#to see humanity as a kaleidoscope not a window | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

theblueflower05 · 1 year

Text

The Sweetest Sylaung

A/N: So I def didn’t mean to write a novel long Neteyam smut story but here we are. Debating on making this a mini series. Also the anon that requested a “curvy” reader insert- here ya go!(she’s also an Augustine- buttttt you can only see that if you squint lol)

Word Count: 6k+

Warnings: This is smut. Pure smut. Please don’t read if it is not your jam. You are in charge of cultivating your own online experience, you’ve been warned!

Pairing: Aged Up! Neteyam x Human!Curvy!Reader

Summary: After an “accidental” romp in the forest, you do your best to avoid Neteyam. It’s for everyone’s good, or so you’ve convinced yourself.

“I’m begging for you to take my hand, wreck my plans. That’s my man”- Willow, Taylor Swift

The kaleidoscope of colors explode under your eyes in endless patterns and shapes as you look over the sample of Pandora flora under the heavy duty microscope. This particular piece of the Moons terra had never been discovered before, only blooming at what you estimated to be every ten or so years, under the right monsoon like conditions

At least that’s what you had discovered so far.

The flower, which sprouted into a berry, and then dissipated into a moss like cluster of microorganisms all within its short life cycle had turned into your passion project. You we’re doing your thesis on it, the last step in getting your Masters.

You’d gone through schooling on a computer screen, guided by the greatest minds on Earth that had relocated to Pandora. Scientists of all fields who you’d grown up around. None of them had been surprised when you’d picked up botany. Xenobotany to be exact.

It was in your blood.

The desk your at shakes violently- disturbing your precision like focus. Breaking you straight out of your zone.

“Ugh” you groan, frustrated, raising your head, eyes narrowing at the culprits.

Spider, Lo’ak and Kiri freeze like deers in the headlights of your fury. Spiders arm raised, a wad of paper balled up in his hand, aimed to shoot. He lowers it slowly as the weight of your your heavy gaze zero’s in.

“Sorry, cu-”

“I told you guys, if you cant behave to get the fuck out” You seethe. Your nerves are paper thin anyway. Too much screen time frying your brain something fierce as you focused in on your studies. “Is that not what I said, verbatim?”

“You need to chill. You’ve been so high strung lately. Come hang out with us” Lo’ak suggests smooth and unhelpful. As usual. “When was the last time you left the lab?”

You roll your eyes and bite your tongue, trying not to say anything to scalding to the surprisingly sensitive Sully brother. “No thanks. I’ve gotta focus”

“Maybe Lo’aks right” Kiri starts, her face screwing up as she speaks “Eywa that sounds wrong. Nevermind, My brother is never right- but you should come hang out with us. Let’s go swimming- the watering hole is over flowing from the storms”

The deep sigh through your nose isn't calming, even though you pretend it is. You know they mean well, in the most annoying way. That you’d been buried in books and paperwork in the lab for the past couple months.

Hiding from the outside world within the thick walls of Hell’s Gate.

“Can’t. This is important, Kir- but why don’t you guys head down there? Its closer to Home Tree and its almost curfew anyway” two birds, one stone. Its a smart suggestion- but Kiri’s face falls, shoulders sagging and ears lowing. That look had always gotten you-

“I cant today, but maybe tomorrow? The samples are too fresh and I don't want to put them on ice…But I think Max made those Yovo cookie things” That’s only half of the truth, but luckily Kiri’s always been understanding.

She grabs your elbow in her long fingers and tugs you along.

The mess hall had seen better days, but the large open space still tends to be the meeting ground for the humans that were allowed to stay and inhabit the moon. With twelve foot tall ceilings and airtight exits and windows that lead out to the Avatar Program training yards. Its a common room of sorts, a place where everyone gathers. For meals, for mismatched Holidays. But mostly for gossip.

I mean, what else is there to do?

Like currently, you’re deeply engrossed in the story that Doctor Martinez’s, Xeno-Zoologist is recounting. All dramatics and dirty intimate details “It’s true, they’re gonna bring it before Mo’at and everything”

He’s talking about Trevino and Eital’i.

Everyone had heard the whispers, seen the not so subtle signs. The main Radio Tower operator had turned during the resistance, had fought beside Jake and had been allowed to stay on Pandora- better stuck on a foreign planet then thrown in a familiar jail cell. Trevino’s a cool guy, really.

A cool guy who had been sleeping with a Na’vi woman, apparently. The two had kept it under wraps, really private. No one could pin down how or when it happened,,,but to go to the clan’s Tsahik seeking a mating blessing? That’s major.

“You’re lying” you accuse in a gasp as the table breaks into whispers, all wide eyes and shaking heads. “They’re going to mate?...How?”

“It’s not like it hasn't happened before” Another scientist chimes in casually. Like it’s a known thing.

Which it kind of is.

Taboo, yes. But not unheard of, more like untalked about.

Humans and the Na’vi of the forest had lived in close quarters since the overthrow of the RDA. Jake, the standing Olo’eyktan, just had a little too much homosapien in him. Yeah, he’d survived the soul transfer and fully inhabited his blue body- but he never quite grew out of his human roots.

It had been hard, lots of politicking and good grace shown on both parts, but somehow, like all biomes in the vast perma green forest, all had learned to live in harmony. Most Omitikaya kept their distance. Very hesitant about the human presence. They had every right to be scared, hostile. Scarred by man and its weapons and its destruction.

Others had been raised in close proximity to Grace’s school. Had become accustomed to the nearly two decade long human presence on Pandora. Curious and accepting.

You’d heard about interspecies hookups.

Locker room talks that left your ears burning and your heart racing. It usually came from members of the Avatar Program- It tends to set a precedent, when the quote on quote “royal family” of the Omiticaya is a Jarhead and a native woman.

Na’vi are gorgeous, tall and lean but humanoid enough to be familiar…you’re not exactly sure what they see in humans but you know damn well what you guys see in them.

“How do you think that works? The…physicality of it all I mean. Trevino doesn't have an Avatar. How do they fuck-”

You’re not the only one zoning out from the conversation and it’s lewd turn.

You watch Kiri watch Spider and your heart aches for her. What they have is secret, delicate and forbidden. As a woman with high standing in the clan, you knew that her feelings for the boy wouldn't go anywhere. Couldn't.

When they we’re kids, it was cute. Now that they 're both technically adults, it was just plain stupid.

You tell her of the fact, often.

Kiri tells you to stop projecting.

———

The Sully Kid’s are always late. It’s like no matter how hard they try, they cant make curfew. You throw on an Exopack, hurrying them to the fence.

“Yeah, yeah okay mom. Take it easy” Lo’ak shrugs huffily as you yank hard on his arm. “I’m going, Y/N!”

“Not fast enough you strumbeast’s ass! You’re gonna get me into trouble, who do you think your dad’s gonna blame when you guys end up back at Home Tree super late again? Norm chewed me out for that shit last time!” You man handle the much taller than you alien.

Kiri and Spider a few leagues in front of you, already at the mouth of the giant fence. They’re awkward, not in their usual synched steps. You wonder how much of that conversation earlier had gone to their heads?

You’re bickering with Lo’ak, an extremely normal occurrence. He can be a real douche. and had been kind of insufferable lately. You think its nerves about his impending Iknamaya.

So engrossed with getting them on their way home that you don't even notice him until it’s too late.

Neteyam is a skilled hunter, through and through. The youngest in the clan to ever make a kill. Swift and quiet. Beloved.

But around you he feels out of his element. Clunky and awkward, no matter how hard he tries to play it off its like you can see right through him. Its scary and thrilling, sets his stomach alive with butterflies everytime. This is no different.

Showing up to Hell’s Gate to retrieve his siblings was something he had done since he was a child.

He’d used to bleed hours away playing with them at the scientists fortress, but as he had gotten older and his responsibilities had grown heavier- he had little time for it. Still, when ever his parents would send him out on a one man search party to bring them home, he’d jump at the chance.

At the hope of seeing you.

You’re arguing with his little brother, trying not to laugh at something he said and Neteyam knows. He knows he shouldn't feel jealous but he just cant help it. Cant help the acidic twist of his insides.

Especially when he chirps out his family's familiar call, letting his presence be known.

And watches that pretty smile fall right off of your face.

“You’re late, as usual” His voice has a stern edge. It’s annoying, the role he has to play. Kiri is a woman grown, Lo’ak just weeks away from being the same. He doesnt blame them for the way their feathers bristle, almost viscerally.

“Ah, big brother you didn't have to come all this way to get us” Kiri reassures, patting Neteyam on the chest good naturedly. “We we’re just about to be on our way”

Neteyam notices the way you try to look anywhere else but him. It stings because he cant stop looking at you, cant pry his eyes away from your form.

“You all should start heading back before dad notices” Neteyam starts. His father had been busy as of late, harvest season abundant and fruitful this year because of the heavy rain season “I’ll catch up, I need to speak with Norm”

“What? Dad cant use the coms now, he has to send his messenger” Lo’ak’s nose scrunches a little, always questioning. On a normal day it wouldn't affect Neteyam so much, just a normal jab from his snot nosed little brother.

Not today. Not when he’s stretched so thin. Not when you refuse to look at him but are staring at the side of Lo’ak fat head. It feels wrong, makes his skin heat up to the point that it feels itchy and tight.

“That's none of your concern. Head back to Home Tree. Now” He doesn't normally throw his weight around. But he feels the need to puff up big in front of you “Those are orders. Get out of here”

Lo’ak’s less offended and more surprised. One of his oh so human eyebrows cocks, a sly remark in his throat before he scoffs. “Aye, Aye Captain Kiss Ass. C’mon Kiri let's go. See you later Spider, Y/N”

He deuces up Spider, gives Y/N a pat on her small shoulder and glares harshly at his brother before he disappears into the thick brush of the jungle.

Kiri wraps her arms around you in a strong hug, muttering about ‘swimming’ and ‘promises’. The small impish smile she shoots Spider gives YOU butterflies so you don't blame the way he swoons, before she’s off behind her younger brother.

“I can go find Norm for you, bro. I think he’s still out in his Avv, but Max can radio him back in” Spider is none the wiser. Doesn't notice the heavy tension that simmers on a low bubble. Oblivious, as usual.

“Yeah, sure” Neteyam replies, barely sparing the human boy a glance. He’d feel bad for it later, when he could form coherent thought. When his brain wasn't on Y/N issued override.

Spider chatters, good natured. He never got to see the Olo’eyktan in training anymore. He missed his homie.

“Well, I should be heading back. You guys have a good rest of your night-” You’re already turning on your heels when you make the announcement, eager to get back inside. Back behind the safe walls of the lab- far away from Neteyam.

“No”

Neteyam who stares at you with all too knowing eyes. He looks straight through you like he can see through your clothes, through your thinly veiled escapism attempts. He reaches out, wraps his long fingers around the top of your arm and tugs you back to him. Gentle, but very firm.

He doesn't have to say it- it’s written all over his face. Not this time. He’s not going to let you run away from him.

“Netey-” You start in a whine, tugging on his hold. He doesnt relent, if anything his fingers tighten as his eyes narrow. Dangerous, desperate.

“Just talk to me” it’s a barely concealed plea, his tail twitches anxiously behind him “I'm just asking for five minutes. Please Y/N”

Spiders oblivious, yes. Stupid? No. He doesnt know exactly what's going on between the two of you but has clued into the fact that it’s heavy and he wants no part of it.

The excuse he makes is shit- he’ll just go find Norm. Yeah… he’s so out of there.

“What is wrong with you?” You hiss as you watch Spiders awkward, quick retreating form. Eyes flickering over the empty for now training yards “So much for keeping it lowkey, huh? Could you be anymore obvious?”

“What’s wrong with me?” Neteyam is almost shaking with disbelief “What the fuck is wrong with you? You havent talked to me in over a month. Everytime I make any kind of attempt you bolt. I dont-” He sighs, pinching the wide bridge of his nose with the hand that isnt holding onto you.

He looks tortured. Tired. Run a little ragged.

Beautiful.

“I don't know what I did? If this is about that day in the forest-”

You sigh at his words, once again pulling on his hold. Shaking your head desperately because you can't.

You can't talk about it. Fuck, you’ve been trying not to even think about it.

And failing as you replay the event over and over again the darkness of your bunk. Hyper fixating on the way that his lips had felt against yours. Oh the way that his big hands had worked your body over

“Don’t” you whisper “Please don’t”

You’d never been one to beg for pity, for mercy but that’s what you do now. Beg him to let you out of his tight clutches. Metaphorically and physically.

“You’re all I can think about” It's a gutted admittance, but Neteyam makes it all the same “That night- I can’t sleep. I can barely eat- I’m falling behind on my duties because I keep coming back here. Standing outside this fence and waiting for you. I know you could hear me over the coms, right?”

And you could, a few weeks or so ago.

When he’d begged you to come out. To come speak to him. His voice so appealing that you’d almost caved. You’d had to turn off your receiver. Had sat with your head in your hands for hours as you fought the urge to crawl to him, knees raw and your bloody heart on a platter only he could divulge in.

He shuffles closer, all lean strong muscle. Firm, unmovable. “You heard me”

“Of course I did”

“And you still left me out here” He scoffs, head shaking slightly as his adams apple bobs, his ears are pinned to the sides of his head in obvious distress “I could never do that shit to you.”

“One of us needs to be the adult in this situation” Your voice is as strong as you can make it. Trying to speak reason on to both of you “We can pretend it never happened and go back to the way that things were before. You’re my friend, Tey”

You reach up, stroking at his wrist. Trying to soften him enough for him to let this go. Let you go.

He’s trying to control his breathing, all that training for all of those years for what? One fragile human girl to make him completely unspool? To lose any and all composure he’d worked so hard to gain.

He was always the adult, in all situations. Had been born with a neck cramping crown on his head. Shrouded in pressurized glory.

“If this is me being childish, so be it. Where has pretending gotten you, huh? Look at you, yawntutsyìp. you look so tired. When was the last time you slept? Kiri says you spend days in the lab without resting”

His hands, both of them, come up to cup your face. Huge and calloused. Yet he holds you like you're something precious. A small animal, a rare gem. His whole entire world since he was just a boy.

Neteyam thumbs at the cool glass of your mask, tenderly. The bags under your eyes are sunken and bruised. “Don’t shut me out”

Your body, in its entirety, clenches at his words. Velvet and sincere. He’s a fucking dream. Your head leans into his hands, neck sagging of its own accord as any and all words of protest leave your weak mind.

He makes you so easy.

“Let me in…I dont want there to be this distance between us anymore” He hisses around the word distance. Hating even having to say it “I want to be inside of you again”

Your plump lower lip gets skewered between your teeth, eyes screwed shut as you remember the last time. Your first ever time being full…you’d dreamt of it every night since it had happened.

If it wasn't for the blasted mask and your need for Earth’s oxygen he’d kiss you. Right here right now. He didn't really give a shit who saw or what they had to say.

Instead pulls you into his chest, lets you wind your arms around his lean middle and bury your chest in his diaphragm. Its as close as he can get you, for now. Makes you cling to him the way that he’d clung to every thought of you for the last weeks.

You wish it was lungfuls of his skin that you were taking as you try to bring yourself down from this abrupt shaky high. You dont get it, how your relationship couldve flipped this hard in such a short time.

He had always just been Neteyam. A shameless flirt yes- but that’s all it was.

“Would you like that?” He questions, hands working through your hair. Fingers light and soothing on your scalp. Massaging the thoughts right out of your head.

“Hmm?”

