#relief wall panels

[blackliberationcollective]

Enclosed - Dining Room Traditional enclosed dining room design with a dark wood floor and a typical fireplace

#wall art #dining room #ceiling light #wood dining table #transom window #relief wall panels

[modular-hospital-equipment]

Medical Surgical Pendant - OT Pendant at Latest Price | Altos Engineers

Medical institutions perform a variety of functions. Out of all of them, one of its main functions is to perform surgical procedures. Hospitals are generally judged by the success of the operations performed by their surgeons.

Operating rooms have been created for surgeons as well as surgical staff to perform surgical procedures requiring time, patience, attention and safety. A variety of equipment is required for use in the surgical operating room.

Surgical Pendant

Medical Services Pendants also referred to as Booms, are considered to be one of the most essential items of equipment in the operation theatre. They allow efficient utilization of space to offer staff with the ability to transport required medical care to patients efficiently and quickly.

The surgical pendant is available in a variety of configuration to meet surgical specific needs. Like -  Fixed Surgical Pendant, Double Arm Surgical Pendant, Single Arm Laparoscopic Pendant, Double Arm Laparoscopic Pendant, Modular Single Arm Pendant, Modular Double Arm Pendant, Modular Electric Single Arm Pendant, Modular Electric Double Arm Pendant

Wall and Ceiling Panels

Medical facilities require building materials with excellent durability, chemical resistance, low maintenance costs and affordability. Wall and Ceiling Panels, the plastic material PVC, also known as vinyl, meets these demands. Wall and Ceiling Panels are most commonly used in hospitals.

Scrub Sinks

Scrub sinks, also called surgical sinks or medical sinks and are imperative to the health and safety of patients. They serve as scrub stations for surgeons and others or staff to clean their hands and arms before a surgical or invasive procedure. Altos high-quality SS Scrub Sinks offer hands-free operation via either manual, knee-kick panels, electronic eye infra-red sensor or programmable automatic timer. The Series is available in single/double/triple basins and is made from the best materials, components and craftsmanship available.

Laminar Air Flow

Laminar air flow ventilation is utilized in operating t theatres of today to decrease the amount of infectious organisms in the air that could cause post-operative inflammation of the area. We manufacture and supply high-quality precession-engineered Laminar Air Flow Units for Operation Theatre and are made in accordance in accordance with international standards for quality.

Hatch Box

Hatch Box is extensively used to transfer the materials from to clean rooms without contaminating air in the clean room, and without needing to open the door of the room. The hatch box is constructed to be constructed in a manner to ensure that just one entrance could be opened at the same time. The UV light should be installed inside the chamber in order that it will remain open even when both doors are shut. The UV light must be switched off automatically when a door is open.

Peripheral Lights

Peripheral lights are lighting fixtures used in hospitals and other medical facilities to provide light to areas adjacent to a patient bed. They can be used to create a more comfortable atmosphere, provide extra illumination for medical staff, and help to reduce the risk of falls in patients. They are typically installed around the bed, but can also be placed in hallways and other areas. These lights are typically designed to be energy efficient and help to reduce the amount of energy consumed in the facility.

If you're looking for peripheral lights, you've come to the right place. We have a wide range of options available to suit your needs, from simple nightlights to more robust lighting systems. Our lights are energy efficient, long-lasting. We specialize in manufacturing LED Peripheral Light. We have developed an effective ceiling light that can be used in hospitals, hotels, commercial and residential projects.

X-Ray Boards

X-Ray boards are used in hospitals to support X-rays during a radiography examination. The board is made of a material that is highly resistant to X-ray radiation and prevents the film from being fogged. It helps to ensure that the radiologist can clearly see the images produced by the X-ray and diagnose the patient accordingly.

We offer a variety of high-quality X-Ray Boards that are designed to provide a clear and detailed image of X-Rays. Our boards feature a lightweight aluminum construction that is both durable and easy to move. Additionally, each board has a non-glare finish that ensures maximum visibility of the X-Ray. We have several options available to meet your specific needs.

Surgeon Control Panel

The Surgeon Control Panel is a computerized system found in many hospitals which helps surgeons better manage patient care. It provides surgeons with access to patient information, medical records, imaging results, and other data. It also allows surgeons to access and manage anesthesia, operating room equipment, and other medical devices. The Surgeon Control Panel helps to improve patient safety and the quality of care by providing surgeons with the data they need to make informed decisions quickly and accurately.

Writing Board

Writing Board is a tool used in hospitals to help patients communicate with medical staff. It is a whiteboard with a dry erase marker and space for patients to write their thoughts, questions, and concerns. It is a great way for patients to feel heard and for medical staff to better understand their needs. Writing Board can help bridge the gap between patient and provider, providing a safe and effective way for patients to communicate.

Operation theatre LED surgical lights

High quality lighting is essential to conduct operations. Appropriate lighting is important, especially in cases of difficult and complex surgical operations. Operation theatre LED surgical lights provide doctors with optimal viewing during the procedure. Operation theatre LED surgical lights or halogen lights are two types of surgical lights.

Hospital Door

Seal Swing and Automatic Sliding Door in hospitals are two different doors that serve different purposes. Seal Swing doors are typically used to prevent germs and other contaminants from entering a hospital or medical facility. They are designed to create an airtight seal when closed, which helps to keep the air clean and free of contamination.

Automatic Sliding Doors, on the other hand, are used to allow quick and easy access to the hospital while still providing a secure and safe environment. The doors are equipped with an automatic sensor that opens and closes the door as people enter and exit the hospital. Both Seal Swing and Automatic Sliding Doors are important components of a hospital's safety and security measures.

Pressure Relief Dampers

Pressure relief dampers are a type of safety device commonly used in hospital ventilation systems. They are designed to protect the system from high pressures caused by sudden changes in air pressure, such as when a door is opened. They are typically used on the exhaust side of the system, and can be either manual or automatic. When the pressure in the system exceeds the set point, the damper opens to release the excess pressure, preventing damage to the system and ensuring optimal air flow.

#surgical pendant #medical surgical pendant #wall and ceiling panels #scrub sinks #laminar air flow #hatch box #peripheral lights #x-ray boards #surgeon control panel #writing board #ot led surgical lights #hospital door #pressure relief dampers #best modular operation theatre manufacturing company in india #top benefits of modular ot in a hospital #modular ot in india #modular ot services in india #modular operation theatre #altos engineers #Medical Surgical Pendant #OT Pendant at Latest Price

[michelepoehler]

Milwaukee Kids Bathroom

#Bathroom - mid-sized transitional kids' bathroom with beige floor #recessed-panel cabinets #dark wood cabinets #granite countertops #and a one-piece toilet. Beige walls and brown countertops complete the room. gray square tiles #wood vanity #ceramic tile shower #living large #interesting tile #tile relief #kids

[mytheoristavenue]

BES Mizu x Reader - Tranquility

Summary: One evening, two odd fellows walk into your father's inn, requesting keep.

Warnings: Fem!Reader, Reader believes Mizu is male, comfort, angst, use of he/him and she/ her pronouns for Mizu depending on POV

Humming gently, you busied your hands, bustling about the front room of your father's humble inn, dusting, polishing, sweeping- anything to pass the time. With your back turned, you hardly noticed the pair of men that wandered in, ducking under the curtain entrance.

"Welcome in!" you chirped over your shoulder, hearing footsteps approach the counter. Hurrying over and behind it, you turned to face them with a warm grin. "Good afternoon, sirs. How may I be of service?"

"We need a room," the shorter one said. He was significantly more slender than his companion and wore looser clothing and a wide kasa that obscured his face. "Two beds."

You nodded obediently. "Of course sir, and for how many nights?"

"One." He answered sternly, angling his head even deeper down.

"Alright," you processed his answer, making note of it. "And will you be requiring meals or would you prefer to dine elsewhere?"

"Here is fine," he replied, digging into a pocket to retrieve a sachel of currency. "Two dinners and two breakfasts. How much?" You quickly added up the total for the stay and four meals and told him what the charge was. To your surprise, he dropped even more in front of you. "I like my privacy, other than meal service, make sure no one disturbs me."

"Of course, sir!" you nodded profusely, swiftly making sure their payment was in the right place, before coming out from behind the counter. "Allow me to escort you to your room!"

-----

Now alone and behind closed doors, the pair of travelers began laying down their luggage, stretching from the relief of no longer having to carry their belongings on their backs. "Ringo," Mizu said suddenly, leaning her sword against a nearby wall as she sat down. "Go out and get us some more provisions, it'll be a while before we get to another village after we leave. Take this," Glancing up at her apprentice, she handed over a list of supplies and the same sachel of gold she'd paid with moments ago. "I'm going to rest while you're out, so try not to disturb me when you get back."

"Yes, master!" The man said seriously, a bit too much so as he saluted her before leaving. The samurai simply rolled her eyes at his unknowingly silly gesture and sighed.

It wasn't long into her quiet time that she was distracted by the softest knock on the wood frame of the door. "Service," your gentle voice called from the other side. Scoffing, Mizu called back, granting you permission to enter.

-----

You smiled when you heard the gentleman call back 'Enter.', sliding the panel away and lifting a tray from the floor before carrying it into the room. "Your meal tonight will be soba, but it won't be ready for a good while. I thought I'd bring you and your companion some refreshments in the meantime. Complementary, of course."

"Do all your guests get treated to free refreshments before dinner?" he asked, suspiciously, sitting cross-legged at a table in the center of the room.

"Well..." you blushed, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear as you fell to your knees beside him. "Not exactly. Your meal will come with tea and sake, but I wanted to show my appreciation for..."

"You wanted to earn the extra money I gave you." he deduced. "I gave you that in exchange for leaving me alone so, admittedly, you aren't doing a very good job of earning it so far. I'd prefer you to respect my wishes than to bother me with special treatment."

Your cheeks burned with embarrassment and rejection. "I-I'm sorry," you sputtered, reclaiming the few things you'd set on the table in preparation to return the tray to the kitchen. "I'll just take this back, didn't mean to offend."

"Wait, you can stay." The mysterious man sighed, bringing his hand up and pressing his palm to the top of his kasa, removing it. Underneath it was silky midnight hair, tied back in a taught bun, with a rogue strand that framed his face. Though, most striking about his appearance, were his glasses. They were round and petite with an onyx frame and amber lenses. Noticing your attention, his eyes darted towards you. "Haven't you ever been told that staring is impolite?"

Shaking your head furiously, cheeks once again aglow, you returned to your current task. "Deepest apologies! I was only observing your glasses, they are-"

You could feel his glare on you intensify even with your gaze away. "They're what?"

"P-Pretty..." you muttered truthfully, instantly regretting using such a feminine adjective to describe something a man wore. "They're a nice color is all..."

The man shifted backward, seemingly surprised by your compliments, and for just a moment, his harsh demeanor faltered a bit. "Well...thank you," he muttered bashfully before clearing his throat and darting back into his shell upon noticing that you were beginning to pour a cup of sake. "Just tea," he corrected sternly. "I don't drink."

You straightened at his comment, pausing for a moment. "Apologies," you nodded, setting the vessel back down on the tray to remind yourself to take it back with you when you leave. "I don't believe I've ever served a man who didn't prefer sake." you mused with a small smile.

"I'm not other men," he answered shortly.

"Yes, you're entirely different..." you sighed with glowing cheeks, pouring his tea. "You're a true and honorable gentleman, I can tell."

For the first time since the pair had come in, the traveler smiled- smirked even. It was a cocky look that sent a shiver down your spine when you glanced up and his found sharp amber eyes staring back. "You're quite forward for a service girl, aren't you?"

Your eyes blew wide at his comment and your cheeks caught fire which spread even to the tips of your ears. "I'm sorry, I don't mean to speak so freely!" Somehow in your anxious haste, you'd lost your grasp on the tea kettle in your hand, and you quickly lunged forward to catch it, luckily saving it before it could spill- or worse, shatter.

Unfortunately, your cheer for victory was incredibly short-lived by the hiss of your guest, who had begun tugging his clothes away from his body. Stream rose from his torso and you went pale. It seemed that, in your rush to catch the kettle, you'd reached over the table and knocked the freshly poured cup of hot tea into the poor man's stomach.

Without a second thought, you immediately crawled over, pulling a handkerchief from the chest of your kosode and began dabbing at his chest and stomach, profusely apologizing all while. You could feel him tense beneath your touch, rigid an no longer wriggling form the discomfort of the steaming liquid coating his skin. To his horror, in your haste, you began to tug at his sleeves, pulling them off his shoulders slightly.

"I'm so very sorry, sir!" you cried, beginning to disrobe him. "I'm so clumsy! I swear I'll make this right, let me just-" you continued, untying his belt, his protests completely lost on you in your panicked state. "I'll take your clothes and launder them, free of charge! A-And I'll get you a full refund on your stay!"

"N-no, please," the man began to tremble, breath caught in his throat as you inched him closer and closer to nudity. "It's fine, all's forgiven, there's no need to-" His hands felt heavy as he tied to pry you away, and by the time he'd gathered the ability to calm himself, you'd already stopped. You were entirely frozen as the fabric of his shirt felt from your hand.

"I-I..." you sputtered, unsure of what to say, or even if to speak at all. You'd rather just stay frozen.

"I-I appreciate the offer to launder my clothes, but please," the traveler gave an exacerbated sigh, "Let me undress myself."

You slowly nodded, never breaking eye contact as he gripped his garment closed and gingerly traced the hem of it and where it fell on his chest. Suddenly, out of his peripheral, he watched you lift something off the floor, setting the object in his lap. Then he realized, you weren't looking at his body. Glancing down, he noticed his glasses, folded neatly and resting in the creased crotch of his baggy pants.

"Get out." he snapped, finally putting himself into gear. "I will leave my clothes outside my door for you to wash. Have them back to me as soon as possible. And yes, you will be refunding my stay." he seethed as you instantly jumped up and hurried out of the room.

-----

"Fuck, fuck, fuck!" Mizu stressed, pacing the room, and tugging at her hair. Her instincts were screaming at her to run, but her clothes were ruined, she'd at least have to wash them in some creek somewhere. But then, what about Ringo? She could leave him, but knowing him, he'd find her and lecture her about the importance of facing your problems instead of running from them. She'd forced you out before she'd had a chance to read your reaction, but then again, she'd never experienced a good one. You were probably on your way to tell someone- or worse, inform authorities on her whereabouts.

Even worse, she could her her chest bindings beginning to soak with tea, creating a terrible moist feeling between her breasts. She'd have to change the bandages, lest her skin begin to chafe. With every odd stacked against her leaving, she decided to stay. You only knew of her eye color, after all. At least you hadn't figured out all of her secrets.

All she had to do was keep her body hidden and charm you into not telling about her eyes, she could do this. You were tripping all over yourself over one snarky comment, surly she could convince you to keep quiet, right?

I hope you guys enjoyed this, there will be a part two coming (hopefully) soon, which I will link in this post when it is finished! Please like, comment, and reblog if you like this, it really helps encourage me to continue, and with this being a fandom for me to write for, it helps a lot to know what y'all interact with most!

#mizu #mizu blue eye samurai #blue eye samurai #ringo blue eye samurai #mizu x reader #mizu x reader blue eye samurai #blue eye samurai x reader #blue eye samurai fanfic #mizu x fem!reader

[museum-of-artifacts]

Assyrian Wall Relief Panel; shows a soldier diving using an inflatable bag made of goat skin. It is oldest record of a diver. It is about 3000 years old.

Blog: https://thetravelbible.com/mysterious-archaeological-finds/

[10piecechickennuggy]

Rut - Alastor x Fem!Reader - Oneshot

WARNING: Mature content ahead. MDNI

DISCLAIMER: I do not own Hazbin Hotel or the fanart featured above. This is a fan created work.

Word Count: 4,244

***

Clawed fingers tore at crimson silk, black buttons snapping free and clattering to the floor as the dress shirt was ripped open. Beads of sweat soaked into scarlet bangs, plastering the usually fluffy hairs against feverish skin. Ragged breaths rattled a heaving chest as they fanned across parched lips.

When had it gotten so hot? Was the air conditioning in the radio tower not working?

Everything felt too constricting. From his clothes to his own skin, it was as though he couldn’t breathe properly. Alastor growled in frustration as his bowtie was thrown to the floor.

Leaning over a panel of dials and switches, the radio demon raised a hand to his antlers. The velveteen covered bone itched - small shreds of the hair-like skin falling as he scratched desperately. 

The sensation did little to dissuade his discomfort. Nor did removing his monocle or allowing his other hand to dig into the skin of his neck. But even so, he couldn’t stop. 

Thin lines of sanguine trickled from now raw skin, the thick liquid eliciting a cooling sensation in its wake. A loud sigh escaped Alastor at the miniscule relief his spilled blood had brought. But the amnesty was short lived, retreating almost immediately and leaving a psoriasis of mounting intensity in its wake.

