#laser thrash

[magicalgirloftheday]

✧・ﾟ:*Today’s magical girl of the morning is: Laser Thrash from Sleepless Domain!✧・ﾟ:*

[basedstoutland]

I can't believe I only just realized how well this moment works for this old meme.

[foundfamilyhq]

[techniiciian]

matt has several pairs of back up glasses tucked away on his person ( and in his room ) on the off chance that they get broken ( this happens a lot ). if he wasn’t so terrified of his eyes being operated on he might get space lasik eye surgery to correct his vision. alas, the thought of that makes his eyes water & his stomach constrict into knots.

[missjadesfics]

"His Sweet Kiss"

Feyd-Rautha x Reader gif credit: @lady-phasma @austinbutlerslovers dividers: @cafekitsune @rookthornesartistry Request: Yes Summary: Y/n witnesses the attack on Arrakis, hoping to escape and find Paul. She is captured by the Harkonnen soldiers. And the future Na-Baron takes an interest in her. Warnings: 18+ smut, porn with plot, forced marriage, dune book references, dune: house Harkonnen references, Feyd is emotionally closed off, marking, semi-public sex, blood, ink pie, use of a witcher song, he does end up showing a soft side Word Count: 4k Comments likes, and reblogs are always adored and appreciated xx

Y/n awoke hearing sounds of explosives rising from her slumber, so she padded her feet towards the balcony. Colours of red, yellow and orange lit up the sky Y/n gasped, running towards her door, opening it and darting down the hall to find Paul, Duncan or Gurney. In her panic, Y/n got lost quickly, trying to find an escape route; seeing Harkonnen soldiers ahead, she hid behind a wall. Edging her head out slightly, Y/n took a breath; closing her eyes, she readied her small knife. Remembering what Duncan had taught her about being swift and quiet. Seeing the soldiers dispersing, Y/n stepped carefully behind, jumping on their backs and slitting their throats, hiding before the others noticed her. When the coast was clear for her to run, she pushed her legs as fast as she could; breathing heavily, she tried to make her way to the ornithopters. It would be there with his mother, Duncan, and Gurney if Paul were anywhere. Y/n crawled out of sight, seeing Duncan climb into an ornithopter as it took off. “Duncan!” she screamed, but to no avail. A large laser beam shot through the walls Y/n fell to the ground as she covered her head from falling debris. Y/n felt her body lift from the ground as she was dragged away.

 “Let me go! No!” She cried, thrashing her body, trying to escape the hold of the Sardukarr soldiers. Throwing her onto the ground of a ship bound and gagged, Y/n moaned in pain as the Harkonnens spoke in their language. Y/n learned some of their languages during her studies so that she could understand them. “Which one do you think will enjoy her the most?” They laughed, looking over at Y/n, who whimpered lightly, “Feyd-Rautha, we know how much he loves to break things. He might even let us have a go before him. As a reward for bringing her back,” Y/n felt her eyes well up, fidgeting to release herself from her bonds, feeling the heavy thump of the ship landing. The soldier grabbed Y/n and pulled her to her feet, shoving her outside. Y/n squinted, feeling the bright light rays hit her eyes. Y/n’s vision was taken away from her as a blindfold was put over her eyes, relying on the soldiers to guide her. 

Y/n stumbled forward from the force of a hand pushing on her back. Falling to her knees, Y/n winced in pain, the cold flooring making her shiver. “What do we have here?” A rough voice rasped, echoing in the room Y/n’s head looked ahead even though she couldn’t see. “Found her trying to escape on Arrakis.” A chorus of laughter rumbled. Y/n felt fingers on her cheek, and the pads of the fingertips were stroking her skin. Y/n flinched at the touch, her breathing uneven with nerves. “And what do you expect me to give you for bringing her to me?” the raspy voice enquired with a slight chuckle; at the end, the soldiers cleared their throats. “A little fun; it’s not often we have someone like her” Y/n felt the person move behind her, a knife unsheathing. “Some fun hmm?” Y/n swallowed thickly, trying to remove her hand bonds. She stopped when she heard a struggling gasp and choking, the heavy thud of a body landing behind her. “I don’t think so”, the man responds, picking Y/n up his arm securely around her waist. “Come with me, little pet”, he murmured in her ear Y/n followed her feet, giving way, two arms wrapped around her, holding her up. Y/n felt herself grow lightheaded as she struggled to walk. She took a breath before collapsing to the marble floor, fading into unconsciousness.

Y/n moaned lightly; her eyes fluttered open, adjusting to her surroundings; her blindfold was removed, and she noticed she was lying on a bed. Sitting up slowly, Y/n held her head, feeling a splitting headache. Whimpering, she looked down and saw a white dress on her body. Narrowing her eyes, she swept her legs over the bed. Hearing the room doors open, two ladies walked inside, bowing their heads timidly. Y/n took in their appearance: shaved heads, sunken eyes and frail frames. Y/n felt sorry for them. She could see them shaking, and she didn’t know if they were cold or afraid. “You are awake; we have been assigned to be your servants. And to finish preparing you for your wedding, Na-Baroness” Y/n’s eyes widened at the title. Standing up, the two women looked at her “Na-Baroness?” Y/n’s voice stated with a raised brow, her voice laced with anger. The women nodded their heads fearfully. “And who told you this?” Y/n questioned; the women looked at one another. “The Na-Baron. Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen” Y/n clenched her jaw, looking at her reflection in the mirror. She did look beautiful; it’s too bad she was being forced into a marriage she didn’t want. Y/n nodded at the ladies, letting them fix her hair and makeup with what they had available. “And who is this Feyd-Rautha?” Y/n asked; the ladies stared at one another in disbelief. “You do not know of Feyd-Rautha?” They questioned her, sitting on either side of her, their eyes wide with curiosity. Y/n shook her head. “No, I don’t; what am I to expect of the Na-Baron?” The ladies continued to look at one another, their silence deafening. Y/n gazed at them in the mirror. Now, she was afraid.

Y/n walked down the small aisle, her eyes cast down, refusing to look up. Reaching the steps, she saw a hand reach out for her to grab. Her palm slid into the open hand, her heart racing; looking ahead, Y/n saw her servants on her left nodding at her as if to reassure her. Y/n didn’t feel it, but she gave them a small smile; she knew they were only trying to help her. Maybe she could learn to trust her ladies. The Harkonnen Mentat began the wedding ceremony. Y/n listened, her eyes glazed over, tears welling when the Mentat nodded his head for Y/n and her husband to face one another. 

Y/n shuddered a breath, turning to face her husband. Her eyes looked down, unable to bring herself to look up. Her husband hummed and laughed softly, his fingers gripping her chin and forcing her to look up. Y/n locked in a gaze with a pair of intense blue eyes. “Those are some pretty eyes you have, my little wife”, he smirked Y/n didn’t speak as the mentat spoke, “You may kiss your bride Na-Baron Feyd-Rautha.” Two hands cupped her face as Feyd kissed her, tears spilling from her eyes. Her first kiss. She mourned her first kiss was stolen from her, just like her life was stolen. She forever would mourn the carefree girl she once was growing up with, Paul Atreides on Caladan dancing in the gardens and playing pranks on Duncan and Gurney, exploring the treasures and secrets of Caladan and Arrakis together. Y/n mourned the loss of her family, her found family. Duke Leto. Lady Jessica. Duncan. Gurney. Paul. If any of them survived, she hoped they were alive and well and whoever fell from the unexpected attack. 

Feeling Feyd pull away from the kiss, Y/n’s eyes opened. Watching him, he grinned, his hands finding themselves in her hair. Y/n slapped his hands away. Feyd laughed and snarled lightly. His bottom jaw clicked as he picked her up and threw Y/n over his shoulder. Y/n kicked her feet and hit Feyd’s back in a fury. “No! No! No!” She screamed. Feyd carried her through the halls, laughing at her reaction. Feyd entered his chambers, pulling Y/n off his shoulder. She thrashed in his hold; Feyd didn’t flinch, the cocky smile on his face fueling Y/n’s anger. Feyd caged Y/n underneath his body on the large bed. “Don’t fight me too much Na-Baroness. I can make this pleasurable for you too, not just me,” he breathed, his voice husky as his lips brushed hers, his body pressing into her. Y/n could feel his hard cock through his pants Y/n’s stared into Feyd’s eyes. “Please don’t”, She whispered. Feyd tilted his head to the side. His eyes gazed down at his hand gripping her dress. Humming to himself, he sat back and ripped her dress off her body, his fingers dancing over her bare skin. Y/n watched Feyd with caution. Her husband groaned, his hands making quick work of removing the remains of her dress and throwing the material away. “I do hope you are thankful I didn’t let my men have their way with you. Such beauty shouldn’t be wasted on such pathetic men like them,” Feyd licked his lips, removing his formal clothes, revealing his toned pale body, and Y/n’s eyes never wavering from his torso. Feyd noticed a smirk appearing on his lips. He knelt on the bed, flipping Y/n on her stomach. A sharp gasp left her lips; feeling Feyd’s lips on her shoulder, he let out a low growl. His hand twisted around her undergarments, ripping the material and throwing it away. Feyd lined himself with her entrance, breathing in her ear. “You are mine now”, He spoke darkly as Y/n let out a scream at the rough intrusion of Feyd’s cock pushing inside her. This was her life now; she couldn’t escape. She couldn’t leave. She was now Na-Baroness Harkonnen.

Over time, Feyd-Rautha was anything but a gentle husband. Fucking her whenever he felt no emotion for his wife or care for how she felt. She couldn’t go too far without Feyd being beside her; that would be her only thankful thing for Feyd. No man dared to touch or even glimpse at her when he was with her. Lest they want to take their last breath of fear before dying. Feyd was fiercely protective, no possessive of Y/n. She hated it, hated how much she was just a body to him—someone for him to take out his frustrations and fueled lust. One day, Y/n grew bored of watching Feyd train in the combat room as she rolled her head to the side, looking at the architecture. She was growing tired of watching him fight and train. Feyd’s eyes wandered over to his wife, seeing she wasn’t watching him. He curled his lip in anger and closed his eyes, breathing deeply. “Leave us!” He shouted to everyone in the room; he turned his attention to Y/n and motioned his finger for her to come to him. Y/n stood up slowly and picked up the skirts of her dress, approaching him slowly. Feyd laid his blades down on the table, his fists clenching tightly. Y/n saw his back muscles tense; she knew he was angry, and she grew quite accustomed to his mood swings. He could not express many moods, but Y/n was learning how to navigate her way through them. But whenever she was close, it was as if Feyd knew, and he changed his tactics; it was one of his favourite games to play with her.

Feyd slowly turned around, facing his wife, circling her like a predator, nose nudging her hair, breathing in her scent. Moaning lowly, his hand draped across her stomach, moving around her body as she tensed. “Little Na-Baroness, you’re shaking”, Feyd teased, knowing fully why she was. Y/n swallowed. “Did I do something to upset you, Na-Baron?” she questioned softly. Feyd stopped, face angled, looking down at her; he turned her to face him. “Perhaps, do you think you did?” he counter asked with a light snarl Y/n stared into his eyes, always shining blue, now dark pools. “I apologise, Na-Baron; I have grown bored watching you fight. If I was allowed to do something else within my day-” she began. Feyd cupped her face, his lips ghosting hers. “I bore you”, he growled, his body shaking Y/n put her hand on his chest “Na-Baron”, she whimpered; he grabbed her waist, swept the weapons off the table and put her on the table. “It is I who should apologise, my Na-Baroness. Don’t worry,” he laughed with a sinister smile.

 “You will not be bored any longer” he kissed her roughly, his hand spreading her legs Y/n gasped loudly as Feyd grunted, entering her in one thrust. Feyd gripped one of his favourite blades from his suit, twirling it; he grinned as the tip pressed into her chest. Feyd cut her skin, moving the knife down her body, his tongue lapping the blood eagerly. Y/n moaned in pain as Feyd nipped her skin with his knife and teeth, marking her body. “Feyd. I’m sorry,” Y/n cried. Feyd laughed, his lips stained red with her blood as he laid the knife down. Humming lowly, he nodded, a smirk painted on his mouth. “Sweet wife, I don’t think you are” he kissed her, the metallic taste of blood invading Y/n’s mouth; his tongue pushed through her open lips. Feyd’s thrusts grew hard as the table hit the wall; the loud sound of wood hitting the marble echoed through the room. A guard entered the room; as he cleared his throat, Feyd turned his head, his black teeth bared. “WHAT DO YOU WANT!?” He shouted, and the guard stammered that the Baron requested Feyd’s presence. Feyd punched the wall beside Y/n’s head; he let out a guttural roar as he locked eyes with Y/n. Hers wide with fear, “Get my wife’s servants and let them take her to our chambers.” He fixed himself, and Y/n’s ladies came in a hurry as Feyd pushed past them. “Have her ready for me when I return”, he ordered as they nodded. “Yes, Na-Baron.” 

Y/n shook in the bath, and even the hot water could not soothe her trembling body. Her ladies tried to keep her calm “Na-Baroness, please drink this tea; it will relax you” Y/n shook her head. “Nothing will soothe me, but thank you, my dears.” She smiled at them, and the ladies smiled with bows in their heads. “Would you like us to put soothing ointment on your cuts?” One of her ladies asked as Y/n nodded softly, feeling the ointment soothe her cuts from Feyd’s knife. “Why is the Na-Baron the way he is? Aside from the toxic upbringing from his uncle?” Y/n asked her ladies, both silent at first before speaking, “Na-Baron Feyd-Rautha had been believed to have killed his mother, Emmi Rabban. Na-Baron’s father, Abulurd, fled to Lankiveil, giving up his title, name, and ties to House Harkonnen. After his brother Count Glossu killed their father, the Na-Baron was said to have killed their mother in a violent rage.” Y/n listened to her ladies explain her husband’s and House Harkonnen’s life with as much information as they knew. Y/n began to understand why Feyd was the way he was around, not just her but everyone. 

Hearing the loud clash of the chamber doors opening, Y/n looked at her ladies. “You may leave, my dears; thank you” She smiled at them, and they both bowed their heads with gracious smiles, leaving Y/n in the bath and scurrying past Feyd. Y/n turned her body to face Feyd, hearing his footsteps entering the bathroom. Y/n smiled at him, her hand coming out of the water. “Husband, come join me”, she offered; he looked at her with surprise at her sudden change of emotion. Feyd stripped himself of his clothes and stepped into the hot water Y/n moved to sit beside Feyd. He watched her, his blue eyes calculating each movement carefully; Y/n tentatively raised her fingers on Feyd’s chest, his eyes following. “What are you doing?” His velvety voice was cautious, but his eyes were full of amusement Y/n gazed upon her husband’s face. “Nothing”, she whispered, leaning up, her lips ghosting over his. Feyd’s eyes half closed, and his breathing grew heavy Y/n climbed onto Feyd’s lap, kissing him. Feyd groaned into the kiss, pulling her closer. “Please, Feyd, let me in. As your wife. Your Baroness. Please open up to me, and I’ll do the same for you.” She held his face softly, his eyes swimming with mixed emotions. “I would rather not spend our marriage afraid of you, Feyd.”

This was the first time anyone had shown even an ounce of emotion to Feyd. His uncle always said love clouds the mind and shows weakness, and a Harkonnen cannot be weak. Deprived of such affection all his life, the fearsome Feyd-Rautha blocked out everything around him. He solely focused on being the warrior and formidable force of nature his uncle wanted him to be. But now he began to question his thoughts. His wife showed a gentle and warm side he hadn’t seen from her. These are the two things he was not capable of. His hand reached for her chin; his finger glided along her bottom lip. “You have suddenly become brave; you aren’t shaking like you normally do”, he whispered Y/n smiled gently. “Maybe my husband is rubbing off on me”, she replied, causing Feyd to let out a breath, laugh, nodding in response. His lips quirked into a smirk, and his hand trailed down her neck, one finger gliding down her body between her breasts. Before gripping her waist and pulling her closer, his hands slid up her legs. His eyes never left hers, searching for any sign of reluctance from her. She gave him nothing; she blinked softly, her lips parted, a small breath escaping, and a grin formed on Feyd’s lips. He leant up his tongue and swiped her lips, both moaning at the contact.

