#but I am trudging along by the skin of my teeth

[lunabelldraws]

Beep Boop

#digital art #character design #digital drawing #my art #luna draws #robot #robot oc #robotcore #cyber #futuristic #fuckin uuuuuhhh #oh yeah #artists on tumblr #agender #diversity win the cute robot is agender #I have not posted in so long hey yall #sorry for the radio silence I have not finished a piece in so long #but I am trudging along by the skin of my teeth #procrastination can't keep me down #✊✊✊

[shadowdaddies]

Close to You

Rhysand x Reader

A/N: I am exhausted and need Rhys to... comfort me

Warnings: this is mostly fluff but def smut too, cockwarming, somnophilia-ish (that's where this would head if there was a part 2)

The soft rug dragged against your feet as you trudged into your mate’s office, Rhys looking up at you through his reading glasses while you shuffled closer.

A slow smile appeared on his lips, tongue flicking out as he took in the sight of you in your nightgown and bed-ruffled hair. “You are up late, darling,” he purred, violet eyes twinkling like starlight.

A soft, silent yawn left you, limbs stretching as your legs carried you around the desk to where your mate sat. “I missed you,” you admitted, leaning against the desk as one foot crossed over to slide along his thigh. 

Rhys swallowed thickly, his power flickering throughout the room as he struggled to control himself. “What do you need from me, my love?”

Suppressing the wicked smirk you felt within, you allowed your eyes to rove over his body. Rhys’s unbuttoned shirt displayed his tattooed, toned chest, his tightening slacks leaving nothing to the imagination. 

“I just want to be near you.” The admission left you in a breathless whisper, eyes growing hazy as you straddled his lap, settling over the hardened length beneath you.

Settling against his warm chest, you relished in the feeling of your synchronized heartbeats as your muscles relaxed in his hold. Everything in you felt at peace, except for the ache in your core at his arousal pressing against your own, his scent growing stronger and darker in the air.

Rhys’s arms enveloped you, your arms wrapping around his neck as he continued to attempt to work on the papers laid out before him. Leaning forward to gather ink on his quill, your mate’s crotch brushed against yours in a way that evoked a high pitched mewl from you.

Sharp teeth bit into the skin of your neck, tongue flicking out to soothe the sore skin as Rhys’s voice invaded your mind. 

It is very... challenging... to keep my composure, when you make sounds like that.

“Then don’t,” you whispered aloud, leaning back to look in his lust-filled eyes, hands dipping to the waistband of his pants. 

Rhys groaned, hips rolling up against your own, head tilting back against his chair. Your face flushed at the sight of his cock as it sprang free, pussy clenching around nothing at the mere thought of him being inside of you, stretching your walls in painful pleasure as he hit the deepest parts of you.

“I have work to do, though,” he gritted out, voice pained as Rhys looked to you for mercy. “I need to feel you, darling, please.”

Hands cupped his sharp jaw, tilting his face towards your own as fingers slid through onyx locks to tug him impossibly close. The tip of his cock rubbed your folds, making it difficult to focus as your own head fell from his lips, collapsing against his shoulder. 

One hand guiding Rhys’s lips to your neck, the other slid down his toned chest to his cock, lining him up with your entrance. Sliding down, your hand gripped his neck, his teeth digging into yours at the sensation.

“That’s so good,” you murmured. “So deep.”

Another small yawn escaped you, your desire for Rhys at odds with your own exhaustion. 

“Sleep, my love,” he murmured, chest pressed against your own as he picked up his quill to return to his work. “I’ll take care of you soon enough.”

“Mm,” you moaned, half-asleep and warm in his arms, the safest place in the world for you. You felt a kiss press to the top of your hair, love flowing through the bond as you fell asleep with Rhys deep inside of you.

Part 2

#acotar #acotar fanfiction #acotar x reader #acotar imagine #rhysand #rhys acotar #a court of thorns and roses #acotar fanfic #acotar fic #acotar reader fic #rhys x reader #rhys smut #rhys #rhys x reader smut #rhys x you #rhys x y/n #rhys x reader fluff #rhys fluff #acotar fluff #rhysand smut #rhysand x reader #rhysand acotar #rhysand x you #rhysand x y/n #acomaf #rhysand x reader fluff #rhysand x reader smut #rhys fic #acotar reader imagine #acotar rhysand

[onlyhuis]

wedding night

member — husband!cheol x wife!f reader genre — smut, fluff, newlyweds au word count — 2.3k synopsis — seungcheol just wants to treat his wife right on their first night together as husband and wife. content warnings — cheol calls reader his wife, reader is described wearing a big poofy wedding dress (also a garter), half of this is filth and the other half is cheesy flowery prose oops smut warnings — descriptions of female anatomy, unprotected sex, creampie, oral (reader receiving), praise, fingering, edging, some begging, briefly some spitting & marking, lots and lots of making out, sex while mostly clothed, implied shower sex at the end, cheol has a fat marriage kink and so do i notes — this is inspired by the delusional staff at pledis who decided the concept for fml carat version should be wedding photos! i am crazy. like very much i am so unwell rn. anyway not saying this is for @duhnova but this is definitely for @duhnova

your breath hitches as seungcheol hikes your wedding dress up your leg, layers of soft fabric bunching up between his fingers. his breath is hot on your now-exposed thighs.

flat on your back on the king-size hotel bed, you’re still in the dress you walked down the aisle in. the same one cheol had insisted you wore at the reception; the same one you wore on his private plane on the way to your honeymoon spot where he could barely keep his hands off of you, but resisted because he wanted your first time as husband and wife to be extra special; the same one you had trudged through the hotel lobby in, wrestling the gown into the elevator up to the private suite he had bought.

you grasp the material, struggling a little to hold it all up and out of cheol’s face. “baby, it’ll be easier, i can take this off—”

“no,” he interrupts, tugging on your legs to bring you closer to his mouth, and you yelp, sliding further down the bed. “want you to leave it on. let me fuck my wife in this gorgeous dress i married you in.”

you whine, cunt clenching around nothing at the way he calls you your new title. his wife.

he pushes your skirt up higher, finally revealing what he was searching for: a lacy red and black garter wrapped daintily around one of your thighs. he groans and leans closer to your leg, his teeth grazing over your skin and making you shiver.

he looks up at you, and you can barely see his face through all the layers of silk and tulle, but you can clearly see the familiar lustful look in his eyes. he runs his teeth along the garter, pulling it between his teeth and then letting go to snap it against your thigh.

you hiss at the sting, but the momentary pain quickly fades when your husband grabs your dress from your hands and pulls it over his head, hiding himself between your legs and wrapping his lips around your clit.

you arch your back, hips lifting off the bed when his tongue begins to prod into you, swirling wet circles around your entrance as you writhe in his grip. you can’t see anything that’s going on, except for his legs hanging off the edge of the bed behind you, his top half completely covered.

without the fabric in his way, it’s easy for him to hold your thighs apart beneath the dress, pushing them down hard into the bed so that no matter how hard you try to close your legs around him, it’s impossible to move an inch.

your breath catches in your throat as his tongue moves through your folds, and you can feel his saliva and your wetness dripping down onto the inside of the dress. it’s going to be a pain to wash, but laundry is the last thing on your mind when cheol suddenly pushes his index finger into you, curling up and against your walls at just the right angle that it makes you clench down around him as hard as you can. he curses, the sound muffled underneath the layers of the dress, but continues fucking his finger in and out of you, barely enough room for him to move but somehow he finds a way.

you barely even notice when he slips a second finger inside, followed by a third, your juices pooling in the palm of his hand as he thrusts into you.

as if you weren’t already wet enough, he detaches his lips from you and leans his head back, spitting directly on your pussy.

you cry out his name, lifting your hips to chase his mouth as he uses his tongue to smear the mixture over your folds. he presses his face deeper into your pussy, his nose rubbing directly against your clit, and you feel yourself drawn closer and closer to the edge with each movement, all of it accumulating until you feel like you’re about to snap.

but at that exact moment, cheol’s fingers slide out of you and his mouth leaves you with a pop, and everything you’d been building up to crumbles away in a split second.

“seungcheol, please—”

he pokes his head out from beneath your dress at the mention of his name, bunching the fabric up at your hips. cold air hits your aching cunt, exposed to the temperature of the room now that your lower half is no longer covered, and you whimper at the sudden change.

cheol’s fingers play with the garter’s elastic band, a constant reminder of his presence though you don’t feel any stimulation. “what is it, baby? tell me what you need.”

your cunt throbs, and you whine in frustration, reaching out for him with shaky hands. “need you, cheollie, please. want you so bad. please fuck me.”

he groans and shifts over the bed, leaning over you to capture your lips in his. you taste yourself in his mouth as your lips part, allowing him to slip his tongue into your mouth.

most of his weight is supported by his arms, holding himself over you but still low enough that you’re pressed chest to chest. his suit jacket was shed long ago, and now you tug at his shirt, silently begging him to take it off so you can see him.

and of course he obliges, readjusting his position until he’s straddling you, so he can keep kissing you as his fingers quickly work to undo the buttons of his shirt. as soon as he shrugs it all the way off, he puts his forearms on either side of your head, falling forward to get closer to you, lips smashing with yours like he’s fighting for breath and you’re the only one that can give it to him.

you can feel him rocking his hips against yours subconsciously and you moan, his erection pressed against your stomach through his pants. you manage to pull away from him for a second to breathe, leaning your head to rest against the pillow as you struggle to get oxygen into your brain.

but this only opens up area on your neck for him to mark, and he dives back in fervently, biting and sucking at your skin. you’re sure he can feel your pulse racing beneath his lips.

he bites at your earlobe particularly roughly and you gasp, hands flying up to grasp at his toned back muscles, clawing and trying to pull him even closer than he already is. your eyes flutter shut when he reaches up to cup your chin in his hands, tilting your face back towards him so he can kiss you again.

it seems like you’re there for hours, both almost completely clothed, tangled up on top of the bed with your lips crashing together like it’s the last time you’ll ever see each other, though this is only just the beginning. it may as well have been hours, with the way your cunt aches with need but you can’t bring yourself to stop kissing him.

the feeling isn’t anything you haven’t experienced many times before. you and seungcheol had been together for years before he proposed, years spent filled with passion and love and good memories. but this time feels completely different. maybe it’s all in your head, the post-wedding jitters finally catching up with you and making your head spin. but just the thought of doing the same things you’d done in the past, but now instead as a married couple, makes you feel like a brand new person. a person that belongs with seungcheol, forever.

finally he breaks away, breathing hard with his cheeks flushed and his hair a tangled mess. he moves off of his position on top of you, and you start to sit up and follow him, but he just pressed another breathy kiss to your cheek.

“‘m not going anywhere, baby,” he says softly, running a hand through your hair. “gonna get you some water and then ‘m gonna fuck you like you deserve.”

you whine in protest, but he doesn’t listen, moving off the bed and grabbing a cup and some ice, along with a water bottle from the refrigerator. he sits at the edge of the bed with you while you take small sips. he’s right; your mouth is dry, and the cool water feels so refreshing.

too soon the glass is empty and abandoned on the nightstand, and cheol moves to take his pants off, now a wrinkled mess but he doesn’t care.

he shifts behind you to unzip the back of your dress, gently sliding the fabric off your shoulders. you start to stand up to step out of the dress completely, but he stops you.

“said i would fuck you in this dress, didn’t i?” he whispers. his breath is warm by your ear and it sends a shiver down your spine. “just wanna see a little more of you.”

you moan, letting him slip the top of the dress down to your stomach, exposing your breasts as he slowly climbs on top of you again. “god, you’re so gorgeous,” he sighs, more to himself than to you as his hands slide up your body, gently kneading and squeezing your skin.

he sits back on his knees, bunching your dress up around your waist again to give him access to your cunt, begging to be filled. he pressed two fingers into you, slowly scissoring them back and forth to work you open, but he stops when you whine again.

“what’s wrong, baby?” he asks, his fingers still inside you as he leans down to kiss your breasts.

“i want you, cheol,” you plead with him, your hand on his wrist to stop him from moving. “tired of waiting, please.”

he presses one last kiss to your cheek, then pulls his fingers out of you, finally lining himself up at your entrance.

it’s the same stretch you’ve felt dozens of times, but everything is so different with him now. his arms are planted on either side of you, muscles bulging as he pushes into you slowly, gently. beads of sweat collect at his hairline and begin to roll down his temples until he’s finally sheathed all the way inside you, both of you panting for breath.

after a minute or two you squeeze seungcheol’s bicep, begging him to move. and he does, slowly rocking his hips back and forth at first, before gradually increasing his pace. you can feel every long, deep stroke of his hips as they crash into you, your breasts bouncing as he pushes you deeper into the mattress.

you grab onto his shoulders and hold on tightly, clinging to him for support. his grunts under his breath only spur you on, dragging him closer to you until he’s laying on top of you.

you spread your legs further apart, trying to wrap around his waist but the dress is in the way, and you call his name frustratedly. “seungcheol, please—”

as much as he doesn’t want to pull out, cheol doesn’t like hearing you upset, either, so with a wince he slows to a stop, moving away from between your legs so you can shove the dress away once and for all before he pushes back into you and resumes his pace.

you moan in relief, finally able to feel him like you’ve wanted to all night. cheol curses when you clench around him, and he grabs hold of your thighs and pushes them against your chest. at this angle you can feel him even deeper than before, and you whimper, eyes falling shut as you feel yourself start to come up to the edge of your orgasm.

“are you gonna cum, baby?” he groans, hips slamming against yours. “can feel you getting close, squeezing me so–ah, good. fuck, i love you so much.”

you grab onto his shoulders, your fingers scrambling over his muscles as you try to find something to ground yourself, nails digging into his skin.

his pace never falters, and without warning you let go when he says your name again, “my beautiful wife, look so fuckin’ beautiful, shit.”

you barely register when his hips begin to stutter as he chases his own orgasm, finally succumbing to it with a breathy whine as he releases inside you, spurt after spurt of his cum filling you up before he collapses on top of you.

your ears are still ringing when you finally come down, wrapped up in a blissful state of peace with seungcheol’s softening cock still inside you.

you inhale deeply, holding it in for a moment before exhaling, feeling your body start to relax and that’s when you know you have to get up now or not at all. you gently poke cheol’s side and he rolls off of you, but not before giving you another giggly kiss. he picks you up in his arms and spins you around once, then carries you off to the bathroom to clean up.

although later you find yourself pressed against the cool tile of the shower wall, caught up in another frenzy of kisses, however this time much softer and gentler. between the day’s festivities and the night’s activities, you’re both exhausted, but you couldn’t be happier being tangled in each other’s arms, not bearing to part for more than a few minutes at a time.

with room service ordered and a movie playing on the tv while you wait, you couldn’t think of a better place to be than by seungcheol’s side, not just tonight, but for every night afterwards.

i hope you enjoyed this!! if you did, consider reblogging or leaving a comment or an ask :) it lets me know this is something people want to see more of and it helps a ton with being motivated to write. thanks for reading!!

> taglist | @wonderfulshinee @noniestars @onlymingyus @just-here-to-read-01 @wonuziex @enhacolor @yourfavoritefreakyhan @dkakapizzaboy @zozojella @rainyjeno @jwnghyuns @darlingvernon @uwuheeseungie @miriamxsworld

> strikethrough means your blog cannot be tagged, please check your visibility settings

> if you want to be notified when i post a new fic, you can join my taglist here!

#1k #kflixnet #k-labels #[📌] — june.writes #[💟] — cheol #[❤️] — smut #[💛] — fluff #scoups smut #seungcheol smut #cheol smut #svt smut #seventeen smut #scoups scenarios #seungcheol fanfic #svt fluff #scoups fluff #seungcheol fluff #svt imagines #svt fanfic #seungcheol x you #scoups fanfic #scoups x reader

[night-vipers]

Stubborn

Summary: Returning to the safe house after a mission gone wrong, tension is high between you and the lieutenant. To make matters worse, you got injured. You don't want to piss Ghost off anymore than he already is so you try to hide it but your lieutenant is very observant

Warnings: Minor Injury Detail

Trudging along through the forest, following Ghost's large strides, I could almost bite the tension in the air. The mission wasn't meant to go down the way it did. Not a single word had been said since leaving the mission area and it was making me feel worse about the whole situation.

"Keep up" Ghost spat, looking over his shoulder at me. I held my side as I picked up the pace, pulling my hand away I saw the deep stain of red on my skin. When I get to the safehouse I need to patch myself up quick or I was going to have bigger problems than Ghost being pissed at me.

After another painful mile of speed walking and silence we arrive at the safehouse. I don't notice Ghost has stopped walking until I am yanked back by my shirt collar. The jolt sends a wave of pain through me and I grimace, hand going to my side. "What the hell" I say through gritted teeth.

"Stay here while I clear the house" he says, voice dripping in annoyance. His eyes flicker to the hand on my side then back to my face before he lets go of my collar. Drawing his pistol he enters the house slowly. After a few minutes he appears in the doorway and gives me the look to come inside. I finally let go the breath I had been subconsciously holding and headed in.

The house is vacant but clean despite cobwebs gathering in the corners of the ceiling and a musky smell. The safehouse had obviously not been used for a very long time. I remove my armour and set my gear down on the ground. I hurry to clean myself up in the bathroom, but Ghost's body stands in the way.

"Next time, you follow my orders. You don't go rouge, you could have got us both killed" he says sternly, staring me down.

"Ha, that's rich considering I just saved your ass out there" I scoff, he was so infuriating and rude.

"You disobeyed a direct order to stay back" he growled, eyes boring into my soul.

"And if I didn't, you'd have a bullet through your skull right now so how about a little thanks" I spat. He grabs my arm and whips me around to face him when I try to push past him. This time, he notices my discomfort as I grimace at the physical contact. He glances down and sees the red stain on my palm as well as my pale complexion and the faint sheen of sweat covering my hairline.