Air. He needed air.

Scrambling toward a window, the man almost didn’t notice his antlers crashing into the glass until the impact had caused him to stumble backwards and land on his ass. Rubbing his behind, Alastor stood and paused for a moment. 

Why did that feel good? 

It was as though his antlers were yearning to be rammed against something. The urge tickled and twisted its way down from the top of his head to the tip of his tail - the white and scarlet puff now standing straight up in alert.

Foregoing another headbut into the fenestella, he instead raised the glass gently. A welcome breeze struck against his face, bringing a shiver down the demon’s spine as his burning skin began to cool in the sulfur wind. 

Panting, he allowed his upper body to bend over the windowsill. His torso stretched outward and his head hung limply as he took in the feeling of relief once more. Had he a clearer mind, he’d have cringed at the thought of someone seeing him in such a desperate state.

But the act of leaning out the window brought another sensation. As if the universe itself were seeking to break him, he was struck by an alluring scent. Floral musk assaulted his nostrils, causing the demon’s head to jerk upward in search of its source. And when his gaze traveled down towards the hotel’s entrance, he knew it had been located.

Standing in front of the building was the establishment’s newest resident, Y/n. Her hair was pulled up, exposing the delicate flesh of her neck and shoulders, the sun dress she wore fluttering in the breeze. No doubt the autumn wind was what brought her enticing bouquet aloft, caressing the visible skin and shepherding her aroma to the radio tower above.

Scent was far from her only captivating feature. From her piercing eyes to the enthralling angles of her facial structure. From her beautiful hair down to her adorable toes and every sensual curve in between, the woman was downright breathtaking. A dangerous sentiment, given Alastor’s current state.

Leaning further out the window, his nose lifted as he inhaled deeply, Alastor’s eyes widened in awareness of his lower half now pressed firmly against the wall below. The rigid wooden surface brushed deliciously against his hardened member.

So that was it. It was that time of year again.

Alastor was rarely one to experience such basal urges. The occasions he did were more inconvenient and bothersome than anything, requiring time be taken from his busy schedule to satiate the primal desire. He clicked his tongue in irritation at his body’s betrayal. Crinkling his eyebrows together and exiting the studio, he began to ponder just how best to take care of the pesky dilemma.

***

Several hours later, Alstor had been able to quell the physical effects of his rut enough to emerge from his room. The demon was far from satisfied though, the urge to breed burning at the back of his mind. An incredible amount of willpower was needed to keep himself in check - far more than he would care to admit - or else he’d find himself locked away, stroking his cock raw in desperate search of release again.

After an annoyingly long period of such activities, the deer demon had grown so disgruntled with his own biology that he’d decided to just ignore it. He knew the strategy was flawed - that it could only work for a short while - no matter how many times he came, only allowing himself to truly mate would bring any true relief to his symptoms. But he had to get on with his life. He had duties and obligations that could wait no longer. Perhaps after he completed the day’s tasks, he’d hire a prostitute to satiate his sexual appetite. 

And then kill her, of course. 

He couldn’t let someone walk freely knowing how truly weak his rut made him. The thought of using another sinner and then beating her body into a bloody pulp caused Alastor’s signature smile to broaden. After inflicting as much pain as possible and ensuring she’d perished, he’d consume her flesh. His stomach growled in anticipation.

Whistling an old timey tune, he walked through the streets of Pentagram City. An overlord meeting had just concluded, meaning Alastor was now free to return to the Hazbin Hotel and fulfill his duties as facilities manager.  He just needed to make some quick repairs, meet with Charlie to discuss her continuing rehabilitation curriculum, and he’d be off to the entertainment district.

***

Moss-colored wooden panels now lined yet another wall of the hotel’s lobby. Why did there always seem to be a new hole in the building’s exterior walls? If it wasn’t one of Sir Pentious’ inventions causing another explosion, it was some nuisance of the week who thought they could best the Radio Demon and the Princess of Hell. 

Alastor couldn’t help but laugh at the memory of the latest attack, the pained screams of his victims as he strangled them to death with his shadow tentacles still replaying in his mind. They’d managed to blow a hole in the hotel’s facade, but some quick magic had it fixed in a jiffy. Standing back, Alastor admired his work when a familiar scent caught his attention.

Turning around slowly, he was met with the sight of Y/n descending the hotel’s main staircase. Every step she took was pure elegance, as though she were surrounded by an aura of grace and allure. Her vibrant sundress flowed behind as she walked, its deep V neckline exposing a fair bit of cleavage. Her pheromones permeated Alastor’s senses, working in tandem with her gorgeous appearance to captivate the man. When she’d reached the final step, her gaze lifted to meet with his and her lips curved up to form a dazzling smile.

“Hey, Al.” She waved before advancing toward him.

Alastor’s heart skipped and his cock throbbed. The uncomfortable itching sensation returned, his pulse increasing and his breath growing shallow. He briefly considered excusing himself - running to his room before he lost composure - but decided against it. He couldn’t let something as simple as biology and instinct get the better of him.

“Hello there, darling! How are you this fine afternoon?” The radio static came through especially thick as he spoke, distorting his voice to a near grumble.

A blush overtook the woman, her hands clasping together as she took on a bashful stance. Her current posture had her arms squeezing her breasts, causing the supple flesh to squish together and expose even more of her cleavage than had already been visible. 

“I’m alright. Just headed to the bar.” She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear before continuing. “Care to join me?” Her voice was soft and smooth, akin to satin.

Damn, this woman. He’d already made plans to take care of the issue, and yet here she was enticing him. But the longer he spent in her presence, the more he felt his desire grow. And the harder his cock grew, his body reacting to the female before it.

Forcing himself to remain composed, Alastor gestured for her to lead the way. He followed her silently to the bar, where they both sat before a frowning Husker. 

“Hi there, beautiful.” He turned to nod towards Alastor. “Boss.” The feline bartender bent down, the sound of clinking glass coming from below the bar. “What can I get you, sweetheart?”

Alastor didn’t miss the warm smile Husk offered his companion while only scowling in his general direction when addressing them both. When said female’s eyelashes fluttered and she began to fidget with the hem on her dress, the Radio Demon’s perpetual smile fell just the slightest bit.

“Sex on the beach, please.”

Red wings flapped once as Husker took on a devious smirk. He reached for a bottle of peach schnapps before speaking in a flirtatious tone. “Sorry to disappoint, but the nearest ocean is three rings down. Hopefully the drink is half as satisfying as the man making it.” 

And then the cat winked. He fucking winked. 

Alastor’s blood boiled, the urge to ram his antlers against the insufferable bartender was overwhelming. When she giggled at the other male’s advances, all he could see was red.

The deer demon growled as he stood from his seat, fluffy ears laying flat to his head. Clawed fingers gripped Y/n’s wrist and yanked her away from the bar. A surprised yelp escaped the woman as Alastor dragged her towards the staircase, his anger evident with every stomping footstep.

“What’s wrong?” She asked, her words laced with uncertainty. “Where are you taking me?”

He didn’t respond, only continuing to trudge forward as she stumbled behind attempting to keep up with his quick and deliberate strides. As they ventured onward, his other hand rose to dig at his neck, the itching sensation now unbearable as his body’s excitement and irritation intensified. By this point, the man was nearly operating on hormones alone. 

The pair halted at Alastor’s room just long enough for him to open the door before roughly pushing her inside.

“Hey!” Her voice was now raised as she stared down the man before her. “What was that for?!”

Shadow tentacles emerged from the room’s corners and encircled the woman, wrapping around her form with a vice grip. She squealed when the appendages lifted her into the air, her feet dangling above the carpeted floor. Her eyes widened when Alastor advanced toward her, his form appearing to grow larger and his antlers having extended.

When the pair were mere centimeters apart, his steps ceased. Bending forward, his nose brushed the crook of her neck before he inhaled deeply. Her scent was even stronger than before - like a hypnotic miasma the man could feel himself getting drunk on with every wiff.

“Umm, Alastor?” Her voice wavered as she questioned his actions. But she made no attempt to move away.

“Apologies, my dear.” His ever present radio static sunk into her bones, her expression visibly softening when he pulled away to meet her eyes. Oh how he longed to see that face morphed with bliss and pleasure as he ravaged her. “I simply couldn’t stand to watch that pestering feline continue his advances on what is mine.”

Her cheeks were brightly flushed, but she made no effort to deny his statement. Instead, when Alastor lifted a hand to cup her cheek, she leaned into it. “Perhaps you should claim me then.”

The noise he made in response was akin to a crackling purr, his eyelids drooping and pupils dilating in a lustful gaze. Tangling his fingers through her hair, his lips crashed into hers in a devouring kiss. His tongue invaded the wet cavern of my mouth when she moaned against him. She tasted of sweetness and desire, not unlike the musk of her arousal Alastor’s heightened senses allowed him to take note of. She wanted him, and the longer their mouths remained plastered together, the more their carnal need for each other grew.

Once their lips had separated, the shadow tentacles moved her to the waiting bed. Their grip loosened, allowing her limbs to regain blood flow while still holding her firmly in place. Her body rested against the plush comforter beautifully, her hair splayed out in a halo around her face as her chest rose and fell in rapid breaths of anticipation.

Alastor’s smile broadened, sharp teeth exposed and menacing in the room’s dim lighting. She was willing prey before a deadly predator, his perfect doe - compliant and eager. He climbed atop her form, the mattress dipping as he did.

Sharp nails clawed up the female’s sides as he drew into her neck once more, his tongue coming out to lick a long stripe along the supple flesh. Beneath the sodden muscle, he could feel her pulse quicken. The scent of blood flowing beneath her skin enticed the demon, who sunk his claws into her hips - fabric and skin tearing as his knee came up to brush firmly against her clothed cunt. The resulting whimper which fell from her lips was like music to the Radio Demon’s ears.

By this point, his pants had grown uncomfortably tight against his needy erection. Dragging his digits upwards, the sundress was ripped from her form as a shudder rippled through her. 

Long streaks of bloody claw marks ran up her torso, the shallow cuts bringing a new sense of exciting danger to the female. She began to writhe against the shadow appendages which still held her in place, but it was clear she wasn’t looking for escape. Rather, she struggled against her bindings in an attempt to reach out to him - to touch him as he touched her.

He paused to take in the sight of her black lace undergarments, appreciating the delicate fabric and the lewd implication that she’d donned them deliberately. A dark chuckle fell from the man as he hooked a single finger beneath the band of her bra, right at the point where her breasts met and pulled the fabric away from her form. “Tell me, cheri. Did you intend to spend your evening beneath me?”

She didn’t respond, only turning her head to the side and looking away from him. 

“Now, now.” He gripped her cheeks between his thumb and forefinger, forcing her to meet his gaze. His tone was akin to a parent chastising their child. “It’s rude to ignore someone who’s speaking to you. Especially when you’re at their mercy.” The ripping of fabric punctuated his statement as her bra was shredded, her breasts bouncing free with nipples hardening in the cool air.

“I could tell you were suffering, what with the time of year and all.”  Her voice came as a whisper, as if she were afraid of admitting to her knowledge of his rut.

Alastor sighed, his knee moving to bring some much needed friction to her clothed core. His trousers grew damp where he rubbed, her arousal soaking into the fabric. “What a foolish little doe you are, cheri.” Sitting upward, his pinstripe tailcoat was removed and tossed aside. His eyes took on a darker hue as he began to release his tie. “I am going to enjoy devouring you.”

The moment he’d finished the statement, the shadow tentacles pulled her limbs apart - spreading her wide for him. Removing his shirt and then her panties, he trailed a finger along the scarlet stripes on her side. Sticky blood gathered on his digit, which was quickly brought to waiting lips. Wrapping his tongue around the extremity, he hummed in approval. 

“Delicious.” 

An audible gulp came from the female as she watched the man before her with lidded eyes, her pupils blown wide. Two of the tentacles slithered up her form, encircling her breasts with a tight squeeze. A deep moan erupted from her throat as the shadow appendages began to move, squishing and manipulating the tender flesh whilst the tips toyed with her perked nipples in unison. Her breath came in pants, fists clenching and releasing as she allowed the pleasure to wash over her. 

The welcome ministrations happening at her tits had distracted the woman, who failed to notice Alastor moving downwards. She missed the sensation of his hands massaging their way from her torso to her thighs, nor did she notice when the man positioned his upper body between her legs. Only when she felt his tongue slide through her folds did she let out a surprised gasp. Looking down, she finally took note of the head of crimson hair buried between her limbs.

Alastor’s ears were laid flat as his mouth worked on her, lapping at the slick of her heat. His lips engulfed her pussy in a passionate kiss to her lower lips, tongue darting inside as his nose brushed her clit. His sharp nails dug into the skin of her thighs when her hips began to buck, holding her still against his face as he continued to eat her out.

He consumed her like a man starved, savoring the flavor of her arousal. Lewd slurping sounds filled the air as he continued to lick and suck at her center, eliciting moans with every breath the female took. Moving upwards, his lips came to rest around her bundle of nerves whilst two long fingers entered her now soaking hole. The digits moved in a scissoring fashion as he pumped them within her, his mouth providing suction to her clit.

It wasn’t long before she unraveled on his fingers, a sharp whine shuddering from her body as her walls convulsed. Alastor continued his actions, working her through her orgasm until finally she settled. Withdrawing from her, his lips and chin shone with the moisture of her arousal.

When the tentacles holding her in place withdrew, the woman looked surprised. She sat up, attempting to catch her breath as she looked at the bulge in her companion’s pants.

“On all fours, darling.” The order sent a shiver down her spine. 

She complied in silence, turning around to present herself to him. Her juices dripped down her thighs, pussy clenching around nothing as she waited to be taken.

The clinking of metal was the only sound as his belt slipped free of the loops on his trousers, before said garment was unzipped and allowed to crumple on the floor. Finally, his cock sprang free as his bottoms and underwear were kicked aside. The angrily flushed tip weeped beads of precum as he stroked it lazily. 

Climbing atop the bed once more, Alastor settled behind his mate and brought his member to her entrance. Sinking into her slowly, they vocalized in unison. A guttural growl came from deep within the buck’s chest as he bottomed out within her. Laying himself flat against her back, he took her dangling tits into both hands and gripped them as he stilled.

He wanted to savor this feeling - to commit to memory the sensation of her silken walls surrounding his impossibly hard cock. She squeezed him deliciously tight, already milking him before the true fucking had even begun. 

Gently kissing her shoulder, Alastor began to move. His thrusts came slow at first, his dick dragging against her at an agonizing pace as he withdrew until only the tip remained inside before reentering just as gradually. This repeated several times until the woman let out a noise of frustration, her hips jerking backwards in an attempt to increase the pace.

At her sudden movement, Alastor gasped. He hadn’t expected her to try and take charge - especially with him mounting her from behind. He was the male here. Perhaps he needed to remind her of their places in this sensuous act.

Quickly, a clawed hand removed itself from her breast and came to the back of her head before pushing. Her face landed sideways against a pillow, her eyes wide as she looked back at him. 

“Impatient, are we?” The demon’s voice held a malicious edge, his eyes glinting with dark excitement. “Allow me to ruin you then.”

He left no opportunity for her to respond before he began thrusting into her once more, fucking her in earnest. His hips pistoned against her, the squelching of fluids mingled with slapping of skin each time his dick was plowed into her dripping heat. He held her head firmly against the pillow, his other hand ripping flesh at her hip to keep her still. A cry of pained pleasure came from the woman as she took his brutal assault.

Continuing to pummel his doe, Alastor picked her up so they were both upright on their knees. Her legs spread around his as she sat back onto his lap. A hand encircled her throat, choking her sobs as tears began to form at the corners of her eyes. His hips incessantly slapped her ass with each repeated thrust.

Bringing his other hand from her hip, the bloodied palm drug against her chest before his claws pierced her skin once more. Ripping down her front, she screamed in a high-pitched whine that vibrated his hand on her neck. Sanguine rivers now flowed freely, staining the fabric below.

The scent of her spilled blood was now too much to bear. Continuing his brutal pace, the Radio Demon brought his mouth to the conjunction of her shoulder and nape. He needed to taste her again - to feel the thickness of her blood against his tongue. And so he bit down, his dagger sharp teeth sinking into feverish skin. Salt was the first thing he tasted as her sweat mixed with his saliva before a metallic taste bloomed within his hungry maw.

“A-Alastor!” She screamed, one of her hands quickly tangling into his locks. Her other palm slapped against his upper leg, supporting her unsteady weight. Her eyes closed as she hissed from the pain. But oh, did it hurt so good.

Drinking greedily, he began to choke her in earnest. He couldn’t have the other hotel residents overhearing. The hand in his hair moved to grip one of his antlers, its twin now clawing at the fingers cutting off her air supply. 

