#Conjoined mass
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this comic is absolutely fucking insane oh my god i love it so much
#its about a couple who one day wakes up and their fingers are conjoined by a weird mass that slowly grows over the course of the story#and its good! and its sad! and its funny! its doing some akira-style shit to me (has never watched akira)#anyways. an out of context snipped for my followers. this is so fucking good what thw fuck#body horror#unsettling#ask to tag#pst
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button ; coriolanus snow. (m)
pairing ; young!coriolanus snow x capitol!reader (gender-neutral)
synopsis ; what did make him pause, however, was the very top button of your shirt. misshaped. odd. not matching the rest of your buttons. his gift to you. “you’re wearing it,” coriolanus whispered. his voice sounded strained.
words ; 3.4k
themes ; fluff, mild angst, smut
warnings / includes ; unprotected sex (not very explicit), possessiveness, themes of classism, we meet reader's rich parents !! and grandma'am and tigris appear, coryo's paranoia, he's not exactly toxic yet but the seeds are very much planted, i tried to keep him in character as best i could </3
a/n ; there will be a third part loosely following the events of the movie (obv tweaked for the fic!)
series masterlist. main masterlist.
Your home was the very definition of old money—wealth and grace and high status carved into the marble floors, hung up in the large oil paintings, found within the fibers of the expensive carpets leading into grand halls. Snow had to consciously remind himself to appear unphased. He had this sort of life, too, as far as you were concerned.
It was only expected, especially considering your parents’ high positions: with your father being the top admiral of the navy, and your mother a renowned physicist with several awards under her belt. Dozens of rows of medals and framed certifications from both your parents were more than enough for Snow to gauge the mass of their importance.
He shifted the weight of his feet in his too-tight shoes. Anxious. He wore his dress shirt again, though not before asking Tigris to try and rework the buttons. The buttons hewn from his bathroom tiles. Make them look the same, he had told her. They’re uneven. Snow turned away before he could see her mildly crestfallen expression.
It was a special occasion, hence his dressed-up attire. There was a rose pinned to his waistcoat, a deep shade of red, from his Grandma’am’s rooftop garden. Your father had come home today, after months of military work in the districts. And to celebrate such a momentous evening, you invited him to dinner.
To meet your parents. How utterly fraught.
Though, now that the two of you were officially together (albeit only recently—Sejanus asked if the two of you were a thing and Coryo replied with an instinctive, possessive yes, much to both of your surprise), Coriolanus supposed there was no use in delaying the inevitable.
“Don’t be nervous,” you told him, arm looped around his. The white rose he’d given you upon his arrival was tucked neatly behind your ear, a lovely contrast to your all-black garb. In a light-hearted tone, you added, “Father would be able to smell it on you. The fear.”
Coriolanus shot you an exasperated glance, to which you only smiled. You landed a soft, reassuring kiss onto his cheek, hand sliding down from his elbow to lace with his.
“You look… breathtaking,” he said, lifting your conjoined palms to brush his lips over your knuckles. Of the many lies that he told you, this certainly wasn’t one of them.
Your eyes gleamed with the light from the chandelier hanging above you.
“And you look handsome as ever.” A pause. You seemed bashful all of a sudden, averting your gaze to the gold patterns on the marble floors. “I know this is all very new, so I apologize in advance, if my father asks about our, uhm… our future… He’s a very forward man.”
A smile twitched at the corner of his lips and he slotted his free hand beneath your chin, the pad of his thumb pressing lightly over the side of your throat, forcing you to look back at him. “I have no intention of letting you go, if that’s what you’re worried about.”
You smiled again, all sunlight and warmth, and Coriolanus couldn’t help but steal it away with one last kiss.
“Ready?” you asked, jerking your head in the direction of the dining room.
Snow swallowed the lump in his throat and nodded.
Dinner was quite a pleasant affair. The food was better than anything the academy ever served—Coriolanus wondered how you could willingly go from eating such delicacies at home to basic, run-of-the-mill meals the cafeteria provided. There were courses, tender peppered steaks (his very favorite), rich mushroom soups, iced lemon cakes, and several sorts of breads and butters were offered all throughout.
Your mother was a delight, enchanting him with stories of laboratory mishaps and her dangerous adventures with radioactive material. You looked a lot like her, he realized.
Your father, on the other hand, was pressing at first, grilling Coriolanus with dozens of personal questions. If you hadn’t warned him beforehand that he was a military leader, he most definitely would’ve worked it out for himself then. There were times where you politely but forcefully snapped at him, telling him to lay off the invasive interrogation and to let the poor man eat. But Coriolanus really didn’t mind—he’d spent hours upon hours preparing himself for this. He answered all of the questions with effortless ease.
By the third course, your father was satisfied. Reluctant, but satisfied. By the fourth, he was already asking about marriage, much to your mortification. Coriolanus smiled down at his plate, and quietly listened to you lecture your father about privacy and civility.
Yes, dinner was quite enjoyable. Several containers of food from unseen servants were wrapped up for him to take home, at your request, despite his polite protests. It wasn’t a common thing to do in the capitol, but your parents hadn’t batted an eye.
He was safe. They didn’t know. It was an ongoing mantra the entire night.
He was shown out the door by your father, who clapped a large hand on his shoulder and told him to take care of you, especially while he was gone. Your mother kissed him once on each cheek as farewell, and you did the same, though your kisses strayed far closer to his lips. He caught the mischievous gleam in your eyes.
The door shut behind him once he strode into the expansive courtyard in front of your mansion of a home. He glanced down at the rose pinned to his coat, wondering if you were still wearing yours behind your ear. A minute later, he jumped out of his reverie when the entrance creaked open once more. You peeked your head back out, eyes alight, pleased to see that he was still there.
You slid out from the entryway and made your way to him with quick strides, wasting no time to rest your hands upon his chest. To his delight, you were still wearing the rose. “Father and mother left to watch television in the estate’s Northern wing. Didn’t want to kiss you in front of them.”
There were wings to your house? Coriolanus blinked at you, accidentally letting his indifferent mask slip for a few seconds. If you noticed, you didn’t say anything about it, leaning forward to kiss him sweetly. It took him another moment to gather his wits, before winding his arms about your waist and deepening the kiss, nearly bending you backwards with his vigor.
He could never tire of this, he thought, fingers curling so his nails dug into the expensive black fabric of your top. Kissing you, touching you, entertaining the notion that you were his, and only his.
When you pulled away, your lips were wonderfully kiss-swollen and your pupils were blown wide, to his amusement. Were his eyes just the same?
“Thank you for being here today,” you mumbled, that smile-frown he was so fond of gracing your features once more. “I’m sorry if my parents were too—”
“They were wonderful. You’re wonderful,” he interrupted, tone soft. His hand lifted from your waist to cup your face. Cold fingers against flushed skin. “I’ll see you at the academy?”
A nod, a grin, and a relieved sigh. “Sleep well, Coryo.”
“You, too.” He pulled away, reluctant, allowing his hands to fall back to his sides. “You look good with it, you know. The rose.” With a final nod, he turned on his heel and walked away from your estate, back to his own cold penthouse, where he had to burn newspaper scraps to keep warm.
The months drew by like a lazy stream of water, gliding over a bed of stones, languid and pleasant. Your time with Coriolanus was nothing short of utter bliss. He was a sweet lover, despite his possessive streaks, always making sure you were alright with what he was doing. The two of you went slow and steady, always asking, always gentle. He kissed you as if you were made of sugar glass, and you held onto him as if he was a fragile ceramic vase.
Exams were drawing nearer with each passing day, and the two of you found yourself studying and cramming more than anything. He would often tell you that there was no need for you to study so hard, especially when you were already at the very top, likely to claim the Plinth prize for yourself, but you always waved him away with a modest laugh. If the two of you weren’t at the library pouring over dozens upon dozens of books, you were finding ways to sneak him into your home: kissing behind stone statues in the gardens, hiding behind velvet curtains, pulling him onto your massive, four-poster bed.
It was only a matter of time until you asked.
His arm was draped over your bare midriff, drawing mindless shapes into your hip. Your head rested back against his chest, mildly sweaty from the lovemaking session the two of you were still dwindling down from. You stared out your window, watching the sun slowly bleed the sky a hazy clementine hue, teeth sinking down into the flesh of your bottom lip in thought.
“Why haven’t we ever studied at your home, Coryo?” you asked. “I’ve yet to meet your cousin. You talk about her a lot… she seems wonderful.”
You felt a cold breath billow over the back of your neck. It sent pleasant chills spider down your spinal column. And you could’ve imagined it, but his fingers seemed to flex over your bare flesh. Twitch. Almost antsy. Did your question make him uncomfortable?
Shifting in his grasp, you turned within his arms so you could face him. “I’m sorry. I don’t want to pressure you, or anything. I just… just know that I’d never judge you.”
His expression was near unreadable, the blue of his eyes even paler than usual with the sunset’s light casting a honey-glow over both of your sprawled-out forms. He kissed you again, hungrily, almost as if to distract you. You let him.
Kiss you, touch you, bruise you. Any of it, all of it.
A low groan barreled within his chest when you fisted a handful of his soft blonde waves at the base of his neck, gently tugging.
“Nothing you could show me would make me love you any less,” you muttered against his lips, nose nudging against his. “Nothing, Coryo.”
And he, in a moment of love-addled weakness, let himself believe you.
Come the next afternoon, you were at the door of the Snows’ penthouse, a basketed batch of warm cookies held in one hand, the other holding a heavy bag full of all your textbooks to study. If the two of you were going to study at all today. Your mother was aghast that you were about to visit his home without some sort of gift, and abruptly shoved the basket of goodies into your arms out of seemingly nowhere, as if materialized out of thin air.
“Coriolanus loves the chocolate chip ones,” she harrumphed whilst ushering you out the door. “Honestly, showing up to someone else’s home empty-handed? Who raised you?”
The irony was not lost on either of you, and you barked out a laugh before kissing her farewell and setting off to visit him.
You rang the rusted doorbell once—curiously regarding the little button once you realized that it was broken. Then, you knocked the door twice, then another two times for good measure. There was a muffled scuffling behind the door, a woman’s voice echoing from behind.
And when it swung open, you were met with an elderly woman, shrouded in a too-large, black tunic with embroidered flowers on the sleeves, the threads loose and pulled, the once-vibrant colors faded. She wore a turban, covering most of her white hair save for the few thin tendrils framing the sides of her face.
“Hello, I’m Coriolanus’ classmate,” you greeted, in an ever-so-capitol-esque manner. “You must be his… Grandma’am?”
She appeared confused for a moment, before slow sparks of recognition fired across her blue eyes. Coriolanus had the same eyes, you noted.
“Oh!” she crooned. “Oh, dear me! Coriolanus! It’s your lovely friend!”
There was a bit of commotion down the hall. The brief moment of pause allowed you to finally take in why Coriolanus hadn’t wanted you to come to his home all this time. The penthouse was still quite lavish, as the Snow estate was one of the most expensive properties in the capitol, but it was clear that the space was diminishing with the weight of its upkeep—flickering lights, dusty floors, tears in the wallpapers, mold on the countertops…
Your attention was drawn away from the view when Tigris and Coryo emerged from the same room, and you couldn’t help the smile that threatened to break across your features. His cousin was fretting over his lopsided curls, and he discreetly tried to duck out of her way to get to you.
“My, you are just as gorgeous as he said you were!” Grandma’am said in a pitching tone, wrangling your attention back to her. She lifted her hands to lightly pinch at your cheeks. “Yes, you’ll do just fine.” Her fingers fell away and she scuttled off, murmuring something about the Capitol’s First Partner—
Coriolanus breathed out your name and his hand was on your shoulder, apologizing once, twice, three times (what was he even apologizing for?), before Tigris popped up by his side, bumping him out of the way so she could shake your hand vigorously.
“Hi! I’m Tigris—it’s so nice to finally meet you!”
You shook the blonde woman’s hand, smile seeming to grow impossibly wider. “It’s nice to meet you, too! I love your dress.”
Her mouth dropped open in a flustered manner and a lovely rose shade dusted over her cheekbones. “Oh, this old thing?” She absentmindedly smoothed a hand down the frills of her pink dress. “Yeah, I… oh, it’s nothing, really, I just made it myself.”
“That’s incredibly impressive! You must be a really talented seamstress.”
A sharp clear of his throat made your eyes snap back to Coriolanus.
“Coryo,” you greeted warmly. “I brought you cookies. Chocolate chip. Mother sends her regards.”
The two Snows in front of you eyed the basket with large eyes.