“If I was inside you again?” He presses on. You can feel the tickle of his long, thin, tail as it wraps around the back of your calf and you groan, digging your nails into his back.

“You’re such an asshole. Stoppppp it” You’re embarrassed and turned on and already feel stupid enough, he doesn't need to rub it in. His chest shakes as he chuckles.

“I’m serious. Tell me you want it-”

“Neteyam! Hey!”

The two of you break apart in an instant. You jump away from him as though struck by lightning. Instantly putting enough distance between you and the Na’vi that maybe, just maybe an onlooker might think that the embrace was friendly.

It’s Norm, having heard that the eldest Sully was looking for him he’d come eagerly.

The smile you plaster on is forced and honestly, Neteyam doesnt fair any better. He’s obviously flustered, just glad that his erection isn't tenting his tweng.

“Spider told me you and your dad are looking for me. I’m not intruding on uh anything, am I?” Norm looks between the two of you.

Your arms are folded tightly over your chest and Neteyam is rubbing at the back of his neck, strong jaw flexing as his teeth grind.

Oh yeah, Norm had definitely interrupted something.

Knows for sure as you scurry away. As Neteyam, always so level headed, has to string together words. Stumbling a little bit as he tries to remember the message that Jake had relayed.

It’s not any of his business, he thinks at the time. He sure didnt want to be the one to shine the light on whatever the hell was going on here. Turning a blind eye to the mysteries of Pandora is the only way to survive the harshest terrain known to man.

———

You dont know that though-

No, you’re spiraling more a little bit as you prepare yourself for bed. Brushing through your thick hair and staring out into space as your mind assaults you with all of the gnarly ‘What If’s’

Norm had seen and he had to know right? Oh god, what if he told Jake?

You balk. Lowering the brush as your eyes bulge out of your head.

What if he told Neytiri?

That's actually a super horrific thought. Like nightmarish. You have a lot of respect for the future Tsahik...

…And a very healthy does of fear. She didnt like humans and made it known. She tolerated them only for her husband's benefit. What if she found out that her eldest son, her golden boy, had fucked one?

You’re freak out is interrupted by static, by the beeping of your com receiver on your night stand.

“Y/N?” its Neteyams muffled voice through the device. You’d ignored it once. You should ignore it again…

“Yeah?” you wonder if he picks up on how shaky you sound through the receiver.

“Tomorrow night meet me at the East Gate. Like when we we’re kids” he’s not really asking. Not demanding either. You could ignore him again, but he has to try.

The line goes silent, quiet for minutes on end.

“Y/N?”

You’re so stupid. “What time?”

You can hear the grin he’s sporting as he replies “0100”

“Got it, over. Good night, Neteyam. Go to sleep”

———

The East Bay is on the other side of the large fortress-like building. It's not that it's forbidden, or anything. but it is deserted. It’s where the military personnel had inhabited, and since most if not all of them had gotten the hard boot off Pandora it was empty as a ghost town in these maze like halls.

When you we’re younger; you’d caught Spider sneaking Kiri and Lo’ak in through the rarely used entrance. You’d demanded the know how, if he didnt want you to rat on him for it. It was a rare occurrence, but the Sully children had all been snuck into Hell’s Gate this way over the years.

You type in the codes, disabling the alarm system in order to usher Neteyam into the pressurized, air lock. You’d toted one of the Avatar Exopacks along for him, they’re heavier then hell but he’d need it.

“Hi” you smile, suddenly shy as the tall Na’vi man stands before you.

That's what he was now. A man, not only in the eyes of his people but as a whole. Broad and muscular, strong. Verile. The next leader of his people. You know that he’s highly desired in his clan. Women fawn over him. Vie for his attention.

It doesnt feel real that he wants to give it to you.

You’re nothing special. Not tall and stunning like the Omaticaya women. Even by Earth’s standards you're short, curvy. Not particularly pretty. Insecurity gnaws at you, as it so often does.

“C’mere” Neteyam urges, boldly yanking you by your waist. Pulling you flush against his body. Grabby and insistent, he wants to feel your bare skin. All plush and soft, hes been dying to taste it since the last time.

Kicking himself over and over for not savoring every bit of your body that you gave to him. He won't make the same mistake again.

He’s not gonna lie, the concrete and metal of the walls inside of Hell’s Gate have always made him a little claustrophobic. But he can't do this outside-

His lips capture yours, demanding and needy from the jump. Big, over powering, he swallows your little chirp of surprise. Devours any and all breath from your lungs. Its messy and so good. You hadn't gotten to kiss him last time.

His mouth tastes amazing, his tongue rough in texture just like you remembered. It grates your lips as you suck on it-

“Hey, slow down a little bit” You giggle as Neteyam paws at your ass, lifting you off the ground until you squirm hard, making him release you “Not here, we can't do this here there’s cameras everywhere”

“I don't care” Neteyam pecks all over your face, trying to recapture your mouth as you avoid him “Let them watch, most of those pervs would like it”

And they would know that you’re his. The thought is beyond heady.

You gasp as his sharp canines ghost over the delicate skin of your neck, nibbling on your pulse point “Please- Neteyam”

You firmly push him away, hand on his chest and maybe if you hadn't cut him off cold turkey he would've given you space. Could've pulled away for a moment to let you say your piece. Instead the idea of letting you pull away even an inch is unbearable to him.

No. instead he tosses you over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. He hauls loads heavier then you every day, your protests mean little to him. With his free hand he scoops up the Avv Exo Tank,

“Where to, yawntutsyìp?”

Where too is an old conference room. Its as good as any, and Neteyam yanks a couple cushions off the old couch to act as a brace for your head as he lowers you to the floor, flat on your back.

You’re so pretty like this, he tells you of the fact.

With your hair a mess behind you, your face free of that damned mask. Grinning up at him as you rub your thighs together. He wishes he had that camera that his dad liked to take pictures on. He wants this moment of you framed, immortalized.

“I hate sky people clothes” He mutters as he tugs on the hem of your t-shirt. It hides you, hides all that skin he craves.

“You want me to take it off?” You offer eagerly, raising up enough to start peeling the piece of clothing off. You’re bare underneath, completely. Your breasts jiggle as they’re freed, nipples peaked in the cool air-conditioned air.

“Don’t ever put it on again” He demands, taking it from your hands and tossing it across the room. He’s dead serious, but by the way you're giggling you obviously think its a joke.

He can’t help it, he dives in face first. Rubbing against your soft breasts, obsessed with the way they feel. Heavy, pillowy. He drags his tongue across all of your bare skin. From your clavicle to your nipple. You always smell so pretty, but its got nothing on the way you taste. It explodes bright and savory on his tastebuds.

You let him explore, until your spit soaked and shaking. Your panties sticky as your hips search for any kind of friction. “I need you”

“You have me, my love. All of me” your eyes water at his words. At the sincerity. At how much you want them to be true.

You grab one of his hands and drag it down your chest. Past your soft, rounded belly and into your shorts. He grunts as you guide him to where you’re wet and pulsing. Rythmetically clenching around nothing.

He circles your clit, feather light. More of a tease then anything and you want to sob. You’d thought of nothing but this, touched yourself imagining him. “Tey-”

He smiles around a mouthful of nipple,tugging on with his teeth. “I missed you so much”

“Then be nice to me” you plead, trying to shove yourself down on his fingers.

“We’re being nice now? Were you nice to me when you ignored me?” he can't help it, hurt bleeds into his voice. It had been so fucking painful, knowing that you hadnt wanted to see him. To be with him.

“I’m sorry” you whine, grabbing his face, pulling it from your bosom. “I’m so sorry. I was so scared- I’m still scared but I need you”

He lets you cup his cheeks, lets you plant kisses all over him. The bridge of his nose, his eyelids, his cheekbones. You dote on him, gentle and caring and he gorges himself on your love.

“You cant ever do that again, okay?” He shivers as you kiss his ear, running your tongue along the hyper sensitive flesh “If you’re scared you come to me, not run from me. Do you understand?”

You nod, eager. “I promise, Neteyam”

It’s all he needs to hear, that you’re his. That you won't deprive him of your presence ever again. He doesn't know what he’ll do. He’s a little scared of the man he becomes when it comes to you, you’re not the only one frightened by the gravity of your feelings.

“You asked if I wanted you inside me again? Yes. So much. I never knew I could be that full” it’s like you know just what to say. You light him up from the inside. His fingers begin circling your sopping clit again, this time with intent.

It’s blurry, the fact that your lightheaded making it hard to think. To track what he’s doing to you because somehow Neteyam seems to be everywhere at once. His big body all encompassing as he takes you.

“No-no marks, baby” You try to remind him and his blazing eyes zero in on you in a glare “you know we cant…not where they can see”

You’re right, and he hates it. He’ll just have to mark you where only you can see. Where you can look at your self and be reminded that you belong to someone. That you belong to him.

He doesn't have the patience, cant stop his hands from shaking- the tear of your shorts and panties echos around the room as he removes any barriers between him and the heat at the apex of your thighs.

You cant help the thrill it sends down your spine. He’d…ripped your panties off. You thought shit like this only existed in bad Earth made Porn that you’d found on one of the labs computers.

“Sorry, sorry” his apology is far from sincere though and you can't help but giggle, patting his braids fondly.

The fingerfucking is rough, your wines and moans spilling from you as he hits spots inside of you that make you want to curl up. It’s too good. Too much-

You screech, back bowing as he bends to kiss you, loud and sloppy, right on your wet clit. His big head burrows between your thigs as he delves on your cunt, his long rough textured tongue lapping at the fat puffy lips. The texture difference has both of you groaning.

It’s heartbreakingly good, the kind of good that you’ll never be able to forget. That you’ll crave and need for the rest of your life. Addictive, as he dedicates himself to making you feel pleasure.

Neteyam eats pussy the same way he does everything else in his life, exceeding any expectations. His instincts sharp as he hones in on how to make you lose your mind.

He keeps telling you how good you taste, breaking away for heaving breaths before he reburries himself. The only sounds in the room are the beyond wet sloshing of his tongue lashing and the pathetic noises your making.

He’s eating you alive, you don’t know how you’re supposed to survive this.

His fingers, two and then three fuck in and out of you. Corkscrewing as he loosens your tightness up for him.

“O-ooh” you whine high and reedy as you feel your tummy tightening, the pressure building in a way that makes you feel like you cant breathe. You cant your hips, shoving them down at that perfect angle “Oh, sh-shhhhit. I’m gonna, I’m-”

He doubles down and you’re a goner.

The orgasm is devastating. Sofuckinggood you think you might see stars for a minute there. You can't even scream, you keep letting out these little cries that are more like wheezes. A desprate attempt to get some kind of air back in your lungs-

Which reminds you.

Even though you’re in a daze you wiggle away from him, he hisses at you about it but you swat the top of his head as you reach for the Exo Pack.

You shove the mask in his face, between your legs.

”Breathe, Neteyam” you demand him to gulp down the Pandoran air. Yeah, he could go longer in your environment than you in his but still. Death by giving head isn’t the way you’d like him to go out.

He takes long breaths and you try not to be embarrassed by how soaked his chin is.

When he pulls away his eyes are a little more focused “Thank you, sweet girl. Always thinking about me, huh?”

You nod, dropping the mask. Closer this time for easier access. His eyes quickly zero back in on your swollen pussy, on how wet he got you. On how pretty it looks. His mouth is watering all over again-

When you try to close your thighs, the burning of your cheeks getting to be too much he hisses again. It’s not a sound he often makes and it’s a revelation, he’s so sexy. Almost feral.

“Who said I’m done?”

You’re never going to be able to get over this man “I already came?...”

“Yes? So?” he rolls his eyes, lowering his head, nuzzling at the damp juncture of your inner thigh “You’re still so tight, here feel”

His fingers slip back in you and you mewl, baring down as he scissors the long digits.

“We have to get you loose enough to take me, I don’t want to hurt you” He explains it like you need convincing. Like he has to convince you to let him eat you out. You just re-spread your thighs, relaxing back onto the cool floor as you let him do as he pleases.

It takes two more orgasms that you scream and shake through until he deems that you’re ready. By the time that he begins to slide his cock into you you’re a blubbering, oversensitive mess. You’re crying rivers of tears as you cling to him.

“Hold my hand? Please ” You request and he smiles, kissing your tear streaked cheek as he interlaces his longer fingers with yours.

Humans and Na’vi can fuck, but we’rnt designed to. His dick is overwhelimgly big and will really injure you if the two of you aren't careful about this.

You both gasp sharply as his tip breaches you.

It hurts, it’s agonizing. It’s the kind of pleasure pain that you didnt even know could exist. Everytime you think you can adjust, he pushes in another inch. But oh, how you missed it. Being so full it feels like you’re going to burst. You’re pussy flutters as it fights to take him and you focus in on his face.

It’s all scrunched up in heavy concentration. His lips speared between his sharp teeth in a way that has them almost bleeding.

You can't have that. You tug him into a kiss, soothing the abused flesh with your tongue.

“I-I dont want to hurt you” He whimpers as his forehead rests against yours.

“It’s okay, you’re okay” You hum to him, grasping at his hand even tighter “I love what you do to me. I love how you feel”

When he bottoms out you think he must be in your ribs. Hes still, letting your body get used to him. Trying to be kind. You want to tell him that there’s no getting used to his size. That he could fuck you every day for the rest of your lives and he would still feel just as massive.

“Please” you wail instead “please”

The first gentle snap of his pelvis has you both reeling. Your thighs lock around his thin hips, urging him. You can take it. It only takes a little urging for him to lose himself. The harsh stretch of it has you shaking as your over sensitive pussy tightens. You’re coming again, less intense the the previous orgasms, thankfully.

Neteyam had been so focused on making you feel good that he’d neglected his hard, weeping cock. His balls are so full that he knows he’s not going to be able to draw this out.

You know you have to look stupid, mouth hanging open as you raggedly gasp for breath, letting out punched out sounds as Neteyam pounds into you. You cant look away from his face though.

It’s mesmerizing, all of it. The sounds he lets out. The way that his braids sway with the rhythm of his pleasure seeking body. His broad shoulders, bulging biceps and forearms- you are so fucked.

You’re so in love.

“Please Y/N” He wheezes as you squeeze around him, letting go of your hand so he can wrap both of his arms around your lower back “I can’t hold it. W-where should I?”

Oh. Oh, he’s the sweetest man. He always has been.

You peck his lips, not minding that he’s too lost in his own pleasure to really kiss you back

“Come inside me. Come inside me. Come inside me” it’s a heated chant, broken and breathy by the erratic rhythm of his hips and he buries his head in your neck, wailing in the skin there.

Just for a moment, lost in the haze of sex, you can tell he forgets his own strength. Thrusts into you so hard that you scream out in pain, the mushroom tip of his long cock batters your cervix relentlessly. Its a sharp, startling sensation that you’ve never known but you ride it out for him. Desperately trying to keep your whimpers of discomfort at bay.

When he comes, his whole body goes still and ram rod straight. He hugs you tightly to him. You wish you could see his face. Next time, hopefully.

He’s Neteyam, the mighty warrior. The dutiful son. The next clan leader but as he shakes and twitches and basks in the afterglow you can't help but want to baby him. But stroke his back softly, rubbing the residual tension out of his tired muscles.

He’s your big ol’ pussy cat, you’d always teased. He purrs like one every time you’re affectionate with him.

You can’t help but run your hands along his sensitive spine. Let the length of his tail run through the loop of your fingers. He grins and flicks it from side to side. He’d always thought your fascination with it was amusing.

“Are you okay?” he mutters, still hidden in your hair as he starts to come back to himself and you hum, moving up to pat his braids.