When her feeble offense against his vice grip began to lesson and the  hold on his bony outcropping waned, Alastor knew she was close to passing out. He could also tell she was close to her second orgasm, the increasing force with which her pussy clamped around him signaling imminent release. And so, he withdrew himself from her and released his chokehold. The wine that accompanied her gasps for air was almost heartwrenching.

Tears now freely fell down her reddened cheeks as she struggled to hold herself up on both arms. She was shaking, her expression one of hurt and expectancy as she turned to face him.

In an instant, he was on her again. This time, she lay on her back while he held her legs in a folded position with her knees against her chest. Not hesitating for even a moment, he sunk back into her and resumed fucking her with an unrelenting force.

Snarling into her face, his brows furrowed in aggression as he spoke. “I say when you can cum.”

“Y-yes, sir!” She hadn’t missed a beat with her response. Grasping his antlers with both hands, she held on tightly as he continued to take her.

“Good girl.” One of his hands slotted itself into the space where they connected, softly circling her clitorus.

He knew he was close to his own end. After just a few more thrusts, his cock began to twitch within her. Kisses were trailed from her lips down her jaw and to her collar, all the while grunts that crackled with static filled the space between them. Beads of sweat dripped from Alastor’s forehead as he sucked bruising hickies across her skin.

With each mark left in his wake, she whined like a bitch in heat. His body responded to her cries, eager to spill his seed and breed her. 

With the combination of his delicate ministrations against her clit, the pain of his claws and bites, and the pleasure of his dick battering into her, she had become a babbling mess. Single syllables and nonsense words flew from her mouth between pants and moans.

Licking the trails of blood along her chest, he mumbled against the fat of her breast. “Cum with me, Y/n.”

Two more thrusts into her needy cunt and they were both done for. Powerful spurts of cum painted her collapsing walls, coating her insides with his seed. He held onto her tightly, his pelvis pressed firmly against hers as he released deeply into her womanhood with a shouting moan. Wave after wave of blinding pleasure washed over them both as they rode out their highs.

 Collapsing atop her with one last spurt of his cock, Alastor sighed in contentment. Panting heavily and burying his face into her neck, they both began to come down into a glorious afterglow. 

“Feeling better?” Her arms were wrapped around his torso in a warm, loving embrace as her fingers traced mindless swirls across the expanse of his back. 

“Much better, my dear.”

#hazbin hotel #hazbin alastor #smut #lemon #rut #alastor #x reader #female reader #fem reader #alastor x reader #alastor x you #alastor x y/n #y/n #reader insert #self insert #explict #bd/sm kink

[stareaterau]

Chapter 1 episode 4

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Time for some new characters perhaps?

CW: description of pain

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Etho is relieved to finally have a moment of peace from that incessant beeping. It’s been driving him insane from the moment he woke up, surrounded by heaps of twisted and mangled space debris. Impact crates sat all around him, filled in and covered with the – barely recognisable – remains of old battleships. With some smug satisfaction, he’d spotted what was left of countless Vindicator insignias. They were marked on their dented hulls and scattered supply crates, their paint scraped away over time. The beeping had been increasing steadily, as Etho traipsed across the sand-swept wreckage, reverberating around his head in a way that made him worried that he’d suddenly developed a strange form of tinnitus… not that he hadn’t already been developing it for years thanks to his constant exposure to loud machinery. But now – as he approaches the rusting wreckage of a massive spaceship that rests, standing like a beacon, nestled atop a mound of its mangled brethren, its form surprisingly intact save for the side of its hull, the once sturdy metal gored open – the silence is deafening. After having grown accustomed to the constant beeps, the absence of noise is almost overwhelming.

Etho hoists himself up and over the mangled opening in the ship, grateful that his gloves prove to be enough protection against the likely scalding metal. He breathes a sigh of relief as his heavy boots thud onto the dusty metal flooring inside the wreckage. The cooler air hitting him immediately. The insulated walls and dim metal halls of the ship create a welcome reprieve after the blazing heat of the desert outside. Etho is not dressed for this sun, since the dark fabric and fluffy interior of his jacket are more suitable for the chill of space. Maybe if he’d known that he’d find himself waking up in a strange desert, he’d have actually dressed for the occasion. He pulls his hood down, shaking the sand from his clothes, finally protected from the wind as it peppers the landscape outside with sand.

Etho stretches, his long limbs cracking. With a sigh, he looks around the room he climbed into. It looks like some kind of barrack. Uncomfortable uniform beds line the walls and old, musty bedding lays strewn about the room. He grimaces. Those blankets look scratchy as hell. Despite his initial disgust, Etho would probably be tempted to pick one of the beds and not get up for days if they weren’t also covered in sand that had blown in through the fissures in the ship's wall caused by its crash landing, years ago. He assumes it was years ago, at least, considering the rust and the sand that has made itself home in every possible corner.

He walks out into the corridor, brightened by long strips of broken lights stretching down the hall in either direction. Tangled and fraying wiring hangs down from the ceiling, the panelling that was meant to hide them likely thrown and forgotten somewhere during the ship's rough descent. A ship like this should have plenty of rooms that could prove far more useful than a dusty dorm room. If he’s lucky it may even have a stocked storage room. The ship's crew certainly wouldn’t have run out of rations before their unexpected demise.

Etho turns right, padding down the hallway, periodically peering through the occasional unlocked door as he passes by, each one leading into increasingly dark and dingy rooms.The corridor leads him deeper into the belly of the ship, further away from the blazing sun’s reach. The interiors sit dusty, undisturbed and utterly useless. Not a single one appears to contain anything of use to Etho unless he wants to try and sleep on some of the sandiest beds he’s ever seen. He just woke up not even an hour ago, sleeping right now might be a bit overkill… and not all that useful. He needs supplies, food, anything. A weapon of some sort would be nice too, he doesn’t trust this dump to be as empty and dead as it looks on the surface. A planet with breathable air like this would surely have some inhabitants, no matter how harsh the living conditions. Hell, a blaze would probably thrive in this heat. Their dense fur and high body temperature would protect them from the worst the desert has to offer.

The thumps of heavy boots against the grated metal echo down the corridor. Etho’s careful steps do little to lessen the noise as the rusted hull groans in response to his presence. His tail drags behind him, through the sand and dust that litters the hall, pale white scales and grey-tinged fur drawing lines on the ground as he roams the winding halls.

He comes up to a split in the path… or well, it’s not much of a split. The corridor that should veer off to the right comes to a quick end, its flooring having collapsed in on itself, broken pipes and tangled wires hanging down from the ceiling. The floor is caved in on itself, twisted metal sloping down into the pitch-black pit that is the lower floors. Etho cringes at the creaking sound of metal that echos out of the hole. He doesn’t want to think about the strain the weight of the crashed vessel is causing on its fractured hull. The last thing he wants is to be trapped in this hunk of junk if its supports give way.

Deciding he’d rather not risk catching himself on the jagged metal… or falling void-knows how far down the dark pit. Etho, instead, turns left and ventures down the more intact corridor. At least there’s far less sand this way. Although Etho suspects the damage has already been done, he’ll be finding those persistent grains for months. Years, even. The lights above flicker sporadically – or at least the few that managed to survive the years in one piece – combating the increasing darkness with their cold, dim fluorescence.

Etho pauses, reaching up to flick one of the long bulbs as it fades out, causing it to sputter back to life for just a moment before dying out once again. Etho realises with a start that the ship must still have a functioning power source somewhere, Etho realises. It might not have much life left in it if these half-dead lights are anything to go off, but it’s better than nothing. This ship might still have some useful parts lying around. Etho could try fashioning… something from the scraps. Something that could help him get off this dead planet, or at least send some kind of distress signal, with the hopes that someone, anyone is close enough to hear it.

He’ll take anything that might prove useful while he figures out where he is. It’s better than his current lack of possessions. He’d had nothing on him when he woke up, which, concerningly, was not how he’d been before. Etho never left home without at least a knife or two, preferably a gun too. He’s not stupid. The last thing he wants is to be cornered by some Vindicator grunt without any means of defending himself. He’d never hear the end of it.

But, for now, it’ll probably just be nice to have shelter with some shoddy lights. While sleeping under the stars doesn’t sound too unpleasant, sleeping on trash in a sandstorm definitely does.

Etho picks up his pace. He can at least assess the damage to the ship's redstone if he can find the engine room. Until he knows what supplies he’s working with he can’t properly plan his next move. The thought makes him shudder. Being stranded in the middle of nowhere, with no clue where he is, no memory of how he got here, and no plan sounds like, quite possibly, the worst combination. Hell, graveyard planets aren’t typically in inhabited solar systems…if he’s really that far from civilisation, he’s fucked. The sooner he can figure out a plan of action the better.

Rounding a corner, the corridor quickly comes to an end. Standing in front of him is exactly what he had been hoping for. Another doorway the door itself, thankfully, resting mostly open. Albeit disconnected from the track that would usually enable its closure. Beyond its frame, flickering lights illuminate a room lined with control panels and overturned chairs. Lights pulse faintly behind dusty buttons and screens and wires stretch across the floor, twisting over and tangling with one another. He’s found the cockpit.

Etho grins behind his mask, the slight crinkle of his eyes the only sliver of emotion displayed for the lonely wreck. He cracks his knuckles before making his way over to the closest control panel.

He pauses for a moment, eyes narrowed in thought and hands hovering over the rusted controls. He never actually checked if he’s truly alone in this place. Glancing around the room again shows no more signs of life than his first inspection. He hadn’t noticed footprints at any point in his journey so far. Void knows there’s enough sand everywhere for them to show up. He’s well and truly alone.

Giving in to curiosity, he cracks open the console, prying off the loose screen, exposing the guts of the ship inside. Looking through the rusty parts, he investigates the state they’re in, hoping that any of the individual parts can prove useful. Who knows, maybe he can get the engine up and running and get out of here… it doesn’t look like it though. Holding up a particularly rusted part, Etho scowls, tossing it onto the metal flooring behind him with a loud clang. He continues to rummage through the mechanisms of the ship, anything unusable – which proves to be most of it – getting tossed, carelessly to the side with a loud clunk.

“...Oh, what the heck?”

Etho jolts at the voice behind him. Dropping the rusted redstone comparator he had been holding, in surprise. Spinning on his heels, Etho’s eyes land on a figure standing in the doorway, their face scrunched up in a frustrated scowl. They look like some sort of glare-blaze hybrid, judging by the green feathers scattering the right side of their face and the brown markings that tint their brow and the tips of their ears. The tips of their fingers are coated in that same brown, the point where the markings merge back into their paler skin tone hidden behind a pair of padded fingerless gloves. Etho notes, however, the figure's distinct lack of a tail, his own flicking to the side subconsciously. They’re dressed in a cuffed t-shirt and baggy, padded trousers. A singular grey knee pad is strapped to their right leg, though how much that would help them if they fell onto their other knee Etho is not sure. Their deep, dark eyes lock onto Etho. Huge, pure-black pupils boaring into him.

“Uhhh-” Etho stares, dumbstruck at his unexpected visitor. He'd been so sure that he was alone here. The metal dunes outside had betrayed no signs of life. All the ships look like they’d crashed into the planet, their hulls cracked and bent from the impact. It’s unlikely that any of their passengers survived.

“Who the hell are you?” The glare furrows his brow further, pointing an accusatory finger towards Etho. “What are you doing to my ship?”

“...Your ship?”

The stranger scoffs, seemingly offended at the insinuation that this mangled spaceship isn’t clearly his. “Yes, my ship! I found it first!”

Etho rolls his eyes at the childish nature of the argument, there’s no way of knowing who had actually seen it first. It's not exactly hard to spot. The massive ship stands like a beacon atop the mounds of twisted metal, it could probably be seen for miles across the ship graveyard.

“I saw it the second I woke up here,” Etho counters, throwing out a bit more information than he’d usually feel comfortable with, testing the glare's response. They don’t react.

Their brows remain just as furrowed, eyes just as piercing. A couple of seconds pass before their mouth contorts into an annoyed snarl. A small scar cuts across their lip, a gap in their teeth replacing the fang that should rest just behind it… Huh.

Etho runs a hand down his mask. He hadn’t realised that the stranger isn’t wearing one, nor a helmet. The air here must be safe to breathe. He decides against removing it for now, though. Maybe they just hadn’t dropped dead yet.

“Yeah, me too! You’re not special!” The other replies, crossing his arms. Etho frowns, the two sides of his split jaw grinding together slightly, behind his mask, in thought. So they had woken up here too, he concludes. They’re probably just as in the dark as he is, lashing out due to the fear of being lost on some graveyard planet with no idea how they got here… Or maybe they’re just like this.

“...I’m the one in the cockpit though.”

“You’re tearing the cockpit apart!” The stranger complains, striding over to a broken comparator, one of the many engine components Etho had scattered across the cockpit floor. They pick it up and twirl it in their hand, glowering at the state of it. Rust rubbing off the metal, staining their fingertips a ruddy orange.

Their dark eyes turn back to Etho, scrutinising him with their gaze. A mischievous glint crosses their face. They give the engine piece one last spin in their hand, before tossing it right at Etho. Hitting him square in the shoulder, the rusted metal cracking as it clatters back onto the ground by Etho's feet. “Ow- Thanks…” he murmurs

“It’s not gonna fly anyway,” he adds, brushing away a spot of rust from where the metal had bounced off his padded jacket.

“I can make it work!”

“Can you?” Etho raises a brow, he’s sceptical anyone would be able to fix a ship in this much disrepair, especially not this guy. They look like they’re more likely to blow up a ship than they are to fix one. The only thing this wreck is good for is shelter and spare parts.

“YES!” the stranger argues, their face contorted into an offended scoff. “GET OUT! FIND YOUR OWN SHIP!”

Etho stands up from where he knelt, hunched over the control panel. He wipes his hands on his trousers, leaving a smear of oil and rust behind on the green fabric. "…Fine, ‘s nothin’ useful here anyway. It’s a rusty mess.”

That only seems to rile the glare up further. Their green feathers bristle, standing on end, and a slight puff of smoke spills from their mouth as they huff angrily.

“IT’S NOT A RUSTY MESS! IT’S MY SHIP!”

Etho, paying their outburst no mind, strides over to where the glare still stands, blocking the doorway with their broad frame. Etho tilts his head, as he looks them up and down, sizing up the shorter, angrier man. They just glare back up at him in response. He snorts.

“Mhm, sure,” Etho finally responds, a sarcastic drawl to his voice. He pushes past them, knocking the stranger out of the way with his shoulder. They stumble to the side, letting out an offended squawk as Etho heads back down the dark corridor of the ship. He smirks at their reaction. Void that guy is full of themself.

If they want this ship so bad they can have it, it's not worth fighting over.

Maybe if he’s quick, Etho can find another, mostly, intact ship to seek shelter in before the sun sets. Preferably one where he won’t have to share with some obnoxious blaze-glare hybrid.

The gash in the ship wall he had climbed through proves easy to find again, thanks to the way it tears through room after room. He picks a door and makes his way through what looks like the remains of a small botany nursery. The plants that had once grown here would’ve helped to generate for the ship's crew back when it was still being maintained, but now it sits in disrepair. Its foliage withered and dry from neglect, the glass of their terrariums shattered and scattered across the ground. The only sign of life this room has to offer now comes in the form of a tiny, sandy rat, no bigger than Etho’s palm, sitting in a dusty plant pot. Though, it seems mostly unbothered by the enderian's sudden appearance, the shrivelled stick of a plant that it's digging its teeth into is clearly more important. Beady eyes follow as he picks his way through the overturned interior, careful to avoid the sharp shards of glass, even if it’s unlikely it would be able to puncture his boot's thick soles.

He doesn’t even need to climb over the jagged metal this time, the whole exterior wall is ripped out from top to bottom. The gnarled, torn edges of the floor and remaining walls the only evidence such a wall ever existed in the first place. Instead, he lowers himself and jumps down, landing with a clatter on the scrap metal ground outside.

The sun still beats down on the metal mounds surrounding him, the old wrecks sizzling from the heat. The topography shifts and ripples behind the torrid air. Etho blinks and holds his hand up to shelter his eyes as the metallic landscape reflects the bright light at him from every direction. He had not missed this, the ship had been stuffy, but it was at least sheltered from the worst of the heat. Etho had better find another shelter soon, he decides. Especially as the sun has now dipped far lower in the sky than it was before. He’d rather not be wandering the wasteland at night, at least not until he can assess how safe this planet really is.

Etho readjusts his mask – breathing in dust cloud after dust cloud probably won’t be great for his lungs – before beginning his descent down the mound. His pace is slow and careful as the scrap below his feet shifts and dislodges from its capricious position. Each step sends small waves of metal debris scattering down the hill ahead of him. It’s not the quietest of descents, but Etho can’t bring it in himself to care. Not when he’s already met and fallen out with, who is likely, the only person for miles.

He takes a deep breath before continuing.

The whistle of wind rushing through the trash peaks almost disguises a building ringing in his ears, the constant note mostly fading out into the background when he pays it no heed. Shaking his head, Etho groans. He almost misses the beeping.