"Are you injured?" he asked, voice softening. He releases his grip on my arm and watches me closely waiting for my response.

"I'm fine" I mutter abruptly. Pausing for a moment, I sigh with relief as I push past him into the bathroom locking the door behind me. As I lift up my shirt, I expose the large gash in my side that needs stitching. I could manage, but it would be tough to do it alone

Ghost, in the meantime, slumped down on the couch and massaged the bridge of his nose. He was more angry with himself for losing control and putting you in danger than he was with you. He hates upsetting you and feels responsible for everything. I made an effort to clean the wound, but it's in an awkward location, and the pain kept making me nauseous. My vision goes hazy as I apply some cleaning alcohol to the wound. I try to support myself on the counter, but I don't hold it hard enough, falling to my knees with a clatter.

Ghost hears this and is at the bathroom door in an instant, he tries to open it but it's locked "Y/N are you okay, open the door!" he says rattling the door knob. You manage to reach up and flick the lock open, he is inside in an instant and on his knees next to you. "Jesus Christ" he says as he examines the wound. Scooping you up quickly he carries you to the sofa and lays you down gently.

"I'm fine, I just need a minute" I mumble trying to sit up but his large hand pushes me back down and holds me there for a moment. His eye's telling me to stay down without his mouth ever moving, I know that look and I know better than to challenge it. He pulls a medkit out of his bag and sits beside me, inspecting the wound with a gentleness he doesn't show often.

"When were you planning on telling me about this?" he questioned with a cold tone that contrasted his actions as he gently cleaned my wound ready to stitch it up.

"I wasn't going to, didn't want to give you another reason to chew my ass off" I respond, wincing slightly as he began to stitch my wound. He continued and the pain was getting worse, I tried to withstand it but it was making me lightheaded so I reached out to him "Fuck, please hang on a second" I said through gritted teeth, he halted his movements and sighed.

"I know it hurts, I'm nearly done" he said softly, his hand holding mine for a moment as his thumb rubbed my fingers. I took a deep breath and nodded for him to carry on. After a few more minutes of pain he was finally done and he pulled my top back down and put away his supplies. The stress and pain had taken it's toll on me and I felt like I could sleep for days but I was pulled out of my tiredness by something I had never heard before.

"I'm sorry" Ghost muttered, sitting on the floor beside where I lay. "I took my anger out on you and that wasn't fair" he continued, looking down at the floor. I chuckle lightly and reach out, resting my hand on his forearm. His head snaps up at the touch but his eyes are not the cold orbs they usually are, they're almost confused.

"Don't be, it's okay." I say giving him a tired smile "Just trust me, I'm not a rookie. I want you to know I'll have your back as long as you have mine" I continue, giving his arm a squeeze. I hear a faint chuckle from him and then his hand on top of mine.

"I'll try to remember that, just don't disobey anymore orders and stop being so damn stubborn all the time" he says in a light-hearted tone. I laugh and give him a weak salute, quickly followed by a yawn as the day takes it's toll on my body. He notices my tiredness and stands, pulling a blanket over my body and gives me a soft look.

"Get some rest y/n, I'll keep you safe" he says, cupping my cheek gently. I give him another soft smile and nod as I let my eyes flutter closed, drifting into a deep sleep knowing the dynamic of our relationship had been changed for the better from here on out.

#cod mw2 #simon ghost riley #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #mw2 x reader #call of duty

[irabelaswriting]

influx

pairing: morpheus x f!reader  |  rating: E  | words: 8.7k |  ao3

tags: sexy dream stuff blurries the line between dreams and reality you say?, count me in, alternatively titled what no dick does to a mfer, service top dream, afab reader, oral sex, masturbation, sexual fantasies, pining, mentions of choking, mentions of spanking, mentions of public sex, no use of y/n

summary: "My name. You wondered about my name," the dream that is no longer a dream says. As plainly as possible, as if he's not a stranger in your home.

"Do- do you have one?"

"All beings do."

or

You meet a stranger in a dream.

And then you meet him again.

a/n: i am dipping my fat littles toes in this particular pond. hope y'all enjoy!<3 let me know what worked and what didn't!

It’s really starting to get cold out. 

October has just rolled around – autumnal colors all around. Pumpkins freshly harvested from patches set out on the steps of the houses you pass, leaves slowly making their descent from tree crowns. A promise of frosts sits in the air; come morning, the cold would make the warm colors more vibrant. 

If it gets too cold you might need to start commuting, you decide, no longer taking the oh-so familiar road you’ve incorporated into your daily routine for months now. 

The streets are wide, a winding path you walk along – passing by garbage and street lights, small little shops and narrow alleyways just out of the corner of your eye every so often. 

Every day, you walk down this road. It’s routine – just like how putting on socks or brushing your teeth is. 

Yet, as you pass another alley, something stops you midstep.

Something about this particular alley on this particular day makes you turn your head as if you’d just caught the eyes of a long lost acquaintance across the room. 

And unbidden, an image flickers across your mind. 

Large hands pushing up your skirts, finding the gusset of your underwear between your thighs soaked through, all for him, deft fingers sliding beneath wet fabric. A teasing touch against you, the slick slide audible in the dark, quiet alley. Someone could find you, see you, if they had mind enough to just look hard enough for a moment longer. 

Your heart skips a beat – the memory as clear as day on your retina. 

As if it had been real. 

The dreams… the visions, had started a while ago. Unbidden, as wet dreams – ugh – usually were. Of course, it was all just a normal part of being alive, you rationalized. Heated situations in a dream with a crush or someone whose outwardly attributes you liked more than the person themselves was a totally normal, natural response to non-reciprocated attraction. 

What wasn’t normal was having them about a person you didn’t even know. And, that they were recurring.

Not one night of reprieve had been awarded to you since it all had first begun. 

Every night, he visited you in your dreams. 

The man in your dreams hadn’t been known to you. Well, not previously. Now, you felt as if you’d recognize him in a crowd, that you could pick him out in a lineup of all your previous lovers despite him not truly being one of them. Stoic and pale, tall and lithe, composed of lean muscles that rippled under smooth skin, with hands so very large in comparison to your own. A voice that whispered into your ear, deep and dark and holding promises of pleasure everytime it raked across your brain. 

The first time you’d seen him it had been a seemingly ordinary dream. Usually, they’d be about losing all your teeth at once while simultaneously trying really hard at an exam in school only to realize you were taking it naked. All the people involved, witnesses to your embarrassment, were usually pieces of a puzzle coerced together simply under the guise that you had some bias from having them there. 

Yet… the dream in particular had been nothing but ordinary; not even sexual. You had gone about your usual routine, said your usual hellos and goodbyes, walked on the very road you were trudging along right now, when he had caught your eye. A face in the crowd of muddled features. 

He had stared back at you – with consciousness, a responsiveness that didn’t belong in dreams. 

It had been impossible not to look back at him – meet his striking gaze. 

One moment, he had been there, and in the next, he was gone.  

They weren’t real, you tell yourself yet again, bending down, pretending to fix a shoelace in case some unbidden voyeur was privy to your mindless stop on the street. Above, a tree canopy rustles as a bird takes flight, the only evidence of it ever sitting there being the dark feather landing by your feet as you rise. 

The way home is a winding one – but the scene replays in your head enough that you feel a sticky heat coil in the pit of your belly. A hunger wanting, no– needing to be slaked with the ease of your own fingers (all the while imagining someone else's) sliding across heated skin. 

You think that you must've met him somewhere. 

That your subconscious is pulling a mean prank on you with blurry half-imagined images of a man you might’ve maybe (hopefully) snogged on a night out and can’t recall more than that fuzzy encounter of. 

That it’s not a stranger, but rather surely some acquaintance or a mutual friend of a friend you’ve been introduced to at a party and promptly forgotten the name of. 

That you’ve somehow baked him into your subconsciousness like a calzone. 

That you’re so starved for attention that you have wet dreams about the one guy who has proved to be somewhat of a constant in your life. 

Good gods, were you really that starved for affection that you had wet dreams about a guy you’d only seen in your dreams?

Your depravity was endless, a bottomless pit.

Because it hadn’t happened just once – no, now, the image of him panting above you was etched to your mind as the code into your apartment complex was. 

Finally, you reach your destination – home. You take the steps to your apartment two at a time, riled up by the promise of what awaits in the solace of your bedroom. The steps are made of polished limestone filled with fossilized ammonites that you’d otherwise stop and look at but you’re on a mission now. 

Everything lays forgotten as you move into your abode, closing the door and securing it with a physical deadbolt. Then, the weight of the day hits you. A layer of grime and dust surely lingers on your skin, sweat and dirt that came with moving about your business–

A change of plans. 

Instinctively, you move towards the bathroom, chucking clothing items as you go, leaving them for a future you to take care of. 

You let the water get hot before getting in. 

In the shower, you let yourself go, fingers slipping down between wet skin to an even wetter core, teasing yourself just slightly before really getting to work at easing the orgasm out of your body.

In your mind's eye, in your dreams, it’s easy to let fantasy do the work; change your position, have your hands tied or free at a mere whim, shoved faced down or facing your unknown, nameless lover.

It blurs together into a mess – but it’s orderly, kind of – every whim you have is met. 

If you imagine him grabbing fistfulls of your hips and pushing down, spewing lewd vitriol against your ear – you get it. 

If you imagine your hands tied and him using them for leverage until the change of altitude makes you woozy – you get that too. 

Every urge is abid and sated, the fantasy adjusting at once depending on however you’re feeling inclined. 

That’s the easy part, recalling the intimate moments as if they’ve been real, emulating his touch on your body.

His hand moving down along your naked front; cupping your pussy in his hand, fingers skirting along slick folds but being withholding, not giving you anything, not until you’re writhing in his grip, reduced into a needy, begging mess–

He talks, too, you recall, fingers picking up their pace – with a deep, baritone voice that ushers praises and harsh little words at just the right moment. Instantly, you incorporate it in your fantasy. 

“So good,” he whispers by your ear as you titter on the precipice of yet another orgasm at his hands, fingers working inside you just so, “so good for me.” 

No, take it slow, you inwardly scold. Prolong the pleasure just a bit longer. Listening to the constant stream of water running over your body and down down the drain, you steady yourself. 

Rewinding, you alter the daydream. 

Fingers pressing into you only after you’ve earned them on your knees – your reward a perfect curling motion that has you keening. A sound that only has him roughly pulling you deeper down on his fingers, your back arching as heady pleasure rolls over you in thick, heavy waves. 

You moan into the air, air that’s filled with water vapor that condenses, droplets of saturated water that run down your bathroom mirror. Despite the water steadily streaming across your body, you feel the sensation of sweat beading behind your knees; a surefire way of predicting the impending orgasm. Swallowing thickly, fingers pick up their pace. 

Hands tied tightly behind your back, large fingers skirting along your innermost thighs, grabbing fistfulls of plump, supple flesh, lightly smacking the fat of your ass, the soft waves of pain and pleasure making your belly coil together hotly. Knowing what’s to come when–

Just right, you curl your fingers, pinching a nipple simultaneously. Teasing at first, building up the anticipation of filling yourself up with your fingers, circling your core until you can’t take it any longer and give into the first few moments of blissful fullness.

One moment, on your back, the other, on your knees. Throat stuffed with cock and cum, and in the next– 

Shamelessly moaning into the air, you goad yourself with more to tip over the edge.

His hand twisting in locks of hair, gently coaxing your head towards him, tucking his face against your shoulder, hand covering your mouth as he whispers for you to be quiet, pounding you through an orgasm in a dirty back alley.  

Hips undulating, you tense up – voice vibrating in the humid air, reaching a crescendo. 

Slender fingers circling your waist, before finally settling on your hips and pulling you down on his cock with soft, pliable resistance–

But it isn’t him. It isn’t real. Has never been. 

You stop abruptly.

Defeat washes over you – and still, you try again, scratching at that particular itch, that particular daydream, yearning for the release. 

The fall over the edge never comes. Blissful pleasure never arrives despite being right there, and soon the movement of your fingers is a chore, the throbbing in your lower belly almost hurting. 

A groan leaves you, head against the bathroom tile, as you flex your cramping fingers, finally relenting. Panting now, hot all over, water still flowing freely across your body.

Only thing you were achieving now was running up your water bill.

Pride swallowed, you twist the blender into icy cold, dousing yourself until you’re nothing but a shivering mess. 

You step out of the shower, wrapping a towel around your body, cursing yourself under your breath. 

This was all so– so stupid. 

It had never been an issue before. Really, you could bust a couple out in an evening if the mood struck – but since this all started, your statistics for masturbation ending with a climax had dwindled hard. Had the graph of your sexual habits been recorded somewhere it would’ve been exponential in it’s decline – off the charts with failure. 

You take the disappointment and frustration out on your hair, doing your best in drying it before making your way into the living room. It’s cold there too, and you feel goosebumps rise along your arms, prickling on the back of your neck. Even the mess you’ve left for yourself to take care of annoys you, no help in bettering your rapidly souring mood. You kick a shapeless mass of clothing into a corner, trying to stop the beast in your belly from blossoming and tearing through. 

One blanket secured later, you plop down into the sunken down couch – exhausted. Still shivering, you turn on a rerun of some show you’ve already seen a hundred times on Netflix. 

All in all – it serves as a little distraction from your already wandering thoughts. 

The failed orgasm is still lingering in the back of your mind, a steady thumping in your core that won’t go away with anything other than time. You don’t click the little skip intro prompt that pops up this time; and boredom soon takes over as a scene you know by heart starts playing. With a sigh, you turn over, starting a mindless scroll on your phone instead, nuzzling into the couch that’s finally starting to warm up your shivering body. The show provides a soft chatter in the background, filling the void with some non-tangible noise – a mere background buzz. 

Body heavy, you sink down, down, until there’s nothing but the soft embrace of sleep to catch you. 

Bent over a desk, cheek pressed into unrelenting varnished wood, slender fingers around your neck as he thrusts inside you, buried to the hilt with one languid roll of his hips. A deep groan ringing through the air, your own sounds muted from his grip around your windpipe. 

Your ass high in the air, fingers digging into the divot where thigh meets hips, one large palm ghosting over the round surface of your rear, rising up to give the already tender flesh another well placed hit. 

The same rough pace still persists, forcing stuttering little words from your lips, fingers now digging into the softness of your sides. Livid bites left along your neck and shoulders, a hand slipping between your thighs. A sheen of sweat covers your back, as well as the forehead that’s pressed to a shoulder blade. 

The gasp that escapes you as the room contorts until it’s no longer recognizable echoes through the void. It’s not even your bed anymore, the sheets you’d hand picked out of the bargain barrel replaced with the softest of silk that flows like water between your clutching fingers.

He’s in front of you, above you– 

Behind you.

Fingers tug the towel wrapped around your body off. 

You yelp – instantly going to cover yourself.

“Nothing I haven’t already seen,” a murmured whisper intones, goosebumps rising along your skin. “Don’t be shy.” 

His hands are cold – in clear difference to your already much too hot body – and your back arches as if to escape from his light touch against your ribcage. 

Instead, he’s behind you, and you’re in his lap, with nowhere to run now.

You try again to cover up, but large hands grasp your wrists and pull them back. 

Finally, you relent, relaxing.  

“There we go,” right by your ear, you hear him, feel him rest his chin on your shoulder, peeking down the valley of your now bared breasts. 

Eyes glimmering like stars watching as his own fingers trace gently along bare thighs before finally pushing apart the sticky folds of your pussy. Soft, teasing graces toying with you before finally pushing inside. Curling just right, adding just the right pressure, until you throw your head back against his shoulder, a leg darting out for purchase against the incoming wave of pleasure, thumb flicking against your clit just as he finds that spot inside you–

He stops. 

You whine – almost crying from the let down, feeling that fire die down by not being tended to. 

“So desperate,” he chides, lips barely tracing yours as you jerk more, convulsing in his hands from being denied. “Still not enough?” 

“No– please, more,” you murmur against soft lips, speech rendered into a mess of sloppy and slurred kisses. It could never be enough – you want him, you want to beg for him, want a name to call out into the night, some title to give him more than this shape that comes to you each night. 

Your hand digs into him, keeping him close. As if he would disappear if you didn’t. 

You want to know him – taste him, share more than just this simple fantasy with him – you want more, crave it even as he’s on top of you, inside you–

“Tell me, do you think you’re awake?”

His voice echoes in the nothingness surrounding you. 

What did he mean by that? 

He has deviated from the usual course, the script that you’ve willfully, intently, set in your mind and eagerly fulfilled your role in–

“Realizing you’re dreaming wakes most people up.” His hands are on you again, moving across your skin until he’s right by your ear, whispering. “Interesting.” 

Halfway – that is how far your fingers, reaching out to grab his own, make it before the world tilts and changes again. 

With a start, you wake up, immediately sitting up from the pile of blankets on top of you. 

Blearily, you blink. 

Are you still watching? Netflix questions, mockingly. 

You– you must’ve fallen asleep – the throb between your legs has only intensified, coupled with your heart hammering in your throat and you know– you remember what he had said–

Out of the corner of your eye, something moves. 

A man is in your living room. 

Not just any man – it’s him.

As clear as day – across the room from you. Dressed in all black and staring at you with familiar, gleaming eyes. 

“Um,” you start, heart hammering hard behind your ribcage, working overtime in keeping you alive, “c-c-can I h-help you?”

Ah. Yes, the good ol’ fight or flee or freeze or fawn or– 

Customer service.

You clutch the blanket around you even tighter, backing up into the corner of the couch – hyperaware and noticing everything in what feels like a millisecond.

