Welcome! This blog is for STRICTLY 18+ multifandom fanfics/drabbles. Partial to writing NSFW and horror Character/Reader or M/M content, but will do SFW requests. Not shy about writing kink, yandere, and more subversive acts, so if that doesn’t sound like your thing please read the tags and warnings. There is potentially incredibly triggering content here and you are the arbiter of your own safety! Otherwise, enjoy your stay 🖤
friendly reminder to check your maturity filter settings!!
Requests are open! Please refer to the rules before doing so. As I have engagements outside of Tumblr, your request is not guaranteed to be answered. Thank you for understanding 🖤
As always, my inbox remains open to chat as well!
Commissions are open! Please refer to the commission rules before inquiring. Reminder that you must be over 18 in order to request a commission!
Sugar on My Tongue (Tiziano/Squalo x Reader) Ch. 2
Sugar on My Tongue (Tiziano/Squalo x Reader) Ch. 1
Be Still, Be Calm, Be Quiet Now (Kar'niss x Reader)
Fragile and Delicious (Laios x Reader)
Down Comes the Claw (Raphael x Reader) Ch. 2
They'll Inherit Your Blood (Pantalone x Reader) Ch. 2
[RULES] [MASTERLISTS] [AO3] [KO-FI]
**For mobile users, rules and masterlist are in bio!**
Hello, sorry to bother you. I just saw that you write paid fanfiction and I would really like you to tell me how you do it please. I am a precarious student and I would also like to start writing paid fanfiction to make some money and so if you have any advice for me I am interested. Thank you again for reading my message and I hope you will be able to help me. 🩷
Hello! Not a bother at all :) I don't know how others might go about this, but what has worked for me is posting content here on tumblr and ao3 and gaining a base of (wonderful and extremely patient, I might add) readers. Eventually, people will request your thoughts and takes on certain ideas they have and inevitably someone will decide that they want you to bring their own idea to life! Essentially, get your work out there first and foremost and interact with your readers. Hope that is helpful!
if things have felt a little light (as if anyone but me Really notices when i'm light) it is because it's pretty damn hard to focus on and enjoy making porn when there's the looming threat of payment processors hanging over my head. if you're on bluesky, you've probably seen a lot of talk about visa and mastercard being pressured, and that's GOOD! it's good that they're being pressured.
but it can't just be them! paypal and stripe are just as guilty of censoring sellers, and i haven't seen nearly as much energy put toward them. unfortunately, artists are at higher risk of retaliation if they call in themselves, but YOU, as customers, can make a huge difference putting pressure on them for us! please consider making a call today, tomorrow, and however long it takes until something changes! i want to live in a world where i can post atra menta's nipples and just not worry about it!
Now that I'm finally far enough in the Love and Deepspace story and lore I might have to whip out some Yandere MBTIs for the boys.... No one in this universe is normal including us and I love that 😩
Welcome! This blog is for STRICTLY 18+ multifandom fanfics/drabbles. Partial to writing NSFW and horror Character/Reader or M/M content, but will do SFW requests. Not shy about writing kink, yandere, and more subversive acts, so if that doesn’t sound like your thing please read the tags and warnings. There is potentially incredibly triggering content here and you are the arbiter of your own safety! Otherwise, enjoy your stay 🖤
friendly reminder to check your maturity filter settings!!
Requests are open! Please refer to the rules before doing so. As I have engagements outside of Tumblr, your request is not guaranteed to be answered. Thank you for understanding 🖤
As always, my inbox remains open to chat as well!
Commissions are open! Please refer to the commission rules before inquiring. Reminder that you must be over 18 in order to request a commission!
Sugar on My Tongue (Tiziano/Squalo x Reader) Ch. 2
Sugar on My Tongue (Tiziano/Squalo x Reader) Ch. 1
Be Still, Be Calm, Be Quiet Now (Kar'niss x Reader)
Fragile and Delicious (Laios x Reader)
Down Comes the Claw (Raphael x Reader) Ch. 2
They'll Inherit Your Blood (Pantalone x Reader) Ch. 2
[RULES] [MASTERLISTS] [AO3] [KO-FI]
**For mobile users, rules and masterlist are in bio!**
Sugar on My Tongue (Tiziano/Squalo x Reader) Ch. 2
🌠Commissioned by the lovely @globalrebrand🌠
"All of this attention, affection, all of this luxury- every ounce of it is rented. Never bought...and the glass castle the three of you have built will come crashing down in shards."
NSFW
[Warnings/tags: yandere, mentions of trafficking/abuse, afab reader, trying to escape abuse, PIV, double penetration, mafia activities, canon typical violence, mentions of dead bodies, implied killing, bad ending, noncon/dub-con/rape]
[Ch. 1]
Don.
Of course. Walls in the eyes of Naples. A complete inability to escape. The bodyguards and frightened looks, the hushed voices as you enter a restaurant or store. Hundreds of thousands of dollar price tags on your clothing. The lacerations and exhaustion when Tiziano and Squalo return from working. How in the world could you have been so blind.
And now, a light. A horrible, alluring light. Someone wants to help, but at what cost? In taking this offer, you risk not only your own life but the life of some selfless boy?
Squalo notices your demeanor as soon as you exit the bathroom. Luckily, you manage to convince him that you feel as if you might have heatstroke, and he curses Tiziano as if he hadn’t also been a willing participant in exhausting your body.
The rest of the ride is a blur. You turn the words over and over in your mind and can’t shake the pit of snakes that writhe in your stomach. It can’t be possible. It can be. It shouldn’t be.
You don’t see the young man again before exiting the ferry. All of the wonders of the Island itself pass you by as your vision itself seems tunneled. All you can see are images of freedom, of disaster, of fresh ink swirling in the drain.
Tiziano seems to be genuinely worried for you as they direct various servants to find you iced water and cool towels. To your benefit, you can’t stop shaking and your skin is sweating regardless of anything they try. Perhaps you do have heatstroke on top of pure shock. As he dabs a wet cloth to your forehead, he asks Squalo if they should attend the night’s festivities.
Squalo thinks long and hard, gazing out at the brilliant green wildlife below your rented manor, “Sure, this was packaged as a vacation,” He muses, but his brow furrows, “But I can’t imagine he’d be very happy to imagine that we turned down a chance to scope out La Squadra. Rumor has it that they’ve been asking a lot of...questions.” Tiziano nods in understanding.
“Perhaps you should scope. Surely, we don’t need two of us to see what some disgusting goth and his pawns are doing,” Anxiety rises in your chest as Squalo considers it. Meet me in the back garden at midnight.