He really should look into what had caused that… as soon as he finds himself somewhere safe to settle for the night. It’s far too risky to stay out in the open with the sun rapidly sinking in the sky. Not while he doesn’t know what kinds of wildlife might call this place home, and going back to the security of that ship is clearly a no-go.

The hairs on the back of his on the back of his neck stand up as a staticky sensation dances across his skin. Etho furrows his brow. That’s just another reason to find shelter. The last thing he wants is to get caught out in a thunderstorm. But, as he glances at the vast, cloudless sky, it holds no sign of a coming storm

Etho reaches the bottom of the metal mound, luckily only almost losing his footing once or twice. The moment his boot meets the sandy ground the ringing solidifies into something real, something vicious and sharp. He stumbles. It feels like hands are reaching into the deepest parts of his soul and wrapping their hands around his heart.

With another step electricity surges through his body. Etho buckles over, every nerve set alight in white-hot pain. A hook is driven through his heart. Etho bites his tongue. The hands pull.

His vision turns white.

Then red.

Etho keels over. His mind struggles for coherency as he clutches his chest.

He rips his mask off, struggling for breath as a haze settles over the world. Thick and suffocating. Shrouding the landscape around him until all he can see is his own shaking hands and the shipwreck, looming above him, mockingly.

A desperate resolve washes over him.

He needs to get back. It hurts to breathe and he needs to get back.

The ship is safe. It’s walls and shelter and shade and it’s safe. And there is absolutely room for two. Despite that glare’s adamant claims.

They don't need all that space.

Etho found it too.

They can share.

It’s massive.

He can easily stay there without even running into them once.

And it hurts.

And it hurts.

And he can't think.

And the world is spinning.

And he's clambering back over the gnarled ship wall. His clothes snagging on the jagged edge. The thud of his knees, connecting hard with the floor, echoing through his bones.

Relief washes over him. The strain on his heart easing slowly as he staggers back into the welcoming shade. With a huff, he slumps down in the ship's corridor as colours aside from the ruddy hue bleed back into the world.

Etho’s not sure how long he sits there, on the hard floor of the ship corridor, gathering his breath. The cool metal of the ship wall presses against his back, grounding him as his head slowly stops spinning.

But he’s not alone as he gathers his thoughts. Movement catches his eye as, across the hall, that small rat scurries into view, its dried-up twig abandoned. Beady eyes meet his own, unblinking as Etho stills, not wanting to scare the critter away. It’s nice to have some company that won’t attack him for daring to breathe the same air… hopefully.

Its pale, sandy fur stands out in stark contrast against the dark, grey colouration of the ship. He’s caught similar vermin hiding in the dark corners of his own ship before, but they had looked different. Their ears had been shorter and stubbier, their fur dull and grey to match their surroundings. Etho’s not exactly an expert on alien fauna, but if this planet is as uninhabited as it looks then the small rodent might actually be undiscovered. He watches as it slowly relaxes and begins to clean its long whiskers with its paws. It’s kind of cute. Maybe if he captures it and makes it off this forsaken planet he’ll be able to name the species. He’ll probably name it something scary. Like taxes.

Not that aiding scientific exploration should be his priority right now. He’s more likely to cook up and eat the rodent if he actually catches it. Food will probably be scarce in this desert junkyard, and Etho is awfully fond of not starving to death… besides, he’s probably eaten worse.

“You coulda leant a hand y’know.” Great, now he’s talking to a weird rat.

He drops his head back against the wall, inhaling sharply as the impact sends a jolt of pain reverberating around his, already aching, skull. Closing his eyes, he digs the palms of his hands into them. Today is going great so far. At least the beeping still hasn’t come back, hopefully, it’s gone for good now. Etho doesn’t want to imagine trying to think with both the beeping and fuzzy disorientation from whatever the hell that was, overwhelming his brain.

The only sound is the wind outside as it whistles through the cracks marring the ship's hull. It blows roughly through the rooms that are unlucky enough to share that exterior wall, creating a dull, rhythmic thrum, slowly getting louder as it echoes through the halls and – oh, that’s footsteps, Etho realises. Great.

The glare rounds the corner, dark eyes immediately landing on Etho. A scowl crosses their face. They’re clearly just as pleased to see Etho as he is to see them. Taxes scampers off, diving through a grate in the wall, at the sight of the other figure. Etho’s never wished he could follow a rodent quite as much as he does now.

“I thought you were leaving.” They plant their hands on their hips, eyes narrowing as they scowl down at Etho.

“Mm, I tried. Didn’t go so well.” Etho frowns, tearing his eyes away from the hole the rodent had vanished into.

He takes in the glare’s appearance. They look scruffier than before. Their hair is unkempt – well, more unkempt – it falls over their face in messy strands, green and brown mixing together in a muddy tangle. The green feathers scattered across their face are puffed up and dishevelled and their breathing is heavy. What had they been doing after Etho left?

“Huh? What do you mean you ‘tried’?” They ask, making quotation marks with their fingers to emphasise their point. An incredulous tone laces their voice. “Just walk away and find your own ship. It’s not hard!”

Just to complete their point, the glare strides forward in a mock impersonation of Etho’s own pace, coming to a stop in front of the enderian. They scowl down at him, not even trying to hide their distaste. If anything they’re exaggerating it. They place their hands on their hips in, what looks to be, an authoritative manner.

Etho rolls his eyes. It’s nice to know he’s stuck in this place with someone mature. “You try if you think it’s so easy.”

A childish part of Etho, that he’s not so proud of, hopes that the same thing will happen to the glare if they leave the ship. But then again, if that… sensation was indeed a product of trying to leave the wreck, instead of just a freak incident, that might mean he’s stuck with this guy. A thought that fills Etho with dread… It would be worth it to get back at them for taunting him, though.

“To… walk out the door?” They narrow their eyes, trying to figure out just what Etho’s playing at. Ethos face betrays no ulterior motives, though. Even with his mask discarded on the ground, his expressions exposed.

Etho nods. “Mhm. Bet you can’t do it.”

“Bet I can!”

That was easy… they’re way too eager to be right.

Etho pauses to think. If the beeping stopped when he reached this ship then this is clearly where it had been leading him. Etho wouldn’t be surprised if someone had put a chip of some sort in him before abandoning him in this wasteland… it wouldn’t actually be the first time. That could explain the beeping. It might even be the reason for what he just felt too. If that is the case, the glare is probably here for the same reason. Etho’s willing to bet they’ll feel the exact same thing. He’s also willing to bet that they wouldn’t believe him if he tried to tell them.

“How about this? You get the ship to yourself if you can get, mmm, 10 yards from it- the bottom of the mound. If you can’t,” He looks the glare directly in the eye, the inky voids returning an increasingly confused stare. ”It’s mine to scavenge for parts.”

They narrow their eyes, trying to parse Ethos logic. That’s not exactly a hard ask. “You’ll… leave me and this ship alone if I… walk… down a hill.”

“Mhm,” he nods.

The glare pauses. The last thing they want is their ‘beautiful’ ship torn to pieces for parts. What’s the point in finding shelter if you don’t pick the grandest option there is, damn it. This wager is objectively the stupidest thing they’ve ever heard, there’s no feasible way to actually lose it. They smirk.

“Your loss. Easiest bet I’ve ever made! Watch and learn!”

The glare turns on his heels, marching out of the hall with purpose. The sound of their footsteps echoing, loudly down the halls of the ship.

Etho relaxes slightly as the glare disappears from view. He leans back against the wall, mind still buzzing. The cool metal grounding him in place.

He waits. Anticipation slowly building.

The faint sound of metal sliding and clattering from the glare’s heavy steps meets his ears. Etho chuckles. They’re clearly not the stealthy type.

Etho’s amusement quickly dies down as a familiar tightness settles in his chest. He grimaces and steadies himself as he braces for round two as the ringing takes hold and the world falls to red.

He really hopes this isn’t going to be a recurring condition.

A distant yelp echos through the ship – shrill and startled – as the glare concedes their bet.

Etho breathes in a sharp breath as his heart tugs on its bindings. Vindication bleeding into his mind, through the gaps of his thoughts and pain.

He should leave the ship. Meet the glare on their ascent back up the shrapnel hill.

They might need help.

No.

They’ll come to him.

Etho waits. His mind slowly returning to its usual state.

He hears them before he sees them, their angry grumbles and stomps telling Etho all he needs to know about how they’re feeling.

They storm back into the corridor. Stumbling slightly as they steady themselves with a hand on the wall.

Wild eyes lock onto Etho. A fire burns deep inside, shining brightly through their pupils like a feral animal reflecting light in the night.

“WHAT THE HELL WAS THAT?”

Their face contorts in a furious expression, as even more smoke billows out of their mouth than earlier. Etho wonders how much he can get them to do that.

“Told you.” A smug expression crosses Etho’s face.

“TOLD M- WHA- HUH- WHAT THE HECK?” The glare splutters, more smoke spills out of their mouth with each rapid breath.

“Just walk away, it's not hard,” Etho taunts, doing a poor imitation of the other, smirking as their face scrunches up in annoyance.

“...I’m gonna kill you,” they spit, marching up to Etho, their fists balled stiffly at their sides,

“You can tr- ohHH ACK HEY!”

#stareater au #life series au #ethoslab #joel smallishbeans #boat boys #trafficblr #cw pain

[pwlanier]

Carved and Painted Wall Pocket,

late 19th century,

Chisel-carved and painted relief panel depicting flowers and quatrefoil motifs below scrolled crest, the bottom nailed to brackets supporting a floral relief-decorated panel with sculpted edges, painted red, white, blue, and green on a dark brown background, the reverse inscribed 'Souvenir / St Ursule / Ma Tante / 1895' in pencil

Bonhams

[fanaticsnail]

Will You Let Me?

Masterlist Here, Pollen Masterlist Here

Word count: 4,500+

Synopsis: Your crew was docked at a port, exploring a new land while you requested to remain behind. Enjoying being without the unruly bunch, your momentary calm was disrupted by the staggering step of your superior. Coughs, grunts and stuttering over his words: your concern grew more severe as you offered to help him through it.

Themes: pollen!killer x gn!reader, NSFW, mdni, 18+, smut, penetration reader!receiving, swearing, dubcon, begging, pleading, apologising, bruising, crying, rough, do not read if you do not enjoy the trope, fluff at the end, semi-ooc.

Notes: first time writing gn!reader smut! I enjoyed the challenge, but forgive me if there's a word that is used incorrectly! I am still learning inclusive language.

Pollen is a fun trope to play with, but please do not read if you don't enjoy.

Apprehensive Tag List: @sordidmusings @remisloves @tremendoushorsepatrolgoth @since-im-already-here @mfreedomstuff @icy-spicy

The hot sun shone over the wooden deck of the Victoria Punk. The soft waves gently rocked the boat with a subtle lull, the screech of gulls only aiding your heart to swell in merry solitude.

It was a rare occasion that you were tasked to remain behind while the crew explored a foreign area. Your skills as a linguistics specialist usually meant your silver tongue was called for to coax a good deal, or to decipher scratchings on cave walls. Considering this area was only a port meant for resupply, Captain Kid deemed your skills unnecessary for the journey in land.

Never one to complain, and genuinely giddy at the notion of being secluded and alone for a change, you jumped at the opportunity to stay with the Victoria Punk. You adored your ship, and decided to utilise the opportunity to check over her planks, ropes, and panels that may be in need for repair.

As the day went on, you did not expect a member of your crew to return so suddenly: especially the hulking masked figure of Massacre Soldier Killer. Being the first-mate, he was usually by Kid's side, no matter the circumstances.

Coughing, sneezing and sputtering: Killer’s right hand shot out to grasp your left shoulder. The firmness of his grip was bordering on painful, prompting you to wince in response to the hard strangulation of flesh.

“Something gross hit me in the face,” he strained from behind the teal and ivory mask, “Stuck in my chest and my throat. Not feeling good. Gotta-... fuck-... I gotta lie down or something.”

Concern and worry knit itself over your face, examining the staggering movement of Killer’s body as he retreated below deck. He stuttered and gripped onto the wooden beams, walls and ceiling to stabilize his movement: his body almost giving way beneath the pressure.

“Kil, do you need-,” you began, halting as his voice raised over the top of yours.

“-‘M fine. D-Don’t worry, ‘kay?” he called over his shoulder before disappearing below deck. His large figure seemed to both be inflated and deflated with a foreign paralysis in his choppy, staggered steps. The waves did nothing to sooth him in his glide throughout the halls.

As soon as he reached crew-quarters, he all but shredded his clothes and cast them away from his body. His skin was alite with violent lust, his hands moving against his will to fist, claw and paw at the erogenous zones of his torso, stomach, legs, and his puckered nipples.

He arched his back as his hands gripped the base of his already steel-like cock, immediately pumping it in his right fist. His left hand clawed at the flesh of his chest and lay flat over his heart as he felt the rise in fluttered rapidity.

Scraping and gripping downwards with his left hand, he pushed hard on the base of his stomach, feeling how tightly wound the banded coil was wound in the pit of his stomach: bound hard enough to snap. Every muscle was tense, firm and aching for relief. He began sniffling and sobbing behind his mask, never truly experiencing the shame in the desperation his body was craving before.

He was the only one who managed to not avoid the hessian bag of powdered flowers falling from the rooftop of the naturopathic remedy building. Apologetic calls echoed down from the roof before panic began to rise in the workers. Killer could scarcely process voices above the throbbing ache in his lower abdomen.

Barely hearing several repetitions of Kid’s voice calling: “Killer, are you alright? Kil, are you alright?” All Killer could do was splutter and cough through the burning in his chest.

Golden flecks danced over his eyes beneath the mask, the pollen sucked immediately through the holes and embedded several clusters within the circular orifices. No matter how many times he wiped at the mask with his hands, he continued to inhale the sticky-sweet smell of herbal flowers within deep gulps of his lungs.

“Get him back home!” a hushed voice hurriedly spat at Captain Kid, “He needs a companion, someone to take care of him while he's going through this. Someone caring and kind enough to-.”

“-Don't tell me what to do! Kil, you know the way back to the ship from here?” Kid’s voice barked at Killer, prompting the blonde to spark a moment of clarity in his progressingly foggy mind, “The linguist is back there. They'll take care of ya’ if ya’ need it, okay?”

“Okay,” Killer managed to stutter out, his body scorching hot and violently in need.

“Okay!” Kid parrotted back, looking at the shopkeeper, “Okay, great. Now that's settled, we need a couple things from you. Let's get that sorted before-."

As Killer continued fisting at his cock, he felt release on the tip of his tongue. His eyes were scrunched tightly shut and his lips were parted wide. Unbeknownst to him, each time he panted through his heavy inhales and exhales; more of the toxic pollen punctured his lungs and poisoned his bloodstream with arousal.

He was consumed with lust, a beast untamed and unbridled. There was no release for him, no relief that came thereafter. He was isolated, confused, scared and manic. He needed something, someone, anyone-.

“-No,” Killer spoke aloud in a strangled whisper, “Not anyone. I need the linguist. I n-need-... fuck-... I need my linguist. Where i-is my linguist?”

Continuing about your task of ensuring all of the ropes were properly coiled and laid, your heart began to pang with guilt. You decided to cast aside all further self-induced tasks and seek out the first-mate you serve beside, attempting to offer him comfort through his illness. He seemed so adamant about isolation, but you felt called to be by his side.

Venturing below deck, his painful strain of wanton moans called to you. Muffled groans of pain exhumed from the room, cries of anguish falling through the door. Your deepest sympathies clawed at you to push through the door. Your hand hesitated it's rise against the wooden panel, your body almost walking away before you heard a gentle and heartfelt cry of your name falling from Killers lips.

“I-If you're there,” Killer’s voice again called for you, “Please come in. Please,” he chanted your name with a soft, strangled moan, “Please. I need you.”

Immediately, your body moved against your will. Twisting the knob to crew quarters, you swung the door wide and was immediately met with the sight of your first mate: glistening in beads of sweat and shed of all but his teal and ivory face covering, and viciously pulling at his cock.

“Killer! Why did you tell me to come in if you were doing that?” you shouted in a harsh whisper, immediately slamming the door shut behind you and scrunching your eyes tightly shut, “I don't want to watch that!”

Thick silence aside from the cruel pistoning of his firm hand slapping against his lower stimach engulfed the air. Soft huffs of muffled pants escaped gritted teeth, Killer's mask doing the heavy lifting in silencing his cries for you.

“I don't want you to watch,” Killer confessed in a soft, breathy whine, “Please don't watch,” he keened for you, “Participate.”

“Killer!” you shot over your shoulder at him with a warning tone, “What are you-?”

“-I would never a-ask if I didn't-...” He trained off in a strangled whimper, desperately clenching down on his tongue with his teeth and biting back his needy sobs, “...I-I need you. I need you. Only you.”