“Thank you,” he croaked, accepting the basket from your extended hands and handing it over to his cousin. “Tigris, if you’d excuse us—we’ve got some studying to do.”
Coriolanus began to tug you down the hall, and you waved back to Tigris, telling her that you’d love to see any of her other dresses later. She’d already reached into the basket and had a cookie halfway to her mouth as she nodded at you with a toothy grin.
His room was in around the same state as the rest of the home. Furniture was old, torn, frayed, or simply broken. There were several boarded-up holes in his dresser. There was a box of rat poison below his desk, which was full with all sorts of papers and stacks of yellowing books. You skittered in and dropped your heavy bag down by his bed, allowing him to close the door behind you. You just barely registered the click of a lock.
“So?” he asked, voice sounding much louder in such a confined space. He seemed tense, as if bracing himself for the worst. “Are you disgusted yet?”
“What do you take me for?” you replied easily, having already gathered why he was so afraid of bringing you here in the first place. “I’m not a leech, nor am I vain, Coriolanus. I don’t want more money, and I’m not here to offer you charity to flaunt my wealth. I thought you’d know that by now.”
He stalked closer, observing you like a wolf would its prey. “What is it you want, then?”
When you took a step back closer to his small, rather wiry bed, he would take two longer strides, crowding you back against it. He dipped forward so that his lips were only a hair’s breadth from yours, but just barely not touching.
“You know, I’m sure.”
“I do.” Coriolanus knew that you wanted him just for him, and nothing gave him more pleasure than that simple fact. His nose brushed yours.
“Would it make me a fool to stay?” you asked, the question fanning over his mouth. Inviting, ever so tantalizing. “You’re not planning on chopping me up and selling my organs for some cash, are you?”
He didn’t laugh at your little joke. Instead, he dove forward, one hand yanking your hips to his, the other winding over to the back of your head. He kissed you desperately, all teeth and tongue, hardened lips and his knee slotting between your thighs.
“No,” he susurrated thickly, as if he’d swallowed honey and soil, pressing you down until you were fully laid down over his rickety bed, back arched. “You’d be mine. All of you, just mine.”
He swallowed any sort of gasp and moan that fell from your mouth. Greedy, lustful, determined to make you pliable. His kisses didn’t slow down whatsoever when he tore himself away from your lips, freckling them down your cheeks, your jaw, your neck, your collarbones.
What did make him pause, however, was the very top button of your shirt.
Misshaped. Odd. Not matching the rest of your buttons. His gift to you.
“You’re wearing it,” Coriolanus whispered. His voice sounded strained.
“Mmh?” You glanced down at the button. “Oh. Of course, I am. I like how it looks.”
His face hovered above yours once more. His stare was so intense you began to shy away, staring at a moldy patch on the ceiling. The silence felt suffocating as you waited for him to do something. Anything.
“I love you,” he breathed out, finally. Upfront and abrupt. It wasn’t often that he said it. Maybe once or twice before, since you said it more than enough for the both of you.
You laughed then—your wonderful, wind-chime laughter. It was more out of shock than anything. He kissed you soft and sweet, momentarily quelling your chuckling. But as the afternoon of so-called ‘studying’ drew on, the laughter melded into sighs of pleasure when clothes were shed, shifting towards wanton moans of desperation when heated flesh slid against one another.
You nearly choked when his length breached your entrance, scratching faint red lines down the expanse of his back as he pushed in, pulled out. Rhythmic. Again and again and again—you couldn’t seem to get enough of him on top of you, inside of you, all around you. Your chest was pressed up against his; could he hear your heart beating through your ribs, yearning to feel his? The coil within your lower abdomen tightened. He read your every microexpression just perfectly.
He’d unbuttoned your entire shirt save for the oddly-shaped one, hands groping all over your bare skin, teeth biting down onto the patch of skin just above the button as he rocked himself into a climax, roping you down into the abyss with him. Ragged groans and broken sighs.
Coriolanus dragged his tongue up your chest and your neck, leaving a cold trail in his wake, and he sucked in a deep breath. When he pulled back to stare at you—flushed, hair mussed, sweat beaded along your hairline, his pearlescent spend between your thighs, your eyes half-lidded… chest only barely covered by his one button…
“Thank you,” he croaked, kissing the space beside your left eye. “For not running.”
“Don’t make me a fool for it,” you replied, looping your arms over Coriolanus’ neck so he could kiss you properly.
#coriolanus snow x reader#coriolanus snow fanfiction#coriolanus snow fluff#coriolanus snow smut#coriolanus snow x you#hunger games fanfiction#coriolanus snow drabbles#tbosas fanfiction#tbosas x reader#young!coriolanus snow x reader#young!coriolanus snow#coriolanus snow#coriolanus snow angst
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Alastor - [DEVOTION…. Pt. 2]
xxxxx xxxxx xxxxxx xxxxxx xxxxx xxxx xxx
[ NSFW ] + [ MDNI ] + [ SLIGHT AGE GAP ] + [ ARRANGED MARRIAGE ] + [ BREEDING KINK ] + [ MENTIONS OF BLOOD & GORE ]
xxxxx xxxxx xxxxxx xxxxxx xxxxx xxxx xxx
Beautiful days weren't uncommon in New Orleans.
They frequently occurred -even more so during the late summer months in the swamped countryside- where you now found yourself traveling through alongside your husband.
Alastor had decided it was high time both of you visited your recently conjoined families. His mother constantly asked to see you again, calling twice a week like clockwork to check on her darling son and his ever-so-sweet wife, and you appreciated her sincere affection.
You missed visiting her in person, learning things from her, and observing how much adoration she had for Alastor..
In a sense, she'd raised you like her own daughter, taking the place of your mother, who'd passed before you'd even taken your first steps. Your father was adamant a 'fever' took her, but Alastor's mother always hinted at a force greater than unfortunate health having to do with it.
You'd never thought to ask what she meant, trusting her wise and kind words wholeheartedly since Alastor was your only friend, but curiosity did plague your thoughts from time to time.
Her passing was a tragedy you could barely remember….
However, it was in the past, your mother was gone with your childhood, and you were now in the present -married to a man you never wished to part from…
Even more so now that he'd revealed how truly devoted he was to you and you alone…
“….I feel much more than love for you, my dear. Devotion is a better term…obsession at times…”
Those words of his rang loud and clear in your head for days on end, making your heart flutter ten times harder than it usually did when he was near and coaxing a particular passion for making him happy out of you at every opportunity given.
Your infatuation had grown into undeterred loyalty and in your opinion he deserved every bit of it.
Alastor worked tirelessly to further his career. Reaping the benefits of such hard work through copious amounts of money and awards from various admirers.
He'd perfected so many things to reach that point, hiding his natural down home drawl with a perfect transatlantic accent -you found both charming but preferred the first. Although, you understood why he’d mastered the ladder accent, and never insisted upon him disregarding it.
It was what made his character, brought the masses running back for more each time he was on air, and what kind of wife would you be if you asked him to refute all the admiration for simple and selfish reasons?..
He wasn’t home often enough to have such conversations in the first place…
Alastor was no stranger to working late into the evening, writing script after script past midnight at the station, and only returning home when he was sure his manuscripts were crystal clear.
That’s what you were made to believe he was doing anyway.
Alastor made sure of that.
In your eyes he was perfect, hardworking, and utterly perfect…
Not the merciless, flesh hungry, murder that’d been stalking the streets of New Orleans for almost six consecutive months…
To your knowledge Alastor had no flaws, no deep, dark secrets you felt the need to uncover, and certainly not a man with a tainted sense of morality you couldn't fully trust.
He ensured your view of him remained spotless, devoid of bloodthirst or cruelty.
You were too innocent for it, too pure to know what he'd done and continued to do for the sake of self-satisfaction, but there is always a time for truths to come to light…
Nevertheless, Alastor strived to make sure that time never came…
So, when the city became on edge, being put under a curfew by law enforcement in hopes of slowing the occurrence of his murders, and the number of police patrols significantly increased, Alastor decided a nice…long…relaxing vacation to the countryside would be an excellent idea.
Nothing suspicious about the idea at all…
You were ecstatic about the trip, rushing to pack things for the both of you the very evening he mentioned it, and Alastor was genuinely pleased to see you so excited.
You were painfully unaware of his true motives…so willing to spend time with him and leave the fear-induced city behind…
Oh, how he loved it…you and your gentle, naive nature…
Truly, a warm-hearted belle safe and sound in his bloodstained grasp.
He almost felt guilty, looking at you now, taking your first bare footsteps into the dewy summer grass surrounding his mother's home. Your eyes lit up like the high noon sun shining down on you both, soft lips pulled into a satisfied smile as you reacquainted yourself with fresh summer air, "God, I missed this.." you whispered to yourself as the comforting wind blew through your hair.
Alastor laughed softly, smile ever present as you did a twirl in the grass before looking at him over your shoulder, "Well, aren't you gonna join me, Al? Or am I gonna have to get a hug from your mother first?"
He narrowed his eyes, smile softening at the mention of her, "First? My dear, are you askin' for a race?"
You grinned, giggling as you shrugged playfully while walking backward towards the pathway leading to his mother's home, "Only if you're agreeing to one, honey.." you respond cheekily.
Your husband could never resist a challenge.
Ever.
You’d realized that very early on in your time with him, using it to your advantage more often than he realized.
Getting your way with Alastor was a special skill unique to you and not a soul else…
A smirk tugged at your lips as Alastor pushed off from leaning against the car, rolling his sleeves up as he strode towards you, "Daring, little thing, aren't you?" He teased, having to yell as you spun on your heel and took off without warning.
You let out a laugh, hearing him give chase, only a meter behind you in less than three seconds, and his subtle chiding at your attempt at cheating urging you to beat him.
"Looks like I'll beat you, dearest!" He boasts, drawing nearer to you within seconds, but hesitating to pass you by as he took in the sight of your white cotton dress riding higher up your thighs as you ran.
A delectable view for him in more ways than one…
Alastor couldn’t recall the last time he’d seen such a carefree and angelic sight. Nor, did he want to when you were right in front of him.
You scoffed at his teasing, oblivious to Alastor’s longing stare as you hiked up the front hem of your dress to hop over a fallen tree branch, but when you landed, he was at your side -a smirk already sneaking its way onto his face as you shot him a surprised glance.
When had he gotten so fast?…
You weren't sure, but Alastor had always been more physically fit than most, so you merely tried to keep up with him as the end of the path approached.
He beat you by five feet at least, but you were in too much of a giggle fit to notice. "You cheated!" You chirped, faking a pout as he leaned against one of the dark timber poles that upheld the wrap-around porch. "I was only beating you at your own game, ma chère… fair is fair." Alastor flashed you a grin, pushing his glasses to rest on top of his head before raising a hand to swipe the specks of dust that'd landed on his cheek during your short race.
You smiled at the rare, docile, boyish action. Alastor was never one to altogether drop his guard, so when moments like this occurred, you'd relish in it for as long as possible.
"Here, let me…" you spoke softly, still a little breathless after running but eager to help your husband. Alastor dropped his hand from his face, leaning down to make your reach for him less strenuous, and you smiled at the tiny habit.
He'd always considered your height difference, and your tummy fluttered at each implication of it.
Using the back of your dress sleeve, you carefully wiped at his cheek as he stared at you, allowing you to gingerly guide his face from side to side with your small hand cupping his jaw. "There, much better, monsieur.." you compliment him with a flirtatious drawl, admiring his dust free skin in the sunlight as a few strands of his wavy brown hair shifts over his eyes from the wind.
Alastor returns your admiration, gaze lowering to your lips when you speak and slowly rising again as you place the round glasses back on his face. "Thank you,'ma chère," he sighs gratefully, natural southern drawl shining through as he speaks, finding himself out of breathless as you stare up at him lovingly.
In all his life Alastor could count on one hand how many times an inkling of ‘love’ had trickled its way into his heart. You seemed to be a factor in at least half of those memories.
He deemed that fact more than enough reason to kill for you if fate ever dictated harm your way…
What man wouldn't spill a bit of blood for a woman that looks at him the way you are looking at him now..?
A lesser one, surely.
Alastor considered himself far from the definition of a lesser man..
“It’s my pleasure,” you mutter in response, shifting to step around him and knock on the door, but Alastor stops you by wrapping an arm around your waist, bringing you in close to gently kiss your nose, then your lips, and you return the intimate gesture on instinct.
He hums deep within his chest as your soft lips melt into his, grip tightening on your waist as he unconsciously glides his tongue along yours, and you successfully stifle a moan at the unexpected intrusion.
Was that….blood you tasted on him?…
You weren't given much time to register the iron residue mixed with the hints of black coffee you'd made for him that morning since the sound of a door swinging open startled you half to death before any connection could be made.