“I...I’m okay…” You say, so quietly that Tiziano almost doesn’t hear you. He cocks his head and pulls away.
“Darling? You certainly don’t look okay. As much as I wanted to see you in that little Yves Saint Laurent number, I think I’d also rather have you alive,” His choice of wording makes you nauseous. Alive. Squalo seems prepared to argue, and you take your chance.
“I promise, I’ll just sleep,” Hoping against all hope, you put on your most weak and helpless demeanor. Perhaps they truly don’t want to anger this “Diavolo”, or perhaps you excellent behavior the past few months really has lulled them into a false sense of security, but Tiziano is the one who nods his head.
“Okay...but you must sleep. Squalo, tell the help to fetch a bell so that our lover may call out when she needs. Oh, you pitiful thing…” Squalo shockingly accepts.
When the pair have donned their attire and bid you farewell, you don’t even know what to do. Midnight is hours away, but you can’t possibly sleep in fear of missing the timeline altogether. Instead you lay awake, nearly paralyzed with fear. Every hour or so one of the maids comes to check on you, and you politely decline any food or drink. Anything you eat is sure to come right back up.
And so you lay there, thinking, worrying, tossing thoughts back and forth. You’re certain that you’re no closer to a decision when, suddenly, the clock strikes twelve.
It’s now or never.
Before you get the chance to talk yourself out of it, you throw your blanket aside. The last servant had checked on you at around 11:30, so you figure you have roughly thirty minutes before anyone would notice that you are gone.
The trek down to the garden is agonizing. While the party is loud enough to drown out even the loudest footsteps, the halls of the manor are a labyrinth and you never know when a waiter or cocktail waitress is going to come bursting out of a room.
Somehow, by the grace of some higher power, you decide, you make it out into the fresh night air. Though the back garden is illuminated by the full moon, it still takes you a moment to see if any party guests have decided to step outside. A rather frisky pair seems to be exiting the garden as you peer around a corner, and no one else seems to be outside.
Gingerly, you pad out to down the dirt pathway. Part of you regrets not even grabbing shoes, but that thought quickly flies away as a dark silhouette comes into view. Your stomach drops as you convince yourself that the shadow is larger than the young man had been, but once he steps into the moonlight you could nearly sob with relief.
“I can’t believe it,” He starts, teeth worrying his bottom lip nearly to bleeding, “I knew something was wrong. We’ve had some training, but the way that man held you, the way he wouldn’t even let you go to the bathroom I just... I mean he even glared at every single passenger as if they were...hijackers or something! A girl like you just couldn’t be safe.”
Tears well up before you can stop them. In your mind, the world had long grown numb to a plight like yours. Abuse, slavery, trafficking- all of it happens like clockwork in the port cities of Italy. Women have been stripped of autonomy and exploited by the powerful long before society was established and will continue to be long after new societies rise. A drop in the bucket such as yourself wouldn’t garner even a glance. Even if you threw yourself to the floor screaming in the Piazza del Popolo, thousands of unfeeling faces would pass you by without ever once thinking of the incident again. For this lone crew member to not only notice all of the subtle signs that signaled something was deeply amiss, but to be so moved as to act on it and put himself in harm’s way for a stranger- it fills you with hope so overwhelming that it almost feels dangerous.
The man realizes his voice is bordering on elevated and leans in to ensure your conversation stays hushed, “Please, how can I help you?”
It takes you a moment to even formulate the words. Even if your past failures and subsequent punishments aren’t enough to bring about hesitation, the dynamic between all of you has so drastically changed that the stakes seem insurmountable. Tiziano and Squalo have shown you kindness over the past few weeks that make your bones ache with unease. Unease that they finally seem to be treating you as a living, breathing person- and unease that there have been moments where life with them has felt, to your horror, ideal.
Your previous life was spent working yourself to the bone just trying to create a better future. Early mornings waiting tables, afternoons desperately trying to fight sleep in order to study, nights cleaning vomit around passed out middle aged men in tavern bathrooms. All to have a pittance stashed between your mattress and rickety bed frame just to turn over to a disgruntled landlord that you swear would miscount on purpose. When Tiziano and Squalo forced their way into your life everything changed. Almost all of it measurably worse, but you’ve been able to set foot in places you’d only ever cut out of brochures and pinned to your walls, taste immaculate cuisine from countries you can’t even pronounce, wear clothes more expensive than even your life is probably worth. Even the fabric used to line the hem of your skirt that you anxiously twist between the tips of your fingers would have taken a year’s salary to buy. Risking failure not only means the possibility of never seeing the sun again, but a return to…No. All of this attention, affection, all of this luxury- every ounce of it is rented. Never bought. Inevitably, you will commit some kind of grievous error or break an unspoken rule your captors seemingly telepathically created overnight, and the glass castle the three of you have built will come crashing down in shards.
It has to end.
“I have to get away from them,” You whisper it more to yourself than to the young man. He nods in solemn silence.
“You will, I promise. All we have to do is get to my crew staying on the island. Our captain can ferry you back to Naples as soon as we get the vessel ready and by the time we get there the police can be waiting to pick you up,” He gives a small, self-assured smile and moves to take your hand in his own. You instinctively jerk it back, mind immediately conjuring an image of Squalo’s enraged expression at the thought that someone else would dare to touch you. Sadness reflects in the man’s eyes, but he takes his own hand away and gestures for you to follow his lead, “Come on. It’s about a thirty minute walk, but as long as we walk alongside the main road and watch for cars we can make it.”
The bitter anxiety building in your heart is enough to distract you for about a mile. Before you know it, the young man points to a hazy light that sits just above the palm trees and blots out the stars. He assures you that it’s just another mile or so before you reach the crew’s accommodations. It takes every fiber of your being to push forward.
“Captain!” He calls out, throwing open the wooden doors and helping you inside. The young man waits for a moment. It’s too dark to see, but surely his crew should be able to hear him as he shouts out again. After a moment, he leans over to flip on a light-switch by the front door. And when he does you scream.
The foyer is littered with bodies. Every single member of the crew spread across the tile like a war had broken loose. In the center of it all Tiziano sits in a metal chair, Squalo beside him. The pair smile with relief when they see you.
“Darling!” Tiziano starts, pushing himself up and striding towards you. You’re too stunned to even speak. He could have struck you down right where you stand and you wouldn’t have been able to force your body to move an inch, “We were so worried! Did he hurt you?” It takes a moment to even register what the silver haired man means.
