What I find irrationally hot: guys who stuff themselves with so much food that their bellys become so full and bulging that they have to unbutton their jeans to relieve themselves. That reach for the button, with the heavy aching belly getting in the way, the fumbling because the pressure is so great that the button barely opens, then finally it works, the relief on their face, the zipper pops open. And then that little shake of the plump stuffed belly until it sits comfortably over the zipper teeth, round and bulging, a ball of greed. Then the hand that runs over the belly, checking the freedom gained and occasionally adjusting or lifting the paunch which is filled to capacity. So hot, every single step.
Rating: Gen for now, rating bumps to come in later installments
Tags: Soulmates, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Soulmate Escalation AU, Reader-Insert, Reader uses She/Her pronouns, No Use of Y/N for Reader-Insert, Alternating POV, Age Difference, Ambiguous/Open Ending, But I have more planned I promise, Pre-Rocky | Before Ryland Grace Meets Rocky, Pre-Slash, Slow burn coming up!, A mix of both Movie and Book aspects, But this installment in particular is very reminiscent of the book, Memory Loss, Non graphic description of nudity, Ryland Grace is Trying, Reader is tired, this does not help her tiredness, POV Third Person Limited
Soul Bonds are Impatient things.
He woke up naked, which didn't feel…. ideal.
"What is two plus two?" a feminine, robotic sounding voice called from somewhere above him.
His eyelids were ridiculously heavy, and so were his limbs, and his tongue felt like lead in his mouth. He was making a concerted effort to mumble something in response, but it was only coming out of his mouth as "mhnphhhh".
"Incorrect. What is two plus two?" The voice asked again, which was getting old fast. Was it a computer? It had the same inflection as before, so it must be, right?
He tried to blink his eyes open again, which went marginally better than the first time. He felt his eyelids nudge open, but snapped them shut again when white light assaulted his retinas.
"Eye movement detected. What is two plus two?"
"Urghhh… Fuh-Fughhh." He tried to answer, but his mouth still wasn't cooperating. He tried opening his eyes again, slower now that he knew it was bright.
The first thing he saw was the robot arm hovering above him. Was that what had been talking to him? It had a sort of grabby hand pointed his way, which tilted at him as he took stock of himself.
Yeah, he was definitely naked, he realized as he glanced south with his newly regained sight. Lovely. He wiggled his fingers experimentally as he looked around the strange, oval shaped bed in confusion. Was that a tattoo on his wrist? Wait, why didn't he know about a strange tattoo on his own wrist?
He didn't get the chance to investigate further, though.
"Hand Movement detected." The computer informed him, and he tried to pull away as the robotic arm drew closer.
"What is two plus two?"
"Fu- fuhooor!" He finally managed to snap at it as he wiggled away.
-~-~-
She woke up slowly as sunlight filtered through the sheer curtains she kept up in her studio. Or at least, she was waking up slowly, right up until her alarm went off.
"Urghh. Can't even enjoy a damn morning without- ugh." She muttered as she grasped for her phone, hoping to turn off the alarm quick enough that she might get a few more precious moments in bed. Said phone was wrapped up in blankets, though. It looked like it hadn't made it to the nightstand last night, but at least it was on the charger. Small wins.
By the time she found it, she was fully awake, and so turned the alarm off without looking as she trudged to her bathroom.
She lazily went through the motions of starting her day— put toothpaste on toothbrush, stick in mouth, brush teeth— as she flicked through her phone, swiping away notifications.
8:07 am Monday, March 20th
Calendar|| Work [@ 1 pm]
Calendar|| Sedimentology and Stratigraphy Lecture [@ 10 am]
Messages|| Tam: feeling gross today, can you take notes for me? I'll owe you coffee tomorrow 🥺💖💖💖 [23 minutes ago]
Messages|| Daisy: Tam is hungover 😩 but be nice to her please [23 minutes ago]
News|| Recently Released Eva Stratt— Twelve years after the Hail Mary Launch, what does she plan to do next now that… read more [1 hour ago]
Pokémon Go|| Your Pokémon has battled hard and has returned to you! [3 hours ago]
News|| Breaking: Eva Stratt Released on preliminary probation, intends to continue work on the astrophage crisis despite… read more [2:32 am]
Her finger hovered over the news notifications, squinting at them for a moment with the toothbrush hanging loosely out of her mouth. That… felt like something to investigate more later, maybe after some breakfast. She sighed, placing her phone face down on the counter and looking herself in the mirror. She reached up to grip the toothbrush properly again, wrist turned slightly out, and froze when she caught a glimpse of the black lettering just under her palm.