“Mmhmm” you’re maybe not as capable of making words as you though you were. He chuckles and hugs you. Holds you in his big arms in a way that makes you feel untouchable.

The two of you lie in that room for as long as you can, until he has to start heading back to Home Tree, it’s almost morning and his parents are early risers. They’ll look for him if hes not in his tent…

It's hard. Letting him go. Even though you know he’ll be back. You keep pulling him back in for kisses, holding onto his muscular arms until he laughs and peels you off of him.

“I’ll be back my love. I’ll always return for you”

You frown but agree, pushing him away to get re-dressed- “How am I supposed to go back like this! Neteyam I don't have any pants!”

He’d shredded your shorts and panties. Literal tatters of cloth are all that’s left.

Neteyam cracks up, almost keeling over. Thinking he’s oh so funny. It lightens the situation and makes letting him go- watching him disappear back in the forest a little easier.

You end up having to pull your fortunately oversized t-shirt down as far as it can go as you make a mad dash across the facility, back to your dorm. You fall asleep grinning, thinking about how the panties had been a necessary sacrifice.

———

Norms on late night watch, keeping a bored, admittedly not sharp enough eye on the security camera’s feeds. With the rainy season, came an influx of Slinths’. It made sense to have a lookout, and somehow he’d gotten saddled with an overnight shift.

He’d definitely fallen asleep for a few hours. Not that he’d tell anyone of that fact.

There is nothing that could prepare him for what he see’s on the screen, over in the desolate East Bay. First, he thinks that he’s hallucinating, his sleep bogged eyes playing tricks on him.

He rubs them hard with his knuckles, not believing the image that is large and clear on the security footage.

It’s Neteyam. Inside the facility which almost never happened. And he’s bending down, his lips locked with Y/N’s . Kissing her hard and long before she punch’s in the code, and opens the air locked door to let him back out into the shadowy eclipse.

Norm’s learned a lot living on this strange moon- Pandora was mysterious. Full of things his brilliant mind would never understand. So he does what he does’ most of the time.

Minds his own business.

So I’ve had this idea cooking for months, but didn’t have the bandwidth to get it written down. The ideas wouldn’t translate to page and I still kind of feel like they didn’t butttttt whatever. This is pure self indulgence. I am so much more in love with Neteyam now. He is SUCH a good guy. Ugh.

Also, please remember that my requests are OPEN! Send in all that good shit. Come blue alien brain rot with me!

#neteyam x reader #neteyam smut #avatar neteyam #aged up neteyam #neteyam x you #avatar smut

2K notes · View notes

teejaystumbles · 3 months

Text

Last 10 fics/Writing Patterns meme

Tagged by @seiya-starsniper, thank you!

Rules: Post the first lines of your last ten fics posted to AO3 (Sort by date posted), AND see if there's a pattern!

What an interesting idea!

The sharpest lives (are the deadliest to lead)

When Dream of the Endless steps into the almost empty New Inn, what he finds is not what he was expecting.

2. Ambivalence

Listen. Hob Gadling is on his way back home from the Tesco round the corner when the first car nearly hits him.

3. Kaleidoscope

Daniel paced the hall of his throne room. He had been doing it for quite some time and Matthew had begun to give little croaks of anxiety every minute or so.

4. I’ll cry and I’ll cry if your light ever dies

Hob stepped into a ballroom full of faceless white ballerinas, twirling and whirling to Tchaikovsky's Flower Waltz.

5. Your Love Is Sunlight

It's a simple escort job through the Gendaran Fields to Lion's Arch but the caravan is big and a few adventurers have been hired as guards. Dream would normally not waste time with something like this, but he is expected in Lion's Arch and therefore joining the caravan is no hassle.

6. Through a window in the dark

Hob sat alone in his living room, nursing a bottle of wine. Gwen had left an hour ago when she realized he needed time to himself.

7. yesterday is but today's memory (tomorrow is today's dream)

He sits naked on the sofa. Naz enters the flat, talking about something. He doesn’t listen. He grabs Naz’s arm. “No, not now.”

8. Be my Valentine

Hob sighed as he pulled another colorful card out of a sepia envelope.

9. Pull down the stars

Hob dreams. He thinks so, at least.

10. Flatter the mountain tops

Dream smells the humans before he hears them.

Okay, well! I guess I tend to start a fic with setting up a situation with as few words as possible, hoping to create interest so the reader wants to know what's going on. :D Standard writing practice, probably, and what I simply enjoy when reading and writing. ;) Ambivalence I started intentionally like Sandman's Sound and Fury, where the "listen" is repeatedly used to give glances into the lives of several people during 24/7, for all the comic readers. ^^

I tag out of curiosity, without pressure of course, @moorishflower, @dsudis, @cuubism, @delta-pavonis, and @karalynlovescake 🥰

#dreamling #the sandman fanfiction #writing tag game #tag game #writers on tumblr #teejay writes

16 notes · View notes

onomatopoetic101999 · 8 months

Text

Chapter Two: Incorrigible

Chapter Three: Iconoclast

Ignis Fatuus Masterlist

------

Incorrigible: beyond correction, reform, or alteration

------

After debating back and forth on which restaurant to visit, you eventually decide on "The Landscape," which touted "The best view in the galaxy!". You both chuckle at the name, but when the hostess brings you to a table against the window, you can't deny that the sky's watercolor of oranges and reds takes your breath away.

Sam pulls your seat out for you. He also presses a kiss to your cheek as he pushes you in, and you let out a breathy laugh. He grabs your hand across the table the second he sits down, and rests his chin on the other, blue eyes roaming your face.

The feel of his thumb rubbing along the back of your hand steals your breath, and you find it hard to meet his gaze. It was so strange; when he was teasing you and laughing with you the way he always did, touching Sam, much less looking at him, wasn't even close to a problem. Why was being around him suddenly difficult when he was being affectionate?

After the waiter comes by and takes your drink orders, he tugs on your hand playfully. You glance up to meet his eyes. He's just really pretty, you suppose. That's probably why. You've never been flirted with, much less 'married' to, someone this attractive before.

He smiles at you, and you let yourself blush. You're only human! It isn't your fault he's hot. He does need to stop staring before you burst into flame, though. You squeeze his hand before reaching across the table to turn his face gently towards the window.

"Stop looking at me like that, Sammy! It's making me self-conscious."

You're not sure where the nickname comes from, and you feel him tense ever so slightly when he hears it, but he recovers quickly. He covers your hand with his and turns his head, pressing a kiss to your palm.

"I can't help it, Baby. You're just too beautiful."

'Baby'? 'Beautiful'?? You thought you had figured out what was going on in your head, but feeling the full force of Sam Coe's flirting makes a kaleidoscope of butterflies erupt in your stomach. He thinks you're beautiful? Why does that matter to you? You try to keep how much the name and compliment affect you from showing, but you have a feeling Sam can tell when his eyes narrow ever so slightly, lips tilting up in a smirk.

Your eyebrows furrow, and you tilt your head, trying to figure out what his game is. He shifts his hold on your hand, moving it so he can press a gentle kiss to the back of it as well. When he starts to press steady kisses up your arm, your eyes widen, and you pull your hand back as if you'd been burned.

Sam huffs out a laugh, and it clicks. Ah. He's making fun of you again. You're a little disheartened; had he actually meant what he said then?

When your face falls, Sam's does too. He reaches out, but before he can take your hand again, he's interrupted.

"Oh aren't you two the sweetest! How did y'all meet?"

You whip your hand into your lap and out of Sam's reach just before he can grab it, and you feel your face burn as you turn to the kind looking elderly woman who asked the question. How much did she see? Why did her interrupting Sam's silly game bother you?

Sam remains unfazed, but it takes a second for his eyes to move from your face to address the woman.

"We met at work. I was taken with her the second she walked through the door."

While the woman 'aww's, you glance at Sam, surprised how smoothly he had just come up with an alibi. He must have figured out everything he was going to say beforehand, you decide. You hadn't realized how good of a liar he was.

The woman turns to you, patting a kind hand on your shoulder.

"He's a keeper, Sweet Pea. You can tell he's head over heels for you from a mile away."

You let out a small nervous laugh, though you have a feeling the woman thinks it's because you're flustered, not because the idea of Sam being in love with you is amusing.

Your suspicions are confirmed when she shifts her hand to cup your cheek instead. "Aren't you just the cutest?" she looks at Sam now and remarks, "She really is adorable, isn't she? You just want to eat her right up!"

You've managed to stay relatively unbothered by the whole conversation, but when Sam rests his chin back on his palm and responds with a husky, "oh, I plan to," any chance of staying ambivalent goes right out the window.

A blush fills your face immediately, and the woman erupts into giggles when she feels the heat against her palm.

She takes a step back and grabs the hand of the older man smiling indulgently behind her.

"Oh, I just adore young love. Never lose that spark, you too!"

She leads the man away, and the second they're out of ear shot, you lean forward to flusteredly whisper, "'Oh, I plan to?'" at Sam.

He just shrugs.

"What? We're married, aren't we?"

You shake your head at him and pick up the menu, trying and failing to keep a smile off your lips. Even if it is just meaningless teasing, you can't deny how nice it feels to be so obviously admired, much less by someone as amazing as Sam.

"Do you know what you plan on ordering, Honey?"

Sam recognizes the change in subject as the white flag of surrender that it is, but he doesn't let you off the hook that easily.

"Only if you're on the menu, Darlin'."

He doesn't move fast enough to dodge when you lightly smack the menu on his head in response.

------

Chapter Three: Iconoclast

#magswrites #sam coe #sam coe x reader #sam coe starfield #sam coe starfield x reader #starfield #starfield x reader #slow burn #sam coe fic #series #fluff #magsscreamsintothevoid

31 notes · View notes

taylorrepdetective · 27 days

Text

I saw a revival showing of Hitchcock’s Rear Window last night at the Castro Theater. I’ve seen it before, but it’s been a while, and it’s always nice to watch an old movie in an old theater surrounded by an enthusiastic audience.

While watching it, I was reminded that Taylor mentioned watching this for the first time in early quarantine, and at the time we all talked about her Me! dress that was clearly inspired by Grace Kelly’s iconic dress. Somehow she had never seen the movie when she co-directed this video more than a year before watching it. Forgive me if I’m skeptical of her claims.

Let’s look at a few other similarities between this movie and the opening scene of Me!

We start out side on a (colorful) cobble stone sidewalk. The snake turns into a kaleidoscope of butterflies and we follow one up to the window of an apartment. Along the way, we see surrounding buildings. The way the pan happens is reminiscent of the opening scene of RW. https://youtu.be/I3uo8sd_xBc?si=NhUj3-hGP-oX3yLj

youtube

The opening title sequence also starts with 3 windows, with the shades going up on each one, which reminded me of the end game video where she pulls back the curtains and looks out on each city. https://m.youtube.com/watch?si=Y05_ipX2g4--g2nF&v=4No2ZhJwVGU&feature=youtu.be

youtube

There’s even a pigeon that flies across the screen that reminds me of the buttery.

But most interesting is the scene where Grace Kelly wears the iconic dress. She has come to visit her invalid boyfriend and treats him really nicely, and he responds by acting like a total jerk, they argue because he doesn’t want to marry her, and she leaves in huff. All in a 1954 Greenwich village apartment. Some of this sounds very familiar to Taylor’s themes in her art.

Ok actually that’s not the most interesting to me, what’s most interesting to me is something I thought of when she first said she watched this movie, because one of the major themes of the movie, beyond it just being a murder thriller, is voyeurism. The inability of humans to NOT look. To not pry. If there’s an open window, we’re gonna look in. And our curiosity about the lives of others is insatiable. No matter what you do, people are gonna look and wonder and speculate. So the only answer is to close the blinds. But even a closed blind, like with the newlyweds in the movie, will create speculation from the watchers. A closed blind meant they were consummating their marriage. What a creepy thing to speculate about. But we do it regardless because it’s human nature.

What are you gonna do if you can’t stop the insatiably curious watchers while you do things you’re not “supposed” to do (whether it’s murder or something benign but forbidden) without being found out? You either get “caught,” or you find a way to distract or fool the watchers.

#another one from late 2022

7 notes · View notes

windsweptinred · 10 months

Text

WIP Word Search Meme

Thank you so much for the tag @tj-dragonblade I feel vastly under qualified for this, seeing as I only really have one fic to my name and no current WIPS. (Of the fic kind anyway 😅) So... These are all taken from Metamorphosis

My words were: push, color, sigh, step, and black

Push:

"You are being selfish."He spat.

"Yes, yes I fucking well am!" Hob roared back. "For the first time in my goddamn life when it comes to you."

Dream recoiled at his words, chastised by the truth in them. His eyes burned as he pushed his face wordlessly into Hob's shoulder in silent apology. Breathing in his scent, basking in the feel of his skin. Committing it to memory. He placed a reverent kiss on Hob's neck.I'm sorry, I am frightened.Hob brought the hand that clutched his waist up and stroked through his hair tenderly.It's alright, I know. I am too.There they sat, locked in a solemn embrace, Daniel cradled between them.

Colour

Dream's eyes turned to deadly slits and Hob mentally prepared to throw his everything into halting the charge of an enraged Endless, all righteous vengeance and protective bloodlust. Child still wrapped to breast, like a glorious trib warrior of legend. Until two great wings came down, wrapping about Dream and his gleaming ward. Like the old nativity scenes, Hob thought in passing. Of blessed mother, sacred child and divine angel.

And oh, what wings! A kaleidoscopic array of colours, casting rainbow hues as a crystal refracts light. All about her sang with life and vibrancy in their presence. Then, with a shift of their feathers, they were immense, dark windows to the universe. Utterly devoid of all light, pulling forth energy from everything that surrounded her, as if she bore two black holes at her back.

Sigh

Hob peered one eye out from beneath his goose feather fortress, before pulling himself free with a sigh. "Dream, come back to bed. Your simple human needs a few more hours if he's going to face 30 odd freshmens tomorrow."

Pulling his bare legs out from beneath him, Dream dropped gently to the floor. Hob's old shirt hanging in loose folds about his thighs, one sleeve draped precariously off his shoulder. Tip towing silently across the floor and slinking back into the bed, Hob granted him a tired yet loving, lopsided grin. Already fighting the droop of his eyelids.

"Look at you, shining like a star."

Dream smiled indulgently as Hob let out a loud yawn. Tucking himself snuggly against the side of his body. Basking in the heat of his duvet cocooned skin. With his head neatly resting in the curve of Hob's neck, he let out a small chuckle."I do no such thing Hob Gadling.

Step

She made an immediate start toward Night, joy and relief flooding her features, before her sense of proprietary reasserted itself. Halting subtlety and walking instead towards Dream, a courteous expression on her face as she bowed respectfully.

"My Lord. It is an honour to welcome you home."

Dream smiled graciously, before turning to look briefly at Night, then back to his Librarian. He gave her a compassionate smile, before gracefully stepping aside, "It is alright Lucienne, I understand."

Lucienne's face shone with gratitude, "Thank you sir." She said with palpable warmth, nodding her head once more in deference, before striding quickly towards Night.

Night reached out to her, their hands immediately joining as they smiled with open affection at each other. "Oh sir, we were all so worried! We thought…" Tears formed at her eyes and Night rubbed at her hands soothingly. "Dry your eyes Lucienne." He said softly. "All is well now."

Pulling her hands from his grip, she dabbed gentiley at her eyes. Then returned her attention to him, a look of immense pride and wonderment on her face.

