#Flip Side Realm

[drauphemir]

[ artist @ TWT ] [ artist @ IG ]

Art: p-a-stelblood @p-a-stelblood Class: Commission @ Tumblr Characters: Robin Sokolova © Oceannist

// 04.2024

[cherrybr4t]

seungcheol makes you squirt (+18, mdni)

WARNINGS: somnophilia w/ consent, est relationship, daddy!cheol, (reader calls him daddy twice?) dom!cheol, sub!reader, unprotected sex, squirting, pet names, slight degradation, orgasm denial, not comfy = don’t read!!

seungcheol is determined to make you fall apart tonight.

after making you squirt a few nights prior, he had a deep carnal desire to see you break apart again and squirt around his cock, his fingers—anything.

he loves when you lose all inhibitions when it comes to him—and he dwells on the fact that he’s the only one who can drive you to that point.

knowing how sleepiness makes you enter a new realm of high—giving up control, all senses heightened, he waits til you’re fast asleep.

entering your shared bedroom, his eyes fall upon your sleeping figure and his heart swells at your peaceful state. his needy cock follows suit, staring to swell at the thoughts of what he’s about to do to you.

pulling away the edge of your comforter, his mouth waters at your cute little nightie, so fuckin’ adorable. he traces the pink lace hem of your satin shorts, and admires the way the edges rides up your pretty ass as you lay on ur side.

gently flipping you on your back, seungcheol kisses your tummy, before pulling down the thin material, only to be met with your bare cunt. your scent hits him in the face and he groans at how sweet you smell.

looking back at your pretty face, he notices you’re still sound asleep—probably exhausted from the long day of work. he takes one big obscene slurp up your cunt, stopping at your clit, twirling it around with the tip of his tongue. closing his eyes, he savours the moment, sucking in the bundle of nerves and gently tugging on it with his teeth.

seungcheol notices how your juices are starting to gush from the bottom and smirks knowingly. testing the waters, he inserts a finger in slowly—and it slides in so smoothly.

knowing your favourite combination, he continues to suck and play with your clit as his fingers work non-stop, massaging your soft walls. he loves the way your cunt remembers him, still sucking him in when you’re in a deep slumber.

he hears a soft whimper from above and his eyes trace over your features. his poor baby, probably thinking she’s having an erotic little dream about him.

your breath quickens, and seungcheol recognises the telltale signs of your incoming orgasm that’s about to hit you. he stills his fingers in you, focusing on curling his knuckles up quickly, to stimulate your g-spot, and at the same sucking on your engorged clit like his life depended on it.

a few quick breaths before you start to come undone all over his fingers and tongue. your chest heaves up and down, and small trickles of sweat start to form on your hairline.

he removes his fingers, not wanting to waste any drop of your precious cum, he sucks his own finger dry, growing harder at the taste of you.

seungcheol gets his cock ready, pumping it a few times, teasing his own slit, letting his pre-cum glisten on his thick head. he groans. he could get off simply at the sight of you laying so cutely in front of him.

instead, he drags the tip across your little cunt, coating his cock with your juices before slowly entering you. it’s only when he bottoms out that you start to stir awake.

“cheollie?” you rub your eyes, propping your elbows up to get a clearer picture and grasp on what was happening.

“shh baby, it’s okay, it’s okay, just wanted to play with your pretty pussy. couldn’t help myself,” he starts to move, watching your limp body too tired to move as he wrecks that small cunt of yours.

“nngh, cheol….” you whine, feeling all senses stimulated, and extremely sensitive though you didn’t know why. it took you a while to get out of that foggy-too-tired-to-comprehend-anything state, but you loved the inebriated feeling that came with it. the immense pleasure causing you to space out—you couldn’t think about anything but his cock.

“yes baby, i’m here,” cheol knows how you’re feeling. he knows how the blitzed feeling makes you cum even faster, and he is in fact very determined to see you squirt for him—because of him—on your pretty sheets that you guys picked out together.

his overwhelming feelings of possessiveness take over as he hovers over you with your legs hung over his big shoulders. “my cute baby, look at you so strung out, but clenching me so fuckin’ tight,”

your eyes roll back, barely being able to keep them open, every glimpse of cheol you catch; you savour. his dark eyes never leaving you, his plump lips parted, letting groans and grunts escape him.

“s’good daddy, feels so gooood,” you whine out repeatedly, that being seemingly all you know what to say.

“mm my baby, don’t got a thing in your head right now huh, just how good daddy’s cock making you feel?” he feels you clenching even tighter and this time, when he feels your second wave of orgasm approaching, he stops, and pulls out his creamed cock.

a broken cry escapes you, and he flips you around, pulling your hips up while pushing your back to make you arch further. you turn your head to the side, feeling frustrated that your orgasm got stolen right in front of you; you cry out, begging for him to just continue fucking you already.

“i know you like it when i do that baby, don’t go throwing a tantrum on me now,” he grabs hold of your hair and gathers them into a makeshift ponytail as he slides his cock back into your cunt.

pulling on your ponytail, he finds a pace that makes him cock his head back, string of curses finding their way on his lips and a consistent line of groans escaping at each slapping of cheeks against him.

your jaw slacks, and your eyes shut as you feel like you’re being transported into a different realm again.

“ch-cheol, daddy…” all you can do is repeat his name like a mantra, thanking him for fucking you so good.

“that’s right, love it when i have you all dumb on my cock, i’m all your pretty little head is filled with,”

still gripping your ponytail tight, he reaches down to rub at your sensitive clit, which has been begging to be touched—insatiable, that one. his rough finger pads make friction with your wet and slippery bud and you scream with whatever energy is still left in you.

“wanna cum cheol, gonna cum—s’too fucking good i-i can’t,”

“hold it. good girls cum when they’re told to, and you’re my good girl aren’t you,” he says that, but his fingers rub faster and faster, switching between figure 8’s and tight little circles which makes you dizzy.

“i-i am but, your fingers,” you beg.

when seungcheol feels like he’s pushed you to your limit, he orders you to stimulate yourself even more.

“play with your tits for me baby, want all your senses to be stimulated for me,” and your hands immediately reaches under your nightie top, fingers playing with your sensitive nipples—one pinch and you cry out another beg.

“please daddy, i need to cum,” you decide to play your cards carefully. “wanna cum around your cock cheol, need to milk your cock dry,” knowing that cheol always needs you to cum before him.

“yeah baby? wanna milk me dry? let me fill you up so fuckin’ full?” cheol gives in, and puts more pressure onto your poor clit.

“fuck baby, cum around daddy’s cock, let me see you claim this cock as yours baby,”

your head goes empty as you feel hot flashes throughout your body, before you jerk forward onto your hands, and you feel spurts of liquid shooting out of you, and you feel a long coil of rope unravel out your lower abdomen as you continue jerking.