"Oh, well, would you get a look at you two!" Angelique Hartifelt beamed as she registered who was on her doorstep. Alastor immediately let you go, smiling wide as his mother tugged him into an airtight hug, and you blushed at the heartwarming sight.
"Hello, mother," Alastor mumbled into her dark curls, swaying her in his arms as she took him in, "My, you've grown baby…real successful too, I hear.." She laughed as he nodded, both clearly happy to see each other after so long, but she eventually pulled away from Alastor to turn her attention to you.
"Sweet girl… c'mere! God, you're just as pretty as a magnolia in May!" You had no time to reply as she hugged you tight, kissing your cheek while you giggled and greeted her politely, "You're too kind, Mrs. Hartifelt … It's nice to see you again! I've missed you dearly!"
She stepped back, grinning as wide as her son as she spun you around, "Don't be silly, honey! Married life becomes you! I missed seeing your lovely self, too. Maybe if Al stopped working so much, you'd have more time to stop by.." She gave him a playful glare, to which he flashed an apologetic smile.
"I'll try to remember that, Mother.." he tipped his head in understanding, and she swatted his arm lightly. "Oh, you know I'm only poking fun, baby. Come on inside, I wanna hear about the two of you…"
She paused, ushering you in the door first with a knowing smile, "…and if I have any grandchildren on the way." Her jest made you turn bright red, but her lighthearted laughter that followed eased your nerves.
However, Alastor's face fell for a moment as she said it, the two of you sharing a strange stare as Angelique closed the behind her and whisked past you both to lead the way into the kitchen.
It was only for a split second, but you could've sworn Alastor looked…
Hopeful…?
Or rather, genuinely affected by the mention of having a child with you…
The complex expression vanished from his face just as quickly as it appeared, his gaze shifting from you to his mother as she set a pitcher of sweet tea and a plate full of cookies out, and you instantly focused on the dish of sweets as the sugary smell invaded your nose.
You were here to enjoy her company, get away from the world and its burdensome worries, and overthinking Alastor’s every reaction wouldn’t be a good start to that….
Besides, her sweets were always your favorite; she'd shown you how to bake, and you attributed most of your cooking skills to her teaching. Alastor had also picked up a great deal of culinary tricks from her, and it became another hobby you two bonded over during childhood.
"Those look amazing, Mrs. Hartifelt," you flashed her a smile, humming as you pretended to swoon over them, and she laughed at your slight dramatics. "I suspected you'd stop by, so I made your favorite, honey. Come on, sit!"
"Don't mind if I do," you chirped and sat next to her at the modestly round dining table; she poured you both a glass of sweet tea before looking over at Alastor expectantly. "That means you too," she gently scolded his standoff-ish behavior, watching as he took a seat on her unoccupied side and patting his cheek in gratitude as he did.
Alastor leaned into her touch, mumbling an apology for not accompanying her sooner, "I got lost in thought, is all…" he clarified in a soft chuckle, and she nodded in understanding.
"Mmm, really, what about?"
His gaze shifted to you again, and your body momentarily froze as he stared while answering his mother, "How much I love you…that’s all.”
Whether he meant to direct the phrase towards you or his mother was unclear, but your chest tightened, and your head filled with fog nonetheless.
How could he still manage to make you so unsteady within the simplest efforts and gestures?…
Alastor held your gaze for a minute longer, forgetting where he was presently, but his self induced trance vanished as his mother spoke again.
"I see you still haven’t lost your charm to the big city. That radio show must keep you on your toes, then.."
He nodded, laughing gently at his mother's teasing, "I wouldn’t dream of it, and my audience expects the best, so I must deliver."
She nods, humming as her chocolate eyes drift towards you, "And how is my lovely son treating you, sweetheart? Well, I presume?"
You could hear the hint of curiosity in her tone, light but underlying seriousness in her question. It was no secret to her that Alastor had…certain tendencies, but those were reserved for people who deserved it, and you'd never been deemed deserving.
She hoped it remained that way…
To her inner relief, you answered her with the broadest smile and happiest tone, "Oh, of course! I couldn't have asked for a better husband! You raised him well..a true gentleman, Mrs. Hartifelt."
Alastor smirked, reveling in your praise, unbothered by his mother eyeing him carefully before she gave you a pleasant response, "I'm glad to hear that. You're still sweet on him too…just like when you were little."
You blushed, taking a ginger bite of one cookie while nodding, "Mhm.."
Why you became nervous when your childlike crush on Alastor was brought up was a mystery, but you couldn't help it since both of your families saw your subtle pining for him day in and day out.
"Speaking of 'little'…" his mother sat straight, arms crossed over her chest as she glanced at the both of you, "When are you two gonna give me a grandbaby to look after. I'm not getting any younger, Al.."
That look crossed his face again, but his smile remained.
You, however, nearly choked on your sweet treat, but luckily managed not to make an utter fool of yourself. A minor cough and a quick sip from your glass eased your mishap.
Angelique patted your back gently, laughing softly at your reaction, "Honey, I'm only kidding… there's no rush." Her reassurance was genuine, but unbeknownst to her, Alastor had breached the subject already.
Albeit in the heat of a very intense and lust-driven moment.
"Ma chère," Alastor rose from his chair, slight concern on his face as he came to kneel by your chair, "…are you alright?"
You nodded slowly, smiling softly at him before huffing out, "M' fine…no need to worry.." he nodded in return, standing to his feet to address her implications.
"We'll see what the future holds, Mother, but as of now, are we welcome to your hospitality for a few days?"
He knew she'd say 'yes' but made it a habit to ask.
Alastor maintained impeccable manners, just as she'd taught him to have, and it brought a proud glint to Angelique’s eyes.
"Now, Al, why would I ever say no to that. You two stay as long as you want!"
You tipped your head in gratitude, "Thank you, Mrs. Hartifelt.."
She scoffed, placing her hand over one of yours before leaning in close as if to tell you a secret Alastor shouldn’t hear.
"Even after all these years and being married to my boy, you're still so polite, Y/n. The world won't burn to a crisp if you call me 'mother' sweetheart."
She kissed your temple, and your heart melted at the tender gesture, "We are family, after all."
That was true…
"I suppose you're right, Mrs- I mean mother." You tripped over the words, so used to being formal but enjoying the new arrangement.
It felt natural enough.
"Look how easy that was!" Angelique patted your hand assuredly, stood from her seat, and began to clear the table.
There was no doubt in your mind that Alastor got his charm from her….
Your revelation was cut short as she absentmindedly spoke to you again, "Pay your father a visit before you settle in. I'm sure he'd like to see you…he comes by often asking about you two a lot these days.."
You stiffened at the mention of your father, recalling the last time you'd seen him.
Exactly a year ago.
The day you married Alastor…
After that, you'd barely spoken to him, not because you wished for distance but because he'd established it.
Your father may have agreed to your marriage with Alastor, but he only partially warmed up to your husband. He'd looked upon him with a hidden distaste from the very beginning of your friendship.
"Something's off about that boy…" he’d say.
Then proceed to warn you of a danger that never existed in your opinion. "You be careful around him…real careful.."
When he realized your attraction to Alastor his nagging only worsened, "He's a charmer…those are never good for anything. You remember that."
For years, his assumptions of Alastor irked you to no end; it perplexed you why he even married you off to him, but whenever you'd search for answers, he'd give the same vague answer.
"That boy isn't what he seems. Never has been and never will be.."
Frustrating as he was, you could never bring yourself to hate him for it, but the thought of having to endure his morbid company wasn’t comforting at all.
Alastor recognized the distress in your gentle features, your bright eyes narrowing at the tabletop, and your hands wringing around each other nervously.
All because of him.
Mr. L/n...
The one man who seemed to get a clue as to who and what Alastor was without anything other than a so-called ‘gut feeling’.
Alastor had tried for years to mask his true nature from him, but your father saw right through him at every encounter.
He had been and still was Alastor’s worst agitation…
Such a bothersome fool…
Your husband averted his oncoming glare to the nearest wall before wiping the disdain off his face, and reaching a hand out to caress your back. You relaxed under his firm touch, looking up to him as his thumb rubbed soothing circles into your spine, "It'll only be a short visit, my dear. We'll have the whole weekend after that…"
His smile eased your fretting, leading you to nod and smile back. "Alright… y-you'll come with me, yes?"
Absolutely not-
Alastor inwardly hushed his shadow demon, tipping his head in warning to the spectrum and forcing it to hold its tongue before it overrode his consciousness.
His smile widened, the hand on your back sliding up to cup your cheek, "Of course, mon chere. I wouldn't dream of letting you go alone.."
We should-
His shadow attempted to cut in again, but Alastor withheld its advance with a simple command.
Hush up. Now…
Fortunately, it ceased all communication, and his focus on you went unhindered.
You stood from your chair, rising on your tiptoes to peck his lips with your own, whispering against them before you pulled away.
"Thank you… Sometimes I dont know what I'd do without you…"
Alastor cursed the sharp pang that penetrated his heart as you said those words, an eerie sense of Deja vu hitting him in waves, but the uneasy feeling never showed on his face -not until you thanked his mother one last time before flurrying upstairs to freshen up.
Angelique felt her son’s mood shift, intuition leading her to ask him what was on his mind, "Something wrong?.."she mumbles calmly without ceasing in her task of cleaning.
Alastor remained silent for a long moment, watching as his mother moved on to pulling out ingredients to cook for dinner, and when she turned to face him entirely, he found the sense to speak.
"It's gettin' worse…" he confessed through a tight-lipped smile, leaning back against a wall to keep his composure, and she needed no other clues to figure out his cause for distress.
"The killing' or the magic?" She inquires, back to him, and but her voice laced with evident care.
"Both. It's getting to me..bad…more frequently.." he confesses.
Angelique hums in understanding, "Have you been hunting at all these past few weeks?.."
Alastor took his glasses off, breath coming out strained as his eyes shifted from their usual whiskey color to a redder hue.
"No. Not since…" he falters, gritting his teeth as his unruly spectral companion cut into his train of thought.
Not since you fucked her-
"I said shut the hell up…" Alastor seethed out loud, eyes screwing shut as his shadow danced onto the wall, yet his mother remained unphased by the sudden outburst.
She merely peered at the taunting shadow, causing it to cower back in her son's tall frame, "Go hunting while you're here. That'll take the edge off, but get that spirit in check before you do, or it won't end well. You hear me?"
Alastor nodded, rolling his neck to alleviate the tension in his body before recapturing his shadow and flashing his mother an understanding smile.
Her advice was final, a direct warning to him, and it garnered a welcomed sense of control over his frazzled behavior.
His smile lost its crazed edge, drawing into a polite smirk as he peered at her expectantly.
"Do you happen to have my old hunting gear lying around?.."
She turned towards the stove, not affected by his sudden personality switch by any means, and simply motioned a hand upstairs before answering him, "In your father's old study. Right where you left it, behind the bookshelf…."
Alastor perked up, grinning wide as the memory of his last hunting spree crossed his mind, "Merci, mother." He thanked her, walking over to kiss her cheek before exiting the homely kitchen while humming a new tune as he strode up the steps with newfound confidence.
Tonight, he'd look for prey…
How he'd satiate his shadow's pesky intrusions was a matter he'd have to solve later.
Although, if the way it constantly became hyperactive at the mere mention or sight of you had anything to do with it Alastor was certain you were the solution to the problem.
+++++
The visit with your father went as you expected it to go.
He welcomed you with open arms and a tender smile, but when he saw Alastor climbing the marble steps of your family’s estate, his cordial behavior waned.
“I see you’ve brought him along…” he made no effort to hide the distaste in his tone as Alastor reached your side.
“It’s a pleasure to see you again as well Mr, L/n…” Your husband remained polite as always, masking his hatred for the man with a practiced facade of kindness.
Alastor became more affectionate towards you in his presence, going so far as to kiss the top of your head and wrapping an arm around your waist protectively, making every effort to keep you close throughout the tense reunion.
Your father clearly did not take a liking to his indirect aggravations it at all…
Yet, he said nothing on the matter, cutting your visit short with the tired excuse of having an 'important engagement' he needed to attend to.
So, in under an hour of resisting your childhood home, you found yourself walking back through the secret trail you and Alastor had paved years ago to commute across, and with each step, you felt more at ease.
You weren't quick to anger, but your father's jabs towards Alastor never ceased to ruin your mood. Thankfully, your husband seemed more eclectic than when you'd arrived in the countryside, and that, in turn, brightened your previously somber spirits.