A soulmark? Had hers finally come in? She began to look at it in the mirror, curious about what type she had gotten.
It was backwards, but she tilted her head anyways, like it would help her read it. Did that say… Lightyears?
She froze again, before squeezing her eyes tightly shut.
Nope.
Nope.
All big revelations should really wait until after her teeth were brushed and her face was washed. That- She was going to draw a line there. Right there. Because if she opened her eyes and looked at her wrist, she wasn't going to stop, and then what would her dentist say? Probably nothing, but if she let herself beleive that, then she wouldn't brush her teeth. So she just- she needed a minute, okay? For… the sake of her dental health. Yeah. Sure.
-~-~-
He felt like he was going crazy.
Since waking up, he'd been able to discern a few things.
The gravity felt wrong— That was the thing that he was dealing with right now.
But besides that, He was in a weird lab, above a weird bunk room slash med bay that had two dead people in it. He would have called them weird too, but that sounded pretty insensitive, and he couldn't remember who they were to him yet (he was hoping that he would eventually).
Anyways, things he knew: he had been in a coma (presumably), he was a scientist of some sort (also presumably, given how easily he was identifying the lab instruments), and his memory was kaput. He couldnt even remember his own name, which was frustrating, since the medical robot arm kept asking him.
The gravity here still felt off, though- and he was currently about half way through trying to figure out why, timing how long it took to drop some test tubes from the table to the ground. He'd done the back-math to figure out Gravity with each new time measurement, and kept coming up with the same figure- 15 meters per second per second. Earth's gravity was 9.8 meters per second, and that number wasn't supposed to change.
His entire left forearm was covered in pen scribbles now, because he kept getting numbers he didn't like, and he kept looking back at his work. He was doing it right, definitely, which could only mean that he wasn't on earth anymore.
He dismissed that, and briefly considered instead that he could be in a really, really huge centrifuge, instead, maybe somewhere in Europe or something- but then he shifted to write that idea on the inside of his right forearm (he'd run out of space on his left) and paused.
There was already something written there.
"Three point seven… parsecs." He murmured aloud, the words coming more easily to him now than when he'd first woken up. He dropped the pen back on the lab table to brush his fingers over the mark.
A deep sense of dread began to pool in his stomach and work its way up into his throat. The characters appeared neatly inked into the skin of his inner wrist, but he knew that the numbers were variable. This… was a soulmate bond mark. Even through his amnesiac fog, he knew that somehow. He knew it the same way that he knew that the earth was round or the physics formulas he'd been using to figure out the local gravity.
There were a lot of different kinds of soulmate bonds, from what he could remember. But this was… one of the more common ones. A mark that showed how far away you were from your soulmate.
The units of measurement varied depending on what the person with the mark deferred to, which had been researched to hell and back even though experts still didn't know how soulmarks manifested in the first place. Distance soulmate marks like this one would show up in miles for people who thought in imperial terms, or kilometers if you didn't. There had been rare cases recorded of people who worked on seafaring vessels having marks like these in nautical miles, or fathoms.
He brushed over the soulmark one more time, brow furrowing. It felt … weirdly warm, just below his thumb. The mark had taught him three things though, just by existing on his skin.
1) He had a soulmate (who he couldn't remember, which was concerning on it's own. Unless he hadn't met them yet?)
2) He was a scientist who was very familiar with space (or this… probably would have shown up in lightyears instead.)
3) And finally… that he was in space. (There wasn't any room for argument, either. Soulmarks couldn't be faked, and were never wrong.)
Well.
So much for the big centrifuge somewhere in Europe idea. He chewed on the inside of his cheek and adjusted his toga made of sheets. Maybe he could go beg the robot arm thing for more food. Or a drink. A drink sounded good.
-~-~-
She stared at it again, leaning hard against her other hand over a haphazardly made cold brew.
11.9 lightyears.
Lightyears?
That couldn't be right. It just couldn't. Lightyears would mean that her soulmate wasn't even in this solar system.
Was her soulmate an alien? Technically there was overt confirmation of alien life existing, what with the whole astrophage crisis. But… she didn't really want to think about that.