“Kil,” you sighed at him, your concern written over you'd face, “Have you taken something? Was it the gross thing from earlier? Did that have an effect on you? Like a drug-?”

“-Look at me,” a barked command exited the holes in the mask, “Please, look at me,” he pleaded, gasping as he grasped at his cock, fisting the flesh and whimpering as he was brought to the brink of ecstacy once again, “Just look at me, please. I just need your eyes on me. Eyes on me.”

“Killer,” you whimpered, finally turning to face him. As soon as your eyes met with the icy stare beneath his mask, you were entranced. Your body propelled you against forward, called to serve the needs of the first mate in a hypnotic trance.

“I need you,” he sobbed, reaching for you with his left hand as his right continued beating his weeping cock, “Only you. Please, let me have you?”

Your body continued reacting against your will, your brain becoming foggy as Killer’s lust thickened the air with all-consuming need. Shame coursed just as heavily throughout your body as the arousal at just the thought of taking Killer’s cock into you began coursing through your veins.

“Please,” he whined, his eyes holding your own as you stripped yourself of your clothes, “Please,” his lips spilt as you straddled his lap, “Please,” as you immediately began sinking yourself down over the tip of his knob.

His precum did little to prepare you your your descent, focussing on your wanton need to have him within you to open your body up to receive him. Killer moaned your name, crying out with baited breath as you slowly consumed all of his length with the grip of your tight hole.

As soon as he felt your heat take his entire length, he was already a babbling mess. There was no strings of cohesive thought as his length became strangled within your tight center. He immediately began shooting your body full of ropes of thick release, ribbon after ribbon of his pale translucent ecstasy.

He cried out for you in warning before painting your walls white with his sticky cum. The pearly beads of his lust coated your tight hole immediately, strings of praise falling from his lips as he rode through his high with you fully impaled on his thick cock.

But he remained firm, hard and desperate for more.

“Wha-...” he began, his understanding of his own arousal and relief not aiding him in the slightest as he thrust up into you. He moaned as he sheathed his lengthy shaft deep within you again, your own arousal now taking over as you started to roll your hips against him while sat fully engulfed by him.

“Killer, what's going on?” you questioned him, your confusion and worry knit on your face, “You're s-still hard.”

“I-I am,” he confirmed, a soft mewl of bliss echoed beneath his mask as he rolled his hips up into you, “What’s happening to me?”

His hands found your hips, rocking you above him as he began feeling another wave of need course through his veins. As his hands embedded into your hips, you winced at the sting. His strength depicted in his grasp, gripping you like a lifeline anchoring himself to the world surrounding him.

He tried.

He tried so hard to be gentle.

He wanted to be gentle for you. Needed to be gentle for you.

But his grip turned sinister, turned brutal and unforgiving as he thrust up into you. His end was coming to a close as he chased it with you writhing and pleading on his lap. His desperation enticed him to continue bullying your tight center with vicious snaps of his bruising slaps.

“Kil,” you called for him, feeling his cock touch a depth within you that had your back arching and mewling for him, “Oh, Kil. I'm close.”

“Please,” he begged, desperately thrusting up into your lap as his end stampeded before his eyes, “Please cum. Please. N-Need it.”

“Killer,” you called for him, feeling the band weave ever tighter within your abdomen, spiraling and coiling within the pit of your stomach, “Kil I'm gonna-.”

“-Oh, fuck!” he roared, his body immediately betraying him as he coated your insides with ropes of hot, sticky, and heavy cum for the second time. His balls sucked up inside his body, his entire being screaming in relief as his release was once again began satisfying his unbridled lust for you.

But his cock still remained firm.

Your eyes clenched firmly shut, the corners wincing at the slight pinch as the coil snapped deep within you. White-hot ecstacy coursed through your veins, your body releasing your bliss over yours, and Killers, bodies as you rode through your high seated on his lap.

His hands were firm, rocking you atop him with a guiding, harsh rhythm as you called his name. Your whole being was alight with passion, your eyes now opening and looking down at the man beneath you.

Killer didn't realize it until he felt his eyes roll back in his skull, his body immediately ushered into a third orgasm as your body milked him with the rhythmic thumps of your warm orgasm. But he still remained firm, hard and needy. He inhaled a deep, shaky breath: particles of pollen immediately spiraling in a cylindrical vacuum deep into his lungs.

“I c-can’t,” Killer called for you, immediately grappling you in his arms. He threw you beneath him, his vice-grip clawing at your hips as he pummeled down into your body, “I can't stop, I can't stop, I can't stop.”

You bit back a whimper, your body barely recovering from the prior spend of your hot release. Overstimulated, ill-prepared and encumbered with your new task at hand: Massacre Soldier Killer never let up. Not even for a moment.

In fact, he only got more intense, ferocious and brutal the moment your body began to milk his cock.

“P-Please know I'm sorry,” he choked out a strangled whimper. His fingers ached with the intensity he was gripping onto you with, leaving punctures of purple intents over your hip bones due to the butality he was burrowing into you.

“O-Oh fuck,” you sucked in your bottom lip, biting down hard as the corners of your eyes began pricking with tears, “It's okay, it's okay. I know. I can t-take it.”

You spoke through those words of confirmation, truly attempting to convince yourself of the ability to endure this rough treatment for as long as Killer needed to use your body for. Rough slaps of his hips smacked against your body, his veiny cock scraping itself through your body as his knob hit angles you didn't realize you could experience. It would equate to bliss if his grip wasn't so intense.

Excruciating agony and white-hot ecstacy were in a perfect marriage within your body beneath the hulking form of Massacre Soldier Killer. The harmonious entanglement driven further by the grunts, growls, roars from the man above you, only for them to turn into begging whimpers and pleas for you to endure just a moment longer.

“I kn-know this isn't-... f-fucking nnghm-... this isn't g-good for you,” his breathy whisper cut through his growls like a pick through ice, “I can't stop. I can't fucking stop.”

“It's okay, Kil. I p-promise it's okay,” you grit your teeth as his grip intensified on your hips, "You're good. You're b-being so good." His rhythm was unforgiving, the pace and rate his body rut into you was tormenting, brutal and punishing.

This was not the first-mate you knew. The beast in his stead was as violent as Killer was in battle, ripping bones and slashing through flesh. This was not at all what you anticipated from aiding Killer through this feat of lust.

His desperation was abhorrent, something he was repulsed by. He never dreamed of joining his body with yours in this strenuous and savage manner. He wanted to be kind, always kind, only ever kind, should you grant him the access to you he so desperately longed for from afar.

Softly spoken, dutiful and almost loving. That's who you knew him to be, and that's who he wanted to be for you. Your friend, your comrade in arms, your senior serving crewmate who you trusted to have your back.

How would you ever trust him again after this? How could he ever trust himself? That push and pull of chasing his relief with you caged beneath him coincided with the tug of his heart and the fog of his mind. He wants you to trust him after this. He wants you to look him in the eye and tell him you still want him. He needed that from you; the confirmation this was not only simply for now, but something he could have once again.

“I'm sorry, I'm so sorry,” he sobbed into your neck, the cool surface of his mask grounded you. Huffs of his breath poked through the holes in his mask, his icy-blue eyes were scrunched tightly shut while his body remained alight like a beacon in darkness.

He had already reached his climax three times, shooting burst after burst of his sticky cum deep within you. Although relief was found immediately afterwards, his cock continued to remain stiff as the steel of a blade in a snow storm.

He just couldn't stop. Why couldn't he stop?

“Kil, I-I think you n-need-... ahh,” you mewled as he moved his hands up to your waist, his broad fingers splayed out to perch like a bird of prey against your skin. He rammed his full length in and out, your stomach beginning to ache with the bulge protruding deep within your abdomen.

“N-Need you,” he groaned in your ear, his hips stapling you against the floor with each cruel slap, “Need to keep going. Almost th-there again.”

“I know, Kil. I know,” you soothed his hair in your hands, trails of wet tears streaked your cheeks with how much sensations your body was taking, “Take what you need, I'm here.”

“I’m gonna-... I'm gonna- f-fuck. I'm gonna cum again,” he groaned deep within his mask, his voice picking up at the end in a small shuddery whimper, “Oh fuck, oh fuck. I'm cumming.”

Your head rolled back, eyes wide as you felt him empty himself within you for a fourth time. The sticky splashback of his hot cum trickled out of your needy hole, his cock buried up to the hilt with his spend leaking over his pubic hair and thighs. He huffed against your shoulder, his mask almost becoming loose over his face as he recovered.

“Good boy,” you cooed at him, pressing a soft kiss onto his bare shoulder as he shuddered and shook through his fourth spurt of ecstacy, “Good boy, Kil. Get it all out.” His cock twitched at your title bestowment, the hardness of his steely cock refusing to deflate no matter the amount of release he pumped into you.

“I-It’s not going down,” he whimpered into you, his hips beginning to roll against yours once more, “It's not going down. I don't know what to do,” his sobs began to shake at his shoulders.

“It's okay,” you winced out, feeling the heat of release exiting from your overspent body with ooze of fluid, “I-I think you need to take your mask off.”

“Wh-What?” he gasped at you, his hands continuing to hold you firmly against the mattress of his bed, “The mask off?”

“Some-... fuck, Kil-... something hit you in the face, ri-right?” your voice was several notes higher than your usual cadence, crying beneath him as he pummeled into you, “Might be still in your mask. Take it off. I'll close my eyes, I'll not tell a soul,” you winced, clamping your eyes tightly shut, “I'll be good. I'll tell no-one.”

Killer immediately halted his thrusting, his body in momentary stasis as your words reached him. His body screamed at him to keep going, to keep pummeling into you, to keep chasing his high that was just within reach. But he stopped, his cock sheathed deep within you.

“Look at me,” he purred down at you, his hands still firm on your waist. His grip grasped you tighter, misbehaving beneath Killer's pleading to hold you more gently.

Unclenching your scrunched eyes, you gazed up at him as his hands left your body and unclasped the mask from shrouding his face. Icy blue eyes, as pale as the sky and as deep as the ocean pierced you as his gaze met with yours. Your breath was stolen from within your lungs, choking back on your surprise at his appearance.

Massacre Soldier Killer was beautiful.

“Look up at m-me,” he stammered, his hips rolling against yours as his cock burrowed deep within your body, “Look at me. I n-need you to see me. I need you to see how desperately I need you.”

His eyelashes fluttered, his eyelids growing heavy as his rhythmic thrusts began to pick up their intensity. Your eyes never left his for a moment: not to look at his lips, not his beard, nor his angular cheekbones, nor his nose. His eyes were what captivated you most, holding you hostage as their glassy hue glazed over to chase his high within you.

“Y-You were right,” he huffed between thrusts, “My lungs aren't burning, and I-I think this is it. Th-This one is it.” His pace was excruciating, but the satisfaction you were beginning to feel build itself within you screamed at you to let him continue using you.

“You can do it, Kil,” you rolled your hips to match his pace, staring up through half-hooded lashes into his eyes, “Use me. Take me, I'm yours.”

“You're mine,” he moaned his growling voice down at you, leaning forward and pressing his forehead against your neck, “Perfect for me. Made for me.” His cock twitched deep within you, your body reacting to his needy chase and toppling over with his final release.

“F-Fuck, Kil!” you cried, your body beginning to throb, your thumps of bliss coaxing Killers balls to empty deep within, “I-I’m-... I’m cumming. Killer, I'm cumming!”

“Cum with me, cum with m-me,” he begged, his pace picking up as his cock finally began weeping it's spend for the fifth time deep within you, “With me. F-Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

Pants of breath, fluttering of elevated heartbeats and joint cries of bliss ricocheted off the wooden walls of the crew-quarters of the Victoria Punk. Killer's mask lay discarded beside the door, lulling in the subtle rock of the waves over the floorboards as you both fell away from your mutual highs.

Killer moved his head away from your shoulder, gazing down to where your bodies remained joined together in awe. His lips were agape, his eyelashes fluttering as he pulled himself away from you. Watching the floodgates open from your abused entrance, your mutual juices coating both of your stomachs, thighs and soaking the mattress beneath you.

Killer looked to your hips, his lips parting and eyes becoming teary as he noticed the damage showcased on your body.

Marks littered your skin, deep hues of purple branded your flesh, depicting Killer's unrestrained lust and need for you. His bliss was eclipsed by deep sorrow as his fingers gently caressed the elevated indents in your skin. Sensing his unease, you immediately flung your hands up and collected his cheeks in your palms.

“I can handle it,” your eyes searched his, looking between his deep, blue orbs with your eyes only depicting support and affection, “I wouldn't have let you do it if I couldn't handle it.”

Killer turned his head, his lips meeting your palm with his whiskered chin tickling your flesh. This small moment of affection felt more sacred, more secret, and more intimate than the emassment of bodily fluids you shared moments prior.

“I shouldn't have been so rough with you,” he scolded himself, “I will never be rough with you again.” His fingertips caressed your hips, soothing over your aching flesh and wordlessly apologizing with deep, intentional touches.

“Are you feeling okay, Kil?” you asked him, lazily cocking your head to the side, “Don't need to go again?”

“Fuck, no,” he huffed through a small, squeak of laughter, “Not right now, at least.”

Smiling up at him, you propped yourself up on your elbows and gazed deeply into his eyes. You couldn't get enough of the luxury it was to gawk at the handsome man who just spent himself within you five times in consecutive succession.

He truly was beautiful.

“Does that mean you want to do this again?” you asked him while attempting to not show how eager you were. You began taking your time to examine his muscular physique before snapping your eyes back up to his blue orbs. A red hue tinted his cheeks, his eyes darting around the room before rejoining your own.

“I would like to, yes,” Killer admitted at last, sucking in a breath as he anticipated your refusal. Your smile spread up your face, prompting you to immediately spring yourself up to meet his body with your own.

“Crew’s still out for a while,” you shrugged, looking around the crew-quarters you had both tainted with the stains of your aroused fluids, “We should clean this up,” you drew your eyes up to meet his, coy and bashful, “And maybe we could have a bath together-?”

“-Please,” he spoke over you, far too quickly for his liking but too lost to hold back the floodgates of emotional excitement, “Let me bathe with you. I'll wash your hair, massage your body. I'll make sure you're so, so spoiled after all this, if you'll let me?”

A small squeal of joy found its way to your lips, buzzing at the notion that he not only wants to be with you again physically, but he desired to treat you to the luxury of continuing to gawk at his uncovered face further by bathing with you.

“Will you let me?” Killer asked, his voice still holding that eager anticipation that caused you to both melt and soar in unison. You eagerly nodded, prompting Killer to hook his arms beneath you and elevate you into his chest.

Your fingers quickly drew themselves up to his lengthy blonde hair, detangling the sweat-damp strands and toying with the soft curls framing his face. You hummed in contentment as his smile freed itself on his face, glancing at you as you continued enjoying his luscious, thick locks.

“Let's go then,” he cooed down at you, his lips finding your forehead as he cradled you against him, “Let me spoil you for being so good to me. I need to treat you right.”

“Don't forget your mask!” you quickly uttered, causing him to pause and search your face for clarification. You smiled at him, gently reaching your lips up to press against his cheek, “Gotta clean the damn thing, unless you want to experience all that again?”

“Good point,” he huffed, using his feet to kick along his mask to the bathroom as he chaperoned you within his arms, “I prefer my own desire to come from me,” he confessed as soon as he reached the door, “And I want to show you how much I truly do desire you.”

“I can't wait,” you smiled in return, wincing as your body’s adrenaline seeped out of your body and the pain caught up to you.

“I promise I'll be gentle with you,” he confessed, his eyes innocent and brows triangulating in a peak in the center of his forehead, “I won't be rough.”

“I can take a bit of rough treatment,” you challenged him in return, smiling into his bare chest as he began to run the bath.

“I know you can,” he smiled down at you, pressing a small kiss against your temple, “But you don't have to, unless you really want to.”

#one piece #x reader #op killer #massacre soldier killer #killer x reader #op killer x reader #massacre Soldier Killer x reader #op killer smut #killer x reader smut #pollen fic #one piece pollen #op pollen fic

[ronearoundblindly]

Hideout (3.1)

touch-starved!Nomad Steve Rogers x motel employee!Reader

Sensitive Boy, part I (see previous or series)

Summary: Steve surprises you with help at the perfect time.

Warnings for light smut (I have to split this chapter or it's just suddenly twice as long as the last, but really there's just massage and an implied orgasm in this half. You know me: too many feels and too much development...) MINORS DNI. This series is 18+ only. If you are underage or simply enjoy lighter content, there is plenty for you to read on my Light Masterlist, but this post is not for you! WC 3.2k

With so much on your mind, scaring the crap out of you is not difficult, so his strong hands hold you upright.

“Don’t do that,” you shriek, barely glancing at Steve’s face. You startled so suddenly your housekeeping cart is left rolling away at a snail’s pace.