How you’ve slept through at least two episodes of the show you put on. That the street lights outside your windows are bright, casting luminosity on the streets below. That there’s no immediate sign of a break in, no broken door hanging off its hinges. That you’re in nothing but a towel and covered by a blanket. 

And, that the man currently across your living room is staring at you. 

“My name. You wondered about my name,” the dream that is no longer a dream says. As plainly as possible, as if he’s not a stranger in your home. 

“Do–do you have one?” 

“All beings do.“

At a loss for words for a moment, mind racing (how did he know that? followed by a frantic oh god why is he here? and how did he even get in?) you offer him your own name, and the side of his mouth twitches upwards, as if he’s known it all along. 

“I am Dream of the Endless. Lord of dreams and nightmares, and ruler of the Dreaming.” His voice is deep and calm, much calmer than you yourself feel at the moment. A rich baritone that carries across the room despite him not even raising his voice. 

It sounds… pompous, but not untrue. Still, you can’t keep yourself from asking. “Any more titles?”

“Morpheus. Lord Morpheus.”

You hadn’t seriously considered that there’d be more. 

“... The Dreaming?”

“Yes, it is my realm, where I hold sovereignty,” he explains, “I am the maker of dreams and nightmares for all beings of this plane.” 

For a moment, you wonder if you’ve gone insane. If not getting your rocks off for the past weeks has changed your physiology somehow, that you’re so pent up that you’re hallucinating this. That this isn’t real – just a dream of a dream to soothe your already fragile, underfucked psyche.  

“Sleep well?” 

Your breath hitches in the otherwise silent room at the question. 

At once, you’re aware that he knows. He knows. He’s solidifying that fact with that question – a question he probably knows the answer to too, and is simply asking because your inherent uneasiness of the situation must also be known to him. 

Or, as you might suspect when your eyes flick to meet his own and notice the hint of smugness present in them, he is simply asking to embarrass you further. 

“Ah, yes, uh,” the heat on your cheeks is mortifying, shame welling up at the base of your throat, “I’m sorry. If– if you’re able to see them and all–”

“I do.” 

No need in explaining what they are, then. 

“So sorry about that, erm,” the words fumble out of your mouth, “they’re just– fantasies, right, my, uh– my l-lord?”  

You probably actually don’t need to address him as such, one of the many titles, but something about him demands your attention, your respect. Is it shame? A part of you cringes inwardly, finding it difficult to meet his hard eyed stare. Eyes that are simply observing you – not eating you alive, not even undressing you. Yet you get the distinct feeling of being under a microscope, every part of you being dissected. Evaluated.

Deciding to err on the side of caution – he is, afterall, a stranger – because you’re not completely sold on what he’s selling you. 

Which is an explanation to all of this.

“I don’t understand,” you say, shaking your head. “Are you– are you the one doing this to me?”

Dark brows pull down. For a moment, you think he’s cross with you–

Maybe that’s just the guilt rolling together in your stomach, all bile and acid, because he knows. He knows everything. He’s the unwilling participant, no– object, of your fantasies. 

“... These dreams are–” Morpheus pauses. 

Filthy, dirty, wholly indecent, you mind intones on its own, preemptively wincing. 

”Very imaginative. Thoughts that are all your own work.” 

No hammer falls to sentence you – judgment simply not present in his tone. 

Unbeknownst (or simply not caring) of your internal dilemma, Morpheus takes in your space, the adjoining kitchen and door to your bedroom before continuing, voice the same even tone. “My involvement never stemmed greater than simply… appearing. It seems you’ve grown attached.” 

Attached to the idea of him, just as you’d find a kind stranger enticing. It wasn’t… had it truly been him? 

“I just thought–” you don’t even know what you’ve been thinking, how you’ve cause this more than– “that since I daydreamed about it– it could alter what I dreamed of while sleeping–” 

“It does. Not to this extent, usually, but you seem to have acquired a gift not many are even born with.” Morpheus says, carefully stepping over the heap of clothes you kicked earlier. “A form of lucid dreaming.” 

“... I’m shaping my dreams?” You had seen a couple of videos on lucid dreaming during your teenage years. Followed the seemingly simple instructions a lady in harem pants had listed in a 16 minute long youtube video – but to no avail. Now, however, you would envision scenarios, make up context for your fantasies, was that what he meant? 

“Are you surprised?” Morpheus asks, head tilted to the side slightly. “Every day life affects dreams, yes, even fantasies and wishes do. That is not the unusual part.” 

Pieces of a puzzle started to form a cohesive picture – you couldn’t control what happened in your dreams as much as you could perhaps entice a certain end to happen. Set one ball rolling and hoping it triggered a response in kind. 

Maybe, if you could still find it, you should leave a comment on that video praising its effectiveness. 

“Willing them to happen as you see fit, however, is.”

Immediately, you think back on the dream you’d just been pulled out of rather roughly – where you’d been denied, where he had denied you–

“That is why I’m here.” He answers your unasked question as he steps further into your living room, continuing. “It’s usually a gift sought out and refined by dark arts practitioners, not by… lonely girls.” Morpheus almost scoffs a bit at that, as if he’s noticed the singular plate drying on your dish rack, the adjoining single pair of cutlery and glass from last night's dinner, and realized exactly what you are. 

Now, you glower at him. You weren’t lonely in many ways of your life – you had friends, family, hell, even coworkers who all adored you. It was just… a lonely life in one particular department, one that you weren’t fully ready to admit to even really coveting. 

Yet he isn’t outright judging you – nor the contents of your dreams. Moreso, he seems mildly annoyed at being pulled into this.

That wasn’t wholly true though, was it? No, he had done this – he was the weird magic dream guy, not you. 

“I didn’t want this,” you almost hiss back at him, “you’re the one– who's done this– you’re the reason I can’t–”

The words hang in the air, unfinished.

–can’t get my rocks off. 

You don’t want to say that – to frame it that way, to admit it. 

Some part of your subconsciousness obviously found him desirable, attractive – you couldn’t keep that from him, even now, as he imposed himself in your apartment and had almost scared you half to death – because he had been in every single dream since you’d first laid your eyes on him. Appeared in them, he had said, as if he was just a supporting role in all your fantasies. Knows about the predicament the dreams leave you in every morning – has to know.

Instead, you just glare at him now, grit your teeth. Accusingly. “Fix it.” 

At your words, he looks like he’s on the verge of an emotion – but like he can’t decide on which one. Incredulity and genuine curiosity both flit over his stoic features; you dare order him? as well as clear unfeigned interest that that’s exactly what you’re doing.

“As I said,” he finally says after a moment, “you’ve grown attached.”

It’s your turn to scoff. “I wouldn’t call it that.”

He cocks an eyebrow. “You mortals do like excuses.”

Instantly, you regret all the very good things you’ve inwardly thought of him, a flash of annoyance welling up inside of you. Morpheus was certainly much ruder like this than in your dreams, where he was all willful, enthusiastic compliance to your whims. You suck your teeth at him. “Why are you even here?” 

“I have already told you. It’s a phenomenon rarely seen, and I’ve come to inspect it further.”

Describing it like you’re nothing more than bacteria on a petri dish, a mere body ready for autopsy – clinical, medical, distanced. 

“And you’re doing that by… breaking and entering my home?” You look away from him, fighting against the flush of emotion moving up your shoulders and neck. “Could’ve just knocked on my door instead of sneaking up on me in my sleep.”

“Only one of those statements is true.” 

You’re just about to question which one he meant when you note the faint lilt of amusement in his tone. 

You don’t need to see him to know that he’s pressing closer to where you’re still sprawled out on the couch. 

“Here I thought you were inviting me over when you asked for more.” 

Your head whips back to him – just to find him peering down at you. 

Much closer than before. 

Tendrils of heat sink their clutches into you at once. 

“I can’t help but wonder… if you got a taste of the real thing, would it stop? Would you stop calling me to come fill you up in the middle of the night?” Leaning down, his fingers wrap around your chin. “I do have a realm to tend to, other duties to… see to.” 

The shift in the air is palpable. 

Your mouth is so dry now. This feels so much more real than anything else before – you’re conscious, this is not a dream, you finalize like a mantra, fingernails digging into your palms. 

A light slap to your cheek, ordering you to open up your mouth, to show him his spend on your tongue before being allowed to swallow. 

The image had come unbidden – that it’s a particularly degrading one is even more mortifying. Pupils blown wide, you peer up at him through your lashes. 

“Even now, you want it.” His thumb brushes against the plump of your lower lip as he regards you. His tone indicates that he’s almost… surprised at it, your willingness. 

Embarrassed, you come to your own defense.

“I don’t.” You lie. 

A peculiar sound leaves him – something halfway between a scoff and a laugh. 

“You are as predictable here as you are in your dreams,” he says, sounding far too amused for your liking, thumb sweeping along your cheekbone. 

Then, he kisses you, all slow and soft. 

The protest that had sat on the tip of your tongue is swallowed down. 

One hand curls in the front of his shirt, the other wrapping around a bicep reached out to support himself on the couch’s backrest, searching for purchase. The rest of your body freezes, not yet answering the kiss in kind. 

Eyes squeezing shut, you try making sense of this, this whole situation. The interest that’s been rewarded you has been for reasons you barely understand, abilities you didn’t even know you possessed in the first place– 

At once, you sink into the couch pillows, escaping the kiss but not the hand that has settled on the back of your neck. Still, it lets you fall back with no resistance. 

He – Morpheus, you inwardly remind yourself of his name – hovers above you, tilting his head to the side imploringly. Like a crow would, or how dogs do at funny sounds. 

Swallowing uncomfortably, you break the gaze he has you in. Despite that, his eyes stay on your face, pinning you to the couch as much as the weight of him above you does. 

At first, you don’t know how to put the words that sit on the forefront of your mind. You were overthinking this, you were thinking far too little, you were–

“What you said before… Am I controlling you? H-have I been controlling you?” Your eyes search Morpheus' face.

He snorts. “You are not nearly powerful enough for that.” 

Good to know, you think, shifting beneath him, still. At least there’s that.  

Even with his body hovering above you, with layers of clothes and fabric separating your bodies, you feel yourself flush, an instinctive reaction to him, the object of all your desires and pining, being so close, so real. 

After a moment of silence, you start again. “You’re doing this to make it stop? Will it work?”

Morpheus seems to weigh his options a bit – all of them, the consequences of whatever reply he’ll give you obviously fluttering across his mind – before he goes on.

“It is… a working theory. If simply fulfilling your imaginations in the Dreaming would have been enough to keep you satiated,” he lingers on the word enough that you feel a fresh flush travel up your shoulders, “then I would worry about how much power you’ve already managed to steal from me.” After a moment’s longer deliberation, he adds: “... Honestly, it is seldom something like this occurs.” 

“I haven’t stolen anything.” You huff. You hadn’t willfully robbed him of anything. 

“Maybe not. Perhaps it was a gift.” Fingers trail up your bare arm, goosebumps rising in its wake, his eyes following the path he traces. Almost contemplatively, as if he’s just seen you for the first time, he goes on. “When I first felt the promise within you as you dreamt… it was a mistake showing myself in your dreams. Now, I am simply dealing with the consequences of my own recklessness.”

Reassurement aside, it is also a bit gratifying, knowing that he’s at your beck and call. That he’s here because of you – because it’s you. That the interest is mutual, in some capacity. 

That this isn’t a pity fuck – not one solely reserved for lonely girls who happen to call the Lord of Dreams into their own little fantasies. This was as much him as it was you. 

“Then– take it back.” 

“Oh, I am eager to make sure it is returned to where it belongs,” the slightest uptick of his mouth punctates the last bit, a promise of imminent closeness, the word stressed with weight as he leans down to whisper right by your ear, “for the both of us.” 

And even though he’s kissed you hundreds of times in countless dreams – this first, proper one is tentative, uncertain. A chaste press of his lips to your own, all soft and unimposing. 

Searching for any lingering doubts, making sure–

A pause follows as your eyes meet again. Morpheus pulls back slightly, brows tugging down again. Instantly, your arms move on their own accord, wrapping around his neck. You pull him back down, into another kiss, this one claiming more, allowing more. Fighting against the smile you feel spread across your lips when he answers the kiss with the same fervor is hopeless. At once, fire starts to spread under your skin, cinders smoking in your belly, his hands clutching you against him in return. 

He tastes soft, like rainwater and fog, and dark and deep like wine, musky and minty all at once. Something to get drunk on, lost in. Nothing like you could ever conjure up yourself. 

Your hands leave his neck – moving down his collar between layers of fabric and shoulder blades, feel them move as he settles against you, hands adjusting you underneath him, scratch your nails against whatever skin he’s allowing you to see, to touch. Searching for a definite clutch to assure you that it’s real. As if on cue, he lets the dark coat fall off him, your eager hands just as helpful as his own when in return he makes short work of the fabric between you. The towel falls off your body as easily as it had in your dream, discarded and out of sight. 

Despite yourself, you keen into the kiss, feeling a soft haze settle into your mind, as if you’re on the verge of slipping into easy sleep, hitting your senses and spreading through you like the first warmth of a bath.

It’s delicious, languid bliss.

Bodies molding against each other, settling into the natural curve of each other, thighs spreading to let him between them; teeth and tongue and lips mingling together in the kiss. Your fingers tread through the hair at the nape of his neck, humming softly when he pulls back from the kiss. 

Slender fingers dig into bare skin, his hands maneuvering you beneath him. They touch every inch of skin within reach; the pads of his fingers dragging against hip bones, along every rib, between your bare breasts and trailing along the natural curve of them. 

Finally, his hand sweeps across your neck, the tips of his fingers running along the column of your throat before lightly tracing your collarbone. When the hand pulls back, it’s replaced with his mouth finding the side of your neck, teeth biting down. Your breath hitches from the sting, clutching at him even harder as a delicate sound leaves his own lips. 

“What do you want?” Morpheus mummers against your ear, lips brushing against the sensitive skin. “Ask and I’ll give.”

“Mouth,” you whisper out, breathlessly, “I want your mouth on me.” 

He must know what you meant, where you mean. 

Yet the path there is tortuous and slow. 

Arms unwrap around him to give him freedom to travel the path further down, another press of his lips to the intimately hidden skin behind your ears, your clavicle and sternum given the same attention. Little love bites left in his wake, never hard enough to bruise or break the skin even if they make you squirm beneath him. 

Finally, he finally seals his lips around one stiff nipple without anymore of the slow, teasing buildup. Toying with the hard nub with lips and tongue, teeth nipping lightly, shockwaves of warm pain and pleasure spreading out from your chest, curling in on itself deep in your abdomen. It’s not until you start to shake and whine earnestly that he switches over and lavishes its twin with the same attention, kneading the other in his broad hand. 

Your fingers tread through dark hair, urging him down with more force than needed to further incite him downwards. Even as he maneuvers you easily, your fingers fist in the back of his collar, tugging upwards before he catches on and lets you drag the shirt off him. 

When he finally relents, it almost takes you by surprise. Large hands get a hold of your hips, hauling you down until you hang off the edge of the couch, before letting them settle on the back of your knees. The soft pressure of his forearms urges them up, like you’re nothing but a doll in his hand, tilting your pelvis up while he simultaneously sinks down his knees. Hearing his breathing deep at the visual of your spread legs, center slick and heated, is almost as gratifying as the swipe of his thumb against your clit that follows. Eyes locked with yours, he tastes the wetness as your mouth falls open as a new wave of want rushes through you, hips arching up to entice him into hurrying up. 

As if on demand, a large hand circles around a thigh, butterflying out against the softness of your belly, a throaty hum leaving Morpheus. 

It’s a visual for you too – seeing him on his knees, framed by soft thighs, eyes gleaming as he finally leans down–

Slowly, a silken, dexterous heat envelopes your clit. 

The sound that leaves you is desperate; long and pitched low in your throat, the joints in your fingers almost locking with how you tense up. It nearly hurts with how good it feels – and you let it be known, vocal cords not able to keep in the loud moans. Thighs clamp shut around him, starting to squirm with a needy gasp as his tongue flutters over your clit in broad, slow strokes. His grip tightens around your thighs, giving a hard squeeze, the soft pressure on your belly increasing. 

It’s almost impossible to not tilt your hips up and meet the unhurried laps of his tongue, and it’s almost harder to remain unmoving when you notice the prickly friction of stubble across your innermost thighs. Not a wholly unpleasant sensation but rather… tickling. The soft laugh that makes it past your lips as you squirm yet again is rewarded with a hard stare and an even harder hold circling your thighs, keeping them open as he pushes you further into the couch. A silent order to keep still. 

You bite your lip as he uses his teeth softly against your thigh, fingers flexing in the upholstery below you. Morpheus has given you all the incentive to obey. 

Not until you're well and properly still does he move again. 

He’s warm, not at all like in your dreams, and he’s velveteen against you; tongue rolling in repeated soft circles against that bundle of nerves, swollen with need. 

You think that there’s an easy way around this all – Morpheus doesn’t need to do… any of this. Not only the reassurement he had so willingly provided after you’d shown the slightest of doubt, but also–  

You’d been slick and ready from the moment you woke up. Really, the dream he had pulled you out of had been more than enough to ensure that. This was as needless as an AC on the North Pole. Maybe, it’s simply because you asked. 

Yet, as you peer down at him again at a particularly long stroke of his tongue, you meet his eyes yet again. The striking eyes are already watching you; taking it in, watching you come apart underneath him. A new rush of arousal surges through you, wetter at the mere thought that he’s enjoying this, that this is for him as much as it’s for you – following your whims, making your fantasies come alive– 

Morpheus’ motivations are a mystery to you – and impossible to focus on, too busy letting the high tide of pleasure swallow you whole. His tongue circles around your center without pushing past the ridge into you, so close in giving you something to tighten around. 

“Please,” you gasp, hands twitching with need to hold onto something, to ground yourself with, to fill you up with, “I– I need–”

Two fingers sink into you. 

