deterred by a fence material that deters apex predators?

Vexingly enough, she seemed quite supportive of my efforts. At one point she breathed some warm air against my shoulder in a gentle, patronising way.

We were engaged in psychological warfare all afternoon—every time I stepped away from my vegetal fence, feeling like it was now good enough, Pampe would immediately come to inspect it, cheerful and impatient, which sapped my confidence so I would go and add a few more shrubs. (Note that I sort of plaited the first / biggest shrubs with the pre-existing fence so they don't go flying on the road, and so Pampe can't just push them aside.)

On the right: Poldine, looking for little fresh leaves to eat amidst the chaos. On the left: Pampérigouste, thinking.

(At this point the barrier was only 20% thorns, and 80% broom—the fact that she waded through it without a care and didn't prick her belly made me go and add more thorny shrubs, and pack them more densely)

It's kind of fun watching Pampe think, honestly. Can I jump over this? Do I have enough visibility? Can I eat my way to freedom (again)? But these shrubs are disgusting. Am I above exploiting my daughter's lack of culinary discernment to achieve my goals? Maybe I should go back to my calculations re: probability of wild boar destruction. I may have pincushions for hands after handling prickly bushes for two hours but I'm helping stimulate my llama's intellect and creativity and that's so important.

I tried to alternate broom and thorny branches so that the non-thorny broom became tangled up with thorns and brambles to form an impenetrable and incomprehensible wall. I will call it this method the salmagundi-fence.

Poldine is in awe of my vegetal installation.

Can I just say, compared to Pampérigouste who constantly has a devilish glint in her eye, Pampelune's face exudes wholesome politeness and moral goodness. It's still hard to believe they're mother and daughter.

I went home once my fence started looking like Maleficent's forest of thorns and Pampe had long stopped trying to wade through it, but I still felt antsy and ended up coming back one hour later to have my apéritif with the llamas so I could keep an eye on Pampe until nightfall.

... where is Pampe?

Oh. Here. No worries!

Still staring at the road. Still thinking.

...

With all that said, please admire my beautifully delirious Forest of Thorns-fence and let me know what you think.

[bovineblogger]

saw that video of the bull bumping the little cow with his horns while he ate and suddenly had so many questions about bull horns. what are they made of? do they ever get broken and lopsided? would it hurt the cow to cut them short? I assume the original purpose for them is fighting for mates, but do bulls actually fight a lot, and if so, how is it functional to do so with horns that stick out so far horizontally from the head as the ones the cow in the video had? are there undomesticated bovines with such big horns? Many Questions

hiiiiiIIIIIIIIIIII SO BASICALLY!!

cow horns are made of keratin and filled with tissue and blood vessels! but there is a small bit of bone connecting them to the skull. basically, they stick out to the sides and cool down all the blood running through them, which is awesome for cattle in hotter environments!

cattle tend to butt heads as a way of playfighting or asserting dominance! they don't typically actually aim to injure each other in these spats, but if a cow wants to gore you it absolutely will. theyre very aware of their horns and how to use them. (bulls definitely tend to do this more often as theyre more aggressive and territorial than steers or cows/heifers. )

[drudyslut]

rafe fucking Reader in fishnets!!????🤤

warnings: smut! 18+ dub-con?, aggressive!rafe, choking, little face fucking, unprotected sex, small breeding kink (my fav kink oops), language.

i’m picturing this in my mind… and yup.. it’s hot🤤 aggressive rafe makes me raaaaah🥵🥵

side note: i got a small bit of motivation to write this, but idk how i feel abt it, and i didn’t know how to end it but enjoy 😭

“R-Rafe!” You cry out as his hands roam the length of your body, fingertips firmly gripping at your thighs.

He smirks, his darkened over eyes finding yours, “Shhh, you want this princess, I know you do”

His lips are on yours again before you have time to speak, his large hands gripping just below your ass as he lifts you from the floor, pulling a high pitched squeal from you. He moves the two of you to the bed, tossing you down onto the plush mattress harshly. You watch him remove his shirt, your eyes glazed over with lust, visibly salivating at the sight of his toned and tanned body.

He climbs onto the bed, pulling at your black leather skirt and yanking it down your thighs. “Fuck, these little fishnet things you wore tonight are so goddamn sexy” He says lowly, voice thick and raspy.

Rafe dips his head down, his lips brushing softly over the skin of your neck, sending a shiver through your body. “I wore this to get your attention” You admit, voice so low and soft you were unsure if he even heard you.

“Well, it worked, you have all my attention” He pauses, sitting himself up undoing the button of his khaki shorts before quickly pulling the zipper down. You watch as he pulls his shorts and boxers down in one fell swoop, your eyes grow wide when his thick, erect cock springs free, slapping at his stomach.

You swallow thickly, mouth suddenly feeling dry, mind racing. “Don’t worry baby, it’ll fit” Rafe says, an amused smirk on his lips. He grabs at your waist, maneuvering your body horizontally on the bed, letting your head hang off the bed slightly.

He gets off the bed, moving to stand in front of you. He grasps at his cock, slowly stroking it as he stares down at you, "Open"

You do as he says, opening your mouth wide, tongue splayed out for him. He grins widely, taking a long step forward and slapping the swollen head of his dick on your tongue, the taste of the precum that had leaked from the tip invades your tastebuds. "Gonna fuck your throat so raw, you won't be able to speak"

Rafe slowly pushes himself down your throat, low groans falling past his lips when he sees the imprint of his dick in your throat. "Fuuuuck, such a good fucking girl, letting me do whatever I want to her"

You gag around him, tears filling your eyes as he keeps himself shoved all the way down your throat making your mind hazy. You gag around him, the vibrations making him moan loudly.

He begins to pull himself out, leaving just the head in your mouth. You wrap your lips around the pink tip, swirling your tongue around it and pulling another low groan from the man.

He begins to thrust his hips, harshly pushing himself in and out of your throat. You have tears streaming down your face, the abuse he was becoming too much.

You were a gagging, drooling mess, his thrusts growing harsher. You took note of the way his eyes rolled into the back of his head everytime he pushed himself in, the sounds of his low and raspy groans making you grow wetter by the minute.

You pushed your hand down the fabric of your fishnets and your panties, fingers finding your clit instantly. You began to rub slow and harsh circles around your sensitive bud, trying to relieve some of the pressure you felt between your legs.

You feel Rafe slow himself, pulling himself from your mouth completely. "No ma'am. Only I get to touch that sweet little pussy, hands out"

You pull your hand from your panties, scoffing in annoyance.

Rafe doesn't miss the annoyed scoff you'd let out, his hands instantly gripping your throat and lifting you out of your position on your back, "Somethin' you wanna say, princess?"

You open your mouth to speak, but nothing except strangled breaths come out, the bruising grip he had on your throat making it hard to breathe, much less speak.

"Didn't think so"

He releases your throat tossing you back onto the mattress and climbing on top of you. You gasp when you hear the sound of fabric ripping, your head flying up to see that Rafe had torn your fishnets apart.

"Rafe! These were expensive, what the-" You begin to complain, but he cuts you off.

"I'll buy you more, stop fucking whining"

You nod your head, closing your mouth quickly. He pushes your panties to the side, his thick index finger running through your slick folds and making you throw your head back.

He gathers some of your arousal on the digit, bringing it to his lips and sucking it clean. "Taste so fucking good, I would go down on you, but nah. I need to feel you now"

He pushes your panties to the side again, using his free hand to grasp his cock. He slides his head through your slick, teasing at your entrance before he sinks himself inside you without warning.

You let a loud moan escape you, his cock stretching you out, making your legs shake and mind go fuzzy.

"Shit, so fucking tight, so wet, fucking love how you feel wrapped around me"

"Rafe, p-please" You beg, the feel of him stretching you making more tears prick at your eyes.

"Please what? Use your words"

"Please, faster, harder" You beg, tears streaming down your face as he slowly pushes himself in and out of you.

You hear him chuckle, his eyes growing darker than they already were, "Remember, you asked for it"

He begins to harshly snap his hips into yours, his swollen head repeatedly hitting at that sweet spot deep inside you.

You begin clenching around him tightly, making strings of curse words and groans fall from his lips, "Fuck, don't think i'm gonna be able to pull out if you keep squeezin' me like that"

You let out a pornographic moan, making him smirk down at you, "You like that? Like the idea of me filling your pussy up with my cum? The thrill of possibly getting pregnant with my baby?"

"Y-Yes! Fuck, Rafe! Please, cum inside me"

The sounds of skin slapping skin and your loud moans bounce off the walls of the small room. You feel Rafe's thrusts growing sloppier, his chest heaving up and down as he breathes heavily.