The young man cries out as Squalo takes the opportunity to grab him by the hair. He shrieks a plea to be let go but it falls on deaf ears. With a crash, he’s thrown into the metal chair and soon tied to its upper half before he has a chance to even fight.
“H-he…” You try desperately to force out the words. The sight of the dead prevents it entirely. Tiziano pulls you close and inspects your arms and legs, lamenting your filthy, cut up feet.
“All your buddies had to do is tell us where you were,” Squalo finishes tying up the crew member’s limbs and slaps him hard across the face, “The only one with any sense was your Captain. It seems he knew exactly what he was dealing with. That, and he was more than happy to tell us your history with kidnapping young women. Isn’t that right?” The young man fiercely shakes his head, sobbing. For a moment he looks at you, and it cuts your insides to shreds.
“Unless…” Tiziano watches your expression as the young man pleads for his life, “You went with him willingly?” Your heart races, but you know you can’t look at Tiziano dead in the eyes. He’ll know immediately, he always knows. At the same time, this poor man tried to help you. In the end, it’s all your fault. You could have left well enough alone. Now the crew member, all of these men, dead-
“I went…” You whisper. Squalo slowly turns to face you. Tiziano sighs heavily.
“Oh, darling,” He puts his hand on your head, leaning forward and kissing your temple softly, “You should have just lied.”
It happens faster than you can blink. Squalo has crossed the foyer, and your hair is being nearly ripped out of your scalp. It hurts, it endlessly hurts, but none of it hurts more than the crew member’s panicked staring wordlessly back at you as you’re forced to stand in front of him. Tiziano simply prowls over to stand behind him as if nothing at all is wrong. His lack of anger is somehow more terrifying than Squalo’s direct rage.
“Is this what you wanted?” You cry out as Squalo tears your dress, exposing your bare chest to Tiziano and the young crew member.
“No, it wasn’t her idea! I...I made her come with me, please!” He cries, trying to look away but unable to shake Tiziano’s grip on his jaw.
“You two better get your fucking story straight,” Squalo shouts, kicking the crew member so hard in the shin that you hear it crack. In the mean time, he wrestles your dress and underwear the rest of the way off, “Either you ran away to get fucked like the puttana* you are, or your boyfriend here wanted to steal what is ours. So which is it?” The redhead is screaming so loud that your ears ring. Tiziano is drawing circles on the young man’s chest and leaning down to unzip his pants.
“Tell him, tell him I made you…” The crew member is sobbing. You just can’t bring yourself to do it.
“I...I...just wanted to go home!” Your voice cracks, filled with a strength you thought was long beaten out of you. As surprised as the pair is, Tiziano barely misses a beat in freeing the crew member’s soft cock and Squalo spanking your ass so hard you see stars.
“You don’t have a home!” Squalo spits, spanking you again. Your body falls forward, and he keeps you upright painfully by your hair, “We gave you everything a street rat could hope for, and this is how you thank us? We are your home, we are your life, we own you until we decide enough is enough!” He punctuates his words with slaps to your flesh so hard you feel like the skin is splitting. Somewhere under all of the chaos you hear the crew member begging everyone to stop, twisting his body to get away from Tiziano’s groping hands.
“This must be what you wanted after all,” Tiziano purrs, relishing in the way the crew member’s cock stirs as your breasts bounce from each impact of Squalo’s hand to your body. The young man swears up and down it isn’t true, “You wanted to rescue her so that you could taste her for yourself, is that it? You wanted her moaning on your cock like she does for us, didn’t you? I bet you heard everything on the ferry…” The young man squirms, tears and snot streaming down his face, “You heard it and thought you could fuck her as good as we do, isn’t that right?”
“No, let her go, please!”
Squalo sinks himself inside of you, painfully stretching your tight muscle around him. At the same time he hooks up one of your legs and begins to piston himself in and out at an animalistic pace. He bites you, slings insult after insult at you, wretches your head back so painfully it feels as if a chunk of your hair is going with it. All while he assaults your body, Tiziano goads the crew member on about getting off on seeing his damsel in distress ravaged by a real man.
“We should have never taken you out of the dog house, you little bitch,” Squalo angles his cock so that it nearly hits your cervix. You sob and plead, adamant that you just wanted to be free for once, “If you want to fuck another man so bad, fine,” He growls, and suddenly your body drops. The crew member cries out, anxiously begging the men to stop, but your own pleas end as something else begins to prod at your cunt. It’s slippery in its own right, throbbing with need, and it starts to barrel in alongside the redhead’s length in a way that feels impossible.
“Squalo, please! I’m sorry, please, I’m so sorry-” Your pleas go nowhere. The crew member's cock squeezes inside of you, guided by Tiziano’s hand. The burning stretch is almost too much to bear, “Tiziano, s-stop him, it can’t- I can’t-” Squalo starts to move before the young man is even seated fully next to him. He groans in a mix of pain and pleasure as your soaking walls grip him like a vice and Squalo’s cock drags alongside his own.
“You can, and you will,” Squalo lifts your body and drops it again, setting a brutal pace as both members stretch you to the limit. Tiziano tells the crew member that he better relish every part of your body that he can, because it will be the last thing he ever feels.
You know that they’re right. They’re always right. These men have decided under no uncertain terms that you belong to no one else, not even yourself, and they will remind you as many times as it takes to settle into your thick skull.
To your horror, the fullness of being speared apart by two cocks begins to drag bits of pleasure out of you with each thrust. Tiziano practically cackles with glee as he watches you come undone.
“You got exactly what you wanted, sweet boy,” the silver haired man lilts, massaging the crew members balls with deft fingers, “She’s moaning like a bitch in heat for your little cock, just like you imagined.” The young man doesn’t even have the energy to deny it any longer, lost in the mind-numbing pleasure of your heat, “Caro mio**, should we let him cum before he dies?”
Squalo almost doesn’t answer, too busy berating you for betraying them and concentrating on wrecking your insides to the point no other man can ever fill them again. When he does respond, it’s a command to you instead.
“Squirt like a good little whore. Give him a fucking show. Show him you’re nothing but our trash can, that you’re too broken to be rescued, a stupid little fuckdoll for us to fill, show him!” All of his time training you to orgasm for him comes to fruition. You almost scream, squirting endlessly on their cocks as they continue to barrel into you, body trembling as you cum and cum again. The young man shakes, unable to resist your spasming cunt and lets go himself. Warmth fills you and he sobs an apology.
Squalo tumbles over the edge after, sinking his teeth into your back. He pulls you off of the now limp and broken crew member body as he floods your insides, pressing himself deeper than he ever has inside of you. When he’s satisfied that he’s emptied himself, he unlatches from your shoulder and lets you drop to the floor like a heap of trash.