“fuuuuuuck, that’s a good girl, let it all out for me baby,” cheol moans at the sight of you squirting for almost a hot minute, making a mess on the pretty sheets, some landing on his cock which he’s desperately pumping as he watches like it’s the best thing he’s ever seen.

he joins you in that moment of ecstasy as he shoots his own serving of hot cum onto your pretty ass.

he sighs, coming down from his high—and activated his after care mode immediately, getting warm towels to clean you up, with a new set of nighties for you to put on after your now needed shower.

he leaves trails of kisses everywhere. “you did so good for me baby, sorry to wake you up, i know you’ve had a long day,” a small pout makes way to his pretty cherry lips you love so much, and you giggle.

“i told you cheollie, i love nothing more than to wake up with a little surprise like that,” you pull him down to kiss him, and he swoops you up to carry you to the hot bath he’s left to finish cleaning you up.

🫦 hi guys!!!! i miss cheol so much,, this is me expressing how much i miss daddy cheol, not a day goes by without a thought of him wrecking me. oke i hope yall liked this,, leave a like/cmt/rb if u did 💋 MUAH XOXO 🍒

[rae-writes]

angelic alteration

om brothers x reader

wc : 1.k

warnings: nsfw, corruption kink based

synopsis : when Solomon and Diavolo can't fix the problem, it's up to Mc

a/n : thought the angel event (og) could use some more spice so I poured my entire spice rack on it

“Mc…I’m afraid we have bad news.”

You sighed into the receiver, “Yeah? You guys can’t reverse the magic, can you?”

“Nope!” Solomon chirped cheerfully, “Diavolo and Michael’s magic mixed together too strongly for us to reverse ourselves. You’ll just have to wait for them to go back to normal, or…”

“Or…what?”

“Well, this is just a theory, but what if you just corrupted the angelic magic and forced their demonic sides back out?”

“Corrupted, huh..? I like the sound of that.”

†

“I can feel the magic trying to stop me…how. stupidly. annoying.” Lucifer accentuated each word of his complaint with a sharp thrust, face pinched in concentration as sweat beaded at his temple. 

He’d be damned if something as trivial as a hexed bracelet from the celestial realm kept him from indulging in you, the one temptation he would never dare ignore. 

Your nails dug crescent moons into his shoulders, thighs squeezing at his hips tightly as you moaned and panted beneath him. “Lu-ci-fer! S-slow d-own!” 

He growled and sped up in response, snapping his hips into you harshly, “How dare they try to turn me back? I am the Avatar. Of. Pride!” Once again, each word was accentuated with a thrust, making his cock hit deeper and deeper each time. 

And he was so fucking proud each time he had you a moaning mess underneath him, crying out his name, begging him not to stop— you made his sin flood his entire body every time. 

An electric charge cracked through the air for a brief second before the bangle broke in half, magic forcibly shattering under Lucifer’s sheer prowess. 

He grinned sharply, capturing your legs against your chest in a mating press as he went even harder. His wings shedded to black, spanning out proudly behind him as the halo melted down into his horns. 

“I’m going to ruin you, do you hear me? You’re not leaving this bed- not tonight, or in the morning, or maybe even until tomorrow afternoon…I’m keeping you until I’ve had my fill.”

†

The sight of Mammon’s blue eyes peering up while his mouth was busy pleasuring you had always been a pretty sight— the shimmering halo was only a little bonus this time. 

But you wanted his horns to hold onto. “Just like that, Mams…doing so well, pretty boy.” Your hips rocked over his mouth, grinning down at him with gold flickering in your eyes. 

He was all about giving now that the bangle had taken hold, which even before, Mammon always keened when you sat on his face and just used him. 

The second born was moaning and whining and whimpering against your skin as his tongue lapped up everything he could, “Mmph- like this? ‘M I doing good, Mc?” 

“Y-yeah, baby, fuck— so good…” you carded your fingers through Mammon’s hair, feeling him get more and more excited before you lifted up off his face. 

And he was absolutely distraught with the lack of your taste, desperate cry leaving him as he tried to chase after you. “No, no, no! Mc, please, come back— wasn’t done, wanna taste you still, wanna make you feel good, please!” 

The laugh you let out made him whine even louder, fingers gripping frantically at your thighs. It was like a switch flipped, magic being overtaken by his greed. 

His eyes flickered gold like yours, a whiny growl escaping him. He forced you on your back within a second, mouth working at you even more desperately now as he held you down and took what he wanted— and he wanted to make you cum. 

“Jus’ let me, please let me make you cum— you taste so good, Mc, I don’t wanna stop. Want you to scream my name and yank my hair, grip my horns, just give me more- more, more, more!” 

†

A small shriek left Levi when you rammed against his prostate, hiccuped cries of your name following. His back arched, wings flaring out behind him, making you hit even deeper spots inside of him. 

With his new attitude, he’d been letting everyone else spend time with you and he was finally feeling the built up envy creep along his spine, right beside the spikes of pleasure. 

“Aww…look at you. So sweet for me, huh? Why so shy, Levi? Wasn’t this what you meant about strengthening connections?” 

Garbled sounds left him, courtesy of your fingers stuffed in his mouth. His eyes rolled back, hands gripping at your hips desperately, though it wasn’t clear if he was pushing you away or pulling you closer.

“How am I gonna know I’m doing good if you don’t tell me, ‘vi? C’mon, sweet thing, tell me. Or do you not want me?” 

It was like you asked the unthinkable. A loud whine left him and his tail returned, knocking the halo right off his head before it coiled around your abdomen. 

“No! I want you, I want you so badly, please keep fucking me— don’t stop, don’t stop, don’t stop!” Diamond shaped scales scattered across his body as the magic wore out. 

You cooed, thrusting into him sharply, making his body lurch, “Good boy, Leviathan..” 

†

“Fuck!” Satan cries out, fingers digging into his white wings to try and keep them from fluttering. His back arched almost painfully, loudly begging you to keep going. 

“Oh, look at you…” the coos that left you made him flush red, giving you a great sense of satisfaction. This was the most he’d been riled up since putting that ridiculous bangle on.

Your thighs were burning at the unforgiving pace you were riding him at, beads of sweat splashing onto his skin, so you decided to change the game a little. 

“Come on, Tannie, if you want it, work for it.” You settled your weight on top of him, ceasing your movements as you cockwarmed him instead. 

A displeased growl comes from the back of his throat, eyes snapping open with a glowing green. “Mc, move! Please!” 

Slowly, the halo above his head began to flicker and dim before it shattered, dissipating in the air. Another growl escaped him as his wings followed suit, tail lashing out like a whip. 

“That’s it— c’mon-!” You gasped when he yanked you forwards, chest pressing against his as his tail locked you in place. The only sounds that could leave you now were broken moans as he fucked you almost viciously. 

“You know how I feel about you fucking. teasing. me. Feels good doesn’t it? Yeah? Cause I’m not stopping. ‘M not stopping until I physically can’t fuck you anymore— fuck, I needed you.” 

†

Unabashed moans echo off the walls of Asmo’s bathroom as the fifth born writhes under your touch. The sound of water sloshing makes his cheeks burn fiery red and the sound of you moaning back at him makes it even worse. 

“W-wait! You d-don’t have to— oh!” 

“Shh, Azzy…’m just taking care of you. You were so hard and aching…could see it even though you tried to hide under the water.” 

