#kinkier

[makerpretty]

"You don't ever cross my mind. What's a sheep to a tiger?" -Ashnikko

[natdocx]

Perhaps I should leave my marks all over your body... so that you won't be naughty with anyone else.

THE LOYAL PIN, ep. 7

[circadianrhythmofthekiller]

I just wanna let you know you're a genius and a hero for these pictures- the leather pride one ESPECIALLY!!! It makes me happy to see someone else fall madly in love with this final girl weirdo!

day 60 - dungeon attire

[ratsdontmurder]

people really need to learn the difference between queerbait and complex queer media

[spottedgardeneelstan]

(it isn’t sex it isn’t texting it’s a secret third thing)

based on this post

[boysaremytoys]

It’s so cute. He wants it how you like it. That’s how he likes it best.

compatibility is a big thing for me, like i know my first sub kind of let me dom him to please me but i didn’t know how much better it would be to be with guys who want it just as much. natural submissiveness is the hottest thing.

[cuubism]

A heist for a crown for a king? 🤔👑

yes. dream deserves a crown. dream insists he doesn't need a crown, everybody knows he is king. also he has his helm. hob says how many times i gotta tell you it's not about NEEDING it. it's about how fucking sexy you'll look. that's the priority. also you deserve it. dream is still flummoxed.

may i propose a DREAM heist for a DREAM crown.

--

Hob was... definitely going to get in trouble for this.

"We're definitely going to get in trouble for this," said Matthew, perched on his shoulder. He tittered nervously. And Matthew was one of the most ride-or-die people-- birds?-- Hob had ever met, so this was not a good sign. "Like. Getting my wings cut off trouble."

"He's not going to cut your fucking wings off, Jesus Christ," said Hob. He crept through the dreamspace, keeping to the shadows so as to try to avoid alerting the dream itself to their presence. "Drawing and quartering is a lot more entertaining."

"HOB. What the fuck." Matthew's claws dug into his skin like he really did mean to separate Hob's arm from his shoulder.

Hob shrugged. "Didn't live through 'ye olde medieval times,' as you put it, for nothing."

"I didn't call it that."

"Yeah, you did. That's what I get for agreeing to watch A Knight's Tale, I suppose."

Matthew squawked. "It's a good movie!"

"It was a good movie right up until it managed to convince you that "We Will Rock You" was actually sung at jousts," said Hob.

"In my defense--" started Matthew, then clacked his beak shut. "Nah, actually, I don't have a defense for that. I must have been totally sloshed."

Hob snorted. "Oh, you were."

"Well, who decided it was a good idea to feed Bailey's to a raven?"

"There was no point at which I thought it was a good decision," said Hob. He couldn't help his grin. "I just don't mind making a bad one."

"And here I thought we were friends."

Hob slipped through a doorway, ducking around the next corner. The dream castle was significantly more winding than a real one. It was slow going.

He started humming to himself, an incongruously jaunty old execution ballad. "His quarters stand not all together, But ye mai hap to ring them thether..."

"I'm begging you to stop," said Matthew. "Has anyone ever told you that you have a serious problem?"

Hob laughed. "Many times."

A small group of people -- figments of the dreamscape -- strode around the corner. Hob ducked into a tiny alcove, one which hadn't been there before he'd thought of needing it. He was gradually getting better at manipulating the Dreaming.

And his heart was hammering. Dream theft or not, it was thrilling.

"Never thought I'd be part of fucking Inception," grumbled Matthew, peering to see if it was all clear.

Hob crept back out into the hall and up a spiral staircase. "This is way more fun than Inception."

"And way more dangerous."

"You loved the last outing!"

"Yeah, that one didn't involve sneaking around in my boss's subconscious."

Hob rolled his eyes. "It's not Dream's subconscious." Finally at the center of the absolute maze that was the castle, he spied his prize, and slipped right through the bulletproof glass to get at it. On a stand at the center of the room sat the most gorgeous tiara, a winding thing of diamond leaves and ruby berries. He grinned. "It's the Princess's."