As you lay in the aftermath, tears endlessly flowing, you hear Squalo tell Tiziano something under his breath. Tiziano giggles and you hear the wet smack of his lips against flesh before the young man cries out amid a sickening crunch.
Without looking, you know what’s occurred. You know what it means. And as your owners bicker over what to do with all of the bodies, you know your fate is sealed.
*whore
**my heart
[Ch. 1]
*do not post elsewhere without explicit permission. please consider reblogging, as Tumblr tends to hide more mature content!
Sugar on My Tongue (Tiziano/Squalo x Reader) Ch. 1
🌠Commissioned by the lovely @globalrebrand🌠
"All of this attention, affection, all of this luxury- every ounce of it is rented. Never bought...and the glass castle the three of you have built will come crashing down in shards."
NSFW
[Warnings/tags: yandere, threesome, mentions of trafficking/abuse, afab reader, cum eating, PIV, cunnilingus, Ch 1 is really tame/vanilla]
[Ch. 2]
Seagulls call out to one another as they soar over the open sea. The smell of baked bread and ocean air wafts over a gentle breeze. Children dart between their parents legs, waving candy at each other like toy swords or magic wands. It seems everyone in Naples is out to enjoy the beautiful Summer weather as the bustling crowds, laughing and chattering among themselves, make their way to the shoreline. For a moment you’re caught up in the whimsy of such a picture perfect scene. A firm hand at the small of your back reminds you that you aren’t here to gawk, but to follow.
“Watch your step, principessa*,” Squalo steadies your uneven balance as you struggle to take in as many of the sights and sounds as you possibly can while also navigating onto the ferry that will soon set sail. You thank him sheepishly and step onto the vessel, the gentle swaying of the ground beneath your feet unlike anything you’ve ever experienced. You’re nearly pushed aside by other passengers as you hesitate to continue on. Squalo swiftly pulls you out of the way, but the reprimand you would normally expect to hear never comes.
Tiziano comes into view, a paragon of fashion in wide-legged black and white vertical striped trousers and matching vest. He’s no doubt reaming the guards they’ve hired for knocking his Versace spring collection of luggage against the side of the ferry. The speed at which he pulls his sunglasses up and rapidly fires off insults is really only reserved for property damage. Be it human or inanimate.
Once properly aboard, Squalo gestures to a shaded spot far across the lowest deck. When he sees Tiziano’s expression sour he reasons that there will be plenty of sun on the island and that no one would dare to bother them even if it is a fairly public spot. Tiziano flips his sunglasses back down and retorts that the redhead is looking paler than ever, so pale that it hurts his eyes to even look at him. Before Squalo can argue, the silver haired man is already directing your guards to haul all luggage to the uppermost deck.
“And if I find a single mark you’ll all be stranded on Capri, capisce**?”
As soon as you’re sat on the upper deck, you can’t help but feel that Tiziano is ultimately correct in his choice of seating for the journey. Though this deck has plenty of plush seating and a perfect view of the ocean, the few passengers that had settled up here were eager to change their minds as soon as your trio arrived up the steps. After that, not a single person attempted to even peek at the ferry's highest level. Though you couldn’t confirm it, you suspect that Squalo’s brief...conversation with a small, young crew member had something to do with it. If his widening eyes and curt nod was anything to go by, he seemed more than willing to accommodate any request. It was an effect that Tiziano and Squalo seemed to have on nearly every person they came into contact with. An effect that gave you serious unease about the nature of their work outside of your dwelling.
As you take a deep breath and push down your increasing anxiety, you’re left to soak up the sun’s warmth and gaze out at the open sea undisturbed. Squalo sits back and pulls out a book, though it appears to be in English. Tiziano flops rather gracelessly onto a long seat with lush red cushions and stretches out on his back like a contented cat.
The sight is beautiful. You had never really noticed the way that sunlight disperses across the waves like sprinkled glitter. The way salt air feels on your skin. How fast and endless the water seems. You watch a flock of seagulls fly towards the horizon and as their feathered bodies grow smaller and smaller you too begin to feel small. If you didn’t know any better, you could believe that your vessel sits floating at the very edge of the world.
“Darling,” It could have been an eternity that you stared out at the glimmering ocean as the ferry slowly trudged towards its destination. As you turn to answer Tiziano’s call, you have to blink away the sunlight that briefly stained your retinas. Tiziano sits up and moves to undo skillfully unbutton his vest and cast it aside. As he moves to undo the tied string around his trousers, he jerks his head towards a bottle of suntan lotion sitting atop his purse, “Help your lover, won’t you?”
Lover. It’s a new word the pair have been using not only for each other, but for you. It’s still foreign in your mind. Plaything, doll, pet. All of the names they’ve called you and then some feel more representative of the dynamic of your relationship. The powerful versus the powerless. In your mind “lover” should mean safety, mutual respect. Not...this.
You force a small smile and nod in agreement. As you take the bottle in your hands, Tiziano slides his bottoms the rest of the way down his legs. He ignores you when you lean forward to give him the suntan lotion, instead resuming his lounging position, “It’s simply too hot to do it myself, don’t you think?”
The lithe man doesn’t need to clarify himself further, but the thought of helping him achieve what he sees as his perfect skin tone is daunting. What if you don’t put enough on his stomach or thighs? Does he want it on the areas his skin pales from his undergarments, or would it ruin his aesthetic? The paralysis of indecision only drives your anxiety higher. Any second and surely he’ll tear the bottle from you, spitting that of course you’re too stupid to perform even the simplest of tasks. You brace yourself for it as his arm lifts- but he only removes his sunglasses.
“You can start on my chest, I know it’s enticing,” He winks, settling back into the cushions. You nod fiercely and pop the bottle’s lid open. The liquid inside comes out like viscous amber as you pour it on his chest and it carries a pleasant smell, “Don’t worry. You can never use too much for my liking.”
Spurred on by his encouragement, as abnormal as it continues to be to you, you empty what seems to be a sufficient amount to cover his torso from the bottle and set it aside. Now that you’re faced with rubbing it into his skin, you realize that you’ve never really had the opportunity to touch him so freely. Squalo commands skin to skin contact in an almost animalistic fashion. Tiziano likes to retain every semblance of control and tell you exactly where to touch him, and how. As your fingertips press against his pectoral muscles you wonder when he’ll decide you’re doing it wrong.