But come to think, she didn't really like her other option either.
To her knowledge, there was only one group of humans far enough from earth to line up with this: The crew of the Project Hail Mary. The people who were supposed to be saving the world- trying, at least. But there was…. there was no way that she was soulmates with one of them.
Right?
A/N: this is my first time posting fanfic to Tumblr, I’m far more familiar with ao3! If the formatting looks weird please let me know :D
Also, I do NOT give permission for anyone to feed my work to AI. This work is HUMAN WRITTEN (as is all my work) with only the assistance of my own brainworms about this fandom and a deep seated need to squeeze Ryan Gosling’s arms at least once before I die. Thank you.
Very inspired by @electro-elemena ‘s amazing story “Grace Graham Rocky Save Stars”! Please check that out too, her writing is like crack to me istg
Written in part for @thecozycoves discord YYY event! Go team Y/N!!
You sat down behind your desk, grateful for the silence your office brought. Being the assistant of a harbinger wasn’t easy, but the job came with its perks, a calm work environment being one of them. Especially after the mess with your fellow Fatui members yesterday…
You jumped as the door slammed open. Scaramouche, who seemed to be in a fouler mood than usual, walked in. He didn’t bother to close the door behind him, simply heading to his chair. You could hear him mumbling something about Dottore, but couldn’t exactly make out what. You didn’t ask either, it was none of your business. Scaramouche may not have been kind with his words, but he was always clear when he’s addressing you. You got up to close the door behind him before sitting back down at your desk, processing the documents Scaramouche had asked you to work on yesterday.
“Hey, you,” Scaramouche barked. Him addressing you as ‘you’ was nothing new. He never used your name. “go wash this for me.”
Scaramouche held out his catalyst to you, which you could see was covered in blood. You got up from your desk and accepted the weapon, taking it to an adjacent bathroom to wash it. As much as you were not a fan of it, you were used to it. You rolled up your sleeves and got to work.
Once you were done you went back to your office and placed the now sparkling catalyst on Scaramouche’s desk. Before you could walk back to your desk, you heard a firm ‘stop’. You froze in place and looked up at Scaramouche. His eyes seemed trained on your arm.
“Lift your sleeve.”
You looked down at your arm and felt anxiety settle in as you realized part of the bruise from yesterday was showing.
“Sir, it’s nothing se-”
“I told you to lift your sleeve, not to talk back.”
Anxiety turned to fear as you saw cold eyes glaring at you. He was angry. You lifted your sleeve, revealing the hand-shaped bruise under it. Scaramouche’s eyes narrowed as he saw the bruise. He glared at it for a few seconds, before looking you in the eyes.
“Who did that?” His voice was colder than you had ever heard.
“Sir, it-”
“I asked you who, y/n.”
You muttered the name, hoping to not anger him any more. Scaramouche nodded and left the office without another word. He would teach them that nobody messed with what was his.
It was only after he closed the door behind him - gently - that you noticed that for the first time, he had used your name.
its hot in wolf trap, virgina. the sun beats down and the air is humid, weighing down on will as he arrives home from quantico. his A/C breaks rather often, and today is one of those days.
will doesn't bother to go inside. there's no one around for miles and the house will be stifling, even more so than his porch. instead he strips down, tossing his clothes next to him as he lays on the couch he keeps outside. he dozes off, the sun warming his skin, knowing he has nothing to do for the next 12 hours.
will ends up dreaming. he's in hannibals office, spread out in his chair, completely bare. he has his hand around his cock, his movements guided by accented words. a familiar lithuanian accent encourages him, little whispers of "you are doing so well, will. such a good boy," and "don't be shy, show me what makes you feel good."
he cant see hannibal, but he can feel his presence, strong, domineering, gentle. he likes the breath he can feel on the shell of his ear as hannibal encourages him. he is so close, he just needs a little more—
"—cum for me, boy."
and that's all he needs to be spilling over himself. he wakes up then, after he's made a mess of himself and his porch couch. its humiliating, to be quite honest, that his unofficial therapist had him cumming in his sleep like he was in high school again. he moans blearily, stretching as he prepares to get up and clean himself, when he hears a familiar accented voice.