Instinctively, one hand tangles in his disorderly dark hair, anchoring him closer, harder into you, the other grabbing his hand splayed out across your belly still. 

Morpheus’ smug hum vibrates through you, nose brushing against your clit as you start to stutter. 

Soft and easy, meeting plump resistance and your own tightening walls, soft and wet heat, a slick sound as he starts moving the digits. Lazy, languid movements that give you delicious stretch, friction. A steady rhythm that’s just what you need – flashes of electricity moving up your spine with every slow pump of his fingers. 

Then, they curl into a coaxing motion, and the pressure is almost punishing, coupled with his lips locking around your clit again, sucking as he repeatedly taps against that soft place inside of you. 

It’s devastating. 

“I’m– I’m gonna– oh–” you breathe out, managing to unravel your voice from where it’s stuck in your throat, everything seizing up into one big wave, grip on his hair turning steely. He doubles down – giving you just what you need, latching onto anything you’ll give him.

Hot white lightning floods your veins – and the pent up weeklong backlog of being denied bursts through, wringing itself out, tightening up like a vice. Stars sparkle behind your eyes, a broken moan leaving your lips as you twist on the fingers working the orgasm through your entire system, legs trembling. All of your synapses are on fire, feeling every precise flick over the oversensitized nub wreak havoc on your nerve endings, every crook of his fingers prompting an influx of heat. 

The force of it nearly makes you fall off the couch. 

Luckily, his hands are there, holding you down, securing you against the furniture so you have no wiggle room, unable to do anything but take the shockwaves that flood your system, no choice but to just take the fingers working the orgasm through you. 

When your muscles finally relax and you go limp in his hold, you fill your lungs with oxygen, chest rising and falling. Panting into the air, feeling the aftershocks sending flickers of electricity through muscles contracting. The scent of sex hangs heavy in the air, the faint soapy smell of your showergel, as well as something wholly different from yourself. The hand on your belly moves, and you notice that you’re still clutching at Morpheus’ hair. You let the cramp like hold relent, and he unlatches himself from between your still shaking thighs. 

A line of gossamer slick still connects his mouth to your core. Thoughtlessly, you dart your hand out and collect the wetness with your fingers. All motor skills leave you in his hands – your body acting on its own accord rather than how you want it to. 

Heady eyes move between the slippery fingers and your own gaze, peering up at you through thick, dark lashes. With the barest of motion, he takes the digits into his mouth. 

Eyes wide, pupils blown, you watch the peek of pink tongue run over your fingers, heat coiling together tightly in the pit of your abdomen. His lips are warm, soft against the pads of your fingers, as he pulls back, drinking in the look plastered on your face. 

“You are just as demanding here as you are in your dreams,” he says, sounding too amused for your liking. A secret joke you’re not wholly in on. 

You watch him rise up between your thighs, eyes immediately lowering– 

Now, you notice that he’s as naked as you are as he stands between your spread legs. And he wasn’t done with you yet. 

You gasp when he pulls you up with him. He grabs just below your knees as he stands, adjusting you until your knees bend inwards towards your head.

A thin, barely there, trail of hair on his chest and stomach catches your eyes, almost translucent and unnoticeable if you weren’t looking for it. You run your hand over it, fingers skim along his adonis belt, following the natural curve of the bone and down. “Imagine if I was more demanding,” you say, a bit breathlessly, watching alabaster skin twitch under your touch, the flesh that’s stretched over bones and lean muscle, pressing your fingers to his heart to really see if there’s something there, “what then.” 

In return, Morpheus grabs your wandering hand, pressing his lips to the back of your fingers hastily. The both dark and bright glimmering eyes catch your own. The cosmos must be in them, you think, as they sparkle with something much more indelible than you could ever hope to be. 

What you’re thinking of, the realization that hit you, must show on your face, because the faintest of smiles graces his lips as he traps the wandering hand to your side, stopping any further investigation of him. 

“More,” he finally answers, as something blunt and slick presses between the apex of your thighs, the glide made easy by your own wetness, when it catches on the ridge and– 

“I’d give you more.” 

With one surefire thrust, he’s filled you to the hilt – the baritone groan leaving him reverberating through the room. 

Your mouth agape as your vocal cords work, but no sound comes. 

Quickly, you snag your fingers around his wrist, around one bicep, and his own fingers dig into soft, pillowy flesh. He pulls back and thrusts down, the stretch of him instantly making your legs quiver, supporting himself on the edge of the couch, easily maneuvering a leg over his shoulder. 

Staggered at first, the pace he sets has your eyes rolling with every inch pushed into your waiting cunt. A groan rattles through his narrow chest, cock seated inside of you, grinding his pelvis against your own. You moan, hips arching up, plainly asking for more. And he grants it; the leg over his shoulder that he’s keeping there almost cramps up from the pleasure, and you feel a hot breath let out against the soft skin behind your knee, his lips pressed against the skin he’s able to reach. 

He fucks you through the couch. 

At least, that's what it feels like. 

It’s a pounding – the couch springs underneath you doing little to absorb the shock as you take his cock, barely offering any plush comfort. He fills you completely, reaching deep and hitting something completely shattering within you. Broad hands grip your thighs, keeping you flush and filled completely with him. Every snap of his hip brushes against your clit, adding little bursts of stars behind your eyelids. 

When you start calling out his name, begging for more, he murmurs against your skin, back bending to kiss the salty sheen off your brows and collarbones. 

And suddenly, you’re caged under him. 

Slender fingers settle into the plump of your rear, and instinctively your ankles lock over narrow hips. Letting gravity do the work as he thrusts down, Morpheus drives the pace even further, making your wail and digging your nails into his back, shoulders, anything you can reach, tugging on the hair at the nape of his neck. 

When his mouth covers yours it’s mostly to keep you quiet, you’re sure. 

It’s comforting – the heat of him above you, covering you like how blankets of snow cover the streets in the middle of winter. Finding comfort in being wanted and needed, coveted, in the way that you feel you need him, cling to him, head thrown back as his strokes hit deeper and deeper, whispers of encouragement leaving his lips all the while. 

What was tentative and searching at first turns into a fervor; more, you think, more. 

Even as he surrounds you utterly, completely. In every breath, you smell him, taste him, feel him as he rocks into you. Lips eagerly opening for each other without any hesitation, a hot need, a want, rising in your chest. Every ounce of closeness that he offers, you take and swallow whole. Nails dig into his shoulders, as his own fingers do the same to your hips, grip on the cusp of bruising. 

You feel bent in half – his forehead against yours, a salt sweat covering your body. You start to moan in earnest; you feel yourself clutching around him, the first warning pulses of an orgasm rippling through from your toes to the veins in your throat seizing up. All the air rushes through your lungs – up and out, twisting into a shout. 

Every movement is precise, every caress and kiss and bite he rewards across your skin serving a purpose. It’s perfect; it has you keening, writhing like molten metal has filled your veins. The air is filled with your quick, rapid breathing. His own low, dark grunts and praises against the shell of your ear are private, reserved only for you. Your toes curl as if there’s hot sand below them, like you’re racing across the hot dunes of a desert, like you’re falling into quicksand and sinking down into the hot center of the earth. The way he takes you is rigorous; leaving nothing behind to have you wanting. It’s deliberate, knowing, of both you and your wants, and you think that anyone else would pale in comparison to him. 

No one would – could – ever compare.  

The second orgasm unfurls, wicked and hard, crashing through you. It burns a hole in the pit of your stomach, clutching at Morpheus, back arching to keep him close–

It doesn’t stop, he doesn’t stop, not relenting an inch as he pushes you over the edge you’ve been begging for, imagining for weeks on end. Every thrust tightens your cunt until everything inside you is fierce and tense, chest heaving with almost seismic force, wet and hot bliss. 

It’s devastating, utterly destructive – complete pleasure that soars through you.

Head dropping to your shoulder, Morpheus drags himself over that same brink as soon as you’re done toppling over, hips stuttering against your own until his pelvis presses against yours and stays there, grinding deep with a throaty groan. 

Gradually, things start to return to you; Morpheus' forehead pressed to your sternum, the tranquility around you, watching dust particles dance in the soft light coming from outside your window. The breath he takes as he holds you still is deep, slowly pulling himself out of you. Immediately, gravity makes itself known by the sticky wet that runs down your innermost thighs. You shudder at it, the unpleasant feeling of cum slowly leaking out of you. 

It doesn’t matter though – no, you couldn’t do anything about it if you wanted to. 

You’re boneless. Joints all locked up, stiff from the position, panting breath rising towards the ceiling. A dull throb still persists between your legs, aftershocks of the way your muscles have been working, the comedown starting to kick in. 

The couch is worn down, sunken in after years of diligent use. 

But at the moment, it’s the most comfortable thing you've ever felt.

And you sink down into it, let yourself be taken into Morpheus arms as he leans down into the couch.

You groan into the air, hand thrown over your eyes. 

“Sated.” Morpheus’ voice is soothing, but the statement is plain. As if you’re some fairytale beast he’s just offered a sacrificial lamb to, and was now awaiting a boon. Pleasure lingers, as does the weight of him, the feel of him inside you. His voice is smooth, lulling, a promise of the sleep that would come, eventually – as inevitable as dreams themselves. 

Fleetingly, you wonder if he’d still meet you there, in that inbetween place, where all your previous encounters had taken place. 

“Are you serious? Who– where else could I get fucked like this? I’m ruined.” You moan, like you’re a maiden who's just been sneaked out of her virginal purity by showing too much ankle. 

The thought, that certain consequence, hasn’t seemed to dawn on the King of Dreams, Lord Dream or whatever it was. Or at least, that’s what his silence tells you. When no reply comes after another moment, you part the fingers across your eyes, just in time to see him move. 

And then, he’s rolling you over, hovering above you as you lay beneath him, heart suddenly stuck in your throat – staring down into your eyes intently. 

“Maybe,” Morpheus closes in on you again, leaning over you, lips barely skimming yours as he follows up that particular thought, “this shouldn't be the last time then?”

---

i read a total of three (3) morpheus/reader fics before i started writing this. happy sandman renewal and what not!! 

is the ending a set up for a sequel? well,,, 

let me know what worked and what didn’t! <3

EDIT: this ended up getting a sequel! read halcyon here

#morpheus/dream x reader #the sandman fanfic #morpheus x reader #the sandman #morpheus smut #dream of the endless #my writing #influx #yes i posted this a couple hours ago on ao3. what about it #anyways tags are for secrets; #yes this would absolutely not leave me until i wrote it. it eroded my brain until it was out #it's filthy. wholly indecent. #am not abandoning any other fics for this dw dw this just needed to come out in a cathartic fashion #mdni

[rea-listing]

Vampire (Smut) G.L

-----------------------------------------

It was a dark night as I trudged along unfamiliar streets in town. Somehow, I had managed to lose my way and ended up in an area that felt foreign. Confused, I decided to walk aimlessly, hoping to find a familiar face or landmark that would guide me home.

Turning right, I stumbled upon a narrow alleyway. My heart fluttered with a mixture of apprehension and relief, possibly might find a shortcut to the main street.

As I walked through the dim path, I saw a figure hunched on the ground at the end of the alley. The man looked frail, unhealthy, his skin was pale.

My heart skipped a beat as I recognized the man. It was Georg, my best friend since childhood. However, he looked so different, so ill.

What struck me most about his appearance were his teeth, especially his pronounced canines. They were sharp-looking, resembling fangs. I hesitated, started to back away.

But then, Georg pleaded in a weak, almost inaudible voice, "Help me." Despite all logical reasoning, I was drawn towards him, wanting to aid my ailing friend.

I took a few cautious steps towards him, reaching out my hand. Suddenly, with a speed I could not have anticipated, he grabbed my arm and pinned me to the wall.

Panic surged through me as I felt his fangs dig into my neck. It was a sharp, intense pain, followed by an unnatural coldness spreading across my body. It feels so bad... but so good…?

Georg looks into my eyes. I am weak, he has taken so much blood from me. And yet, I’m enjoying this. The feeling is amazing...

It's better than anything I have experienced... Georg, still looking into my eyes, licks the blood from my neck, soon after, pulling away.

"I've wanted to do that forever Y/n." He whispers, catching his breath. "I fucking love you, I need you... I need you to be mine!" He grabs at your shirt, looking in my eyes. "Will you let me make you mine?"

I nod my head, him immediately reacting.

He grips my hand, leading me into a nearby building. I try to analyze your surroundings, Georg interrupting by bending me over and pinning me to a table. From what I could tell, the place looks like a hideout and nobody but the both of us are there.

His grip on me grows tighter, pulling me closer. The intensity of our lovemaking is overwhelming, it's almost too much for me to handle. But I know that Georg will take care of me. He always has.

His pace quickens and I can feel him twitch inside of me. My moans get louder, so loud that I am screaming his name. He must love that because he starts to thrust deeper. This sends me over the edge. I cum, basically drooling in pleasure. He doesn't stop though.

"I'm not done yet, I haven't finished." He says between groans. His fingernails claw into my hips as he gets closer. Suddenly he lets his load out inside me, it feels amazing-

I open your eyes, in a bed, next to my husband.. Georg. He looks right at me.

"Have a nice dream sweetie?" He smirks.

#bill kaulitz #georg listing #gustav schäfer #tokio hotel #tom kaulitz #bill kaulitz x reader #tokio hotel smut #tokio hotel x reader #bill kaulitz smut

[whiteshipnightjar]

AAAAAAAAnd there was a booming above you, that night black airplanes flew over the sea. And they were lowing and shifting like beached whales, shelled snails, as you strained and you squinted to see the retreat of their hairless and blind cavalry. You froze in your sand shoal, prayed for your poor soul; sky seemed a bread roll, soaking in a milk-bowl. And when the bread broke — fell in bricks of wet smoke — my sleeping heart woke, and my waking heart spoke. Then there was a silence you took to mean something: mean, Run, sing, for alive you will evermore be. And the plague of the greasy black engines a-skulking has gone east, while you’re left to explain them to me — released from their hairless and blind cavalry. With your hands in your pockets, stubbily running to where I’m unfresh, undressed and yawning — Well, what is this craziness? This crazy talking? You caught some small death when you were sleepwalking. It was a dark dream, darlin; it’s over. The firebreather is beneath the clover. Beneath his breathing there is cold clay, forever: a toothless hound-dog choking on a feather. But I took my fishing pole (fearing your fever), down to the swimming hole, where there grows a bitter herb that blooms but one day a year, by the riverside — I’d bring it here: Apply it gently to the love you’ve lent me. While the river was twisting and braiding, the bait bobbed and the string sobbed, as it cut through the hustling breeze. And I watched how the water was kneading so neatly, gone treacly, nearly slowed to a stop in this heat; frenzy coiling flush along the muscles beneath. Press on me, we are restless things. Webs of seaweed are swaddling. You call upon the dusk of the musk of a squid: shot full of ink, until you sink into your crib. Rowing along, among the reeds, among the rushes, I heard your song, before my heart had time to hush it! Smell of a stonefruit being cut and being opened. Smell of a low and of a lazy cinder smoking And when the fire moves away, fire moves away, son. Why would you say I was the last one? Scrape your knee: it is only skin. Makes the sound of violins. When I cut your hair, and leave the birds all the trimmings, I am the happiest woman among all women. And the shallow water stretches as far as I can see. Knee deep, trudging along — the seagull weeps ‘so long’ — I’m humming a threshing song — Until the night is over, hold on, hold on; hold your horses back from the fickle dawn. I have got some business out at the edge of town, candy weighing both of my pockets down till I can hardly stay afloat, from the weight of them (and knowing how the commonfolk condemn what it is I do, to you, to keep you warm: Being a woman. Being a woman.) But always up the mountainside you’re clambering, groping blindly, hungry for anything; picking through your pocket linings — well, what is this? Scrap of sassafras, eh Sisyphus? I see the blossoms broke and wet after the rain. Little sister, he will be back again. I have washed a thousand spiders down the drain. Spiders’ ghosts hang, soaked and dangling silently, from all the blooming cherry trees, in tiny nooses, safe from everyone — nothing but a nuisance; gone now, dead and done — Be a woman. Be a woman. Though we felt the spray of the waves, we decided to stay, 'till the tide rose too far. We weren’t afraid, cause we know what you are; and you know that we know what you are. Awful atoll — O, incalculable indiscreetness and sorrow! Bawl bellow: Sibyl sea-cow, all done up in a bow. Toddle and roll; teethe an impalpable bit of leather, while yarrow, heather and hollyhock awkwardly molt along the shore. Are you mine? My heart? Mine anymore? Stay with me for awhile. That’s an awfully real gun. I know life will lay you down, as the lightning has lately done. Failing this, failing this, follow me, my sweetest friend, to see what you anointed, in pointing your gun there. Lay it down! Nice and slow! There is nowhere to go, save up; up where the light, undiluted, is weaving, in a drunk dream, at the sight of my baby, out back: back on the patio, watching the bats bring night in — while, elsewhere, estuaries of wax-white wend, endlessly, towards seashores unmapped. * Last week, our picture window produced a half-word, heavy and hollow, hit by a brown bird. We stood and watched her gape like a rattlesnake and pant and labor over every intake. I said a sort of prayer for some rare grace, then thought I ought to take her to a higher place. Said, “dog nor vulture nor cat shall toy with you, and though you die, bird, you will have a fine view.” Then in my hot hand, she slumped her sick weight. We tramped through the poison oak, heartbroke and inchoate. The dogs were snapping, so you cuffed their collars while I climbed the tree-house. Then how I hollered! Cause she’d lain, as still as a stone, in my palm, for a lifetime or two; then saw the treetops, cocked her head, and up and flew. (While back in the world that moves, often, according to the hoarding of these clues, dogs still run roughly around little tufts of finch-down.) The cities we passed were a flickering wasteland, but his hand, in my hand, made them hale and harmless. While down in the lowlands, the crops are all coming; we have everything. Life is thundering blissful towards death in a stampede of his fumbling green gentleness. You stopped by; I was all alive. In my doorway, we shucked and jived. And when you wept, I was gone; see, I got gone when I got wise. But I can’t with certainty say we survived. Then down and down and down and down and down and deeper, stoke, without sound, the blameless flames, you endless sleeper. Through fire below, and fire above, and fire within, sleep through the things that couldn’t have been, if you hadn’t have been. And when the fire moves away, fire moves away, son. Why would you say I was the last one? All my bones, they are gone, gone, gone. Take my bones, I don’t need none. Cold, cold cupboard, lord, nothing to chew on! Suck all day on a cherry stone. Dig a little hole not three inches round — Spit your pit in a hole in the ground. Weep upon the spot for the starving of me! Till up grows a fine young cherry tree. When the bough breaks, what’ll you make for me? A little willow cabin to rest on your knee. What’ll I do with a trinket such as this? Think of your woman, who’s gone to the west. But I’m starving and freezing in my measly old bed! Then I’ll crawl across the salt flats, to stroke your sweet head. Come across the desert with no shoes on! I love you truly, or I love no-one. Fire moves away. Fire moves away, son. Why would you say I was the last one? Clear the room! There’s a fire, a fire, a fire. Get going, and I’m going to be right behind you. And if the love of a woman or two, dear, could move you to such heights, then all I can do is do, my darling, right by you.