He swiped the thing from its stand, leaving a weight in its place for the pressured alarm he was sure still existed even in a dream.

"Dream is the Dreaming, dude. We're gonna get caught."

"Well, that's why you're here, isn't it? It's normal for you to be in dreams, it's not for me. You're my cover. You'll make it way less likely for Dream to--"

And they were yanked from the dream.

"Drawn and quartered!" Matthew squeaked, and then they were standing in the throne room.

Dream was, of course, standing a few steps up on the grand staircase, glaring at them. Glaring at Hob, really. Matthew squawked again in fright, puffing up his feathers. Hob just grinned back at Dream.

"When I gave you free run of the Dreaming," Dream started, some of the menace Hob had heard him use with rogue nightmares on display, "this was not what I meant."

Hob wasn't afraid of Dream, though. Never had been. "Don't take it out on Matthew," he said. "Wasn't his idea."

Dream's stormy gaze flickered over to Matthew. "Matthew, you are dismissed. I will deal with you later."

Matthew didn't need to be told twice. He winged away out of the throne room, calling back, "Good luck with getting drawn and quartered, Hob!"

Dream raised an eyebrow. He still looked dreadfully unamused. "Drawn and quartered?"

"We've watched too many medieval movies," Hob explained.

"Ah." His gaze found the tiara clasped in Hob's hand. "What, exactly, is that?"

He obviously knew. It was made of dream stuff, after all. Still, Hob knelt and held it out to him. "For my liege."

Dream strode down the few steps separating them, fluid as water streaming over a fall, his long cloak trailing behind him. Majestic creature. Majestic king. Did he really expect Hob to be at all normal about it?

Dream plucked the tiara from Hob's hands. He tilted it back and forth. The light through the stained glass illuminated it in every color imaginable and cast refracted rainbows on his face. "You stole it from a dream."

Hob flashed him a crooked grin. "Guilty."

Dream tipped his head up with one fingertip under his chin, until Hob's neck was craned back and he was meeting his gaze. "That," he drawled, his eyes flashing dark, "is very disrespectful."

"Oh, yeah?"

"Yes." Dream didn't release Hob's chin; if anything, he leaned closer so Hob had to look up even further. "Did you think you would not be caught? Creeping around in my halls?"

"We'll, I'm very good," Hob said. This was hardly the first thing he'd stolen for Dream, though it was the first one he'd attempted in the Dreaming.

"Or perhaps," continued Dream, and the darkness in his eyes looked hungry, now, though no less dangerous. "Perhaps, you wanted to be caught."

Hob winked at him, cheeks heating. "Well. I may be good, but I could hardly expect you not to feel it when it's your skirts I was rustling under."

"Is that what you were doing?" Dream swept his thumb along Hob's lip, dipping into his mouth. "Fiending for punishment?"

"Just trying to please my lord. Are you pleased, my love?"

"That is not quite the word I would use, dearest one." A sharp smile was creeping its way onto his lips, eyes burning with a dark warmth, like smoldering coals.

He placed the tiara on Hob's head.

Shadows dripped from it, falling over Hob's shoulders and back. Dream's hands lingered at Hob's temples, stroking his hair back behind his ears.

"Devoted one." His voice rumbled pleasantly through Hob's body, and Hob shivered. "Mischievous one. What am I to do with you?"

"Only whatever you want," said Hob, leaning into his touch. "As usual."

"Hmm. I think..."

Shadows fell around the throne room, dropped from the ceiling like banners and speckled like blackened stars. Hob knew those shadows, knew the way they were meant to intimidate though they did nothing but make him want more, make him hungrier, make him want to hold Dream close in every meaning of the word.

And he knew that bright darkness in his lover's eyes, too. The sky during an eclipse.

Dream drew him back to his feet. Hob stumbled in so they were a breath apart.

"Whatever prize you were seeking when you embarked on this foolhardy task?" Dream hummed, just before pulling Hob in to meet his lips. "I think you should claim it."