“I know you are reserved with your emotions, Feyd, but I want you. Please.” He heard her soft voice beg him. Feyd kissed her passionately, his hands tangled in her hair Y/n smiled into the kiss, her hands on his chest, balancing herself. “If you desire such emotions from me, you have to earn them”, Feyd breathed between kisses, standing abruptly and laying Y/n on the marble edge. Wrapping one of her legs around his waist, his hard cock buried inside her, moaning loudly, Feyd began thrusting harshly Y/n’s back arched, trying to meet his brutal pace. “Feyd, please!” Y/n cried at the mix of pain and pleasure spreading through her body. She would admit Feyd wasn’t as brutal this time, but he still wasn’t as gentle as she hoped. She could see the wall breaking. She needed to work and coax him out of his sheltered mind. Her hands gripped his forearms, her fingernails leaving marks on his pale skin. “See, you are giving in to me; I can feel you let go. Don’t fight me” Feyd pressed his head to Y/n’s gently, his teeth bared, chasing his peak Y/n moaned, and her eyes fluttered closed. Feeling the fire build inside her, she could feel her orgasm approaching; a string of moans and gasps filled the bathroom. Feyd gripped the edging of the marble, and his knuckles tightened, keeping himself steady above Y/n. His hips jolted unevenly cumming inside her, his ink-black cum leaking from between her legs. Feyd ran his fingers along her cheek. “So pretty when you are full of me.”

Y/n sat on the balcony looking at the sky; the stars glittered, making her feel at peace. “I miss you”, She whispered to the stars; she didn’t know who she was speaking to. Anyone from House Atreides that was no longer with her. Laying her head in her hand, she gazed across the grand bridge, the lights from the gladiator arena illuminating the large open dome. Y/n remembered a song she read in a book; she always loved it. Laying down on the marble, the cool stone soothing her heated body. Taking a small breath, she tapped her fingers against her stomach:

The fairer sex, they often call it

But his love’s is unfair as a crook 

It steals all my reason

Commits every treason

Of logic, with naught but a look

A storm raging on the horizon

Of longing, and heartache and lust

He’s always bad news

It’s always lose, lose

So tell me love, tell me love

How is that just?

But the story is this

He’ll destroy with his sweet kiss, 

His sweet kiss

But the story is this, he’ll destroy with his sweet kiss

“You sing well, Na-Baroness.” Feyd’s raspy voice broke her singing; she looked back and saw him standing above her. Y/n slowly sat up, facing him. “It’s a song I read in a book once. I don’t remember who wrote it, but they were a famous ballad performer,” Feyd hummed, sipping his drink and leaning on the balcony. Y/n joined him, her hand drifting to his. She held it gently, and Feyd paused at the touch. “I know about your father and mother, Feyd. The rumour you killed your mother and how your brother killed your father. But I also know how your father wanted to rid himself and you of the ties from your uncle. I understand why you are the way you are. You’ve been raised to be this ruthless man, this force of violence to make people tremble in fear. You instilled that in me, and I didn’t know you. I had never heard of you, which is probably offensive to say to the Na-Baron.” Y/n paused as Feyd faced her, leaning on his arm and angling his body. His eyes slightly narrowed, listening to his wife. “And despite my best efforts, I have fallen in love with you, Feyd-Rautha—my Na-Baron. And I want you to know being vulnerable around me is acceptable. You don’t have to hold back anymore,” She whispered, her head pressed to his, her hand gingerly grazing his cheek. Feyd closed his eyes, feeling Y/n’s lips on his; wrapping her arms around his neck, Y/n pressed herself closer. “Hmm”, Feyd smiled, picking Y/n up in his arms and carrying her inside, and laying her on the bed. “You have a way with words, na-baroness”, Feyd purred, kissing her neck, her hands caressing his back, moaning softly. Feyd undid her robe, his eyes blown with lust, noticing she was naked underneath. He smirked, sticking his tongue out and licking a long stripe up from her stomach, between her breasts and throat. Y/n felt her body shiver in pleasure, her legs spreading to accommodate Feyd in between. His hand trailed between her legs, and Y/n caught his wrist. He narrowed his eyes in confusion. “As much as I know you would be talented with that mouth of yours, dear husband. I really need your cock now,” she pulled him back up towards her.

Feyd’s black teeth shined as he tilted his head, humming in response. A low growl rumbled through his chest. He sat back, removed his pants and laid himself on top of Y/n. Both were smiling at one another. Feyd let out a moan, slowly entering Y/n gasped at the feeling. Her mouth was agape, her mind was hazy, and her heart was pounding. Feyd cupped her face with one hand, his thumb tracing her bottom lip. “Look into my eyes, my na-baroness”, he whispered Y/n’s eyes fluttered open, his blue eyes piercing into hers, sending a shiver through her spine. “Look at you; you are so beautiful, my perfect wife. I love you” Feyd’s mouth released a broken moan. “Please, Feyd”, she begged, her legs wrapped around his waist, pulling him closer. Feyd snarled fucking her harder, his hips snapping into hers, and the sound of skin slapping echoed in the chambers. The mix of moans, grunts and animalistic sounds from the Na-Baron and his Na-Baroness were obscene; it would make a virgin blush. 

“I believe after tonight, you will be with child. Our child,” Feyd panted, kissing Y/n’s shoulder, and a sharp whine emitted from her mouth. Rolling them over, Y/n straddled Feyd’s waist, her hips rolling hard onto his. Feyd chuckled, gripping her waist and thrusting up, hitting her sweet spot deliciously. Her palms on his chest held her steady. Y/n gazed down through her lashes, her husband grunting like a wild animal underneath her. His plump lips parted, his jaw clenched, and his eyes blown with desire. Meeting his heated gaze, Y/n felt her legs begin to shake, her arousal pooling in her lower abdomen. “Feyd, I’m close, my love”, she babbled. Feyd sat up, his arms wrapped around her body; he kissed her roughly, his tongue invading her mouth. His hands tangled in her hair, tugging gently at the ends. Y/n moaned into the kiss; pulling away, she threw her back as she came around his cock. Feyd flipped her back on her back, thrusting a few more times before spilling inside her. Both looked down the mix of her pearly white cum with his black cum creating a beautiful swirl. Feyd dipped two of his fingers in between her wet folds, sucking one while Y/n sucked the other. “So beautiful”, Feyd whispered, kissing her lips softly Y/n let out a small moan. Slowly moving off her, Feyd lay beside Y/n, his arm tucked underneath her, their hands intertwined, embracing the moment of peace and silence.

Feyd kissed Y/n’s head gingerly, his eyes falling closed. “You’ve earned my inner emotions, dear wife; well done”, he praised with a smirk Y/n sighed with a roll of her eyes, laying her head on his chest. “I am honoured, dear husband. Your love isn’t a weakness. It is a strength. Something I believe you are truly capable of no matter what anyone says.”

tags : @cynic-spirit

dt : my fellow feyd lover troop @austinbutlerslovers @valeskafics @barbiedragon @abswifey @feydsociety

if you would like to be tagged in future posts, comment on my pinned post and which fandoms you would like to be tagged in x

[moon7jay]

hard heeseung thoughts 😵‍💫 non con with mean dom her AHHHH

THIS IS NON CONSENSUAL SO DNI IF U R NOT COMFY WITH THOSE THEMES

Boyfriend heeseung who has fucked you on every surface of your apartment and his own dorm.

Boyfriend heeseung who's always horny, ready to take you anywhere and everywhere.

Boyfriend heeseung who ignores your pleas asking to not do it today cuz u r sore from last night

Boyfriend heeseung who doesn't understand consent, you are his, so is your cunt and he can use it whenever he wants, even you can't stop him

Boyfriend heeseung who gets turned on when u tell him to stop, your lower lip wobbling "heeseung please, please don't"

Your whiny voice and real fear in your eyes as u scoot away from him makes him inexplicably hard in his jeans

Boyfriend heeseung who likes how you are so tiny, your soft little fists coming up to hit him on his chest to push him away but it only makes him laugh as u sob

Boyfriend heeseung who forcefully spreads your legs apart, not even bothering to take any of your clothes cuz he's only intrested in getting inside of your fuck hole.

"Don't act like u don't want this fucking tease, prancing around in nothing but my shirt, pussy all up in my face and u wanna act all innocent now? "

Boyfriend heeseung who traps you under his weight, thrusting inside of you, moaning at how you scream and thrash, your pussy burns from his forceful invasion

"It h-hurts, hurts so much heeseung please"

Your cries falling on deaf ears, he's growling like an animal in heat, eyes laser focused on how your lower regions connect, loving the way your tight cunt wraps around his dick. The sounds of skin slapping harshly music to his ears.

"Hurts yeah? Lemme make it hurt some more" Hitting your cervix brutally, going harder everytime you scream

Your arms flail around, full on sobbing and having a breakdown cuz what boyfriend takes advantage of his girlfriend? This is wrong on so many levels, but ur body betrays you, secreting fluids the more he fucks you. Fuck? No. Rapes you.

"Making a mess baby, u want this yeah? Like when it hurts don't you? Come on let's fuck some more"

Boyfriend heeseung who spits in your mouth, liking how u swallow on autopilot, sucking on your tongue forcefully, liking how messy it gets as you cry more.

Boyfriend heeseung who doesn't just make out with you but eats your mouth, his tongue fucking your throat making you choke as saliva drips down your chins, sucking on your tongue forcefully cuz God damn he loves the way u taste in his mouth.

Boyfriend heeseung who rips your(his) shirt off and slaps your tits till they turn red, while rutting into your cunt as your screams of pain turn him harder inside of you.

Boyfriend heeseung who bites and gropes your soft skin, sucking and puncturing your skin with his teeth from anywhere he can get his mouth on, leaving bruises all over you, too lost in the pleasure your body is giving him.

Boyfriend heeseung who manhandles your body onto all fours, focusing on his dick and his pleasure, least intrested about your pleasure or how u keep begging him to stop

"Scream louder for me whore, ask me to stop-oh fuck yeah- gonna rape u all night long" His grunts and groans of satisfaction now sound static to u as u keep sobbing but no longer resisting, letting him bend u and use u like his own cumdump .

Boyfriend heeseung who takes you 3 more times throughout the night, slapping you when u try to run away from him, the veins in his neck visible from how much he loves forcing himself inside of you, beating your insides red.

Boyfriend heeseung who doesn't bother cleaning you up or making you cum, just tucking his dick in his pants and leaving you a crying mess once he's satisfied. Telling you to keep his cum in you or he'll rape u harder the next time he comes over.

Boyfriend heeseung who knows u will come crawling back to him again cuz he's broken you. Turned you into a perfect sex toy. Only existing to pleasure his dick.

[curiouscornfieldcryptid]

I love river monsters so much because like —

the episode title: “Bloodthirsty Slashers from Hell”

Jeremy’s voiceover: “I’ve heard chilling tales of a creature eating small children, grandmas, and puppies in the Amazon. it kills indiscriminately, leaving blood in its wake. now I’m on a mission to catch it and see for myself.”

the reenactment: a four year old girl was playing by the river and decided to go for a dip, when something grabbed her ankle. [foot enters the water. bit of a huge fish swimming past. watery thrashing, screaming, water fills with blood] she was pulled under and never seen again.

Jeremy, upon actually catching the fish: oh dear!! look at this! :) what a fish!! here we have a fourteen-foot-long female razormouth serialkiller fish. look at her teeth. anyway this gal’s scales are actually venomous barbs, she has five hundred teeth, and she can shoot lasers out of her eyes. lovely fish. just gorgeous. :) let’s gently let her recover and then put her back.

[abbeyofcyn]

I hope you don't mind me sending the fanfiction through asks! I didn't know about posting it but wanted to share anyway!

-------

Two hours, it barely felt that way, but two hours have passed.

"Want me to take over?" Raph questioned, likely to the other two than to Leo, "Both of you must be tired."

Followed by an "I'm fine, thank you!" and "Just a snack break!"

Leo could barely hear his surroundings, eyes laser focused on the little parasite that had kept his brother in such a state for so long. It was almost over... They'd be free from this nightmare.

"Brain surgery takes four to five hours, but since I didn't have to cut him open we should be done soon," Leo mentioned, mostly to soothe their worries. Maybe also to calm himself down.

"How are you feeling, buddy?"

"Tired, cold... And thirsty." There was a weight to his voice, one Leo wouldn't usually hear from Donnie. "And ready for this to be- ACK!"

"Huh? You shouldn't be able to feel-" Leo's explanation was quickly interrupted by interjections.

"Sensei! His eye!"

"It hurts..."

"Leo!"

He wasn't giving up. "It's almost out!"

"It hurts, it hurts, it HURTS-"

"He's in pain!"

And Leo wanted his brother back. "Hold him down!"

Leo's eyes narrowed in focus, zeroing in on the problem. Keep a cool and steady head, calm down, and assess the situation, "It's trying to grab onto anything within reach."

"Leo! Just hurry up!"

Donnie thrashed. He was moving, the parasite was forcing him to jolt and thrash and neither the metal extensions nor Casey were strong enough. "Shit! Hold him!"

Raph rushed forward, hand on his plastron that moved to his shell. That soft shell. No, Raph!

Donnie's maw drew open, teeth bared and primed. Leo and Raph barely had time to register what it meant, barely had time to react.

"Raph!"

The maw came down on metal; SHELLDON's arm, but it was only a temporary fix.

Too much at once, too little time to think.

Come on, Leo! You have your quick thinking and Donnie's big brain! You're not losing your brother. You AREN'T, you CAN'T.

Pull yourself TOGETHER!

His eyes narrowed at the parasite. It thrashed, trying to grab onto his gloved arm but remain rooted to his brain. It wanted something organic.

Dread settled in Leo's stomach, but his mind was made.

It wants a host. I'll give it one.

He pulled the scalpel away from the portal, gripping the metal tight in his hands. It might just be the last thing he'll feel in that arm, he cherished the feeling. He'll fix it.

"Casey..."

He let his ninpo flood into the scalpel, feeling the light metal shift into the familiar weight of his katana. It wasn't about him.

"I need you to take this."

There wasn't time to hesitate. Not when his FAMILY was at stake. Leo handed Casey the sword.

"And when you see it."

With his teeth, he tore the glove off his hand. He let himself cherish the cool air and breeze, knowing it would be his last.

"I need you to cut off my other arm."

Oh man oh man oh man oh man

This is so good???? I love your writing and the colours you chose for their texts and idk why I was wondering why his text was purple as if I don't even know my own comic so it was extra cool to see it change to blue and aaaaaah

[eepyuii]

frostbite — pt. 12

pairing ; childe x gender neutral!reader

content ; childhood friends to “rivals” to lovers, slowburn-ish

cw ; some self loathing talk, ending that you guys are gonna hate me for LMFAO

notes ; listen guys. i KNOW it’s been a minute, life’s just been really hectic lately- so many ups and downs and i couldn’t come up with what this chapter could be until i remembered- the inazuma trip!

and so that is what this is, the inazuma trip from childe’s POV and NOTHING ELSE happens. i promise :)

previous | next | masterlist

if a mere gaze could incinerate, the letter before you would’ve been reduced to ashes by now.

it sits as pathetically unmoving as paper can get on the table before you— yet you can’t even bear to pick it up into your hands again, what a coward. it’s not even a bad letter either, very far from the bone-chilling mandates you receive from the doctor or directly from zapolyarny palace.

no, it’s an invitation. from ajax.

a simple invitation to a simple visit to inazuma to simply explore the scenery he had so passionately raved about to you before. your stay in sumeru had unintentionally prolonged itself, for reasons that if someone asked you out loud right now, you’d say you just ‘didn’t notice the days going by’. but any dimwit, if there is even such a thing inside sumeru city, would’ve been able to tell that you’re just cowering away from seeing ajax again.

since all of the matters had been resolved— crisis averted, dottore gone, kunikuzushi restored to his sharp-tongued self, you’d expected yourself to feel better. feel happier.

but you don’t.

because the guilt is still there, it still thrashes against your chest and scratches your throat dry, yelling out in a raucous, grating voice that you’re a terrible terrible person.

a terrible person who doesn’t deserve to go to inazuma. who doesn’t deserve to see ajax.

you still think of collei. you’ve been terrified to leave your quarters during the day, lest you bump into her on the streets of the city. you hope she’s feeling better, since all of eleazar was cured. gods, why do you even care this much? you’ve never even met the girl yet you’re desperate for her to forgive you, when you haven’t even done anything to her directly. you want to be worthy of her forgiveness so badly but.. you also think you’re not deserving of it, or any forgiveness at all. what is wrong with you?