"Fuck, gonna have you drippin' with my cum, hope you get pregnant with my baby, let every guy on this damn island know who you fucking belong to"

You sceam out a moan, his words followed by his cock hitting at your g-spot pushing you over the edge. You hear Rafe groan his hips stuttering as you feel the warmth of his cum filling you up.

He slows his hips, fucking his cum deep inside you before he collapses on top of you. He lets his head fall into the crook of your neck, lips leaving soft kisses there.

"Goddamn, wear these sexy fishnet things more often, seriously"

RAFE TAGLIST: @ivy-34 @rafeism @thelomlisrafecameron @rafegirly @f4ll-for-you @drewstarkeyslut @starkeypankowsbae @lizcameron @m-1234 @dilvcv @thewitchesofart @rafesgfxo @unsaidjaelinrose @abbybarnesstuff @itsmytimetoodream @thatsthewaythechrissycrumbles @r1vrsefx @alexisbaumann2004 @yourfavborderhopper @moremaybank @rafetopia @rafemotherfuckingcameron @jade-is-jaded @jjmaybankisbae @lexasaurs634 @softlilacarrest @fayerite @exhaustedbutelated @mel119g @lyndys @urmyslxt @presleyanswrites @sierraluvz @carma-fanficaddict @rafescokenostril @madzzz0797 @slytherhoes @jscameron @jjsmarijuana @ijustwanttoreadlols @luversgirl @sugarcoatedstarkey @skyesthebomb @nirvanaissogood @daivny

rafe masterlist | requests | taglist form

[horseimagebarn]

horse with rather long hair obscuring the eyes leaning forward toward a human hand which holds out a nice yellow cob of corn still attached to its husk the camera has captured this delicate moment as the horse carefully takes a bite of the corn taking a vertical approach instead of biting the corn while it faces horizontally like a human might this photograph shows that while some may go about a task a bit differently the same amount of enjoyment can be achieved for it is apparent this horse is enjoying the corn due to the posture of its body toward the corn and the lack of any aggressive movements though there could be no movements for this is a photograph a stock photo at that which we can deduce from the very helpful and not distracting watermarks and banner at the bottom and also this is horseimagebarn not horsevideobarn so of course we find no active motions here of all places just actions frozen in the unmelting ice of visual preservation

[konigbabe]

mosaic of us

Pairing: plaga!Leon Kennedy x fem!reader

Word count: 6k

Tags/warnings: smut; no y/n; infected Leon (las plagas); p-in-v sex; unprotected sex; female gendered anatomy; rough sex; creampie; manhandling; Leon's a menace and this is yet another pure filth

Summary: Hidden in the village, Leon's condition keeps deteriorating; somehow, his kiss seems to ignite something deep inside you. Something primal — savage in its roots.

A/N: Written as part of my A to Z kinks game. R is for rough sex.

I sincerely apologize for this mess. Divider is mine.

masterlist • navigation • faq • AO3 • ko-fi

You notice the veins around his eyes growing more prominent, twisting and pulsing like roots searching for water. It’s as if something inside him is struggling to break free from its confines, a dangerous force waiting to be unleashed. With a sudden jerk, Leon looks up at you with an intense fervor; the sclera now twisted into a sickly yellow, the inky tendrils reaching towards his pupils, enveloping them in a macabre embrace.

The glow of the sun filters through the gaps in the wooden walls of the shed, illuminating the space with a warm, golden light. You stand there, hidden away from the villagers (who managed to overrun you not even an hour ago), as a gentle breeze weaves through the nearby trees. It's a sweet melody that accompanies the soft whispers of the diary's pages, its newfound freshness almost palpable as you trace your fingers along its surface.

The air still carries the scent of damp wood and earth, with a hint of mustiness. The shed’s been abandoned for too long, left to the mercy of the elements. Like a forgotten tomb, filled with the memories of a long-departed soul. Neglected in its wake.

Reading page after page – each with intriguing materials hidden inside its folds, you let the ink come alive, painting vivid pictures of his observations.

July 10, 2004

Today marks another day of failed attempts at finding a cure for the outbreak in this village. The scarce resources and limited materials available make it even more challenging to uncover a solution. However, after much experimentation and observation, I finally managed to identify the mode of transmission – horizontal transmission. The virus can replicate its DNA and spread throu–

The shadow of a figure looms over the creaky door, pulling your gaze away from the passage. Your hand slinks towards the gun holster on your thigh, fingers tapping the handle with precision, safety off. You stare at the door, alert like a hawk on the prowl.

With a soft thud, the diary shuts; your senses stir in anticipation as the door opens. The hinges groan under the weight of the door. Recognizing the person entering, an exhale leaves your lips.

Leon's silhouette is backlit by the dimming light, creating a halo effect around his head. His large frame takes up almost the whole space of the door, blocking out any remaining slivers of sunlight that had managed to seep through the cracks.

He swiftly shuts the door behind him, sealing off the outside world like a fortress protecting its treasure. With practised ease, he places a chair underneath the handle, securing it.

"Shit," you cuss as you snap the safety back on the gun, "don’t try sneakin’ up on me like that again, Leon."

Leon's eyes flicker up, scanning your tense frame, alert for any signs of aggression. He nods, a wordless apology for startling you, and steps towards you with a cautious gait.

Restarting the reading, you skip through the rest of the page, flicking to the next one.

–indicates that the virus' spread is heavily influenced by the host's behavior and their relationship with the recipient.

As Leon shuffles past, the air is infused with the heady aroma of his shirt, like the sweet, earthy scent of freshly turned soil. The mustiness of its faded blue is mixed with the sharp tang of his cologne, reminiscent of the crisp bite of a green apple. He runs a hand across his smooth-shaven face, the coolness of his skin a temporary relief from the relentless fever burning inside him.

Today's findings have shed new light on the behavior of the virus. My latest analysis has revealed that the virus has a peculiar ability to alter the composition of the host's saliva. Strikingly, I discovered that infected individuals have elevated levels of–

Your eyes dart across the page, scanning the words with lightning speed. The words blur together as you scan through them with lightning speed, eager to reach the end of the entry in hopes to find a way to help Leon.

The implications of these findings are tantalizing, and suggest that the virus may be manipulating the behavior of its hosts to facilitate its own spread.

"What’re you readin’," Leon asks, stepping to your side with the knife holster dangling from his grip like a coiled snake.

The close proximity of him allows your arm to brush against his chest, the solid mass of muscle beneath his shirt a somewhat comforting presence in the chaos you’ve found yourself in. His hand comes to rest on your shoulder, squeezing it gently like a reassuring pat on the back as his eyes dart towards the diary.

You don’t hesitate to show it to him, its cover slightly worn and creased from your constant handling.

"It’s some kind of a diary," you watch as Leon flips through the pages, occasionally pausing to read it, "found it in one of the houses. It’s written by–I think–a scientist who was here; Doctor Javier García."

Leon's fingers trace the faded lines, the foreign letters, as if absorbing the knowledge contained within, yet the puzzled expression on his face tells you otherwise. The rustling of pages sounds like a whisper in the quiet room as he flips through them.

"It’s in Spanish," he grumbles with a tinge of frustration, his voice breaking the tranquil atmosphere. He hands the open diary back to you before rubbing his eyes wearily.

You can't help but notice the subtle movement of dark veins around his eyes, like ink spreading across a page. They're barely perceptible, but the sight still sends a twinge of unease through you.

"Yeah, that’s why I’m here, remember? Your Spanish is shit."

Leon emits a faint chuckle, so quiet that even in the closeness of your positions, it's barely audible. Shaking his head, he runs a hand through the mass of light hair, revealing beads of sweat on his forehead. Exertion fills the air around you as he moves.

"Right," taking a step back, the soles of his shoes crunch against the first floor. You sneak a peek at his arms; the veins, network of obsidian tributaries, ripple just beneath the surface of his skin, "Right."

"Did you find out Baby Eagle’s position?" you inquire, your voice echoing through the empty space.

Leon shakes his head, causing the pushed-back hair to fall back over his face, before he speaks again in a soft, hushed tone, "No; got a call from Luis. They’re hiding in the castle." His voice is quiet, almost a whisper, and you strain to hear him.

Speaking of Luis–

Looking back at the book in your hand, you remember the last passage. The first thing you read when you were left alone in this shed.

"About Luis," you murmur, your fingers deftly flipping through the pages until you reach the last inked page. Leon’s eyes follow your hands as you open the page, the words there shaky, the paper wrinkled and smudged with ink. It's like a relic from another time, something that has weathered the storm of time and come out the other side. Written in a hurry; but it’s there as you read it out loud, slowly translating the foreign language:

September 18, 2004

Today, another scientist arrived in this remote village. After a brief conversation about my project, he evaded my queries about his presence here. He divulged information about a private island facility and expressed a keen interest in developing a cure for the virus. However, I couldn't help but sense an underlying malice in his intentions towards the virus. I intend to find out more about this man.