--
when hannibal left his office to go see will, using a case jack gave him as an excuse, he did not expect to find will naked and exposed on his porch. he certainly did not expect to find will naked and grinding against the cushion he was laying on.
hannibal supposes he should try to wake will up, to spare him humiliation. hannibal also supposed that if will happens to not wake up, he should need proof of that. he slides his phone out of his pocket, sets it to video, and presses record. hannibal then murmurs at will halfheartedly, saying "will, wake up. I have a case to talk to you about."
will, predictably, does not wake up. will, unpredictably, lets out a muddled moan, his hips twitching.
fascinating.
if hannibal were to test something, surely he could not be faulted for that.
keeping his voice low, hannibal croons, "will, darling, what are you doing?" and will lets out a gasp and a high whine, his hands loosely grasping at the couch he rested on.
how is hannibal supposed to resist those sweet sounds? hannibal encourages hims softly, drinking up the soft whimpers as hannibal plys him with praise.
wills noises grow desperate, and hannibal looks on with amusement. hannibal tells his sweet boy to cum, and he does, calling a slurred version of hannibal's name as his cock jerks and spills.
hannibal sees wills eyes fluttered open soon after that, and he cant help purr, "did you have a nice nap, will?"
--
oh god.
will slowly tilts his head up, blue eyes meeting deep hazel.
hannibal is on his porch. hannibal is on his porch and will has cum all over himself. hannibal is on his porch and will is covered in cum because he dreamt about hannibal.
credits to @frederickchiltonsdivacup and @will-grahams-larynx for inspiring me through a conversation we had
He says your name while towering over you in the dark. Your calves pressed against the edge of your bed, your eyes up towards him. Miguel’s face stained with tears while searching for an answer. You want to ask what’s wrong. Why he’s come to you distraught in the dead of night. But no words escape your lips.
Instead, you nod.
Miguel does all of the heavy lifting. He picks you up, laying you carefully on the sheets. Whatever he’s feeling, he’s not taking it out on you. He’s gentle, removing your clothes and his suit. His lips on yours were desperate, the unknown emotion fading with every kiss. His calloused hands trace your body as if you were a painting. The tips of his fingers move like a brush stroke.
You whimper from his caresses and he swallows them all. Completely absorbed by you. His fingers dip along your sex, chest rumbling at how wet you were for him already. Miguel holds you close while slowly pumping two fingers into you. A thumb lazily circling your clit. You try to hide as he pleasures you, but he demands you look at him. Desperation decorating his crimson eyes while they mix with lust. And you get lost in them. Relaxing your muscles only for them to jolt in pleasure. Pushing you to the deep end.
Miguel helps you ride your high as much as he can. His fingers slick with your arousal. As he turns you over, his lips press along your head, then goes down. To your neck, your shoulders, your back. All while making sure your hips are up in the air, face down. Even then he takes his time, making sure he's kissed every single part of your back.
Then he slides into you.
You whine at the stretch, tangling your fingers into the sheets. Miguel groans at how you feel, slowly settling himself all the way in. He leans over, a hand on top of yours while the other a firm grip on your hip. His face on your head as he takes a minute to be completely absorbed by you. Pretending you two were the only people in this world. Right here and right now.
When he starts to move, you sigh at him pulling all the way back then pushing forward. Slow but powerful thrusts almost knock the wind out of your lungs. He lovingly traps you under him, his hand squeezing yours after each snap of his hips. His breath traveling down the nape of your neck, not wanting to part from you at this moment.
He picks up the pace of his slow rhythm. The grip on your hip gets harder and he starts being more vocal, whining in your ear. Sweat from your skin sticking to his chest. Goosebumps forming at hearing the sticky, wet sounds of your exchange. And you know he’s close so you let him ride that wave.
Miguel stills, letting out whatever he was going through. Filling you up with his cum while buried in your neck. He presses further into you, clutching on to make sure not a drop escapes. In the crisp silence, the soft sounds of crickets outside your window, he kisses your head. Still inside you.
“Thank you.”
A/N: Thank you, 'Dopamine' by Jackson Wang, for inspiring me.
A small rewrite of dating app könig, cause there was no grammar or anything in that so enjoy this. Mind you there's still most likely mistakes. König x black reader
My simple pleasure: Hunting
My greatest strengths: Me
Best way to ask me out: Please
While you sit there swooning about this mystery man from whatever strange dating app, you're friends share a worried glance at each other, looking through his profile,
"Look at him, isn't he so cute!"