“what is wrong with you?”

what.

“h-huh?”

you’re brought back to reality by kunikuzushi’s voice, who looms over the table you sit at, periodically moving his judgemental gaze towards the letter then back to you.

“the last ship for inazuma leaves in an hour, y’know. and you haven’t even started packing! you humans slack so much it baffles me how anything gets done ever.”

you fidget with your fingers, averting your gaze elsewhere as to avoid the very predictable death glare kunikuzushi is about to give at what you say next.

“i’m not going.”

thank the archons that his puppet body doesn’t have built-in eye lasers, or else you’d be barbecue by now.

“what do you mean you’re not going?”

“i changed my mind, i’m not going.” you shrug simply.

“as if,” he scoffs. “seeing that imbecile again is all you’ve talked about for days! i can still hear your stupid little melancholic sigh inside my head from how much you do so much as think about it.”

you remain silent, staring down at your own fingertips and fighting the urge to pick your nails.

“now suck up your idiocy for a second and answer me truthfully— why are you not going?”

it’s safe to say that one second you opened your mouth to answer and the next you were practically beaten into the ship, but not before you were almost deafened at kunikuzushi’s yells for you to pack up faster. you don’t think you’ve ever witnessed someone be so ragingly doting, though you believe he was partially motivated by how irkingly sulky you’ve been lately.

at least you can rest knowing nahida won’t let him rest.

—

“i’m sure they’ll arrive today, tartaglia!”

he’s sure yoimiya is right, yet his leg keeps bouncing impatiently. surely you’d accept his invitation, or at least show sign of life by sending a rejection letter— he could live with the sting of it as long as you were alive and safe in sumeru.

…no, that might not be enough. maybe his letter never arrived to you, maybe he put in the wrong address, maybe the letter did arrive but you weren’t there to receive it because you were unsafe. maybe he should just go to sumeru himself and check in on you. childe’s leg starts bouncing faster. he hates it, this giddy feeling but in a bad way. it’s not the kind of giddy he feels when he’s about to engage in combat or.. when he sees you— it feels terrible, like his heart is beating incorrectly in his chest.

but then he feels erratic taps against his shoulder and he looks over to see yoimiya hopping excited as her other hand points toward the port, where a ship is arriving. yoimiya doesn’t know what you look like, so you might not be in that ship at all— he prepares before getting his hopes up. the two of them step closer towards the port and childe scans the passengers leaving the ship with utmost attention, like he’s never focused so hard in his life. amongst the crowd, the top of someone’s head who looks like you is visible and just from that, his heart stutters. it still beats incorrectly. finally, as though a blessing from the tsaritsa herself, it’s you.

and his heart starts beating right. erratically, but right.

his legs take him to you before can even think of it. there’s a sense of deja vu from your reunion in liyue, except now there’s assuredly nothing that’ll keep you away from each other, for the time being at least. the one thing that’s different this time is that neither of you say anything upon seeing each other, you just both wordlessly wrap yourselves in a tight, breathless hug.

neither of you pull away for a while either, until childe moves 3 inches or so back to keep you at arms length. he exhales heartily, as if he only got to breathe for the first time just now, and takes in all of your features now that he can. he notices that your eye bags seem darker, more prominent— have you not been getting enough sleep?

he’s about to ask you that very question when your eyes flicker towards something, or someone, behind him with a hint of wary surprise in your eyes and he remembers that yoimiya is here and probably shaking with excitement to meet you— he’s spoken a lot about you, but we’ve already gone over extensively just how much he does that.

“a-ah, where are my manners— y/n, this is yoimiya, owner of naganohara fireworks and friend i’ve made alon-“

a shrill squeak comes out from behind behind childe and within the blink of an eye, he’s shoved away by yoimiya, who takes you into her own bone crushing hug.

“oh, y/n, it’s so so so nice to finally meet you!”

the blonde releases you from the hug, her hands fly to hold yours as she hops up and down with joy only comparable to a prancing bunny. whatever standoffishness you felt before melts and you return yoimiya’s excitement with a big grin, one that makes childe’s chest swell more than he thought previously possible.

though much to his dismay, you’re viciously dragged around by a hyperactive firework maker around inazuma city, she shows you all the best shops and spots within the city (especially naganohara fireworks), while childe only hurries to keep up with you two. eventually, you’re released from yoimiya’s ecstatic grasp, as she mentions having to help her father with dinner— the old man won’t even hear the pot boiling on his own, she says.

the two of you end up at a viewpoint in the city, leaning against a railing, shoulders only a breath apart from each other. sunset arrives before you even notice, the caramel rays shining against the unusual violet hues nature of inazuma create a sweet ambience— one neither childe nor you dare to interrupt.

it’s almost painfully awkward, the silence. you would’ve expected to be chatting till the sun rose again about your respective escapades but nothing, perhaps you two have so much to talk about you don’t even know where to start. and so neither of you do.

childe finally decides to take the fall and fills the increasingly cooling air of the evening with a clear of his throat.

“so,” he swallows hard. “have you been well?”

you take a split second to answer, he notices that your fingers fidget as well.

“yeah, just fine.” you nod before nudging him playfully. “what about you? surviving the island weather?”

he frowns— you’re not telling the truth. firstly, changing the subject so fast before he even gets to ask about your… mission in sumeru, whatever it is he can’t seem to remember it. secondly, the way you fidget is strangely familiar to him. it takes a moment but childe recalls, it’s precisely one of your old tells.

when the two of you were young, sometimes your father would bring back board games from his job in the big city— some were guessing games, some were training cards, some murder mysteries and others games all about bluffing. and you were terrible at bluffing, eyes always scattering about, fingers itching against each other, tongue poking against your cheek. old habits die hard, he supposes.

he wishes he could feel good about reminiscing over those moments but really, right now they only serve to prove that you were lying about doing well— he doesn’t like that.

childe opts not to sour the moment, though. it’s not even your first night in inazuma yet.

“i’ve been faring. but uh.. remind me again as i seem to have forgotten,” he chuckles sheepishly. “what exactly was your mission in sumeru?”

your eyes scatter.

“just an on-field investigation about this strange disease that was born in sumeru, eleazar. unfortunately, it’s still all pretty confidential— so no snooping even for someone like you, mr. harbinger.”

“yeesh, sounds serious. i’ll do my best to make sure you unwind from all that uptight working for now, though. i’ve got the next two days planned with all sorts activities and places to show you around in inazuma.”

your shoulders seem to intense slightly at the idea of actually vacationing and childe feels some relief in his chest. he grins.

“but for now— i’d like to take you to try some inazuman cuisine and then get some rest. i’ll show you around the food district but i heavily suggest these… little stuffed balls of rice they sell at this kiosk, i believe they’re called ‘onigiri’.”

“mm, sounds tasty.”

—

“no, i’m telling you i saw it go over here!”

it’s somehow nostalgic, hopping around chinju forest and chasing bake-danukis around like unburdened children. childe swears he sees the esper of your younger self following after you as you hop from rock to rock over the river, giggling at the splashes of water that lick at your ankles. he hears the jingle of the monster yōkai as it tries to taunt him, but he’s long since forfeited his own goose chase to bask in the warm delight of watching you.

it’s like his limbs have shut down, locked in place for the sake of gluing his eyes to your grinning figure who runs up and down after the elusive bake-danuki without another care in the world. you know that the chase is aimless, that the yōkai has no purpose or finality other than to taunt you— but you don’t care, you’ve abandoned the rationality you usually cling to like the air in your lungs just to have stupid fun for once.

and it’s because childe took you here. the pride that fills him due to the fact is so immense that he feels as though he could fell an army of mitachurls without even using his vision.

the image of your state yesterday is still burned into his retinas, how utterly exhausted you looked, not to mention that you lied about being well. it’s the most basic state of being, just being ‘fine’, yet even that wasn’t your truth. the worst of it all is that he can’t even figure out why, what could’ve happened in sumeru that left you like that. it all terrifies him.

“…ax?”

huh?

oh. you’re calling out to him. childe feels his entire being perk up at that and he’s fully at attention within a heartbeat.

“ajaax? you okay?”

you’re standing two rocks away from the bake-danuki over the river current, but you no longer care for it. instead, you look over to childe and wave to catch his eye, worried frown invading your features.

childe nods rapidly. “peachy! i was just, ah— thinking up a strategy to catch that slippery bake-danuki!”

he monitors you closely for the rest of the day, making sure everything goes well as to not make you frown again. he takes you up to the grand narukami shrine, where your eyes fill with light as you gaze up in wonder at the huge cherry blossom tree, a pink petal gracefully lands on your head but it compliments you so splendidly that childe doesn’t have the heart to tell you about it.

he’s only not completely enamored by how the peaceful scenery frames you so majestically because he feels an itch at the back of his neck, turning around to see the guuji of the shrine throwing him a both amused and judgemental stare. she gives him the creeps.

the next day, childe takes you to watatsumi island. it seems you’re once again possessed by a childlike spirit, as you scurry about every inch of the island to take in all of the almost magical details of it. you tell him it reminds you of the fairytales you used to read and the sheer glee in your demeanor almost makes him tear up. at some point, the two of you even go swimming in one of the beaches that frame the cascading island and it’s a sight childe’s dreams only hope to imitate, to see you canonballing into the warm seawater with pure joy— it’s completely incomprehensible to the frigid tundras of snezhnaya that you’re both used to.

to finish it off, you’re back in inazuma city to dine in a traditional inazuman restaurant and you’re both almost bursting from how much you’ve eaten by the end of it. you’re waiting patiently for a waiter to come by your table and give you the check for the food with sleepy eyes— the kind of sleepy that only hits you after a hearty meal.

when it arrives, both of you reach out for the check simultaneously.

“come on, please let me at least pay for the food this time? you already paid for our last two dinners.” you plea.

“nonsense! i invited you to inazuma to give you a tour, you’re a practically guest here-“

“not like you’re a local either… just this once, please-”

“i brought so much excess mora, it’s been weighing down on my backpack. just let me empty it a little more with this check and i promise you i’ll let you pay for our next-“

“but i’ll feel terrible. you’ve been doing everything for me these past two days, it’s the bare minimum for me to-“

“y/n. i insist.”

your poor waiter.

“fine.” you huff begrudgingly, turning to look down at your empty plate with a defeated frown. childe immediately feels like the worst person in the world.

the walk back to your hotel is quiet, eerily so. it’s almost ironically parallel to your first night here, you even pass by the same viewpoint as it’s on the way to your destination— you choose to take a wordless detour to the same railing.

childe is a step behind when he joins you, the first thing he notices is how hard you’re gripping onto the railing, knuckles turning white. the second things how tightly you press your lips to suppress their trembling. and the third thing is the wet glimmer that lines your bottom eyelids. he wishes the earth would give way and swallow him whole.

“y/n… i-“

“w-why are you doing a-all of this?” the breaking in your voice is the worst sound childe has ever heard in his life.

“w-what do you mean? have i done something to upset you?”

you shake your head.

“why are you d-doing all of this for m-me? taking me to beautiful p-places… paying for all my f-food— what did i even do to d-deserve this from y-you?”

childe scoffs incredulously. why would you even be worried about that?

“because you’re my best friend, y/n. i care about you and i wanted to show you somewhere new, somewhere i loved. people simply do that for each other someti-“

“t-that’s the thing, though, i’m not just people! i’m a t-terrible person who works for an even worse person, a fucking m-monster that i let be a monster! people are sickly and d-dying because of him and i j-just let him do it! i don’t d-deserve sceneries or g-good food for free…”

you yell, tears running freely and ceaselessly down your cheeks. childe is almost angry at the complete nonsense you’re spewing, but he scatters his brain for a gentler way to calm you down. then, he remembers a previous tactic of his— he places both of his gloved hands at either side of your face.

successfully, you immediately shut up, save for the erratic breaths that leave you. you’re staring up at him with almost enraged confusion, but not at him, rather at yourself— you truly believe what you’re saying to the point where you’d lose sleep over it, it shatters childe’s heart into a million pieces.

“y/n. please listen to me very carefully. you are not a terrible person, in fact, you’re one of the best people i have ever met-“

“but i c-could’ve done-“ you interrupt and childe immediately squishes your cheeks inward as to press your lips shut.

“shush. you are the most intelligent, caring, attentive, patient person i have ever had the privilege of meeting, y/n. dottore is a psychopath, that’s no doubt, but you couldn’t have done anything to stop him— he’s got power even i couldn’t begin to gauge and… unfortunately he uses them for evil deeds. but you, you use yours for good and for that, you’re infinitely and eternally better than him.”

you’ve stopped crying at this point.

“you’ve only ever used your capabilities to help people— help me, the traveler, all of the new cadets who get stupid injuries in zapolyarny palace.” he chuckles. “and you care so much and so deeply. you took such good care of teucer when he was in liyue, you even chose to go against me, betray our mission, for the chance to help the traveler and save the people of the harbor, you nursed me back to heal when i was at my weakest.

i believe that in this world, the lines between good and bad are blurry— many dance around in its fog, heh, including myself. but you, y/n? i think you’re as good as it gets.”

there’s no reason for childe to still be holding your face in his hands, really, but at this point it seems like the entire rest of the world has disappeared for him.

“this trip has only been the minimum of the thanks i owe you, hell, i’d pay for all of the meals in your life if that even repaid half of what you’ve done for others.”

you chuckle at that.

“but… i-i also wanted to treat you to this because i…”

oh god, why did he start that sentence, he wasn’t ready to admit that just yet. childe’s heart hammers against his chest, bound to break out at any moment, and his throat becomes dry almost immediately. his hands are so clammy that he desperately wants to pull them away from you, unfortunately his limbs betray him and stay right where they are. childe thinks he feels a heartbeat at his fingertips, like he can feel it from the pulse in your neck, but his fingers shake too much to discern.

years in the battlefield, a harbinger title over his head, falling into the abyss and childe has never felt as terrified as he does now— he feels as though he can’t breathe.

the entire world, time and space, halt at the tip of his tongue, where it’s next words will forever change your relationship. but then again, childe did say he could live with rejection so long as you were safe and sound…

…couldn’t he?

“…b-because i mean to go to fontaine soon.”

i saw this tweet in the midst of finishing this chapter and i was like “oh my fucking god. them.” LMFAO

taglist ; @kentply @osaemu @rain-and-a-nice-nap @koichirana

[wannaeatramyeon]

Goo Kim x Reader: Partner 'privileges'

G/N reader. This is so so stupid. Crack.

Goo Kim is really a strange kinda guy.

Although. You only need to take one look at him and it simply becomes obvious.

The designer suits and expensive haircuts do nothing to hide the aura of pure chaos.

Really, your partner privileges are just one step away from malicious and even then, it usually straddles the line between loving and unhinged.

Sigh. Who can you blame apart from yourself. After all, you did choose him.

.

.

Upon seeing another couple lovingly feed each other mouthfuls from their respective plate, your boyfriend had the bright idea to copy them.

Which is all well and good until he piled his spoon high and tried to ram it down your throat.

"Fuck off!" you manage, as he squishes your cheeks with one hand and tries to open your mouth with what can only be described as a spoonful of slop with the other.

.

.

And his sulks are legendary. For the silliest things too.

But screw him. You will take your gaming victories, and you will gloat as you completely thrash him on video games even as he begs you to take it easy on him.

When you win, as you always do, you make the shape of an 'L' with your hand and your face takes on a devious expression that is entirely Goo Kim.

What is that they say about couples that spend time together eventually become more alike?

Heh.

Are those tears of sadness in Goo's eyes or tears of rage? Whatever. Cry more.

.

.

"What are you doing?" you sit up slightly to observe your boyfriend tucking you in.

"Just making sure you're comfortable, cupcake!"

Ok. What the fuck, this is suspicious as hell.