You carry forward despite your trepidation. The oil melts on his heated skin and from the friction of your fingers. You massage it in the best you can, rubbing him in wide circles and ensuring that the oil coats every centimeter. After a few moments, Tiziano takes your hand in his own. Instead of berating you, he looks up at you with a mischievous gaze and tells you to climb on top of him, “It’s a much less awkward angle, darling,”
When your legs spread to straddle Tiziano’s bare waist, you notice Squalo peer up at the pair of you over his book. Cheeks blazing, you follow Tiziano’s lead and resume massaging the suntan lotion over his chest and down the defined muscles of his abdomen. The silver haired man isn’t what one would call muscular, but he was lean and fit in a way that anyone could see he could more than carry his own weight. Tiziano lets out a soft groan as your thumbs work into the skin near his lower belly. And as your hands work their way up his sides something stirs against your bathing suit bottoms. You silently curse the man for convincing you to wear just a bathing suit and sundress on your little trip. Even Squalo had protested that it was far too revealing, but now you think it was part of a grander plan.
“Put more on my arms,” Tiziano lilts, bucking against you when you shift to pick up the bottle once again, “And touch me like you mean it. I won’t bite.”
You do as you’re told, squirting more oil along his biceps and up over his neck. His bare cock presses harder against your clothing as you resume spreading the oil along his arms. To your chagrin, all of his movement and quick moans when your fingers massage just the right spots begins to affect you as well. Your fingers glide oil up the sides of his neck and you feel his throat rumble with pleasure.
“[Y/n],” He says breathily, and the lack of a pet name stops you cold. But his expression is delighted, almost euphoric even. He reaches up and cups your face in his hands, jerking his hips once more just before pulling you down to him. All you can do is try and grasp his slick arms for purchase as your lips meet and he hungrily slips his tongue between them. He moans when his tongue finds yours, and you can’t help but let him devour you.
Suntan oil sticks to your sundress as your chests meet. Tiziano massages your tongue with his own just as you had his skin. Your own pitiful whines and whimpers are swallowed as he takes his time ravaging your mouth. At the same time, your bathing suit grows slick, sliding against your folds with every movement of his hips. Even the sound of the ferry’s engine and crashing of the waves along its bow doesn’t completely drown out the pair of you frotting against one another. Your own hips jerk as Tiziano hits your clit dead on with a particularly focused thrust.
“Fuck,” Tiziano groans and pulls away from your lips, throwing his head back and sliding his hands down to the bottom of your skirt. He tugs it up and jerks your bathing suit to the side, exposing your slippery cunt to the ocean air. When his warm length finally makes contact with your skin you cry out and can only press your face against his neck. He ruts against you like this, gripping the flesh of your thighs hard enough to bruise, “Kiss me-”
Without a second thought you obey. You remember a time when Tiziano had to force you to open your mouth for him, and now you’re going in tongue first, dragging it along his own smooth muscle just because he told you to. But you can’t deny how good it feels. If Tiziano kissed you long enough, you’ve long feared that you might be able to orgasm from the feeling of it alone. He’s precise, skilled in a way no man should be and you find yourself falling into him like putty. When one of his hands cards through your hair and tugs, it nearly pushes you over the edge.
Squalo clears his throat, and it takes a particularly sharp tug to pull your lips away from the silver haired man’s. Even as you both turn to look at him, Tiziano doesn’t stop jerking himself along your folds for even a second.
“Oh, baby, someone’s jealous,” Tiziano teases, relishing in the moans he pulls from you as he continues grinding against your opening, “Aren’t you enjoying the show?”
Squalo considers his words for a moment before, setting down his book and leaning back, his own arousal clearly on display, “Well...seeing as I negotiated for this time off...don’t you think the two of you are acting like spoiled brats?”
While your heart begins to drop, Tiziano only lights up with glee.
“Oh, come now,” He pretends to whine, slowing his thrusts but never fully stopping, “I never get her to myself anymore. You’re always spoiling her rotten and-”
“And that’s because she’s been so well behaved,” Squalo interrupts, locking eyes with Tiziano in an intensity you’ve rarely seen directed the shorter man’s direction, “A well trained pet gets all the spoils from its master, does it not? You on the other hand...perhaps you should be occupying that filthy dog house we’ve let fall to ruin.”
For a moment, you worry the pair are truly fighting. Then Tiziano grins wildly and bucks his hips with such force that the sound it pulls out of you can only be described as pornographic. Squalo runs his tongue across his teeth, canines flashing. Push and pull.
“Fine,” Squalo kicks back and unzips his pants, wasting no time tugging out his own cock and coaxing it to stand at attention, “But our principessa better come first or else you’ll be cleaning her up while I’m so far inside that she feels it in her throat, right [Y/n]?”
Of course you can’t respond. Tiziano groans and whines that it’s unfair, that it’s utterly disgusting, but his actions speak louder than his words. He shifts to angle himself so that your entire dripping cunt is sliding up and down rhythmically along his member, nearly begging you to orgasm so that he can let go.
“Come on, baby,” Tiziano gropes at your trembling body as he continues his assault, though feeling your skin in his hands doesn’t seem to be helping his situation any, “Let go, I want to feel your creamy pussy all over me-”
Unfortunately, as close to the edge as you are, Tiziano’s dirty talk only sends him careening towards climax. He lets out a high pitched, breathy moan into your neck and shudders, his own fluid spurting out and coating your inner and outer labia. Just the feeling of him shaking against you, the fact that he couldn’t control himself around your body, it’s only by chance that he lost himself first.
Squalo doesn’t even wait for Tiziano to pull away before he’s up and positioning himself behind you. He leans low and grabs your bottom, spreading your cheeks and breathing hot against your ear, “Stay right there, sweetheart,” And you can’t help but whimper as he steps back to inspect the damage.
“Tiziano,” The redhead tuts, watching the other man’s semen drip down your thighs, “You’ve made such a mess of our darling.”
“But-”
“But nothing.” He strikes Tiziano’s inner thigh before untying your swimsuit bottoms at the sides and casting them onto the deck. You whimper as his hands slide up your sides, dragging the bottom of your sundress with it. For a brief moment you wonder if anyone can see, but that fear is overridden when a very reluctant Tiziano turns his body around and slides down so that his face is aligned with your cunt, tongue just able to reach your clit that sits hovering over his chin. Although he has a few more choice words for Squalo, his warm tongue begins to lap up his own fluid obediently. Before you can even react, Squalo is pushing himself inside of you with a groan.
Your hands fly to Tiziano’s thighs, gripping them for dear mercy as Squalo’s cock drags along your walls and the silver haired man’s wet mouth latches onto what skin it can. He kisses your pussy as if it’s just another mouth, sliding in front of Squalo’s squelching length to massage at your clit and inner labia. The mix of sensations almost brings you to tears, and you know you won’t last long.