Your eyes scan the smudged ink of another passage, attempting to make sense of the faded words, but it’s no use.

Back facing Leon, you speak, "That’s gotta be Luis, right?," voice filled with suspicion, "Two weeks ago, this García met Luis and now he’s gone. His personal belongings are all here - don't you think that's a little suspicious?"

A low groan interrupts your train of thought, causing you to furrow your brow.

"Leon?"

You turn around and watch as Leon stands a mere footstep before you. Palm resting on his forehead, eyes squeezed shut, you feel your heartbeat pick up; the veins now spreading like poison ivy, creating an intriguing mosaic. The ebony tendrils slither over his skin, covering his neck and sneaking inside the folds of his dirty shirt.

Another guttural growl emanates from his throat, so animalistic and raw that it sends shivers down your spine. Your hand instinctively reaches for Leon's blade, which was left on the table moments ago, while your other hand grips the wooden surface to steady yourself.

"Leon," you repeat in hopes to reach the man’s attention, "what’s wrong?"

Your attempts to reach him prove futile; you stand patiently, gaze firmly following his every movement–with a precise step, you stroll in front of him. Another guttural sound finds its way out of Leon as he moves his hands to his temples, pushing against the thin skin as if he could alleviate a headache.

As you watch, the veins around his eyes grow more prominent, twisting and pulsing like roots searching for water. Something inside him seems to be struggling to break free, a dangerous force waiting to be unleashed. With a sudden jerk, Leon looks up at you with an intense fervor; the sclera now twisted into a sickly yellow, the inky tendrils reaching towards his pupils, enveloping them in a macabre embrace.

"Leon!"

You take a step back as he lunges forward, his movements erratic and uncontrolled.

Anticipating a strike, you raise the knife, its point aimed at Leon’s upper body. Your heart jackhammer in your chest, you brace yourself for the attack; muscles coiled and ready for defence. But before you can make a move, Leon's hand is already on your wrist, his grip vice-like as he twists the blade away from you. You gasp in pain, feeling the sharp sting of the metal cutting into your skin.

The ground feels gritty beneath your feet as you struggle to maintain your balance, trying to free yourself from Leon's grasp. But the man seems to be in complete control, his movements fluid and effortless. Your heart races faster as you realize the danger you're in. This man could easily overpower you, could easily harm you if he wanted to.

A pained gasp leaves your tightening throat as Leon’s hot breath fans over your face. And then, without warning, his lips crash against yours.

It’s messy. Needy.

Wet.

Taken by surprise, your mind races; struggling to make sense of what’s happening. The taste of his lips is familiar, certainly not the first time he kissed you. But never like that – and never when infected.

You can taste the slight tinge of mint on his tongue as it sneaks inside your mouth. His hands, strong and calloused, grip your jaw, tilting your head as his hips back you against the table. Leon’s body easily keeps yours restrained, his body heat almost scorching you. You can feel his every move, every twitch of a muscle, every shiver that runs down his spine. It's like being consumed by a wild, untamed force that you can't resist.

The dominance in his behavior, the way he takes control and leaves you powerless and vulnerable; it all makes your mind fuzzy. A blank canvas.

For a moment, everything fades away–

–until the realization hits you.

He’s infected.

Pressing your palms firmly against his chest, your body freezes momentarily upon feeling the taut muscles of his breastplates before you push with all your might. He barely budges. Yet, when your lips momentarily separate, you manage to call out to him one more time, "Leon!"

His eyes open. Now clear, back to the blue as a tranquil ocean on a sunny day, the agitated storm within them subsided. He looks back at you.

"I’m so sorry," he mutters, his voice low and hoarse. You can see the fatigue etched into his features, the bags under his eyes betraying his lack of sleep. As he meets your gaze, his eyes plead for your understanding.

The sound of his groan echoes in your ears as you watch him crumble before you, his once-strong body now appearing weak. The taste of his kiss still lingers on your lips, a bittersweet reminder of what has just transpired. The dust swirls around him, adding to the already chaotic scene. You can feel your heart racing, the adrenaline still coursing through your veins as you try to catch your breath.

"Fuck, Leon," you hurry towards him.

You kneel beside him, eyes scanning his face for any signs of consciousness. His lips, bruised and swollen, part lightly as he takes a laboured breath. You can see the pain etched on his features, the lines on his forehead deepening with each passing second.

Minutes flow as you sit by Leon’s side, watching the dark veins fade slowly as he regains his strength. His chest rises and falls steadily now, the rest of his gear lying on the table alongside your gun. You take in the sight of him, his rugged features softened in the moonlight. His hair, disheveled and covered in dust, frames his face like a wild mane, adding to his already striking appearance.

You reach out to brush a strand away from his forehead, your fingertips tracing the curve of his cheekbone, tracing the areas recently covered in ebony veins.

As you sit there, the sounds of the night surround you–the chirping of crickets, the whispering of leaves in the wind. A cool breeze washes over you, the scent of earth and foliage filling your nostrils. You take a deep breath, the freshness of the air soothing your nerves.

But despite the calming surroundings, the sensation within you is like a storm raging inside, the winds tossing and turning your thoughts. Your body feels like a furnace, burning with a heat that can't be quenched. Heart beating faster, the thumping becoming almost unbearable as your body begins to ache with a deep, pulsing desire.

You try to shake it off, thinking it's just the adrenaline still coursing through your system, but the sensation only intensifies. Focusing on the sounds of the night, hoping they’ll calm down the tempest within; but even the gentle rustling of trees sounds like a deafening roar. The once refreshing gust that swept over you now feels like a tantalizing stroke, sending your nerves alight.

Confusion sets in as you start to feel an uncontrollable need for Leon, a hunger that you can't explain. You try to push it away, but the urge grows stronger with each passing moment until it consumes you completely. You begin to tremble, feeling as if you're on the brink of losing control.

You look down at Leon, feeling both embarrassed and ashamed. The urge like a vine, coiling around your body, tightening its grip with every passing second.

Hand reaching towards Leon’s, your fingers skim over his naked palm, the gloves previously protecting his hands now discarded on the table. His skin is cold to the touch, a stark contrast to the feverish heat that consumes your own body. Just as you’re about to give in to the fear, a twitch in Leon's hand catches your attention. His fingers curl around yours, gripping them tightly. His eyes slowly flutter open, revealing a deep shade of blue that glistens in the moonlight.

"You had me worried there for a moment," you say with a tight-lipped smile, elbows resting on your knees, fingers digging into the naked flesh there.

You feel like you’re burning. Hot coals pressed into your skin.

You take in his appearance, the way his hair’s matted and sticking to his forehead. Sweat beads on his skin, a testament to the fever that has been plaguing him. His skin’s still pale, but his eyes are no longer clouded with ferocity. They seem clear, focused, and alert.

"I’m sorry," he murmurs again, but this time his voice is stronger, more resolute, "I don’t know what that was."

"Don’t be," you reply gently. You try to comfort him with your words, hoping to ease his troubled mind.

"Let’s just find you a cure."

He nods before sitting up, his movements slow and deliberate. He looks fragile, like a delicate flower that might break with the slightest breeze.

"How long was I out?"

You let out a shaky breath, relieved that he's awake. "Not long," you reply, your voice barely above a whisper. Your gaze returns to him, studying his features with an intensity that you can't explain. The sharp planes of his face, the way his jaw tenses as he speaks, the curve of his lips. You try to push the thoughts away, but they persist, like a buzzing fly that won't leave you alone.

"You good to get up?"

"Yeah," Leon exhales.

Dusting the dirt off your knees, you get up and reach out, helping him prop himself up, his body leaning against yours. The heat from his skin seeps into yours, soothing the burning that has been coursing through your veins–

–which doesn’t go unnoticed.

"You’re burning up," he notes. His knuckles lightly press onto the side of your neck, against the jugular vein. Heart thumping, you swallow as you feel the uncomfortable ache between your legs only intensify the longer Leon’s hand remains on your throat.

"Your heart rate’s elevated," his hand finally leaves your skin, "something’s wrong."

With a firm grasp on your upper arm and without much struggle from your side, he beckons you onto the table decorated with all your gear. Skin pricklening with sensation as he guides you onto the table – it’s old wooden surface creaking slightly underneath your weish as you settle onto its surface, feeling the rough wood groan underneath your palms.

The firm press of his hands on your ribcage is like a spark to a fuse, igniting a flame within you. The heat spreads throughout your body, intensifying with each passing moment. You bite down on your lip, trying to hold back the wave of desire that threatens to consume you.

"I’m alright," you assure him, trying to maintain your composure; yet you allow him his hands to roam over your body as if you were actually hurt.

Leon's eyes bore into yours, intense and unwavering. His sharp gaze betrayed his concern, a worry etched into the creases of his forehead. You couldn't help but feel a pang of guilt, knowing that he was only looking out for you.