One second you're chilling in the bedroom with Goo humming elsewhere and now. He's here with a laser focus.

This cannot be good.

The suspicion grows as he plucks your phone out of your hand then wraps you tight.

Pinning both arms to your side, literally rolling you like a stiff cadaver. Until your view is upside down then righted then upside down then- Until you're in multiple blanketed layers and-

"Burrito time!" he cackles before flopping on you. A complete deadweight that knocks the air out of your lungs.

"Oof! GOO!"

That asshole just guffaws louder into your chest, hair tickling your chin.

You try and wriggle your way out, bucking him off, but find yourself completely trapped.

Ughhhh.

Desperate times call for desperate measures. Your eyes take on a dangerous glint and-

You bite down hard on that bastard's head.

Right on the crown. Blonde locks between your teeth and yanking.

Goo Kim shrieks and now it's your turn to cackle.

[uguk]

15 Minutes | jjk

➸ pairing: Jungkook x fem!reader

➸ summary: 15 minutes with your favorite prisoner.

➸ word count: 5.1k

➸ warning: Sadism, masochism, femdom, baton is used to hit and also for anal, pegging, double penetration, humiliation kink, degradation kink, penetrative sex, creampie, oral sex, dubcon

“Third time this week, is it?”

Jungkook doesn’t react as he watches you sift through the papers on your clipboard. His eyes laser-focus on your knees, one crossed over the other, as you sit before him on the edge of your desk. He can hear the distant sounds of corrections officers chatting amongst themselves in the hallways, of other prisoners shouting and laughing in the commons room a level below your office. If this were one of his first times in your office he would be reacting a lot more–maybe thrashing against the handcuffs that tie his wrists behind the chair he’s sitting on in front of you. Or maybe kicking his feet against his ankle cuffs. But he’s learned his lesson, and he simply stares blankly at your legs that he knows are real soft and supple, hidden below those ugly black uniform pants you wear.

He loses that train of thought about your legs when you suddenly slam the clipboard down onto your desk, a short ‘hm’ the only sound you make as Jungkook jolts in his seat.

“Gonna tell me why you busted Donghyun’s jaw today, snake eyes?”

You look down at Jungkook, but he doesn’t look at you. His tongue pokes his cheek and his brows thread together, anger taking over his features at the sound of Donghyun’s name leaving your lips. But he swallows whatever raging epithets he has poised on the tip of his tongue.

You outstretch the leg that is bent over your knee, using the tip of your shiny black boot to lift Jungkook’s chin. It forces his eyes to meet yours and his gaze is pure venom.

“Cat got your tongue, pretty boy?”

Blood drips from his nose (which is probably busted) over his pink lips and down his chin. But he doesn’t flinch in the slightest. Hell, you swear he doesn’t even blink.

“Hurry up and explain yourself. Before you get blood on my fuckin’ shoe.”

Jungkook snorts, his shoulders shrugging with the action–and yes, the air that rushes out his nose sends more blood dripping down his nose. And onto your boot.

“Disgusting,” you sneer, moving your ankle so you wipe the blood against his throat. You curl your fingers over the edge of the table at your sides and lean closer to him. A satisfied smirk paints your lips when you watch Adam's apple bob up and down his throat–he puts on a brave face, but he knows you’re a tough woman to crack.

“You know if you don’t talk, I’ll have to put you in solitary again. Can’t keep picking fights with your little friends down there.”

“Donghyun And I aren’t friends,” he spits out, as if vocalizing Donghyun’s name stings his tongue.

“So it wasn’t a friendly little chit chat then, was it?”

Jungkook exhales a ragged breath from his chest–you guess he probably got punched in the chest from the way his shoulders stutter. 

“Fuck no.”

You hop off your desk, grabbing his face in your hand as soon as your heavy boots make contact with the ground. He doesn’t even flinch as his bloody lips are puckered within your fingers.

“Didn’t your mother tell you not to speak like that in front of a lady?”

He still says nothing as you angle his face up to look at you, defiance riddling his sea green eyes.

“I’ve put assholes in solitary for less, you know.”

He’s holding back something. You already know Jungkook well enough to know he would be raging like a petulant child if he were Jungkook.

When you let go of his face, he snickers. “I don’t care if you put me in solitary again.”

“Hmmm…” you lean back against your desk, exaggeratedly tapping at your chin with your finger as you look up at the ceiling. “Maybe I should stick you in a cell with your brother.” At this, his eyes widened. The last thing he needs is his brother, the resident lead in a rival gang, to be within spitting distance. “A little family reunion wouldn’t hurt, would it?”

“He’s a fucking psycho,” Jungkook says from behind gritted teeth. Junghyun’s doing life in prison for dismembering a man–someone from his own gang–and feeding the bits to his pet monkey. Jungkook finds it absolutely revolting; at least use a gun or a knife on a guy, but cutting them up into bits? The fuck kinda sick shit is that?

“Apple doesn’t fall far from the tree,” you joke, but Jungkook doesn’t bite. “Junghyun tells me how much he misses his baby brother, you know,” you reply, your voice hitching up as if you were stifling a giggle–which, you are, admittedly. “I’m sure you two could kiss and make up. Maybe you can tell him why you broke Donghyun’s jaw while you’re at it.”

“Ask Donghyun yourself,” Jungkook mutters. He hates that his eyes focus on your lips–painted red with your bold lipstick choice, curled into a sadistic smile. 

“I would if his jaw wasn’t busted, idiot,” you chortle, like it’s the funniest joke you’ve told all day. Jungkook doesn’t find it very funny, leaning to his side to spit out the blood from his nose that has pooled in his mouth.

You’re lightning fast, a hand reaching for your baton propped up against your desk. Jungkook bucks his knees together, trying to make himself smaller even though he can’t really move his long legs very much with the ankle cuffs on.

“Let me try again.” The handle of the baton is gripped tightly in your right hand, and you flick your wrist as you smack the blunt end against the open palm of your left hand. Jungkook flinches. “You’re gonna tell me why you keep getting into fights, Jungkook. Or–”

“They don’t like that I snitch,” Jungkook replies, in a voice that’s much softer than the harsh words he had spat from behind his pretty marbled teeth. “That I… talk to you.” He says the word talked like it implies something else–and it does, because those ‘conversations’ you have with Jungkook in your office are much less talking and much more… well…

“Taking a hit for me? How romantic,” you coo. Jungkook rolls his eyes.

“You really gonna use that on me?” His eyes flick down to the baton in your hand.

“Depends… want me to hit you with it, or fuck you with it?”

“Neither.”

“I didn’t give you that option, did I?” you ask.

“That shit hurts.”

“Well if I let you out of here without roughing you up, wouldn’t they get more suspicious?” You cock an eyebrow at Jungkook, who stares back at you unamused. “I’ll let go of your handcuffs this time.”

“How kind of you.”

He doesn’t actually believe that you’ll use the baton on him–again–but you push yourself off the edge of the desk and prance over to him like you’re about to play the most fun game you’ve ever played. And that’s because playing with Jungkook is fun.

You get real close to his body, until his bloody face is practically buried in your tits, and with your left hand you reach for the keys at your waist. You use the keys to unlock his handcuffs, and they fall to the floor with a loud clang. You back away, frowning at the blood that stains your uniform–but hey, when you release Jungkook and he’s taken back to his cell, maybe the blood on your clothes will serve as proof that you roughed him up. Maybe it’s not all bad.

As you stand straight Jungkook brings his wrists to his lap, rotating them and soothing the ache in his wrists with his fingers. He tries not to overthink your putting your tits in his face–but damn, his orange pants are starting to feel fucking tight.

“Hurts, baby?” The way you say baby isn’t endearing–it’s not the way a lover would say it. It’s dripping with condescension–you’re always such a good actress, always treating Jungkook like filth until the second you’re bouncing on his cock. So he doesn’t take it to heart.

“‘Course it hurts,” Jungkook looks up at you, his long chestnut strands that were once a curtain around his face sliding down behind his shoulders. “My ankles do too.”

“I’m not letting you off that easily,” you snort. Then your voice goes an octave lower when you speak again. “Get up.”

“You’re not fucking serious.”

“Get up.”

The second he rises from his chair, you grip the back of his shirt and shove him forward until his body’s bent over your desk. Papers go flying, the metal clip of the clipboard digs into Jungkook’s cheek, and he groans–his chest hurts from his previous fights and this isn’t doing him any favors.

But none of that hurts as much as a swift hit of the baton to the back of his knees.

“God, fuck–” He groans as his body leans harder into the desk.

“I’ve decided–I’m gonna fuck you with it.”

“One of these days I’m telling my lawyer about this shit,” he groans again as his hands grip the edge of your desk.

“Tell him how good my pussy tastes too while you’re at it,” you sneer. You can see Jungkook’s elbows bend up, like he’s about to push himself off the desk, so you use the baton, poking it between his shoulder blades, and push him back down with it until his bloody nose is rubbing into the wood grain of your desk. 

“Ah, f-fuck.” His chest really does hurt, but you don’t give him any room to move. You’re way too fucking strong for your size. He would put up more of a fight but the last thing he needs is for the guards to come into your office and for you to act like he’s overpowering you–when in fact you’re the one practically torturing him.

“Stay there,” you tell him as you walk around the desk to the drawers, placing the baton on the desk. “You so much as fucking flinch you’re sharing a bed with Junghyun tonight.”

“You’re the worst,” Jungkook huffs, a pathetic form of a laugh. He can’t do much more, not with that state of his bruised chest.

You open one of the drawers and pull out that all too familiar clear tube–lube. Jungkook grimaces. Damn, you were not joking.

“Yet you always end up right back in my office with your cock as hard as a fucking rock.” You say it like it’s the funniest thing, sticking out your tongue in jest before slamming the drawer shut and taking your place back behind the brunette.

Fuck, he hates that you’re fucking right. That his cock right now is achingly hard against your stupid wooden desk in your stupid fucking office. He hates that he keeps coming back to you like a dog with his tail between his legs, telling you whatever information you want to know about the happenings of the prison and its politics, all to get 15 minutes between your thighs every night. When has he ever been so fucking stupid, so down bad for a woman–and much less a fucking lee. He should be disgusted with himself.

But he whines like a little bitch when you put the lube on the desk next to the baton, freeing your hands in order to feel him up, grabbing at every inch of skin under his orange jumper. He moans when you giggle and stick your fingers in his mouth, pulling him back by his hair to see that defiant look in his eyes when you choke him with your digits.

“Not so tough now, are you, big guy?” You murmur in his ear with that tantalizing tilt to your voice. “What would all your friends downstairs think of you looking like this, hmm?”

He coughs, spit and remnants of blood trailing down his chin when you remove your fingers from his mouth. He feels how damp they are when you slip them under his pants, grabbing his heavy cock into your palm. 

“They already think I’m your bitch,” he sighs exasperatedly as your fist slides up from the base of his length.

His breath hitches when you squeeze your fingers around the mushroom head of his cock. “Are they wrong?”

Jungkook only answers you with a deep, breathy chuckle. He’s a gangbanger for christ’s sake. He’s been with so many girls, and he’s rough with them too, always dominant as hell. So why does being with you excite him more than any of those girls combined? There’s a thrill to it, the way adrenaline pumps in his veins and his heart races in his chest when he hears you deride him, when you’re the one who’s rough with him, when you’re the one who’s fucking him.

Maybe they’re right.

Your free hand pulls down his bottoms, and despite being smaller than him he looks submissive as hell from his angle, his ass pressed right against your abdomen with his clothes pooling above his ankle cuffs. You give his ass a good slap and he fucking whines. He moans like that actually felt good and you snicker at the sound.

“I asked you a question.” Your voice is stern, mean even, and your fist around his cock is fucking tight. Are you trying to rip his dick off? He wouldn’t put it past you, actually.

“I dunno, are they wrong?” He says and even now, with his ass out, he has the gaul to act cocky.

“You’re annoying,” you reply, and Jungkook practically chokes when your hand around his cock moves down and squeezes his balls.

“Part of the charm,” he replies, but his voice is strained, the words rushing past his lips in one breath.

“I don’t have time to play your games today,” you tell him, releasing your grip on his dick and reaching for the lube. He winces when he hears the sound of you opening the cap and the gross squelching sounds that accompany it when you squeeze the tube. “Three fights in five days–if I keep you in here too long they’ll think I’m playing favorites, you know.”

“I’m not your favorite? That hurts,” Jungkook says, feigning a pout. “I thought–” he stutters as a cold finger traces his rim, coating it in lube. “I thought we had something going on here.”

“I got a rep’ here too, ya know,” you remind him as he turns his head to look back at you. “Can’t have the guys around here think I’m going soft.”

“Oh, I make you soft?” He titters, a blood-coated smirk on his face and determination sparking to life in his eyes. “That’s very cute, miss lee.”

“Shut the fuck up or I’m putting your cuffs back on,” you say as you shove your finger into his ass.

“Fuck–okay–fuck.” He changes his tune so fast, shuddering as your finger prods his insides mercilessly. Would it kill you to be a little more gentle? He’s at a loss for words as you rush through prepping him, shoving in a second finger as soon as he’s adjusted to the first, and scissoring them to widen him up, all to the tune of his pathetic little whimpers and groans. He feels his abdomen getting slick with his precum, and he hates that he’s so turned on by you. He might just cum, and he hates it. Imagine the look on your face if he actually cums like this? He knows his pride would suffer a wound greater than any of the ones on his body right now.

But the worst wound to his pride is when you reach for that baton. This isn’t the first time, but you still laugh like a fucking maniac when you tell him, “Better punishment than solitary, dontcha think?”

“I know you have dildos in your drawer. Why the fuck does it have to be the baton?” Jungkook grits his teeth as you tap his ass with it (surprisingly gentle, he thinks).

“Because, it’s a punishment, Jeon. I know you like it but–”

“No I fucking don’t.”

“You want a dildo so fucking bad, huh?” 

Fuck… now I’ve done it. Jungkook thinks as he hears the annoyance in your voice. He not only hears, but feels the vibrations on the ground as you walk around the desk again in your heavy boots. He doesn’t dare move an inch but it’s too late–you grab a dildo from the bottom drawer, one with a suction cup at the end, and wave it in his face.

“This what you want, princess?” You place it onto your desk, with force hard enough to make the suction cup grip the surface, right in front of his face. “Stop talking and put your lips to good use.”

This is so humiliating, but Jungkook doesn’t back down–not to you, not to anyone. He’ll suck this stupid plastic cock if that’s what you want. Hell, he’ll do it like he’s enjoying it, because some part of him wants to earn your respect, your praise. He doesn’t understand at all what it is that is going through your head but knowing that you’ll reward him at the end–because you always do–pushes him to take whatever you give him.

He hears a pleasant, satisfied hum from you when he wraps his lips around the plastic toy. “Be a good boy and I’ll reward you,” you remind him in a voice that’s sickeningly sweet. But he doesn’t need to hear it, he’s spent so many strange nights just like these in your office that he already knows what’s to come. 

When he feels the end of the baton, cold metal against the heat of his flesh, he flinches. There’s another sound–more lube–and then the feeling of you pushing it against his entrance. You hear him groaning against the toy in his mouth, and reach out to shove the back of his head down onto it with your palm. He sputters, drool dripping down his chin and coating the toy, as the toy fills the cavern of his mouth and hits the back of his throat. You wish in your position you could see his face, but that’s okay–you’ll see it later, surely.

You can hear Jungkook’s muffled cry as the blunt end of your weapon makes it past his tight rim. His legs quiver and his back arches–you can’t help but tease him. “What a whore,” you tell him, pushing the rod even more into him. “You like being treated like this, like a set of holes, huh?”

Jungkook grunts, his knuckles on the edge of the table turning white as he grips on tight to it. He feels like a whore, letting you emasculate him like this. But, with one hand on the rod and the other hand jerking his cock again, he’s back to feeling pleasure under your touch.

“See? You like it–you slut.” You punctuate the words by driving the rod deeper into his ass and he feels tears begin to coat his lashes. His pleas, muffled by the plastic cock in his mouth, don’t reach your ears. You realize you miss Jungkook’s vocalizations but the sight of him sucking the toy is hot enough to keep him where he is. “Your cock’s so wet… gonna cum like this, Jeon?”