“Please,” You moan, absentmindedly pushing back against the taller man’s onslaught into your cunt and nearly humping Tiziano’s lips. Squalo wraps his arms around your chest and cups your breasts beneath your dangling sundress, pinching at your nipples and chuckling at the pitiful whimpers it elicits from you.
“Does our Tiziano feel good? I’ll drop you to smother him if he doesn’t,” Squalo teases, snapping his hips into you and taking time to nip at your neck. You shake your head but he laments that he “can’t hear you”.
“Y-yes, it’s...amazing!” You cry out, pressing yourself so tight to Tiziano’s face that Squalo’s cock barely has room to barrel through. The silver haired man continues on sucking and lapping at your cunt despite it all, spreading his tongue wide and flat so that your most sensitive parts are stimulated all at once.
As if being struck by lightning, your own climax hits you without much warning. One moment you’re whining and babbling for something and the next your thighs are nearly locked around Tiziano’s ears as you orgasm, your own fluid squirting out to drench the man’s chin and nose and almost push Squalo’s cock right out of you. The latter holds tight and coaxes you through cumming, praising you for being such a good girl and showing Tiziano that you’re “not just a dumpster” anymore. Your ears ring and your body trembles to where you barely even register Squalo wringing out his own orgasm against your walls, adding to the mess that Tiziano tries his hardest to clean.
For a long while after all of you come down, you rest nearly naked next to a heaving Tiziano and briefly fall asleep. To your surprise, the man pulls you to his chest and absentmindedly pets through your hair. He tuts at the disheveled state the two of you share while Squalo looks as if nothing at all has happened. Embraced by Tiziano and the warmth of the sun, you nearly fall asleep. Just as your lids start to close, Squalo reminds you both that Capri isn’t far off now. Reluctantly, you let him pull you up and wrap a towel around your waist, “Come, let’s get you cleaned up.”
For once, you’re grateful to have someone holding onto you as you walk. Not only do your legs feel like rubber, but the towel around your lower half doesn’t seem to want to stay up on its own. Squalo calls out to a startled crew member at the bottom of the stairs. If he had heard anything, he certainly doesn’t make it known. However, when the crew member’s eyes scan down your body Squalo’s grip on your upper arm and waist tightens. You let out a small squeak of pain and the young man’s eyes flick back up immediately.
“Where’s the bathroom?” Squalo barks, eyes narrowed. This is the Squalo that you always have to remember is lurking beneath the surface, like a circling shark.
“Th-the womens’ restroom is right downstairs, just-”
“A private bathroom,” He reiterates, tone somehow sharpening even more. The young man swallows hard.
“Yes, of course! Please give me a moment to ensure it is...satisfactory,”
Squalo’s eyes narrow further, but he nods, “Make it quick.”
When the crew member turns a corner and is out of sight, the tension in Squalo’s body releases and he flashes you a smile, “Poor thing, you must be so uncomfortable. I’ll have to talk to the captain about what an awful job his crew is doing.”
Just when you think Squalo is about to lose his temper, the crew member returns, “Right this way.”
He leads you down a narrow corridor and stops at a large, rusted metal door that explicitly states “CREW ONLY”. The young man bows his head in apology before speaking again.
“Everything should be to your liking, ma’am. However, I’m afraid there is only enough room for one,” You wince as your arm is gripped tight once again, The crew member seems to notice and quickly explains, “You see, th-these bathrooms are very similar to an airplane restroom. Only the crew typically uses them, so there is no need for the space to be accommodating for such highly esteemed guests as yourselves. I do sincerely apologize…”
You can tell it is eating him up inside, but Squalo lets you go and gestures towards the restroom. Before you open the door he reminds you that he’ll be waiting just outside. As the door closes and locks, you hear Squalo tell the crew member in no uncertain terms that he can leave.
The young man wasn’t kidding. The restroom really is a small metal box with a silver sink and toilet not dissimilar to the ones you’ve heard about prisoner’s using. Not only is it small, but it’s unbearably stuffy and the air is thick with moisture. Not wanting to make Squalo wait nor spend any more time in this claustrophobic nightmare, you quickly move to wet some toilet paper in order to clean off the remnants the pair had left on and in you.
Just as you turn on the faucet, your hand brushes against a folded piece of paper. It sits just behind the right faucet as if it were meant to be found. Words appear to be scrawled across it a way that seems as if whatever was written down was done so in a hurry. Curiosity gets the better of you, and you pick it up to read.
“There’s a party tonight for all of Don Diavolo’s guests to the Island. If you’re in danger, meet me in the back garden at midnight. We can help you.”
Adrenaline like you’ve never felt floods your limbs. The note falls from your fingers as they start to tremble, soaking in the water that pools at the bottom of the sink. For so long you’ve felt beyond help. Not even God himself has heard your pleas. And now you understand why.
*princess
**got it?
[Ch. 2]
*do not post elsewhere without explicit permission. please consider reblogging, as Tumblr tends to hide more mature content!
just a heads up to my fellow writers out there that AO3 is currently fighting off bots commenting on people’s works to tell them that AO3 will delete their fics “due to the works being deprecated”, and the deletion will affect their accounts unless the authors delete the fics themselves first. IT IS A SCAM. AO3 will NOT delete your works. please do NOT fall for these bots!
I’ve been told the reason why these bots are doing this is due to copyright infringement issue where they’re trying to steal your works (possibly to train AI but this is just a guess) ‼️‼️‼️and once you deleted your fics, it will be either very difficult or impossible for you to claim ownership of your own fics when they were already deleted.‼️‼️‼️
a reminder that AO3 will never contact you through your comments section (in case they claim to be one of the moderators). AO3 will only contact you through your email address which you use to register your account, and it will be from AO3’s official handle. not some sketchy ass @
so if you get a comment telling you you should “delete your works to protect your account because AO3 is doing blah blah blah” report that comment. don’t delete your works.
PLEASE DO NOT FALL FOR THESE SCAM.
AO3 IS NOT DELETING WORKS.
DO NOT DELETE YOUR WORKS JUST BECAUSE SOMEONE CLAIMS THEY KNOW SOMETHING.
Be Still, Be Calm, Be Quiet Now (Kar'niss x GN!Reader)
Cast out of your village and left to rot in the shadow-cursed lands, you pray to the one deity you were sworn to abhor. It seems your prayer will be answered- but at what cost?