As you gaze at him, you notice the veins slowly returning to his skin; slowly faded over, the pinkish hue underneath his eyes seems to conceal them, but only from afar. Up close, you can see the delicate tracery of veins pulsating just beneath the surface of his skin.

"Are you sure?"

There’s worry evident in his voice as he rests his palms next to yours, enclosing you in his arms.

The weight of his touch’s comforting your heating body.

Your hand moves like a feather, tracing the intricate network of veins spreading across the contours of his face; his eyes flicker down, on your legs, as you stay mesmerized (and slowly being consumed by the raw power of your desire) by the way the veins seems to gain color, fill into the same darkness they were before, underneath your touch. As if they were following your lead.

Leon’s breath quickens as you continue. You try to steady yourself, to push back against the growing tide of desire that threatens to overwhelm you, but it's no use.

Leon's eyes meet yours, his gaze intense and unwavering as the color regains its sickly yellow tone, thin black veins dancing inside his irises like ink on paper. You can see the concern there, the worry that something might be wrong, but you also see something else. Something that sends a thrill through you despite the situation. He's looking at you like he wants you, like he's been waiting for this moment for ages.

The air thinkens with a palpable tension as you both hold each other’s gaze, lost in the charged atmosphere between you. You can feel the heat radiating off his skin, the electricity in the air, the way your heart races in your chest.

"I’m fine," a faint breath leaves your parted lips when your thumb reaches the slightly wider black vein leading towards his lower lip.

Everything after that seems like a haze. As if you’re observing from afar. Watching a play unfold from the balcony. Detached.

Your lips lock with Leon’s with a wild, raw passion.

It’s fervent.

Intense and fueled by a primal yearning that’s been brewing inside you ever since he kissed you a mere hour ago. Your hands grip Leon’s shoulders, steadying yourself against the mass of muscle standing between your legs.

His kisses are searing – cardinal, almost animalistic and completely uncontrolled; fueled by crude desire that seems to consume him fully. He kisses you with reckless abandon, as if he can't get enough of you. His lips are hot and wet against yours, his breath ragged, and you can feel his heart pounding in his chest as he presses himself against you. It's like he's trying to meld his body with yours, to become one with you, and the sheer intensity of it all is almost too much to bear.

Leon’s hand roam over your body with a ferocity that leaves you breathless. Guttural, deep grunts reverberate through your body.

Hands reaching between your bodies, you tug at the shirt covering his torso – the fabric slides over his head like a curtain revealing a work of art. Taut muscles and veins ripple beneath his skin; your eyes pierce into his chest, the mosaic of black veins creating a network of rivers.

As you trace your fingertips over his skin, every nerve ending seems to come alive, humming with a primal energy that electrifies your senses. The heat emanating from his body is like a flame, casting flickering shadows across the walls of the room; his skin’s like silk, soft to the touch, but strong and sturdy underneath.

The scent of sweat and musk fills your nostrils, overwhelming and intoxicating, pulling you in even closer to him. It's like a drug, addicting and heady, and you can't seem to get enough of it. As you run your hands over his chest, feeling the muscles ripple under your touch, you can feel yourself losing control, your body responding to his in the most sensuous way.

Your shirt soon follows Leon's, falling to the ground in a heap as you find yourself back in the kiss. It's like a symphony of tangled limbs, gasping breaths, and frenzied moans, each one building on the last until you're both lost in a wild, primal dance.

"Fuck–"

Everything seems brumous.

A cloud of haze covering your brain.

Feeling the wetness pool between your legs, heart beating heavy and strong against your ribcage, Leon’s name escapes your mouth as his lips move down your neck, leaving a trail of wet, open-mouthed kisses in their wake; the scrape of his teeth against your skin, nails digging into the flesh of your hips.

As Leon's fingers trace the contours of your curves, the sound of your ragged breaths fills the room, intermingling with the sound of his own. You find yourself lost in the sensation of his touch, the way his fingers seem to know exactly where to go, where to press, where to tease.

Your bodies collide with a force that leaves you gasping for air. Like the collision of two stars, sending shockwaves through the universe.

Unbridled desire. Wild, untamed dance of bodies.

No longer two separate beings, but a single entity, fused together in a frenzy of passion.

Leon's hands move with a speed and precision that makes your head spin, as he undresses you with an urgency that feels primal. His lips, soft yet insistent, cover yours in a heady, dizzying kiss that leaves you breathless.

It's overwhelming, intoxicating, and all-consuming–

–addicting.

The room spins as you lose yourself in the frenzy of desire. Every touch, every kiss, every breath ignites a fire deep within you, a hunger that can only be sated by this man before you.

His fingers find your cunt–wet, completely soaked as if you’ve already being fucked; yet he hasn’t even touched you.

"Jesus Christ," Leon groans upon the feeling of your slick walls enveloping his fingers, "you’re already soaked."

Head tilted back, your hips buck into his hand as he traces the length of your cunt, pressing his thumb against your aching clit. Pain shoots up your body, spreading like venom. It's almost too much, the intensity of it all, but you find yourself craving more, unable to resist the addictive pull that Leon has over you.

Sweet as poison.

A plague.

The tension in your muscles melts away with each inch of Leon’s fingers sinking inside you; a groan escapes your lips as sense of release washes over you; the tension in your body melts away, like ice thawing under a warm sun. Eyes closed, you focus on the sensation of Leon’s fingers pushing deeper, stretching you in a way that feels both strange and satisfying.

Your mind is clouded with a dizzying cocktail of lust and desire as Leon takes control, his touch igniting a fierce hunger that you can't ignore.

Your hand grips his hair, feeling the strands slipping between your fingers like silk. You pull him towards you, wanting to be as close to him as possible. His eyes meet yours, and you see the intensity in them, a hunger that matches your own.

"Fuck me, Leon—"

The words spill out of your mouth before you can even think. Your body has taken over, consumed by a desire that you can no longer control.

—you just can't help yourself anymore.

As Leon strips down, piece by piece, you find yourself drawn to the way his body moves with such fluidity. Your eyes take in every inch of him, from the rippling muscles to the way the light dances across his skin. Leon’s body completely covered by the system of ebony veins, your eyes following the lines for a second.

It's as if his body was made to be admired, and you find yourself doing just that.

The vulnerability of the moment is not lost on you, and the thrill of it all sends a jolt of excitement racing through your veins. Here you are, both of you completely naked, with nothing to hide. It's as if you've shed your layers of clothing and your inhibitions along with it, leaving only raw desire in its wake. The air between you is charged, electrified with anticipation and lust, and you can't wait to explore every inch of him.

Leon follows your order. Hand wrapping around his throbbing cock, your legs spread wider to accomodate his hips. Your eyes fixate on the thick, pulsating vein that runs along his length, now pitch black in color; like a lightning strike, surrounded by smaller ebony veins.

With each pump of his hand, the bulging head glistens with precum, taunting your hungry cunt.

His name leaves your mouth in a gasp as the tip brushes against your slick folds, sending a jolt of pleasure through your body. His eyes meet yours, dark with desire and a hint of mischief, as he teases your entrance with the blunt head of his cock. His hips move forward, the tip disappearing inside you, stretching you wide with a delicious ache.

His arm reaches forward; guiding you down to lie onto the rough surface of the wooden table as he slowly splits you apart. The bark of the table scratches against your skin, adding an edge to the pleasure that courses through your body.

Once fully buried inside you, he stills.

Only momentarily.

As he sinks deeper, Leon's hand finds your collarbone, securing his grip. The roughness of his thumb grazes the sensitive skin of your throat as his hand sneaks underneath your knee to bring your legs higher – wrapping them around the narrow of his waist, you urge him deeper while wrapping your fingers around his forearm, feeling the muscles tense, veins darken.

Your breath catches in your throat as you stare into Leon's eyes, now obscured by the black veins that writhe across the blue irises. The intensity of his gaze burns through you, stoking the flames of your desire to a fever pitch.

With a fierce growl, he ruts against you. Wild.

Leon’s a primal force, a beast unleashed, and you revel in the raw, savage power of his movements. His grip on your collarbone is almost painful, but you crave the sensation, the way it anchors you to the earth as he pounds into you with abandon.

Like an animal focused on breeding; there’s nothing but pure ferocity in the way his hips snaps against you–

– and you welcome it. Meeting his thrust.

The rough bark of the wooden table digs into your skin, but you barely register the pain as waves of pleasure wash over you.

Letting him absolute ravage you. Bring you to the brink of ecstasy way too soon. The smooth, velvety skin of his cock slides in and out of you, hitting all the right spots with unerring accuracy. You can feel the heat building inside you, the coil of pleasure winding tighter until it's all you can do to hold on.