[severedfromthesource]

Heart of the Forge

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

Adam's heart keeps the Pennydurren running-Tav keeps Adam's heart running. Original concept by @emptycalories-splitlip. This part features stething, mild cardiophilia, semi visible hearts. It's a lot of set up for resus and whump down the line.

Lives depend on you.

The little note greeted Gustav every morning, and every morning, he lay in his bunk to stare at it, taped to the ceiling above him. Some days he greeted it with more resentment than others, but most days it was just reiterating what he already felt deep down. The weight of at least a thousand workers, families, and passengers depended on him keeping the Forge going. So he did.

He scrubbed at his hair and slid into his work jumpsuit, his work boots, and slipped a cigarette between his lips as he left his quarters. His bedroom was nearest the engine room, so it was always muggy and damp with heat, the kind that not even sweat could fully cool off. They were in the bowels of the Pennydarren, tucked under the first link of the chain of cabs that, to Gustav, seemed to go on forever. It was impossible to tell really; only fog divers were allowed outside the train. Not unlike saturation divers of old, they had to be acclimated to survive out in the dense fog outside the reinforced steel walls of the Pennydarren in order to patch holes in her hull. Again, he thought of the poor shmucks going crazy in the diving bells, and again he was thankful for the job he had in engineering.

He waved and greeted the others working on the machinery, the walls tens of feet high, some with tall enough components a man had to be hoisted by a pulley to work on the mechanisms. Another job he didn’t envy. They all nodded respectfully back. Another perk of the job compared to others. Folks knew their lives depended on him too. If the engine went dark, they’d be swallowed up in the fog.

Adam was already on the walker as he drew nearer the panel of glass separating them. “Good morning, Tav,” he said, a little out of breath. Tav checked his watch. Adam's skin glistened with sweat, and judging by the time he was nearing the end of his mandatory exercise routine. “What’s so good about it?” he said, stubbing his cigarette out on the wall, scorched black in one spot from this ritual of his. The door slid open between them and he stepped through as Adam flashed him that warm smile. “We could be in the back of the train shoveling shit.” “Fair enough.” He grabbed his tattered wheelie chair and rolled it over to the other man’s side. “Tell me a joke,” Adam said as the walker under his feet slowed and finally stopped, a panel sliding back over it.

He retrieved a small spiral notebook from his breast pocket and a pen, clicking it a few times. “Why was the politician out of breath?” He said as a metal chair, or throne, as it had always seemed to him, shaped out of riveted paneling in the floor underneath the other man and Adam sat as well. “I don’t know,” he said, already smiling. “He was running for office.” said Tav.

Adam laughed, a good natured laugh that wrinkled his eyes to slits and showed off his pearly teeth. “I like that one.” “You always like them.” Tav turned to his equipment laid out nearby. He rolled over behind Adam and began checking the ports protruding from his back. Six of them, three on each side, starting at his shoulder blades and going down in tighter circles to the small of his back. From these, huge ropes of cable hung up into the engine, which hummed with orange and yellow fire from the ever burning fuel within. The fire was mimicked in Adam’s chest, which glowed bright as an xray. His ribs, cartilage, and organs cast shadows, along with the webbing of nerves and veins where the glow turned sort of reddish from the thin tissue. His heart was a flashlight burning from inside his body. It was Tav’s job to keep that heart in good order. Adam, similarly, had only one job: keep his heart beating strongly.

Being that this was entirely an unconscious matter he had no real control over, he did as he was asked. He allowed himself to be poked and prodded. He did his cardio every day without fail, as well as strength exercises to keep his body in peak form, though it had once seemed a waste to have a perfect body when one was relegated to however long the cables reached. He ate the disgusting nutrient slurry they provided which kept his every hormonal and blood level in balance. He read when there was downtime.

Mostly, he watched Tav. He was the only one allowed inside the inner chamber of the Forge, outside of skittish Fetchers who brought him his meals and supplies and the engineer who sometimes worked on the engine. On his birthday, they let his mother visit.