NSFW
[Warnings/tags: spiders, oviposition, mentions of blood/necrosis, mentions of religion, canon-typical violence, non-con, drugged, kidnapped, inflation if you blink, GN!Reader, interspecies shenanigans, horribly inaccurate spider anatomy and drider lore]
Amidst the swirling darkness of shadow-cursed lands, your body lies heaving its final breaths. Limbs contorted, cheeks streaked with tears, bulging eyes aiming helplessly down an expansive abyss mere inches out of reach. Though you ran and ran, screaming as the darkness hooked itself into your skin, into your bones- it wasn’t fast enough. It never could have been. And now, even the combined willpower of every being on Toril wouldn’t be enough to carry you to a painless, merciful demise. From shadow you were born, to shadow you shall return. As your forefathers knew well, there is no mercy in the senseless acts of a vengeful God.
In the haze of imminent death, pitiful memories rise to the surface of your thoughts. The betrayal. Devout followers of Selûne tearing through your home and tossing you into the street like a rabid animal. The villagers you called loved ones turning to zealous rage and bigotry. A heretical text placed conveniently protruding from beneath your pillow. Stones hitting your jaw, your shoulders, your legs which curled to protect from the onslaught. Father’s eyes hardening as he wills himself to turn away from your fate. His back trailing smaller and smaller as you shred your throat raw with pleas for help.
Help… It feels as if you are falling into the abyss, even as the pinpricks of shadow eat at your flesh like maggots. Dark Lady… The world spins. Hours prior you would have chosen to be flayed alive rather than even think her name. From birth you endured the isolation of holding out for the day she would deliver your people from their island in the darkness, even as others made their escape. You thought that they were weak, blasphemous. Yet, your steadfast devotion to the Moonmaiden had been for naught. She lifted nary a finger in your defense. Even as her name fell again and again from your bleeding tongue, you were met with silence.
Whether Selûne is unwilling or unable to spare you this twisted fate is too much to bear. You part your lips and rasp, no air left in your lungs to carry your final words aloud. A final prayer will have to do.
Nightbringer...take my soul...and end her.
Just as your vision begins to dim, the blackened ground around you gradually grows lighter. Faint clinking accompanies a soft crunch of dead foliage that litters the once verdant forest floor. Gentle, white light touches your skin and suddenly everything feels numb, mercifully numb. As your consciousness finally fails, a graveled and giddy voice pierces the shadows themselves.
“Oh, Majesty, you bless us once again…”
With a groan, you try to drag your bedding up as a barrier between your forehead and droplets of water. Perhaps if the rain lasts less time than it takes to soak the linens through you won’t have to leave their warmth to procure yet another receptacle to capture it. Curiously, it doesn’t work. Your arms don’t curl with ease as you pull them upward. Instead, they bend unnaturally against some kind of fabric that holds them taught. Furrowing your brow, you try again. All of your strength is only enough to stretch whatever binds you briefly before it tightens once more.
Everything stands still as you begrudgingly open your eyes. Rather than the sight of snoring brethren and the patter of raindrops falling into various buckets and cups strewn about your bedroom floor, you’re met with a vision of darkness. Wet cavern walls illuminated only by a bright white lantern hanging atop a cane that sits perched in waiting for its owner's return. Echoes of dripping of water onto stone signal that your location must be far, far from the surface. As your eyes adjust, you notice white mounds of translucent thread sitting piled about the space. Something in your gut twinges with unease.
Then it comes to you all at once. Betrayal. Screaming. Abandonment. A final prayer to Shar, then death. What was supposed to be death. Your skin had begun to necrotize as soon as they cast you out of the village, the damage was done. No one strayed into the shadows and lived. You look down, expecting to be greeted with the sight of your skin sloughed off and rapidly blackening. However, there’s nothing to be seen. Your arms and lower torso are wrapped taught with the same glistening thread strewn about the cavern. Again, you try to tug your arms free to no avail. It sticks to your skin like-
From deep in the cavern, the sound of skittering. It’s familiar in its frantic pace, and it sets your heart pounding. It only grows louder as you hasten your struggle for freedom. With it, an unintelligible, sing-song muttering. The voice you heard before dying. Suddenly, a looming shadow is cast on the jagged wall before you, growing larger by the second. Its shape is amorphous and contorted, bulbous with spindly legs and approaching ever closer.
Whatever the mystery of your survival, it will have to wait. Everything in your being screams to get away. The temperature in the cave seems to drop sharply and you begin to thrash in desperation. The bindings hardly budge. It’s as if your attempts to break free only pull the material tighter.
When the creature comes into view, picking up the lantern and holding it close to its chest, part of you wishes you had died in the wilderness. The incomprehensible shape of its shadow makes perfect sense as its features are illuminated in a blinding glow. With the head and torso of an elf and the swollen abdomen of a spider, it's an abomination only the cruelest of Gods could have wrought.
A drider.
“It lives!” The creature grins wildly, chest shaking as it tries to maintain its composure. The lantern shakes to and fro even as it slows to a crawling pace. It bends its head left, then right, surveying you without any attention paid to the frantic manner in which you continue to flail. It wets its cracked lips and bares its teeth in delight, “Yes...yes! We must have pleased our Majesty greatly, to have deserved such a gift!”
Though your adrenaline surges, your strength wanes. The material, the webbing, you recognize with horror, isn’t weakened in the slightest. A sob escapes you without warning. The creature chitters to itself in response. Something about beauty, about fear. It gets close enough for you to see in clear detail the junction between its human form and the black chitin that trails below. The lithe, elven fingers that grip its lantern tight. Fingers that it lifts to touch your right cheek. It’s only when the drider swipes away a tear trailing down your face with its thumb that you realize you are crying.
“Shhh…” Surely it’s meant to placate, but it does nothing of the sort. The creature doesn’t seem to realize. You try to turn your head away from its touch but it merely follows your lead. At this distance, you see the remnants of its old life. Bright white skin and high cheekbones, shining silver hair that flows down its shoulders in gossamer strands. For a moment it seems more humanoid than spider. That is, until it turns your face in its hands and reveals five eyes black as the abyss streaked up the left side of its face. As it regards you, still muttering endless praises to its “Majesty”, the eyes blink in an asynchronous manner that stops your breath cold.
Gods, what have I done?
“We prayed for so long, you see,” Chitin crackles as the creature moves to set its lantern against the flat rock you’re held against by thick gobs of webbing, “...and it was saved by your Majesty’s grace! It must be a True Soul, it must be!” With both hands free, it places them at your hips and hooks its thumbs into the tattered fabric of your trousers. It leans forward and cages you against the stone, excited breaths ghosting across the crook of your neck. As your lower half is exposed, the horror of it all becomes overwhelming. To be granted survival and then doomed to serve as a drider’s main course is surely a fate worse than death.