“Mmph.” he hates that the answer to your question is yes, yes he might actually just cum with your hand stroking him and gripping his shaft so tight. You twist the baton in his ass and he reels as it presses against his prostate, shooting pleasure up his spine like lightning. 

“C’mon, pretty boy, cum for me, won’t you?” You coo, your hand moving faster and faster up and down his length. You feel his body tense up as muffled moans hit your ears. And then it happens–he lifts off the toy, drool coating his face as he groans out a low “fucking shit”, his breath ragged as his cum sputters out his length and coats your fingers, your desk, and drips down his skin. His chest, still in pain, heaves as you pull out the rod from his ass and toss it to the floor.

“Up,” you instruct him, wiping your soiled fingers on his shirt like it’s a rag. He turns around with your help (because his ankles are bound, making for an awkward shuffle of his feet). He looks down at you with eyes that are glazed over with tears, pupils dazed and unfocused. The blood from his nose has dried, but his face is damp, caked with tears and drool. The corner of your lips turns up at the sight. “You look so fucked out.”

You reach a thumb to wipe at the wetness on his face but he brings a hand up to push your fingers away. “You’re a crazy bitch.”

“Part of the job description, sweetheart.”

He chuckles weakly, incredulous at how you always manage to outsmart him. And he easily complies, limp like a fucking ragdoll, when you push him back against your desk. His ass hurts, his chest hurts, everything fucking hurts. But still he lets you use him, his heart fluttering in his chest like a fucking simp when you ball his orange shirt in your fist and pull him down for a kiss. It’s so wet, his mouth coated in his spit, but you love it messy. Your tongue delves into his mouth for a taste and he smirks when he feels you hum against his lips. You put on a front but the second your lips are on him he knows you’re just as affected as he is.

His hands come to your hips as you kiss him, and he dares to slip a hand below the waistband of your pants. He’s been a good boy, and so you let him–his fingers snaking in your pants until they find your puffy cunt, clothed by a set of lace panties. There’s no mistaking it–his fingers are drenched even through the cloth.

He pulls away from the kiss just enough to tease you. “You’re fucking soaked.”

“Gonna do something about it?” You ask him, biting back a whine that wants to leave your throat when his middle finger rubs your clit over your panties.

He might still be totally fucked out, his eyes hazy and his mind riddled with endorphins, but he still has enough of a bite in him to say, “Come sit on my cock and find out.”

“You’ve got balls on you, Jeon,” you titter as you bring your hands down to pull down your pants, and your panties along with them. 

“Barely–you squeezed the shit out of them earlier, you asshole,” he smiles like that didn’t hurt to all fucking hell, his lips stained red with either your lipstick or his blood–maybe both. 

“You deserved it,” you tell him as you push on his chest, steering him in the opposite direction to sit back down on the chair in front of your desk. He winces in pain, gritting his teeth. “Sit back.” He trips over his bound ankles but sits down, bare ass to the chair, as you tell him to. He’s looking at you with a gaze that says he has allowed you to boss him around, and not that you actually are bossing him around, his tongue poking from between his teeth like there’s a joke that only he’s in on.

“What’s so funny?” You ask him as you step out of your pants.

“Nothing,” he says, yet he says it like it’s something. You want to wipe the smirk off his face but opt to sit on his lap. He’ll be putty under you soon enough. 

“You talk a lot for someone who just had a stick up his ass.”

“Very funny,” he says, his hands coming to your waist as you crawl onto his lap. His pants are down to his ankles and his cock’s already out, still wet and sensitive from just having cum. You place one hand on his shoulder and the other takes his length into your palm, aligning it with your entrance as you sink down on him. And for the first time that night you let a moan slip, a crack in your facade, as he fills you up with his impressive size. That is the reason Jungkook chuckles. You’re so fucking predictable–every night you treat him like a playtoy, only to find your own pleasure in the end. But fuck it, your voice sounds fucking sexy and your pussy feels like heaven and that makes it worth the shit you do to him.

“Fuck,” he mutters, his hands gripping your bare ass as your own hands clamp down on his shoulders. He feels overstimulated, his body’s fucking sore, and your pussy, it’s… “so fucking tight.”

Jungkook leans back in his chair, attempting to widen the stance of his legs, but with the ankle cuffs it’s no use. You use his shoulders to steady yourself as you lift up your hips and slam them back down, feeling practically every vein of his dick throbbing inside you. You bite down on your lips, hard, muffling the sob that’s stuck in your throat. It feels so good–his cock always does–but you hate it when that smug face he makes is validated by your pathetic whimpers.

“Don’t do that.” He reaches up his thumb to pull your lip from between your teeth, and as you bounce up and down again, a moan leaves your lips unfiltered. “Sounds sexy–you’re desperate for my cock too, aren’t you, miss lee?”

You let go of his shoulder with your right hand, only to grab a fistful of his hair and tug it back, until his eyes are up at the ceiling. You were hoping it would shut him up but, the madman, he laughs. He laughs as you start to gain a rhythm on his lap, like he’s heard the funniest story and you’re the storyteller. You’re riding him, clamping down on him as you chase your own high without a care for him. He’s groaning with how sensitive he is but he wants to cum again–to fill you up with him.

“Fuck me, faster,” he practically growls, his nails digging into your ass. “Faster, I know you can.”

“Ah–” you gasp as his hands begin to help you, pulling you up and pushing you down onto his cock at a faster pace. You dig your fingers harder into his shoulders, your hand tugging harder on his hair, but he’s already immune to the pain you give him, drowning in rapture, the warmth of your heat making his cock fucking weep. The sounds are so loud and obscene in your office, the squelching, the way you gasp and your stern voice turns dulcet with your moans, the way he grunts and grinds his teeth with the pain of you pulling his strands. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” the words slip past your lips with every one of your movements. “Gonna cum.”

“God–” Jungkook squeezes his eyes shut, his lips parting in a silent scream as you squeeze him so tight when you cum, milking his cock with every wave of your orgasm. He keeps bouncing you on his lap, slowing down his movements when he throbs as he coats your insides white with his cum. For just a moment the office is still, just the sounds of your breaths and Jungkook’s chest heaving, feeling pain with every breath. You’re both slick with sweat under your clothes, Jungkook’s cum dripping down as you peel yourself off his lap.

“It’s been way more than 15 minutes,” you finally say, bending down to pick up your clothes from the ground. Jungkook doesn’t move a muscle, even with his pants down to his ankles–he just watches with keen interest as you bend over and put on your panties, his cum trickling down your thighs from your pretty cunt.

“Wait,” he says, just before you pull up your lace undies all the way.

“What?”

“Come here,” he gestures to you with a nod of his head. You come closer and when you’re within reach, he quickly spins you around and pulls you by the hips, until your ass is right by his face. “Can’t have you working when you’re all messy like that.”

“What are you–Jungkook!” For once he has you flustered as you feel his tongue lick a stripe up your dripping cunt. He holds you still as his tongue flicks over your clit, before lapping up the essence that coats your thighs and seeps from where he’d just been inside. He moans like he’s enjoying a fucking feast, because hell, your pussy tastes divine even if it’s got a bit of salt and bitterness from his cum. This is the reward he really wants, drinking down what you give him like it’s the best thing he’s tasted in years.

Just as he begins to suck on your clit, an alarm goes off overhead–the bell that signals the end of the prisoners’ free time, now time for them to head to their respective quarters for the night.

But you’re so close to another orgasm, and you sigh in frustration.

Jungkook snickers when he hears your annoyed whine. For such a dominating woman you could be a brat sometimes.

“Haven’t had enough of me yet?” He asks with a smirk. You push him away and quickly get dressed, while he sits there and watches.

“Shut up,” you mutter. “Put your pants on.”

He first bends down, to pick up the fabric of his bottoms from his ankles to over his knees. Then, he leans back in the chair, lifting his hips, and pulls up his pants the rest of the way. As he watches you straighten up your uniform, he asks, “Am I free to go?”

You hook one of your hands under his elbow, pulling him up so he can stand tall on his two feet. Then you bend to the ground to grab his handcuffs that you had tossed aside earlier.

“So what exactly did Donghyun say to make you bust his jaw like that?” You muse as Jungkook silently turns around and allows you to cuff him up.

He parts his lips, as if to speak, but before any words can be spoken there’s a knock at the door.

“Is Jeon in there?” Bellows a deep voice from the other side of the door–Officer Lim, you realize.

“Yeah,” you call out towards the door. You pat down your hair and hope it doesn’t look too disheveled. “Come in.”

Lim then comes in to take Jungkook away, back to his cell. Never questions why Jungkook spends so much time in the your office–frankly, he doesn’t give a shit. 

“Jeon?” You ask him expectantly, quirking your eyebrows in hopes that he answers your previous question.

He simply shrugs and replies, with a knowing glint in his eye, “Guess it’ll have to wait for our next 15 minutes together to find out, officer.”

[ask-order-subspace]

(The shark stopped its charging to try to bite at Cacao, but it no use. It ended up getting scratched up, taking an explosion AND getting hit and mildly electrocuted by an unknown 3rd party… well- whould have been 3rd party-)

(as he was checking up with Cacao… the intercoms flickered to life. Grabbing his attention to quickly look around.. there wasn’t much shadow to beat up.. however the ink seems to be “shadowy” enough to work just as well. The thing tries to bite at the “Invisable” assailant… make that.. a 4th party.)

(And then, a blur of bright blue whizzed by- firing shots into the shark. Before Subspace even knew what was going on, the lights flicker a bit before glowing a bright blue. The lights gave a sound of being overloaded before blowing out completely, leaving only the glows of those in the area visible he ducked instantly in response to the lights going kaput… a 5th party?? Well now… along with the lights, the Intercom also shorts out. Leaving the group in silence of the shit they just pulled off)

(The beast thrashed about some more in pain, struggling to stay online. Once he got over the shock of the hell that hath been unleashed one right after the other, Subspace pulls out another crystal. Using his right-click attack rather then his usual trip mine throw, causing another explosion of poison)

(the shark continues to thrash, But then it slows into a twitch before it stop moving completely. The ink around its “skeleton” melts away, leaving the “bones” behind with its glow dying off after the ink. The skull’s visor seemed to already have a crack in it…)

…….

…. what… the hell… was that?... (Good question!)

2/14 phighters.

0/7 deities.

ACHIVEMENTS UNLOCKED:

1 DOWN, MORE TO GO: Defeat your first Inkbeast

WE ARE GOING TO NEED A BIGGER BOAT: Defeat the laser gun predator

[valiantstarlights]

[Personal Trainer!Dream AU] Chapter 2: (Much Ado About) Gym Clothes

Chapter 1: First Meeting

This is still for @sadrumihours , who shared Tom Sturridge's highly educational 😏 training videos (part one & part two), as well as everyone who yelled in the comments and reblog tags. I see you all and I love each and every one of you. 🖤

Disclaimer: These are once again just vibes because I still don't know a single thing about gym stuff. Will someone please tell me what the equipment Tom is using called? Because I'm still calling it stretchy jump rope machine in my head. 😭

CW (and summary): Dream being his usual thirsty-for-Hob self, Hob being insecure about his body, and Johanna trying to be a supportive sister to Hob. (Keyword being: 'trying.') This chapter contains spicy spice! Enjoy? 😏

Mojo Jojo

Jo, what do I wear to the gym???

uh, gym clothes?

(You sent a photo.)

Is this okay??

i guess?

why are you being weird?

you're just going to the gym, not going on a date

WAIT, ARE YOU???

HOBERT

answer me or i'm gonna come over and steal all your teeth

I bought pizza since I know you're coming over from your shoot anyway

fine

you can keep both your secrets and your teeth for one more day

--

"That's it, Professor," Mr. Endless--Dream, says next to his ear, low and inviting. His hands are cool as they caress Hob's overheated and very sensitive inner thighs, and his eyes, so dark and so close to Hob's own, are laser-focused on his panting, straining face. "One more. Just one more for me."

Hob's cheeks are already streaked with tears. How many hours has it been? How much more until they're done? Until he's told that he's been good? "Mr. Endless, please--"

Dream has moved to inspect his position. He adjusts Hob's legs so they spread even wider. The change in angle makes him sob, but Dream shushes him and he leans all the way down to lick at his rim.

Hob wails, body jolting against the restraints. His muscles are already so sore, but he wants to be good.

"You can do it, Professor," Dream says, lightly tapping at his taint to encourage his muscles to clench. "This is the last one."

Hob cries and wiggles, breathes slowly and purposefully like how he has been taught, and forcibly relaxes his muscles one by one, until finally, finally, he manages to push out the last large anal egg from his body with a soft moan.

It plops wetly onto Dream's waiting hand, and the man hums approvingly as Hob's hole gapes for a second before winking closed again.

"Very good," Dream purrs against his rim and dips his tongue into Hob's loosened hole. Hob keens and thrashes against his bonds again. It was so humiliating, but he loves every second of it. He can feel his body slowly becoming stronger, and he owes it all to Dream.

"You see what you can do?" Dream asks, now inserting his long, clever fingers inside him. "What your body can achieve with my guidance?" He moves his fingers in and out slowly, the squelch of the remaining lube loud in the room. "I'm so proud of you, Professor. Only a few sessions in and you're already my beautiful, obedient little slut." He emphasizes his words by drilling his fingers unerringly against Hob's prostate. Hob cries and bucks up, helpless and overwhelmed, unable to do anything else with how good he had been tied up.

"Please, Mr. Endless--"

"Mr. Endless?" Dream repeats. "You have to be specific, Professor Gadling. Are you calling for my brother?"

Hob shakes his head wildly. "No. No, please. I mean you. Just you, sir, no one else. You know that."

Dream rewards him with a soft kiss against the head of his cock. "And what's my name, Professor?" he asks. "What's the name that you'll be screaming in ecstasy for the rest of your life?"

"D-Dream," Hob gasps. "Dream--"

"Good boy," Dream says, and returns to his hole to suck hickeys around the rim. Hob hopes he bruises well. He hopes he'll feel all the love bites Dream gives him every time he sits down. "Shall I give you your reward now?"

Hob remembers last time, when his reward was Dream spanking his hole directly until it was red and puffy, and then fucking him that way, all the while praising him for being so virgin tight.

"Yes, please," Hob says, voice cracking a little. He wants to move. He wants to wrap his arms around Dream and kiss him softly while they fuck. He wants to be called sweet and good and mine.

But in the end, Dream is still his trainer, and he knows Hob's body best. He knows Hob's body better than Hob himself, now. And if he tells Hob he has to wear a vibrating plug while he uses the stationary bike, then he will.

He'll cry and stumble and cum in his underwear countless times, and Dream will coo and kiss his tears away, but he'll do it. Has done it. It had increased his stamina exponentially.

"Very well," Dream says. He leans over Hob so they could share a kiss while he lines his cock up against Hob's waiting hole. "You have been so good for me today, and I think that means you deserve a treat, yes?"

Hob nods, biting his lip at the incredible pressure as the head of Dream's large cock pushes against his rim--

--

Hob's alarm blares at max volume, and he jolts awake, blindly reaching for his phone to turn it off.

It takes him a few seconds, and once that's done, he's awake enough to notice the sticky feeling in his underwear. He moves the covers aside and peeks inside his boxers.

...Great. Not only did he have an incredibly realistic wet dream (ha) starring his personal trainer, but he's also currently sporting a semi.

Thank goodness he set his alarm hours before he has to go to the gym. He still has time to do some...preliminary stretching.

He blushes as he grabs his favorite dildo, which he had placed conveniently beside his pillow last night, as well as the bottle of lube beside it.

He's already ashamed of himself for thinking about Mr. Endless in such a manner, but try as he might, he can't conjure up the image of another person. Not since he met him.

Oh, he tried thinking about previous people he had a crush on, real and fictional, as well as local and international celebrities: actors and idols and athletes--to no avail. They always turn into Dream Endless in the end, looking down at him as they fuck in a variety of positions, usually missionary because Hob is a dumb romantic at heart, his gorgeous blue eyes loving and captivated, his lips forming 'Professor Gadling' or 'Hob' over and over again, his voice soft with awe and reverence.