Silence
A blur of man, a topples picture of him, head covered and in the snow. They're all less than impressed when they're met with a picture taken too close to the camera, hollow blue eyes staring them down.
Your first friend turns to you, "Listen, I'm going to hold your hand when I say this."
"There's no way this is real. Please don't tell me this is real?!"
"It's cool right! He said he lives in the countryside, lives off the land, that sort of thing!"
The look on their faces is nothing short of disapproval 'You can't really fall for this, can you?'
It's clear, with every photo and message they swipe through, their faith in you is lost.
"I've video called him so I know he's real!" Like that makes the whole situation better
"Did you show him outside of your apartment too(?)" Your friend is met with an elbow to her by one of the other
"You know what, call him. Right now, we need to see him."
You fumble around with the phone, half hoping he won't pick up. What's more embarrassing, he picks up and they only reply with "ew" or it goes to voicemail....
The tone rings twice before he picks up.
The screen is close to his face when he picks
"Hello!" He seems very excited to see you
"Hi ... just wanted to say hello, my friend also wanted to say hello." you angle the phone towards them, unimpressed as he hides away quickly
Kai would 100% burst into tears if "Are you okay?" left the Farmer's mouth.
I think Kai is a tough guy to make crack to cry. But it could be such a tender moment, and would have to be a build up of emotions that Kai has been resistant to express. Kai has been in survival mode since it was just him and Kai - young kits out in the wilderness and having to fend for themselves after the death of their parents. Certainly, Grimshire must have lent their support, but there are some things only Kai as the older brother could understand as a survivor and a guardian to the only family he has. He must feel as if he needs to shoulder all of this, on himself.
Survival was as rewarding as much as it was punishing - scrapes, bruises, empty bellies - but it had to be worth it in contrast with the joy of a large catch or a bushel of fennel, the grin of his younger brother and the swell of pride as they could sit beside their fire pit with full stomachs. Kai must of had to shove down the grief and stress for the sake of making sure Tano, didn't have to face the brunt of suffering. He can't afford to be weak. He could dampen such feelings when he had the routine and rhythm of survival to preoccupy him.
With the events of Grimshire, however, I can see things turn on its head. As soon as the Red Tide pulls in, so does Kai's anxiety. He calculates how much dried fish they have to live off of before their larder runs out, where to fish and hunt away from the Hunt, how much to ration (I always imagine Kai gave the largest portions to Tano, a point of contention between them now that Tano is old enough to know his brother's self-sacrificing habits), and by Anima, how to make sure Tano doesn't get sick. In my mind, Tano is always the priority for Kai before himself.
Then there's the beast in the woods, and I'm sure a majority of us can imagine the spike of anxiety Kai and Tano may have. The increasing threat of starvation and the thought of death looms over all. The Lynx Brothers are far more exposed to what beasts there may be, and Kai probably takes watch every night during that event. Sleep doesn't come easy, and most certainly won't if that happens to Tano.
So, imagine the Farmer, after tirelessly mining or foraging for the sake of the next town project - to find Kai perched on that incline the Lynx Brother's shelter in the Marsh. Haggard looking, yet eyes gleaming in the dark as the Farmer approaches, spear held tight. What semblance of ease only returns when the Farmer verbally announces themself, and the grip on the spear slackens. But he doesn't let go. His eyes, flicker behind the Farmer in occasion, on edge.
It's dangerous to be out this late. He may say, low and chiding. The Farmer could probably only pose the something similar - Yet here you are. And here is Kai.
There could be a quiet talk between the two, hushed to not wake Tano as they discuss the events of the season and those past. It's only when there's a lull, that the questions turn to Kai - Have you eaten? How long have you been awake? Perhaps the questions start to prickle Kai, already sleep deprived, not wanting to seem weak and briefly thinking the care is judgement. But the soft utterance of Are you okay?
He's silent. Of course he's not. Of course he's hungry, tired, and scared. Scared for Grimshire, scared for his brother, scared for himself. But how can he say those things aloud? Complaining is a luxury, fear is for kits who could hide in the arms of their parents. Yet warm tears slide down his face before he can look away and stop himself, the darkness of night betrays him when he lets out a shuddering breath when he tries to deflect with his answer.
Maybe that's when he and the Farmer sit down, or maybe the Farmer ushers him into a hug to cry into their shoulder, a moment of trust and vulnerability without judgement.