#well you know how it is #joanna newsom #only skin #love joanna #jnew

[camillemontespan]

insignificant [drake x camille]

I thought I'd write a Drake x Camille fic after months and months of no writing. This is old school Drake x Camille. It felt nice writing them again!

@irisk12

@sophxwithers

@katedrakeohd

@mom2000aggie

@kingliam2019

@saivilo

@moonlightgem7

@jovialyouthmusic

@burnsoslow

@sirbeepsalot

*********

***************************************

‘I am dreading this, Drake,’ Camille groaned. ‘Why does it have to be a whole weekend?’

Drake Walker let out an exasperated sigh. ‘Because Olivia is an asshole, that’s why.’ 

The two of them were trudging through the snow behind the group. Liam, Hana and Maxwell were ahead, all laughing and joking. It was Drake and Camille, the two unwilling participants, at the back. 

They were spending the weekend at Olivia's castle in Lythikos as part of the suitor competition. Camille had never been before and so far, she was out of her comfort zone. New York had cold, bitter winters, yes. But Lythikos was another level.

‘She hates me,’ Camille continued, stomping her way through the heavy snow. ‘I know all the suitors have to do this but I just feel like she’s going to make my weekend a living hell.’ 

‘Welcome to my life, Montespan,’ Drake said through gritted teeth. ‘Everyday with Olivia Nevrakis is like Groundhog Day.’

‘Oh, are you Bill Murray?’ Camille quipped, her tone lightly teasing. 

Drake stopped in his tracks and gave her a withering look. ‘Hey. I am obviously Andie MacDowall.’

Camille burst out laughing. Drake felt his heart skip a beat at the sound. He liked making her laugh even though he shouldn’t. 

Stop it. Stop enjoying this. 

‘Alright, come on Andie,’ Camille crowed, taking Drake by the arm and pulling him along. ‘We should catch up with the others.’

‘Oh joy..’ Drake muttered. 

**************************

Lythikos Keep was a fortress of solitude.That was all Drake could say about it. Most people would say it was a medieval castle that held centuries of rich Cordonian history within its walls but for Drake, it was as cold and empty as the woman who lived in it. 

Olivia Neverakis was very tall and slender with skin like porcelain. Her red hair hung down her back in waves and her eyes were blue and catlike. Everything about her was intimidating and that was exactly how she liked it. 

She showed the group to their respective bedrooms, leaving Drake and Camille until last. 

Hana, Maxwell, Kiara and Penelope were to stay on the fifth floor. Madeline and Liam were to stay on Olivia’s floor which occupied the top of the castle. 

 Drake was expecting to be housed in the dungeon but clearly, Liam had spoken to Olivia before she had any ideas. His bedroom was on the third floor opposite Camille’s. 

‘I thought the two Americans would like to be near each other,’ Olivia explained, her eyes focusing on Drake. ‘Since you have more in common.’

Camille frowned. ‘Olivia, that’s not fair on Drake, he’s Liam’s best friend-’

‘It’s fine,’ Drake interrupted. ‘I’m used to Olivia’s hospitality.’  He cast a glance over at Camille, who was clenching her hands into fists.  ‘That doesn’t mean you should put up with it though.’

Camille looked up at Drake. ‘Drake, you shouldn’t be putting up with it either.’ 

Olivia’s eyes flashed. ‘Are you insulting my hospitality, Camille? If you like, you can stay in the dungeon. I can easily ask my servants to move your things-’

‘Don’t talk to her that way,’ Drake cut in, his voice like ice. 

Olivia raised an eyebrow. ‘You’re awfully protective over her, Drake. Anything to tell me?’

Drake’s chest puffed out as he stared at Olivia with narrowed eyes.

He had grown up with her and he knew how she worked. Everything to Olivia was a game and she always had to come out on top.

Her one weakness was Liam. 

Everyone knew she was in love with him, including Liam himself. But she would never have him. ‘The she-wolf of Lythikos’ was what some people called her and Drake didn’t blame them. 

‘I’m just saying that since it's her first visit here, she should be near her friends,’ Drake bit back. ‘That’s all.’

‘Drake, we’re friends!’ Camille protested. ‘We can be hall mates.’

Olivia rolled her eyes. ‘God, you’re so.. Peppy. Right, wine and cheese downstairs in fifteen minutes. Don’t be late.’ 

‘Whereabouts downstairs do we meet you…?’ Camille asked but trailed off as Olivia was already strutting away down the corridor. 

Camille sighed and rolled her eyes. ‘Fine, we’ll just find our own way through this fortress of solitude then..’ 

Drake held back a smile as he picked up her suitcases  - yes, she had brought two suitcases for one weekend. ‘Come on, Montespan,’ he said, ‘open the door.’ 

Camille blushed. ‘I can carry my own things, Drake.’

‘I know,’ he said, ‘but since hospitality is at such a low bar, I figured I should at least help you.’

Camille giggled and opened the door to let them both inside. 

Drake put her suitcases down on the floor and turned to face Camille. ‘So, meet you in the corridor in fifteen minutes?’ 

Camille gave him a mischievous look. Drake looked at her warily. He knew that look already. He'd seen it whenever she shared a dirty joke with Maxwell or gossiped with Hana. 

‘What the hell are you planning, Montespan?’

Camille reached into her handbag and brought out a hipflask. ‘Fancy some whisky?’

Drake blinked, staring at the hip flask in her hand. She shook it so the liquid sloshed inside, full of promise.

‘Hell yeah,’ Drake finally said, his voice coming out like a croak. 

Camille grinned and opened the hip flask. She passed him it and as he took it, their fingers brushed gently. 

Drake tossed his head back as he took a long sip. The whisky burned his throat. God, it tasted good.  He passed her the hip flask back and she took a swig, not once tearing her eyes off his. Drake stared at her, his eyes boring into hers. 

‘You surprise me, Montespan..’ he murmured.

Camille shrugged, giving him a shy smile. ‘Let’s stick together this weekend,’ she said softly. 

Drake took the hip flask from her and sipped from it again

I’ve got you, kid.’

************************

Drake didn't like wine. 

Tonight's event was wine tasting, canapes and cheeseboards which Drake also didn't like. A cheeseboard was NOT a dessert option! 

He stood beside Liam as they sipped red wine from crystal glasses. 

‘I appreciate you coming here, Drake,’ Liam told him warmly. ‘It’s nice to see you being social.’ 

Drake grimaced. ‘Someone’s gotta look out for Montespan.’ 

Liam looked from Drake to where Camille was sitting talking to Hana and Maxwell, as she always did. ‘Looks like Hana and Maxwell look out for her too,’ he replied wistfully. 

Drake swallowed and took a long sip of his wine. He always had to be careful with what he said in front of Liam. He couldn’t let Liam have an inkling that Drake sort of, maybe, kind of liked Camille. 

It was fine though. It was just a small crush. He could push it down and then he would get over it. 

Drake watched Camille as she talked to Hana and Maxwell. She was focusing on what Maxwell was saying, her eyes trained on him, smiling as he continued speaking. When Camille spoke to you, she made you feel like the only person in the world. 

It was just a crush. 

***********

Later that evening, the group settled down by the fire for drinks. Olivia made sure that she sat beside Liam, giving him her utmost attention. 

Camille settled down beside Drake. Their legs grazed as she moved beside him, making Drake feel like he was on fire. 

Or maybe that was just the fire beside him. 

‘Having a nice time?’ she asked softly, giving his shoulder a nudge with hers. 

‘Now I am,’ Drake said before he could stop himself. He turned bright red as soon as he said it. 

Camille smiled. ‘Good, I’m glad.’ 

Their eyes held for a long moment until the sound of Olivia clearing her throat broke their gazes. 

‘So Drake..’ Olivia said, her voice wheedling. ‘How’s Savannah?’ 

Drake felt his blood run cold. He hadn’t been expecting to hear his sister’s name ever since she had disappeared. Savannah had tried so hard to fit in with Olivia and Madeleine but it had never been enough. She had been gone for ten months and Drake had no idea where she was. 

‘None of your business, Olivia,’ Drake muttered. 

‘Charming!’ Madeleine cut in, her voice lilting. ‘You going to let him talk to you like that, Livvy?’

Olivia narrowed her eyes at Drake as she held her wine glass in her hand. ‘No I’m not. Watch how you talk to me, Walker. You’re a guest at my castle this weekend, I demand respect. I know that’s hard for you but this weekend, just try it.’

‘Liv, enough..’ Liam muttered. ‘Please just be nice-’

‘I am being nice,’ Olivia interrupted. ‘I’m asking him about Savannah.’

‘And I’m telling you it’s none of your business,’ Drake said cooly. 

‘Who’s Savannah?’ Camille asked. 

Drake closed his eyes. He hadn’t told Camille about his sister. He hadn’t wanted to open up like that. Unburdening himself seemed like more trouble than it was worth. 

‘His sister, of course!’ Madeleine said. ‘Come on, Camille, you’ve been spending so much time with Drake, you didn’t know about her?’

Camille frowned and looked down at her wine glass. ‘No..’ she said quietly. 

‘Wow, I guess the two Americans don’t really know each other after all,’ Olivia quipped, running her finger along her wine glass. 

Drake stood up abruptly. Without a word, he slammed his wine glass down on the table and strode away from the sofa area. He pulled open the French doors that led outside. He needed air. He needed to get away from this situation. 

****************************

As soon as Drake stepped outside, he realised that he hadn’t taken his coat or scarf. It was fucking freezing. Snow covered the ground and it was still falling. 

‘Fuck it,’ Drake muttered. He strode through the snow, bracing himself as his boots plunged through. If he caught a cold, fuck it. He could spend a few days resting in his room at the palace, excused from social events. If he died from hypothermia, fuck it. He would be dead. 

He kept walking until the snow felt heavy against his legs. Without one last fuck left to give, Drake slumped down on the snow and breathed out into the cold night air. 

It was so dark. The stars above him twinkled in the sky. Looking up at them, he felt insignificant. That wasn’t new but at least, in the grand scheme of things, everyone who looked up at the stars felt insignificant. Under the milky way, everyone in the world was insignificant. Even Olivia Nevrakis. 

Drake sighed. He thought about how quiet and despondent Camille had sounded when she realised she didn’t know who Savannah was. His heart tugged with guilt. 

Camille was a woman who wore her heart on her sleeve. She cared deeply about people. She was an open book, always talking about feelings. If she wasn’t so beautiful and kind, Drake would have avoided her like the plague. 

But he hadn’t avoided her like the plague. No, Drake had looked after her. When Liam was busy with the other suitors, Drake spent time with Camille. He would go out of his way to talk to her, see her, tease her. By being Camille, she had pulled Drake in and now he was in her world. 

Camille wasn’t insignificant. 

***********************

‘Drake.’

He looked up to find Camille standing over him. She was bundled up in a coat and scarf, her breath thick in the air. 

‘Montespan? You should be inside-’

‘No, YOU should be inside,’ Camille interrupted. ‘Don’t let Olivia get to you! Come back inside and sit by the fire with me. We can talk. You’re not wearing a coat or scarf, you’re going to catch hypothermia-’

‘Fuck it..’ Drake droned, his voice monotone.

Camille stared at him for a long moment until she nodded, seeming to make a decision. Drake watched as she pulled her scarf from her neck. 

‘Montespan, what are you doing-’

She sank down to her knees and wrapped her scarf around his neck. It was warm from her skin and it smelled of her perfume. Notes of jasmine and musk. 

‘I don’t want you getting sick,’ Camille said quietly,’ and I don’t want you feeling bad.’

Her eyes fixed on his. Drake swallowed, unsure of how to react to how close she was, how intense she was. She had never been this intense with him before. 

‘Olivia’s a bitch,’ Camille went on. ‘So is Madeline. They had no right to bring up your sister. I don’t know what happened with Savannah but it’s clearly a painful topic for you. But you should not be outside in the snow. You don’t belong out here, you belong with me.’

Drake started at her words. ‘W-with you?’

Camille bit her lip before smiling weakly. ‘We said we would stick together this weekend, didn’t we?’

Drake felt his heart sink. Of course. She wasn’t being all romantic. She was being his friend. 

It’s just a crush. 

Camille held out her hand to him. ‘Come back with me?’

Drake looked at her for a long moment. She was silhouetted against the moon which cast a silver glow over her. She looked even more beautiful than ever. He studied her, taking in everything about her. How her mouth quirked up at the corners so it looked like she was always smiling. He thought about her as a person. How she tried so hard to be kind to everyone, including him. How good a person she was. How genuine she was. 

It’s not just a crush. 

He gestured up to the sky. ‘Actually, do you wanna look at the stars with me?’ 

Camille blinked, not expecting Drake Walker of all people to ask her to look at the stars. 

‘Uhh, sure..’

She sat down beside him, letting out a squeak as her ass settled on the snow. Drake let out a laugh. ‘Montespan, did you just squeak?’

‘No!’

‘You did! You sounded like a mouse!’

Camille covered her eyes with her hands. ‘Oh god, get me some more cheese!’

Drake grinned at her and the two of them slowly became quiet, looking up at the stars. 

‘I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about my sister,’ Drake said, his voice breaking the silence. ‘I should have.’

‘You don’t owe me anything, Drake,’ Camille replied. ‘It’s your business.’

‘Yeah but you tell me everything..’

Camille visibly swallowed. ‘Not everything..’ she whispered. 

Drake wanted to ask her more. What did she not tell him? What was inside that mind of hers? 

Before he could speak, Camille pointed up at the sky and let out a squeal. ‘Oh my god, Drake, a shooting star!’

Drake was alert now. ‘What?! Where?!’

‘In the sky, you idiot!’ Camille teased, playfully hitting his shoulder.

Drake turned red. ‘I meant, where in the sky, Montespan!’

Camille laughed and rested her head on his shoulder without warning. ‘You missed it,’ she said softly, ‘but it was beautiful. I’ve never seen a shooting star before. I should make a wish.’ 

Drake was afraid to move. He didn’t want her to move either. 

‘Whatcha gonna wish for, Montespan?’

Camille giggled. ‘For you to call me Camille.’

Drake let out a surprised laugh. ‘No chance.’

‘One day you will.’

Camille stood up, shivering now. ‘I’m cold,’ she said simply.

Drake sighed and dragged himself to his feet. ‘I suppose we should go back in,’ he muttered. ‘Because it’s so fun at Olivia’s castle.’

His voice dripped with sarcasm. 

Camille pressed her lips together to hold in laughter at how dry he was. Together, they began to walk through the snow. Drake breathed in the scent of Camille’s scarf, feeling warm. 

‘Aah!’ 

Camille skidded. Drake caught her by the arm, pulling her into him so she didn’t fall. They remained pressed close to each other. Camille’s hands gripped his elbows. 

‘I’m a clutz..’ she muttered. 

‘Easy done,’ Drake murmured. He could feel his heart hammering in his chest and he hoped she couldn’t feel it. Slowly, they broke apart but Camille’s hand travelled down his arm to take his hand. 

‘For safety,’ she said assertively. 

Drake felt his heart leap in his chest. To cover his surprise, he smirked. ‘Sure. For safety.’

They held hands as they trudged through the snow, Camille’s delicate slender hands in Drake’s bear paw. As they got closer to the castle, they walked slower and slower. 

‘Wanna just hang out here just us?’ Drake asked, half joking, half hopeful. ‘I’m good at camping, I can find us something to build a tent-like structure, burn some wood..’

Camille laughed and squeezed his hand. ‘As fun as that would be, I kind of want my bed.’

They were close to the castle now. Stopping, Camille looked up at Drake and gave hish hand another squeeze. ‘We stick together, remember?’

Drake smiled softly. He reached out to unwind Camille’s scarf from his neck. Silently, he wound it around her neck, making sure it was knotted comfortably. His fingers grazed her collarbone. In a moment, Camille’s hand reached up to grasp his wrist, keeping his fingers in place on her skin. Their eyes remained fixed on each other. 

‘I’ve got you, kid,’ Drake told her. 

It’s not just a crush. 

#drake walker #trr fanfic #the royal romance #drake x camille

[wren-l-winter]

The Collector and The Goddess

Hi everyone! So for the month of April, I am going to (attempt to) write one short story every day. This is the first of (hopefully) thirty.