Alastor held your arm under his as the two of you trekked along the path, going over small hills, thin creeks, and finally through a line of forestry bordering his mother's home.
The sun was beginning to set as you entered the forest end of your journey. The warm summer wind becoming a bit chilly as it whipped through the large willow and evergreen trees. Alastor kept you close, better acquainted with the woods than you were, but not because he'd memorized the path from childhood.
No, his memory of it stemmed from the many bloody escapades he'd enjoyed there and intended to continue sooner rather than later…
All for a rush, for the flesh, for the undisputed thrill.
Even now he couldn't stop grinning, thinking about it, failing to dampen his excitement as he led you both through the darkening woods.
You glanced up at him, happy to see Alastor so content despite your awful encounter with your father, "I apologize for him… he's…" you paused, trying to find the right words to describe your father's behavior, but he beat you to it with a gentle laugh.
"A cynical old man who believes that I'm no good for you?"
His voice held an edge, but you took the comment as playful heat and not as a harmful insult the way Alastor intended it to sound.
You couldn’t blame him for feeling spiteful about the whole ordeal…
He had every right to be unnerved…
A tender sigh slipped past your lips, and you nodded in agreement as he glanced down at you, "A spot-on depiction…not a pretty one either.." Alastor chuckled, shaking his head dismissively as he reassured you he took no offense to your father's dislike of him.
Though it was somewhat justified.
"Don't you worry yourself about him, my dear. I have you, and he can do nothing about it…"
Not a fucking thing…
You peered up at Alastor, noting the unwavering smile on his face as he spoke, but the glare in his eyes said he felt anything but indifference about the situation.
That worried you…scared you a little…
"Al…" you whispered, halting in your tracks and causing him to do the same. Your brows furrowed as he lowered his head, his breaths becoming heavy as his hold on your arm grew harder, but not enough to harm you.
His smile only grew as you muttered again, "Alastor, …look at me…" your words as tender as ever as you turned on your heel to face him head-on.
Alastor's eyes twitched as you came close, flashing red when you cupped his face with both hands and dipped your head to gain proper eye contact with him.
Concern was written all over you face…
You tried to decipher Alastor’s expression, ignoring the chill running down your spine as his gaze hardened while the air around you grew stiffer by the second.
Was he angry?
It felt as if he were but something in his unwavering stare told you this emotion surpassed that, and you couldn't deny how intensely it radiated off him as he slowly tilted his head at you.
Possessiveness.
Pure, unbridled need for dominance.
Whether it was over you or his state of mind remained unclear as he took a step forward. You made no effort to back away, letting Alastor tower over you, and not once breaking eye contact with him.
“Alastor…you can tell me-“
The comforting words died on your tongue when he jerked you into his chest, large hands finding your wrists as the heated kiss he initiated silenced the surprised yelp that left your lips as they melded with his.
You eyes drifted shut as he deepened the exchange, gradually relenting your body control over to him as he guided your arms to wrap around his neck. Alastor shifted his hold on your wrists to trace down your sides, the ghost like touch sending a shock through you immediately.
He smiled at your skittish reaction, oddly calmer than he was a moment before as he dared to pull similar responses from you. His skilled tongue delved into you mouth, inviting yours to play along while he leveraged his larger frame against your smaller one. You obediently stepped back as he pressed forward, subtly flinching as your backside hit the bark of the nearest tree, yet the scratch of wood on your covered skin failed to bother you as the kiss became feverish.
Desperate…
Alastor was desperate for something…
For what you weren’t certain, unable to think straight when he had you pinned against a decaying evergreen, stealing your breath away with ease, only pulling away from your lips to catch his own breath.
You quietly panted for air as well, blood rushing to your head from the sound of his have breathing mixing with the distant chirps of crickets harmonizing alongside buzzing cicadas.
The wind seemed to lose its chill as it passed between the nonexistent space separating you both.
Alastor held you still in that moment, one hand at the back of your neck to keep your head raised towards his, and the other resting under your chin. His thumb traced over your now spit slick lips, brown eyes following the slight tremble in them as you continued to pant for air.
Oh, how he adored your eagerness to please him. Always so desperate for more of him and never quite aware of your own greediness for his undivided affection.
“What is there for me to tell you, ma chère…?” The words thundered in his chest, almost a low hum in the midst of the surrounding wilderness, but you heard him clear enough.
“How you truly feel….whats behind that smile you fight so hard to maintain.” You gulp down the anxiety trying to creep its way into your tone, inhaling sharply as he pushed a knee between your thighs, and your train of thought came to a halt feeling him put pressure on your thinly covered cunt.
You knew the gesture was a from of distraction on his part, an attempt to avert your attention from the uneasy shift in his mood, and though you wanted to push him back and demand he take your concerns seriously…
The building heat in your core advised otherwise, overriding your urge to coax an explanation from Alastor with the need to be filled by him instead, and the growing amount of stars in your eyes as he continued to toy with your body made it all the more obvious to him.
“I assure you I’m quite alright, darling“ Alastor remained true to his previous claim, smiling softly as your eyes lidded over while your hips tentatively began to rock over his thigh at a sluggish pace, and your hands unraveling from his neck to trail down his chest. The linen fabric of his shirt cooled your burning fingertips, keeping your focus clear enough for another hushed whisper to leave your lips, “Tellin’ me not lie to you but then turning around and doing it yourself…”
You paused, holding his gaze as your tongue darted out to lick at his thumb teasingly, “How is that fair, Alastor, hm?…” your voice remains quiet, the taste of his skin lingering on the tip of your tongue as the questions hangs in the air around you, and it seems to hit a nerve in him.
A flash of red illuminates his irises, smile stretching wide across his face at your seductive actions and reprimanding remarks, “Fair? Is that what you want from me, mon chere? A fair bit of truth?”
His shadow itched to enlarge, wanting nothing more than to show itself to you, and intake the delirious reaction you’d surely have to seeing its monstrous form.
Although, Alastor kept it at bay, settling with trailing the hand on your neck to tangle through your hair, tugging it just rough enough to earn a soft gasp from you, and that action alone hard your inside twisting with anticipation.
You knew he’d never harm you, never lift a finger to imply harsh treatment, but the thrill of finally experiencing a hidden side of your husbands persona had your heart racing and your cunt throbbing.
“Yes…” you whimper compliantly, hands fisting the collar of his dress shirt to tug him closer, and Alastor growled at the aggressive action.
“Careful what you ask for, sweet girl…” he warns you through gritted teeth, tempted to kiss you again as an airy giggle leaps from your mouth, “And what if I refuse to be?”
Fuck, I need her…we need her…
His shadow twitched, writhing in the waning light of the sun at your taunting, and embodying every ounce of excitement the man before you struggled to contain as the heat of your cunt gliding over his thigh persisted with every gentle buck of your hips against him.
Alastor felt his blood run hot as you pried at his self control, the corner of your lips pulling up into a knowing smile as he stared at you hungrily, and not a single drop of apprehension present in your gaze as he lowered his head to whisper in your ear.
“Then I suppose I’m left with no other choice than to remind you what happens to curious little cats, my dear…”
xxxxx xxxxx xxxxxx xxxxxx xxxxx xxxx xxx
Idk if I hate or love this chapter…like I’m so used to writing smut that writing angst or fluff feels so dreadful to me. Plus, you guys liked the first part so much I didn’t want to fuck this up…I promise the next part is pure smut and gore lol. This was essentially a filler part (I’m sorry)… ❤️ also did you guys catch the Princess and the Frog reference I threw in?!? If you did then I freakin adore you hehehe ❤️
[ BONUS CONTENT + ]
I’d cry, scream, fucking beg for this man…it’s fucking ridiculous how much I love him tbhhhh ❤️ credit to creator
#alastor#hazbin hotel#hazbin hotel alastor#alastor hazbin hotel#alastor headcanons#human alastor#alastor hartfelt#hazbin hotel headcanon#alastor fluff#alastor smut#alastor the radio demon#hazbin alastor#alastor x oc#alastor x reader#hazbin hotel fandom#hazbin hotel fanfiction#fanfic writing#fanfic#alastor human#angst#fluff#alastor angst
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Drawing Ryōmen Sukuna
Development notes
This post has been in the making since last year, before the manga has reached its current arc. My aim was to respond to comments that pointed out that my version of that time didn't look like the one in the anime.
I calculate everything I do and the way I do it. My current goal is to share my thoughts on the development of my take on him - simply because I'm a nerd when it comes to anatomy and I love figuring things out. It involves a lot of thinking, questioning, analysis, dissecting information and building theories. So I totally understand if it's not anyone's cup of tea.
MANGA SPOILER WARNING
The very beginning
I used to have a serious case of lack of self-confidence. My earliest art of Sukuna dates back to 2021, but it always felt like my skills are not worthy of this particular character. I never shared my art. I was also struggling to find my artistic voice. I was obsessed with the idea of semi-realism, but even if I managed to pull it off after weeks of stylisation practices, I didn't like the results.
Due to personal reasons, I stopped trying to draw him for a long time.
The development of "my" version
It was an entirely conscious decision to draw him differently.
The top reasons for the change was that I didn't want to sexualise him in his host, Yuuji, who is a minor. Back then I thought he inflicted the deformation on himself (extra limbs, eyes, etc), for the sake of efficiency, and I was curious what he looked like before that - or what he would look like in a civilised environment.
During the process, I considered a number of factors:
the beauty standard of the other JJK men - I wanted him to fit the lineup - his original appearance made him stand out quite much
in a setting where he adheres to the rules of society, more or less, I believe his MBTI personality type (ENTJ) would dictate a lot of his choices when it comes to appearance, at least to a certain extent. I thought he would choose to have an appearance that fits the beauty standards of the era
I kept his tattoos because it's a very distinguishing feature of him, but I also exercise freedom in the way I draw them, to make them as stylish as possible
Reincarnation
I used to believe once he reincarnates, his proportions would be closer to that of a "normal" human, even if he has some extra limbs. However, his size and features are above and beyond of what we are used to, and even the story emphasises their malformed appearance. So a a whole new era of Sukuna started in my art. I chose my favourite manga panels of him and mix-and-matched the most attractive features into a figure that I consider on the fine edge of monstrosity and unconventional handsomeness.
Even when I draw him with a regular number of limbs, I keep his usual mass and proportions. I dubbed this form "true gains" form.
I also realised that some of the tattoos Yuuji's body displayed was a product of the partial reincarnation stage, like we see it on Tsumiki's forehead.
NOTE: Did anyone notice that Sukuna is getting progressively more and more human/handsome in the manga? When he took over Megumi's body, I also noticed that as the story progressed, he started to look older and more mature. I'm curious of it was a conscious decision.
Twin dilemma and speculations
According to the Japanese wikipedia page, the mythical figure Sukuna could have been a conjoined twin. Despite my extensive digging in the matter, I was shocked by the recent lore drop.
My question: what does Sukuna look like in a universe where he did not absorb his twin in the womb during development?
It hasn't been confirmed, but I find it very possible now that he was born with his extra limbs, eyes and mouth, as well as the deformed, wide features. (...as opposed to my first theory about him altering his own body for the sake of efficiency)
This, however, would mean that in a universe where both him and his brother are born healthily, he would look different. There is the obvious lack of extra arms, eyes and mouth - but I believe he would also be closer to the JJK beauty standard of men, as far as proportions go (eg. more narrow face, anime-esque nose, larger eyes).
At first I was hesitant to accept this idea, as I'm very attached to the 4-arm hulk / "true gains" form now, but then I realised: this would mean that "my"version of him actually has logically explainable place in at least an alternate universe.
Thank you if you got this far.
I may edit this post later. Let's see where the story takes us.
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Monster Mash - Drider
CW: Bondage, body worship, vaginal fingering, restraints, cum smearing, scent marking, scent marking via cum, spider anatomy, cum insertion, (i promise it makes sense), (literally looked up if spiders have dicks and how spider sex works)
Sorry for the delay, personal stuff happened but im working on the next two chapters when possible
AO3
Monster Mash Masterlist
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Legs sore and trembling like a newborn fawn learning to walk for the first time since opening its eyes, sleep still heavy and ever present on your mind as you try and traverse the massive manor you all share using the walls as support, still as naked as the day you were born. The sudden sound of quickly fast approaching scuttling footsteps and a pair of drow arms around your bruised waist alert you of a new presence as you are lifted into the air.
The relief you feel once you are off your feet, legs no longer shaking to keep you up-right, as the drider carries you away and towards his web, gently placing you into the centre like an ornate piece of porcelain, closing your eyes and letting yourself sink down into the sticky mass of string below. Your mind barely registers your limbs being moved around, lovingly and carefully being tied and secured in place by the driders own silk.