"You are resplendent sir"

Black

Dream's head reared with a snap, mouth set in a violent snarl. Darkness bled from iris, through his pupil, until his eyes were a pitch, fathomless black. Starlight pinpricks flaring in the centre like a nova.

"Desist talking in riddles you harpies!"

They let out another hideous cackle. Hob's anger soared. For once, he wished he was more than mere flesh and bone, more than human…So he might have the power to smother them.

"Harpies are we? So cruel, landless king."

"You wound us, once of the seven."

"Mind your tongue, Dream no longer, lest we rip it from you."

Tagging: @ibrithir-was-here @mashumaru @zigzag-wanderer @rosaren2498 @two-hands-toward-the-sun @zorawitch @bazzybelle and @karalynlovescake ☺️

Your words are: Red, Free, Lips, Cool and Sweet

#tag game #Dreamling #dream of the endless #hob gadling #lucienne #death of the endless #Daniel hall #the fates

26 notes · View notes

thepaintedlady00 · 2 years

Text

Library

Chapter 12 Smut Only (contains spoilers for The Sandman and The Girl Without Dreams)

TW: smut, oral (female receiving), fingering, penetration, fluff

They walked across the bridge, the stones humming with every step she took, and back into the palace. Every room lit up brighter, the colors of everything popping in a way they simply hadn't before, in a way that the human eye couldn't possibly detect. As he watched her talk to Lucienne his eyes drifted to the stained glass window noting that even it had changed, the image of butterflies and hills of lilacs filling the space and glowing. Penelope's face was now illuminated in a soft, rainbow of ethereal light. It was beautiful, just like her. Dream couldn't help the way his eyes slid down her body, the form fitting gown he'd made her hugging all the right places. He found it ironic that when designing her clothes he would spend hours imagining what she'd look like in them, but now that she wore them all he could imagine was what she looked like without them.

Her eyes caught him staring and she smiled, finishing her conversation with Lucienne and returning to his side as his librarian disappeared into the maze of bookshelves. "What's going on in that Endless mind of yours?"

"I am simply appreciating your beauty," he admitted with a reverent smile. The blush that rose to her cheeks flooded him with the insatiable urge to be closer to her, an urge that had become far too normal between them as the months had passed.

"I'm just having a conversation with Lucienne. It's not like I'm naked and twisted up in your sheets." Now that was a sight he'd never grow tired of. The light from the windows casting kaleidoscopes of light and color across the skin of her back. The pale purple sheets wrapped around her, leaving just enough of her body exposed to capture his gaze for far too long. She caught the familiar glint in his eyes and swatted his shoulder. "Stop it!"

"What?" He asked flatly. "I'm just standing here."

A delicate finger stuck in his face. "No, you're looking at me like that! And that look always leads to the same place."

Dream tilted his head down at her, something she hadn't expected judging by the quiet gasp she made. "If I'm not mistaken that place is a favorite of yours."

"Oh I'm very fond of it," she said, eyes flashing to his lips for a split second before she shook whatever thought was coming from her mind. "But this is Luciennes library. It'd be like smoking in a church."

"Luciennes library?" His voice was low, soft, just the way he knew she liked it. With a powerful step forward he'd forced her back into the table. "This library is part of The Dreaming and The Dreaming, my darling, is my domain."

"You'd take me here then?" Though there was a flicker of nervous doubt in her, he could feel the want in her, raging and filthy like his own. "In some darkened corner of the dusty library where anyone could happen upon us?"

Her chest was now flush with his as he gazed down at her, hungry and impatient. "I would."

The wicked gleam in her eyes sparkled. "Then do it."

Dream needed no further prompting as he grabbed her by the waist and picked her feet up off the floor, moving swiftly through the shelves deeper and deeper into the farthest corner of the library. Though it was his by right, he'd not disrespect Luciennes' claim to it after all her years of loyalty. The least he could do was take this sinful business of theirs far from her. He willed a thin veil to close around them in the small section of the larger room. The thrill of being caught tantalizing as it was, could not become a reality. Dream would never allow any the privilege of seeing his lady so exposed, such was for him alone.

As he set her feet back on the ground, keeping her close, Penelope looked left and right before pushing back against his chest and smiling wide. "Now what, oh mighty Endless?"

The surprised squeak she made as her back hit the bookshelf caused a ripple of pride to flow over him. Her legs squeezed together as he dragged his nose along her jaw. "Now, I believe the plan was to take you. Though it appears I'm spoiled for choice."

"Dream of the Endless uncertain of what he wants now?" She teased. "How unlike you."

"I want you," he clarified, pulling away to look into her eyes.

The ache in his chest lessened, almost vanished completely as she touched his cheek with her warm hand. "You have me."

The words, soft and earnest, stilled the fire in his veins. His lady's moonstone eyes sparkled up at him and for a moment Dream felt entirely consumed by the love she bore him. Even as he stood here, shielding the ugly twisted jealous ache in his chest, something he knew she could feel her love did not falter. From the start Penelope had loved him with no expectations or conditions. She'd loved him through years of silence and unimaginable pain. Loved him even when she thought she meant nothing to him. Loved him enough to attempt to come for him, not once or twice but many over years. And now that she was here, in his arms, pushed against him looking at him like he was perfect and worthy of happiness, of her… For the first time in days the ache in him was gone.

As tears welled in his eyes she brought her other hand to his face. "You are magnificent, Penelope."

She tried to hide her face, hide the blush of her cheeks and the flustered batting of her eyelashes but Dream moved quickly, securing his fingers under her chin to keep her face turned up. He wanted to look at her, to see the innocent way she reacted to his words. "You flatter me, Dream Lord."

Flatter. The word was far too tepid to describe what he wanted her to feel. No, that wouldn't do. "I do not wish to flatter you, my lady. I wish to worship you."

"You have," she giggled back at him. "Many times."

"Not enough, he insisted, pulling from her touch to fall to his knees. "I will worship you until the end of all things… Until the darkness closes in and engulfs me and then in whatever existence waits beyond this I will continue to worship you."

Her breath stuttered as he began lifting her dress. "Morpheus…"

"Shh," he squeezed the soft flesh of her thighs, gently easing them apart. "Just moan for me, my love."

The sound of her laughter was far more beautiful than any symphony. "Back at it with the commands I see."

"It's not a command," he corrected, halting his movements. "Rather a humble request."

"Humble isn't a word I'd use to describe you, Dream," she said with another laugh as she opened her mouth to speak more. He ran his thumb across her covered mound and watched all thoughts fade from her as she gasped.

Dream wasted no time, pulling her panties down her long legs and chuckling at how she eagerly moved out of them. He lifted her dress up into her already waiting fingers and ducked his head down to press a kiss to her thigh. He sunk his teeth into her flesh before soothing the bite with his tongue, kissing his way to her core.

The sweet taste of her filled his mouth as his tongue slid through her slick folds, lapping up the wetness of her. As he worked his tongue with the experience of thousands of years he focused solely on the sounds she made. Penelope was exquisite in every situation, but in these intimate moments this fact was amplified. She always started out so soft and quiet, every moan and gasp barely audible, but the longer he pushed her the louder those sounds became until The Dreaming itself shook around her.

"Morpheus," she whined as his tongue circled her clit. The way she said his name was angelic, addictive. He'd had worshipers before, but no prayer, no gentle murmur of his name had ever sounded as perfect as hers. His hands squeezed her tighter, pulling one of her legs over his shoulder to open more of her to his mouth. A wave of fabric washed over half of his head as one of her hands abandoned holding it in exchange for tangling in his hair. "Fuck."

He could hear her head hit the shelf and in the back of his mind he imagined her, head thrown back and chest heaving, the thought alone spurred him on setting a grueling pace with his tongue before sliding a finger into her, moaning greedily at the way her cunt squeezed around him. Dream added another finger and listened to her moans grow louder. "Oh, Morpheus!"

Yes, he thought to himself, ignoring the uncomfortable strain of his cock against his pants. Give me more, my love. Moan louder, scream until the whole of The Dreaming hears you. She'd heard him, he knew she had by the desperate whine that left her throat and the way her blunt nails dug harsher into his scalp. Her legs trembled around his face as her orgasm grew closer and closer. He focused on her clit, sucking it and twirling his tongue over the abused little button until finally she came on his fingers.

She pulled his hair, forcing him from the folds of her dress in a demanding request that he was well familiar with. Rising to his feet he barely had time to lick the remnants of her release from his fingers before she greedily pulled him into a searing kiss. As always she was impatient and needy and desperate as she tried ridding him of his clothes and god did he love every second of it. Her moans as he dug his hands into her hips, the way her fingers twisted and pulled at his shirt or his hair, the frustrated whines she made when she struggled to free him of his pants. He loved every moment.

"Take your clothes off," she uttered with a pout.

Dream chuckled, running his thumb over her bottom lip. "Is such a pitiful face truly necessary?"

Her lips twitched, almost smiling. "That depends, will it make you move faster?"

"Oh I fear I cannot resist giving into your whims with such a sad display," he played along.

"Then yes, it's necessary."

He chuckled at her but waved his hand and rid them both of their clothes nonetheless. His eyes trailed over her bare skin, want and hunger and appreciation filed him. No matter how many times he saw her like this, naked and trailing kisses over his skin, he'd never grow tired of it. He lined himself up with her entrance, easing inside as he pressed his mouth to hers, tangling their tongues together. She was always so warm and inviting, even in these moments of pure bliss her body pulled at him.

The library filled with her labored breaths and wanton moans as he gently eased himself out and then back in. Dream was not the most vocal lover, but he always found himself purposely holding back noise just so he could hear her. As her nails dug into his shoulders he couldn't help but moan at the feeling and quicken the pace of his hips, squeezing her thighs tighter as they lost themselves in one another. He lost count of how many times he made her come before she desperately pulled his hair and kissed his throat, mumbling near incoherent pleas against his skin until he finally came, buried deep inside her pulsing cunt.

He watched her regain her breath, head set back against the bookshelf, skin glistening in the light and a faint blush spread over her breasts and neck all the way up to her cheeks. As she looked up at him with her blissful smile he moved them to the bedroom, settling her back against the sheets and pressing his head to her neck. This was all that mattered.

#morpheus smut #dream of the endless smut #dream of the endless #the sandman series #dream of the endless x reader #sandman morpheus #sandman netflix #the sandman fanfic #morpheus imagine #dream the endless #morpheus x reader #morpheus #dream of the endless imagine #the sandman x you #morpheus x oc #dream of the endless x oc #morpheus fanfiction #the sandman smut

134 notes · View notes

starliights-shining · 1 year

Text

A Kiss From Him...

This is my first Transformer fic, please be nice;-; Its about drift btw

Mornings are not your thing, but it was always the time he left for “important business” somewhere. A place that you a small fleshy woman could not be brought. So when you woke from an alarm titled “Wake up if you wanna kiss him.” you did. You thought maybe he’d still be in the room when you woke but he wasn’t. Now you had to go find him, which could be a hassle. You opened the door to be greeted by the cold breeze of the hallway. You peeked your head out to see if you spotted anyone you could recognize. After standing there looking suspicious, another door opened, and out came Ratchet.

“You look lost.” he was right next to your door, how did he get there so fast.

“No, it’s just cold.”

The silence between the two of you was weird, but like an, I hate you weird or why are they talking weird, but she kinda strange weird.

“You’ve been standing there for a good 5 minutes that seems to be enough time for your skin to come to terms with the surrounding air.”

You looked over at him, Blue optics seemed to stare daggers into you with a blank-like look, so blank in fact your eyes traveled up to the red metal plating above them. This might have been the first time you’d ever fully looked at the Cybertroian fully. He kinda looked intimating. You sighed fully pulling your eyes away from him, arms crossed tightly over your chest.

“I was looking for Drift, I wanted to see him before he left. So yes, in fact, I am lost.” You had never stayed so late in his room, Drift would have taken you back to your own room or escorted you there himself, causing you to never memorize the path back. Maybe it’s time you pay more attention to your surroundings, especially since he won’t be here to help you.

“I can take you to him, he should still be preparing for his departure.”

Your eyes dart to him and a smile lights up you face. “Really I would be super nice, but if you busy I could just find my own way its fine.”

You were about to start rambling about random things before he cut you off.

“It’ll be no problem, in fact I was going to go say farewell myself.” He says and starts walking past you. You quietly follow after the Cybertronian, a nice comfortable silence followed you two. You told yourself to memorise the way back, or find a spot that looked familiar and close to your own room, but failed to actually pay attention when you passed a large window displaying star outside. You truly had thought you’d seen it all on your trip to the Lost Light, but you clearly had not.

“Do you not see much of space from Earth?”

You slowly turned you haed towards the voice, not really wanting to take your eyes off the larger sphere out the window.

“We only ever really see the moon in great detail.”

“What about those kaleidoscopes?” he asked, he was curious probably because stuff like this was so normal for him.

“Oh, those aren’t used for looking at space.”

“My mistake.”

The journey was coming to an end when you saw Ratchet pushing a few buttons and opening doors locked behind codes and names. The last door opened before you were greed with a cold breeze and the sight of a ship. One that was different that the one that brought you here, but it had a few more rough spots and discoloration from the many trips before. Ratchet got closer and closer until he called out for someone. You saw the motion of someone turning around and waving a hand over. Still you followed Ratchet towards the one who waved him over. As the two Mechs talked, you looked around trying to spot the reason you were here.

“I came to say farewell to Drift.” Ratchet said,

“Oh really, He went looking for the human.”

“Well I brought her here.”

You looked over at the two mechs and smile.

“Well then he should be back any minute now.”

Some time went by, and you watched as bots came and went putting things in the ship and taking things out, fixing it, and eventually leaving to where it’s only the members of the ship, ratchet and you. Still, there is no sight of Drift, was he lost? Was he frantically looking for you? Your mind started to wonder creating questions and scenarios. “My sweetspark, I’ve been looking everywhere for you.” You turn your head in the direction the pet name came from. A smile so large and happy is greeting you.

“I was looking for you when I woke up, Ratchet saw and brought me here to meet you. I wanted to say my goodbye.” You said with a smile as you walked over to the mech.

“Your forgetting something,” he paused,

“Your promise from last night.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, you promised me (Y/N).”

“Fine, I’ll do it but only because you're going away,” you said, he smiled brighter than before as he leaned down, shorting the distance between you too. Your hands came up to the sides of his helm, pulling him a little closer and kissing him. His servos moved to rest on your hips as he pulled your body closer to his, not once relinquishing the kiss. You two have kissed multiple times before, but for some reason, it always feels like the first kiss. It wasn’t until someone behind you started cheering that he let good. Looking up over your head to see the peering optics of a few crew members. He looked back down at you before kissing your forehead and smiling.

“I’ll be back before you even know it,” he said letting go of your hips.

He walked you to the rest of the crowd before leaving to get closer to the ship. Right as he was about to get on the turns, locked his optics with yours, and with a bright big smile he said.

“I love you, my sweetspark.”

#drift idw #transformers drift #drift x reader #lost light #drift transformers #drift #Transformer mtmte #ratchet #drift lost light #stars writings

88 notes · View notes

madphantom · 7 months

Text

And another Sarah snippet cause I'm feeling charitable

After several hours of reading, the snow outside had faded out and the air was crisp and cold. The patient was still asleep. Rebecca had gone to bed as well.

Suzanne was sitting in the kitchen with the boy, trembling in every limb. She was pale and troubled and there were large circles around her eyes. I stood in the doorway and watched her, anxiously drumming her long fingers on the table, while he lurked in the far corner of the room like a protective shadow.

"Suzanne, dear, go home," I finally told her.