Where Adam was all tone and muscle from a life where his every physical need was met, Tav was scrawny and underfed. His head was shaved on the sides, and tattoos of every shape and color peeked out from the edges of his clothes. He was literally stamped by an existence outside the walls of the chamber which had been most of Adam’s life. He drank. He smoked. He lived beyond the twenty feet of cable tethering Adam to the life of a Forge. He was not stuck with an umbilical cord to an unfeeling mother made of bolts and steel.

He went through his checklist (Shortness of breath? No. Deficiency cravings? No. Muscle cramps or weakness? No. Fatigue? Always, he’d secretly wanted to say. No.) and when he was done, he retrieved his stethoscope. He rolled the chair close enough their knees touched and Adam suppressed a shiver at the minor point of contact. The bell was warm where it had sat between Tav’s palms and he gave the diaphragm one last warm breath before settling the circular piece of metal under his nipple, at the apex of his heart. He pressed two fingers against his throat to feel the pulse at his carotid. This was the part he liked the best, never knowing that Tav liked it too. He lingered always a bit too long when he had the excuse to touch him.

Tav’s eyes flicked up to watch his heart moving, silhouetted by the light behind his ribs. There was a small surgical scar down his sternum, the only mark on his body, from where he had been implanted with the spark that made him a Forge. He’d been a child, picked out of many, to serve as the new heart of the train. Tav had been in that crop of children too, but he was always skinny and too sickly to be of any use. Once, he’d envied that Adam had been made special. After years as his Keeper, he no longer envied him. He situated it over the tricuspid point between the swell of Adam's pectorals. His heart beat steadily against the steth, louder in his ears now that he was closer to a valve as it opened and closed with each pulse of blood. He watched the shadow of his heart as it moved in his chest, contracting and expanding in tandem with the beat he heard swelling in his ears.

"What's new topside?" he asked as Tav lifted the bell to reposition again. He sat the diaphragm against the aortic site near his collarbone, his hand drifting down to touch the pulse at his wrist as well. "Well," sighed Tav, "Nothing, as per the usual. Some weirdo zealots have been tagging the mess hall again. Separatists or whatever." "The radio was talking about them." "It's all the radio is talking about because it's the only thing happening. The people in the lower cars are having a tizzy about it because they're told it's this big uprising, but it's nothing. Couple kids getting a hold of spray paint. Deep breath." Adam obliged. Then he said, "Do they really think we could survive out there? In the fog?" "Who knows what they believe. Kooky shit, mostly. Bet none of them have spoken to any of the divers. Stick any one of them in one of those diving bells for an hour, they'll stop yapping about leaving the trains pretty quickly."

Adam looked around at his chambers and wondered if the diving bells were much smaller, or much more claustrophobic than his own living quarters. It was hard to imagine a place being smaller. He was quiet as the stethoscope was pressed to both sides of his neck and the sequence repeated with the bell of the stethoscope. When Tav made a 'come here' gesture with two fingers at the end of it, he sat up. His head settled in against the smaller man's shoulder as he stethed points around his ribs and his back. He breathed in steadily and deeply, and if he noticed Tav turning his face in towards his neck to soak in his body heat, even in the sweltering humidity of the engine room, neither of them said anything. He didn't want to bring attention to it and break the spell. Tav smelled like whiskey and smoke. He turned in towards him as well. "Deep breath for me." Adam drew it in through his nose, so close now to Tav's skin he was almost touching his cheek.

"It's picking up a bit," said the Keeper, bringing his other hand up to touch Adam's shoulder. "Try to relax." How could he? There was no hiding how the other man affected him. His traitorous heart wanted to bust from his chest and leap into his hands. Do something with me, do anything, I'm yours. Just make me useful to you. He swallowed in a dry throat. Behind them, the engine's cradle glowed a little bit brighter. In the other cars, the lights warmed and brightened, and a few people had to shield their eyes for a moment before the regulators kicked in and diverted the unexpected power surge into other channels. He hated knowing every denizen of the Pennydurren knew when his heart was speeding up. During his exercise sessions, the engineers knew to be on the lookout for surges, but outside of those allotted times, it was a cause of concern. More often than not it ended with his Keeper being sent in, and how was he supposed to explain himself to the man responsible for his racing heart? How could he look at Tav and confess he had been curled on his side in his simple cot, taking himself into his hand, thinking of those inked hands roaming over his body and auscultating his pounding heart?