The sight of him, his eyes dark and wild, the veins snaking across his skin like living things, only serves to stoke the fire inside you Moans mix with guttural noises; grunt, growls. Everything mixes together in one dance of primal breed.

Cock-drunk.

Fucked stupid.

That’s how you’d described the feeling when his thumb presses against the front of your throat, hooks underneath the necklace he gave you to your first anniversary.

String of curses, incoherent sentences and something vaguely resembling your name leaves Leon’s lips, painted over with black veins, eyes wide open and staring straight at you. His hand moves to toy with your clit; yet just the single flick, the rough touch uncoils the tightness inside your abdomen. Mouth open, back arched, a silent scream pushes itself out your throat.

But Leon doesn’t stop. The way your walls flutter, squeeze his cock only add to the primarity of it all. Securing his hand behind your neck, he lifts your body up, lips connecting with yours in a heated kiss as his thrusts increase.

A pathetic whine leaves your lips when he pulls back completely. Hands gripping your sides, you gasp when he single-handedly turns you around. Pain shoots through your body as he slams back inside you in one single thrust.

The table creaks and groans beneath the weight of your bodies as Leon relentlessly pounds into you.

His hips meet the flesh of your ass every time his cock kisses your womb – at least that’s how deep he feels. The air thick with the scent of sex, you groan when Leon’s hands grip your hips, forcefully pulling you towards his snapping hips to meet his thrust.

Slick with sweat, you can feel his body heat radiating against your own.

You reach one hand behind you in a feeble attempt to feel him underneath your palms. Nails digging into the wood, your fingers manage to sneak into his hair; grabbing a fistful, you force his face towards yours.

The muscles in your neck strain painfully as you tilt your head to the side to connect your lips in a teeth-clashing kiss – all while Leon’s hand sneak to tease your oversensitive clit while the other covers your hand on the table.

Meeting his thrusts, you stay in rhythm as you feel your high approaching again. Spreading your legs more apart, arching your back, the new angle allows Leon to hit deeper. To split you apart.

"Fuck!"

The pain mixes with pleasure, and you can't help but cry out in ecstasy.

"Oh my god–"

His teeth sink into your flesh, the stinging ache sends you over the edge. It feels almost as if he managed to break the skin atop. With each thrust, it felt like he was hammering against the tight seal of her womb, trying to break through it with sheer force.

The room echoes with the sound of skin slapping against skin as he relentlessly pounds into you. His cock feels like a battering ram, delivering a punishing blow with every thrust. You can feel the impact reverberate through your body, causing you to shudder and gasp for air. It's as if he's trying to breach the walls of your very being, to leave his mark on you in the most primal and intimate way possible.

"Fuck; Leon–’m gonna cum–gonna–"

You feel your cunt pulce around him, like a drumbeat racing against his teeth sinking into your delicate skin. A surge of ecstasy floods your veins, a heady cocktail of pleasure and victory that weighs heavily on your mind like an anchor.

You arch your back, pushing against his chest and whispering his name into the frosty night air as his thrusts become unsteady.

Leon's tongue traces the bite mark he left on you, hands gripping you tightly as he drives himself deeper into your slick heat. His groans mix with the sound of flesh smacking together, his balls slapping against your wetness with each thrust. You cry out as he sends you spiraling into another wave of pleasure.

As he moves inside you, you can feel every inch of him. His muscles ripple against your skin and his breath is hot on your neck. His hands grip you tightly, pulling you closer and deeper onto him.

You convulse around him, your body responding to his every touch. His groans intensify, as he thrusts even harder into you, giving into the raw passion between you. He pulses deep inside of you, filling you up with his warmth.

"Fuck!"

As he moans out your name, his lips trace a path across your skin leaving a trail of wetness. You can feel the heat emanating from his hands as he grips you tightly, branding you with his touch. His body trembles as he savors the last remnants of pleasure, and the evidence of his desire stains your insides like a lustrous sheen of polished marble.

He’s branded you inside and out.

Infected you with his venom.

Your skin is hypersensitive to his touch, as if each nerve is its own entity, firing off signals that jolt through your entire body. The dull ache of pleasure and pain radiates from the points where he grips you, leaving you feeling like a canvas painted in shades of blue and purple–

–and black.

As his weight presses down on you, you feel a dull ache spread through your body, every nerve ending alive and sensitized from his touch. You can still feel the ghostly imprint of his fingers on your skin, branding you with his touch.

His forehead is hot against your shoulder, the dampness of his breath tickling your skin as he rides out the last waves of his release. Each thrust feels like a punch to your gut, leaving you reeling and gasping for air.

The sticky wetness between your thighs is a testament to his desire, a reminder of how deeply he claimed you as his own. You feel the pulse of his spent cock still buried inside you.

Your gaze follows the lines of black veins snaking up his forearm, a stark contrast to his now pinkish skin. You watch as they slowly fade from sight, disappearing like a memory slipping away. Each movement feels heavy, weighted down by the aftermath of his passion.

After a while, Leon finally withdraws from you, a pang of loss echoes through your body, leaving you empty and longing for more of his touch. The heat of his body lingers on yours, branding you with his mark and making it hard to differentiate where his skin ends and yours begins.

You close your eyes, still feeling the ghostly touch of his lips and fingers on your skin, as if he's imprinted himself upon you forever. The room is filled with the heavy scent of sex, a reminder of the raw passion that just transpired.

[milkzoro]

i like to eat human flesh

-> zombie lu 🧟‍♂️ (fem!reader)

warnings: MDNI, smut, blood, sharp objects (knives), murder, luffy is zombie, riding, bondage, ‘feedings’, monster fucking, cream pie, knotting

summary: YOU LOCKED YOUR ZOMBIE BOYFRIEND UP IN YOUR BASEMENT, CAN YOU TRUST HIM NOT TO EAT YOU?

☆彡

you waited for the perfect time, you eyed the blond haired man for thirty minutes before deciding to make your move. trembling in your fingertips as the grip on your knife tightened. there was no time for error, it was now or never. feedings always had you feeling like this, the regret and second thoughts consumed your sorry mind. nothing else mattered to you once you remembered the predicament you were in.

the blond didn’t seem much trouble, he only sat there to chain smoke his cigarettes and chat with the pretty women that passed by. he was predictable, and you used that to your advantage. it was becoming later in the night, all traces of people disappeared, leaving only him behind. you then revealed yourself from the lurks of the shadows. a few deep breaths was all you needed to regain your confidence, you carefully made your way closer.

immediately he noticed your presence and started spewing flirty phrases at you. though, you couldn’t register any of his remarks, you could only just move.

he puffed his cigarette and smiled warmly. “hello gorgeous, mind if i-” you quickly raised your knife to his throat, cutting a line horizontally.

blood mist sprayed across face and you heard the thud of a grown man dropping to the floor, the ensemble shaking you to your core. ‘oh my… god? shit… gotta go. now.’

you rushed to bag the man and disposed of any possible evidence. luckily enough, you didn’t run into any witnesses on your commute back, your small house was only a couple more meters away. the mans stiff body weighed a thousand bricks as you dragged him along, you struggled but feeding your boyfriend was your only worry.

your poor baby, you hated doing this but you wanted to take care of him anyway that you could. the first week was the hardest for the both of you.

luffy had been feeling kind of off these past few days but he told you not to worry, he reassured you that it was probably just something he ate and that he had just a little stomach bug.

that wasn’t the case though, you still have no idea what exactly it was but his little ‘stomach bug’ turned out to be so much more life threatening. one afternoon you came home to him violently shaking and foaming at the mouth, he was hardly breathing. once your rushed to join him on the cold floor he stopped.. almost as if he was waiting to share his last breaths with you. he choked and cried as blood drained from his mouth, he was pleading for you.

“y/n- please… help me.” he stoped, every muscle in his body completely still and shut down.

you laid there with his blood staining your hands as you tried to tell him that he would be okay. hot tears never stopping to fall from your face, you held his dying body.

he somehow turned into a lifeless monster, skin cold and eyes blank, he was a zombie? you never thought it was possible it your lifetime but… luffy…

you couldn’t bear loosing your love, so you kept him.

currently he was tied up in tattered ropes but it always wasn’t that way.

his symptoms weren’t so bad in the beginning, but he started to show dark veins trickling up and down his body, he had also gone non verbal.

you tried everything. how was he dead one second, then up and moving the next? it was a confusing time.

you thought medication would solve your problems but that also didn’t work, he refused to take them. you aslo didn’t have access to pharmaceuticals so you tried advil and ibuprofen, it was a sad attempt but you hoped it would do something.

he began to get worse, he threw furniture and had groaning tantrums when you wouldn’t let him leave the house. he was getting stronger and more aggressive, it terrified you but there was no way in hell you’d give up now.

“luuuu..” you spoke quietly as you entered the room. your boyfriend looked so spent and defeated, his limbs were tied to the arms and legs of the chair but his head was tossed back as whines and breathy groans fled his mouth.

his head perked up at the sight of you, never once acknowledging the body you dragged along.