She looked up, her mouth slightly agape. "Oh, pardon me, doctor, I cannot. The dread would surely kill me, no, heavens, I must stay." She hesitated for a minute, looked around anxiously. Desmond gave her a somewhat lopsided but reassuring smile.

"Will you at least get some rest?", I asked of her. "There is a spare bed in the guest bedroom. With all due respect, you look frighteningly unwell."

"He may be right," Desmond noted, his voice quiet. "Perhaps you will need the strength later."

She sighed, glanced at me uneasily. "Will you wake me if anything new shall happen?"

"Of course."

"Then I shall rest for now." She rose from her chair. "Wake me every half hour or so."

Her dress rustled when she left the room. I listened for a moment, then turned to Desmond.

"You are in love with her, are you not?"

He leaned back, his blue eyes dreamily gazing out of the frosty window.

"In love with her is so easily said," he finally replied. "That doesn't even begin to describe it. When I see her I feel resurrected. Every time I see her she kills me instantly and every time she smiles she brings me back to life. She turns me into Lazarus every weekday. She has a little gap between her left canine and front tooth, did you notice that? It's so beautiful. It's because she lost a tooth as a child when she tripped over a toy horse and fell on her face. That little tooth gap is enough to make me feel as if I am about to faint. And that's just that, a tooth gap. Now imagine how dizzy it makes me feel to know that she is a living, breathing, complete human being."

I smirked. "Oh, boy, you are quite in love indeed."

"Between you and me-" He leaned forward confidentially. "-call me a pathetic romantic all you want, but the freckles in her face are stars to me. Her eyes are kaleidoscopes. I worship every thin hair on the back of her hands."

"Why don't you simply tell her?"

Desmond flinched. "Heavens, no. What on earth would she do with me? She's an angel, what am I? A milkman's son, who writes quite awful poetry in his free time. No, no, I think it is better for the both of us if I just continue to stare from a distance…and fall a little more in love with every passing day…" He paused. "Oh, I do sound very pathetic."

"I'm quite sure she would not mind knowing about your feelings," I said. "Perhaps not tonight, but I am sure you will find the right moment some day."

"Doctor Habernathy, you are an intelligent man." Desmond looked at me. "Why do you believe I could possibly have a chance?"

#personal post #sarah the novel

10 notes · View notes

daydreamersparasie · 2 years

Text

Smile Full of Bloody Teeth (Casanova x GN! Reader)

Warnings: Religious themes, bloodplay, there is one (1) puncture wound, breeding kink, praise kink, drinking blood, body worship.

MINORS DNI NSFW

Notes:

I really did open a doc an pass out only to come too with this✌️ ✌️ ✌️ Cult au where Casanovas mom is dead/left or smth, and he takes over gaining a very faithful follower (: YOU

It’s just self-indulgent smut idk what else you guys would want me to say.

My contribution to the fandom. I’ve only known about Casanova for one night but I love him. Honestly HOW COULD YOU NOT?????? The creator is super funny, has pretty interesting writer, learning more about his past is THRILLING. Makes me want to put him under a microscope and study him tbh. Casanova himself is a pure gem, and by gem i mean trash goblin, but that’s how I like them.

There was a time before they didn’t believe in a God. God was something of a hoax, for the masses to use as a scapegoat, hypocrites who wish to be free of sin. Over and over again they wished to be something holy, to become angels instead of the broken beings they were. They didn’t understand it, how one could give their everything to a being they couldn’t see. Until, they found him. There was something about his sermons, the bastardization of God’s that they knew, false profits upon a cross, bleeding for sins all for what? Bleed for one's simple human nature itself; when one should accept it with open arms? Embrace their wants, the instincts they were forced to hide away from the world above.

They had cried before his feet, begging for something they couldn’t dare know. Wanting everything, wanting anything that he could give them. Tears of guilt, tears of want, tears of elation, so many ways they cried out for him over the months.

“God, fuck-” they moan, toes curling, their parted legs trembling within his hold. His fingers sinking into the flesh of their thigh, his cool rings singing shivers down their spine. With a wet slurp, he lifts his head from their body, his tongue flicking out over his bottom lip. The light that shines through the stained glass window paints him in a kaleidoscope of color.

“Mi cariño,” he purrs against their thigh, his hair brushing against their skin as soft as cherry blossom petals. “Say my name.” To the ears of many, it would be a soft spoken thing, but behind that voice was steel, that cheeky smile telling them that he’d stop just to get them to beg.

“Casanova,” they cry out his name, feeling a hum of approval against their skin. There is something holy about his name, the way it rolls hotly off their tongue, and makes them practically sing for him. Body laid out upon the altar, they made their sacrifice, had begged for his mercy, the only one who could give it to them.

“Good, Good, Mi Vida, just like that,” he breathes in a reverence they know they don’t deserve.

They feel the familiar cold chill of metal against their skin, causing goosebumps to rise upon their flesh. They suck a sharp breath in through their clenched teeth, eyes wide, staring at the knife within his hand. It seemed to have appeared there in between blinks, silk robe hiding away the one thing many fear. This was their sacrifice, this is what they wanted to do, for him, for faith, for love- that didn’t mean the feeling of deep fear didn’t grip their heart. It was instinctual, the chill that goes through their body, not knowing where the knife will go, what it will take.

What will their God take from them, besides their very body? He already had their soul, after all…

He moved forward in between their legs, his robe seemed to flutter around him as he did. The red silk slowly slips from his shoulder, causing their frantic eyes to follow, their heart beat thundering within their chest. As it falls they are blessed with the sight of his bare chest, scars, and much, much more.

He seems giddy, high on elation, face flushed, his fingers trailing from their knee then to their thigh. With a look like that, they wanted to be his everything, his slaughter house, his killing floor and for his arms to be their final resting place. So struck by devotion, they barely heard his heated whisper against their ear.

“Take a deep breath mi corderito…”

They didn’t have time to feel dread well up within their gut, the bite of the knife ripping into their skin, sinking into their shoulder. A yell of agony overtakes them, tears trailing down their flushed cheeks as their body struggles against his. Instincts from long nights past coming to the forefront, when they used to be prey that was hunted. The knife keeps them pinned to the altar, his arms cadging them in as they wail underneath him. His violent actions are followed by soft caresses, his warm mouth leaving a trail of kisses against their heaving chest and praise- so, so much praise it makes them dizzy. Calling them so many things, pretty, ethereal, good, just for him, all for him.

“You’re so good, such a good boy for me,” he murmurs moving his hips enough that they could feel him pressing up against their entrance. He holds down their leg with his hands, rubbing himself against them making a spark of pleasure jolt through them. It doesn’t erase the constant throbbing from their wound, the jolt making a hiss of pain follow straight after. The sight of the knife from their peripheral vision starkly reminding them of the unpleasant, constant white hot burn within their skin. Their sudden movement only makes more blood trickle down their bare chest, painting their skin red. They almost miss the soft bite, and sting of his braces against their skin, the long cuts due to him moving far too quickly. Seemingly reading their mind, his warm tongue traces the trail of blood, braces grazing their nipple.

“So fucking ready look at you, so wet and all just for me…” He presses his forehead against their chest, breathing them in, tongue swiping over their salty skin.

“Please-” they gasp out, unable to take this teasing anymore, wanting him inside them, needing his breath within their lungs. He rocks his hips forward, his cock sinking into them easily, with less pain then the knife did as a guttural groan escaped him, only cut off by the wet sound of his mouth against their wound. He eagerly sucks up the blood, his tongue swirling against their skin practically drinking them down.

His patience seems to have run thin, thrusting in hard enough to jostle them a soft, “fuck.” escaping their lips breathless as he mercilessly fucks them. Their free arm wraps around him, fingers digging into his shoulder blade, leaving claw marks behind as he moans loudly.

“You’re mine,” he growls against their ear, nipping the shell of it. “I’m your first, and last. Do you understand? You’re always gonna be mine, forever and ever.”

They nod dumbly, lips parted in a silent, ‘O’ of pleasure not sure if they are screaming or whispering yes, yes yes- god YES they’re his, they’re his. Their body burns with him, from being absolutely filled, wide eyes staring up into his face to find him smiling down at them. His teeth are pink, their blood staining his mouth, his heterochromic eyes filled with, dare they say love, and equal parts lust. With each roll of his hips the room fills with the smack of flesh against flesh, their body trembling underneath him.

“I’m going to knock you up, fill you so full of me, breed you stupid, you’d like that wouldn’t you?”

Their breathing grows heavier, their body slack against him, dizzy from his words. Or, maybe it’s the blood loss? All they can do is whine, head lulling in a pathetic nod as they weakly rock into his thrusts feeling a familiar coil in their gut.

“Fuck, you take me so well, look at you, begging to be filled. All mine, all mine, you’re never gonna to leave me.” Casanova’s thrust grow erratic, thrusting into them relentlessly, making them see white as they came. He kept moving, the sting of the knife and over stimulation making them let out a heaving sob, back arching not sure if they wanted to get away or beg for more to be used fully by him.

“Shh, it’s okay, you’re so good, so pretty in red, just gotta fuck it into you, to make sure it gets nice, and deep inside of ya.” His hips stuttered, teeth sinking into their flesh, sucking and licking up their blood as he goes over the edge. He rolls his hips, forcing himself as close to them as possible to get himself deep inside them. They could feel his hot cum filling them up, making their eyes roll back into their head, feeling as if he’s touched every part of them, heart, mind, body and soul.

They where his.

#cannibal sweetheart #casanova valentine #demon rambles #hm less of a ramble and more of a writing uhhh #demon writes #yeahhh #can you tell I have religious trauma #LMAO #under the covers™️#18+

76 notes · View notes

ghostly-gifts · 7 months

Text

🎃🧛‍♂️ Trick or Treat! ⚰️🎃

On this phantasmal Halloween night, @guzhu-furen has been haunted by the spooky ghost @justanothervariant, and they've left behind a treat!

Coup de Sang

by @justanothervariant

Everyone knew that a vampire lived in the big old mansion on the hill.

At least, that’s what all of the village kids said. Pete’s grandmother said that it was a man known only as Khun Theerapanyakul, who was certainly reclusive but definitely human. She pulled out a book on the history of the region and showed Pete a photograph of Khun Mongkut Theerapanyakul, dated 1896. He had been part of the wealthy merchant family that had built the mansion and lived there for several generations. But one tragic night, she whispered, pulling a wide-eyed Pete closer, a wandering vagabond had broken into the mansion and slaughtered family and servants alike; only Mongkut had survived. Mongkut had become a recluse and then decades later his son turned up out of nowhere to claim his inheritance, followed years later by his son. The current occupier was Mongkut's great-great-grandson, she said, though it was rare to see him come or go.

Occasionally the village kids would dare each other to sneak up to the mansion and look in the windows, but Pete always refused. He didn’t believe in vampires for a start, and besides, it wasn’t right to peep into someone’s house like that. He was called a chicken for it but he didn’t budge, even when the other boys threatened or even beat him. Pete fought back every time, but the numbers were always against him. The first time he went home with a bloody nose, his father beat him again for losing the fight. But the next day Uncle Tan began teaching him how to box; as Pete grew in size and strength, the village boys bothered him less.

On sleepless nights, Pete would pull out the old book and study Mongkut’s grainy black and grey image. He was looking slightly off-camera, severe and unsmiling, his face all angles and shadows. But there was something intriguing about it to Pete, some weird sense of familiarity; he almost felt like he knew this man. He imagined what that face would look like if it were smiling, or weeping, or angry; as he grew older and began to understand his own desires, he imagined it twisted in pleasure, in release, perhaps even because of him.

When he finally screwed up the courage, he searched for Mongkut online in the next town’s library, the only local place with a reliable internet connection. He found a few true crime articles about the ‘Slaughter Mansion’, speculation that Mongkut was the murderer, even some claims that the mysterious vagabond had been more (or less) than human. Pete ignored all of that to focus on the historical documents; Mongkut’s father and uncle had been respected merchants, their sons overseeing different branches of their business empire. Pete could only find one other photograph of Mongkut, a formal family portrait with his father and brother. Mongkut was looking straight out of the frame, his eyes black and compelling; Pete printed out a copy and kept it under his pillow.

Pete’s grandmother died when he was 15; his father’s response was to take him out of school and arrange employment for him as a butcher’s apprentice in the next town. It wasn’t a job Pete wanted or liked, but he had long ago stopped hoping to have any control over his life. He went along with it numbly, like he did everything else, and kept his grief for the quiet hours before dawn. He mourned for more than the loss of a loving grandmother; with her went his last glimmer of hope, of purpose, of family. He slept fitfully most nights, his dreams a kaleidoscope of shadow and light that increasingly featured a sharp-jawed face with black eyes.

Pete made the walk to work every morning while the first glimmers of sunrise were still cresting the treetops. His route took him past the crumbling old mansion, and he studied it each day as he walked by. Occasionally he saw movement inside or a solitary light shining; thrillingly, he sometimes saw a man silhouetted in an upstairs window. More often than not, though, the house was dark and quiet.

But then one day, a week after Pete turned eighteen, he saw a light flickering in a ground floor window and some instinct made him stop and look again. After a second, his brain caught up with what his subconscious had already realised; the light was not the steady burn of a lamp, but the flickering flare of a fire.

Without a thought, Pete ran for the house. As he drew nearer, he saw the glistening edges of a broken window and flames roaring up the drapes within. The room beyond seemed empty, no lights on anywhere else. Pete sprinted for the front door; banging on the weathered wood, he yelled, “Hello? Is anyone at home? There’s a fire, you have to get out! Hello?”

From behind him he heard, “Pete, is that you?” On the path leading back to the village, partially obscured by overgrown bushes, lay the biggest and meanest of Pete’s tormentors.

“Ritthirong?” Pete said, confused. “Why are you…?” Then the penny dropped, and Pete realised exactly why he was there.

“Just shut up and help me, before he comes,” Ritthirong hissed. “I fell and my ankle is all twisted up, we have to get out of here fast.”

“Or maybe I should leave you,” Pete said, a sense of power swelling in his chest. “Maybe if you get caught and punished, then that’s only what you deserve.”

“You fucking little shit,” Ritthirong snarled, but then his face went pale and his eyes went wide. “Oh, fuck!”

Dread began to swim in Pete’s veins, but spiked with a sense of anticipation, even excitement. He turned slowly and saw a man approaching from the house, his step unhurried and his posture loose. Pete’s eyes trailed up past slim legs in black trousers, a dark-coloured shirt that faintly caught the gathering light, and finally settled on the man’s face. Pete gasped; the man looked exactly like Mongkut with his black eyes and sharp, handsome features.

Somewhere in Pete’s chest, something clicked into place. “Khun Theerapanyakul,” he breathed, his heart skipping inexplicably as the dark gaze fell on him.

“You can call me Vegas,” the man said, drawing level with Pete. “And you,” his attention shifted to Ritthirong, “can call me Vengeance.”

Before Pete could move, blink, think, Vegas pounced on Ritthirong. A pale hand settled on Ritthirong’s throat, then Vegas’s head pushed in to nestle against it. Pete wondered for a second why Vegas was embracing him, until Ritthirong tried to scream in a burble of blood and agony. Pete couldn’t move, transfixed by the horror and pain and finally bliss that crossed Ritthirong’s rough features. When Vegas finally pulled back, there was only a corpse where the bully had once lain.

Vegas turned his head and the faint pre-dawn light gleamed on his bloodied smile; Pete was gripped with an urge to lick it clean. “You’re not running away, little rabbit?” Vegas asked, licking his lips as Pete stared. “Aren’t you scared that you’re next for the pot?”