He squeezed his eyes shut and imagined the bulbs in the third car market glowing hot, imagined that everyone knew his thoughts as soon as they looked at the little suns above their heads, and he took a series of deep breaths. Eventually, his heartrate steadied.

"There we go," Tav said softly, his fingers curling in against Adam's waves of dark brown hair. "Much better." Adam's hands itched to be around him. Instead they hung at his sides. His head laid fully against his Keeper's narrow shoulder. He thought again of all the time Tav spent with him. Not just these checkups, but most times he was the one to bring him meals. The one who doled out his medication. The one who talked him down from panic attacks and nightmares. He'd soothe him and stroke his brow until his heart no longer felt like it was going to pop, and he had never asked for anything from him. Could ask nothing of him, really. What more could Adam give him than a working train? He'd given him his heart; to the Pennydurren, that was all he could give.

"Do you resent me?" he asked suddenly. He felt Tav stiffen a bit under him and the other man shouldered an earpiece out. "Do I what?" Adam squeezed his eyes shut. He wanted to swallow those words the moment they'd hit the air. But they couldn't be retrieved now. He took a shaky breath and asked again, "Do you resent me? You... you're always at my beck and call. You have to take care of me more than anyone else. You can't really live your life, you're... leashed to me."

Tav leaned back, taking him by the shoulders. "Adam. The hell are you talking about?" When he opened his mouth to answer, he shook his head, taking him by the chin to make him look up. "No. No, of course I don't resent you. I could never. You think I'm stuck here?" He scoffed. "Buddy, I pop pills in your mouth and listen to your heart once a week. I'm not so irreplaceable I couldn't ask for a different station." "But-" Tav squeezed his cheeks towards his mouth before he could protest. "I like taking care of you. I like talking with you. You're my friend. You're..." He looked down into those twinkling doe eyes and his breath faltered a bit. Adam had the most open, earnest eyes of anyone he had ever met. He didn't know how to lie. He had never been hurt and he had never hurt anyone in turn. And yes, he was more than a friend. But Tav wasn't like him. He hurt people, people he even cared about. He didn't want Adam to be one of those people. So he smoothed his hair away from his forehead and said in a low voice, "You're my best friend. And I'll be pissed if you think otherwise again. So... stop acting like you're some burden on me."

He pressed his forehead against Tav's palm, nodding. "Okay..." He pushed his head back a bit until their eyes met. "Hey," said Tav, "What do you get from a pampered cow?" The corners of the Forge's lips turned up and he shrugged wordlessly. He scrubbed his hand over his hair. "Spoiled milk." Adam scoffed, "That one's stupid." "They're all stupid."

But he liked them anyway.

As their session for the day came to a close, Adam leaned back in his chair, the cables running from his back slotting easily into the grooves cut into the back, and watched his Keeper leave. Tav gave him a little wave over the shoulder. Neither said what was really on their mind. As one went to sulk in his bunk and the other leaned his head back to run every touch over in his mind, neither could imagine the turmoil brewing in the lower cars. They couldn't know how far some people were willing to go to try and escape the confines of the Pennydurren.

They didn't see a boy smuggled into the Fetchers, who ferried the Forge food and any other amenity he would need. Nor could they see the little package of white powder he surreptitiously slipped into Adam's usual medication for that evening.