“baby please eat, you haven’t for the past few days, i’m trying everything… you didn’t like the animals i’ve brought you, please what is it you need.”

you pled with your eyes looking desperately into his own, hoping to get some sort of answer. you quickly realized talking wasn’t going to get you anywhere. your warm hand came to softly hold the side of his cold, decaying face. he closed his eyes and growled. with his reaction, it was easy to tell what he was wanting. he was reminding you so much of the old lu..

his eyes grazed every inch of your body as you saw him struggle in his restraints. he wanted you so bad but he didn’t know how to ask for it, he hoped you would get the hint from his motions.

he’s relearned simple words again from listening to you all day, you spent as much time as you could with him in your basement because you felt he would grow lonely without the presence of society. he’s only really learnt commands like, ‘no’ and ‘please’, but you’re grateful for how far he’s come.

it wasn’t until this moment that you knew what he needed, your touch. the way he looked at you and how he would shuffle his hips up in the chair made you so sad. you’ve had him here, tied up, and he just wanted to touch himself, or rather, you.

‘no’. you shook your head. you couldn’t possibly think to fuck your zombie boyfriend. his icy hand all over you, his pretty lips, the way his cock stimulated you perfectly.. ‘no!’ but the thoughts made you curious and you missed the touch of your sweet boyfriend. seeing him needy and somewhat obedient again drove you insane.

it was almost like it really was him, the tender look in his pale eyes made you emotional.

“luffy~ hi babes.” you touched his icy skin, all fear leaving your body seeing him act so delicate.

“so.. you’re not hungry lu?” you gestured to the brown sack bag in the corner of the room with blood patches staining the outside. he shook his head quickly, low growls muttering through his chapped lips.

“and you’re not gonna bite me if i touch you? right baby?” you kneel down before him feeling up the length of his jeans, playing with the stubborn buttons and zips.

a deep hunger like moan rippled in the room, he moved his hips up again but you removed your hands.

“say something lu- you’re not going to hurt me, right?”

he couldn’t formulate proper words with some of his vocal cords mutilated but you could understand him most of the time. the vibrato in his voice dragged along.

“mmHghhhhgahHh y-y/naahGghhAgg-”

he nodded his head to agree to your previous question, growls and snarls accompanying his eager movements. his moans were like no other, he truly was a monster. though, you couldn’t help but fall apart at the sounds of hearing him call out your name again.

luffy looked so innocent tied up in his ropes, you wanted to take care of him. if he wasn’t gonna eat, you could at least help him feel good. the growing knot in your stomach also wanted to please your helpless zombie boyfriend.

“fuck it.” you muttered. “let me help you luffy, gonna take these off okay?”

you played with the buttons of his pants, struggling to get them off. the nerves mixed with anticipation made you tremble. you haven’t touched your boyfriend in a few weeks, though it truly felt like an eternity.

luffy couldn’t wait either, and it showed when you saw many wet spots decorating his gray boxers.

a gasp escaped your lips as you saw the sheer width of him through the thin fabric. you were unsure if it was some sort of zombified mutation or if it was his pent up frustration, but he was thick.

he was moving more and more at the slightest touches from you but the ropes held his top half relatively still, his whines growing restless. luffy was trying to let you know that he needed you now, he prayed that you understood his intentions.

you finally got his boxers off and your eyes widened, your panties collecting moisture at the sight of him.

his fat, curved cock sprung up with such elasticity, he smacked hard against his torso. he looked so beautiful. so wide and leaky, his tip was black as night fading all the way down to his ghostly pale base. it made you squirm, remembering that he was undead.

he growled again at you, he was becoming more vocal as to say, ‘hurry up’.

hearing his deep moans made your tummy flutter, you rushed to undress yourself. the chill air of the basement made you shiver, you needed him to stretch you out.

you raised yourself onto his lap to line your entrance up carefully with his twitching cock, preparing to lower yourself down slowly.

his devious mind had other ideas, completely ignoring your preparations and fucking himself up to meet his thighs with your ass, bottoming out as he stretched your tight little hole.

“luffy!!!” you cried, you didn’t have the chance to adjust to his width, you sat there for a moment with your face hung in the crook of his neck, tears falling from your face.

it took quite some time but you thought you were ready to move. with tears still trickling, you began to rock your hips. the pain slowly turned into pleasure.

luffy’s thick cock stirred inside you, hitting more spots than from when he was human. you stretched so beautifully around him, making a mess all over his thighs. the combination of his harsh thrusts and semi-automatic dick rutting inside you had you slamming down hard on him, you couldn’t keep your eyes open. you were trapped.

with his arms still tied, he only hadso much to work with, his cock and his drooling mouth. he felt his orgasm coming with the sight of your pretty face finally comsumed with the pleasure of his monster dick. his balls so heavy from not being drained for several weeks, he needed to release in you.

he felt your tight muscles clench around the base of his cock, groaning deeply with you. his thick load ready to destroy your insides.

his devilish urges couldn’t escape, he needed to bite. with the mix of waves of pleasure and the loud whimpers foaming from your mouth, it only felt natural. he lowered his head to the crevasse of your neck as you bounced on his pulsing cock, riding out your orgasm. he sucked hard on your warm skin, wetnesses and drool dripping down your collarbone. the feeling making you dizzy and incoherent, you didn’t feel the pain until it was too late. his suckles formed into nibbles.

your moans quickly turned into yelps, you were still surrounding his heavy cock but almost immediately you recovered from your orgasm.

the taste of your sweet blood filled him, giving him more energy then ever. you felt his cock stiffen again inside of you. “l-luffy! what are you doing! stop it!!” you struggled to move, his cock thickening within your gummy walls.

he was knotted, his tip so large you couldn’t escape. with his mouth still attached, he fucked into you harder. the taste of your rich blood and the ecstasy of your perfect cunt, it felt as if he was alive again.

your screams where ignored as he used your pathetic little body, completely lust and blood drunk.

the mix of feelings confused you, the pleasure you felt in your core was other worldly, but was it worth being fed on? you began feeling lightheaded as he drained you of blood cells, you couldn’t separate from him and he didn’t stop. you went limp on his body, reality started to fade away..

-

you eventually woke up, the room was quiet and the chair was empty. ‘did he escape?’ panic started to settle in, how could you let this happen? you knew he was a threat!

shuffling footsteps was all you heard behind you, it was hard to move from all of your injuries but he was met with you soon enough.

all his teeth were on display as he smiled devilishly at you, darkened blood painted from his chin to his chest.

he limped closer to you, groans and growls echoing in the confinement of your cold basement.

“luffy- please, don’t do this!! baby!! it’s me!” you tried, as if a pathetic plea would stop such a monster..

*munch munch munch*

he eats you :3

if u like!!! pls lmk i love being praised 🙈

[luv4freddie]

Aerophobia (fear of flying)

Your fear of flying had kept you off a broom ever since first year, but dating Oliver Wood was bound to fix that. 575 words, fluffy mini story

“Please doll?”

You’d been very adamant about one thing in your time at Hogwarts, and it was that you would not be getting on a broom.

Your first year flying lessons had been a very unfortunate experience, with the amount of falling and bumping into other students you did it was a miracle they even let you finish the class.

And ever since then you’d sworn off getting on one of those cursed cleaning tools.

A relatively easy ban, until you ended up dating Oliver Wood— someone who might actually spend more time on his broom than on his feet.

One thing led to another, and now here you are, with your boyfriend giving you his pretty puppy eyes and a broom hovering next to him.

“I told you-”

“I know,” he says, familiar with your objections, “but your wonderful boyfriend is here and he’s an amazing flyer and he promises to not let you fall off.”

“He’s also talking in third person, which is weird,” you mumble.

Oliver laughs, but he recognizes that you’ve given up.

He holds the broom horizontally and lets you climb on, before climbing on behind you.

He’s reaching around you to hold his hands in front of you so that you’re trapped, his arms acting like the bumper rails you’ve seen at muggle bowling alleys.

“Relax,” he whispers, his breath tickling the shell of your ear.

“Just go before I change my mind.” You state, gritting your teeth in nervousness.

He lets out another chuckle but kicks off anyway, and you screw your eyes shut as a gust of wind hits you in the face.

The broom stabilizes in the air, and you wait to feel him take off zooming, but he never does.

You cautiously open one eye, squinting around at your surroundings.

You’re hovering about ten feet in the air— not moving.

“Ollie?” You have to speak up to be heard, as you’re too scared of shifting the broom to turn his way.

“Yes love?”

“Why aren’t we moving?”

“Do you want to?”

“I just thought you would.” You risk the small movement of shrugging your shoulders, and you can hear the smile in his voice when he speaks again.