Pete shook his head. “No, khun. I mean…Ritthirong got what he deserved.”

“So harsh,” Vegas said, the approval in his tone calling to Pete’s bones. “What makes you think that you don’t deserve the same fate?”

“It wasn’t me who set the fire,” Pete said, “I was the one who warned you.”

“This time, perhaps, your actions were noble,” Vegas said, standing and moving closer. “But I doubt the same can always be said.”

“Of course not,” Pete heard himself say scornfully. “Nobody is purely good, or completely altruistic.”

Vegas cocked his head, a strange light coming into his eyes. “What’s your name?” he asked.

“Pete.” He lifted his chin, met that hypnotic gaze.

“It seems that I’m in your debt, nong,” Vegas said, looking Pete over with a blatant, interested stare. “What would you have me do for you in return?”

Pete thought about his life; his grandmother, whose absence still daily scoured his heart; his father, who beat him and cursed him and gleefully made him miserable; his boss, mean-spirited and unrelentingly critical. He thought of walking to work every day feeling sleepy and cold, then stumbling home again bloody and sore. He thought of waking up each morning with an empty chasm in his chest, lying awake each night longing for sleep to take him away. And he knew, suddenly, exactly what he wanted.

“I want you to…” Pete paused, gathered up his courage. “I want to be yours.”

Vegas frowned; even that gesture was unnaturally beautiful. “What do you mean, to be mine?”

“To…belong to you. To live with you and work for you, and…whatever else you ask of me.” He thought his heart would burst or burn or break free of his chest, but still he didn’t look away.

“That’s a bold request, nong,” Vegas said softly. “What makes you think I’d want to keep you?”

Pete shrugged, ignoring how his pulse thundered. “Perhaps you won’t. But you asked what I want, and that’s it.”

“If I do take you in, keep you as my pet,” Vegas said, smiling when Pete shuddered, “then you’ll be mine to command. I will take care of you, but I will also bleed you. I will shelter you, but I will also hurt you. I will fuck you, but I will also break you. Is that still what you want, little rabbit?”

A warm, irresistible numbness came over Pete, like sinking into a hot bath on a cold day. “Yes,” he breathed as he let go of himself, finally.

Vegas’s smile was diamonds and poison. “Then won’t you come inside?”

—

While nameless servants dealt with the small but ferocious fire, Vegas led Pete into the very depths of the house. His bedroom was lavish and luxurious, windowless and dark. Pete looked around at the paintings and ornaments, each probably worth as much as his father’s tiny house. He felt jittery and uncertain, turning over the decision he’d made, until a firm hand settled on his shoulder and the doubts eased back in his mind.

“Having second thoughts?” purred a velvet voice in his ear.

“Yes, but…also no,” Pete said, and was rewarded with a rich chuckle.

“I value honesty, Pete,” Vegas said. He moved to face Pete, hand sliding around to circle his throat. Pete swallowed, found he liked the brief extra pressure. It was hard to meet that dark gaze but once he did, Pete couldn’t look away.

“You will have your own room here, pet,” Vegas said, thumb stroking softly over Pete’s throat, “but when I call for you, you will come. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” Pete said, shocked at the hoarseness of his voice.

“I will take your body any way it pleases me, but you will have to beg me to take your blood.”

Pete already wanted to beg, but caught the reckless words before they flew from his lips. Vegas raised an eyebrow and smiled, as though he knew exactly what Pete was thinking.

Vegas moved closer, grasping Pete’s chin lightly to turn his head to the side. Then he pressed his face against Pete’s neck and took a deep, savouring breath. His skin was cool, and Pete vaguely noted that there was no corresponding exhale. “You smell… familiar,” Vegas murmured, then smiled. “Or perhaps, like a familiar. But how could that be, hm?”

“Maybe I was made for you,” Pete said unthinkingly, and Vegas’s laughter was rich and deep.

“Oh, nong,” Vegas said, placing a gentle kiss to Pete’s jugular, “if you only knew what that meant.”

“Show me,” Pete breathed, starting to slip into a calm, blurry sea.

Vegas’s eyes flashed with lust and greed. “Have you ever lain with a man before, Pete?” he asked. “Do I need to be gentle?”

“No,” Pete gasped. “And no.”

Vegas laughed again, and Pete laughed too as giddy delight welled up and pooled in his head.

When Vegas kissed him, Pete felt sharp teeth against his tongue and longed for them on his body. Vegas’s mouth was cool and sweet, like spring water on a hot day, and Pete drank greedily. His lover’s hands were cold, but they trailed fire over Pete’s skin as they undressed him with grace and efficiency. That cool mouth followed, licking and nibbling but never biting, bruising his skin but never breaking it. Pete swallowed down the please that tried to claw free, knowing that asking Vegas to bite him was a step into the unknown, but it hovered behind his teeth all the same.

Vegas laid him out on the bed and devoured him slowly, kissing his mouth and tasting his skin. He swallowed down Pete’s cock with obvious pleasure, and Pete soared into clouds of bliss that he’d never known before. When Vegas turned him over and used his clever tongue and slender fingers to open Pete up, he thought he might die on the spot. His whole body flamed and roiled, desire the fire that consumed him, the chill of Vegas’s touch the only thing that stopped him from combusting.

When Vegas began pushing into Pete, the aching pain blurred into hot pleasure almost immediately; when Vegas was all the way inside him, Pete wanted to hold him there forever. Vegas set a steady rhythm, too fast for Pete to relax but too slow to satisfy the sudden carnal need for completion. Pete had never felt anything like the hunger that was growing inside him; he bit his hand to keep from screaming, and Vegas went still at once.

“Pete,” he said, his voice strangled, “what did you do?”

Pete realised that he was bleeding, just a few crimson dots on the heel of his palm. “Fuck, sorry,” he said, “I didn’t think…”

Vegas leaned over his back, the added pressure making Pete gasp, and nuzzled into his neck. “You smell delicious,” Vegas purred. He reached out to touch where Pete was bleeding, his icy fingertips leaving a scarlet smudge. He lifted his hand and Pete heard another deep, unnecessary breath; when Vegas shuddered, the vibrations shivered through Pete and he cried out in suspended pleasure.

And then suddenly, Vegas was gone. Pete felt cold and empty, uncertainty creeping over him. Slowly, cautiously, he rolled over and saw Vegas sitting back on his heels and staring at his bloodied fingers, gripping his own wrist as though to keep it away from his mouth. His eyes flicked up to Pete, who could clearly see Vegas’s conflict, his desire.

“It’s okay if you want to taste it,” Pete said, slowly moving closer to Vegas.

“It’s too soon,” Vegas said harshly. “If I taste you now, then I will never be able to let you go.”

“Then do it,” Pete said boldly, holding his barely-bleeding hand under Vegas’s nose. “Because there’s nowhere else I want to be.”

Vegas snarled and tackled Pete onto his back; before he could even comprehend what was happening, Vegas pushed back inside him and sank his teeth into Pete’s neck.

Pete’s entire being was wracked with agony, with bliss, with a bone-deep, unshakeable contentment. He could feel Vegas fucking into him, could feel his blood flowing out under Vegas’s mouth, an endless cycle of giving and receiving that made him shudder and moan uncontrollably. Vegas was growling low down in his throat, his thrusts getting harder as he realised Pete could take it, wanted it, needed it. Every cell in Pete’s body strained towards Vegas, everything in him yearning to be closer. A spiralling rush of desire pulled him ever upwards, and he knew that he was crying but he couldn’t stop. When he realised that Vegas was also shuddering in his arms, Pete crested into a blinding, amorphous fog of release and relief that seared him in pounding, irresistible waves. He was floating, falling, flying; nothing made sense but everything was as it should be.

Finally, Pete was home.

#kinnporsche #gift exchange #fanfiction #ghost: JustAnotherVariant #haunted: guzhu-furen

7 notes · View notes

iamthecomet · 1 year

Note

CHALLENGE!!!! Based on a hc of mine. After Terzo, Secondo, and Primo died Copia didn't have anyone to talk to about the his decisions for the band. (because like hell was he going to talk to Nihil or Sister) so he turns to the oldest member Mountain for advice. They grew close and Mountain couldn't help but fall in love with his adorable Copia and vice versa

Ok, I've been saving this one for when I was feeling in the mood for writing sweet things. My brain wants fluff. So today's the day.

He doesn't know when it happened. When Copia stopped being a helpless fumbling man and turned into a real leader of the church. Mountain can't pinpoint the change in him. It's been slow. Confidence growing in him millimeter by millimeter. When Copia first called Mountain into his office he was distraught. Wearing a path on the hardwood floor as he paced in behind his desk. The light from the stained glassed window casting a kaleidoscope of colors over Copia's white suit. He was frazzled, hair a mess, eyes wide. He looked at Mountain and panic lacing his features. What do I do? Tell me what to do.

And Mountain did his best. He's the oldest ghoul at the Abbey, he's seen this happen over and over again. And everyone else had help, had a predecessor, and a father, to walk them through it. Copia had nothing. Mountain found himself in Copia's office most afternoons between lunch and dinner. Talking him through countless pages of paperwork. Putting a hand on the center of his back when Copia would dissolve into tears.

Mountain gave him something steady to cling to. And Mountain--Mountain fell. Mountain fell for Copia the same way he fell for Aether, for Dewdrop. Hard. All of a sudden. Like the floor tipping out from under him. He watches him rifle through papers, drag his hands through his hair, messing it up even though he has an important meeting later. And Mountain's heart hammers in his chest. He catches Copia looking at him sometimes, when Mountain is reading something to help him, or pretending to nap on the sofa. He sees the way Copia's face goes soft as soon as Mountain walks into the room. It makes something in his stomach clench. "Caro, are you listening?" Mountain's eyes jump to Copia's, he drags his hand over his face and tries to look at the paperwork Copia has just shoved in front of him. Copia's hand is right next to his, their pinky's just barely touching. "I'm sorry, Papa."

"How many times do I have to tell you I'm not Papa yet."

Mountain meets his eyes. "You will be, soon."

Copia's cheeks go a little pink. He's still uncomfortable with the whole idea. Even though it's been the plan since day one. He will lead the church. And he will be good at it. Mountain knows it.

Mountain puts his hand over Copia's and squeezes. "Mountain," Copia's voice has gone breathy. Mountain's stomach flips with butterflies. He can't remember the last time he felt butterflies--the last time he fell this completely. "Do you--I mean do ghoul's ever--with humans--I mean, would you--could you feel--"

Mountain shifts, leaning over the desk and catching Copia's lips on his before he can fumble any further into the question. He doesn't have the right words to answer. Everything he thinks of feels lacking. Paltry. Like the words don't exist in English--or Italian, for that matter. When Mountain pulls away, Copia puts a hand on the back of his neck to keep him close, Mountain tips his forehead against Copia's, mindful, as always, of the horns. "So you do, then?"

"Yes. I do."

#comet writes #ficlet #copia/mountain #copia x mountain #cardinal copia #mountain ghoul #plasma #request #fluff #all fluff #ghost fic #the band ghost fan fiction #ghost fan fiction #nameless ghoul fan fic

37 notes · View notes

neonthewrite · 11 months

Text

Gilded Birdcage

Today's prompt is "Bird", and really the only thing that comes to mind for that one is Adrian, specifically Adrian from a trust AU that I don't think @creatorofuniverses and I have elaborated on that much. The Doppelganger AU has some artwork out there ... and also one other bit of writing that has nothing to do with where Adrian is in the AU. So this could probably be taken mostly standalone!

Poor Adrian.

~~~

Adrian can’t count the days he’s spent in that golden cage. It’s usually hard to focus on something for too long. His attention always fractures, fluttering to something else, especially the few tokens and baubles in the cage with him. The gentle swaying of the cage doesn’t help, hanging from a hook on the ceiling of the witch’s traveling cart. She has a lot of fancy things to catch the eye, feathers and furs and trinkets and cloth. The cart is an explosion of colors inside and out, wherever they go.

She trades these things, hands them all back and forth amidst friendly conversations, words that he knows in his rapidly-beating heart that he understands and yet struggles to parse or remember. He has tried to speak to her curious customers too. His voice comes out in delicate whistles and chirps, a new song every time that never matches what he wants to convey. They smile in fascination at him. Tell him he is so pretty, yes he is, and what a fine little helper he is to his witch.

Indeed, his songs draw attention, though not the kind he sometimes wishes. No one looks at him and sees someone in need of help. They see a pretty little bird, perched in a pretty little cage, singing a pretty little song. It brings customers close enough for the witch to strike up a conversation with them, really; that’s why she hangs his cage by the window when she goes into town to open up her cart. A witch with an endearing little songbird promises interesting wares, if nothing else.

One or two have tried to buy him before. They hold out very shiny things, and lots of them, while pointing at his cage where it hangs by the cart’s window. His witch never accepts these offers.

He’s mine, she always says, and for some reason those words don’t give him the same trouble the others do. He’s mine, forever and always.

Certainly, he is cared for, as well as one might expect someone to care for a small bird. His feathers, the palest yellow, always have a healthy shine to them. He has several perches in his gilded cage, ones that feel nice on his feet when he grips them. The witch gives him berries and greens and, occasionally, seeds. He isn’t sure why, but these things always delight him, filling him with excitement when offered.

He hasn’t always been this way. He doesn’t know when it happened. He hasn’t always had wings; once upon a time he had hands, just like the humans he sees in great numbers most days. He had long legs, he had front facing eyes. He … he’d been a human before. Trying to remember it only gives him a kaleidoscope of confusing memories.

~~~

He brings a book of blank paper to the woods. His fingers smudge with charcoal. The image of the forest is suddenly repeated on the paper.

She smiles at him. Where did she come from? She smiles so wide, her eyes big and delighted.

He’s dwindling. The world grows larger. He looks to her for help but that smile remains.

He’s small and confused. The grass stands over him. He stumbles, something is wrong with his legs. His heart beats so rapidly it’s all he can feel, the fluttering in his chest. He again tries to ask for help. Only whistles come out.

He runs. He stumbles. He shoots out his hands to catch himself‒he doesn’t have hands. In their place, wings.

Wings! I’m a… the thought falls away from him like rain off a window. He doesn’t understand. The world looks so different.

She’s coming closer. She’s still smiling. Where did she come from?

You’re mine, she tells him as she stoops over him. Mine forever and always. She reaches for him. Her hand is bigger than his body now.