TW: blood and mild gore

WC: 1214

Summary: In the icy grip of winter, The Collector embarks on a perilous journey to summon the Goddess of the Mountain. Eager to collect the ancient being, she summons her and makes a deal without thought of what price she might have to pay for the miracle she desires.

Frost swept over the lifeless cliffside. Winter had seized the landscape in its ruthless grip, leaving nothing untouched. Not even The Collector had been spared. Bundled in the finest furs and leathers Lavena could find, she trudged along the shallow shelf protruding from the unforgiving stone. Piles of snow obstructed her path, making it impossible to tell where to step.

And yet, by some blessing from above, she stopped before the hollow mouth of a cave where the wind wailed and snowflakes teased the opening. But the frozen flecks turned into droplets as they attempted to cross the threshold.

Lavena stiffly moved forward. Warmth caressed her cheek, melting away the cold that turned her blood into sludge as the cave welcomed her into its dark embrace. The shrill cry of the wind fell away as she moved deeper into the darkness.

From her coat pocket, she retrieved a sunstone. The shadows fell away, revealing the eroded edges of the cave. Each footstep echoed around her as she descended into the mountain. Only when the tunnel stopped and she faced a barren wall did she stop.

She flexed her empty hand as she walked the length of the stone. Unlike the pale grey of the cave, the dark rock was lined with minute crystals. They taunted her with each wink, daring her to speak the ancient words she’d murmured under her breath with each agonizing step up the mountain’s face.

Lavena stopped at the center. The stone glowed within her cupped hands as she took in a small breath. After months of hunting a deity most had forgotten, she had finally reached the end of her journey. Bowing her head, she spoke the ancient tongue of the villagers she had met at the foot of the mountain. The throaty syllables bounced off the air, surrounding her as she continued the chant.

The crystals within the wall shuddered, falling from the rock onto the floor in a tinkling wave of rain with a softer sound than the villagers had described. The fallen crystals melted before her feet in a shimmering puddle of iridescent minerals. Lavena stepped back, her voice growing louder as though she could will the pool of crystal to become something more.

Slowly, a figure emerged from globs of enchanting hues. Lavena didn’t dare to lift her head for fear of forgetting the chant she’d ingrained into her mind. She couldn’t risk losing the chance to speak to an ancient creature. The villagers had said it could only be summoned during the worst storm of the season. If she failed, she’d have to wait another year.

The molten crystal solidified before her into two long limbs.

Her chanting was interrupted by a cool finger against her lips. “And what, my lovely dove, have you summoned me for,” a voice like a singing chalice crooned. The finger shifted, dragging down her bottom lip before pressing beneath her chin, lifting her head.

Before her, a goddess stood. The light glistened off her ethereal skin in fractured iridescent colors. Her eyes, a swirling pool of purples and blues that threatened to drown her within their inky embrace. Waves of ivory flowed around her hair as though she was submerged within something Lavena’s human eyes could not comprehend.

“I-” Lavena blinked. The goddess grinned, lips pulling away from her pearly teeth. “I’m a collector.”

The being hummed, leering down at her. “And have you come to collect me, lovely dove?”

Would she be so bold as to say yes? “I’ve heard many things about you.” The cool finger beneath her chin fell away and the goddess shifted, slowly encircling her. “That you perform miracles.”

“I do,” she purred.

Lavena shivered, feeling a cool hand caress the small of her back. “I hope to harness that.”

The goddess stood before her again, eyes swirling with purples hints of pinks. “What for, my dove?”

“First, I’d love to get off this mountain,” she said with a ghost of a laugh.

“As you wish.”

The dreary colors of the world twisted and spun, creating a vortex around them. Greys and browns bled into vibrant shades of greens and blues until the swirling paints calmed. Lavena stumbled back, taking in the grass beneath her feet and songs of birds within ancient trees around her.

“You-Where-Where-I don’t-”

Again, the cool touch of her finger silenced her. “Hush, my dove. And now,” the goddess leaned over to croon in her ear, “a price must be paid.”

“A price,” Lavena blanched. She hadn’t meant to ask for the miracle. It had been a joke.

“Don’t you know magic always comes at a cost?” She held out an iridescent hand. “Don’t look so surprised. I thought you were a collector. Shouldn’t you know better?” Swirling irises of pinks and reds looked pointedly to Lavena’s hand. “If you want another miracle, you’ll have to pay, my sweet dove.”

Lavena curled and flexed her fingers. She could run. But how far would she get? No. The villagers had spoken fondly of the Goddess in the Mountain and they had been nothing but honest and kind to her. She could trust her. With a small breath, she laid her palm in the goddess’s hand. She worried at the bottom of her lip as slender fingers languidly pulled off her glove. Her cool touch brought her hand up toward the goddess’s crystalline features.

Pinks and reds turned wholly crimson as thin lips pulled back in a sneer. “Which finger is your least favorite so that I might bless it, little dove?”

Lavena’s gaze fell to her too-perfect teeth. She didn’t remember her canines looking like daggers. “My ring finger-” Agony ripped down her arm like liquid lightning frying her nerves. A scream tore from her throat as her knees buckled, desperate to fall away.

The goddess held her like struggling prey as crimson dripped down her chin. She chewed slowly, relishing the delectable crunch of bone.

After Lavena’s screaming had turned to sobs, she was released. She clutched her hand to her chest, curling over herself as though that might cease the icy pain leaching into her hand.

“Poor thing,” the goddess said. “Dry your tears, sweet dove, and look at the gift I bestowed upon you.”

Through glassy eyes, she looked down at her hand to see her finger had been replaced with a crystalline digit. Lavena sucked down harsh breaths, trying to calm herself despite the blinding pain. “You bit off my finger,” she said, unable to keep the shrillness from her tone.

“I did.” The goddess crouched down to meet the woman’s silver-lined gaze. “But I won’t do it again…unless you ask me.” She chuckled before standing and offered her hand once more. “Come, my dove. We have much to do.” She wiggled her glassy fingers. “Or I could turn you into a statue and you can enjoy the forest for the rest of eternity. Your choice.”

Lavena, still clutching her hand to her chest, managed to shove herself up onto her feet with bared teeth. “You’ll pay for that.”

The goddess tilted her head and laughed toward the heavens. “Oh, my dove,” she cooed, taking a step too close to the brave collector, “I don’t think I will, but you can certainly try to make me.”

#short story #fantasy #dark fantasy #lesbian #sapphic #wlw #lesbian short story #wlw short story #lesbian literature #wlw post #sapphic yearning #human x monster #human x goddess

[montys-mortuary]

Blasphemy (Thomas Hewitt x F!Reader)

A/N: so I feel compelled to write my first fic for our big gentle giant. I'm...not a good writer, but I'm gonna try because im self indulgent as HELL.

Also, I kiiiinda want to make this a Multi-part one, so lemme know if I should continue it on :)

TW: Blood, cursing, broken bones, Hoyt being yucky

----------------------------------------

The hot Texas heat beating down on your shining skin slick with sweat was talking its toll on you. You had no idea just how long you'd been walking for, but you cursed under your breath as your feet ached with a low, dull pain. You had stopped your car at a gas station, trudging inside to escape the heat and ask for directions. You had been on a long, cross-state trip to see your family, hoping to make it there within the next few days.

You entered the shoddy looking shack, to find an older woman sitting behind the counter, smoke from her cigarette dancing upwards and clouding the already stale air with a ripe smell of niccotine.

"Eh...hey there..." you began hesitently.

"Do you know how far out I am from Arizona? I feel like im lost..."

She peered at you from behind her thick glasses, a scoff escaping her lips. The ash from her cigarette falls absent mindedly onto the dusty counter.

"Bout' a ways out from here." She said, speaking in a mono-toned, southern accent.

You waited for a more elaborated response, possibly containing an answer to your question, but nothing else came. You scoffed, rolling your eyes at the lack of help and turned towards the door. Pushing past it, it let out a cringing creak, signifying the age and unkempt state of it.

Just as you had made your way outside, your eyes widened. There was a man sitting in the front seat of your car. Scruffy, sunburnt, and unkempt. He glanced over towards you, displaying a smile with absent teeth before crashing his foot down on the gas, speeding away from the station. In YOUR car.

You darted after him, nearly choking on the dry dirt that kicked up at the back of the wheels, waving your arms at him. You reached a few feet down the road when you stopped in the middle, watching hopelessly as your only means of transportation, your water, food, wallet, phone, money, and clothes were whisked away down the old texan dirt road.

Anger filled you and your blood boiled. You couldn't think of what to do.

"Hey, you fucking asshole!" You shrieked into the wind before your hands fell at your side and you stood there, the heat of the sun beating down on you. You had no other choice but to turn and stare in the way you were headed, and continue on foot. There was no way you could take a taxi out this far. You had no money and no phone. There wasnt much else you COULD do.

So here you were, exhausted, dehydrating, hungry. You felt dizzy and nauseous from the heat, and just when you felt like collapsing, the sudden whirr of a siren sounded behind you. You turned to see a Sherrifs car, and smiled weakly. The gods had answered your prayers. Surely the law enforcement around here would, at the very least, take you to the next town.

The sherrif opened the aged, rusted out door of the car, his feet slowly lifting him out. His boots made contact with the ground, causing the pieces of gravel under them to crunch. He stood by the car for a moment, hands on his belt, looking you up and down before spitting out a deep-brown coloured glob of spit onto the dirt. He walked over to you slowly, hands remining where they are.

"Whats a pretty young thing like yourself doing out here?" He said, chewing on tobacco like a cow chews cud.

You hesitated, then explained your situation. "I-I was at that gas station back there, and some...fucking maniac car-jacked me!" The frustration in your voice was apparent.

He nodded along with your words, looking you up and down one final time before smiling slightly.

"Well girly, if you need a lift to the next town over, I'd be happy to oblige." He grinned, tipping his tan hat towards you. You sighed in relief, thanking him profusely while walking over to the passenger door.

"Where was it you're headed?" He asked from behind. You turned to answer him, only for you to be able to shriek once as an old rusted hammer he had hidden connects with your left shoulder. You collapse to the ground, gripping your fresh wound, gritting your teeth. You looked up at him, shocked at the sudden attack. He stood over you, a dark, menacing grin on his face. He spins the weapon in his hand so that the back of the hammer faces you. He brings it down and it cracks into the back of your calf, fresh, chrimson blood pouring from the gaping wound. You scream out as he pounds down on your calf a few more times, hearing the sickening crack of bone with the last blow.

You attempt to crawl away from him, a thick trail of blood following you. He chuckles darkly, crouching over your crumpled form.

"Nothing personal, sweetheart, but a family's gotta eat!"

You turned back to him, holding your hand up weakly in defence as one final blow of the blunt end of the hammer comes crashing down on your head, allowing darkness to envelop you.

#thomas brown hewitt x reader #tommy hewitt #the texas chainsaw massacre the beginning #slasher #leatherface #thomas hewitt x reader #thomas hewitt #slasher smut #slow burn #haha what is writing #part 2 tho?

[dragonfruitflamb3]

HhhhhhhHHi!! Here's the first ever intro for the Siren x human story that I hath dubbed "Clipped Wings and Cut Tails"

(It's the Toaster and Dove story ^v^)

---

I trudge through the wet sand, it cakes up along my sneakers and the bottom of my pajama pants.

“I hate summer I hate stupid cryptid camp I hate bonfires I hate how dumb I feel I hate hate HATE this whole place I hate this-”

A snapping noise shakes me away from my complaints.

Carefully looking around, I try to find what even made that noise. I’m alone on the beach, it’s basically midnight so there’s no light for anyone to see me, much less follow me, and I haven’t spoken in a voice louder than a whisper for over an hour. So all things considered, I should be beside myself after hearing the legends of what’s out here. But I’m not.

Instead, I start sprinting towards the cave where I found the wire trap earlier today while on a hike with the other campers. My heart aches at the thought of some innocent fox with its neck caught in that wire.

The sand under my feet crunches in painful sounding ways, the way it shifts almost begs me to trip. I manage to make it all the way to the dark, wet cave from earlier today and grab onto the entryway, almost sliding over from stopping too quickly, and my heart flips.

It’s no fox, that’s for sure.

Inside the metal snare is something much larger than anything I was expecting. A singular moonbeam is bursting through the wall of the cave, casting deeper shadows upon everything around it. Glittering scales become visible for moments as the animal writhes within the trap and reaches towards the light. The sand under it is stained dark. The color is hard to make out in the chaotic scramble, but my best guess is a shade of dusty red.

I step closer, trying to figure out what kind of thing got stuck in this trap, so big and so close to the water. The noises it makes remind me of when someone gets their leg stuck in a painful position, annoyed with anxiety creeping into the edges. I almost fear that someone got their wrist stuck in the wire before I got around to disarming it and feel mad at myself for not doing something sooner.

That feeling disappears the instant the moonlight shines across that thing’s face. Smooth, ashy skin framing big, bright red eyes, widened with fear as its slit pupils dart around.

Then, they finally land upon me.

The flailing and grunting stops as a low growl rumbles out of the beast. I gulp, backing away. I fumble and feel around my person, my breath catches as I find nothing to use as a weapon and instead my palm lands on the oversized bell I had gotten earlier today at that stupid trinkets shop.

The creature tilts its head as I roll the bell around in my hand. I sigh and keep my distance as I hear the trapped beast intake a long, slow breath.

“Someone is an idiot.~” It sings, soft and charming. I tense up, the cold metal of the bell in my palm the only thing keeping me grounded. The creature, the monster, ensnared is no doubt a siren. Only those demons have that sort of horrid yet perfect voice. Not to mention the giant fish tail being a dead giveaway.

Fear floods into my heart. Had all those rumors been true? Has this thing really been eating townsfolk?

I try to speak, try to curse at myself or beg it to silence itself, but I can’t. My mouth is dry as I step closer to the scaled devil and the bell chimes in my hand.

“Such a coward, such a fool” It cackles, continuing on with its enchanting voice, “This trap, you should open it…”

It puffs up its chest as it sings and, against my will, my body moves. I step closer, my legs trembling as my mouth goes dry.

“...Are you supposed to be rhyming?” I mumble, lowering myself onto my knees. A beat of silence goes by.

“..W…What..?” It hisses, the soothing pattern of the lyrics lost. I close my fingers tighter around the bell, it digs ever so slightly into my skin.

“Idiot and ‘it’ don’t rhyme...” I whisper.

It… might be right, though. Why am I stupid arguing with a mass of teeth, muscles, and claws??? I think to myself, staring at the sticky sand under my knees. Another moment passes before the creature hisses and raises itself up further. I thought it was sitting up before, but I was definitely wrong. From a few feet away it looked about human sized, but close up, even in the darkness, I can tell this thing’s stature is far too large to be human. Its silhouette is thin and lanky, but its tail thick and its fins ripped in an odd pattern. Something about it seems unhealthy, but I guess I don’t really have a frame of reference of how sea life looks.

I try to keep my breath steady despite its sudden closeness, noticing the small details in its fishy appendage.

The tail isn’t a solid color. Instead, it’s an inky gradient that fades into a light underbelly, with navy blue, almost black, that's only broken up by three crisp cyan stripes spread along the length of its tail. For some strange reason, the pattern reminds me of a freeze-frame of the ocean.

“...yes they doo…” The siren growls, reminding me, ‘oh yeah! YOU’RE ABOUT TO DIE.’

“Nuh uh.” I try not to flinch after whispering my feeble attempt at surviving.

God, I’m stupid.

The creature lets out a melodic trill and the sand underneath it shifts.

Can’t stop now, though.

“if you’d have said something like…” I pause for a moment then clear my throat, ”‘you’re an idiot, you see, you should… free me’ then that woulda worked better.”

I look up at the siren’s face, realizing It’s much, much, much too close for any definition of the word ‘comfort’. It squints, almost as if it's offended and amused at the same time. I feel its gaze move along my face and its grip on my wrists tighten…

I do not remember it grabbing me. I scrunch up my face and squint back at it.

I’m dying anyway, might as well get a good look at its ugly mug.

Its skin has a soft blue tint and oddly enough, looks to not actually be skin. A different texture, at the very least. Not quite the thick scales it has on its tail, but not something soft like skin. Smooth would be a more accurate word. It has a mass of thick, charcoal-colored fins sprouting from the top of its head and seems to trail all the way down its neck. It's not easy to see how far down they go, though, because the fins are sticking to the side of the siren’s face because of the lack of water.

Its “mouth” almost seems to split its face in two, a thin line stretches from ear to ear, although it even seems to be lacking ears and instead having long, stretching fins like a bat’s wings. Something about the pattern makes me wonder if this monster can unhinge its jaw, like a snake.

Guess I’ll get to find out eventually…

Yet aside from the line, which seems to be a mimicry pattern to trick predators (if this thing even has any) into thinking its mouth is bigger than it really is, it looks like it has a regular, vaguely human sort of mouth. Above that, there’s nature’s attempt at an aquatic-humanoid nose. Looks more like an alien than a human, in all honesty. Further above that are eyes. Round, wide, and a blood soaked red. Eerie enough that it feels like this beast should be featured in windows around October but there’s a weird sort of allure in them.

Underneath its bright red eyes are dark patterns, slightly different depending on the eye, that are reminiscent of someone getting paint splattered on their face or sloppily slapped on eye-makeup. It doesn’t look like the blackness is on the scales either, it looks more like actual paint, crusted and wiped across the monster’s face. The fins frame the siren’s face almost perfectly, leading anyone’s gaze to the eyes, like some basic anglerfish trap.

The fish creature growls. Reminding me, once more, of the danger I’m in.

“You’re going to open the trap. After that, I’ll rip off your head. You moronic sap.” The smooth voice covers up the terrifying words. It lets go of my wrists and allows me to lean towards where the wire has dug itself into its tail. It seems smug that its song is finally being effective.