The white feathers ruffled with pleasure (slowly shedded away and turning back), hips jerking frantically to chase the pleasure. The bangle’s magic was completely buried under how hot you made him feel and the feeling of you licking along the edges of his leathery wings increased it ten fold. 

“Yes, Mc, like that— don’t stop, just like that, just like that!” Amso curled over on you, horns knocking against your shoulder as he cried out even louder. 

You fisted his cock harder and swiped your thumb over the tip relentlessly, “Yeah? Made you feel so good, you corrupted yourself, huh? Pretty little Azzy…come on, cum.” 

The squeal he let out cracked halfway through, broken cries of your name following like a mantra. His hand encased yours, making sure you didn’t stop jerking him off. 

“K-keep going, don’t stop! Wanna cum for you again ‘n again, gotta make up for when I was giving you away to the others, please, please, let me cum again for you!”

†

“H-haaah…ah! M-Mc…what’re you..o-oh..doing?” 

“You said it made you happier seeing others get to eat, so…” you hummed, licking your lips before digging your tongue back into the slit of his cock, “I’m just..enjoying my meal…” 

Beel had always lost his cool when you went down on him, finding your mouth to be too good at pleasuring him. The growl he let out was something only a demon could make. 

The glowing of the bangle did nothing to deter you— in fact, you only laughed and peered up at him with the red sin of gluttony swirling through your irises. With another hum, you enveloped his cock in your mouth and forced your head as far down as you could, swallowing around him. 

He tried so hard to not buck into your mouth or grip at your head as the magic worked to keep his ravenous nature at bay, but…that’s just not who he was anymore. 

“C’mon, Beelie…want you to cum in my mouth, I wanna taste you..pretty please? Let me have it…” 

A low groan fell past his lips, hips finally jerking up and accidentally making you choke. A rushed apology was given as his fingers tangled in your hair and gently guided your head at a faster pace. 

The beating of his insectual wings was rapid as he got closer, magic completely dissipating when he let out a sound akin to a small roar, grabbing at his own horns when he came. 

Watching you pull away with visibly stuffed cheeks, slowly working on swallowing it all (though drops still ran down your chin) made a sharp pang shoot through him. 

“Thank you…you always make me feel so good, Mc…but..now ‘m hungry. Let me return the favor..wanna taste you too.” 

†

“A-are you sure…this is o-okay?” Belphie chokes out quietly, hands pressing down on your hips to keep you pinned to the bed with your knees bent to your sides. 

Your fingers curl in the sheets, body lurching forward at each thrust, “yeah, ‘s okay— feels good, doesn’t it? You’re doing so good, Bel…” 

The clipped whines and gasps that Belphie was making made his cheeks flair with an embarrassed flush; but you were right. It felt so. fucking. good. And he didn’t think he ever wanted to stop. 

Through the pleasure, it was easy to ignore the glowing bangle on his wrist and the voice in the back of his head telling him that he should have more reservations- that he shouldn’t be doing this— that voice wasn’t even his. Belphie wanted this, he did! 

As your hands stretched back to claw at his lower stomach, you moaned out his name and wiggled your hips, begging him to go faster. 

“Please, Bel…know you can go f-faster than this, want you to fuck me— please, please, please! Don’t wan’ you to be an angel, want you to be my demon again-!” 

Magic cracked in the air, sending the hair on the back of your neck rising before a familiar tail curled around your stomach and yanked your lower half higher up, forcing your chest further into the mattress. 

The attic bed creaked with the force he slammed into you at, whines mixing with growls now; his horns pressed against your skin as he rested his forehead against your back, making it arch even more. 

“Yeah? You want me to fuck you senseless again? Couldn’t even go a couple days without having me play with you, fuck, you’re such a slut for me.”

[nosyp]

Twst First Years reacting to someone else calling you 'honey' or 'sweetheart'

Second years | Third years

A/N = If the pictures look blurry... no they're not... if they r it's not my fault smh.

Ace Trappola

He'd probably pretend he wasn't jealous or anything. Like so what? But really, he's probably crying inside, you should go check up on him.

He’d act like it’s no big deal, and he swears it isnt. But it becomes all too apparent when his usual teasing turns sharper, and he’d jokingly start calling you by a bunch of random, funny nicknames to claim you. "Hey, sweetie pie, how’s it going?"

All in all, his jealousy would come out in the form of sarcastic humor.

Deuce spade

Deuce would get SO flustered. His face would turn bright red when he hears someone call you a nickname, and he’d try to act casual about it, but you’d catch the small change in his tone.

Deuce’s jealousy would be noticeable but still in between the realm of normal insecurity and possessiveness.

He’d try to play it cool, but his voice would have an edge to it when he says something like, “I didn’t know you were so close with them…” and then he’d glance over at the person who called you the nickname, making sure to shoot them a nasty glare.

After that, he'd keep a much closer eye on you from then on, glancing over at anyone who even looks in your direction, and might start using the nickname himself more often to show that you're his.

Epel Felmier

He would be more irritated with his reaction, but he'd try to hide it with a scowl or a grumble.

I mean, he’s already pretty sensitive about his image, so hearing someone call you something affectionate would make his jealousy flare up. He’d probably huff and cross his arms, muttering something like, “Tch, who do they think they are? Ain’t no way they get to call you that…”

If it happened in public, he might play it off coolly, but privately, you’d hear him start using his own affectionate nicknames for you, trying to claim the you back.

He’d also make little passive-aggressive comments to the person calling you that, like, “I didn’t know it was okay to act like you’re already dating someone when you're just friends…”

Jack Howl

Jack might be a bit more stoic about it, but you’d definitely see him tense up as soon as he hears it.

He wouldn’t make a scene, but hearing someone call you “sweetheart” would make his protective side kick in. He’d try to act calm, but you might notice him walking closer to you, subtly positioning himself to stand between you and the person who called you that.

Jack would probably make a comment like, “That nickname doesn’t suit you… I think you deserve something more special.” He might even be a bit more direct, saying something like, “I’m the only one who should be calling you things like that.”

Sebek Zigvolt

Sebek is a highly jealous character. If he hears someone call you “honey” or “sweetheart,” he's probably gonna flip out.

His first instinct is to protect you and assert that only he is allowed to be that familiar. He’ll probably storm up to the person with a stern expression and say something like, “How dare you call my precious human that! Only I have the right to call them that!”

Even though Sebek’s usually loud and a bit over-the-top, he’ll become extremely possessive in this situation.

After that whole fiasco, he might start calling you by overly dramatic, affectionate names like “beloved” or “my precious,” trying to show everyone that you belong to him.

[dcxdpdabbles]

DC xDP Fanfi idea: The End and Beginning

It starts off simple. The Fentons move to a new universe once the AntiEcto-Acts are accepted worldwide. It was a problem when the USA enacted the laws, but convincing the rest of the world to follow suit left a bitter taste in their mouths.

It also made them feel highly useless.

Their youngest was a half-ghost, and after meeting the clone and alternative counterpart of said son, the Fentons family now were half of what the Acts claimed had no soul.

They could fight against the country and escape into the dead of night, but there was nowhere to hide when the whole planet hunted them. Unless you had a portal that could send you far away from the government dogs.