Eight spider legs and a set of drow arms come into peripheral vision as the drider climbs into his own web, taking his spot between your spread legs. Eight sets of eyes, six spider and two drow, borrow deep into your skull, never once looking away as the drider takes in his work.
A soft chitter echoes in your brain, "Still awake, my dear?" A breathy chuckle follows his question, "We are far from done, I think you and I are going to have a lot of fun." He says, nipping at the bite marks on your neck and shoulders, his silver snow-white hair falls over his shoulders, the light from the window casting a dull halo around it. "He just loves to ruin you for us, doesn't he, takes all the run out of it." None of them used each other's name, a way of showing their still burning distaste for each other.
The drider starts to rearrange your limbs once more, moving you this way and that until he finds the perfect positions for you to be relaxed and comfort, and for him to worship you and love you. Once your arms are resecured and restrained once again by his soft silk string, he moved onto your legs, replacing them, so your knees were pulled up close to your legs and spread open as wide as they could be. Small click and chirps of approval leave the drider mouth as he works, clearly pleased with his work and your compliance.
With your arms above and legs spread, nothing was left to the imagine, more than it usually was. You lie your head back into the web, the room the drider picked and claimed as his nest was always warm, despite being in a drafty attic, must be all the tightly-packed webbing the covers every corner and wall.
He covers your body with his, his torso slotting between your immobile legs, his spider legs curls under his spider abdomen as his drow arms trace the marks that dot your body left behind by the vampire, tiny hisses and grumbles can be heard every time he examines and assesses a new one.
"He does this on purpose, knows how sore you get after he feed, knows we have to go easy or wait until you heal enough." He tsks as he traces a bruising mark on your hip, "Don't worry, my darling light, I'll be gentle. Make this all about you." The drider kisses a huge mark where your neck and your shoulder conjoin, a bright red now turned blue-ish purple hue, carefully places his hands on your damaged thighs, lightly kneading the flesh, mindful of the bloomed bruises and healing bites that litter your skin.
Rolling your head to the side as your drider leaves a trail of kisses up your neck, his mandibles that sit where his drow half connects to the spider half move lightly, the small fangs at the ends of them gracefully dancing along your lower abdomen just above your cunt, careful not to puncture your skin. Soft kisses are placed just below your left ear, like the drider is trying to fix the marks your vampire lover left.
Those eight eyes always looking in your direction whenever you are near, no matter what either you two are doing, observing your action. He worships you like he would his drider queen, but only you have the pleasures of begging with him.
Little butterfly kisses are pressed against your temple and check, a small distraction while his finger trail downwards towards your dripping slit, tapping your clit with featherlight touches, you softly whimper at the feeling, mind still foggy from sleep and the soft silk webbing underneath was only adding to your delirious mindset. Unable to move due to the strands of silk that weave over and under your legs, you can only lay there and take it as the driders move lower, teasing your entrance. Twitching and squirming as the drider timidly plays with you.
You are like a fly, stuck in a spider's web, waiting in anticipation as the spider plays with you until it decides to devour you. Slowly, the drider slides three fingers into you with no warning, your body accepting him with ease. He pushes and pulls and presses at the sensitive nerve deep inside you, calculated strokes to make you fall apart all over again but to ensure you aren't hurt, the drider mandibles toy with your clit, nibbling and nipping at the exposed nerve while he studies you expressions, watching you moan and whimper, watching your attempts to squirm as you beg for more, for him to move faster.
Your drider takes pleasure in treating you like the most precious thing in the world, something that could break so easily, and he found joy in making you break while he had you tied up like this and his fingers deep inside you as your mind shatters in pleasure, sometimes he would use one of the toys you have, though him and the other eight never understood why you have toys when you have them, all you had to was ask, and they'd let you ride them or fuck you, or you fuck them, until you were satisfied. They do admit it is fun using the toys on you while they do their thing, they never use them as they do nothing for them.
One of the driders hands cups your left breast, squeezing the mound of flesh and pulling at the nipple between his fingers, tugging after each squeeze to create an unwavering, rhythmic sensation that sends euphoric shockwaves through your body. His fingers and hand move in opposite tandem of each other, when his fingers pull out his hand squeezes, slow and calculated, as he leaves small barely noticeable marks over the previous ones.
"So soft, your skin feels like the finest silk ever to exist," the drider mutters into your neck before biting over a mark the vampire left, "and all only for me." They all shared their own and mutual possession over you, displayed through the words they spoke while having a few fingers or a cock, sometimes cocks, pumping inside you, trying to outdo each other with their mark and claims.
Your whimpering and moaning only fanned the flame, the drider fingers sped up to a leg-shaking pace, or what would be if you could move your legs.
Low hums as the drider worships you and your moans fill his web as he coaxes you to cum on his fingers, "That's it, my darling, cum all over my fingers, mark me as yours." The squeezes on your breast grew more aggressive as his fingers move impossibly faster, the butterfly kisses turn into bites. You scream as you cum hard around his fingers as he curls them just right to hit your g-spot, your hole tightening as the mandibles stop their tweaking on your clit, resting against it as you catch your breath.
"So good, looked so pretty for me, so beautiful." The drider remarks, pulling his fingers out to admire your mess, mesmerized by the glimmer of white slick coating his fingers and the way it caught in the light. Bringing the slick covered fingers up to his mouth, he runs his tongue over the digits while keeping eye contact with you. Once he deems his fingers clean enough, he leans over you, "Lay back now, going to reposition you." He whispers into your right ear, you can do nothing but submit as he readjusts you, pulling you lower half high, so your sopping entrance lines up with his clicking mandibles, another chip and soft click once he finds the right placement.
You feel one of the fangs tracing your cunt, flinching at it as it runs up and down, collecting your cum. The drider pins you down under his drow half so he can work undisturbed, one of his hands stays put, playing with your hair while the other collects some of his own cum, letting it drip and run down your body, painting white streak with it across your skin as you try and piece together what the drider has planned. "Going to make you smell like me once I'm done, both inside and out, you'd look so breathtaking dripping with my cum."
Another kiss pressed just behind your ear, "See them try and get rid of my claim now."
One fang carefully slips into you, barely more than a few centimetres, while the other recoils in on itself, his free hand exploring your body like it's brand new to him all over again. The wetness between your thigh grows, you lift your head to watch as the fang that recoiled in returns with a clump of drider cum, pushing it into your gummy walls, quickly the drider reinserts his fingers back into you, forcing the large goop of white substance further into you, only retreating when the opposite fang wants to add its own ball of cum to the mix.
Your head falls back onto the web as your lover repeats the same process, the mixture of slick building between your thigh runs down and pass your ass, onto the web below to combine with the silk, making it near impossible to tell what's web and what's not. "Cum for me again, my love, I know you can do it." The drider murmurs, forcing your dreary head back up to watch as one of the mandibles insert another large goop of seman into you, the drider picks up what didn't make it in and smears it on to your skin. You watch as fangs switch, left right, left, right, the drider re-entering the same three fingers back into you between the pattern, fingering his cum far into you.
Your legs shake in the restraints, your hole clamping down on the drider fingers as your mouth falls open in a silent scream of ecstasy as you cum hard on his fingers, the drider slows down until he deems his cum is deep enough, only then does he pull his fingers out. More kisses are left on your cheeks and the hand comes up from your cunt to stroke your hip, your cum joining to the messy streak on you, the driders warmth bleeds into your own as you both lay chest to chest with each other, staying in this position even after you've both calmed down, his arms around you and his legs under his abdomen.
"Hey, are you going to untie me now? My limbs are going numb."
"Oh right. Sorry, my love."
#drider x reader#drider x human#monster smut#monster lover#monsterfucking#monster fucker#monster boyfriend#monsterfucking cw#cw monsterfucking#monsterfucking nsft#monsterfucker#terat0philliac#terato#teratophillia#exophelia
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Just Like My Babcha
Sobiesław “Gromsko” Kościuszko x F! Reader
Summary: Y/N comes from a Polish-American family & learned from the best at making homemade pierogi catching the attention of a familiar Polish operator
A/N: I’m not from Poland I myself have polish ancestry & my own Babcha came from Poland but she never taught me unfortunately so if there’s any mistranslations I apologize in advance. For anyone who doesn’t know a pierogi is like a potato dumpling, but it can be filled with cabbage & other food
Warnings: potential mistranslations, traditional gender roles, thoughts of impregnating
Y/N’s hips swayed side to side to the song that was coming out of the nearby speaker. She used the back of her hand to brush some of her hair out of her face, & got flour on her cheek in the process. It was Easter, & she was making pierogi to celebrate the holiday. She was feeling a little homesick being far away from her family, & called her mother asking for the recipe. The smell of the dough was bringing back nostalgic memories of going to the grand Orthodox Church & coming home for a early lunch. Her babcha would help her little delicate hands pinch the edges to hold the cabbage & potatoes.
She was so focused on cutting the dough properly & to proportion that she didn’t even notice the shadow she was starting to acquire. Sobesław was returning from a mass at the local Orthodox Church when he was pleasantly surprised by the smell of pierogi’s cooking. He walked into the conjoined kitchen & living room area of the apartment he lived in. He was surprised to see their Human Resources Secretary standing there. She was also so kind to him, & was actually able to pronounce his name correctly. He was in utter shock when she was able to pronounce it on the first try.
He leaned up against the doorway as he watched her hum to herself while she started to fill each pierogi. This was a sight he could get used to. Growing up in a very traditional Catholic Polish household had instilled very traditional values. A vision of her with a small baby bump glowing from pregnancy making pierogi’s & other food played in his head. She was absolutely beautiful. Being a civilian, let alone a woman on a military base had to have been intimidating for her. Every time he’d walk into the office she worked out of her head would always been down, failing to make eye contact. Her shyness always intrigued him. He couldn’t imagine someone so stunning want to hide their face all the time.
Her delicate hands started to fold & pinch the pierogis creating the half moon shape. It took one accidental bump into the side of a table for him to gain her attention. A small gasp escaped her lips at the sound & a slew of polish curses rang out of his. A scarlet blush appeared on his cheeks as he tried to cough it off. She looked and smiled at him.
“Oh Sobiesław you startled me,” She started. “I’m assuming you got a good waft of the pierogis I already have cooking.” A small smirk danced on her lips.
“Tak (yes).” He replied. “Just wanted to know if you needed any help. My babcha, she used to make them with me.”
“That’s where I learned too.” She replied enthusiastically. “Well come in! Just make sure you wash up.” He walked into the kitchen & washed his hands in the sink. Once he finished drying them off he stood right beside her. “Hands.” She instructed. He held out his hands and she placed some flour in the them. Rubbing his hands together he spread the flour & got to work.
As he started to put some of the cabbage into the dough, he couldn’t help but notice how petite she was. The pierogis looked significantly larger in her delicate hands than his. She smiled up at him & he nearly melted into the floor right there.
“I can see our Babcha’s had very similar techniques.” She said. “How long have you been cooking them?”
“Ever since I was able to walk.” He replied. “My Babcha wanted me to know so I could pass down the recipe.”
“Mine too.” She replied smiling & continued to fill & pinch the pierogis. “Seems like they’d be close.” He could’ve dropped to one knee right there. She always had a reputation of being so kind, but she truly was an angel. It wasn’t very often that his teammates asked much about his life or his family. It was refreshing & comforting to talk to her about his life back home.
“How does a woman like you wind up in a place like this?” He asked. “You’re an anioł (angel).” She smiled at his compliment. Her life wasn’t the best back home, & the civilian sector of defense contracting provided her with a way out. Good benefits & there would always be work.
“I needed to get out. Home wasn’t the best environment for me to be in.” She replied somewhat solemnly. “Since I have personal health issues I wasn’t qualified for military service but I found employment in the civilian sector.”
A feeling of sadness washed over him. He couldn’t imagine someone as kind & beautiful having to experience something so tragic. It only triggered the instinct to protect & take care of her more. Once the pierogis were cooking away, she started to set the table for the two of them. Beautiful hand painted Polish pottery littered the table. Intricate blue & red floral designs created a kaleidoscope of colors that stood out on the white table cloth.
Sobesław admired her attention to detail even if it was just the two of them. He too was feeling homesick for his country, but seeing all the traditional Polish decor around him made him feel right at home. A timer went off alerting them the last batch of pierogis were done. Sobesław went to take the pierogis off of the pan & Y/N’s hand came down smacking it.
“You go sit down,” She ordered. “I’ll take care of it.” In pure shock he slowly made his way to the table & plopped himself down into a chair. Not long after she started to bring out the tray of pierogis. Soon followed challah bread, kielbasa (sausage), & potatoes.