In reaching out to the wire, I drop the bell. It makes a faint ringing sound. Quiet, but bright. It’s just enough to send the fog out of my brain. The wire is fraying, probably from the beast’s struggle, and looks like it’s about to snap at any moment.

While the siren hasn’t realized how fragile the trap is, I snatch the bell back up off the ground and scratch it against the snapping metal. It finally comes apart but I quickly slide the wire through the small hole in the bell. I frantically try to knot it closed, but with a small chime the metal looks to stitch itself back together.

The blue creature hisses and glares when it notices I’m not actually helping it. It twitches its tail and makes the bell chime. The metal looks like it digs in deeper in a crooked way.

The siren cries out and writhes once more, gripping onto the back of my shirt and yanking me away from its tail and now-deepened wound. With every movement, the bell lets out a little ring. It keeps its claws on me, tearing slightly at my shirt without actually digging any further.

Bringing me up to its seething face, it growls. The sound echoes out of its chest and I have to suppress a shudder.

“Ssstupid…” it starts, its mouth twisting in pain after. It looks down at its tail and the little bell pressed against it. “What did you do…?”

“I put a… a bell on your ta… tail!..” My voice lacks breath and confidence. Everything sways and I resist the urge to gag.

“That sshhhhouldn’t do anything… a ball of metal has no power over pure, ssseething power…”

“..It’s uh. Supposed to be a luck bell.” I mumble, my thoughts feeling thick, “it brings good luck. Or make the bad stuff go away. I dunno.” My breath feels heavy. The siren snorts in my face and I feel the slight rips lengthening on the back of my shirt.

“...Is that sssso?” It whispers.

A moment passes where the only sound is the waves crashing down outside and my own heaving breath.

“How common… for a human to be calling me ‘bad ssstuff’...” The siren voice comes out in a hoarse growl.

I feel how my hands shake as I continue getting my breath back. The blue beast just stays sitting there, every twitch of its tail makes the bell ring out and the creature hisses every time.

This… is totally terrifying. I can't deny that I've always wanted to meet monsters, but I would have sorta preferred it to be within a safer context.

“W… What…” I breathe out, testing my luck, “What should I call you, then..?”

I close my eyes, trying to lean back. The obnoxious silence returns. It fills the air until it’s unbearable and I force my eyes open and my gaze back onto the creature.

“...What’s your name?” I ask.

The siren’s twitching continues, but its eyes go wide, the cat-like pupils following suit. It immediately feels like everything just got a whole lot more awkward. (To be fair I did just try and talk to this thing like a regular person but I’ve read too many stories and books to not at least try.)

It pries its claws off my back, snorting and pushing itself away from me.

…Good to know that politeness can be helpful sometimes I guess??

The siren hisses in the same way a kitten would at a toy.

“Youuu have no right to be asssking me that…” It growls, sitting up taller and stretching out its tail. I blink in surprise as I scoot across the sand, further away from danger.

“...Alright then. Um.” I stumble to my feet, still slowly moving back. The siren’s gaze travels up and down my body, glaring as I keep walking. It opens its mouth and I assume it tries to sing again. Instead, it only squeaks before choking out words.

“I…. You!! Are not allowed to essscape! I will… You are prey, I will eat you!” It digs into the sand, pulling itself closer to me with its claws. It crawls more into the moonlight, I can see it pretty clearly despite not being all that close now. Its face is darker than before, but only under its eyes and along the fins on its head.

…hm. No, darker isn’t the right term, exactly… Flushed, maybe? There’s a bit of a red tint visible in the white shine of the moon.

“I can come back.” I say, raising my voice just a little, making sure the siren can still hear me. It slouches a little, like it’s afraid to be seen, and its mouth twists up with what I hope isn’t just hunger.

“...Humans are ssstupid. Why would you return?” It hisses, squinting.

“Because your, um, your tail.” I stand safely in the open mouth of the cave. I could turn and run so easily right now, it looks like this fish can’t move that effectively on land.

But I won’t, not yet.

I’ve gotta sow the seeds, you know?

The siren’s eyes go wide again, the tint on its cheeks getting darker. It snarls and glares again

“You are ssstupid! Of course you sshhhould return… you need to pay back your debt to a sssiren. Return… tomorrow, sshhhortly before the moon rises.” It growls and makes its voice deeper as it talks. I nod, my heart slowly swelling in my chest.

“Tomorrow. At dusk.” I keep my expression as solemn as possible. As an awkward goodbye, I bow to the monster, not sure how it would like to be treated, before walking further backwards. Once I can no longer see the soft red shine from the siren’s eyes, I turn and bolt across the beach, headed towards safety.

As terrified as I should be right now, I’m ecstatic. The monster summer romance has FINALLY begun! And here I was thinking this summer was gonna be a waste.

I giggle the whole way back to the dorms, not able to dampen the bubbly feeling inside me.

#RRRAAAAAAHHHHH #posting STORY #WAOAOAAAAHH #might put this on ao3 or smthn later idk #will be posting other stories other days too!! #MerMay #mermay 2024 #siren #Toaster and Dove #Clipped Wings and Cut Tails #Writing #sirenxhuman #hehehhehe so so silly im so excited #also Dove is a CHRONIC monster fucker and they know EXACTLY what they want

[abellinthecupboard]

Only Skin

And there was a booming above you, that night black airplanes flew over the sea. And they were lowing and shifting like beached whales, shelled snails, as you strained and you squinted to see the retreat of their hairless and blind cavalry. You froze in your sand shoal, prayed for your poor soul; sky was a bread roll, soaking in a milk-bowl. And when the bread broke— fell in bricks of wet smoke— my sleeping heart woke, and my waking heart spoke. Then there was a silence you took to mean something: Run, sing, for alive you will evermore be. And the plague of the greasy black engines a-skulking has gone east, while you’re left to explain them to me— released from their hairless and blind cavalry. With your hands in your pockets, stubbily running to where I’m unfresh, undressed and yawning— Well, what is this craziness? This crazy talking? You caught some small death when you were sleepwalking. It was a dark dream, darlin; it’s over. The firebreather is beneath the clover. Beneath his breathing there is cold clay, forever: a toothless hound-dog choking on a feather. But I took my fishing pole (fearing your fever), down to the swimming hole, where there grows a bitter herb that blooms but one day a year, by the riverside— I’d bring it here: Apply it gently to the love you’ve lent me. While the river was twisting and braiding, the bait bobbed and the string sobbed, as it cut through the hustling breeze. And I watched how the water was kneading so neatly, gone treacly, nearly slowed to a stop in this heat; in a frenzy coiling flush along the muscles beneath. Press on me, we are restless things. Webs of seaweed are swaddling. And you call upon the dusk of the musk of a squid: shot full of ink, until you sink into your crib. Rowing along, among the reeds, among the rushes, I heard your song, before my heart had time to hush it! Smell of a stonefruit being cut and being opened. Smell of a low and of a lazy cinder smoking And when the fire moves away, fire moves away, son. Why would you say I was the last one? Scrape your knee: it is only skin. Makes the sound of violins. And when I cut your hair, and leave the birds all of the trimmings, I am the happiest woman among all women. And the shallow water stretches as far as I can see. Knee deep, trudging along— the seagull weeps ‘so long’— humming a threshing song— Until the night is over, hold on, hold on; hold your horses back from the fickle dawn. I have got some business out at the edge of town, candy weighing both of my pockets down till I can hardly stay afloat, from the weight of them (and knowing how the commonfolk condemn what it is I do, to you, to keep you warm: Being a woman. Being a woman.) But always up the mountainside you’re clambering, groping blindly, hungry for anything; picking through your pocket linings— well, what is this? Scrap of sassafras, eh Sisyphus? I see the blossoms broke and wet after the rain. Little sister, he will be back again. I have washed a thousand spiders down the drain. Spiders’ ghosts hang, soaked and dangling silently, from all the blooming cherry trees, in tiny nooses, safe from everyone— nothing but a nuisance; gone now, dead and done— Be a woman. Be a woman. Though we felt the spray of the waves, we decided to stay, 'till the tide rose too far. We weren’t afraid, cause we know what you are; and you know that we know what you are. Awful atoll— O, incalculable indiscreetness and sorrow! Bawl bellow: Sibyl sea-cow, all done up in a bow. Toddle and roll; teethe an impalpable bit of leather, while yarrow, heather and hollyhock awkwardly molt along the shore. Are you mine? My heart? Mine anymore? Stay with me for awhile. That’s an awfully real gun. I know life will lay you down, as the lightning has lately done. Failing this, failing this, follow me, my sweetest friend, to see what you anointed, in pointing your gun there. Lay it down! Nice and slow! There is nowhere to go, save up; up where the light, undiluted, is weaving, in a drunk dream, at the sight of my baby, out back: back on the patio, watching the bats bring night in —while, elsewhere, estuaries of wax-white wend, endlessly, towards seashores unmapped. Last week, our picture window produced a half-word, heavy and hollow, hit by a brown bird. We stood and watched her gape like a rattlesnake and pant and labor over every intake. I said a sort of prayer for some rare grace, then thought I ought to take her to a higher place. Said, “dog nor vulture nor cat shall toy with you, and though you die, bird, you will have a fine view.” Then in my hot hand, she slumped her sick weight. We tramped through the poison oak, heartbroke and inchoate. The dogs were snapping, and you cuffed their collars while I climbed the tree-house. Then how I hollered! Well she’d lain, as still as a stone, in my palm, for a lifetime or two; then saw the treetops, cocked her head, and up and flew. (While back in the world that moves, often, according to the hoarding of these clues, dogs still run roughly around little tufts of finch-down.) And the cities we passed were a flickering wasteland, but his hand, in my hand, made them hale and harmless. While down in the lowlands, the crops are all coming; we have everything. Life is thundering blissful towards death in a stampede of his fumbling green gentleness. You stopped by; I was all alive. In my doorway, we shucked and jived. And when you wept, I was gone; see, I got gone when I got wise. But I can’t with certainty say we survived. Then down and down and down and down and down and deeper, stoke, without sound, the blameless flames, you endless sleeper. Through fire below, and fire above, and fire within, sleep through the things that couldn’t have been, if you hadn’t have been. And when the fire moves away, fire moves away, son. And why would you say I was the last one? All my bones, they are gone, gone, gone. Take my bones, I don’t need none. Cold, cold cupboard, lord, nothing to chew on! Suck all day on a cherry stone. Dig a little hole not three inches round — Spit your pit in a hole in the ground. Weep upon the spot for the starving of me! Till up grows a fine young cherry tree. When the bough breaks, what’ll you make for me? A little willow cabin to rest on your knee. Well, what will I do with a trinket such as this? Think of your woman, who’s gone to the west. But I’m starving and freezing in my measly old bed! Then I’ll crawl across the salt flats, to stroke your sweet head. Come across the desert with no shoes on! I love you truly, or I love no-one. Fire moves away. Fire moves away, son. Why would you say that I was the last one? Last one? Clear the room! There’s a fire, a fire, a fire. Get going, and I’m going to be right behind you. And if the love of a woman or two, dear, could move you to such heights, then all I can do is do, my darling, right by you.

— Joanna Newsom, Ys (2006) (X)

#Only Skin #Joanna Newsom #Ys #poetry #lyrics #poet #poem #music

[cyberrat]

59th Batch Of Fics: 15th Fill

Reaper/Soldier/McCree – cont B58F15 – Farm AU – Just work and no play makes Jesse a horny sad boy.

---

Jesse doesn’t know what to do. He’s trying to be a good boy. He’s trying so hard. Certainly more than he ever has before – but it seems everyone and everything is against him these days.

He is restless. It feels like ants are crawling under his skin and it is driving him insane that he can’t put his finger on why that is. He thinks it might be because of the bitch constantly showing off for them, but it can’t be all. It’s a huge part of it, there’s no doubt, but it can’t be the sole purpose for why he is feeling the way he is feeling.

Like he can’t sit still for more than five minutes before he is up, pacing, sweating, feeling like he must run and kill something despite never having been very violent in the past.

It’s getting worse by the day and Jack is not helping matters oh my god why are you such a whore and why is Gabriel not letting him off the leash?!

He’s slinking around the corners of the farm with a perpetual erection and tries to keep far away from the animals. He can hear them making sounds, rustling about, nervous about the predator they can smell in the air. He wants to grab them and-

A big hand curls around his throat from behind and he is put against the wall of the barn, Gabriel’s body pressing against his back, the edges of his teeth scraping against his vulnerable nape. It’s comforting in a way. It helps Jesse to calm down somewhat, putting his sweaty forehead against the warm wood.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Gabriel asks in a low, smooth voice.

It did not even occur to him where he was until Gabriel asks him. He blinks a few times and looks around. He’s pressed against the barn with the animals.

“Been about to let ‘em critters out,” he rasps; just his brain scrambling for an answer.

Gabriel snorts and presses him a little harder against the wood.

“No you didn’t,” he responds calmly, just staying there for a few heartbeats longer, quietly, letting Jesse shuffle his feet apart and center himself some more. It is good to feel Gabriel dominating him. Taking charge.

“What am I going to do with you… hmmm. You’re getting more and more anxious. It’s not because of a silly bitch, is it? Hmm no. He’s getting you all riled up and ready to mate, but… there’s something else.”

Gabriel inhales deeply. Jesse closes his eyes and puts his forehead against the warm wood of the barn wall. He keeps pressing his hips against it as well, dry-humping his swollen cock against the building while Gabriel holds him.

“You’ve never been so long in one place. Not with me, at least. Are you feeling caged in, Jesse? You’re trying so hard but you’re a silly little mutt at the end of the day. Don’t like it when you’re stationary for so long… and not allowed to mount Jack on top of it all. Poor pup.” Gabriel’s voice is dripping with sarcasm at the end but it does not hit Jesse the way it maybe should.

He feels like he’s reeling as his insides suddenly relax, something clicking in his brain as he knows with a visceral intensity that what Gabriel is saying is the absolute truth.

He can’t remember the last time he’s been in one place for so long… not that he’s good at remembering stuff in general. It’s what Gabriel is her for; to be his brain. To think for the both of them and make the decisions while Jesse trudges along and does as he’s being told.

Feelings are hard.

“Want to get out of here? Stretch your legs?” Gabriel’s voice is thoughtful. He pulls a little back from Jesse but still keeps his hand on the back of his neck, the other gripping his shoulder; making sure Jesse stays right where he is.

He does not even need to think in order to shake his head profusely. He does not want to get out of here. But he does want to fuck their bitch until he can’t see straight… and that’s the one thing he can’t get – Gabriel is clear about that as he digs his fingers into him a little harder and says with a light growl in his voice: “You want to stay. But you can’t touch. You know that, don’t you? You’ve danced out of line one time too many, Jesse. You’ll have to earn the right to breed him up again. Maybe I’ll fuck him in front of you. Make you watch. And you’ll be a good boy about it, won’t you? You want to get your dick wet, you’re going to earn it by being on your best fucking behavior.”

He finally lets go of Jesse after a long moment of quiet.

Jesse turns around slowly while he reaches up to rub his aching nape. He glances at Gabriel’s face but quickly looks away again in submission, nodding along.

“Yes, boss.”

Gabriel hums and the aura about him changes as he relaxes… and Jesse with it. He steps closer, tucking his nose beneath Gabriel’s chin, arms curling around his hips.

“Goin’ fuckin’ insane with that bitch,” he mumbles, hoping for a bit of pity. “Always askin’ for it. Drivin’ me nuts.”

Gabriel pats him on the back but ultimately pulls him away with a fist curled into his collar, marching him away from the animal barn and toward the toolshed.

“Come on. A bit of work will get your mind off of shit.”

Gabriel puts him in front of the plow again which is… alright. It actually does take Jesse’s mind off of Jack. He sweats out a good bit of that nervous energy that had been growing inside him just by pushing into the harness and dragging the blade through the dirt. 

It all works out until in the corner of his eyes he sees Jack standing on the veranda watching them. His mouth is slightly open, expression that of a braindead bimbo as he obviously thirsts for the both of them.

It would be so damn easy to fuck him now. He’d just bend over and invite them for a ride and all that’s keeping Jesse from doing so is the fact that Gabriel won’t let him. It’s so damn unfair-

“You never use your brain for a single fucking thing and now you’re starting to overthink stuff? Please.” Gabriel scoffs from behind him, obviously having noticed where Jesse’s attention has strayed to.

“Get to work, Jess. You can rub one out behind the house later. Maybe Jack’ll watch.”

The derision in his voice and the suggestion only makes things worse… but also better. Jesse grits his teeth and pulls harder, cock an aching erection in his stained jeans.

#cyberratting writes stuff #farm au #reaper/soldier/mccree #blue balls #dominance play

[hollandsmushroom]

My Marks

Pairing: Tom Holland x Reader  AU: Frat!Tom Holland Word Count: 1,302 NSFW/SFW  Summary: After a really rough day and the pain of wearing a bra Tom isn’t the biggest fan of the effects it has had on your body. A/N: Thank you so much to @spydeysense for being the person I could bounce ideas off of and for encouraging this fic last night. I loved writing this and knew i had to write it as soon as possible so here we are. Also thanks you for giving me the line “The only marks you should have are mine” Warnings: NSFW MINORS DNI, Bras, fingering, smut, overwhelming fluff and soft Frat!Tom.

You felt exhausted, every muscle in your body drained of the energy that it had stored the previous night. Your day had been a schedule designed by Satan himself, slowly breaking you down throughout the day. You had been so comfortable in Tom’s arms when you woke up this morning, your brain fogged with the scent of him, his skin against your urging you to ignore your alarm that was sounding from the speaker of your phone. It was only when your 5 minutes to class alarm went off that you realized just how fucked you were. Scrambling out of your boyfriends bed and coming to the shit realization you hadn’t brought a change of clothes, leaving you without time to go back to your dorm and forcing you to settle on wearing yesterday's clothes, complete with the lacy bra that you had worn for yours and Tom’s adventures, but it wasn’t designed for long wear, only for the time it took your partner to take it off of you, but it was all you had. You slid the lace on your body, covering your distraught frame with one of Tom’s shirts and pants, running out the door without even a kiss on Tom’s cheek.