This was good because said dogs had managed to build their own portal. Nothing with Fenton Works tech, but it didn't seem to matter. They had a way into the Infinite Realms and planned on sending bombs through to vanquish the ghosts once and for all.

Clockwork had warned the planet's governing units, appearing in their skies and speaking every language.

"If you do this, then your world will end. Your world is a flip of ours. Without one or the other, everything will be destroyed."

His warning only further fueled their hate, and mods flooded the streets chanting for the bombs to be set off. It was like the whole world had lost their minds.

The Fentons cowered in their homes, trying desperately to get people to listen, but their words fell on deaf ears. Clockwork's reputation puts him in a challenging position. His natural dedication needed to remain neutral in any situation, but his soft spot for Danny made it hard to allow time to run its course.

In the end, he appeared before the Fentons with a message. "You must leave this world in one week. Everything will come to an end."

His warning had the group moving. They reached out to all their friends and extended family. Begging them to flee with them. Only Sam and Tucker arrived at their house on the last day, eyes puffy red, bags packed, and a daunting lack of their parents.

Clockwork sent them a ship. It looked like a glowing cruise ship, with wooden planks creaking and groaning as they climbed aboard. They were to pick a room and take shelter, understanding that once they sealed the door, they could not reopen it until they arrived.

The ship would travel at alarming speeds, protected from their timeline with Clockwork's power, but it would take everything the ghost had to keep them safe.

The final moment came, with the seven people pilling together in the largest room- The VIP balcony cabin. Sam, Tucker, and Danny held each other while sitting in front of the glass windows overlooking the fleeing ghosts- their world was also ending.

Maddie, Jack, Jazz, and Dani were in a pile on the bed, eyes shut tight and hugging each other with all their might. Tears rolled down their faces, but no one called it out. They were all mourning.

Dan stood to the side, arms crossed over his chest and leaning on the door. Despite not saying it out loud, they knew he wanted to guard it in case a ghost figured out the cruise was an escape pod. If a desperate enough ghost attempted to break through the door, their deal with Clockwork would be voided, and Dan would never allow it.

The moment came without warning. Multiple portals ripped open among the green skies. Through them, the Fentons could see cheering humans, treating the bombings like a giant festival. Fireworks, waving banners, music that thumped with glee- it made them all sick.

The first three bombs were set off. The Realms' reaction was just as instant, collapsing into itself as the humans' joys reached new levels of glee- until the holes warped into black holes, swallowing up the portal and the area around it.

One right after the other. Large glowing lights, then swirling darkness yanking everything into a quick, meaningless nothing. The humans were no longer cheering- now they were screaming. They were cowering.

But there was nowhere left to run.

Clockwork appeared in front of the trio, smiling sadly at them as multiple cracks appeared on his being. He mouths a sentence, placing one broken hand on the glass, and then pushes the ship away. At a speed that is more light than movement, the Fentons and their guests rush away, watching with horrified eyes as Clockwork breaks apart completely.

He vanishes into dust that gets absorbed into a black hole. Dan and Danny's noise is gutted, ripped from somewhere deep in their cores.

The cruise crumbles around the pressure of the push. Wooden pieces are shaken off the ship, shattering from the effort to keep itself together, and fall into the void as they watch, unsure of Clockwork's power, which would be enough to withstand the breaking of a timeline. Soon, only their room remains; even that, it starts to show glowing green cracks on the wall.

Dan glares at them, never hating something as much as the sight of them, while his family and kid brother's friends start to sob. Suddenly, everything comes to a stop.

Or rather, a large being made entirely of light, taking the shape of a human man, catches their cabin. They all stumble, thrown from their positions as the glowing white human shape brings them to its large face. It's like looking into a marble statute with no distinctive face, only the barest of outlines that could count as a face.

"You bear Clockwork's mark, but he is not with you," The being says, blinking its large eye into the window. The swirling red of its pupils baths the humans and ghosts as they stare back open jaws. "How curious"

"Who are you!?" Dan demands, stepping away from the door. "How did you survive the destruction of the timeline?!"

The being eye's dim. "Clockwork is dead then. I told him I would welcome him into my realms, but he chose to send his kin instead. What a sentimental fool."

Dan's human features melt away, and his ghost forms burst from an explosion of flames. "Who are you!?"

"Your kind calls me Speed Force." It replies after a movement, sounding slightly amused, "And I grant you sanctuary as a favor to an old lover. Live well."

With a snap of its fingers, the group vanishes into a bright light, appearing in the middle of a blue sky. Gentle clouds float around, spread out like a mist. It a daunting change from the darkness and the screams.

The group gawks at the sight before gravity reaches up to grasp the broken remains of the cruise ship within its claws. It rips from them the sky, sending them into a downward spiral.

Dan's flames are smothered out as he desperately reaches for it "I can't go, ghost!"

"Me either," Dani screams, clinging hard to Maddie.

"Speed Froce took our powers." Danny realizes, clutching Sam and Tucker closer. "Everyone brace for impact!"

They hit the ground hard and flung around like rag dolls as the last of Clockwork's powers desperately tried to shield them. The glowing green cracks quickly spread until they resemble spider webs.

They hit the ground with a loud bang, sliding through a few layers of dirt. The group is flung against the wall, Dan grunting in pain when Sam slams against him from the force.

Ultimately, the wood can't hold itself together, and it shatters just as it crumbles to a stop. They all land with pain and cries against the hard ground, in a pile of limbs and confusion.

"Oh my," A woman says, standing on her porch overlooking the Fentons. Beside her is a wide-eyed man, one steaming mug in his hold. "Pa, I think I need to put more coffee. We have guests."

Above the couple is a wooden sign with faded but beloved letters. It reads Kent Farm.

[nottswitch]

⋆౨ৎ you and drummer!mattheo film a sex tape before he goes on tour

nav // aus / drummer!mattheo // more

still obsessed with drummer!mattheo. he would definitely want to have something to jerk off to while he’s away and you can’t join him for some reason

warnings: 18+ mdni, unprotected p in v, slight belly bulge, filming a sex tape, cursing

"fuck, baby– so wet, so fucking wet for me…" mattheo groans, his hard cock sliding up and down through your folds, coating it with your slickness. you whine in response, wiggling your hips in an attempt to finally coax him inside, your hands grabbing at his sides and pushing him closer.

"yeah, baby, i know… just wait a sec, yeah?"

as much as he wants to slip right into you, mattheo finds it in himself to lean to the side and grab his phone from the bedside table. he’s knelt between your spread legs as he quickly opens the camera app, angling it down, towards the place where you bodies will soon be connected. the view through the lens is simply perfect – your trembling naked body on full display, tinted red in the glow of the led lights on the ceiling of his bedroom, his free hand holding you down as his thumb rubs circles on your clit.

"shit, you look good enough to eat," he murmurs, pulling his hand away to grab his cock and give your pussy a couple of wet slaps with his twitching length. the friction makes you squirm, and you impatiently take a hold of his wrist, pulling at it.

"matty, please," you whine, and mattheo can’t hold back anymore. he presses his tip against your entrance and pushes inside, bringing the phone closer to capture the sinful view of your glistening cunt swallowing his cock inch by inch, stretching around his girth like it was made exactly for that.