“I’ll move, but you can’t close your eyes, deal?”

“I don’t know…”

He lifts one of his hands off the broom to offer his pinky to you, but you let out a squeal, leaning your back further into his chest.

“Oliver Wood you put your hand back on this broom right now!”

He laughs, “make the deal then.”

You let out a groan, still pushing further into him, and decide that anything is better than falling off the broom.

“Fine. Deal. I’m not moving my hand though.”

He places his hand back on the broom in front of you, at the same time placing a kiss on your cheekbone.

“Good answer.”

You brace for the broom to take off, clutching the handle tighter but keeping your part of the deal up— your eyes stay trained directly in front of you.

Oliver moves one hand further up and the broom gives a small lurch forward.

You hear him laugh at the squeal you let out, but you’re moving much slower and less aggressively than Oliver usually is on his broom, and your fear starts to drain as he continues to gently move the broom forward.

“Look, you can see the courtyard over there,” his voice is calm in your ears, and you excitedly look over.

“I see it! Look! Do you think that’s Fred and George?” You question, pointing to your left at two ant sized figures with red hair.

“Might be.” He hums, trying not to point out your sudden confidence as your hand moves again, pointing at something else.

Five minutes later and you’re back on solid ground, Oliver helping you off the broom with a satisfied grin on his face.

“That wasn’t so bad now, was it?” He teases.

“I guess not,” you concede, popping up to give him a kiss on the cheek.

“What’s that for?” He asks, although he’s already got a smug smile on his face.

“For taking such good care of me.”

He grabs your hand, interlacing your fingers and placing a sweet kiss on your knuckles while leading you back to the castle, his other hand holding the broom.

“I’ll always take care of you.”

[magneto-was-fucking-right]

The Ghost Next Door - Chapter 1

Prompt: After suffering an almost lethal injury in combat, Simon "Ghost" Riley expected a dull, and uneventful leave back at his shitty apartment. His new next-door neighbor ruins his plans. Pairing: Simon "Ghost" Riley x Reader (named Riley Thomas for plot purposes)

Chapter 2 Chapter 3

Disclaimer: slow burn; neighbor!Simon; will eventually contain very graphic descriptions of smut;

Chapter summary: Ghost returns home to find he has a new noisy neighbor: a socially awkward veterinarian with questionable cooking skills. Word Count: 1.5k

When Simon Riley limply walked in on his flat after four months of deployment, he could barely breathe. The stale air from the lack of proper ventilation had trapped in the humidity of the past rainy days, the walls poorly insulated, and therefore, moldy. As per usual, the place looked terribly dull, the scarce decorative elements inadequately arranged, but certainly well-fitting to the dingy apartment complex in Manchester.

Dropping his duffel bag by the door dismissively, instead of opening the curtains and letting in the evening light, he first headed to the fridge, analyzing its usual contents: two beers, a carton of milk (most likely spoiled by now), a jar of marmite and an old noodles container from the Chinese restaurant he liked, stinking up the place.

“Forgot ya little fucker” he made sure to remember to throw it out later, before grabbing a beer and plopping himself on the couch, careful enough to not hurt his wounded leg any further. But as soon as he grabbed the remote from under his thigh, ready to turn on the news and resituate himself with the current ongoings of the British populace, he finally paid attention to the commotion next door.

“Bloody fucking hell” He groaned “What’s all this racket?”

He heard thumping, scratching, something breaking, quick footsteps and what seemed to be a gentle voice cooing “oh no, please, not again”. Just as he was processing the fact that he didn’t remember having any horizontal neighbors since he first signed the lease (one of the main reasons why he even signed in the first place), an aggressive knock on his door made him instantly rise to his feet, grabbing a black facemask from his bag and moving silently to peek through the peephole.

“Mr. Riley!” The old woman on the other side called out, still knocking, and Simon sighed deeply in annoyance. “I know you’re in there, I saw you come in earlier.”

“Fucking cunt” He muttered under his breath, weighting whether ignoring her would make her leave at once (it wouldn’t, and they both knew it).

He took a deep breath before unlocking the door, regretting it immediately.

“There ya are” She started, shoving a couple papers on his chest, and forcing a pen between his calloused fingers “I need you to sign this immediately.”

“What are you on about?” He tried his best to keep it polite and cordial, but the woman’s presence and constant complaints always filled him with inevitable rage.

“Your neighbor” She pointed to the door next to his, where a great deal of noise still stemmed from the walls “She cannot and will not stay here. She is insufferable.”

Well that makes two, innit? He thought to himself, biting down his tongue.

Faced with his menacing silence, she carried on with her melodramatic monologue:

“It’s a petition to kick her out, I’m getting everyone to sign, even the new tenants, then I’ll arrange a meeting with the landlady for a formal hearing.”

“What the fuck did she do?” Simon inquired, clearly irritated, reading the five signatures on the first page. He was pretty sure three of them were in the same handwriting.

She looked at him indignantly, extending her arms at the door once again, indicating the ongoing clatter.

“She has a bloody jungle in there! Cats, dogs, birds, and God forbid, rats if you can believe it!”

“Mrs. Parsons, I think we all had rats in our apartments at some point this year.”

“Not as pets! It’s disgusting, and everyone’s been complaining about the noise!”

He glared at her indifferently, eager to return to the comfort of his privacy and wallow in his frustration, giving his leg some much needed rest. She stepped back, seemingly realizing that Mr. Riley was in one of his moods, not keen on indulging in useless chatter or gossip.

“Right, well, not interested.” He tried to return the signatures, to which she vehemently refused, pushing them back to his chest.

“At least consider it Mr. Riley. She lives right next to you and the walls are thin. Your signature’s the most important one.”

“Will do.” He shut the door on her face, mindlessly throwing the papers and the facemask on the coffee table as he limped back to the couch and turned on the tv. He hissed after realizing he had ripped his stitches as he sat down aggressively, a splotch of blood soaking the fresh bandage he had been arranged on base.

“Fuckin’ hell” he sighed tiredly, deciding he would deal with it first thing in the morning.

***

As the pandemonium progressively decreased throughout the night, Simon had fallen deep asleep on the sofa, tv still on and feet kicked up on the table. But when there was a new knock on the door, this time softer, he felt like he could have only been sleeping for five minutes, exhaustion and grumpiness still ingrained in his bones.

“What now?” He groaned to himself, massaging his sore neck, and finally remembering to kick off his boots. He was so used to sleeping fully clothed, often even geared up and ready to go, that he always took some time to remember how to act like a civilian again once he was back home.

Just as he readjusted himself to go back to sleep, his lids semi closed and arms crossed over his chest, one more knock arose anger in his belly at his newly interrupted rest. Frustrated, he sighed before getting up, easing up the pressure on his wound as the sharp pain reminded him of the ruptured sutures from the previous evening.

Facemask on once again, Simon opened the door aggressively, expecting Mrs. Parsons to come collect her newfound project in ruining other people’s lives, and therefore halfway of saying “What the fuck do you-”

“I-I’m so sorry! I know it’s early and I was probably a huge bother all night, but I wanted to apologize before leaving for work and-”

“Slow down.” He commanded, stopping the young woman’s panicked rant. He had barely rubbed sleep from his eyes and his mind wasn’t yet ready to take in another dreadful monologue. He observed her intently, as he often did to potential threats (usually concealed by the shadows), but as the circumstances proved different, she observed him right back. He always felt strange and vulnerable without the skull mask, regardless of the black facemask covering half of his visage anyway.

She couldn’t possibly be over 25 years old, her bright and cheerful complexion not carrying the weight of the tired lines that came at 30. She was considerably shorter than him, but still quite tall for a woman, her frame concealed under oversized scrubs that seemed ridiculously out of place; her hair messily tied in a long braid. She held up a tray with what seemed to be freshly baked cookies, but about half of them were burnt.

As she smiled nervously, he noticed one of her canines was slightly chipped, and the small white scar across her right eyebrow almost distracted him from the dimples. If she had noticed him stare at the small imperfections, she didn’t seem bothered at all, continuing her anxious speech as if she had practiced in front of the mirror beforehand.

“Right, I’m sorry, I really hoped we could meet in better circumstances.”

“What time is it?” Simon groaned, looking at his wrist to check his watch. “Fuckin’ hell, it’s 6 in the bloody morning.”

“I know, I’m sorry, I was gonna bake you a cake and offer you tea, but I was called in unexpectedly yesterday an-”

“That’s lovely and all, but why are you knocking on my door at six in the morning with half-burnt cookies?” He interrupted moodily and almost regretted it once he saw her smile falter and her cheeks redden in shame.

“Oh…” She lowered the tray, her eyebrows scrunched as she analyzed the overcooked treats and tried hard to recover. “Well, I just wanted to apologize for all the noise from last night before I left for work. I feel terrible about it and-”

“Apology accepted.” He stepped back, ready to shut the door.