[maybege]

I wrote something really filthy and I don’t know if I’m too ashamed to post it or not 🫣

[kitteneddiediaz]

seven sentence sunday

tagged by @tizniz @diazsdimples @dangerpronebuddie go check out everything they're all working on it's GREAT

I'm finally posting another fic, this is my cockslut Eddie one that I started about a month or two ago

IPA (Explicit, 3.5k words)

Eddie looks so good like this; naked, sitting back on his knees, tucked between Buck’s legs. Buck takes a sip from his IPA and settles further into the couch, his clothed cock only a couple inches from where he’ll be burying it in a little while.

no pressure tagging @aroeddiediaz @lemonzestywrites @elvensorceress @spagheddiediaz @honestlyeddie-im-bi @hippolotamus @watchyourbuck @jesuisici33 @coatedpanda16 @evanbegins and anybody else who would like to share anything they're working on! (also, if you would like to be added or removed from my tag list, please let me know!)

[wolf-tail]

If i started hornyposting and kinkyposting on main, properly tagged of course, would yall be ok with that?

[yonpote]

Much to think about with this video. For me Phil's continued interest in being perceived as a lesbian is so real. Speaking as a nonbinary lesbian: 1) Great taste, 2) pronoun drop when (and am I allowed to say a he/she drop would make me go crazy 🤔), 3) once again saying that they're lesbians for each other, in a lesbionic gay love together in particular and I find that delightful. Also, obligatory mention of the collar, which I will simply be calling a collar instead of a choker. Iconic 😩👌

theyre uhaulers ive been saying this forever

[hasmashdoneanythingwrong]

Me looking at the Dangerous Beast poll: How many subs we got in this fandom, anyhow???

[dragondusst]

Guilty

[sky-kiss]

For the Raphael fic thing maybe one where Haarlep thinks he’s been a bit too bratty lately and decides to punish him accordingly?? 👉👈

A/N: ok it’s not QUITE right and I’m sorry. 

___

Raphael is not unlike the tide. 

There are evenings where he is entirely passive in their love-play. Tedious and dull: the body remains and must be serviced; the mind is elsewhere. Fucking is mostly perfunctory anyway, and Haarlep makes do. They have the play of their master’s body, manipulating as they want. After centuries, Raphael is not like an old toy: well-learned, well-loved, uninteresting. 

But there are other nights, rarer when the cambion rallies. He forgets the rules of their little arrangement. Raphael is the Master of the House, Haarlep’s master in all things, but this. The half-blood comes to him, coiled, charged, snarling. Oh, how he’s been wronged! Oh, how he suffers! 

He forgets himself, greedy boy. He moves Haarlep’s hand from his hip to his cock, tossing aside the slow and teasing build for immediate gratification. He demands teeth instead of tongue. He fucks himself back on Haarlep without grace or rhythm, purely hungry, purely selfish. 

Some nights Raphael forgets, and Haarlep is left to remind him. 

The sweetest duality is how eagerly the would-be king surrenders. He revels in the loss of control and the marks across his body. Haarlep clucks their tongue in disapproval, dancing out of the way of the fumbling, eager hands. 

“I’ve been generous, darling," Haarlep purrs, delighting in the caution suddenly flicking across his Master’s face. Raphael shifts, jaw squaring, hands clenching around nothing at all. For all his distasteful qualities, he's handsome, Haarlep thinks, a mess of wasted potential. They drag a claw down the cambion’s chest, pausing at his belt. “Saintly in my patience.” 

“Haarlep.” 

It’s a warning, an empty threat. They see the glitter of arousal in Raphael's eyes, and there is the sweetest truth of all: for all his plays at power and control, Raphael wants so badly to be used. Haarlep licks their lips. “Mm, I think this calls for a lesson. Kneel.” 

When he hesitates, Haarlep moves. He fists a hand in the cambion’s hair, yanking, bowing him back. They swallow his groan in a bruising kiss, fangs breaking skin, and steal the air he desperately needs. 

They can’t collar him, but there are other sweet indignities he welcomes. The press of the duchess’ heels on his cock as he laps at her cunt, left aching hard and wanting. Haarlep’s fingers around his throat as he rides him as the Archduke, kneels digging into his sides. 

Some nights, it takes hours before Raphael finally remembers his place. 

[brattythings20]

Relationship’s like this>>>