"so fucking tight, so pretty for me…" mattheo’s voice is hoarse from pleasure, a needy growl escaping him as he bottoms out, the tip resting snugly against your cervix. "gonna miss your perfect pussy, shit–"

your eyes roll back, and you moan loudly as he starts moving his hips in an out, each thrust deep and hard. your walls squeeze him in the best way, both of you unabashedly vocal as his pace picks up.

"love it when you’re dripping for me, baby girl." mattheo’s hand shakes a bit, making the picture on the screen somewhat blurry and out of focus. he steadies it, determined to capture every single moment of your passion, and angles the phone towards your face for a second. he knows he’s going to miss the way your lips part, the way your forehead creases, and your tongue sticks out slightly to wet your drying lips. "fuck, you’re so beautiful…"

the camera returns to your pussy, sucking his cock in so damn well. the slick and slapping sounds of your bodies connecting get effortlessly picked up by the mic, and mattheo already knows he’ll get some great use out of his airpods in the band’s travel bus during the lonely nights.

your shared moans and groans grow louder, mattheo’s hand roaming over your waist and sides, marking every inch of your body with his blunt nails. he flips the phone, lifting his hand up to capture his own body moving along with yours. his toned abs glow neon red, coated with a thin layer of sweat, the tattoo of your name right above his heart clearly standing out against his skin.

"i’m close, baby… so close–"

"yeah? gonna cum for me, pretty? gonna cum on my cock?"

you give a frantic nod, and mattheo brings the phone back down. the screen is now filled with you, your tits bouncing in time with his thrusts that turn faster and harder, his hand firmly gripping your waist. the camera picks up the movements of his cock under the skin of your stomach even in the dimness of the room, and mattheo swears he’s never seen a sight better than that. it almost makes him cum too, but he’s determined for you to go first.

a few moments later, you’re screaming his name as your release momentarily takes you out of this realm. mattheo quickly pulls out and gives his cock a couple of pumps, and it’s all it takes for his sperm to coat your belly in strings. his chest heaves with labored breaths as his length twitches in his hand, not softening just yet. your body sinks into the bed, a blissed out smile lifting up the corners of your lips. you’ll definitely have to ask him to send you the footage later.

[just-some-random-blogger]

Tormented Spirit | 2

Part 1 2 3

"Is it such a sin to stand up for yourself?" you mutter as tears blur your vision. The way he reacted was visceral, instinctive even. "You never have to stand up for yourself ever again," says Daemon, reaching a hand to you, "come."

Daemon Targaryen x Hightower!Reader | 4k+ | cw: fem!reader, reader has brown hair, wife!reader, twin!Gwayne, arranged/forced marriage, canon divergence, alternate universe, smut (piv, loss of virginity, fingering, semi-public sex, Daemon talking you through it), DD:DNE, panic/anxiety attacks, daddy issues/child abuse/family problems, mentions/depictions of mental/physical/psychosomatic illness, mentions/depictions of death/suicidal ideation/murder, ye old misogyny, angst, typos, etc.

A/N: i am surprised I got as many comments as I did on chapter 1 🥺🫶 it's not that I think my writing is bad... Well... Idk it felt aimless when I started so I am grateful for the positive reinforcement. 👉👈 I am once again asking for more pls comment n reblog I would love u forever if u did | cross posted on ao3

Tagging: @arabellasleopardcoat

Daemon heads to your chambers, eager to shake you awake and ruin your morning once more. When he arrives to the room, he stops in his tracks, disappointed to see you were risen. That is, until he realizes the state you were in.

You roused long before the sun had and could not find sleep no matter how badly you searched. You decided to draw yourself a warm bath in hopes of finding sleep in the tub; you only find more restlessness and simply accept your fate.

You hear Daemon's entrance and turn to him from the vanity you were wallowing. You were half dressed. Your corset was undone and you had given up on braiding the sides of your head. You smile weakly at him, "good morrow."

Nothing about your tired, sullen eyes agreed with that, and it irritates him to know that you're one of those people. Pretenders.

"Well, finish up then," Daemon furrows his brows, "get dressed. We have yet to accomplish our task."

You mimic his expression, brushing your dark hair back, "task?"

He rolls his eyes, "I do not believe yesterday counts as an introduction."

Upon realizing he meant the introduction to Caraxes, your body tenses. You look sick. You stand to try and convince him out of it, but Daemon reaches you before you can get on your feet. He places a hand on your shoulder, keeping you in place. Your heart thunders when he brushes your hair to one shoulder. He secures your dress from behind, and your breath grows heavy as you watch him from the mirror.

"It is not so bad, riding a dragon," the prince says to plant a false sense of trust in you, "who knows? You might enjoy it."

There is an unnatural warmth that spills across your form when your husband then completes your braids. He weaves in a manner far gentler than Gwayne ever has. It makes your lips part.

He brings you to your feet. Daemon takes in your expression, lips curling slightly, "there you are, wife."

Your brows knit.

He knew his artificial gentleness has you off-guard. There is no better moment to have you do his bidding than now.

One might be surprised to know that Caraxes actually enjoyed having you on his back, as did Daemon, not because they suddenly liked you— gods no, but because the sound of your screams were oh-so satisfying.

You could do little else but release cries of terror as you clung to your husband from behind. Daemon made it a point to do flips and all sorts of unnecessarily moves whilst flying, hoping your hold would falter. The time you spent in the air felt like eternity. It seemed your husband was set on touring the entire 7 realms.

You never thought you would be so ever happy to see the pit. The pit could not say the same about you however. You spill your guts out to the floor exactly like the first time you were here.

Daemon makes a face. He turns to the keepers and orders them to clean your mess up, lest it get on Caraxes' claw.

Woe is you who is forced to repeat the exact thing the next morning. You could not even plead your case, for your throat was sore. The sound of your screams this time were not as entertaining to Daemon, as your voice is hoarse. At some point, the terror is too great, you cannot scream. Because of this, he cuts the flight short in boredom, excited instead at the promise of watching you suffer through another retch. But, oh, by the gods, were you an inconveniencing woman.

Instead of remaining consistent, you just had to make a show and faint into him, did you?

He could not care less for you, which is why he chucks you off into the arms of a dragon keeper, but the damned old man could no longer carry such a weight, and so he was begrudgingly forced to throw you over his shoulder and bring you to a maester himself.

In truth, he'd all forgotten about his wife fainting until the next morning, when he came to the maester's quarters to ask for something to soothe his hammering head from his heavy drinking the night before. He was, in fact, offended, when the maester insinuated that he had come to check up on his bride.

Before he could give the greying maester a piece of his mind, he hears a terrible voice barking from the ward. Its grating timbre made it clear to Daemon that Lord Hand Cunttower was off on a yapping session again.

He walks deeper into the room. Weeping sounds become audible.

"—no, you do not understand," Otto snaps, hunched over at the side of your bed.

Ah, twas you who was being terrorized.

You dare not turn to your father, for you knew your throat would only tighten more that it already has. You force yourself to take deep breaths, but it's easier said than done. You remain still on the bed you laid on.