“Sorry, I—“ long arms abandon you and reach to stop the bin “—it said on your website you were closed for renovations, and…”

You look him up and down. You were sure after he left two months ago that you’d never see him again. You’d gone too far. You’d pushed him too hard. He wasn’t ready.

Steve adjusts the strap over his shoulder. “I thought maybe I could help out…if you want?”

The last guests checked out a half-hour ago, and you readied to spend the whole week meticulously refreshing each room with your parents. The list of what needs done, however, doesn’t only include the motel. There’s a bunch you all had let slide up at the house. Help would…be extremely helpful actually.

Steve pulls a paper bag out of his knapsack. “Or I brought you some lunch if you just want a break or something.”

“It’s okay,” you rush out. “More than okay. Thank you, yes. We’d love—I’d love that.”

No one else can know it’s him-him there though. You’ll have to think of a way to keep your parents and St-‘Grant’ as far apart as possible, and how long you can manage that is…questionable.

If Steve’s not worried though, you’re okay.

Turns out, keeping your family up at the house is easy. Your mom shouts down the phone with relief that she can tackle the fridge, and you hear your dad mumble something about ‘the garage in daylight.’ You can enjoy a sandwich in the office with Steve in peace, explaining what all needs done before the electricians show up Friday afternoon.

The closure hasn’t been planned for a long time—not even before Steve and ‘Tom’s’ last visit—hence why you just painted Room 8, 5, 2, and 1 since March, but doing all those is how you and your parents really noticed that the light fixtures from the ‘90s were not only dated but very worn and that the same color layered over and over again for twenty years was, well, getting old.

Warmer months are better for the work. Pipes won’t freeze while you air out paint fumes, etc. The week after the gigantic, city festivities of Independence Day is notoriously dead. Since there were no reservations this stretch as of April, the family jumped at the chance to fix it all in one big, daunting go.

Saying you’d looked forward to this is a wild overstatement. You’ll be glad when it’s finished, and that’s the bulk of your excitement.

With his assistance though? Hope soars.

Steve will help you take down the sconces, the hanging lamps, and the panels above the vanities, then you both can—

“Where’s the paint?”

He’s very intense with the gameplan. Three guesses why.

“Dad’s gonna pick it up today. Probably. I’ll text him.” You whip out your cell again. “We didn’t think we’d get that far by evening.”

Steve nods.

“We also need to move all the furniture away from the walls and drape plastic to protect the carpet. Oh, and put tape along the trim and doorframes, ya know.”

Steve nods again. He wads up the wrapping from his sandwich and casually asks, “are all the doors open?”

You only just get your finger in the air to point at the desk.

“Master key is—“

But Steve is observant and has clocked everything about his surroundings each time he’s stayed, apparently. He stretches over to the wall beyond the counter, snatches the (correct) unmarked key, and heads out the door.

The service bell rings gently to emphasize the conversation is over.

All furniture in every room is pulled away by the time you finish sanitizing the one guest room he interrupted.

He asks where you keep the ladder, not that he’ll need it, but you will for reaching some of the lights.

You don’t know whether to be in awe of or exhausted by his efficiency.

He’s rigid and militant—go figure—until these few moments he suddenly can’t be.

As you toss plastic over the last bed to move, Steve yanks that sucker across the floor so fast, you roll off. His eyes are saucers as he apologizes, but you get the giggles and pick yourself up.

His fingers can’t separate thin layers of the plastic at one point, and he throws a minor fit until three rip apart together. Steve frowns at you and grumbles that he’s only ever used cloth for this before. It seems to take everything in his power not to say “back in my day,” but you can read between the lines.

Years of crusted paint makes the removal of some fixtures tricky.

Steve rips out one stripped screw with needle nose pliers, squeaks in alarm at the hole left behind, and then quietly asks if you have patch paste.

You call your dad before he’s left to buy paint. He adds spackling to the list.

The closest Steve comes to telling you anything specifically about himself is when you struggle with a stuck bolt.

“Just a little trick I learned when I was—“ Steve wraps his big hand around yours to pull the wrench instead of push from the other direction “—smaller.” He huffs out a laugh, adding, “when I couldn’t, ya know, ‘put my weight into it’ because a feather could’a knocked me over.”

As you relish the simple contact of his fingers, you smile, too.

“Hmm. I heard you got into back alley scrapes.”

“If you heard that I won any of those, you were lied to.” He patiently waits for you to finish removing the bolt before he pries the aged metal and glass away from the old paint it’s stuck in. Steve sighs dramatically.

“Shoddy education these days…”

“I…” You tap his bicep with the claws of the wrench. “I can’t argue with that. We hear only what they tell us about…heroes.”

You should have known he’d shut down at that word, but it’s the truth. Even with him right in front of you, the only things you know about Steve Rogers are from books, newspapers, and the internet. At face value—looking directly into the face of this man—all of what you’ve been told is hogwash. It’s insufficient. It barely covers 1% of who this man is.

He teaches you tricks of the weak man’s trade because it helped him once, too. Today, he’s friendly. Not that he was unfriendly before, but Steve is so reserved he never reference the past, in general, i.e. that there was a past existence of like the planet much less him.

It’s the number one rule of Fight Club: you don’t talk about Fight Club.

If there was ever a real fight club, it’s the Avengers.

You have no official rules for what this is between you. You don’t have to to know that is the most important one. You do not talk about Fight Club. Steve isn’t afraid of silence, that much is clear, but he isn’t a fan. He tries—he is trying—to connect and relate. He can’t be a man of the people, however, if he can’t talk to the people. 

It’s important: connection. You know with every fiber of your being that Steve deserves it, but even with unlimited, super-human strength, he cannot get himself out from between this rock and that hard place.

You do not talk about Fight Club, especially when you’ve been kicked out of Fight Club.

Today, though, he’s a little different, a little softer. Perhaps it’s knowing there are no other people in the building, perhaps he is truly more comfortable with you, but either way, Steve is not flat or off-putting.

His organized persona, his focus on the work, his indirect interactions and practical touch; they all fit here while he has a project. It’s the closest he can be to his old self, maybe even his real self, without mentioning the past—the fighting past—at all.

“You’re really good company,” you tell Steve, “even when you make holes in the walls.”

He tilts his head down and blushes. He shrugs as he takes the sconce out to the dumpster. Although he didn’t say it, you hope this is okay.

Either way, you relish it. The help. The touch. The silence. All of it.

You relish Steve.

Your dad brings by the paint, spackling, and a surprise of pizza for dinner while Steve is taping the baseboards in a corner. You introduce ‘Grant’ from afar and haul the cans and boxes from the car to the room, cataloguing all you two have finished to this point and what you’ll do before stopping for the night.

Dad is impressed. He’d suspected the three of you—you, he, and Mom, that is—might settle for slapping some paint up around where the electrician would install the new lights. No one planned on getting this far in one evening.

He won’t stand in the way of progress, so your dad simply calls out, “bit of an artist, are ya?”

Steve looks up, confident with only the side table lamps plugged in, he can barely be seen. “Just want to be useful,” he mutters.

You wink at your dad as he heads back to the still-running car. “Grant is a jack of all trades.”

You’re sure to thank him for the food and let him know all the motel stuff is completely covered for tomorrow, too. You’ll work as late as you can and start as early as possible.

Dad says your friend has gone ‘above and beyond.’ You agree wholeheartedly.

‘Grant’ would more aptly be described as a machine.

All the furniture moved, all the lights taken down, all bordering taped, and now all blemishes in the walls smoothed, your impromptu contractor finally calls it quits when he’s forced to watch stuff dry.

You’ve kept the air conditioning going in one room.

Steve tentatively asks if he should walk you up to the house, but you counter with “it’s not any less dangerous for an average guy alone to return” and a cheeky smirk. Besides, it is very late. You let Captain OCD keep going; you tapped out a while ago.

He puts his hands on his hips, arms akimbo, thinking of a comeback that never manifests. After giving up, Steve takes his tiny bag into the bathroom and brushes his teeth.

You can faintly hear it over the murmur of the TV.

You aren’t really watching. It’s background noise to your general exhaustion.

With only a side lamp and the screen as light, Steve’s bare feet crumple over the discarded plastic sheet on the floor. He falls into one side of the bed, fully-clothed and (finally) tired.

Though productive, the day has been a distant one, working in different rooms for most of it and tiptoeing around real conversation. You want him to feel appreciated, not pressured, so you ask if he’d like the TV on for a while or would rather quiet.

Steve just grunts with his eyes closed.

Gently, you place a hand on his chest to steady you, leaning to kiss his bearded cheek.

“Thank you, Steve,” you say softly. “Good night.”

He hums when you say his name, and before you can lift your hand away, he captures it under his, holding you in place.

His eyes aren’t open. He can’t see you smile wider.

“Okay.” You tuck yourself into his chest as he raises his other arm out of the way. “Okay.”

Your ear sits in the dip beneath his collarbone, listening to his steady heart, his thumb sweeping back and forth over you knuckles.

He smushes you closer to his side. You toss your leg over his.

You forget to turn off the TV.

He’s sanding the spackled spots by the time you wake, so you rub across his back and dismiss yourself to get breakfast up at the house.

Steve makes no effort to go with, which is fine. You assumed as much.

Your dad calls Grant a ‘magician’ over the pop of oil in the skillet and insists you give your friend whatever he needs to keep working so fast. You are only half-joking when you admit the key is staying out of his way.

Bonus: the exchange reinforces your parents simply leaving the two of you alone down the hill, and you proudly tell Steve that when delivering him an enormous plate of scrambled eggs.

He jumps right back into planning-mode and orders you to roll the first coat of paint onto large areas. He’ll follow, completing the edges and corners.

It’s such a domestic thing to do. There is no one in danger, there are no bodies piling up if he makes a wrong move, and he can go faster or take his sweet time. Steve breaks when he wants or needs to. He sits outside and listens to the birds in the sunshine. No one is around to question him, not even you. You are only there to encourage.

You realize he was looking for a project. He’s used to—and likes—being busy, getting his hands dirty, producing results.

It’s a long, messy day where he becomes more serene in spirit the more intensely he works. You reward him with gentle sweeps of your hand down his arms, pats on his shoulders, and brushes at the small of his back.

Despite the almost constant movement, the day is over before you know it, earlier than yesterday, but it’s too hot to go on.

All the windows stay open to air out the fumes.

Though it won’t stop you from sweating, you both shower off as many splatters and flecks of paint as you can. You insist he goes first so there’s plenty of hot water.

He’s sitting on the bed, shirtless, checking his phone when you come out of the bathroom, but he immediately squirrel the device away in his small bag. Not much to carry around. Not much to leave behind. Steve can’t leave a trace of himself anywhere.

Hunched over and fatigued, he flashes a polite smile your way and blinks heavily.

He deserves the world.

You grab the small bottle of lotion from the countertop and playfully jump onto the bed behind him.

“How about a massage, yeah? You much be aching.”

Honestly, you don’t mean for it to sound sexual, but the phrase comes out downright dirty, making Steve awkwardly chuckle.

“You don’t have to,” he placates.

“Nonsense, I want to. It’ll make the air feel cooler.” That’s as good of an excuse as any. Who cares when the rippled expanse of his back flexes wildly in your touch?

His breathes are audible from the beginning.

You dig at his traps, his leg bouncing as he tries to relax. You use your thumbs, the flats of your hands, and your knuckles.

He shoves his fist in his mouth when he starts to moan, covering the move with a cough, but muffling the noise is abandoned in favor of clasping over his lap. He’s intent on hiding his hardness this time. There’s nothing you can say to truly lessen the sting of needing more. You can’t simply tell him he’s allowed to desire this; you have to ignore his misplaced shame.

But you can take pity on him.

“If you lie flat—“ you step off the bed to give him privacy “—I’ll have more leverage.”

You hear him crawl and adjust on the sheets. “Unlike the torque on a wrench,” you add, just to show you’ve been listening to him.

More lotion is needed for the surface area.

You turn up the TV, feining interest in the late night show so any noise he makes is not as obvious. What the speakers can’t cover, however, is Steve’s involuntary thrusts when you rub the heels of you palms up and down the sides of his spine. If you prop up on your knees, he has more range of motion and doesn’t obviously rock you while mindlessly humping the bed.

His sweats are slung low on his hips, two darts of muscle prominent above his ass.

They are irresistible, the perfect grooves to target and roll into, and he immediately mewls long and deep into the mattress, fingers curling and relaxing while his body seizes.

He hasn’t even finished coming, you think, before he taps at your leg and races to the bathroom.

You hope you didn’t push too far. You hope he’d tell you to stop if he needs more space, more time. Mostly, you hope he knows you’d give him every conceivable pleasure, just because he is him.

The water runs a long time, continuous splashing in the sink, and then nothing.

He didn’t bring much because he doesn’t have much. Your heart sinks, realizing you’ve made him soil one of only two pairs of pants he has here.

He cracks open the door, muttering, but you can’t make out the words.

You turn the volume back down. “What?”

“It pretty hot.” He clears his throat. “Would you mind if I sleep…without…?”

“Naked?” you squeak before composing yourself. “That’s fine. Whatever’s comfortable.”

You shuffle up the bed to click off the lamps. This man isn’t the type to strut around in the nude—yet, anyway—so in the faint and ever-shifting glow of the screen across the room very little can be seen.

‘Little,’ however, can’t describe anything that is visible about the man emerging from the bathroom.

You have to make a point not to stare, but no skit or commercial on the channel promises the same level of entertainment.

Steve slides himself beneath the sheet, sitting near the headboard.

You hold up the remote. “On or off?”

“Off,” he says, “please.”

You’ve certainly done enough for one day. You won’t push your luck, so you hit the power button, toss it on table, and snuggle into your half of the bed, facing away.

“If it’s too hot for any covers, that’s okay, too.”

A rustling interrupts the rhythmic whir of crickets in the night until you feel a warm hand lightly mold to your waist.

This should be encouraged. This should be rewarded.

“Hey, Stevie,” you whisper, waiting for his hum, “happy belated birthday.”

At most you expect a grip of notice, but instead, the big hand snakes across you and hauls you into his chest, his long legs bending to match the crook of yours, his nose and forehead tucked against your occipital.

“We did okay today,” Steve mumbles into your shirt.

You walk your hand over your stomach to find his, lacing the fingers together. “Yes. Yes, we did.”

Steve got to be useful today. He had a partner today. He will tomorrow and the day after, for as long as he stays, for as long as you’re alive. Nothing can change that.

Maybe he can’t talk about Fight Club, but he connects with you anyway.

A/N: Whoopsy. Didn't want to make y'all wait for a 6k+ chapter, so here's the first half! I am DEEP in the feels of this one. So, so many notes have been taken. The brainrot is real, and I fucking love it!!!!

[Next: Sensitive Boy, part II]

[Main Masterlist; Ko-Fi]

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[ludicdoll]

𝐀𝐃𝐕𝐎𝐂𝐀𝐓𝐄 — farleigh start ☆

pairing: farleigh start x fem!reader

warnings: farleigh’s a dom in this, missionary, legs on shoulders, teasing, cunnilingus, just NASTYYYY behavior, cussing

synopsis: you have an unexpected drunken party hookup with farleigh.

a/n: i need this man biblically yall

“well, you’re just a pussy then,” farleigh states loudly as his body falls limp onto the patterned couch. he draws away from his cig, blowing out the rest of the smoke. you could hear a group of college girls laughing at you. feeling embarrassed, you roll your eyes trying to hide the fact that you were uncomfortable, you lift up your champagne glass to your mouth, taking a long gulp. the whole estate was filled with music, strobe lights, casual fucking everywhere and littered with alcoholic beverages on every inch of the castle. it was probably 12am, but you didn’t bother checking. you were only invited to this party by luck, people didn’t know you well at oxford. hell, you could say they didn’t even know you at all.

but, you just so happened to be sitting next to the notorious farleigh start during a lecture and caught his eye. he said he liked your vibe, now you’re sitting on the floor of a private manor trying to drink away the fact that you’re a nobody. farleigh notices your change in demeanor, he shifts in his seat. he leans closer to the point where you can smell the liquor and menthol on his breath. “what’s up with you?” he whispers, you blink hard, trying to think of something to say. “i don’t know,” you reply back. your thoughts are being scrammed up together and all you feel is the weight of your body. farleigh furrows his brows, touching at your shoulder. although he could be a major ass sometimes, he still made sure you felt comfortable where you were. he knew you felt different in a setting like this.

you look up at him, a distraught expression on your face. you try to speak, but before you could open your mouth — you feel yourself gag. farleigh backs up a little bit, but his hand still continues rubbing circles on your shoulder. “shit,” you say. farleigh laughs, knowing that you’re a lightweight when it comes to alcohol. you retch again, covering your mouth with a hand. farleigh’s eyes widen, putting out his cigarette, then quickly grabbing your arm and leading you towards one of the many other hundred bathrooms in the mansion. you quickly fall to the toilet, gagging into the bowl. “you weren’t kidding when you said you’re a lightweight, fuck.” even in this moment, he was joking around with you. “farleigh please, no banter right now. i feel like im gonna throw up all of my fucking organs.” you put your palm up at him.

he raises his arms up in defense before kneeling down to you. he grabs your hair, moving it out of the way from the toilet. his slender fingers on the back of your neck makes you shiver a little, but you tried to hide it. after a few minutes, nothing comes up. you sigh in relief, leaning back against the wooden panel wall. you close your eyes, slowly falling into a dream. farleigh shakes you, a smirk on his face. “you should probably get some rest.” he says. you frown, “the parties not even over yet.” you slur out. he rolls his eyes, shaking his head as he comes to pick you up. he opens the bathroom door, leading you back out and into his bedroom. he closes the door behind him, locking it. you instantly slam onto the covers of his bed, feeling the softness of the sheets. your nausea went away, but the tired feeling didn’t. farleigh pinches the bridge of his nose, sighing. “maybe i shouldn’t have let you drink.” he scolds himself under his breathe.