“Wait!” She held it with her foot, nervously trembling under his cold gaze. She took a deep breath, and he sighed, his head slightly tilted to the right, as if deciding what to think of the socially awkward woman meddling in his business. “I just…”

“Go on.” He encouraged, trying to speed up the end of the uncomfortable encounter.

“I’m new here.” she blurted out “I moved in about a month and a half ago and people don’t seem to like me very much already” she sighed, and he noticed the dark bags under her tired eyes.

“So I’ve heard.”

“I work at the Vet clinic a few streets nearby-”

“I didn’t sign it.” He interrupted once again, and she would certainly be frustrated if she wasn’t so happy about what he said.

“The petition?”

“Yeah.”

“Really?” Her face gleamed with relief “Because I-”

“I’m due to consider it.” He added, her expression quickly dropping to disappointment.

“Why?” Her soft, defeated tone could almost pull on his heartstrings. If he had one.

“I don’t know if you’ll bother me yet.” Now he was just messing with her.

“I won’t!” She argued, defensively.

“Alright. I’ll think about it over that cake.” He closed the door, leaving her open mouthed in shock, the tray of cookies still in hand.

He heard her softly press her forehead to the door after a thoughtful moment, and then yell out:

“Are you allergic to anything?”

“People.”

A/N: I'm back! I wrote this months ago but only just decided to start posting these series :) I LOVE writing porn but when it comes with a cute backstory attached it's just *chef's kiss*. I plan on keeping the chapters simple and comforting - writing has been really helping me cope with seasonal depression, and the boredom of routine in general. New chapter coming soon... Enjoy!

[eshtaresht]

(ID under the cut)

a series of EYES I made last summer while camping (with tents and all), spent about an hour and a half on each, hence the poor materials and inconsistent proportions. inspired by the 5th season of tma and follows jon and martin on a very normal day

[Image ID:

six drawings with a similar motif: a giant eye in the unnaturally colored sky surrounded by 12 smaller eyes. foreground is black and only shows silhouettes of two people and various plants.

first image is red. the bloodshot eye takes up most of the sky, has a round iris and looks menacingly, aggressively down at two people who stand together and look back at it.

second image is orange, with the eye looking smaller and higher up in the sky, it's iris slit vertically, a bit animalistic and menacing. two figures in the foreground help each other to get across a coomb.

third image is yellow. the eye looks sly with its tight-slitted iris, like a cat spotting prey. two people walk further not paying it any mind.

fourth image is green. the eye has a regular iris and looks, unimpressed, at the viewer instead of the two people, who share a hug. only a couple of eyes seem to cheer for them.

fifth image is blue. the eye hangs lower and its iris is horizontal like one of a goat, and it seems more peaceful with its rounded edges. the two tired people are slowly walking hand in hand.

sixth image is purple. the eye with a regular iris is sleepy and almost closed, hanging low over horizon. the two people rest on a top of a hill back to back, dozing off.

End ID]

[opencommunion]

via RNN:

The eternal martyr Basil Al-Araj wrote abundantly before his ascension in March of 2017. In his posthumously published book, "I Have Found My Answers," (a line from his will) he spoke of war during the 2014 zionist aggression on Gaza, just prior to the IOF ground invasion on July 17.

Basil guided us with eight rules and insights on the nature of war. He wrote:

—

Since there is talk of a ground operation, several points must be considered:

1. The Palestinian resistance consists of guerrilla formations whose strategies follow the logic of guerrilla warfare or hybrid warfare, which Arabs and Muslims have become masters of through our experiences in Afghanistan, Iraq, Lebanon, and Gaza. War is never based on the logic of conventional wars and the defense of fixed points and borders; on the contrary, you draw the enemy into an ambush. You do not stick to a fixed position to defend it; instead, you perform maneuvers, movement, withdrawal, and attack from the flanks and the rear. So, never measure it against conventional wars.

2. The enemy will spread photos and videos of their invasion into Gaza, occupation of residential buildings, or presence in public areas and well-known landmarks. This is part of the psychological warfare in guerrilla wars; you allow your enemy to move as they wish so that they fall into your trap and you strike them. You determine the location and timing of the battle. So, you may see photos from Al-Katiba Square, Al-Saraya, Al-Rimal, or Omar Al-Mukhtar Street, but do not let this weaken your resolve. The battle is judged by its overall results, and this is merely a show.

3. Never spread the occupation's propaganda, and do not contribute to instilling a sense of defeat. This must be focused on, for soon, we will start talking about a massive invasion in Beit Lahia and Al-Nusseirat, for example. Never spread panic; be supportive of the resistance and do not spread any news broadcast by the occupation (forget about the ethics and impartiality of journalism; just as the zionist journalist is a fighter, so are you).

4. The enemy may broadcast images of prisoners, most likely civilians, but the goal is to suggest the rapid collapse of the resistance. Do not believe them.

5. The enemy will carry out tactical, qualitative operations to assassinate some symbols [of resistance], and all of this is part of psychological warfare. Those who have died and those who will die will never affect the resistance's system and cohesion because the structure and formations of the resistance are not centralized but horizontal and widespread. Their goal is to influence the resistance's support base and the families of the resistance fighters, as they are the only ones who can affect the men of the resistance.

6. Our direct human and material losses will be much greater than the enemy's, which is natural in guerrilla wars that rely on willpower, the human element, and the extent of patience and endurance. We are far more capable of bearing the costs, so there is no need to compare or be alarmed by the magnitude of the numbers.

7. Today's wars are no longer just wars and clashes between armies but rather are struggles between societies. Let us be like a solid structure and play a game of biting fingers with the enemy, our society against their society.

Finally, every Palestinian (in the broad sense, meaning anyone who sees Palestine as a part of their struggle, regardless of their secondary identities), every Palestinian is on the front lines of the battle for Palestine, so be careful not to fail in your duty.

[sillysillygoofygoose]

Dad Toji Headcanons!

Dad Toji, who is honestly a terrible father. Down right horrendous, boy failure, bad father. But he's trying his absolute best.

Dad Toji, who feeds a barley-teethed Megumi medium rare steak and is shocked when his son freaks out at the chewy texture he's unable to break down with his small and few pearly whites. Toji, however, still sneaks him food like he's a dog after being scolded by you.

"Shh sh, eat eat eat. Good boy, don't let mommy see."

Dad Toji, who loves taking pictures of his little boy. Megumi in a new outfit, Megumi on the playground, Megumi holding onto your neck, his unamused expression contrasting your bright smile... all of it is "professionally" captured on his beaten up iPhone 11.

Dad Toji, who thinks his son's attitude is the funniest thing ever.

"Baby look, I'm tickling the damn kid and he's fucking pissed!"

"Toji, please don't say 'fucking' in front of Megumi."

"Fucking?"

"HAHAHAHAHAHA, that's my boy! Say it again, Gumi!"

"NO!"

Dad Toji, who does not support the neck. This man holds his kid, his own flesh and blood, like a stylish tote bag. Tucked under his arm horizontally, suspended in the air as Toji grips onto his collar, upside-down held onto by the ankle. It just seems to get worse and worse every time Toji picks him up. However, the little boy remains completely unbothered and unfazed by his father's careless antics.

Dad Toji, who kinda wanted a girl. He would learn how to do her hair (and would fail miserably, but it's the thought that counts), he would play tea party with her, and would definitely tell her first boyfriend the most embarrassing stories he can think of, right after giving the young man the nastiest death stare as he walked into the house. Oh well, you'll just have try again! Maybe it will be a girl this time.

Dad Toji, who gets so nervous when Megumi starts crying. Not necessarily because of the cries, but because he has no idea how to stop them. It's like an alarm clock with no snooze button.

"Stop. Gumi, stop it. C'mon why are you crying? Stop." Toji, the baby can't understand you. He tries patting his back, or even better, just staring at him. Eventually Megumi stops crying when Toji gathers him up in his arms, bouncing him up and down a little too aggressively.

Dad Toji, who forgets kids are kids.

"Dad, I drew this picture of you." Five year old Megumi waddles up to his dad, handing him a colorful and sloppy drawing of a skinny structure of a man.

"Hm very cool bud. Does this really look like daddy though?" Toji scratches his head, looking at the very endearing drawing.

Megumi looks at his father with a deadpan glare, small fists balled up at his sides.

"Yes."

"Oh okay, little man."

Yikes, that kid is kinda scary.

Dad Toji, who genuinely loves Megumi and spending time with him. He's excited to watch his son grow into a young man and has a feeling he'll be much more helpful to him when he gets older. Girls, cheap marijuana, rebellion... yeah, that's much more up Toji's alley than singing the ABC's and speaking in a saccharine baby voice.

Dad Toji, who's not a perfect father, not even a good one but he is a father. And he's trying his best.