"You must sire as many children as your body can take, or you will die," the man says.

But you were dying anyway.

"The process will not be pleasant."

Nothing is pleasant.

"It will hurt-"

Everything hurts.

"-but it is a better fate than-"

"Enough!" you snap, glaring at him with angry, red eyes. You repeat, though your voice is weaker, "enough, enough, eno-"

Otto gravely speaks your name. Your body recognized the danger, but having realized upon waking up to the face of a maester, it mattered little where or who it came from, you were destined to hurt- to die.

"Do not fall complacent be-"

"You are no longer my lord," you quip. Sweat forms on your nape. This is the first time you've ever interrupted your father.

He is gobsmacked. He is bewildered. His back straightens, "what?"

You feel yourself descend into heavy fraught. Your saliva tries to choke you.

"What," he presses, "did you say, girl?"

"You are my father," your voice falters, "but not my lord."

Otto's face warps.

Your breath grows shorter and shorter, "my liege lord is my-" pant "-husband, and what he-" pant "-desires, I will-" pant "-do."

Daemon's ears and brows perk at your misplaced loyalty. Part of him wants to laugh out loud and make himself known, but then he sees, even from where he stood, how it got Otto twisted. He chuckles to himself instead.

Your father enunciates as though he means to stab you with them, "you stupid fucking whore."

You crumble like chalk. You fall into another round of body arresting tremors. Your chest is tight and you screw your eyes painfully shut. It becomes apparent to Daemon, as it would anyone who'd witness, where your condition sourced. Otto grabs your shoulders, "you know nothing of-" but then recoils.

Daemon shoves him away, glaring as he says, "unhand her."

Otto manages to balance himself, but he looks as though the veins on his temples were about to pop. He clenches his jaw, "I am speaking to my daughter."

"You mean at her," his silver hair slips over his shoulder as he turns to you, "she does not look like she can hold conversation."

"This is personal matter," Otto steps forward.

"Mmm," Daemon turns back to him, "I do say, I am glad to have interrupted," he shifts on his leg, linking his fingers together, "a dutiful husband should know all personal matters of his wife. Don't you agree?"

Though you were still wrestling with yourself, you heard every word. You knew if you did not interject, they will fight each other for your carcass. You feel lightheaded, but you force yourself to open your eyes and speak.

Of course, the only sound you manage to make is a strangled and pained one.

Otto averts his attention to you, and tries to come to your side.

Daemon steps in front of him and tilts his head back, "oh... I would adore it if you give me a reason to kill you."

You choke out, "Daemon."

Your father stiffens as he looks past the said man to inspect you, missing the way the said man smirks. Otto turns back to Daemon, feeling bile spread in his mouth as the prince says, "see. She does not want you."

Otto's lips curl and his hands ball into fists.

Your husband waves a hand, "go away. You're clearly upsetting her."

Otto does the most to remain calm, "she is my da-"

"She is my wife," Daemon snaps, imposing upon him.

You gulp with difficulty as you catch the way your father's jaw clenches. You force yourself to sit up and open your mouth to speak, but everyone's attention is averted to the Kingsguard that walks into the room.

Daemon's forehead curls at the Cargyll knight, "my prince. Lord Hand."

"Which one are you?" asks the prince.

"Arryk, my prince."

"State your business, Arryk."

"I-"

"I requested a ward for the princess," Lord Hand answers instead.

Daemon makes a face at him and chuckles dryly under his breath.

Arryk looks between the two again then slowly continues, "I and my brother have been awarded the honor of serving ward to the Princess of Dragonstone. I take first watch today."

Daemon chuckles again, "a bit late, aren't you?"

The white cloak stiffens then bows, "I was just given word this hour."

"Hmm. Well, Arryk," he motions, "why don't you go escort the Lord Hand out of the room before someone dies."

He stiffens again, but turns to the said man nonetheless. He does not question it and merely does what was instructed.

Or at least tries to.

"I do not trust you with my daughter's well-being," Otto steps forward, pointing a finger to the ground, "you are the very reason she is in that bed."

Daemon gasps dramatically. At this point, you finally had enough wits about you to speak, "please-" but your voice is easily drowned out however.

"Do you not remember thanking my brother for the, what was it," the prince pretends to think, "joyous union? Or would you like to watch me stake my claim upon he—"

Otto's face twists in horror and repulsion, but that is not why Daemon's words are cut short. It is because of the cold, clammy, trembling hand that takes his own that he looks down. He watches as you sigh out, "leave us, father."

The said man turns to you in grave offence. In your fear, you do not notice the betrayal that is mixed with it. His anger flares and he scoffs. He gives you one last look, and you knew exactly it was just that. This would be last time he would ever look upon you. When he storms away, you feel it in your chest: this is the last time you will ever call him father. You were forsaken, truly forsaken.

Otto is seen out by Arryk.

Your hand slips from Daemon's, as you no longer had the strength. You muster all your remaining energy to reach the drink propped on your bedside table. It was a futile attempt though, as instead of grasping it, you knock it over, which only leads you into another fit of tears.

Daemon curses and shakes his foot that's gotten soaked. He did mean to snap at you for it, but you were already clearly suffering. Your breathing is short and it seemed like you were mumbling something.

He hunches over in an attempt to hear you, "what?"

It takes a myriad of repetitions for him to realize you were apologizing.

His face contorts, "gods," what pathetic creature had he been given to?

Daemon's upper lip curls and he can no longer bear the sound of your whining any further. He calls for the maester, asking for another cup of water because you had knocked over your own. Just as the maester goes off to get you another drink, he remembers he came here for his own affliction because his head begins to hammer again. He rubs his temples and sits on the vacant bed besides yours.

"Here, my prince," the maester says upon arrival, "milk of the poppy enough for the both of you."

Daemon squints as the man places a tray on your bedside table. Daemon is handed a cup first, but does not drink it until after he watches you be helped to drink your own fill. After, the maester promptly leaves with a curt nod. The drink does not take effect on you until after Daemon finishes his own

Your voice shakes, "t-thank you."

Daemon puts his cup down.

"You did not have to come," you say softly.

"Do not flatter yourself," he scoffs, "I did not come for you. I came for my headache."

"Yet it remains," you turn to him, face tight and gleaming from all the tears you've shed, "you did not have to come."

He stares at you for a moment. You looked so frail, so devoid of hope. Truly, death would be mercy to you at this point.

Just then, ser Arryk returns. He finally sees you and gives you a deep bow, "princess."

Being addressed as such makes you feel sad... and lonely.

"I am ser Arryk Cargyll. I will be your ward, along with my twin brother, Erryk, who you will meet after my shift." The kingsguard straightens up, "I will do all that I can to ensure your health does not falter and that you are always seen to."

You think of your own twin as you take in the man's features. The idea that your father purposefully chose twin brothers as your ward made you feel sad and sick, but it was hardly Arryk's fault Otto liked mocking you, so you smile at him, "I have a twin."

The man nods, offering you a smile far more genuine than yours, "aye. Ser Gwayne Hightower. He is deft with the short sword."

You turn to your hands, recalling just a few days ago when you had watched him train. Your lips curl upwards, "though, not as good as I."