“farleighhh…” you mutter out. he turns back to you, watching as you try to sit up. your head hits the bed board, making a loud thunk sound. “shit!” you yell out in pain. farleigh desperately tries to cover his laugh, but he fails miserably. he walks over to the edge of the bed to comfort you. he lifts up your hair away from your face, running his thumb over the slight bruise on your forehead. “you’re a fucking idiot, you know that right?” he jokes, you frown, whining at the pain in your head. the faint moonlight outside his window illuminated his face, casting a shadow over his features. the room was dimly lit from outside, the atmosphere was still. farleigh leaned closer to you, examining the bruise. you look up at him sheepishly, feeling butterflies in the pit of your stomach. his jaw tightens as you fidget around in his bed.

you whimper a little bit, clenching your fist into the blanket. farleigh looks down at you, a confused look on his face. “everything cool?” he asks. you can’t make out an answer because you feel so out of it. he eyes you, taking in your figure. you hum out something before smashing your lips onto his. you whine into the kiss, his tongue instantly exploring your mouth. almost like a switch, he crawls on top of you, his large hands falling down your body. you moan as his fingers trail up under your dress. “you know what you were doing wearing this tonight, huh?” he mumbles. he was right. you knew exactly what you were doing. he rides up your tight dress above your tits. it was obvious farleigh was a very attractive guy. everyone fell to him and felix’s feet, but you didn’t find that attraction to felix as much as you did with farleigh.

every time farleigh walked into a room you can feel your face heating up. the way he presents himself was just so enticing and different. farleigh drags his hand down to your underwear, swiftly pulling it off. you hear him unbuckling his belt, the sound of fabric falling. you continue kissing him, not wanting him to stop. you feel his hard erection on your stomach, his hands edging the entrance of your pussy with his thick tip. farleigh pulls away from the kiss, causing you to whine at the absence of his lips on yours. “farleigh,” you whimper. “i’m right here, princess.” he reassures. your pussy throbs, the feeling of his fingers curling inside of you forces you to moan loudly. you melt into his touch as he kisses your neck down to your breasts. his fingers slide in and out of you, gentle — but rough motions.

your slick wets his fingers, a smug look on his face can tell you that he’s satisfied. “i’ve wanted this since forever,” you mutter through your moans. farleigh’s grin grow wider, “oh yeah?” he replies. his fingers slide out of your cunt and up to your clit. “how bad have you been wanting this?” he whispers in your ear. his voice made you wetter, your toes curled as your face flushed up. “really bad..” you reply back. you shake under his touch, his fingers playing around with the pearl of your pussy, his stare burns through you. you call out his name, grabbing at his wrist. he smiles in amusement before shoving his fingers into your mouth. he watches as you lick his fingers off, his gaze never leaving your sight.

he pulls his fingers out of your mouth, leaning back in for a deep kiss. he gets up, pulling your figure to the edge of the bed. farleigh lifts up your legs to your chest, spreading your pussy out. he groans, his dick edging the rim of your cunt. “so fucking pretty,” he mutters under his breath. he slowly stretches you out with his thick cock, hiking your legs up his shoulders. your moans synchronizing together, he starts kissing at your thighs, leaving wet marks down them. "you don't know what you do to me." he sighs out as he slowly moves inside of you. you look up at him, lips parting.

the ache in your stomach deepens as he pushes himself deeper into your tight cunt. he thrusts his hips into you, luring out a cry from your mouth. his hands smooths down the plush skin of your thighs. the warm sensation between your legs was too much, you tried to move, but you couldn't. "where do you think you're running off to?" he teased. your eyes roll to the back of your head as he pounds into you over and over mercilessly. you bite down on your lip, not believing this was happening. if you weren't sober before, you were definitely sober now. the slight curve of his dick drew a loud sigh from you. you could feel every vein, all of him inside of you. your hands palm up his chest — panting as his deep thrusts reaches your core. he groans as he rips into you. you feel the tension in your stomach tightening more and more. farleigh’s voice ringed through you’re ear and he moaned loudly. he wasn’t afraid to be loud, but you were shy.

you were so close, and he knew it. “shit, farleigh.. farleighimcoming.” you’re words slurred together as you felt that blooming sensation between your legs. you shut your eyes, ready for that release. farleigh looks down at you as you reach up to your climax — but before it could wash over, he quickly pulled out. your eyes widen, an irritated look on your face. “what?” you stutter out. you prop yourself up on the back of your arms, furrowing your brows. “why’d you stop?” you ask. farleigh ignores your questions as he grabs your legs and throws them over on the bed. he crawls on top of you, spreading your legs open. you blink at him, closing them back up. “no.” you say sternly. farleigh looks confused. “what?” he asks. “you teased me.” you reply back. “that’s not fair.”

he laughs at your pitiful protests. “i can’t make you cum like that.” he growls. “and why not?” you cross your arms. “i have a much better way of pleasuring you.” you turn your head back to him, the glint from the dimly lit room in his eyes. “nope.” he rolls his eyes at your endless whining. “you won’t regret it. c’mon princess, don’t be like that.” his hands trail up to your thighs, rubbing them with his thumb. there’s a moment of silence in the room, mostly you contemplating what to choose. he kisses up your legs, looking at you through his lashes. you sigh, easing up to his convincing. slowly, you open your legs back up, allowing him to get closer. the shit faced grin on his mouth widens as he disappears between your legs. you felt him kissing your pussy, his large hand touching over your stomach. his fingers feel like needles, feathering against your belly. his hand slowly travels up to your breasts — his fingers running over your hard nipples, shivering at his cold touch. farleigh spreads the folds of your pussy open.

his long tongue swirls around your clit, and then back down to your cunt. he licks at you, his tongue deep inside. you feel him salivating, drooling all over your pussy. while his tongue laps over at your dripping cunt, he slips a finger inside, sliding it in and out. you whimper into the pillow, your hand reaches over to his hair. you run your fingers through his dark curls, arching your back as he continues working between your thighs. “oh, fuck.” you moan out as he savored your taste. he wasn’t going to let any second of this go to waste. he made sure he was pleasuring you.

you hear him humming in satisfaction. he lets his tongue slowly graze over your cunt, feeling you tremble above him. you watch as his half lidded stare bores into your eyes. you roll your head back, your body feeling limp. farleigh flicks his tongue against your pussy, his eyes never leaving your sight. he wanted to see how you would look reaching your climax, how you looked because of him. he wanted to see that lewd expression, listening to your moans was already music to his ears. you cry out in pleasure as you feel yourself building back up to that release. your hand tightens around his hair, farleigh’s long strokes on your cunt causes your hips to jolt, your legs falling over. farleigh quickly helped prop up your legs with his large palms.

his nails dug into your soft flesh, leaving imprints in your skin. “mm,” he hums. you cover your mouth with a hand, trying to muffle the pathetic sounds of you moaning and begging. in an instant, you cum all over his face, gasping loudly as you made a mess all over the place. you feel farleigh pulling away, his fingers coming up to massage your clit, making you quiver even harder. “farleigh, please.” you wail. he comes back up, his mouth and chin coated with your slick and his saliva dripping down his chin.

once again, the shit faced grin he had on already told you enough. the room is filled with the sound of loud breathing and soft music blasting from outside. “told you.” he says. you roll your eyes as you cover yourself back up with the blanket. farleigh licks his lips, wiping the rest off his chin. he joins you under the covers, lovingly kissing you. when he pulls away, there’s a look of adoration in his eyes. “that wasn’t so bad, huh?” he asked. you shake your head. “it was incredible.” you whisper cowardly. “it was what?” he rasped, “i said it was incredible.” you mutter again. “i’m sorry, can you repeat that?” he jokes. his ego gets to him pretty fast.

you groan, resting your arm over your eyes. you feel the bed shifting as he gets closer to your side. he pulls you into his embrace, kissing up on your neck. slowly, you felt yourself drift into a deep sleep — but you hear farleigh’s faint voice whispering “goodnight, lovey.” before you doze off.

for my pookster @uch3na

© do not publish my writings on other sites.

#farleigh start #farleigh start x reader #farleigh #saltburn x reader #archie madekwe #archie madekwe x reader #saltburn #farleigh catton #farleigh catton x reader

[beansprean]

Oh, there he is.

My Familiar’s Ghost part 44

Masterpost

(ID in alt and under cut)

ID: 1. Shot of Nandor from the rear as the lights to the break room suddenly click on, the table with the dead female vampire in front of him. He whirls around in surprise, eyes wide, and chokes out, ‘G-‘ 2. Close up at last of vampire Guillermo standing in the doorway, the hall dark behind him, arm retreating from having flipped on the light. His skin has lost color, his cheeks are tinged blue, his eyes are a deep orange with slitted pupils, his hair is slightly mussed, and he is wearing the same blue-striped button down that his ghost has been stuck in this whole time. Blood, new and old, stains his collar and all down his front, more smears on his neck and flicks on his face and chin. His expression is impassive, gaze steady on Nandor. Offscreen, Nandor manages to continue: ‘Guillermo!’ 3. Close up of Nandor on the same beige background as the walls of the break room as he turns, eyes shining, a small, hopeful smile twitching onto his face. In the background, a memory of ghost Guillermo fades into view, teary and desperate, crying 'Please! Please find vampire me! Please don't give up on him!' Nandor breathes out in relief, 'You're-' 4. Repeat. Nandor drops the smile for a nervous grimace, tucking in his chin and holding out one hand, palm out, towards Guillermo as if to halt him in place. He says, 'Hold on, before you say anything, let me speak, please!' 5. Reverse shot of Guillermo again in the same position, gaze steady on Nandor. He furrows his brow a bit and raises one in confusion, lip slightly curling as if in disgust or disbelief. Nandor continues from offscreen: 'I know that you have been very angry with me, and I forgive you for that. I even forgive you for letting that Eric guy bite you.' 6. Full body of Nandor in profile, his shadow stretching out long and dark behind him. Darkness behind him, light ahead. He is holding his hands out palm-up and staring at them pensively, sadness and regret taking over his expression. Nandor says, 'Despite my reservations on the matter... Guillermo, I... If it had to be anyone... I wanted it to be me. I know that is what you wanted too, and I may have taken it for granted that you would wait until I was ready to...to let you go. ...I regret not being your sire. If I had known the lengths you were about to go to...' In front of Nandor on the lighter side of the panel are three faded flashbacks of Guillermo in sepia tone from times he asked to be turned: A disappointed frown as he holds his collar open in the pilot episode; a desperate plea, hands out, bundled up and flushed from the cold, from the wellness center episode; and a teary, grateful smile, rosary bunched up in his hand, from the season 3 finale. /end ID

#wwdits #my familiars ghost #nandermo #mlm #vampire guillermo #guillermo de la cruz #nandor the relentless #what we do in the shadows #what we do in the shadows fx #blood tw #my art #fanart #fan comic #image described

[eff4freddie]

Touch | Part One

What you can offer Jackson is your healing hands.

2.6k words

Part Two | Part Three | Part Four | Part Five Warnings: slow burn, eventual smut, we stan one (1) apocalypse grump, no use of y/n, I haven't written fanfic in a while but I'm hoping this will get me back into writing regularly, I have no idea how many parts this will be

Minors DNI

If you were to try and tally up all your losses you wouldn’t, initially, struggle. Your beloved dad, on outbreak day, and then months later your sister to a pack of raiders capable of slipping silently past a rotting barn wall. Those were clearly devastating, actual moments that bifurcate the before times and the after. Your liberty in the QZ, your hope for a sane and assured new government, your smuggling partner trapped under the barbed wire fence as a FEDRA soldier narrowed in on you both, her struggling hands going limp in the dirt, her eyes no longer following your movements as you scrabbed to free her, the look of resignation on her face, the way she mouthed for you to ‘go’. Those losses somehow both enormous and incalculable.

It was the smaller losses that caught you up. Newsprint smeared on your fingertips. Breaking in a new pair of stiff leather shoes. The uneven leg of your massage table, which caused it to wobble when someone clambered onto it, meaning that you had to warn your clients ahead of time while it wobbled, it was stable, and that you could relate. You knew it was a bad look, that the table alone didn’t inspire confidence in your clientele, and you missed it more than you had any fucking right to when the world, for all intents and purposes, imploded.

You made do in Jackson. Your travelling party of three had heard of a mythical commune of warm sheep and cold beer and you wanted, more than anything, to believe in it.  In the before times your mother had sung a song about Jackson with your father, peeling potatoes at the sink, and you had hummed it under your breath the three-and-a-half-month trek. ‘Honey, I’m going to Jackson.’ ‘See if I care.’

As you approached the gates the three of you had already come up with a plan to pitch for entry. Ray was going to pretend he was injured, and Marla was going to carry him, limping but stoic, over the threshold. The night he refused to take first watch you had promised to break his ankle for real to make it really convincing, and he had laughed because he knew you didn’t have it in you, and you had joined in, because it was true. Marla was toying with the idea of being pregnant, and you were going to just be mute. Either by birth or by trauma, you hadn’t decided. But the plan was to be as pitiful as possible, as non-threatening and as desperate, such that not only would you not be shot on sight but that you would be taken in, warmed to, eventually forgiven your trespass. On the side of a mountain, with everything you had ever owned strapped to your back and the losses tallying behind you, it had seemed like the best strategy.

It had failed almost immediately. Marla may have been able to pull off the pregnancy thing if it was early, but Ray kept forgetting which ankle he had supposedly hurt, and when you tripped on a rock coming through the gate you swore at the top of your lungs. It turned out it didn’t matter. Throughout quarantine you had been able to meet Maria, then Tommy, and you had been advised that you were to pitch your worthiness to stay at the next town council. You had two days to determine what you could offer Jackson. You had looked down at your two hands.

__

Marla was a good shot, and was put on patrol. Ray spoke French and was good with codes, and he pitched helping out with reconnaissance. He even pronounced it the proper French way at the council meeting, and you saw Tommy arch a jet-black brow in Maria’s direction, who rolled her eyes. Standing on shaky knees before a panel of non-infected non-raiders who nevertheless held your life in their hands, you showed them your palms.

‘Pain relief,’ you said, and you smiled in what you hoped was a warm way. ‘I can heal, with these.’

‘You trying to tell us you’re some kind of witch doctor?’ the man on the end asked, and you wondered what it would be like to lean over and pluck each hair out of his nostrils, until his eyes were streaming.

‘No,’ you said, and you felt your cheeks redden. ‘Massage, mostly remedial but also deep tissue. I can help with bad backs, with sore legs and arms, bad necks. All that patrolling, all that watching the horizon, must be murder on the body.’ You scanned their faces, Nostril Man not convinced but Maria smiling warmly at you. You swallowed, trying to wet your throat to prevent it from just outright closing over. ‘Surely you want your men and women, the people out there protecting Jackson, to be strong?’

__

The house you were allocated was four over from Marla, and Ray was placed three streets back towards the gate. You had idly wondered if you had been split up to try and avoid trouble, but actually you enjoyed the solitude for the first time since the apocalypse. Having had to travel in packs, having been crammed in four or six to a one-bedroom apartment in the QZ, having listened to Ray retell his story of crossing the Canadian border every might for at least a year and a half, you relished the way that you could once again hear the ringing in your ears. When you rolled your shoulders, you heard the spinal fluid pool and bubble at the base of your skull.

The benefit of having the place to yourself was that the second bedroom easily converted to your treatment room. Tommy and a couple of the other men from town had brought in a spare dining table, and you found that with enough blankets and towels piled on top of it you could make a decently comfortable surface to lie on. Ray had offered to cut a hole in the middle like a real massage table, but you had seen him try to chop wood one night with a blunt axe, a night when you thought without a fire you would freeze to death, but it would still be better than listening to him whine about having nearly chopped off his toes for the rest of time. Instead, you created a ring of towels just back from the edge, a position that meant people could still breathe as they lay face down, and you practiced how you would apologise to them for the inconvenience of it, what joke you could make to try and win back their confidence, marvelled at the fact that even at the end of the world you were still trying to cover for your inadequacies.  