It never fails to bring Hob to completion faster than he ever had before, when he had yet to be blessed about the knowledge of Dream Endless's existence. It was mortifying. His imagined scenarios always leave him whining and pressing his face against his pillow so he doesn't scream Mr. Endless's name out loud for the entire neighborhood to hear.

He knows it's pathetic, because it's not like Mr. Endless is going to look at him that way in real life. But if he's sad about it, crying a little like a lovesick fool after he cums, then that's his business and no one ever needs to know.

--

Boss Dream's newest trainee walks in the gym dressed in a thick hoodie and joggers, and Matthew starts sweating bullets just by looking at him. Is he going snowboarding with Boss Dream or something?

Nope. None of his business. Better just focus on getting the damn blender working.

--

"Good morning, Mr. Endless!" Professor Gadling says cheerfully as he rounds the corner to where Dream is waiting. "I hope it's alright that I'm a bit early today. I had to make up for last time."

He's an entire 15 minutes early, but Dream won't say no to spending more time with him. He had been reviewing today's agenda, but had turned around as soon as he heard Professor Gadling's voice. And he was just about to greet him back, when his eyes lift from the clipboard he's holding, and the smile falters in his face as he takes in what the man is wearing.

Dream had indicated in his email that they were going to do some mandatory stretches, and after that proceed to doing a full-body pre-test workout that would measure the professor's strength, endurance level, general dexterity, etc. It was important that they do this on the first session so that Dream could come up with a program specifically tailored for him and his end goal.

It was his mistake in assuming that Professor Gadling would do the sensible thing and wear something light. Not winter clothes in the middle of summer.

"Good morning, Professor Gadling," he says, as neutrally as he can manage. "You are dressed quite warmly."

Professor Gadling grimaces. "Oh. Well um, I'm afraid I don't really have gym clothes, and I haven't had the chance to buy some yet since, you know, school. And everything else I own are dress shirts and slacks and lounge wear. But don't worry! I'll go shopping this weekend." He pauses and smiles bashfully. It was just as devastating as Dream remembered. "Sorry. I'm talking too much again."

Meanwhile, Dream's mind had latched on to the words 'lounge wear,' and he imagines Professor Gadling casually walking around his house in nothing but short pajama bottoms.

"I see," he says, glad that he took the time this morning to get himself off so he won't be as tempted to push Professor Gadling against the nearest surface and really give him a full body workout. "Then please, if at any point you wish to take off a layer, feel free to do so."

"Oh, no," Professor Gadling says, still cheerfully. "I'm fine like this. Shall we begin?"

There's still a few minutes before they officially have to start, but Professor Gadling seems to want to begin immediately, so Dream nods and instructs him to stand with his feet shoulder width apart, and gets him to start stretching his upper body.

Professor Gadling obeys, following Dream's example as he demonstrates the set, counting to eight, then back to one again under his breath, before doing the next set without complaint.

Dream watches him closely, because he has to. It's why he notices that the professor's thick hoodie barely shifts, even as the man raises his hands upwards towards the ceiling and counts to 16.

A dark thought crosses Dream's mind then, that perhaps the reason Professor Gadling is wearing clothes that cover his entire body is because he's currently covered in love bites.

Dream clenches his teeth but breathes through it. He knows he's being possessive when he has no right to be, and that Professor Gadling has every right to sleep with whoever he wants.

But knowing these facts and acknowledging them to be logical and true does not stop Dream from hating whoever it was that is currently enjoying Professor Gadling's gorgeous body in bed, perhaps repeatedly throughout the night.

He wants to be that person. He will be that person. He is already fated to be that person.

If his brother Destiny is right about one thing, Dream fucking hopes that it's the power of manifestation, because he doesn't think he would just allow Professor Gadling to end up with someone else without challenging that person to a fight.

--

Mr. Endless is wearing a tight, sleeveless black shirt and slightly baggy joggers, and Hob is losing his mind. Has lost his mind as soon as he spotted the man a couple of minutes ago, standing by the large glass windows and reading something on his clipboard.

The sight of his toned arms are bad for Hob's concentration. And it's even worse when he circles Hob like a very observant vulture to check his position (just like in his dream) and bids him to raise his arms higher, or at one point, bend a little more to the right.

Hob can't bend as much as he used to in his twenties, but he is very determined to be super flexible at the end of this.

For health reasons, of course.

Mr. Endless demonstrates another pose to stretch the arm muscles, and in doing so calls Hob's attention to how his muscles bunch and flex. Hob is sure that they're far stronger than they look, and he has no doubt that Mr. Endless can carry heavy grocery bags without breaking a sweat.

Hob gets so far as picturing Mr. Endless's hands squeezing his thighs before he immediately shuts the thought down.

No. Absolutely not. And his previous thought about being flexible, too. Mr. Endless would be horrified, if not outright disgusted if he finds out that Hob is thinking about him in that manner.

--

Professor Gadling continues to obediently follow his orders, getting on the treadmill, walking, jogging, then running, complying as soon as Dream warns him about changing the treadmill's speed, and he does so without a single word of complaint.

Dream could not help but compare him to his past trainees, all of whom had complained on their first session about wanting to go straight to the workouts that would help them achieve their ideal body shape. But not Professor Gadling. He would listen and watch Dream's demonstration well, then immediately obey his orders or mimick his movements. Dream has to bite his tongue multiple times so he wouldn't slip up and say, 'good boy.'

Or worse, 'my good boy.'

Death is going to have Destruction break his spine if, out of all siblings, a sexual harassment complaint would be filed against him and not, say, Desire, who regularly flirts with their own trainees.

Cardio pre-test finished, Dream leads Professor Gadling to the weightlifting area, and once there, bids him to take 2 dumbbells that weighs 1 kilogram each, and do 16 squats while holding the weights.

While Professor Gadling gets the appropriate equipment from the rack, Dream lets his mind wander. Would Professor Gadling be obedient in bed, too? Or would he be a brat? Will Dream have to tame him, or is he already sweet and docile?

Dream imagines that the latter to be more likely, though he wouldn't mind if his lovely professor turns out to be an incorrigible brat in bed. He'll just have to spank him until he's pliant and good enough to deserve his treats.

Fuck. He's teaching. He should be more professional than this.

"Like this, Mr. Endless?"

Dream snaps from his ill-timed daydreams to scrutinize Professor Gadling's form, only to then hold back a lustful groan.

The man is squatting alright, but he's doing so improperly. His heels should be flat against the floor, but instead his thighs and calves are touching, and he's so low that he's almost kneeling on the floor.

Dream has an errant thought that Professor Gadling is being seductive on purpose, except one look at his genuinely unsure expression proves Dream wrong.

Definitely sweet and docile in bed.

Dream wants to eat him alive.

Were this a porno, Dream would tell him that he's doing a terrific job, and if he could please thrust his chest out more so Dream could admire them better. But since he's an actual trainer with the thinnest veneer of professionalism left, he bids Professor Gadling to stand up and instructs him on how to squat properly.

Except, of course, his improved and now very proper form isn't making Dream feel any better, as Professor Gadling now had his ass thrust out instead of his chest, and has to repeat the motion 15 more times.

Dream gets his bottle of vitamin water and drinks deeply, hoping to cool himself down enough to banish his lecherous thoughts.

It doesn't work.

--

Hob sees from the corner of his eye Mr. Endless drink from his water bottle and immediately looks away. He's glad he's already red from exercising.

When Mr. Endless corrected his squat earlier, he did so by placing a hand gently against Hob's lower back to guide him, and Hob barely bit back a moan from how good a simple, innocent touch from him felt, even through his thick hoodie.

He feels like such a shameless pervert.

--

Once the assessment is (finally) over, Dream praises Professor Gadling for a job well done, valiantly ignores the shy, pleased look on the man's face, and instead goes on to tell him that he's doing okay overall, but needs more work in certain areas.

Dream does not specify which ones, telling him that he still needs to study the data and compile them together before emailing the whole thing to him.

In truth, Dream does not trust himself to look straight into Professor Gadling's lovely dark brown eyes and say words like 'stamina' and 'flexibility' without exposing the level of hunger he's currently feeling for him.

So yes. Dream will email him his pre-test results later, but he does not tell him that he will only do so after a good long wank.

Professor Gadling, totally unaware of his inner turmoil, only nods understandably, and agrees to read Dream's email as soon as his schedule allows him to. He must be sweating like crazy underneath his get-up, but his choice of clothes show no evidence of it.

Dream worries, and his mouth opens before he can stop it. "Professor Gadling," he says, just as the man had turned away to go to the nearby drinking fountains.

"Yes, Mr. Endless?"

Dream doesn't want to keep him any longer from the fountains than he has to. But next time, he's going to make sure to bring an extra bottle of vitamin water for him, so he could take a sip anytime without going all the way across the room and falling in line.

Dream is also going to be mature about not staring at his throat while he drinks. "When you go shopping for gym clothes, you may want to consider buying lighter fabrics."

"Oh, no, I'm absolutely fine with these," Professor Gadling says, and sounds sincere about it that Dream drops the subject.

"Very well," he says. He will not force him. Professor Gadling's comfort is paramount. If that means that Dream would have to adjust their lesson plans to include more water breaks, then that's what he'll do. "I shall see you next session."

He turns away before he could be tempted to watch Professor Gadling go. He does not think about the possibility that the hoodie might actually belong to Professor Gadling's boyfriend, who is probably waiting for him to get back home, and very eager to get him back in bed.

He has no right to be jealous.

--

Hob opens his gym bag and starts to take out his clean change of clothes when the texture of the shirt made him pause.

That's not the shirt he folded last night.

He takes the folded black shirt out, wonders at its suddenly lighter weight, then shakes it open to see if he had mistakenly folded another shirt.

As soon as the garment is revealed, however, he shoves it back in his bag, then shakes the accompanying bottom garment open. When that was revealed, he also shoves it back in the bag.

Then, slowly and mindfully, he breathes for a solid minute before he takes out his phone and texts his sister.

--

Mojo Jojo

Jo what the hell

what

(You sent a photo.)

Why are your gym clothes in my bag???

they're not mine stupid

i had ric buy them yesterday specifically for you

?????

for your ~mysterious~ gym crush to notice you (u///u)❤️

anyway don't worry and just wear them

they'll fit you

That's not the point!

A crop top and booty shorts???

you're right. the booty shorts are fine, but the crop top is too plain.

i should have told ric to pick the other one that says 'daddy's little fuck toy' 😂

JOHANNA CONSTANTINE-GADLING

pfft coward

i'm gonna tell ric to go back to the store and buy the fuck toy crop top

oops the director is shouting at me to get in place bye gtg

--

Hob is typing another scathing reply in all caps when he hears footsteps stop a short distance from him.

"Professor Gadling?"

Great. The last person in the world he wanted to see right at this very moment.

Hob smiles awkwardly and stows his phone back in his bag. "Mr. Endless."

"Is everything alright?"

Right. Shit. He hasn't even showered yet. He's probably stinking up the place and being a nuisance near the lockers.

"Everything's fine," Hob says, waving the man's concern away. "Just. Sisters being sisters. With their weird and very inappropriate sense of humor."

Someday, he'll learn how to shut his big mouth and stop at 'everything's fine.'

"I'm sure all sisters suffer from having a weird sense of humor," Mr. Endless says politely. "May I ask what your sister has done?"

Hob sighs deeply and zips his bag closed. It's fine. He'll just go shower at home. And anyway, it's not like he has to take the Tube and subject everyone to his sweaty self after a workout. Thank god he drove here. "Better not. If even I, as her brother, didn't find it funny, I very much doubt that you will."

"And yet you remain troubled," Mr. Endless says, and now his brows are furrowed in concern. "Please. I know this is not any of my business, but I would like to help you, if I can."

The fact that Mr. Endless looks very sincere makes Hob want to cry.

And he knows he shouldn't show him. He knows that Mr. Endless should be the last person in the world Hob should show these to. But he figures, what the hell. He could just quit via email as soon as he gets home and never have cause to see Mr. Endless or be seen in the vicinity of Endless Gym ever again.

Maybe it would even be for the best if he did that. Then he would stop having all these unsavory thoughts about him while the man is only trying to do his job.

He sighs and opens his bag once more, tilting it a little so Mr. Endless could see its contents. "My sister swapped my clean change of clothes for these."

Mr. Endless looks inside, and Hob can just see in his mind's eye what the other man saw: an extremely short, short-sleeved, solid black crop top with a deep V-neck that would barely cover Hob's chest area, and slutty black booty shorts with the phrase, 'SQUEEZE ME' printed on the butt area, complete with a cute yellow lemon emoji.

Although to be fair, 'crop top' is a generous term to use for the upper garment in the bag. It's too small and resembles a short-sleeved bra more than a crop top. From a single glance, Hob knows that even if it did fit him, it would be so tight that it would force his pecs to form a cleavage and leave his underboobs exposed.

He cringed internally at the image that would make, and could only imagine the utter revulsion Mr. Endless is feeling right now.

--

Dream had leaned over to inspect the contents of Professor Gadling's bag, expecting everything from a shark onesie to a clown suit.

Instead he sees further fuel for his already full folder of Professor Gadling-centric fantasies.

He could just imagine the crop top and the booty shorts on the man, and how he'd look like exercising while wearing them.

He had half a mind to ask for his sister's number so he could personally extend his gratitude to her, but doesn't dare to, in case Professor Gadling gets the wrong idea.

He inhales slowly and leans away, placing his hands neatly behind his back so Professor Gadling would not be in danger of being pushed against the lockers and fucked within an inch of his life. Dream did not fail to notice the distinct lack of underwear among the clean change of clothes, and now his mind is working overtime imagining himself standing behind Professor Gadling as he runs on the treadmill, the tiny shorts and the lack of proper underwear leaving nothing to the imagination. Imagines pressing himself against the professor's sweaty back after, the man still panting and out of breath, and pulling down his cute little shorts to jerk him off as a reward for a job well done.

"I see your dilemma," Dream says calmly, like this is an incident that happens every so often and not a cause for alarm or humiliation. "Fortunately, we have a stock of clean clothes in the staff locker room, in case staff members need to change for some reason or another. If you could please stay here for a while, I'm going to get you a clean change of clothes with more coverage."

Yes. It is imperative that he provides Professor Gadling with more conservative clothing than the ones currently in his bag. Otherwise, other people would see and covet what Dream has already envisioned as his. And that will definitely not do.

"Oh," Professor Gadling says, looking incredibly moved by his words. He's probably thinking how kind Dream is, while Dream is still thinking about how easy it would be to fuck his thighs after jerking him off, using the man's own cum as lube. How he would then make an even bigger mess of him and not clean him up after. That way, everyone would know that Professor Gadling is Dream's and Dream's only. "Are you sure? I don't want to trouble you unnecessarily."

"It's no problem at all," Dream says. In his mind, he imagines the man's thighs covered in both their cum, and Professor Gadling scooping some of it up and sucking on his fingers, curious as to what their mixed spend would taste like. "I have also been at the receiving end of a couple of my siblings' pranks, and would not wish another to suffer similarly." When Professor Gadling opened his mouth, possibly to protest, Dream holds up a hand and adds, "Please. I insist."

"Oh. Well then...thank you, Mr. Endless," Professor Gadling says, his dark brown eyes sparkling like precious gems in his gratefulness. Dream wants to kiss him all over. "You're a lifesaver."

--

Dream speedwalks to the staff locker room, checks to see if the coast is clear, immediately locks himself in a stall, drops his joggers and underwear, and starts jerking himself off furiously.

He barely even had to spit on his palm for lubrication, and he knows it wouldn't take long. He's already so aroused.

He has to do this.

If he doesn't, then Professor Gadling would be in an even greater danger when Dream hands him his clean (and much more conservative) change of clothes, and gets to be on the receiving end of his shy gratitude.

He imagines Professor Gadling, usually so buttoned up, only wearing that infernal crop top and booty shorts in Dream's favorite color, with those taunting fucking words--

"There's a good boy," his imagined self says to a kneeling Professor Gadling, who is pressing his tits closer together to create a valley where Dream could rut his cock against.

"I could...squeeze them even tighter, if you want?" his imagined Professor Gadling says, maintaining his naive, unsure aura about him even as his lips are slick and red from sucking on Dream's cock. "I want you to feel good, Mr. Endless."