“Gods, no, please-” You cry out as your plea is interrupted by the creature’s nails digging into the skin of your thighs.
“Never invoke the Gods!” It shouts in a deep, booming admonition, nearly euphoric expression replaced in a split second by unyielding wrath, “They have no dominion here, only our Majesty prevails!”
The outburst leaves you shaking, quiet as a mouse as the drider continues tugging down your trousers the rest of the way. Dark marks bloom where it had gripped your flesh in anger. Just as quickly as its anger had surfaced does it ebb into something akin to admiration as it gazes at your bare body, “...a perfect vessel…” it lilts.
As hard as you try, fear triumphs and you can’t help but jerk away as the creature attempts to curl an arm under the back of one of your thighs. You brace yourself for another outburst, another shock of pain. Instead, it drags its fingertips down your skin in what feels like an attempt to soothe.
“Oh, we see it now…yes…fear may look beautiful but it will ruin the clutch, ruin it all,” Its brows raise in trepidation, but before you can blink the expression is gone. Replaced with renewed resolve. The creature presses its face to your neck and even as you understand that this is the end it doesn’t stop you from screaming as rows of teeth sink deep, deep into your skin. The shrill sound echoes into the cavern and doesn’t stop. A warmth spreads down your body as if something has been injected through the creature’s mouth- venom, it must be. It holds you down as you scream and thrash, sobbing into the darkness an endless prayer for swift death.
Slowly, the warmth spreads all the way to your toes. It grows in intensity and pulsates as if a fire is flickering inside of you. The drider releases its jaw and laps at the puncture wound left behind, groaning as your blood coats its tongue. Surely, you’re being dissolved. Your skin is melting off the bones and this luminous abomination will slurp your entrails with glee.
It isn’t until your voice gives out completely that you realize you might not be dying. The creature continues to sloppily coax droplets of blood from your neck, but it otherwise isn’t gnawing on your bones for sustenance.
“Our vessel, our perfect vessel. So soft. Waiting. Just needed a push to accept us!” This time, it grips the backs of your thighs and pushes upward with ease. Even if you wanted to pull away, your limbs feel like the descriptions you’ve read of cultures that imbibe poison for pleasure. They’re limp, uncooperative, and your mind feels hazy with warmth.
An unnatural sound escapes you as your bare skin comes into contact with the hard shell of the creature’s abdomen, sat just at the border between its pelvis and where humanoid thighs would begin. In the warmth of whatever substance flows through your veins, its chitin feels cold in comparison. The creature chuckles to itself as a round and raised part of its anatomy comes into contact with your most sensitive parts. It feels uncomfortable and though your emotions seem to be dampened a pang of fear still signals somewhere deep. A vessel…
Something begins to press against you, grinding its way toward your opening. With a gasp you feel the ring of chitin part and something akin to muscle dilate in accommodation. The creature moans, a deep rumbling in its chest as it grasps a handful of your hair for purchase. Its appendage slowly swells in size, slick and stretching your own muscle centimeter by centimeter. Deep beneath the surface, you want to scream, to bite, to break. But your throat is raw and your body is wilted. Only a hoarse whimper passes your lips.
“Oh, it takes us beautifully,” The drider ruts its hips forward and presses another pitiful whine from you as its length continues bullying inside. It tugs your legs further apart and you brace for immense, searing pain. But it never comes. It seems the creature’s poison renders you pliable for its ministrations.
When its seated fully inside of you, the creature leans back to leer at the meeting of your bodies. It rubs its hands up and down your skin and begs its deity for success. The warmth intensifies to a tingling sensation starting at the tips of your fingers and traveling inward. It reaches your shoulders, your stomach, your pelvis. And when it trails to your sex its nearly unbearable, like an itch that must be scratched from the inside.
Finally, the creature moves. It drags itself in and out at a snail’s pace at first, your walls suctioned along its impossible girth. Its face contorts between frustration and ecstasy with each bit of ground it gains. Even in the fog of fear and arousal it occurs to you that the spider’s poison truly was an act of lenience, lest you’d been cleaved in two.
Its hips jerk faster and faster as your body grows accustomed to the intrusion. Grunts and groans fill the cavern as it takes you, in between which the drider babbles incoherent diatribes about his Majesty, the shadow-cursed lands, and the Goddess that had forsaken him. All you can do is moan in kind, body bouncing limp along its appendage and pray for this overwhelming heat to be quenched.
“Majesty...Majesty...they arrive! Our vessel, hold them- hold them!” Sudden pressure like you’ve never experienced stretches your opening, and you cry out with the only strength you have left. A vessel...the clutch. Everything falls into place, but it's far too late. What feels to be a spherical object travels up the creature’s extremity in a flurry of muscle contractions that drive it mad with ecstasy. It growls and gnashes its teeth as thick fluid spurts into you, depositing something deep in your body. Deeper than it ever should be possible. The immense pressure is too much of a sensation to stand and you feel your body convulse in orgasm as it fills you.
Another. Then another. The creature sweats and swears as it lays its progeny in your body, climax after climax pushing them along, “Joyous day...a joyous, joyous day!” You lose track of how many of its offspring enter you as rapture grips you again and again, your own fluid dripping down the spider’s shell.
When all is said and done, thick white liquid trickles from your opening onto the stone below and more than half a dozen eggs sit snugly in your pelvis. The drider admires its work and praises you endlessly for taking it so well. It pets your hair as if you are a small animal, a thing to be owned, and marvels at the gentle swell of your belly.
“We will coax them out of you, our vessel, one by one. Perhaps it shall be even more pleasurable than before. Finally, we-” It exhales a shaky breath, all eyes glazed over, massaging your distended pelvis in awe, “-we can assure that thousands will be seated at our Majesty’s church!”
*do not post elsewhere without explicit permission. please consider reblogging, as Tumblr tends to hide more mature content!
Randomly remebered that you wrote that incredibly Tiziano x Squalo x Reader fic years ago and it was so brilliant I had to read it again. It only got better. Can I commission a thing? If not its ok, but I kind of need it, i'm getting itchy without it
That means a lot, thank you!! <3 They are so fun to write. I was going to open commissions since I'm about to have time off, so if you want to head to the commission page and shoot me an email I would love to :)
It hit me the passage of time exists as a concept, so I unblocked a bunch of accounts that I blocked in 2020 for being minors. You've all baked long enough, welcome to Hell