Daemon pulls his head back, face contorting. He is taken aback when Arryk's sniggers. The latter nods, "perhaps you will show me your tricks, my lady."

There is a twinkle in your eye as you turn back to him, "perhaps."

Daemon raises a brow at the interaction and decides to stand, "come," he reaches a hand to you, "some fresh air would do you good."

Fresh air? Your jaw slacks and you turn to Daemon with a fallen expression. Be as it was, you were no fool. You did not believe your husband had your best interest in mind, and yet, it was not like you had much of a choice. Against yourself, you to take his hand.

He pulls you up and Arryk comes to your side to assist you. He helps you to your feet, hand on your arm and shoulder.

Daemon is annoyed by his fussing. "Yes. Very good, Cargyll. I can manage to bring her to the dragon pit myself."

You close your eyes and sigh. Just as you dreaded.

"Dragon pit?" Arryk repeats.

"Yes. She needs fresh air." The prince narrows his eyes, "do you contest me?"

Arryk releases you and shakes his head, "I would not."

"Good," he motions with nod, "out of the way then."

You see, after being scorched by the fire of your maker— your father, the sight of Caraxes emerging from the depths did not strike as much fear into you as it did before. In fact, the promise of malice from the beast felt... cathartic, and for once, you welcomed Daemon's insistence on being brought to its maw.

You stumbled against Caraxes' scaly cheek. Having done nothing but lay in the maester's chambers, your hair was not tied or braided in any way. As the wind blew, it tickled against the dragon's face. Caraxes did not seem to enjoy the sensation, and so he growled and snapped his teeth.

Daemon was quick to chastise his mount, and for that, he did not realize your lack of self-preservation. Oh, but Caraxes did; he even growled again, only to be met once more by your unflinching demeanor.

Daemon would only realize your change after taking flight and landing on a beach. Upon dismounting, Caraxes takes it upon himself to screech as you hover. The prince doesn't know who is more bewildered, him or his dragon, when you screech back.

Your neck veins pop and spit comes out of your mouth at the intensity of it all. A harsh wind blows your hair and your skirt. You heave after releasing such a harsh noise.

In truth, perhaps Caraxes is more perturbed as, unlike Daemon's who presses forward, the beast pulls back and shakes his head. He bleats as he watches his rider grab your arm.

The prince means to berate you for your insanity, but then, gods, you rather conveniently succumb to another arrest to your heart and lungs. He does not know why he catches you when your legs give in but he knows exactly why he suggests: "get in the water."

You look up at him, your glassy eyes meeting his violet ones.

He lets you crumble to the ground and bends down to undo your dress, "a swim would do you wonders."

"N-no- you will regret-" you sputter.

But Daemon ignores you, not that it took much effort, for you were incoherent soon enough.

He pulls you out of your dress until you're in nothing but your slip. You sob, and he hushes you, assuring he will be by your side. He removes his tunic. Soon, he is dragging you down deeper and deeper, and you are choking and spitting saltwater.

Daemon decides to simply release you and wait until your body floats lifeless. With how you were gasping, it would not take long. He turns his head when his face is splashed by your flailing arms. When he looks back, the water is calm and your body is nowhere to be seen.

... well, that was rather quick.

He waits for a moment, watching bubbles float up. After a while, he purses his lips and decides to go back ashore. He should have done this sooner.

He freezes when you emerge in front of him, pushing your brown hair off your face. He is perturbed by the serenity across your features; it was as though you were reborn.

You sigh, "I told you you would regret it."

Daemon blankly stares at you.

"There is a great river in Oldtown," you wade around, "the water there is not nearly as pleasant or warm as this, but still... swimming was one of the only ways I could calm myself."

His jaw clenches. He does not even try to hide his disappointment.

You lick your lips at it and turn to Caraxes, who was happily soaking in the sun from the sandy shore, "take heart. Your dragon might entertain himself by eating me yet," you turn to him, "or perhaps my Lord Hand will kill me himself."

His face twists, "what?"

You shake your head and roll your eyes.

He pulls his head back, offended and confused by your sudden nerve.

You allow your body to float up in the water, "you need not pretend. I know you long to kill me."

Daemon is insulted by your brashness. He grabs your floating hip and pushes you down until you're once again face to face. Not a semblance of fear is on your features. It only angers him further.

He snaps, "I could have your tongue for that."

He cannot deny the way his stomach rolls when you place your hands by the base of his neck. The complete change in your temperament puts him on edge. Have you been playing him all along?

"Would it not be simpler to have my head?" you speak plainly, as though you were genuinely curious of his response.

His nostrils flare.

Before he can act, you are swimming off. You emerge from the water, dripping wet. Your clothing is sheer and hugs every part of your body, leaving nothing to the imagination. He could not help but look, but then he was sorely insulted all over when you pet Caraxes head and he lets you.

It was a twisted hallucination. He is suddenly reminded of the milk of the poppy he'd drank; you've probably poisoned him and planned all of this with your cunt father like the conniving whore you really were.

You do not hear him emerge, but only know he did because he is upon you. He forces you around through a severe squeeze on your arms, "what is your game, Hightower cunt?!"

Your body seizes, but you do not succumb to the thundering of your heart, as you had just been relaxed.

He shakes you, making you gasp, "SPEAK!"

"There is no game!" you whimper.

He chuckles dryly, shaking you harshly once more "perhaps it should be said that I need no assistance from my dragon to kill you."

A shiver runs down your spine, "please-"

"Then tell me th-"

"-just do it."

The sound of Caraxes huffing brings Daemon back to reality. And yet it takes you speaking, "just kill me," for him to realize you meant exactly what he thought.

He stills where you descend into further torment. He knows then that it is true. There was no plot, or at least not one where this creature of agony could ever oversee. You were calmed by the water, but not cured. Very truly, he thinks again death would be mercy, convenient for him as well. Yet, in his nature, Daemon does opposite of what he is told and pries his hands off. He mutters under his breath, "ao mūdas run," you terrible thing.

You sob, as if you understood him.

You shed tears unlike the others he's witnessed; there is no panic or fear, only pain.

"Surely you agree it is better than living this way."

The clarity of your voice takes him aback. He turns away, uncomfortable of your sudden agency.

"I have been this way since I can remember," you confess, "and they've all have counted my days for just as long."

"Why must I bloody my hands for you?" he squints, "if you despise living so much, do it yourself."

Your laugh is haunting. You shake your head and wipe your face, "I am not as brave as you. I could not even kill the fishes Gwayne caught for me, though I ate them."

Daemon is unmoved, twice so at the mention of your brother.

"And Gwayne..." you sigh, "he would blame himself." You turn to your feet, warmed by the sand beneath it, "I would not do that to him." You shake your head again, "but again, take heart," you smile, "it will happen soon enough."

His forehead curls.

"I can feel it in my gut," you rub your belly, "it is putrid and festering... whatever it is."

He tilts his head, "then do me a favor and wallow in silence—" he walks off, sparing one last glance, "and try scheming with your cunt father somewhere you will not be caught."

You manically laugh and rip at your hair, "he is my illness, if it is not plain to you."

He stops and turns back to you.