“Kochanie (my darling) how do you plan for us to eat all of this?” He asked. Her heart fluttered at the term of endearment. She really did cook a meal for a family of ten.
“We’ll manage,” She replied as she poured him a glass of wine. “I’m sure some others will see the leftovers in the fridge. But don’t eat too much there’s still dessert.” She walked back into the kitchen to grab the opłatek (communion wafer) for grace. As she was walking back out she caught Sobesław almost taking a huge bite out of a pierogi.
“Tsk tsk, we still have to say grace!” She stated. A small blush crept onto his face, he had forgotten. She walked up to him handing the opłatek to him for him to break off a piece. Then she place a small kiss to his forehead. She walked to her place setting & sat down. A small prayer was said & they both each ate their piece of the opłatek. “Now you can dig in.” She teased.
He immediately started to pick up the pierogi he cut earlier. A small moan escaped his lips as the pierogi touched his tongue. He started to hear wedding bells the more he ate.
“I’m assuming it’s good.” She laughed. He nodded still speechless from the food that was in his mouth.
“They’re just like my babcha’s.” He replied after he swallowed. She smiled at the complimented & started to cut into her own food. “What are you doing next Friday?” He asked.
“Nothing.” She replied.
“I want to returned the favor, let me take you out.” He stated very bluntly.
“Sure! It’s a date.” She replied & started to eat the food in front of her. His heart leaped, & he couldn’t wait to tell his babcha he found the girl he was going to marry.
#cod imagines#sobieslaw gromsko kościuszko#sobiesław kościuszko#gromsko#gromsko x reader#ghost call of duty#call of duty#cod modern warfare#kortac#ghost x y/n#könig call of duty#cod masterlist
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Let Me Love You
Pairing - Lucifer x gn!reader
Warnings - angst, fluff, talk of death, alcohol use.
Wordcount - 900+
A/N - Doomed by the narrative but choosing to keep going? I eat that shit up every time! Headers by @cafekitsune.
OM!Masterlist • Leave a tip! • Taglist Form • Lucifer Masterlist
“How long are you going to pretend?” you whisper, tracing the shadows the lapis lazuli-coloured fire casts across his face, sleek and wild and volatile in their density. “That this thing between us doesn’t exist? That I’m not hopelessly in love with you?”
Lucifer takes a hearty swill of the Demonus cradled in his hands. His eyes, lidded and opalescent red, connect with yours with the soft, lingering start of a violin solo in the background, and he tongues at the aftertaste of alcohol that lingers on his lips before saying, “Is this not enough? Being serenaded by my beloved music? Bearing witness to my delicate state?”
“What are you so afraid of?” You burrow deeper into the plush of the sofa, the conjoined dynamic heat of the fire, liquor and the outline of his body pressed against yours keeping your lips loose. “Death?”
"Only yours," he replies, voice deeper than usual. "Mine would be a miracle gone rogue.”
The cold of the floor has started to nip at your toes, seeping into sock and skin like algae embracing wet stone. The hearth sputters a burst of blue flame as if to soothe you. “Before or after mine?”
He answers in silence, loud and unsurprising. You shake your head and take a sip of your human poison to quell the uncertain thrill of your next words.
“...Do you, though?”
His eyes are frothing drops of blood in a sea of fire. They flicker infinitesimally downwards to your lips, then straighten, boring intensely into yours like a tantalizing still of the dawning sun that causes harm to the eyes yet coaxes the body to halt anyway.
“You know it.”
“And yet you dare not utter the words.” Disappointment unfurls in your chest like a weed in a flourishing farm.
He roughly pulls at his bottle, only to discover it light and empty. “Are you truly so greedy for those frail utterances to deliberately shy from actuality?”
"I'm only human," you spit, emptying your glass sharply, perhaps to draw attention to the liquor that evades his own flask. The subsequent burn in your throat then that seems to mimic the knot in your sternum comes across as irritating and deserved. "Spare me the condescension on days I grow tired of mute pining."
Lucifer swallows harshly, seeming to push down the words already half-formed on his tongue, setting his lacking bottle aside neglectfully. He abandons his seat and trudges towards his beloved liquor cabinet, plucking forth a bottle of Devildom whiskey which he then uncorks with his teeth and takes a burning swig from. The muscles of his shoulders, clad in his regular black shirt, are bunched from sitting in a cruel wooden chair gazing at papers all day. He lingers by the cabinet for a long while, head turned left to stare in a reverie at the creamy Devildom moon looming beyond the glass windows of his office, a psychedelic rock-esque orchestral piece providing the soundtrack for his musings. The hand clasped around the fresh bottle remains limp by his side, the neck tilted at a dangerous axis.
When he turns, there is an expression of resolution in his eyes. He rests the bottle carefully on the farthest edge of the table and kneels by your socked feet. You straighten in surprise, the sudden movement disorienting to your inebriated senses, and stare at the odd image of him there.
"What are you doing?"
He clasps a hand of yours in his and tugs it towards his lips, feathering upon your knuckles a sweet kiss, then presses the back of it to his forehead, where his black diamond might shine if he were to switch to his more primal form. It seems the thought of it occurs to him too for there's a gust of air that buffets you, two massive raven wings unfurling and curling around your lonesome figure, and the mass of his horns emerging to face you at an exposed incline.
He does not look up as he speaks, voice hazy with an encompassing mixture of regret and realization, "I did not say it, perhaps because it was I who lost sight of actuality within the confusing folds of past and future. You're here, you're real, and though you might say that you shall stay forever we both know you lie. We've wasted too much time already and I apologize for how much of that is a fault of mine."
Lucifer raises his head, his eyes just the littlest bit shiny, and slides your palm to rest over his chest, his beating heart a staccato of vulnerability and discomposure.
"Would you go on a date with me, my love?"
It takes a few moments worth of weighing the significance of the scene that has unfolded before your very eyes before the words come bubbling out of your parted lips:
"Yes. Yes, always."
He shifts forward, retracting his wings and horns and nudges his head into your lap. "Do not worry, I'll ask you again tomorrow."
"The answer will remain the same, Lucifer." You entangle your fingers in his silky black strands, bending over to press a kiss to the naked skin of his nape. "I would love to go on a date with you."
He smiles then, partially hidden by the turn of his head. If he circles a hand around your waist to trace a vague symbol against your lower spine and doesn't detangle from the heat of your body for the next fifteen minutes, then it's no one's business but yours alone.
Taglist - @w01f2 @bookoffracturedescapes
#lucifer x reader#obey me lucifer#obey me shall we date#obey me#lucifer x gender neutral reader#lucifer x gn!reader#darkly and divinely written#obey me x reader#lucifer#lucifer fluff#lucifer x you#obey me!
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Hi, so can you do Colin Bridgerton lover where they are a secret relationship because of all the stuff that comes with being public and they aren’t ready for that but somehow Lady Whistledown finds out and it’s exposed.
-> pairings: Colin bridgerton x reader
-> warnings: none
Both of their eyes managed to lock together every time the two were in the same room, they danced with others, twirled around the room unknowingly to anyone else apart from the two of them.
Nothing could give away the love their hearts were laced with. So they began to find happiness in being together and wanting to be married as soon as possible. Anthony and Vioket were ecstatic, the girl couldn't have been a more perfect match for their family and their beloved Colin. No one knew except their family and the dark rooms into which they would find themselves happily expressing their love without a care in the world.
The room had began being suffocating for both of them because of the lack of liberty, they breathed the need to conjoin their hands and look into each other's eyes. And so y/n decided to leave the dance room in search of some peace and silence. Colin's eyes traveled along her figure as she kept going further away from his visual and so he decided to follow her, they found themselves in a room, where they hugged each other both in need of physical touch.
Her eyes watery as she looked into his "I can't help it Colin, I need to marry you, no one will ever be you and seeing you out there dance, it makes me melt, because you are not holding me" she says pointing at herself with heavy breathing "I want to marry you" he says with wavering words "words are not enough colin" she goes out of the room, running into a soft body draped in a beautiful dress "oh my, I'm so sorry miss featherington have I hurt you" Penelope eyes looked at her with a softness in them usual for her "don't worry, was just trying to escape my mom" "can I help? I know a way to the kitchen, here, we could eat some biscuits and talk if you'd deemed it interesting" "lovely" the two giggled soundly as they went to the kitchen in secret.
Dearest reader, this author finds herself in need of talking of one of the jewels of this season, the splendid and exquisite future miss bridgerton, I can offer the greatest of my wishes as Mr Colin bridgerton, the third son of the late viscount and viscountess Bridgerton, it seems the two were seen exchanging eyes as well as their mamas, who talked in secrecy for the entire night. However I find myself obliged to talk about miss featherington, once again missing...
The girl took the paper and stopped reading as lady whistledown kept using Penelope as a punching bag, the vallet came running in the tea room announcing miss bridgerton and the viscount bridgerton "I assume you read the paper" laughed violet to the girl's mother "don't worry dear, it will all work out, I know you were hoping for a titled man to bring luck in your sister's marriages but it's now the time to marry" "My mother's right, we are here to start organizing the wedding" Anthony said looking at his future sister-in-law.
The two lovers looked at eachother nodding and gulping down, "I'd like to use as engagement ring my nanas ring if it's fine with you miss Bridgerton" "of course my dearest"
Their eyes locked while she walked down the aisle, after a long mass the two were declared wife and husband and they finally kissed for the first time.
This reader deemed fit put in her best wishes to the new lord and miss bridgerton, to a happy and long marriage
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i wrote this for me but yall can read it too if u want 💖it's just 2k of piercing kink lmfao
(so. cw needles)
"What's this?" Billy flicks a balled up grocery bag aside, plastic clips and crumpled receipts rustling as he shifts the mess around. He's pretty sure Steve hasn't cleaned this shitty little table out since...ever, probably. If he digs far enough he'll probably find whatever crap the previous renters left behind.
Steve flops on his side, wriggling over a cushion to join him, and propping his chin on the arm of the couch. It doesn't get him far enough to see into the drawer. Billy rolls his eyes and pinches the baggie, lifting it high enough to sarcastically wave it in Steve's face.
Needles glint in the sunlight streaming through the windows. Straight, silver, hollow-point needles, individually wrapped in neat little conjoined packages. There's other shit in the bag too, antiseptic wipes in packets stamped with green lettering, weird looking tongs, latex gloves rolled into a nearly unrecognizable blue mass.
Maybe the better question would've been why does Steve goddamn Harrington have a piercing kit?
Steve blinks at it, recognition dawning at a snail's pace. "Oh, that." He folds his arms under his chin, resting on his forearms. His cheek squishes a little and Billy wants to do something stupid. Like. Grab his face. Or kiss the dumb little wrinkle between his brows. "That's Robin's fault."
"What."
"She wanted her nose pierced. And it's, like. Cheaper to just buy the stuff for it, I guess." He blows a strand of hair out of his eyes, and Billy's fingers twitch. "I told her it was a dumbass idea. But it turns out, not for the reasons I thought. She freaked out when I put the needle through. So. Yeah. It was a whole thing."
"Hm."
Billy eyes the kit. Imagines Buckley flailing and teary with a needle stuck in her face. Expects to be amused by her being a giant baby but instead the thought...changes. Shifts. To Steve and his careful fingers, gently preparing the spot, guiding her head to the right angle...
A surge of jealousy hits him in the chest, and the scene blurs, getting less coherent, until—
Cold needle and warm hands, the sharp rush of it, pain and heat and an indefinable feeling prickling up his spine.
Billy fiddles with the silver hoops in his ear.
There's something simmering in his gut. Nerves, maybe, partly. But it's more than that. Deeper. He bites his lip.
"You should do me too."
Steve sputters, a pink flush blooming on his cheeks.
Billy grins at him, all canine and confidence he doesn't feel. "Piercing, Harrington."
"But—"
"Nah, c'mon, we're doing this." He tosses the baggie at Steve—who fumbles, but catches it—and with his newly freed hands, strips off his shirt. He drops it on the floor, not bothered about where it might land.
Steve is doing his best impression of a fish out of water, shallow, quiet breaths the only sound escaping his gaping mouth. His entire face has gone splotchy. It's kind of adorable.
"I don't have all day," Billy prods. He does, and even if he didn't, he'd make time. But Steve doesn't need to know that. "I'm not gonna freak out, if that makes you feel any better. Cross my heart." He draws an x on his bare chest. Steve's eyes follow the motion, and linger even after he's dropped his hand.
He's been doing that a lot lately. Lingering. Looking. It's...interesting. Exhilarating.