Dream cums at the thought of marking Professor Gadling's face and hairy tits with his seed, and him shyly licking his lips for a taste of Dream's cum, moaning in delight when he finds Dream's spend to be thick and delicious. Dream is going to eat more pineapples, just for him. He's going to make Professor Gadling addicted to the taste of his cum that no other cum would do.

"Thank you for lending me your clothes, Mr. Endless," he would say, because he's polite like that. He would lean forward to milk Dream's cock more, making sure to get every last drop, before making a show of swallowing everything down, save for the cum marking him as Dream's. "And for the really tasty post-workout treat."

--

Mr. Endless looks a little flushed when he returns. However, judging by how far the staff locker room is from the gym goer's lockers that was out in the open (possibly to prevent theft and sexual harassment), as well as any additional effort he may have made in finding clean clothes that are in Hob's size, Hob thinks he got back pretty quickly.

The sight of him slightly flushed makes Hob think naughty thoughts though, which he quickly dispels from his mind. He doesn't have the right to think about Mr. Endless like that, especially after the man went through all this trouble just so Hob would feel comfortable going home.

Still. He wonders what would have happened if he had both the courage and the confidence to wear the clothes Jo bought for him.

Would Mr. Endless...

He viciously cuts the thought off before it could fully form. No. Absolutely not.

Mr. Endless would have felt nauseous at seeing his rolls and body hair and just...general unattractiveness. Hob wouldn't need to email him about quitting because the man himself would drop him as soon as he could, like a hot (temperature-wise) and very unappealing potato.

--

"Here," Dream says as he hands Professor Gadling a set of clean clothes. In the bundle is a black shirt, a black letterman jacket with the number 03 on it, and black joggers. All of them belong to Dream, and everyone, especially his siblings and the rest of the staff, is going to know that these are his clothes as soon as they see the number 03. "You will have to go commando, but it's definitely preferable to what your sister intended for you to wear."

Professor Gadling looks so grateful and Dream wants to mark him up, this time with his own teeth. Let everyone see Professor Gadling wearing his clothes and his teeth marks, even his boyfriend who lent him this hoodie, whoever he is. "Thank you so much," he says. "And yes. Lord knows I shouldn't subject anyone to the sight of me in that. I'll drive all the gym goers away and then Endless Gym would have to close."

Dream really, absolutely hates how Professor Gadling thinks of himself as unattractive. Is it because his boyfriend tells him that? Is that why Professor Gadling signed up for training in the first place?

Well, whoever he is, he better be prepared because Dream is ready and raring to beat him into a pulp the moment Professor Gadling even implies that his lack of self-esteem is caused by his boyfriend spouting lies about his beautiful body.

Were Dream allowed to freely speak his mind, he would say that if Professor Gadling did don the clothes his sister intended for him to wear, he would no doubt cause multiple accidents due to gym goers losing their concentration: dropping weights on their feet and tripping on the treadmills, not to mention the injuries he would cause in the future, when Dream would casually arrange little minor accidents to those he caught drooling at his lovely future boyfriend.

But because he is still Professor Gadling's trainer and therefore need to have some semblance of control and professionalism, what he says instead is, "I don't think such a thing will happen. And please, feel free to keep those clothes if you wish."

"Oh!" Professor Gadling exclaims. "I absolutely shouldn't. I'll wash them after and return them to you on our next session."

Dream smiles. He's very stubborn, too. "If you do that, I will simply put them in your locker so you will have an extra set of clothes if your sister decides to swap your clean set again."

--

Hob blushes as soon as Mr. Endless hands him the bundle of clothing, and feels even more flustered when, after showering, he holds them in his arms and smells a hint of Mr. Endless's own scent on them.

He really is so kind and generous and considerate and Hob is so very quickly falling in love with him.

--

Hob is walking past the gym's cafe after getting dressed when he sees Mr. Endless ordering what looks like a pineapple smoothie. He walks over and nods politely to both the staff member behind the counter and Mr. Endless when both men turn to look at him.

The male staff member quickly walks towards the blender to fulfill Mr. Endless's order, however, and so the two of them are left alone to converse freely.

"Thank you for lending me your clothes, Mr. Endless," Hob tells him, all-smiles. The clothes fit him perfectly, and the fabric feels good on his skin.

There is an undecipherable look in Mr. Endless's eyes. Hob hopes he's not mad. He looks really intense. "I see they fit you well."

Hob laughs. "I was surprised, too! Thank you very much for finding ones that are in my size. This jacket is especially lovely." He rubs his hand over the fabric of the jacket's sleeve, which really does have a nice texture to it.

"I'm glad you like it," Mr. Endless says. "And I hope that this means you are considering keeping it?"

Hob ducks his head to hide his embarrassing lovesick smile. He'd love to, actually. He'll take it off as soon as he gets home and press his face against it, hoping to smell what little remains of Mr. Endless's scent, and how their scents mix together. "Maybe."

"Then it is yours," Mr. Endless says. It might be Hob's delusional imagination, but Mr. Endless looks fond as he looks at him. His heart is beating so fast. If he doesn't leave soon, he may just do the unthinkable and kiss Mr. Endless in front of the poor staff member behind the bar, as well as a couple of random gym goers peacefully eating their salads in the background.

--

"Oh," Professor Gadling says softly. "Really? You mean that?"

Dream wasn't wrong in his assumption. The man does look good wearing his clothes. And for him to go out of his way just to show Dream how well they fit before he leaves...

Dream wants to tear his own clothes off him and just give him another set after.

"I do, Professor Gadling," he says. "I only say what I mean, and I would love for you to keep them. At home or in your locker, as long as your sister doesn't hide them from you and replace your clean change of clothes again."

"I will care for them well," Professor Gadling vows sincerely. Dream has no doubt that he will. But this is only the first of many clothes that Dream is planning on giving him. In fact, Dream could already envision his own closet at home, interspersed with Professor Gadling's clothes, and the man himself wearing Dream's clothes to bed. Dream is going to let him steal all his hoodies after they burn his ex's hoodies. He's going to spoil him rotten with pretty lingerie so he'll never have to go commando ever again. "Shall I see you in a couple of days for our next session?"

Dream could think of no one else belonging in his life as a romantic partner other than Professor Gadling. He smiles and barely prevents himself from leaning forward and giving the man's delicious-looking lips a chaste peck before he has to leave. "I wouldn't miss it for the world."

[gingerlurk]

Lovers' Crest | Chapter 10: The Confessional

Din Djarin x f!Reader

Masterlist

Summary: Din takes care of you. And you both expose more of yourselves than you intend.

Word count: 3.5k

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, slow burn, non-canon (the Razor Crest never gets destroyed, it also gets upgraded with a cabin), canon-typical violence, eventual smut/filth, post season 3, more blood and injuries, but we’re healing. Reader is upset about being blinded. Anxiety attack described. Involuntary(ish) voyeurism. Deeply earnest.

A/N: As promised, some tender stuff. Thank you for spending your time with these two characters that I have fallen hard for.

--

A low groan signals you’re coming to. Thank the Worlds, Din thinks, and leans up to give reassurance.

‘Hey, y—’

You give a panicked shriek, confusion and terror lacing your voice as you thrash your head from side to side. Two fists pummel at Din’s chest as he tries to hold your convulsing figure. You arch your back before trying to lurch upwards.

‘Sssh, sshh, it’s okay, it’s okay,’ he urges. ‘You’re okay.’

‘Get off me!’ you snarl. ‘I’ll fucking kill you.’ Hands seek out pressure points, jabbing into Din’s armour and making you yelp in pain. Your sudden movement causes the seal on your middle to tear open, blood bubbles from the wound.

‘Listen, gods listen! You have to stop.’ He says your name. ‘You’re with me.’

You’re weakened from the freeze, so he catches hold of your fingers easily, stopping your attempts at needling him. He holds your hands away from him as gently as he can. You just start whispering no, no, no in a voice so forlorn Din trembles.

‘Cyar’ika…’ he speaks over your pleas. ‘Cyar’ika, please. It’s me. It’s Din.’

He murmurs reassurances as you slowly come to stillness, just your chest rising and falling a little too fast and your eyes darting back and forth.

‘Wha—Din?’ you ask.

‘Mando, I mean,’ he swallows, tightens his hands on yours just a little. ‘Din is… Din is my actual name. Din Djarin. And you’re on the Crest. You’re safe.’

‘Oh. Din Djarin,’ you whisper. He’ll save thinking about how that makes him feel for later.

You pause.

‘Why’s it dark?’

‘That is--’ he sighs. ‘Do you remember being put into the carbon freeze?’

Din let’s go of your hands as you raise them to your eyes, moving them in front of your vision. ‘I’m blind.’ He hears the tears pressing on your words.

‘It will not last.’

‘I’ve heard—’

‘On old ships with off-market tech and tainted carbonite – this was a Class H job. And your eyes were closed when you went in, shielding them from the worst of it. Your sight will return, I swear.’

You start to lower your hands and then give a pained groan.

‘Oh fuck, everything hurts.’

‘We will deal with it, cyar’ika. Just be brave for a little longer.’

--

‘I will count from three, okay?’ 

‘Yup, okay.’ 

‘Three, two, now…’ A hiss and a sizzling sound fills the air. You swear you’re being sawed in half.

‘Fuuuck!’ Your hand flies up and lands a vice grip on the first thing in reach, a warm firm mass that jolts under your palm.

The Mandalorian grunts and shifts forward slightly, draws the smoking device across your shredded muscle. It knits and seals across itself as the laser moves.

‘Easy, I have you. Almost there.’

You hiss an affirmative and screw your sightless eyes shut against tears, huffing deep breaths and sinking your nails into whatever you’re holding onto.

‘There,’ he murmurs, lifting his hands away and capping the nozzle, fumbling it a little.

The pain in your side eases fast. You blow the air from your lungs and sigh out a small, frazzled laugh. You flex your hand a bit against the strain of gripping so tightly and freeze. Your hand. Your hand clenching against the hard muscle of Din’s thigh.

You hold in surprise for another moment, stretching your fingers to feel the thickness of his leg. It flexes slightly. You come back to yourself in a rush.

‘Sorry!’ You pull your hand away and hold it across your forehead, wiping sweaty strands of hair back and forth before bringing it to cover your mouth, burning with embarrassment. 

He says nothing. You feel movement and hear rustling for a moment. Then a rip and whoosh sound that must be a cleanser sponge filling with disinfectant. A cool, soft sensation moves over your stomach. Din is gently working the blood and gore off of your torso, dabbing at the area around the now cauterised wound with care.

You lay in silence for a while, long enough that you start to pay attention to the touch of his fingers on your stomach. He’s using one hand to wipe at the dried blood and fluids, while the other rests lightly just below your ribs, holding you steady. They are so incredibly soft and large. When the cleanser sticks on a stubborn spot, his hand keeps going for a moment and fingers ghost across your hip. The sensation sparks a welling of emotion not just made of a sudden arousal but every ounce of fear and longing and panic that led to this moment.

A strained sob bursts out of you.

He freezes. ‘Sorry. I hurt you.’

‘No, no it’s alright,’ you let your tears go, what’s the point of holding it in. ‘Just, just feeling like such a damsel, yet again.’

Din gets a new cleanser and continues his ministrations on your body.

‘What do you mean?’ he asks, rubbing at the stubborn spot carefully.

‘Like, ugh, that prison camp, and then the Estate, and now all of this,’ you motion with an arm up and down yourself. ‘You just, needing to rescue me over and over.’

Oh, and there it is. ‘Shit. Why would you even keep putting up with me?’

The motions on your torso stop. But the hands don’t leave your body. For a man of few if almost no words most of the time, in this moment you feel like he is gathering himself to say many. After a beat, he continues to work on cleaning you up. Then he speaks.

‘At the prison, you will remember I had been tasked with your safe retrieval, by any means necessary. Jobs like that are tricky: you need to do a lot of violence to many while keeping one specific person unharmed. So, with jobs like that, I prepare. I was scoping your prison escort for some time with a cambot. Watching them, and watching you. Getting a read so that when I went in, I could act efficiently. 

‘It was when they took a detour that I decided to act early.’

You hiss in a breath as you remember those four guards, deciding to try to play with you just because they thought that they could.

‘I was still watching the cambot as I moved to ambush, and then I saw you. A deadly look on your face, and—’ He picks up both your hands and you suck in air. Cooling fingers move your right hand so it’s rigid and flat, fingers together, then your left so it is held in a fist, heel tightly set against the opposite palm. Mindful of your shoulder, he holds your hands so your elbows are in a V in front of you before releasing them.

It’s a familiar posture to you.

‘I saw you do this. It meant nothing to me at the time, but now I know it as your readying stance. You were preparing to fight them yourself. All four, and you believed you were alone.’

He chuckles softly. It’s like music. ‘And later, when we encountered those six other guards—’

‘There were five guards,’ you interrupt, falling into his trap.

‘There were six. And I never did figure out what you did with the sixth one.’

Your turn to laugh, though it’s still strained. You rub at drying tears. 

‘I stuffed ‘em in a garbage unit in the wall.’

A genuine laugh from behind the visor makes your body break out in a wave of goosebumps, from the tip of your head to every one of your toes.

‘Anyway,’ he continues, ‘You will not convince me that you would not have found a way out of that cursed place yourself. I am just satisfied to have helped expedite the procedure.’

You can’t help the smile spreading across your face. 

He seems to be done with your midriff. A moment of rustling and tearing again and then the cool softness is on your face. Right, that’s covered in blood too. Not yours. The smile drops and you shiver.

‘Okay?’ He says, like it’s his touch doing it.

‘Yeah, okay. Just, remembering.’

‘Do you want to talk about it?’

‘Not yet.’

You think you hear him nod. Even though that makes no sense.

‘Then the Estate,’ he carries on. ‘Well, I was already about to go find you when the perimeter sirens screamed to life. I was sitting at that overpriced bar and—’ He stops himself for a second. ‘And thought a proper goodbye was in order at least, at least for Grogu.’

The coolness swipes across your bottom lip and your mouth falls open a little. It’s involuntary, of course. It just feels so nice. But Din pauses. You think you hear a modulated raspy exhale, but it’s too quiet for you to be sure. The soft pressure leaves your mouth and returns near your temple. You let your lips press together and lean a little toward his efforts.

‘Then they declared invasion,’ Din carries on, but you would swear on your life his voice has dropped not a small amount. ‘And well, what state did I find you in there?’

You smirk at the definitely unintentional phrasing. He is not referring to finding you half naked and sweaty. Ass almost on display. Chest heaving while throwing yourself into his arms. 

‘Flipping a reaper across your back with barely any effort and strangling him with the scraps of your gown.’ Din’s voice is full of amusement. ‘Again, I just expedited what you already had handled.’

He strokes your cheek. ‘You have always had it handled.’

You don’t bother informing him that you were scared out of your mind that night. That you felt so fucking vulnerable with nothing but chiffon and dainty bracelets as your armour. You had felt anger, and betrayal, and a desperate loneliness borne of knowing you couldn’t trust your own family. And when you had seen him, gods, when you’d seen him it was like salvation itself. You felt then that you would never choose to leave him again.

‘And this time,’ he says. He seems to be done with his treatment of you. You hear another packet torn open and something layered across your abdomen, covering the site of the injury. It tightens into a firm seal. He pulls back. You feel suddenly too cold with the absence of his touch. ‘This time you—’ He makes a choking sound, releases a shaky breath, and stills. 

Is he… crying? Nah, unlikely.

All in a rush, he says, ‘You were only in that hellhole because of me. Because of what I wanted. Up until the very last second you did everything to get that beskar off that ship. And I did not do a single thing right.’

He stands and you hear him take several steps back. 

‘I have dealt with your injuries. You should rest now and, when you are ready, make use of the fresher.’ He moves to the door, collects something from the end of the bed.

‘I will stay close if you need anything.’

And then he’s gone and you lay there, raising one hand to your middle and the other to your face. 

It’s obvious Mando – no, Din, Din Djarin – did a good job getting the worst of the gore off you. But you feel sticky and itchy from head to toe anyway. Rest would be easier once you’d been able to scrub yourself all over.