He has wings. He can fly away. Adrian spreads those wings, entirely new to him, and flutters into the air. It feels wrong. He can’t move them the right way. He has tail feathers now, too. They don’t cooperate. He doesn’t get very far. A hand closes around him.

~~~

Adrian doesn’t really have other memories beyond those. He can’t make much sense of them, either. They always feel present, yet distant, something he could hold onto without fully knowing why.

He sings when she asks. Even when he doesn’t feel like singing, it warbles out of him, a little tune from the golden bird in the golden cage. She’s a proud witch; she’s happy with him. When she closes up the cart for the night, she murmurs nice words at him.

Sometimes she even opens up the cage and lets him hop onto her offered finger. She whistles with him, strokes the crest feathers atop his head with a fingertip. It feels nice, especially when he’s molting (he molts from time to time now, and it’s agonizingly itchy). She loves him. She tells him so, and he understands. Then she closes him in the cage again with that same delighted smile he remembers. It’s hard to be afraid of that smile anymore. The memory is so old, though he’s unsure exactly how old. Surely he doesn’t have it completely right.

He’s only a bird, after all. He can’t be expected to remember things perfectly.

He’s hers. Hers forever and always.

#gtjuly #gtjuly2023 #mywriting #adrian kennet #bird!adrian #doppelganger au #trust au #g/t #g/t handheld #g/t transformation

17 notes · View notes

boyfemmeblog · 6 months

Text

As We Hold the Love of the Universe in the Palms of Our Hands.

(written by my cousin Teki Turner, with quotes from me definitely not while i was on 𝓅𝓈𝓎𝒸𝒽ℯ𝒹ℯ𝓁𝒾𝒸𝓈)

The universe is so pure.

Yet every little thing us humans have, we take for granted.

What is this world?

It’s love.

It’s loss.

It’s joy.

It’s pain, and agony.

What we are—is whatever we make ourselves out to be.

“We are all beautiful kaleidoscopes of every human we’ve ever interacted with.”

We are art.

We can lend others our paint, and they can make us prettier, or cover us in black.

“Every word in every language is begging to be loved and understood and translated.”

What do we want from each other?

Everyone just wants to be seen.

We all need to be seen, heard, acknowledged.

But where does this begin?

First—

We all need to see Earth.

We need to hear it.

And understand it.

We have the ability—

The choice.

To top all presents with bows.

To add beauty to what was already beautiful.

Yet—we tear it apart.

We take advantage of it.

Just like how some take advantage of others.

If we could all see Earth for what it is—

Just maybe we will begin to see each individual for who they are.

For the purposes they hold.

The stories they have.

Like how nature tells us stories we don’t comprehend.

People go through their own unique experiences.

“The trees are the world.”

Nothing in nature was rushed to be created.

Yet everything that surrounds us is it’s own version of perfect.

Everything is special.

The mountains and lakes.

The rocks, the sand, the ocean.

The rain, snow, and fog.

The breezes and mists.

Everything has its own purpose for being.

“The dewy spring mornings when the wet grass gets stuck to our sneakers.”

We all have the capability of appreciating it.

All the little things that make life worth living.

That create life itself.

As we hold the love of the universe, we allow it to rip away from our hands.

We feed into the hatred we harbor deep down.

We feed into judgement, and cruelty.

Do any of us truly deserve this planet we live in?

“It’s beautifully and unapologetically itself. In not just any, but every form it takes. So unfiltered, yet to be tampered with, yet to be trampled, yet to be modeled into anything anew.”

We take what Earth has offered us, and we change it to our convenience.

But at what costs?

A bird’s newly built nest?

A spider’s freshly constructed web?

A thousand trees that took decades to grow strong?

We tear it all apart.

We tear each other apart.

When we hold the abilities to love and to be loved.

Yet we push each other away, in hopes to be better.

Better than the weird,

the lost,

the lonely,

the poor.

We fill ourselves with greed.

We paint an ego over our self-loathing.

We hold our opinions higher than the thoughts of others.

We are inconsiderate.

Selfish.

Begging for social status.

Imagine if we could all be one.

If we could all love unconditionally.

“Every day we wake up changes everyone’s lives; the way we smile to one another in halls or on streets, waving through windows, holding the door open as we escape the bitter winds outside.”

We could all be stars.

Our hearts could form constellations.

We could all form one lovely picture.

Like the way the stars fill the night sky.

Why are we ashamed of ourselves?

“All you need for love is love, no strings attached. We don’t need to complicate things. Every question comes from a place of wonder, but not every question has yet to be paired with its answer.”

Instead of wondering how we can be good enough—

how we can change the past,

or predict the future—

We can stop ruining the present with the two.

We can live in the moment.

We can accept that none of us will ever be the same.

We can stop judging feelings.

And allow ourselves to be how we are—

like the way nature is itself.

No one can be you,

and you cannot be anyone else.

Despite our individual pasts,

our individual paths,

we can all allow ourselves to enjoy each other’s company.

Remembering that we cannot control each other’s emotions.

But we can control what we put each other through.

We can control our own clouded judgements.

We can make each other feel seen and heard.

We can try to understand one another—

and toss opinions out the window if we can’t.

So we can make each other feel valued.

Accepted.

Love is love.

How hard can it be?

#spilled ink #poetry #collaborative poem

2 notes · View notes

magicalgardenofhypnosis · 2 years

Text

Possessing A Harem # 1

Part 1

Tyler Tikewell is so evil and mother fucking hot for me as I wake up sighing in the early hours of the morning.

He is a con artist, criminal master mind at the top of his game, and he is literally just out of the bathroom.

The heat and the steam blows out hot in

I face as he approaches me standing over my bed.

“Do you like the hotel bed? Slept Well?”

“Yes boi, it’s wonderful. How are you?”

“I am so grateful for you, you changed my life but the cops.”

I sigh sitting up staring into those beautiful dark eyes with a kiss on my mind.

He kneels by the bed worrying about me as he knows that I am in total control.

He stares at the window watching out to see what is going on and there it is.

“Someone is knocking sir”

“Get dressed and then answer”

“Sir Yes Sir”

A few minutes later I am hidden in the hotel bathroom as he answers the door.

I can see the Detective flash his badge in the air with a smug expression over it.

He proudly enters the room his eagle eyes are active and searching for me.

“Can I help you detective?”

“You got off easy yesterday”

“Your point”

Part 2

The top converse as I sneak out agenda ready and grab a lamp shade proceeding to smashing it over head.

His eyes fall back into their sockets as he fell to the floor, Tyler grabs his legs dragging him to the bed.

One hurl, a few pieces of rope and his body tied down later, I head to the kitchen and return with a glass of water.

I will enjoy this monumental moment lifting the glass and throwing the water into his face.

Snapping back into reality he tries to make a noise or any scream only to realize his lips are taped shut.

“Detective Brenton you had a choice to avoid all that I was doing.”

“I fell in love”

“Why did you have to mess with it?”

“All of my plans are ruined obviously”

“Oh Well! On to bigger and better”

I need to strike while the opportunity is hot so without a second thought I have his lips released.

The switch is flick shutting the lights low but it’s what happens next that throws him for a loop.

The lights to start to stop in every color and variations of color in the book.

His pathetic attempt at resistance and the massive failure at escaping my wrath:

His mind, inner mind and subconscious fall

prey to my power forever and I do a evil laugh.

“Detective goodie two shoes, I think you will be more apt to have fun now.”

“No longer seeing the world as black and white.”

“It’s a kaleidoscope of hellion proportions and you are in for the ride with us.”

Part 3

Brenton went back to work the next hour after we left him to hop in the cara he drive off.

He woke up staring the white blind ceiling then came to and jolts up to a empty room.

He grabs on to the side table placing his hand on to the table and discovers the note I left him.

“What on earth is this?”

“Damn! Those two gave me the slip”

“What if the cops come?”

He sighs grunting begrudgingly with little effort on his part two former man is now a pig.

He walks to the mirror proud to how very disgustingly unkempt his appearance is.

He thinks his greasy hair, dirty clothes and bruised face looks good.

“Yes Sir! No one was here a total dead end”

“They will bother to look twice here now”

“I better hit the road to catch him”

He speeds off into the city streets breaking the laws he swore to protect.

On the way down the high way he turns a corner and heads to private property.

He stops parking the car then heads into a huge cabin in the woods.

“Master Lawrence “

“I’m home and your will is done”

“Let the fun begin…Mwahahahahaha “

Part 4

Tyler, Brenton and I snuck out to visit the beach only to relax for a bit.

Chris the beach bum suddenly appears he does the usual human thing.

Staring at me peculiarly with these narrow eyes of judgement.

“Why do you guys look so suspicious?”

“Master, I got him”

“Will dispose of him”

I stop them thinking it over as they drag him into the alley one hand to his mouth.

The other pinning him to the wall I grab one of those magic wands they make to kill viruses.

I flash his eyes with the alterations I have made and he blinks for a bit.

“You are perfectly fine Chris”

“I am fine”

“Focus on me, you have been a bad body today and you must pay.

I snap my fingers after a limb thirty minute conversation as he wakes up abruptly.

He stares at us questioning what happen in a hour or so.

It is a sweet smile that I think it over when he comes to realization.

“Oh Master Lawrence “

“May we go now?”

“I want my time with you “

The end

#Possessing Harem

13 notes · View notes

peterrefur · 1 year

Text

Tape on mouth ⅏ Wilbur Soot x GN!Reader

Summary: Who would have expected that the beautiful, smart and happy Wilbur was now lying on the ground in his own blood on the concrete floor of his torturer's basement. Swallowing saliva, causes pain, moving is impossible through suffering. There is no indication that he will see the sun, his friends or play the guitar in the near future. There is no indication of this, only the voice of his torturer and the slowly extinguishing hope surrounds him. Notes: Hey Mate!!! I’m Peter and I say right away that English is not my first language. I’m curious to hear your opinion about this work in the comments! Enjoy!

The story features: - Blood - Kidnapping - Beating

𝕀t is possible that as the days passed, he realized that he could no longer escape; that this was now his life. No sun, no wind, no real smile, no sincere laughter or the sight of his friends, just simple lies.

After so many days, he finally understood.

205 days

𝔸s the relentless passage of time persisted, day after day seamlessly blending into one another, Wilbur's spirit succumbed to an overwhelming sense of despair. The weight of his harrowing realization bore down upon him, gradually eroding the last vestiges of hope that had once flickered within the recesses of his mind. The notion of escape, once a beacon of light in the darkness of his confinement, now seemed but a distant memory, slipping through his fingers like sand.

Within the confines of his desolate existence, the absence of vitality and illumination enveloped him, casting a shadow that seemed to stretch endlessly. The air grew stagnant, devoid of the touch of a gentle breeze that could offer solace to his weary soul. The warmth of genuine human connection, once taken for granted, became a fading echo, a distant echo of happier times.

Time itself, once a measure of progression and possibility, transformed into an insidious adversary, lurking in the corners of his consciousness. Its relentless march was marked only by the monotonous ticking of the clock that hung oppressively above the door, a constant reminder of the stagnant void in which he was trapped. Each tick resonated through the sterile silence, further accentuating the bleak continuum that defined his existence, perpetuating a never-ending cycle of desolation.

𝕎ilbur's eyes, once filled with the vibrancy of life, now carried the weight of longing and desperation as they remained fixed upon the door. It stood as a solitary portal, beckoning him with its elusive promise of liberation from the suffocating confines of his existence. Within the depths of his soul, it symbolized far more than just an escape route; it embodied his fervent yearnings, encapsulating the very essence of freedom, salvation, and the chance to reclaim the stolen fragments of his shattered life.

Yet, the adjacent wall, adorned with two blinds masquerading as windows, proved to be an insidious instrument of torment. Their presence was a cruel deception, teasing Wilbur's senses with the illusion of a vibrant world just beyond his reach. Behind those thin veils, he yearned for the kaleidoscope of colors that would paint the landscape, the symphony of bustling streets echoing with the harmonious melodies of life, and the visages of loved ones whose absence weighed heavily upon his heart. But instead, his aching eyes were met with nothingness—cold, unyielding concrete walls that towered over him, a constant reminder of the stark reality that confined him.

𝕀n moments of fleeting hope, Wilbur's trembling fingers instinctively reached out, as if guided by an innate impulse to defy the boundaries of his imprisonment.

Fueled by an insatiable curiosity and an indomitable spirit, he yearned to lift the blinds and immerse himself in the panoramic view of the outside world. Each attempt, however, proved to be an exercise in futility, as the cruel hand of fate extinguished any glimmer of optimism.

With every failed endeavor, his heart sank deeper into the abyss of desolation, the weight of disappointment pressing upon him like an unforgiving burden. The promise of an expansive vista beyond his suffocating prison taunted him, a mocking reflection of his yearning for freedom. The scars of shattered hope etched themselves deeply into the tapestry of his consciousness, bearing witness to the bitter truth he was forcibly compelled to confront.

Wilbur found himself ensnared in a complex web of lies, skillfully woven by the captor who held him captive. Each falsehood acted as a meticulously crafted thread, reinforcing the boundaries of his confinement and systematically eroding any semblance of hope that remained.

The intricate tapestry of deception suffocated his spirit, weaving itself into the very fabric of his existence. As he lay upon the frigid floor, his body pressed against the unwavering surface, his gaze fixated upon the deceitful blinds that obscured his view. The relentless ticking of the clock filled his ears, its mechanical rhythm a cruel reminder of the passage of time within the confines of his desolate realm.

In the midst of his solitude, Wilbur could no longer deny the grim reality that enveloped him. The boundaries of his existence were defined by the stillness of time, a stagnant void that refused to yield to his pleas for freedom.

The notion of liberation, once a flickering beacon of hope, now faded into the recesses of his consciousness, like a distant dream that slipped through his grasp. In this desolate realm where time stood still, he became a prisoner of his own thoughts, forever yearning for the freedom that eluded him, forever haunted by the fading echoes of a life he once knew.

𝔸s his heavy eyelids drooped, weighed down by the burdensome weariness that had permeated his very being, Wilbur found himself succumbing to the all-encompassing grip of his confined existence. In this dimly lit room, time seemed to lose its form, its familiar markers fading away as the boundaries between night and day merged into a perpetual twilight. The once vibrant juxtaposition of the sun's radiant warmth and the moon's gentle glow became indistinguishable, swallowed by an eternal grayness that enveloped every nook and cranny.

Within the murky realm that held him captive, the overhead lights lay dormant, their lifeless state casting a thick shroud of darkness that seemed to devour the room. It was as if the absence of light had become an entity in itself, encroaching upon his senses, and plunging him into an abyss of gloom. Amidst this pervasive obscurity, only the feeble glow of three flickering candles perched upon the bedside table dared to defy the encroaching shadows. Their wavering flames, like delicate dancers, cast erratic patterns of light and shadow upon the stagnant air. The interplay of these fleeting illuminations transformed the surrounding walls into a canvas of uncertain forms and distorted shapes, further blurring the already hazy boundary between reality and the realm of his imagination.

In ordinary circumstances, the presence of such impenetrable darkness would have stirred fear and panic within his heart. The primal instincts of self-preservation would have urged him to seek out sources of light, to banish the encroaching shadows that whispered of unseen dangers lurking in the depths. But within the desolate confines of his prolonged captivity, fear had become an unwavering companion, its grip firmly established, and uncertainty had woven itself into the very fabric of his existence.

The boundaries of his perception had shifted, adapting to the grim surroundings that held him captive. The flickering candles, though feeble, provided a modicum of solace—a fragile tether to the semblance of normalcy that he clung to in the face of despair.

𝕋ime itself, once a steadfast guide in navigating the ebb and flow of existence, seemed to lose its grip within these murky walls. Days melted into nights, and nights bled into days, leaving him immersed in a perpetual state of temporal ambiguity. The familiar markers that delineated the passage of hours and the rhythm of life became elusive, their presence swallowed by the stagnant air. The tick of a clock, once a reliable metronome of progression, remained conspicuously absent, leaving him adrift in a timeless void.

His weary body sank into the cold floor, the weight of his confinement settled upon his shoulders. He became acutely aware of the oppressive silence, broken only by the distant echoes of his own breathing. The solitude that once offered respite now morphed into an unbearable burden. It was within this stillness that the whispers of his thoughts grew louder, entangling him in a web of introspection and contemplation. In the depths of this languishing solitude, he found himself grappling with existential questions, yearning for the echoes of human connection that had long faded away.