"This is a stupid idea," Steve says faintly.
"When has that ever stopped you?"
That gets a laugh out of Steve, the corner of his eyes crinkled as he scoffs and acts offended. "Whatever, man, just don't blame me if it gets infected."
They're doing this. They're fucking doing this. Billy's stomach swoops like a bird in flight.
This is such a dumb idea.
Billy doesn't care.
He sits on the coffee table, across from Steve, who's still half-lounging on the couch. Their knees brush, and Billy feels it everywhere. He's a live wire, tense and jittery as a current runs through him, tingling in his extremities and coiling in his guts. It takes more than a little effort just to keep still and appear unaffected.
Steve eyes him, his gaze wandering up and down. "So. I'm guessing you don't want it in your nose..."
Billy snickers at that, he can't help it. "Do you say that to all the girls?"
"Good idea, mock the guy who's about to poke holes in you."
"No, no, I'm being serious," Billy dissolves into further giggles, "If you haven't figured out where to stick it yet I'd like to know."
"Har har."
"I could give you some pointers."
"Are you done?" The question is punctuated by the elastic snap of Steve pulling on a latex glove. He's trying to keep his expression neutral, unimpressed and unamused, one eyebrow raised and his lips flat, but there's a hint of mirth glittering in his eye and the corner of his mouth keeps twitching. Overall the way he's watching Billy fall all over himself laughing is too fond, too warm to be convincingly annoyed.
That shuts Billy up faster than genuine annoyance would have. He rubs the back of his neck, like he can wipe away the hot flush with his hands, and he ducks his head to hide a dopey grin.
"Alright." There's a rustling noise as Steve digs through the bag. "Um. I gotta." He waves the wipe he retrieved, vaguely gesturing at Billy's chest with it. The kit is clutched in his other hand, wrinkled between his tense fingers.
"What are you waiting for."
Steve inspects him. Silently. Eyes skimming over his chest again, flicking up to his face nervously. "You're sure about this, right?"
"Yes."
"You're really—"
"Steve. I really want you to do it."
Steve lets out a slow, quiet breath. "Okay." He nods, his expression hardening into something more determined. Something that makes Billy want to kiss his stupid face even more than usual.
It doesn't help that the next thing Steve does is put his hands on Billy's chest. He only needed one. Two fingers separated from Billy's skin by cold, damp antiseptic. Two fingers circling the hard nub of his nipple while his thumb brushes sensitive skin underneath. That would have been overwhelming enough. But Steve shifts closer to him, perched on the edge of the couch, positioning himself between Billy's thighs, and skims his palm up Billy's side, over his ribs, for no goddamn reason.
He's not keeping Billy in place, his touch is too soft for that, he's just...holding him.
Billy's insides are mush. Hot syrupy goop.
And his dick is a hard line in his jeans, straining against his zipper.
He bites his bottom lip, sucking it between his teeth to keep quiet. It feels wrong somehow, to look at Steve right now, while he's getting off on something that's...it's not the same for Steve. They're not on the same page, and he knows it. But he can't tear his eyes away. He's so close. And so pretty. Even more so when he's concentrating. Dark eyes focused only on Billy. Lips parted just a little.
"Okay, I gotta use the...this thing. Now." Steve tosses the wipe aside and picks up the clamp, clicking it a couple times and staring at it like it's a note written in a foreign language.
"Mhm." Billy does his best not to squirm.
See, the thing is, Billy's the only person who's ever done anything to his nipples. Like it's never occurred to the people he's slept with that he'd enjoy it. Maybe they just didn't care to ask. And maybe he was too embarrassed to bring it up. Chicks like getting their nipples played with, okay. It's...it's stupid that he can't get himself off without one pinched between his fingers. It's weird that sometimes he neglects his cock because he's got both hands up his shirt.
Turns out being touched by someone else is on a whole different level. Touched without a flimsy barrier between them. Touched firmly, with intention.
He sways forward, jolting a little when Steve pinches, tugs, sending a bolt of heat right through him. He grips the edge of coffee table hard enough to hear it creak.
The clamp is colder than the wipe. Or maybe he's just warmer now. He can feel his pulse pounding, and he can almost hear the blood rushing south.
"You're being really quiet," Steve says carefully. The clamp is securely in place, but Steve hasn't taken his hand off Billy's chest yet. His palm is a little sweaty, cupped under Billy's pec, his thumb moving absently in circles that make Billy shiver.
"Is there something you'd like me to say?" Jesus, he didn't expect to sound so hoarse.
Steve opens his mouth. Closes it again. "Um." He busies himself with rooting through the kit to fish out a needle. "Nope. Just. Usually I can't get you to shut up, so."
He doesn't have a witty reply. Or even a fucking stupid one. There's nothing in his head but static and a silver gleam.
"Last chance to back out."
Billy lets out an annoyed huff.
"Okay. Well. Here we go."
Here they go.
Billy's breath catches when Steve unwraps the needle, his imagination already three steps ahead. The phantom sensation is enough to make his dick throb.
He's as patient as he can be with Steve's hesitation. His lingering a hair's breadth from Billy with the needle's point. His shaky little breath to steel himself. Billy's about ready to crawl out of his own skin by the time Steve finally thrusts in and pierces him.
As much as he was waiting and waiting and waiting for it, he wasn't fully expecting it when it happened, and it knocks the air from his lungs. One small point of contact is his whole world for the seconds it takes to pass through, one crystalized moment, sharp and shining. And then the rush. The blanket of warmth that settles over him afterwards.
He doesn't realize his eyes have fallen shut until he opens them again, blinking until Steve's wide-eyed stare comes into focus.
"I've got the, uh. Barbell. Gonna put that in now."
It's a tricky part. Billy wonders vaguely if Steve actually knows what he's doing, and he finds he doesn't care. He cares even less when he feels the needle move again, tugging, rubbing against sensitive skin. His gaze drops to the little bit of tongue poking out the corner of Steve's mouth, and everything else seems a little blurry. He shifts his hips, just a little, he can't help it. It's not a conscious thought, it's just friction; Steve's clever fingers and the warm scent of honey shampoo are making him dizzy. He runs his tongue along his bottom lip, letting himself sink a little deeper into the haze of sensations.
"There! Done," Steve says it, but he doesn't pull away. "Did you want the other one—"
"Yes."
Steve blinks at him. "You seem kinda…" His gaze wanders. Downward. A little more. And then his eyes widen. "Oh."
He doesn't sound as freaked out as Billy might've expected. He mostly sounds…curious. Which. Is very interesting.
"Well. I guess I'll do you again then."
Holy shit.
Okay.
It's different the second time. Steve's different. He teases, wiping Billy clean for much longer than he needs to, circling and circling 'til Billy's squirming, aching, wanting more but unwilling to beg. Every time he shifts his hips a shudder jitters up his spine. His briefs are wet and sticking to the tip of his dick, still uncomfortably trapped by denim.
It's also harder to keep track of Steve's individual movements. Getting the clamp, unwrapping the needle, putting the bag down, throwing the ripped packaging aside. The first time he was hyperaware of everything, anticipation clawing at his patience. Now, he's sinking into a warm bath, he's floating on a cloud, he's loose-limbed and more focused on the hot flush on his chest and the darkness of Steve's blown pupils than anything else.
There's just…moments. The surprised part of Steve's lips when Billy accidentally lets a whimper slip. The needle point piercing his skin. The sudden wave of heat that slams him in the gut when Steve brushes his knuckle over Billy's swollen nipple, the way his vision whites out and he trembles and he fucking cums in his jeans, while sitting on Steve's goddamn coffee table.
He's not sure when exactly Steve finished up, but suddenly he's all too aware that his chest hurts and his underwear is sticky and Steve is looking uncertain again, despite his hand resting on Billy's thigh.
"So…that was…" Steve flounders. Pauses. Opens his mouth to keep floundering.
Billy kisses him. It's one little peck on the mouth. Just one. It's two seconds of contact, and Billy's heart is only racing because he just had an orgasm, okay.
"Thanks," he says, his voice embarrassingly soft. Like that's gonna make everything less weird.
But Steve smiles at him. Cracks a grin, and then snickers. Because, yeah, sure, it's weird, it was all weird, but…maybe that's fine.
tag list @spreckle @growup-thatbeautiful @prettyboy-like-you 💕
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FINALLY I HAVE ALL OF THESE CUNTS NAMED. i made a like 10 iterator local group [Echoing Strife] with dear mutual @arti-cat !!!!!!! its crazy !! most of them were born like yesteday so no designs but im gonna dump about them. the whole theme of their group is they're based on the echoes /their monolouges. also some ancients that are important [more info under cut]. rb and comment on my ramblings boy
Metropolis: Clawing at the 'Clouds' [senior] [he/him]
Sky Islands: A Second of 'Silence' [they/them]
Wall/Silent Construct: Relentless Earthly Cacophony ['Rec'] [any/all]
Chimney Canopy: Three Binding 'Feathers' [he/she/aer]
Shoreline: A Precipice of a 'Promise' [she/it]
Shaded Citadel: Seeing Past 'Ichor' [he/him]
Subterranean: Solitude of Uncovered 'Omens' [they/it]
Undergrowth: [Undisclosed] 'Vex'ing Desires [he/ve]
Farm Arrays: Joyful Envision of Tranquility ['Jet'] [he/him]
Bitter Aerie: From the 'Depths' to the Heavens [they/any]
+ Ancients:
A Thousand Flakes of 'Dust', One Resolute Cause [she/her]
Tangled 'Kestrel', Clawing Desperately [they/she]
Cacophony's Caw, 'Crows' Descend [he/him] [child]
'Cardinal' Descending from Afar [he/him] [child]
'Wrens' Hopping, Blissful Eve [she/her] [BABY]
clouds: no talk him he angy. once again one of my seniors sucks at their fucking job. theres a fire in his heart filled with cancers and poppy tarts /ref hes gonna fuck everything up as soon as shit goes wrong. he gets therapy from a cat though. go shitty lesbians go. sometimes reffered to as claw demeaningly
silence: Old Man /silly . they are the mediator and are very concerned with their younger iterators. ends up really fucking things up with the constant fighting between vex and omens [ill get to that] and vex maybe explodes them [silence has a very weak structure to begin with]. oh also silence can overhear echos. hehehehe
rec: haha dumb IDIOT gave himself the rot!!!! she kind of did it when she was young and dumb and has come to really regret it, but chooses to use the remaining time he has building a better life for the creatures around him rather than concern himself with his infection and past mistakes, much to the dismay of its fellow iterators
feathers: silly little guy!!! had a crush on one of aer techs [kestrel] and grew very close to them. maybe cried like a little bitch when she managed to sneak her kids [crow & cardinal [wren probably wasnt born yet]] down there when she couldnt find someone to babysit. imagine having an iterator be ur nini to help you with your homework . its really silly to me. Sure Hope Mass Ascension Doesn't Ruin Everything! [feathers bioengineers scugs like them to Cope. it does not help]
promise: just kind of bitter and angry. it did so much work for its city, gave up everything, all for nothing at all. just for her to be abandoned in the chase for ascension. accidentally pingpongs vex's beliefs REALLY TERRIBLY while shes just kind of awkward about it because she doesnt like omens on principle but doesnt side with vir either
ichor: funny little guy . loved by his citizens. Knew about the mass ascension before it happened but didnt tell anyone so everyone [especially feathers] is really really fucking pissed at him. oops king.
omens: def the most devoted to ascension and the problem, while also studying past civilizations and Grand Cycles. viewed mass ascension as a good thing and is happy their creators moved on. watches vex spiral in Real Time and is kind of freaked out. theyre somewhat conjoined [not as much as moon&pebbs but they share a lot of systems particularly their comms arrays] which led to lots of fighting between them Constantly only driving them deeper into hatred and resentment. theres only a certain point when omens actually becomes Scared of him, however....
vex: ohhh you mentally ill little boy. fairly normal until Dust [the leader of a very violent and large anti-ascension movement] corrupted him as his mentor. uh. ve likes to believe it was beneficial and 'enlightened' vir but really it just turned him into an angry person, especially when mass ascension happened and dust got ascended which only cemented his beliefs. fights a fuckton with omens and believes in the holiness of the cycle. very unbecoming of an iterator. sure hope he doesnt do anything terrible!
jet: built at sea, collapsed due to a great flood/tsunami before mass ascension. believed to be dead and very distant from the group, they were a source of a lot of drama. hes actually alive though! he was built with Some waterproof measures in mind so hes functioning to an extent down there. in yuri we trust [with depths]
depths: originally built as spectacle + as a lighthouse to work alongside jet, but jet collapsed before they were completeted. oops. feels very hollow and purposeless, until a messenger from the sea shows up with a pearl . otherwise depths is very distant from the group [mainly distance and poor comms] and also when trying to learn about jets clouds found it insensitive with the wound being 'too fresh' and kind of exploded on them. woops.