Maria was your first client, and as soon as you were convinced you could accommodate her growing stomach comfortably as she lay on her side, you welcomed her in.

‘It’s just my hips, my lower back,’ she said, as you poured shampoo on your hands to stand in for massage oil.

‘This might be cold, I’m sorry,’ you said, not adding that it could also be sudsy, and wilted a little inside as Maria flinched when you touched her. ‘I’m sorry,’ you said again, as she exhaled.

‘Can you feel where it is?’ she asked, and you hummed.

‘The pain?’

‘You said you could heal.’ You smiled, pressing down on a knot hitched to Maria’s hip flexor. She sighed, and you watched as the tension disappeared from her shoulders, her body slumping forward slightly such that you had to grab her knee and roll her back.

‘You tell me,’ you said, and she huffed at you.

‘Those men, the council, you have no idea how little they would understand why we needed you,’ she said.

‘Wait ‘til I’ve finished putting my elbow in your butt cheek, then tell me that again,’ you said.

‘Wait, what?’ Maria startled, but you were already on her, promising that the pain would fade as the tension released, ignoring the stream of obscenities, having heard far worse in your time. The before times.

__

Maria spread the word and soon you were busy, with a regular list of clients that heavily favoured the women of Jackson until they were able to convince the men that they, too, had musculoskeletal systems. Maria was a regular right up until she got too big to haul herself onto the table, and then she would just sit in your kitchen and make you tea, explaining the history of the place until you started to feel properly at home there.

One afternoon she sat with her head resting in her hand, as you held her foot in your lap, gently massaging over her sock.

‘You don’t come out much,’ she said. ‘I see you in the mess hall for breakfast, then you’re gone.’

‘I have clients early these days, sometimes a full patrol before they go out.’

‘What about the off days? The days that we don’t patrol?’

‘Washing. I go through a lot of towels.’

‘You need help with those?’

‘No, I like doing it. Warm water is such a dream, I still can’t believe it when I fill up the bucket.’

‘After work I never see you at the bison.’

You pinched her toe a little hard and she hissed, and you felt the heat on your cheeks.

‘I am grateful for my place here,’ you said, and you looked up into her eyes then, your hands still but cradling her foot to your chest. ‘That you advocated for me, that you helped me set myself up. I know that Tommy wouldn’t have if you hadn’t asked him.’

She smiled, glancing down at the tea in her cup.

‘It’s hard to be back amongst so many people, and to not be…’ you trailed off. Marla came around some nights, but it had been at least a week since you’d seen Ray. You had thought they were your safe people, but in a big house behind a secure wall, you wondered how much that was true.

‘To not be waiting for them to shoot you, to stab you?’ Maria finished, and you sighed.

‘Or to not get stabbed or shot themselves.’

‘You lost people?’ Maria asked, and then blinked, slowly. ‘That was a stupid question. Of course you did.’

The pattern of the tiles on the kitchen floor was two left and two right, you noticed, except for where the bench had been installed. There the pattern was interrupted, as if someone had miscounted, and there was a row of three along the perimeter.

‘Who did you lose?’ Maria asked you, and you gently lowered her foot to the ground.

‘All of them, just like all of us,’ you said, and you held out your harms such that Maria could pull herself up, and she sighed but used them to get to her feet, and you were grateful even in this moment to have helped someone.

__

You happened to be on your porch when you heard the commotion, a bunch of people running down the street towards the front gate. You thought for a moment of an invasion, that raiders had breached the wall, and wondered what, if anything, you would need to carry with you, what you could fit in a bag, looked despairingly at the snow on the mountain tops wondering how you could possibly carry enough blankets to ward off inevitable death. You braced yourself for screams, for gun shots, was genuinely confused when you heard none. Curious now, and less planning your immediate escape, you stepped down to your front gate, leaning over to see what the fuss was. A group of people were moving as one down the main street, and you stepped out onto the pavement to get a better look. You could see Tommy, his black hair sliced back to his shoulders making him stand out even in a crowd of other men. He was walking beside another man, the crowd parting to let them through, and with Tommy’s arm wrapped around his shoulder it meant that the other man had to stoop forward slightly, such that you could only see the top of his head. He had streaks of grey through his hair, his legs straight and strong underneath him. Tommy was gripping the front of the man’s shirt and talking into his ear. Behind them a younger girl, couldn’t be more than 15, trailed with her eyes set on the ground in front of her.

You watched as Maria came out of the sheriff’s office and stood on the pavement in front of them. She smiled when Tommy turned to her, letting go of the other man to wrap her in a bracing hug. You watched as the other man straightened, caught a glimpse for the first time of the patchy beard across his cheeks, of the roman line of his nose, of the flinty look in his eyes. He turned to the young girl, clapped her once or twice on the back, nodding in Maria’s direction. You saw that they nodded to each other, that this wasn’t as simple of a homecoming, that the girl carried pain deeper than any two hands could reach.

You had to wait three days for Maria to visit again before you could ask her about them, and when you did you felt her energy shift. Big as she was it was difficult for her to fidget, but you sensed that she would shuffle in your kitchen chair if she could.

‘Joel is Tommy’s brother,’ she told you, and when you thought about the shape of his jaw you realised you could see a sort of resemblance. This man had seemed to stoic, so closed off, compared to the brightness of the smile Tommy had been throwing at him. It had meant that you initially hadn’t seen it.

‘And the girl?’ you asked, and watched as Maria started fiddling with the hem of her shirt, stretched as it was over the heft of her belly.

‘A kind of daughter, I guess. Adopted, as much as anyone can be right now.’ Maria avoided your eyes and you lowered them, hoping that it would encourage her to continue. ‘They were here, before, for a brief time. A few months. Joel was… he and Ellie were heading down to Salt Lake, we weren’t sure if they were going to make it back, and Tommy…’ she stopped herself, gathered her thoughts, and you heard your own pulse in your neck as you waited.

‘Tommy had started to think that he’d lost him, lost them both. He’d started to think it was his fault, maybe, that he should have gone with them.’

‘But you’re…’ and you stopped, gesturing to her very pregnant frame.

‘I know, and he knew that he couldn’t have, but it didn’t feel like it when he thought his brother was gone.’

You didn’t need your hands to feel the tension coming off her, and you stood then, and reached out to her shoulder, picking up the tendon and easing it down. You remembered back in school when your teacher had shown you the diagram of the fascia, taught and spidery over the pink and red of the muscle. She rolled her neck, her head slumping towards you, and you offered her your torso as a pillow.

‘It doesn’t feel like a warm return,’ you said, eventually, and Maria sighed, reaching up to still your hand.

‘He’s a dangerous man,’ she said, after a while. ‘He’s done things, Tommy did them too but that’s his big brother, you know?’

You thought back to the way Tommy had gripped Joel’s shirt, the way he had been talking animatedly into his brother’s ear, the curl of Joel in on himself in response to it, the instinct to close down in the face of his brother’s overwhelming love.

‘We’ve all done things,’ you said, after a while.

‘It’s different,’ she said. ‘I don’t know why, it just is.’

‘What about the girl?’ you asked, and she softened then, under your touch.

‘She’ll defend Joel to the ends of the Earth,’ she said.

‘You don’t trust her judgement?’ you asked.

‘I don’t trust that Joel isn’t keeping her in the dark,’ she muttered, and it was quiet enough that you had to lean over to hear, and when the words unfurled around you you pulled back from them, the concern and the weight and the finality of them, the heaviness of them in your ears.

#joel miller fanfic #joel miller x reader #pedro pascal fanfiction #joel miller x you #pedro pascal character #fanfic #tlou fanfiction #the last of us fanfiction

[museum-of-artifacts]

Assyrian Wall Relief Panel; shows a soldier diving using an inflatable bag made of goat skin. It is oldest record of a diver. It is about 3000 years old.

Blog: https://thetravelbible.com/mysterious-archaeological-finds/

[image-thot]

Throw Him Off His Rhythm: Mirage x Reader

Fandom: Transformers Rotb

Summary: After getting caught and subsequently losing a bet he made to his human, Mirage now finds himself having to follow through with his end of the deal.

Words: 1,517

Warnings: Masturbating, handjobs, Sub/Dom, orgasm denial

A/N: The reader is written as gender-neutral. I did indeed spend a little time today figuring out an average size estimate for how big a cybertrionians spike would be (more specifically Mirages) relative to them and their humans because I needed something to like visualise or something. Can’t lie I may be on my way to making a table of transformers and how big their spikes are, if you by primus wanna see that let me know XD

Enjoy the fic.

"Shit. Shit. Shit." The string of curses leaves Mirage's vocaliser as he awkwardly shimmied down the narrow alleyway.

"Why'd the perfect spot have to be so fragging, hard to get to." Mindful of his finish he carefully squeezes out of the alley into the outdoor courtyard. 

Sure it wasn't the nicest looking or biggest of hiding spots, but it was private and quiet. Panelling sliding open as he sits on the ground, leaning back against the brick wall he sighs in relief as his burning spike pressurises already dripping transfluid.

"Frag finally, for a second thought I was going to burst a line." Servo quickly dives down to wrap around his spike and he bites back a moan as his servo begins to stroke at a fast pace, aching to relieve the burning pressure.

"You couldn't wait until after the meeting?" Helm hitting the wall behind him as he groans, of course it couldn’t and you knew that all too well otherwise you wouldn’t have followed him out here.

Although amusing at the time making, a bet to see who could go the longest without needing to fuck or masturbate wasn’t his most brilliant idea. In his defence he thought humans weren’t capable of going more than a day let alone a week without having to self-service themselves, all but certain he’d have the win in the bag.

It didn’t help him that you’d poke and provoke his imagination, you’d butter him up with your sweet words which had done more than just stroke at his ego. Not-so-subtle innuendos had on more than one occasion almost had his interface panels sliding back, it’s a miracle he had managed to last this long.

“Obviously not.” Servo still stroking his spike as he speaks optics looking everywhere but your eyes, he doesn’t need need to look at your face to see the grin that spreads across it. “I can see that but aren’t you forgetting something?” Your words tease him as a huff of annoyance leaves his intake, slowly making your way over to him you lean against the wall next to him.

“Fine. Fine. You win. You a human can outlast me a cybertronian. Happy now? Cuz I could really use some help.” Continues to stroke his spike as other servo reaches out to grab you, when you quickly dart out of his reach a whined gasp leaves him.

"W-what? Come on you can’t be serious.” You chuckle at his needy response no doubt in your mind that if your roles were reversed he would have teased you.

“But didn’t you say the winner could order the looser around for an entire week?” Smugness dripped off your words as you watched his frame slump forward, a defeated sigh leaving him.

“Yeah, but I thought you’d just wanna be on top or something. Not like. Not like leave me hanging.” Sending the best puppy dog eyes he could muster your way, hoping you’d cave into his needs.

“Mirage. You wouldn’t be trying to go back on your word, would you?” A fake look of disappointment briefly covers your face as carefully move around his legs coming to a stop by his pedes.

“What!? Of course not! I mean, after so long I figured that you'd. You know, wanna fool around." Servos still as he watches you contemplate and tries to stop his legs from bouncing impatiently as he waits for your response. A devious look spreads across your eyes as you walk between his legs, hand coming up to trace between the seams as you move closer.

"I suppose, a little fun now wouldn't hurt. If you promise to stand by your word and do exactly as I say." Missing the dark edge of your words as he moans out a string of yes. Now standing in front of his leaking spike you give him a playful smile as you tap the servo that had slowly resumed its stroking.

"Servos by your side's big boy and no matter what. You don't touch me or your spike." Words are spoken as if you're sending him into battle, your hands gently caressing the metal and seams around his heated array.

"Sir yes sir!~" The chuckle he lets out after his own words are cut off by a soft moan and his servos drop-down like rocks off a bridge, digits grip the ground as your breath fans over his spike.

"Good." You hum as one hand trails up to his spike while the other continues to tease the wires between his seams.

Your eyes watch his faceplate like a predator, his optics offlining and scrunching up when your hand delicately runs up his spike. Shifting your gaze back down to his spike,  your fingers briefly graze over the tip blue biolights pulse at the touch and a gaspe escape his intake. Fingers move back down as your hand begins to slowly stoke easily gliding thanks to all the pre-leaked transfluid.

"Frag." A moaned whisper breaks from him as his hips twitch and he desperately holds back from thrusting them into your hand.

A chuckle escapes you, eyes moving back to his faceplate as they keenly watch him bite his derma as his helm hits the wall behind it. Digits dig into the ground below them, frame shifting uncomfortably as you barely increase the speed of your hand and a whine slips out and his optics online.

"Please baby. Frag you're killing me here." Optics looking down at you and he groans as a smirk briefly returns to your face.

"Aww, I'm sorry." A fake pout spreads over your face as your hand begins to stroke a little faster, eyes never leaving him as your mouth moves in closer to his spike.

"Would you like me to go a little faster?" The teasing words fan hot air over the sensitive tip of his spike and have his hips jolting up. Spike almost pushing into your mouth you move your head back with a chuckle and your hand speeds up.

"Yes! Please babes! Frag I wanna be inside you so bad!" Optics offlining as his words fall out along with his desperate moans as your mouth moves away.

Your other hand finally leaves the cluster of wires it had been teasing to wander to his spike, your thumb firmly runs over the tip and he gasps out. Frame shaking you can see the strain in his servos as he desperately keeps them from reaching out to grab you. Hand stroking faster as your fingers tease around his leaking tip, whined moans leave his vocaliser as he approaches his overloaded and you bite your lip holding back your own moan.

"Frag babes I'm so close! Frag yes. Yes." The words fall freely from him as his spike throbs, biolights pulsing quicker as he almost reaches the tipping point of his pleasure and just like that your hands pull away.

"What?! Frag babes you ok? I'm almost there." The desperation, confusion and slight concern are evident in his voice as his optics look down to identify the reason for your sudden lack of touch.

When his optics catch the devious smile spread across your face as your hands link behind your back, the realisation of your motives slowly comes to his lust-filled processor.

"No please! You can't! Babes come on. Just a little more! Don't leave me like this! I-I'm almost done then- you can ride my face place however long you want after! Please." Panicked and pleading for you to tip him over the edge, his legs shake and servos hit the ground in frustration but never make any move towards you or his spike.

The pleasure that surges throughout your body as you watch him in such a state of need and want, you almost want to jump on his spike then and there. Unlike your partner, you have a lot more self-restraint.

"I said I'd have a little fun. Nothing about letting you overload." You hum out enjoying the look of needy frustration that covers his faceplate.

"Come one. Babe's I've been good! I-I didn't touch-." His babbling words are cut off by your own stern ones.

"Good and you'll keep it that way." Smirk dissipates into your normal loving smile as you shift from between his legs.

"What no!" Shifting to his knees as you continue to walk into the small alley. "You can't leave me like this!" 

"I think I will." You muse out as you wave your hand for him to follow. 

"Perhaps I'll change my mind a little later. Until then we've gotta get back to the others." You call out from the end of the alley, not missing the small sob and whine that comes from him as you make your way back into the building.

"This is going to be so much fun if he can keep his servos away from his spike." You think to yourself as apologize to the others for your brief absence, trying to hide your smirk when a rather tense and twitchy Mirage tries to sneak his way back into the building.

#transformers #x reader #smut #reader insert #transformers mirage x reader #transformers mirage #mirage x reader #rotb mirage #mirage x human reader #mirage #rise of the beasts #mirage rotb #tf rotb #tf mirage #transformers rotb #oneshot #transformer drabbles #drabble

[hometoursandotherstuff]

Incredibly beautiful 1901 Tudor mansion in New York City. 6bds, 6ba, $13.95M. The Joseph B. Thomas house has been renovated and I found the photos of how it looked in 2012 before the reno.

The sitting room before.

What an amazing sitting room. A stained glass/leaded glass wall, wood paneling, curved bas relief ceiling, and a magnificent fireplace.

Through the glass wall is a fabulous conservatory. We can see that the brick has been painted white.

Large dining room has gorgeous carved molding on top of the wood paneling, in this room. They gave it some mirrors, large modern art, and contemporary furniture.

There's no before photo of the primary bedroom, but it's huge, isn't it? This house really demonstrates how leaving the natural wood and painting the walls white do so much to brighten it off. There's no need to make everything that doesn't move, white.

The photos are the before and after of the wine cellar. It looks the same. There's no photo of the kitchen, which is so disappointing, but like we learned last week, sometimes very expensive homes don't show them, b/c the very wealthy don't care about cooking, they have chefs and/or cooks.

On the 4th floor there's a chef's kitchen. Fourth floor?

#mansions nyc #townhouses nyc #historic homes #houses #house tours #home tour