Within the realm of shadows and perpetual twilight, where the boundaries between light and dark blurred, Wilbur's existence had been reduced to a precarious balance between resignation and defiance. Fear had become a cloak he wore, his constant companion in this world devoid of clarity. And as the candles flickered, casting ethereal glimmers of light amidst the encroaching darkness, he clung to the fragile remnants of hope, fiercely determined to find solace in the face of uncertainty.

𝕎ithin the suffocating confines of his desolate abode, Wilbur had grown accustomed to the oppressive atmosphere that permeated every inch of the room. The feeble glow emanating from the flickering candles provided a mere glimmer of light, barely enough to illuminate the contours of the space that enveloped him. It was a haunting reminder of the limits that bound his world, confining him within these four walls, where even the most basic elements of existence became distorted and obscured in the murky haze.

As he lay there, his senses acutely attuned to the muted ambiance that surrounded him, Wilbur couldn't help but ponder if the all-encompassing darkness was a reflection of his own shattered spirit. The erratic dance of the flickering flames seemed to mirror the flicker of hope that resided deep within him, perpetually struggling to survive amidst the overwhelming waves of despair.

In this surreal twilight that held him captive, he yearned for the warmth of sunlight to bathe his weary body, for the clarity of daylight to pierce through the fog of uncertainty that shrouded his mind, and for the freedom that those rays symbolized to penetrate the confines of his existence.

𝕐et, for the time being, he resigned himself to the dimly lit room, where the soft glow of the flickering candles and the ever-shifting shadows that played upon the walls served as silent reminders of the uncertain path he was compelled to tread. Within this world of muted light and enigmatic darkness, fear and uncertainty intertwined seamlessly with the very fabric of his existence. They fused together like threads in a complex tapestry, threading their way through his thoughts, emotions, and every fiber of his being.

The shadows whispered cryptic secrets and concealed untold mysteries, leaving him perpetually on edge, his senses heightened to their limits

ℍe understood that the flickering candles and the shifting interplay of light and darkness were metaphors for his own journey—a testament to his resilience and the indomitable spirit that refused to be extinguished. In the face of overwhelming adversity, he found solace in the very act of enduring, of persisting in the face of uncertainty and despair.

Wilbur lay in the muted ambiance of the room, his spirit intertwined with the dance of the flickering flames, he resolved to navigate the labyrinthine corridors of his confinement, guided by the faint glow of hope that illuminated his path.

𝕋he haunting voice, both chilling and achingly familiar, reverberated through the staleness of the air, its spectral resonance echoing within the confines of his consciousness. With a reluctant surrender, he pried open his heavy eyelids, greeted by the sight of gleaming boots positioned mere inches from his pallid face. The figure before him, crouched and poised, emitted an aura of malevolence that seemed to permeate the very fabric of the room, electrifying the atmosphere with a palpable sense of foreboding.

Slowly, reluctantly, the weary succumbed to the call, his eyelids fluttering open to reveal a world that seemed both warped and surreal.

Before him, mere inches away, stood a figure cloaked in an aura of malevolence that sent shivers down his spine. The polished boots of the enigmatic being glimmered under the faint glow of the solitary bulb, their proximity instilling a sense of claustrophobic unease. As his bleary vision adjusted, Wilbur could discern the crouching form of the figure, its very posture emanating a sinister intent that set his heart pounding like a frantic drum.

"Oh, my beautiful boy, my silly Wilbur," The voice, a paradoxical concoction of derision and warped affection, slithered forth from the figure's lips, weaving its haunting melody through the labyrinth of his consciousness.

Its words, like venom-tipped arrows, pierced the fragile fabric of his weary mind, injecting a toxic blend of regret and resignation. The contours of the figure's face, swollen and grotesque, materialized hazily in his blurred vision, manifesting a chilling manifestation of his deepest fears.

𝕋he weight of his circumstances, already burdened with weariness and desolation, threatened to crush his spirit under its suffocating embrace. In that agonizing moment, despair crashed upon him like a tidal wave, threatening to extinguish the flickering flame of hope that had defiantly endured. The notion of surrender, of yielding to the unrelenting torment, stealthily slithered into his thoughts, tempting him with the promise of respite from his arduous struggle.

But what remained to be fought for? The promise of freedom, once a beacon of solace, now appeared to be naught but a tantalizing illusion, perpetually just beyond his grasp. Would they not hunt him down, wherever he sought refuge? Doubts, like ravenous vultures, circled his fragile psyche, gnawing at the tattered fragments of his self-worth. Why had he been condemned to this harrowing fate? What had he done to deserve the unyielding cycle of torment? In the depths of his despair, he found himself grappling with existential questions, his fractured spirit teetering on the precipice of oblivion.

In the depths of his despair, he embarked on a solitary journey, a treacherous exploration of his own self-worth. Why had he been condemned to this harrowing fate, this unyielding labyrinth of suffering? What sins had he committed to warrant such relentless torment? The questions echoed relentlessly within the caverns of his soul, their reverberations eroding his already fractured spirit, leaving behind a landscape of desolation.

𝕐et, amid the vast expanse of overwhelming darkness that threatened to consume him whole, a faint spark of defiance flickered deep within his being. It danced on the edges of his consciousness, whispering of the dormant resilience that lay dormant within his battered soul.

Like a gentle gust of wind against a raging storm, it urged him to push back against the suffocating shadows that sought to enshroud him entirely.

"𝕀f only you hadn't snouted, my dear Wilbur, things could have unfolded in a vastly different manner," the voice sneered, its words dripping with a toxic blend of scorn and twisted nostalgia. The weight of those words settled upon his weary mind, stirring a tumultuous whirlwind of regret and curiosity. His bleary eyes struggled to bring the figure before him into focus, yet the swollen orbs that confronted him formed a grotesque image, distorting the boundary between nightmare and reality.

Within the depths of that unsettling gaze, he glimpsed a reflection of their shared history, a tapestry woven with threads of defiance and rebellion. The figure's eyes, once vibrant and brimming with possibility, now swelled with the weight of their experiences, like swollen rivers on the brink of flooding their banks. In the haze of his blurred vision, the grotesqueness of their visage seemed to symbolize the corruption that had seeped into their shared existence, an embodiment of the darkness that had ensnared them both.

The air around them grew heavy, pregnant with unspoken truths and the bitter sting of consequence. Each word, laced with the venom of their intertwined destinies, seemed to hang in the stillness, an accusation that cut through the fog of his thoughts. The rules, an invisible framework that had dictated their lives, emerged as a haunting specter, a silent witness to their entwined existence. They were the shackles that bound him, the boundaries that restricted his every move.

𝕋he haunting voice pierced the air, its presence seemed to acquire a disconcerting tenderness, its touch grazing his cheek with an eerie intimacy. Yet, his numbed senses could barely register the gesture, rendering it a mere whisper amidst the cacophony of his torment. His body, drained of its reserves of strength, was rendered an immobile vessel, unable to even muster a flinch in anticipation of the inevitable punch that loomed on the horizon.

Through the haze of his blurred vision, he strained to focus on the figure before him, his eyes struggling to make sense of the fragmented details of their attire. Slowly, like fragmented puzzle pieces piecing themselves together, the figure's torso emerged from the mists of his pain-stricken perception.

It was a suit, a realization that mingled with the searing agony that engulfed him, an incongruity that seemed to add a surreal layer to the unfolding scene.

A flicker of recognition sparked within the depths of his battered mind, though its feeble glow was quickly overshadowed by the overwhelming darkness of his torment. This suit... it's mine. The thought flickered amidst the waves of agony that threatened to drown him, a momentary respite that whispered of the twisted irony that had brought him face to face with a distorted reflection of himself. The person before him, their lips moving with words lost to his addled senses, radiated an anger that permeated the very atmosphere, filling the room with a palpable malevolence.

In the timeless abyss that swirled around him, time itself seemed to distort, stretching into an agonizing crawl. Each passing second felt like an eternity, as he braced himself for the inevitable impact of the another punch. The weight of dread settled upon him like an oppressive cloak, coiling around his trembling form, squeezing the air from his lungs.

𝕐et, it was only upon the fourth strike that searing pain surged through his battered body, his head colliding forcefully with the unyielding floor. The sheer force of the impact reverberated through every fiber of his being, overwhelming his senses and leaving him disoriented, his blurred vision dancing with sparks of light and darkness.

The symphony of suffering that accompanied each blow drowned out all other sounds, save for the deafening thump of his own heartbeat, which pounded like a primal drum within his chest.

Each strike sent shockwaves of torment coursing through his shattered form, a relentless assault that pushed his spirit to the precipice of despair. In the midst of this brutal onslaught, an instinctual urge compelled him to shut his eyes tightly, seeking refuge in the darkness that lay behind his eyelids. It was a feeble attempt to shield himself from the relentless barrage, an involuntary reflex born of survival instincts honed through enduring such agonies.

With each strike, his spirit flickered, threatened by the overwhelming force of the assault. In the recesses of his shattered resolve, a faint glimmer of resilience remained, like a stubborn ember amidst the charred remnants of a once-vibrant flame. It whispered of a strength yet untapped, a latent power that lay dormant within the depths of his being, waiting to be summoned forth.

ℍis weary eyes fluttered open, the weight of his torment still bearing down upon him, a stark and bewildering image materialized before his blurred vision. The person who had been the source of his unrelenting suffering, clad in the very suit that had once belonged to him, now cowered in a corner next to the clothes closet. Trembles racked their frame, their trembling limbs a physical manifestation of the fear that radiated from their being.

His gaze, instinctively drawn to the floor beneath them, discovered an old bloodstain, a stubborn reminder of past struggles that had futilely attempted to be washed away. It stood as an ominous testimony to the violence he had endured, etching itself indelibly into his consciousness. The sight of that persistent stain sent a chilling shiver down his spine, a visceral reminder of the depths from which he had emerged.

But it was when his weary eyes met theirs, when their gazes collided in a moment of profound connection, that a revelation pierced the fog of his confusion. Tears welled up in their eyes, shimmering with unspoken sorrow.

The tears, mingling with the anguish that ravaged his battered body, formed a blurry haze of raw emotions that danced between them. It was a paradoxical tableau, a convergence of vulnerability and torment, leaving him grappling with the enigma of their shared experience.

Confusion gripped his thoughts as he struggled to comprehend the depth of their sorrow.

𝕎hy are they sad? The question reverberated within the confines of his fractured mind, his voice a mere whisper in the vast expanse of their shared space. Shouldn't they be consumed by anger, by the desire for retribution? After all, he had been labeled as "bad," deserving of punishment. Yet, here they were, their tears betraying a different truth. Were they afraid?

The person who had mercilessly inflicted pain upon him now appeared shaken, their facade of power crumbling to reveal a vulnerability he had not anticipated. The answers eluded him, like fragments of a puzzle tantalizingly out of reach.

In the midst of his own anguish, a flicker of empathy arose within him. Despite the torment he had endured, a part of him yearned to understand the complexity of the human experience, to peel back the layers of their shared suffering. In his fragile state, he longed for a connection, for a bridge to be built between their fractured souls. He recognized the paradoxical nature of his yearning, the intertwining of his own confusion with the enigma before him.

But the truth, like a distant mirage, remained elusive, obscured by the fog that clouded his fractured mind. Unable to fully grasp the extent of their emotions, he was left to ponder the enigma that stood before him.

And in that moment, a glimmer of empathy mingled with his own bewilderment, intertwining their fates in a tangle of unanswered questions and unspoken truths.

𝕎ilbur's body, ravaged by relentless pain, convulsed in a futile attempt to seek solace from the unyielding ground beneath him. Every movement was a battle against the waves of agony that crashed over him with renewed force, rendering his feeble efforts futile.

His muscles, once strong and resilient, now trembled with exhaustion and anguish, unable to withstand the torment that wracked his weakened frame. As he collapsed, succumbing to the unforgiving grasp of the cold floor, his limbs quivered uncontrollably, a testament to the unremitting suffering that gripped him.

A soft hiss escaped his lips, an involuntary exhale of pain that reverberated through the stifling air. The sound carried the weight of his torment, a tangible expression of the depths to which he had been pushed. It was a sound of surrender and defiance, a fusion of resignation and resilience that coexisted within him.

The remnants of the previous night's brutal onslaught surged through his veins, their fiery presence an unrelenting reminder of his ordeal. The throbbing ache, pulsating with each beat of his heart, coursed through his entire being, relentlessly clawing at his frayed nerves. It was as if the pain itself had become an entity, an unwelcome companion that refused to relinquish its hold on his shattered body and spirit.

𝕀n that moment of desolation, a voice shattered the oppressive silence, cutting through the thick fog of pain like a ray of light piercing the darkest of clouds. The voice carried an exclamation, filled with a potent mix of relief and anguish, its intensity hanging heavy in the air, almost tangible. It was a voice that held within it a multitude of unspoken sentiments, a complex tapestry of emotions woven with threads of worry, love, and profound connection.

"You're alive!"

The voice exclaimed, the words quivering with a raw, unfiltered emotion. It was a declaration that transcended mere words, an outpouring of overwhelming relief and concern.

The person's grip tightened around Wilbur, their fingers seeking solace in the contact, pulling him close to their chest. The embrace, while offering a semblance of comfort, also brought forth a surge of fresh pain, as if the warmth and vitality pulsating through their own body mingled with his, forming an indistinguishable blend of sensation.

𝔸 mixture of heat and anguish intertwined, enveloping them in a shared embrace that seemed to transcend the physical realm.

"My boy!" they murmured, their voice laced with a delicate vulnerability, like fragile strands of a spider's web, glistening with the weight of unspoken emotions. It was a whispered affirmation of their deep bond, a testament to the profound connection that had weathered the storms of their intertwined lives.

The two found themselves caught in a web of raw, tangled feelings, uncertain whether the overwhelming surge emanated from the other person's touch or the shared crimson stain that now bonded them together, forever changed by their intertwined destinies.

" Don't do that. " the whispered words escaped their lips, trembling with a fragility that could only be born from a potent blend of love and fear. The delicacy of their tone carried the weight of a thousand unspoken worries, interwoven within the intricate labyrinth of their shared torment.

It was a plea, an imploring entreaty that carried the weight of their entire existence, urging Wilbur to defy the darkness that threatened to engulf them both. The whispered plea hung heavy in the air, saturated with a profound longing for safety and preservation.

The syllables danced on their breath, carrying with them the essence of their deepest connection. Each whispered letter was infused with the tenderness of countless moments shared, the memories etched into the fabric of their intertwined lives.

It was a plea for self-preservation, spoken with a voice tinged with anguish, for the mere thought of losing Wilbur had ignited a flame of primal terror within their heart.

𝕀n the hushed stillness that followed, the weight of those three words lingered, the unspoken undertones reverberating through the space they occupied. In that moment, their souls brushed against one another, fragile and exposed, desperately seeking solace amidst the chaos.

It was a plea for Wilbur to hold on, to cling to life with a tenacity that defied their dire circumstances.

The whispered plea held within it a complex tapestry of emotions, delicately woven with threads of love, overwhelming need to protect. It was a gentle command, an impassioned entreaty to resist the allure of surrender. Their own trembling voice mirrored the fragility of their heart, laid bare before Wilbur, as they grappled with the devastating uncertainty of what the future held.

" Don't do that. "

And as Wilbur closed his eyes, surrendering to the darkness that beckoned, all the candles went out together, leaving behind a void that echoed with the weight of their shared pain and the lingering plea to defy the shadows.

#wilbur soot x reader #wilbur soot x y/n #wilbur soot x you #mcyt wilbur #mcyt x reader #mcyt x you #wilbur mcyt #wilbur soot fic #wilbur soot #wilbur x you #wilbur post #Obsession #kind of sad #Hurt No Comfort #Kidnapping

6 notes · View notes