You got to class late, only to find the door locked, in a desperate attempt you texted a friend you knew always sat by the side of the lecture hall, hoping that the Prof’s back was turned and she would be able to sneak you in, and by the only god’s grace that day, she was. You later ended up questioning if actually going to class was a good thing, ending up sitting on one of the old wooden seats, shimmying to get comfortable resulting in a splinter in the back of your thigh, the sudden pain causing your leg to jolt, hitting the table next to you and knocking over an old coffee that someone had left there and spilling it across your lap. The liquid was cold and slightly sour but you didn’t have time to clean yourself up after class, having to rush yourself off to the Coffee shop that you worked at, only to be bombarded with rude customer after rude customer, your bra progressively digging farther and farther into your skin.

At the end of your shift you were on the verge of tears, more coffee tainting your outfit than had been this morning, your coworker having spilled a boiling hot cup of coffee on you and burning your skin but the shop was too busy for you to be able to fully deal with it. Your phone was filled with unanswered texts, ones that you really didn’t have the energy to answer, trudging back across campus to Tom’s frat house, not even bothering to go home, knowing that Tom would let you wear something of his, or something you knew he would much prefer, nothing at all.

You entered the run down house, the front door never being locked and passing multiple boys that were scattered throughout the communal rooms hiking up to the very top room of the house. Multiple flights of stairs and some nonchalant hellos later you entered your boyfriend's room, finding him sprawled out on his bed scrolling through his phone.

“You left without giving me a kiss” he pouted at you from behind the screen, his eyes widening as they fell upon you, throwing his phone to the side and standing up from his bed, quickly meeting you where you stood as you bag fell from your shoulder with a loud thud. “Baby?” his voice was much softer as he reached out to cup your cheek, thumbing away a tear that slipped out of the corner of your tired eye.

“Long day” you murmur under your breath, avoiding his eyes that searched for yours.

“Yeah, what can I do to help” no one else knew this side of him, the soft needy, easily made grumpy if denied the affection he wanted, side, you were the only one.

“Take my fucking bra off” you groaned, Tom’s touch only letting it dig farther into your skin.

“With pleasure” he smirks, earning him a light slap on the chest. “I’m kidding, here let me” he gripped the hem of your shirt, removing it from your body and letting him see the lace that adorned your skin, “Fuck, baby” he would have been turned on if he didn’t notice just how much the straps were digging into your skin, immediately sliding them off of your shoulders.

“I don’t like these” he spoke, tracing the faint burn and the indents on your skin, his fingers undoing the the clasp of the bra and letting it fall fully to the ground, ducking his head down and kissing the impressions on your skin “The only marks on your skin should be mine, baby” he hummed, his lips trailing up the column of your neck and sucking gently on the spot beneath your ear. His hands snuck around your front and cupped your sore breasts, tweaking your nipples playfully yet eliciting an exhausted moan from you. “I should replace them, shouldn’t I?” he asked the air, the rhetoric in his voice encouraging your continued silence.

“Tommy I’m too tired” you whispered as you felt your body melt into his touch, back relaxing into his front to the point where he was basically holding you up.

“Baby, you won’t need to do anything” his hips pressed into your ass and moved you towards the bed letting you fall back softly. He crawled over top of your shirtless body, kissing his way up to your lips, littering small purple marks along your stomach and breast, slipping his hand into the front of your pants and rubbing your rapidly wettening folds. The pad of his finger catching on your clit and rubbing over it gently. Your exhaustion was taking over, mixing with the pleasure that was rapidly expanding from your core, your nipples hardening as your blood began to pump more rapidly.

“Feel good, baby?” he whispered against the shell of your ear.

“So good Tommy” you whined, lazily grinding your hips against his hand.

“You gonna cum on my fingers, love? You gonna make my palm soaked as I suck pretty marks into your skin?” teeth pressing into your shoulder as he licked over the fresh marks, ones that he loved so much more than the pesky ones your bra gave you.

“Tommy, you’re gonna make me cum” you whimpered, body tensing as you rocked your hips upwards into him, your cunt clenching around nothing causing increased blood flow to the nub that Tom’s fingers were incessantly rubbing over.

“Yeah? Tell me how I make you feel baby, let me know how good I am”

“You make me feel like heaven, so good, Tom, so fucking good” you felt a fire ignite in the pit of your stomach, your toes curling into the soft duvet as you thrust your hips all the way into him, cumming on his hand as the last minute bit of energy left your body with a content and pleasurable moan. Your back collapsing onto the bed, fabric soft on your now over sensitive skin. Tom pulled the blanket over the both of you, pulling you into him as you began to fade off to sleep, only to be interrupted by the vibrations of his chest, his smooth voice reaching your ears.

“I don’t care if makes you late, I need you to give me a kiss before you leave, every morning”

“I will do my best, but Tom every morning? We don’t live together” you giggled, your eyes falling shut as you cuddled farther into his chest, nose nuzzling his smooth skin.

“Well we could” he hummed, nails scratching over your scalp. “I think I’d like that”

@thehumanistsdiary

#tom holland #tom holland imagine #tom holland one shot #tom holland fluff #tom holland au #tom holland x reader #frat!tom holland x reader #frat!tom holland #frat boys are my weakness #spiderman x reader #tom holland x y/n #tom holland smut

[webangchan]

✧✦ stick shift ✦✧ yeonjun x fem!reader 1.3k words kinks & warnings: semi public handjob, mentions of a d/s dynamic, dom!yeonjun, sub!reader, dirty talk, teasing, cum eating, pet names.  inspired by these pictures because i am a feral little gremlin.

“What are you doing?”

Your fingers stop at the edge of Yeonjun’s shorts, all movement paused by his query. While looking straight ahead through the windshield, you shrug. 

“Nothing.”

Yeonjun’s eyes are burning holes in the side of your head and he only stops staring once the traffic in front of you begins to crawl forward. The city’s website for local happenings has already posted about the accident a few miles ahead; you pulled out your phone to check the site for any news as soon as everything came to a stand still. 

“It'll be at least thirty minutes until we can get off of the highway,” you tell him. You scratch lightly at the skin of his thigh and your touch makes him shiver. “And as you know, it's hard to see much of anything through the tint on your windows.”

Yeonjun already knew you were up to no good and your words merely confirm it. You start slowly, almost meekly, the tip of your pinky sliding under the hem of his loose shorts. Yeonjun doesn't say anything so you continue on, pinky and ring finger creeping up until the web of skin between your middle and ring fingers catches on the hem. The hairs on his legs stand at attention when you palm his sensitive inner thigh, softly stroking the skin before you slip the rest of your hand inside his shorts. The angle is admittedly a little difficult but that has no chance of stopping you. 

“Oh? What's this?” you ask with a grin.

Yeonjun hisses out a breath between his teeth when you palm his half hard dick. His fingers are clenched around the steering wheel, knuckles white, and you're delighted by your findings. 

“No underwear? Aren't you a naughty boy~”

You turn your hand over and grip him lightly, your knuckles digging into the neat, trimmed hairs above his cock.

“You're really pushing it,” Yeonjun states. 

You finally turn to look at him and the heat in his eyes has you biting back a whimper. He's referencing your attitude this time, not your actions. The muscles in his forearm shift as he adjusts his grip on the steering wheel and his attention is once again stolen by the cars in front of you trudging along. He slowly eases down on the gas pedal and you’re spurred into action. With your fingers curled firmly around his shaft you stroke his cock, a bit more gentle than he usually likes, to make up for the lack of lube. You place the pad of your thumb on his slit and rub the head in lazy circles, spreading around the precum his cock has been leaking.

“I didn't know you would like this so much,” you say while pretending you’re wholly unaffected.  Yeonjun knows you too well, though, so he's not falling for it. The way you rub your thighs together is more than enough to give you away. 

“Don't lie, baby. You know how much of a freak I am.”

You suck in a startled breath when Yeonjun’s right hand comes down to slap the top of your thigh. It stings a little and only serves to make you ache that much more.

“And I know how much of a freak you are too,” he states while dragging his touch up your thigh in order to cup your heat. Your grip on his cock loosens when he rubs two fingers up and down your covered pussy, his muffled touch sending you reeling.

“Oh, baby.” Yeonjun’s tone of voice is soft, almost mocking, and it makes you even hotter. “You're so wet I can feel it through your leggings. Do you love touching my cock that much?”

You swallow harshly and nod, eyes unfocused. The back end of the car in front of you is nothing but a blur. You regain your wits enough to continue pleasuring Yeonjun, your grip firm and strokes quickening as his cock spits out more precum to ease the way. He's hot and heavy in your hand and you'd love nothing more than to yank his shorts down and lean over to take him into your mouth until he hits the back of your throat. 

Yeonjun sighs and slouches a bit, his focus solely on the road ahead. It looks like traffic is starting to move more steadily now so he needs to pay attention. He gives your pussy a light, teasing slap before placing his hand back on the steering wheel. 

It doesn’t take long for traffic to slow down again and when it does, Yeonjun lets his head fall back against the headrest.  With half lidded eyes, he sweeps his tongue across his plump bottom lip.  You watch the movement of his tongue with rapt attention and push your thighs together in a vain attempt to relieve some of the ache.

He knows how much you love his lips.

“I’m close, baby,” he whispers.

Yeonjun picks his head up and shakes it minutely, trying to clear some of the fog in his mind.  Your eyes are glued on his face, your gaze dancing across all of his beautiful features as you work to make him fall apart.  He digs his teeth into his bottom lip and his dick twitches in your hand before he comes, making a mess of your hand and the inside of his shorts.  You work him through it, wanting to prolong his pleasure and milk him for everything he’s got.  A quiet hum from Yeonjun lets you know when you can stop and you reluctantly let go of his softening cock before trying to maneuver your hand out of his shorts without making things worse. 

Once your hand is free you twist it to and fro, looking at the streaks of cum decorating your fingers.  While staring at Yeonjun -- even though his eyes are firmly on the road -- you pop two fingers into your mouth, licking and sucking on the digits to clean them of his release.  You quickly follow suit with the rest of your fingers, gut tightening when he cuts his gaze to you and lifts an eyebrow.

“Can’t get enough of me, can you?” he asks with a smirk.

You shake your head and drag your fingers out of your mouth, leaving behind a trail of spit that you don’t bother to wipe away.  Yeonjun loves it when you’re messy.  His smirk turns into a genuine smile when he spots the exit ramp he needs to take and he flips the turn signal so he can get into the right lane without incident.  You settle back into the passenger seat and wince at the way your damp panties stick to your folds.

“Looks like we’ll be home in ten minutes,” Yeonjun says, more relaxed now that the traffic jam is behind you.  His hand sneaks back onto your thigh and you keep your legs spread open as much as you can, hoping that he’ll give you some relief.  All Yeonjun does is stroke the inside of your thigh, not quite close enough to where you really need him.  He’s doing it on purpose, of course, and you whine lowly.

“Hush, baby.  I’ll take care of you as soon as we get home, okay?”

You pout and stay silent which Yeonjun doesn’t like.  He digs his fingers into the meat of your thigh and you whimper, one of your hands shooting out to grab his wrist.  You don’t try to pull his hand away and simply use him as an anchor.

“I said that I’ll take care of you as soon as we get home.  Alright, princess?”

As soon as you hear the word ‘princess’ fall from his lips, you know that you’re going to have a long night ahead of you.

“Yes, Sir.”

You can’t wait.

#yeonjun smut #txt smut #choi yeonjun smut #txt yeonjun smut #by velma

[adashofniallandasprinkleoflunacy]

That’s the golf cart boy that helps your family when you go to the country club and play golf and you ask him to teach you how to swing properly so he can put his arms around you

“I missed.” Y/N huffs as she watches her golf ball sail through the air and disappear into the lake behind her target, her shoulders slouching and mouth dipping into a subdued frown. This is her third failed attempt yet. “You’re utter shit at teaching for someone who’s been working here so long.”

Harry simply gives the amateur a crooked grin from where he’s standing off on the sidelines, his lean arms crossed over his stomach nonchalantly as he waits for her to finish walking towards to him. He takes the bait for their usual banter, snorting in amusement at her fiery reaction. “I’m an amazing golf coach; it’s not my fault you have no talent. I can only build on people’s skills, not pull them out of my ass and hand them over on a silver platter. Maybe if you actually practiced like I told you—”

“Maybe if this sport wasn’t so fucking boring,” she bites back, using the end of her golf club to nudge him pointedly in his sturdy chest, “I would be stimulated enough to try.”

Harry purses his lips to hide a filthy smirk, taking the tool from her and tossing it into the bag across the backseat of his cart. He turns back to face his conditional student, one of his brows inching upwards snidely. “Are you saying you’re not stimulated enough?”

Y/N’s features crack into a scowl at his inappropriate joke. “Hilarious. I bet you’re a hit among pre-teens, aren’t you?”

“I am, yeah!” He quips brightly, exaggerating an innocent smile as he rounds the side of the vehicle and mounts into the driver’s spot. He parts his legs widely as he gets comfortable, and she has to restrain the urge to rake her gaze down the unbelievably short trousers riding up his thick thighs. He pats at the seat beside him symbolically, silently requesting that she join him. “But I’m also great with the ladies. Get a hole in one every time. Literally.”

The girl releases a sound of aggravated disgust at his stupid self-absorbed comment, trudging through the wet grass and rolling her eyes in exasperation as he giggles boyishly. She hauls herself up into the front seat, plopping onto the leather surface with a deadpan expression written all over her face. “You’re despicable.”

“Ooh, that’s a neat new word! Are you working on expanding your vocabulary? Proud of you, love.”

“Just shut up and drive, Tiger Woods.”

“To our usual spot?”

She maneuvers to position herself accordingly, propping her feet onto his lap as he finagles the buggy into the designated setting. She fixes her frilly pastel blue skirt over her thighs as she does so, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a sly eyeful. Knowing him, he’d definitely take the chance.

Y/N taps the tip of her shoe against his lean tummy for significance, shrugging her brows impassively as she leans her head back against the nearest railing. “Where else would we go?”

“I dunno, maybe back to the club so your family isn’t left wondering where you are? S’kinda rude to make them wait,” he pauses for a moment to glance down at the watch decorating his wrist, humming to himself in realization, “especially because lunch is already being served. Food’s gonna get cold.”

“They can wait five minutes. It takes longer than that to starve to death.”

“Pretty brutal.”

“What is?”

Harry glimpses over at her with his tongue pressed along the inside of his cheek, condescension scribbled all over his demeanor. It’d been infuriating if he wasn’t so hot. Well, it’s infuriating regardless, but at least his attractiveness allows her to benefit from his antics.

The young man’s accent holds the same type of smugness slathered across his plush lips and defined cheekbones, and his words send a flush of heat down the knobs of her spine. “That you’d rather get fucked in an equipment shed than spend quality time with your relatives.”

Y/N narrows her eyes at him pettily, muscling down the warmth rising up her neck. “What’s it to you?”

“Nothing much.” He bobs his shoulders easily, tone dismissive and indifferent as he secures one bejeweled hand onto the steering wheel, the other finding perch above her knee. He gives it a playful squeeze, his dimples winking at her flirtatiously when she jolts at the iciness behind his chunky rings. “Just an observation, s’all.”

“I’m not sleeping with you so you can make observations.” She grumbles, but despite her attitude towards him, she doesn’t make any conscious effort to shed his touch. His skin is always so soft, and the sensation of his large palm resting anywhere on her body feels so fucking right.

“Aren’t you?” Harry inquires with snarky pretension, dropping the sole of his sneaker onto the acceleration pedal and causing the car’s ignition to roar to life. The tiny vehicle takes off across the slopes of the golfing meadow, jumping and creaking as it rides over all the dips and hills of the valley, trees and flags whizzing by as it speeds towards an all too familiar trail. “Because last time I checked, you seem to love it when I observe you on your knees. Beg for it, even.”

Y/N’s jaw clenches tightly at his taunting. “Piss off.”

“How’s that go again? Something along the lines of,” he sweetens his voice down into a dramatic pleading lilt, mimicking her moans from the past, “‘You taste so fucking good, Harry.’ and ‘I love it when you cum on my face, baby.’ and ‘I want you to fuck my mouth, daddy. Want it so bad.’”

The young woman’s teeth squeak from how hard she’s biting back her anger. “Asshole.”

“Is that not right? Is that not what happens?” Harry implores with a ridiculing pout and fluttering lashes, going out of his way to ride on her last nerve. His fingers begin to crawl higher up her leg, sneaking beneath the billowing edge of her skirt and tracing random shapes along the suppleness of her inner thighs, pinching and twisting at the flesh until he gets a physical response. He adores seeing her squirm against the waxy seat as she suddenly grasps onto his arm needily, especially because she does absolutely nothing to deter him from continuing. “Sorry, my memories get jumbled sometimes. There’s just so many of them, y’know? You whimper and whine for my cock so often, I can hardly keep track of every single time. Maybe I should start a transcript or summat, hm?”

Y/N’s voice pipes up low and venomous, but there’s a trembling undercurrent to it that she can’t deny. “If you keep being a dickhead, this’ll be the last one.”

Harry tuts conceitedly, cooing at her as his digits dive deeper into her bottoms, hooking into her panties and toying with her clit beneath the damp material. He doesn’t break his gaze away from the expanse of grass before them, but his arrogant simper is wide enough that she gets the perfect view of it from his ridiculously handsome side profile. “We both know that’s not true.”

“Get fucked.”

“I’m about to.”

#drabble