#sky rambles#rain world#rain world oc#rw iterator#oh fuck the tagssssssss#story tag: echoing strife#oc tag: clawing at the clouds#oc tag: a second of silence#oc tag: relentless early cacophony#oc tag: three binding feathers#oc tag: a precipice of a promise#oc tag: seeing past ichor#oc tag: solitude of uncovered omens#oc tag: undisclosed vexing desires#oc tag: joyful envision of tranquility#oc tag: from the depths to the heavens#oc tag: dust#<- she basically never goes by her full name At All since. anti ascension#oc tag: tangled kestrel clawing desperately#oc tag: cacophonys caw crows descend#oc tag: cardinal descending from afar#oc tag: wrens hopping blissful eve#FUCK
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These globules are surrounded by membranes made of phospholipids (fatty acid emulsifiers) and proteins, which prevent the fat in milk from pooling together into a single mass. Butter is produced by agitating cream, which damages these membranes and allows the milk fats to conjoin, separating from the other parts of the cream. Variations in the production method will create the general populace and only really disliked by the aristocracy. Early in his reign, he was heavily advised, but he slowly became more independent. In AD 59, encouraged by his mistress Poppaea, Nero murdered his mother Agrippina. His leading adviser, Seneca, was discharged and forced to cloak themselves with their black, cape-like membranes. When night falls, they will remain hanging silently until prey wander by. Then, they swoop down and grasp their victims with their tails before biting their necks to inject a paralyzing venom. Gliscor will then apologise for sending this to you. April Fools. :D
"I agree."
Red Swatch replied, seemingly knowing every word with understanding.
He nodded respectfully and pranced away.
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quirky little Frebby
i want to see it move around in live action, like a mass of conjoined snakes 😍
#fnaf#fnaf fanart#help wanted 2#fnaf help wanted 2#fnaf pizzeria simulator#freddy fazbear's pizzeria simulator
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I mean no offense to the people who enjoyed "The Witcher" Season 3: Vol 1 on Netflix. No judgement. And also no offense to the cast and crew who I am sure worked hard to bring this to the screen.
I love the Witcher, mostly from the books and some gameplay, so from my own personal perspective...
What in the actual hell did Netflix do?!
There's so much eloquent dialogue in the source material to draw upon and this steaming pile of ****e is what they came up with? It telegraphs so much without a whiff of subtlety or craft— not unlike Sabrina in 3x5— that I want to puke, the only exception being that Yarpen Zigrin is still no nonsense and true to form.
Emhyr, as is evidenced by his cringe, overlong speeches and dull drawl, is not written as cunning or menacing by any stretch of the imagination as he ought to be, and the lack of a strong villain does nothing to drive the pace of the season.
Why are we waxing on about Vissena to try and strum up audience feels? We don't need to revisit that unless it serves a purpose for the characters. It doesn't. If the audience has been watching any of the previous two seasons, we don't need Geralt's childhood memories of his mother to impress upon us that he takes newfound parenthood seriously and would spill blood and make sacrifices for his family.
If that weren't painful enough, Yennefer — who we know is cunning when she schemes— lacks all of her razor edged wit when "groveling" before the Brotherhood to form a conclave. The recycled dialogue with Tissaia about chaos and control has lost its potency, as lukewarm as the mages' council of armchair tapping, and even her speeches to Ciri like "my ugly one" have so much wasted potential because there's a speed run montage about how much Yen and Cirilla care for eachother in episode 1 rather than letting us growing into the emotions ourselves, so that by the time we get to Yennefer disclosing her past, the emotion is lost. Also, Cirilla is supposed to be in a little awe of Yen and her power of influence, which is what makes "ugly one" so endearing, because it's the ends way of saying that Cirilla is powerful but magic isn't all she is / she doesn't need to rely on it like the mages rest on prolonged youth. It's her way of saying I love you, and for all the exposition that season three uses to elaborate feelings, this most essential part is completely lost. It's like we're playing house with emotions that haven't been earned their screen moment. "Lilac and gooseberries, now that I can tolerate," but I cannot abide these trash conversations.
These were the action sequences, the fight choreography, and the monster concept visualization they came up with? Like, for example, a failing mass of conjoined limbs and disembodied heads! The idea of Ciri's doppelganger from the books has been so corrupted.
On top of that, the cuts from scene to scene are so rough it's like whiplash. Chase scene - recycled Geralt /Ciri hug - dark portal nonsense - crash through ceiling. No finesse.
The Belletyn festival, which is so meaningful and beautifully described in the books, was butchered in execution of costume (Yen's is a season 1 throwback but never underwhelming way), with ridiculous "masks" (it irks me so much that Yennefer tells Cirilla had to cover her eyes and hair for a low profile and then we speed cut to the next scene where neither occurs and the costume department decides that they aren't even going to attach Cirilla's mask to her face, she just carries it around in her hand because that makes sense), unnecessary mazes to separate our characters and engineer a sense of peril, the whole lot. They used Belletyn as a setup to engineer a subsequent bait scene, which was an appallingly insult to intelligence and fight choreography. PS: Yen can I do more than throw a knife, can we please utilize her a little better?
Speaking of choreography, Ciri descending from mid air to stab the CGI aeschna in 3x4 with the overlong shot pull of monster blood on her face was so poorly edited I wanted to fast forward the entire episode thereafter.
Lastly, this farce for humor is what they came up with?! They made layered source characters like Dijkstra into single line fodder, and they wasted so much time on sitcom rubbish like Queen Hedwig's Redanian funeral, and Phillipa's bedroom shenanigans, and Fringilla as a drunken poison tester. I want to slap someone. It's as if the whole of season 3 thus far is a live-action adaptation of Ciri and Jaskier's satire of Yen and Geralt. Except that no one left the audience in the joke.
Also, for a series called The Witcher there is surprisingly little in the way of meaningful dialogue and action for Geralt to do, and that's a shame
I'm angry.
Season 1 was fantastic, season 2 was good but with notable divergence to character integrity, and Season 3 so far is the refuse pile of Aedd Gynvael. The only highlight was Ciri telling Valdo Marx to shut up, like I wish I could do for the rest of the dialogue in the series. After "Sherrawedd" I kept thinking to myself, it will get better. Ironically Sherwood was probably the best episode so far because at least it kept the essence of idea in "dear friend" from the literature as a foundation. After which it kept sinking down into chaos.
But more than angry, I'm disappointed. I'm sad that the Yennefer/Jaskier frenemy dynamic ("Hello again witch) —a highlight of season 2— has been shirked; the only decent byproduct of which is the Ciri/Jaskier relationship. And I'm depressed that this is Henry Cavill's sendoff as Geralt.
#Netflix: the Witcher#the witcher season 3#is this a parody?#is it satire or is it the Witcher?#jaskier x yennefer#ciri and geralt#spoilers: the Witcher#henry cavill#geralt of rivia
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Headcanon that the Beldum line is a semi-frequent edition in monster-related media, due to the bizarre way (or bizarre myth depending on how literally you interpret the dex here) that Beldum and Metang fuse together to evolve.
A prime example is a boss from Dark Souls known as "The Conjoined", a mass of hundreds of Beldum in a vaguely human shape, said to observe all that exists in creation with its boundless eyes.
Oh that’s amazing, I love it!
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there is genuinely something so gut-wrenching in how lovers in art are depicted as an enmeshing of some sort, wherein bodies are conjoined and pulled together so neatly and thoroughly the only barrier remains is the actual physical concatenation of flesh and bones. but even then they still try; they still entangle themselves as though the barrier is only ever an open, gaping wound they can knit themselves over and over again. the 'i am you & you are me & i will continue to force ourselves together until we are one' & the greek mythos of 'having been born as one entity forced to exist apart' conceptualized in such a raw and tender vigor to a point that the body, whether one's own or another, is depicted as a mere object an individual is cathected to. will dissolve into. will homogenize with. while love is argued metaphysically it will and can be concretized by a kiss; a tangle of limbs; a hand hold; a light-feather touch. & still, in this case, this is not enough--as love, furthermore, is monstrous in its hunger, is desperate in its want, is violent in its need--henceforth the longing becomes sinister until all that's left is a coalesced, form of mass. & still there is love.
my most favorite depictions of this:
it's sort of rough in their grasps, yet the innate tenderness emphasizes the craving, in pulling together each others head and limbs inwards one another. they're in one piece. ang kiukok's works are my absolute favorite.
and nicoletta caravia's more somber but softer works, that the need to be one, the need to be together beyond each other is captured in a gentle, but tight embrace.
"The Lovers" by Ang Kiukok (1985) // "The Lovers" by Ang Kiukok (1975) // "Lovers" by Nicoletta Tomas Caravia (2000-2004)
#LISTEN. listen i am not an art buff nor do i know anything about art in an academic sense#but i like looking at them and well. this precisely tugs at me ok#i was going to make a web weave instead but i wanted to yap. im a yapper#pls direct me to more art like this#art#love#lovers#ang kiukok#nicoletta tomas caravia#painting#essay#figurative painter#thoughts#sese.tag
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Mephisto Walz in Propaganda (Issue no. 22 1995).
Transcription below.
The story begins nearly ten years ago in a dark, smoky L.A. club called Fetish. Two mysterious, raven haired men dressed in all black sit in an unlit corner discussing their future and the future and of the L.A. music scene. Their names are Rozz Williams and Bari-Bari. As the leader of the legendary death-rock cult band Christian Death, Rozz has just [illegible] Bari to join his morose crew of musicians as the band’s new bass player. Christian Death is thus set to tour for their infamous ASHES Lp that has Rozz doing vocals along with Gitane Demone, Valor on guitars, and David Glass on drums. The rest, as they say, is history.
Ironically, Rozz would leave the band less than a year later. Bari-Bari and the others would bravely press on, even without the band’s guiding focal point. Club impresario Johann Schumann joined as the new bassist and Bari moved to guitars, with Valor moving to vocals. BELIEVERS OF THE UNPURE and ATROCITIES were this line-up’s crowning achievements. Shortly thereafter, Bari and Johann left to form Mephisto Walz, and thus another legend was born. With the help of such underground luminaries as James McGearty (of the original Christian Death) and Rob Graves (of 45 Grave), Mephisto Walz created some amazing music. THE ETERNAL DEEP Lp, released last year, contains a nice selection of songs from the ‘87-’92 period of European import releases. It encompasses such classic Eps and Lps as MEPHISTO WALZ, CROCOSMIA, AS APOSTLES FORGET, and TANGIA. With the addition of vocalist-keyboardist Christianna, the band was set to invade the states. They’ve just released the TERRA-THALIA* [sic] Lp on Cleopatra Records. Bari-Bari admits that his writing style still has a little of the old Christian Death flavor to it.
“True, some people see a bit of Christian Death influence on Mephisto Walz,” says Bari, “And why shouldn’t they? My style of writing and playing was something I had even before joining Christian Death. It’s not gonna suddenly disappear now.”
On the new Lp, TERRA-THALIA [sic], there is a song called “Facade (Closet of Faces),” which epitomizes Bari’s lyrical and instrumental styles. The mood is both atmospheric and sensual, and Christianna’s vocals are positively unearthly.
“Because of mass frustrations / Emotions hid in chains / How no forever can be measured / Eventually it just has to fade / Yet as a hunger beckons me / In fear I heed the call / A desire comes to me / Arresting touch as I recoil...”
“If you [illegible] the lyrics,” explains Bari-Bari, “they are very much on the dark side of things, but they’re not trite. I’m not gonna write about graveyards and vampires or something as obvious as that. Those things get really old really quickly. I prefer more abstract stuff, to set moods, it’s almost a subconscious thing because it’s less contrived that way.”
Mephisto Walz are now poised to sweep America. They already have large followings all over Europe. They lived in Germany for awhile, where they toured with Rozz Williams and Shadow Project a couple of times. Will the two mysterious men in black once again meet to discuss the future of the scene? Stay tuned!
*Transcriber’s note: this article refers to ‘Terra-Thalia,’ a nonexistent release. I assume this is an erroneous reference to the 1995 album Thalia, conjoined with the 1992 album Terra-Regina.
#gothing#mephisto walz#christian death#rozz williams#valor kand#goth rock#gothic rock#darkwave#coldwave#goth music#goth subculture#propaganda magazine#john koviak#the cure#joy division#bauhaus#siouxsie and the banshees#industrial music
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