Having faith in the plaster seal over your stab wound and only gingerly feeling a twinge in your shoulder, you decide to head for the fresher. Getting there blind isn’t that hard, round the foot of the bed and straight on. You shuffle your feet through the mess of discarded medical paraphernalia littering the floor on your way. Pawing at the door jam, you reach out and find the switch for the overhead jet, nudging it to your usual warmth dial. Then you feel about yourself, easing the shredded tunic over your head and letting the remnants of your under-singlet fall to the floor. Topless, you unbuckle and push your bottoms down.

Stepping into the warm jet stream is the most heavenly thing you’ve felt since Mando’s – Din’s – hands were on your body.

--

He fiddles uselessly with the power input. Why is he even doing this when you could fix it yourself in the blink of an eye. He’s just biding time, dithering while he collects himself.

He said way too much in there. She’s going to put it all together, he thinks. She claimed she couldn’t read him but that was never true. And now she’ll know everything. Every single thought, rotating in neon light across his chrome skull.

How could she feel comfortable on his ship then? Why would she stay?

And, after all that, he hadn’t even apologised.

The sun is setting low and he starts to feel an eagerness to check on Grogu. His son is still in a deep slumber, and he would hate to disturb him, but seeing the child’s face would bring Din great comfort right now. Just pop open the hatch and take a look, you should check on him, he performed a miracle.  

He strides up the ramp into the hold and turns toward the sleeping quarters, feet locking to the floor and body set alight such as to melt his beskar to his bones.

You.

You, standing under a spray of water, uninjured arm raised to your hair and the other holding your middle. Head tilted back into the stream, and everything, everything laid out before him. Breasts holding him in trance, those legs he’s traced over every inch with his gaze rising in a luscious curve to an apex of coy curls. You twist your face into the spray and bare your ass to him. He almost dies a little death.

Some part of his brain stays lucid enough to smack a hand to the control panel by the entry, tapping the door seals so that the cabin’s slides closed with a soft hiss. The Mandalorian spins and strides into the forested terrain, looking for a secluded spot.

--

The hushed seal of the cabin door hits your ears over the white noise of the jet. Through the very pleasant haze in which you’d let yourself indulge, you process the meaning of that sound.

Oh fuck, was the door left open? You think back, a little frantic. Din left, you lay in darkness for a while – darkness borne of your carbonite damaged eyes. Decided to get clean. Felt your way in here. Was relaxing into a not entirely licit vision. Did he close the door when he left, or leave it open? 

He left it open so he would be nearby. To look out for you.

You cringe.

This is just what you bloody needed. After being so pathetic and vulnerable, and hearing him speak so highly of you, you go and strip naked with the door wide open and make a fool of yourself. You’ve probably traumatised the poor man.

No longer taking your time, you scrub yourself from head to toe. Just get it over with. A deep fatigue has started to prick at the sides of your mind anyway – you figure letting yourself pass out as soon as possible will help quench the searing embarrassment some.

As you dress in fresh clothes and collapse back onto the bed, you do notice slight shades of light and shadow dance across your vision. Taking reassurance in that, you close your eyes and let yourself sink.

After what feels like days of sleep, it is hunger and stiff joints that urge you out of the cabin. You squint through blurry eyesight, feeling comforted by the fuzzy shapes of crates and webbing that make up the hold. Early morning light casts white fronds across the familiar space.

Empty.

Palming around until laying hands on a meal kit, you sit in the opening of the ship and let the cool air of wherever you are wash over you. 

As you eat, sleep fading and mind becoming alert, something starts to scratch at the base of your skull. You flex your neck some, but the scratch claws up into your mind’s eye. Dim, murky memories edge in. As if underwater, you hear shouts and stomping boots, laughter and sneering rage. A hot rush in your mouth. A bolt of impossible pain at your side. Then, black.

Your injury burns; it throbs in time with your thumping heart. Rising panic constricts your breathing. You’re going to die, a dull thing inside you roars.

But you’ve been here before, so you plant your hands on the cool ship floor and breathe. Once locked in on the hard unyielding sensation, you turn your face toward the sun, visualising the rays casting out the shadowy recollections. 

They’re just memories. Here you are, safe now. It is a chant to your mind and body.

While focused so deeply on quelling your anxiety, something entirely unrelated to your experience onboard the treasury presses in on your consciousness. It is gentle and undemanding, but somehow frightening. You’ve felt it before. You felt it in a dank tunnel while struggling for your life. You felt it on the treasury when sweet, desperate Grogu’s face had flared inside you and you saw for a single moment a bright vision of him and Din, aboard the Razor Crest and some few parsecs away.

You let the presence soak your fears and repel the hungry inner beast roaring at you that you’re dying. It dissolves steadily as you breathe. Once done, whatever the thing is seems content to slide back, retreat to where you can’t sense it. 

After a moment, you open your eyes again and continue to eat.

Fussing with the kit disposal for more time than necessary, you scold yourself for dallying and shuffle through the hold, touching random objects and sections of wall for balance. Stepping into the cockpit feels more like breaching a threshold than usual.

Grogu spots you and hops into your arms, cooing and purring. You murmur at him that you’re alright, you’re glad to see him, how is he feeling today…

Din is in his chair, scrolling up nav data steadily. He doesn’t turn.

‘Hey,’ you give up weakly, leaning just inside the hatch. Still doesn’t turn.

‘Morning,’ he says, voice croaky with disuse.

‘How long did I sleep?’ It’s as good a thing to say as any.

‘A little over a day.’

‘Oh.’

‘How are you feeling?’

‘Better. Eyesight is improving.’

‘That is good.’

‘Uh huh.’

Grogu looks between you as you set him down again, making tiny questioning sounds. You shrug your good shoulder, knock your feet and click your tongue, glance about the space. The awkwardness may do what your anxiety attack could not and kill you anyway. 

But, thank gods, Din stands and moves around his chair. He pauses by the passenger seat you don’t usually occupy and you finally notice it. 

The satchel. 

You straighten up. Din lays a tender hand on the cache of beskar.

‘I have not adequately thanked you for bringing this into my possession,’ he whispers. You move closer to hear him. ‘In fact, adequate thanks are impossible.’

‘You don’t have t—’

‘But I assure you, I will never forget this. And I will find some way to make recompense.’

‘You don’t have t—'

He barrels over you.

‘I need to bring this back to my people. It must be returned to the clans.’

Despite everything, you can’t stop your brain from envisioning him dumping you somewhere so he can get back to his actual life, without you.

‘We will take a few days for your wounds to improve, restock supplies, let the kid stretch his legs some more.’ He hasn’t clocked into your rising panic. ‘Then, we will go to Mandalore.’

Your heart pounds and you tell it to calm the fuck down.

‘We?’ you say. He turns to you.

‘Of course.’ 

You pause, questioning whether you should even try to clarify.

‘Um, D- Din?’ He gives you his ‘I’m listening’ tilt.

‘While we were at the Estate, I uh- I took the chance to look up some about, about your people… and,’ you stutter, 'and, along with learning about beskar, it was my understanding the whole deal with your… your like, home world and your- your Coverts was just that. It was that.’

Spit it out, dummy.

‘Covert. Secret. Like, super intensely secret. No outsiders,’ you swoop a hand. Din doesn’t even pause.

‘You are the reason this sacred resource will be in the hands of the Mandalorians again. I will ensure you are welcomed. I will make them see you. This is the Way.’ His words melt into you like so much starlight. 

He makes a ‘that settles that’ motion and turns back to his post. 

You hesitate for a moment before dropping into your seat behind him, legs gone. You’re going to Mandalore. To his people. Your heart is now tumbling around your chest, not all in excitement.

--

Prev | Next

Sorry about the shower trope – it’s a problematic fave of mine.

[ominoose]

𝐂𝐚𝐥𝐚𝐝𝐚𝐧 𝐀𝐭𝐭𝐚𝐜𝐤𝐬

Pairing: Leto Areides x Afab!Reader Prompt: Power Imbalance & Alien Summary: You wake up in an alien ship, being experimented on. Their leader offers "sympathy" and a deal. Warnings: Smut, extremely dubious consent WC: 1.7K

Kinktober Masterlist

Cold metal was the first thing you were conscious of when you groggily came to life, blinking wildly at the blinding white light above you. Basic instinct made you attempt to bring your arm up as a shield, but when nothing happens, panic blossoms in your chest.

Finally taking stock of your surroundings, it immediately registers that you are nowhere familiar. In your gut, something screams danger. In the back of your mind, processes grind to a halt. The room is like no architecture you have seen before, all curves, odd shades of beige and shapes that don't make sense. 

Looking down you're completely bare, laid flat on a glowing slab. There are no bindings and yet trying to move feels like trying to tug a limb out of cement. The sudden sob that manages to escape you lets you know your mouth at the very least is still in your control, but the only answer to your cries for help are not ones you want.

The wall across from you slides open on its own, and a group clad in white uniforms enter with vacant, almost bored expressions. The aesthetic is once again foreign to you, some of them with strange markings tattooed into their face, but they look human. Your gut warns that they are not.

Whatever they are, they lack in the basic empathy and compassion you would associate with the average human. Without hesitation they're upon you, prodding you with metal instruments, shining lights across your limbs. A searing laser carves a small line across your chest and with trained hands someone takes swatches from the blood pooling around the hollows of your ribs. 

Not once did they bat an eye at your tear stained cheeks, your screams. You couldn't even thrash away from them, completely helpless to whatever their whims.

You don't notice the door opening through your panic, only realising someone had entered when the group of scientists turn and bow.

The man immediately strikes you as regal, commanding the attention of all those in the room. His uniform is militaristic, with gold trimmings and braided cords laid against his shoulder. A well groomed, peppered beard shadows the lower part of his face but doesn't hide the lips set in a stern line. 

"Please, please, make this stop, I'm begging you, make them stop." Your begging is barely coherent, still struggling to catch your breath, your lungs being the only part of you still functioning as normal under the circumstances.

Shocked expressions litter the faces of everyone around you, giving rise to a feeling of immediate regret and fear within you. Clearly you weren't expected to have spoken, but given your situation you weren't going to waste a chance. 

Only a single, thick eyebrow raises at your outburst, the man's eyes raking over your coldly before he steps forward with calculated steps.

When he reaches you he regards you seriously, raising a hand to brush away a stray tear with a curled finger.

"I apologise for my people's lack of hospitality, this must be very stressful for you."

You nod fervently, hope flooding through you when he shares understanding, a realistic outlook on such a situation.

"You're dismissed." His eyes never leave yours as his voice booms across the room. The reaction amongst the group is immediate, all of them dropping what they're doing and leaving through the door in a barely orderly manner. 

Only your sniffling breaks the silence as he quietly rounds you, assessing you, eyes softening ever so slightly. His silence isn't what you wanted, and in desperation you venture further.

"P-Please let me go. I don't know what's going on but I won't tell the police. Please, I just want to go home."

Your words seem to confuse him for a moment before recognition sparks in his eyes and an amused smile plays at his lips.

"Oh, my dear, you're not on your planet anymore. You're aboard my ship. My name is Leto Atreides, I believe your people would class me as an alien."

Part of your brain clings to what your reality was, clings to the fact that aliens and abductions are science fiction. With white knuckles your mind desperately begs to be told the real truth, to turn and see a window that reveals a normal street. Another part of your brain seems to have already known this wasn't the case.

"I don't think now is the appropriate time for a history lesson. All you need to know is you were brought here a few months ago, in deep sleep, to be studied. Again, I apologise at how stressful this must be, I had hoped my scientists would have extended the hospitality House Atreides is known for but alas, I assumed wrong."

The more he attempts to clarify the situation, the more your mind is caught between shutting or breaking down. To you, only a few hours before had you went to sleep on a rainy October night, and yet in a defenseless state you'd been carted across galaxies without a clue. Never had you felt so small, and so desperate.

"H-How long will you keep me here? What are you going to do to me?"

As fresh tears stream down your face he frowns, brushing them away with his thumb.

"I'm truly sorry, but I cannot let you go so easily. I have many councils waiting on this research, as well as other Houses funding it. To simply let you leave would be not only dangerous for myself and my people, but for you."

He leans closer, eyebrows knitting together as he strokes your cheek. Through quiet sobs you lean into his hand as much as you can, relishing the small comfort.

"I cannot let you leave. However…"

Again, a spark of hope is ignited at his prodding, stoking you, stringing you along.

"I do pride myself on giving others choice and chance. What say we make a deal? Since you are giving your body to important research for my House, in return, I will give you my time and boons. It might not sound like much, but as Duke Atreides, I will hear you and in time will do my best to carve out a route for your freedom."

The husky voice lulls you into a sense of security, making sense to your trauma ridden brain. It continues to stoke the fires of hope within you. Powerless and naked in front of him, completely paralyzed, it's the only chance you have, dangled in front of you like a carrot.

"What do I need to do?"

It seemed like precisely the words he wanted to hear. With a satisfied smile he steps closer, his hand lazily stroking up and down the skin of your thigh.

"We should cement some trust for each other, primarily your own. You're completely alone here, worlds away from home. Allow yourself to trust me, let me be an ally."

The calloused hand strayed upwards, stilling over your abdomen. A warmth emanated over your skin, a sharp contrast to the cold prickling over the rest of your body, grounding you. Further you lowered your guard, allowing yourself to trust him.

When the hand strayed lower again, between your legs, you gasped. Unable to move, you had no way to jerk away from the rough finger that traced along the soft lips of your pussy. Instead, you could only stare as he looked down at you with an indescribable expression, drinking in every inch of you.

As soon as his finger prodded against your hooded bundle of nerves and your breath hitched, his eyes flew to your face. You recognised his steely expression now. He was observing you, just as those scientists had. 

You had little time to focus on the thought, the flame of hope only flickering out a little before he traced circles over your clit with his thumb. At the same time two fingers slowly entered you, curled and setting a steady pace. 

It surprised you to find yourself already wet, but you paid it no mind. With your eyes fluttering closed, still clinging onto the promises he made, you allow yourself to get lost in the familiar feeling building in your core. The heat was slow to spread over you, and without the ability to move you were forced to focus only on the growing pleasure.

Silently he slid a third finger in, increasing the pace more as his curled fingers hit the sweet spot deep within your walls. When your head jerked back ever so slightly as you whined and moaned, he was there to take it in, going harder, wet noises filling the air.

"That's it darling, give yourself to me. You can trust me." His voice reverberated within you, low and rumbling. 

Your defences were completely down now, walls clenching around his finger. Words wouldn't form in your throat and you were left a panting mess, straining to move yourself closer to him but frustratingly unable.

You were so close, and on his order you came apart.

"Cum for me."

His voice was a seething whisper and had such power over you, you wondered if you'd been injected with something. Your pussy became like a vice around his fingers as he let you ride out the orgasm, legs nearly cramping with the strain you tensed with. 

Wetness dribbled down the curves of your ass as he slowly pulled his fingers out. Staring curiously at the slick coating his fingers, Leto seemed struck by an impulsive thought. Bringing his fingers to his lips he sucked your wetness from his fingers, a tiny strand getting caught in the hair of his beard.

"Hm. You taste exactly like the women from Caladan." The musing seemed more for him than for you. Leto barely regarded you now, offering only a small smile and a pat on the leg before turning towards the door.

"I'll visit you again soon, my dear. Behave until then, and we'll see if I can't squeeze in some allowances for you."

Without a single glance back at you he left, leaving you alone in the alien room, wet slick drying between your legs.

[rocksibblingsau]

I have this headcanon that I really love that Rock Branch is exactly the type of person that it's corny but earnest enough to get tattoos representing every person that he loves and his most especial memories

Like he gets his favorite Thrash's song lyrics from the first album he bought, a destroyed guitar for Barb, a laser gun for obvious reasons, etc (this are all random examples, but now I actually want to spend some time thinking about all the different tattoos he could get for his family and friends)

Bonus: I actually got this idea when I was writing the Jd reunites with Rock Branch ask and thought about him getting a hummingbird sleeping on Jd's goggles around either his forearm or his ankle. I cut it out bcs of how long that ask already was, as you probably remember lol

The subject of tattoos is actually planned to come up, so we'll see :)