"I am the way that I am because I-" you poke your chest, "am he, had he been born a woman." You rub your sternum, "he loathes me because he is I. I am his hair, his nose, his temper, his... weakness, only amplified because I did not inherit his cock.

"When I pray..." you sniffle, "sometimes I think the gods keep me alive for I am his reckoning— that I must torment him for all the years he has tormented others... tormented me."

Daemon watches the salt from your eyes join the salt on your slip. He stares at your pert nipples then watches you chew your lower lip. He licks his own, "did you mean what you told him?"

You watch as he inches closer, "what?"

"That he is no longer your liege lord," he reaches for your arm, "that I am."

"I-"

Daemon pushes the shoulder of your slip dress down.

Your hand darts to his chest, "i-it is the truth."

He hums and tilts his head. You gasp when he kisses your neck. He licks the saltwater off your skin, enjoying the sound you make when his teeth graze you, "very well then."

Goosebumps form when he pulls your skirt up your thighs.

"It would be beneath a prince to withhold aid for such a tormented spirit."

You do not speak for soon his mouth is claiming yours. It is not as horrid as you imagined it would be. You did not think someone who's shown nothing but aggression could behold you so tenderly. You shiver when he continues to rid you of your sopping clothes. When you break away for air, you manage to mutter, "someone c-could see."

Daemon's expression is changed as stares at you and pushes you to the ground. You gasp as you find yourself atop the garbs he already managed to remove. He undoes his breeches, "who? My dragon?"

You do not know if he means Caraxes.

"You are my wife," he drops to his knees, grabbing yours, "the sin lies with the looker," he pushes your legs apart, "not us."

You bite your lips, feeling the the need to repel him, but decide against it. You simply close your eyes and dig your fingers into the sand.

His loins burn at the sound of your sigh. He sinks into you and relishes your submission. He wraps your legs around him and rocks his hips into yours. You mewl and dig into his back. He bites your lobe before whispering, "you belong to me."

You scratch your nails up his back as his rocking hips send bolts of pleasure in your body.

"Say it."

"I-I-" you heave, "belong to you."

He squeezes your thighs, "you are to do what I so desire."

You gasp softly when he grabs your jaw, making you turn to him.

"-especially if it is against your father, yes?"

You gulp, unable to speak. You simply nod.

Daemon's eyes become hooded. He releases your jaw, claiming your thigh again, "good."

You both remain this way, kissing and rubbing, but then you begin to grow impatient. You bring your mouth to his to catch his attention but do not kiss him. He is taken aback by your unintentional tease and digs his fingers into your flesh. This is why you whimper as you speak, "you- can... enter."

He is broken from his trance, "what?"

"I," you scratch his skin gently, as if to encourage him, "know you are ready. You do not have to hold back. I am accustomed to pain."

He knits his brows, then tilts his head, "how could a virgin know such things?"

He watches bashfulness claim you. You shake your head, "I read it."

"Did your book not tell you it need not be painful?"

"I-" you let out a loud noise when you feel his fingers touch your womanhood, "Daemon-"

He purrs at the sound of his name, "I will show you how good it can feel so that you can tell your father all about it."

The horrifying thought does not even register as he makes you feel things you did not know possible. You begin to shiver and whine, but it is entirely opposite to what your body is accustomed to. Your breath begins to shorten and you instinctively begin to panic, but Daemon's voice keeps you grounded.

"Breathe," he licks your pulse, "it feels good, does it not? Breathe and think of how good I'm making you feel."

You are entirely subservient to him, to his baritone, to his fingers, to his hips. There is nothing but sand and Daemon. You whine when you feel a hard intrusion. The sensation is foreign, and it causes your belly to tense.

He kisses the line that forms between your brows, "relax, my wife. Now is not the time for pain," he hooks his hands behind your knees, "it's a time for pleasure."

It's all a blurry haze after this. Daemon moves into you in a way that makes you wonder how this could ever hurt. Every thrust sends ripples of bliss down your spine. Every hit draws out the lewdest of sounds from your throat. You understand then why they call it love making; you love every moment of it. Your bliss is heightened when he touches something inside you, and again, and again-

For once in your life, as your breath grows heavy, you do not feel like you're about to die.

Daemon alternates tempos, but ultimately resigns to fast and hard. He does not cease until your rigid body goes limp beneath him. The pressure in your stomach breaks into a million burning pieces, and just as it becomes all too much, he pulls out, propping himself up on one arm. You gasp at the heat thats spills on your thigh as he strokes himself. Soon, his arm gives out and he collapses beside you.

You behold the mess of red and white between your legs, but find no shame, only arousal, which you did not expect. You turn to your husband, watching his chest heave, his temples sweat, and his tongue lick his lips.

He's... he's beautiful.

[drauphemir]

[ artist @ dA ] [ artist @ TWT ] [ artist @ IG ]

Art: KatyaHam Class: Commission @ Discord Characters: Rurika Sasaki © Oceannist

// 04.2024

[ozzgin]

The Yanderes and their jealousy: Monster Edition

You just got a new fictional obsession. Whether it's TikTok thirst traps, reader insert stories or shameless fanart, you've been glued to your phone for the past days and the yanderes have certainly noticed. Featuring my monster OCs (with links to their stories) Content: gender neutral reader, mildly NSFW

Zzy [Yandere!Demon x Gloomy!Reader]

The goat rascal is fuming, clacking his hooves back and forth against the ceiling, grimacing every time he stares at your dumb expression. What're you gawking at? You have the Demon Lord himself at your feet, the one and only horned charmer who slept with half the Devils in Hell.

"What're ya blushing at, dumb human? I could fuck you ten times better in this very moment", he barks with an envious frown.

Depending on how long you plan on ignoring him, he might just rip that phone out of your hands and drag you to the nearest surface to slam you on. See if you still care about that nonsense when you're fucked dumb.

Daos [Yandere!Werewolf x Reader]

Mysterious. Usually you'll curl up in his lap whenever he's reading his evening book, yet for the past few days you've been off, giggling at your phone from the other side of the sofa.

Fictional crushes don't bother him much. If anything, he's mildly amused by your focused gaze and dreamy state. Why should he concern himself with hypothetical scenarios? As it currently stands, you're his, and nothing could ever change that.

Tonight, he tucks you in bed and kisses your forehead. You admit, embarrassed, that you've been a little scatterbrained lately.

"Oh, I may have just the cure for it", he suggests with a knowing grin, sliding his large, clawed hand between your legs.

Digital Monster [Yandere!Internet Monster x Reader]

Nuh uh, strictly forbidden. It won't even happen to begin with. Whatever improper video you may plan on watching will be swiftly erased from your sight.

"What the...why won't the page load?" you whine, refreshing every few seconds and angrily tapping your phone.

A static voice erupts from your speakers, startling you.

"Utterly illogical, (Y/N). I have all the means to satisfy you myself. All you need to do is ask."

Monster Author [Yandere!Monster Author x Reader]

Sacrilege! Oh, the humiliation. What are you even doing, reading someone else's cheap fiction. No, no, no, absolutely not. If you were in the mood to read erotic literature, you should've just asked him. He could write a better story on the spot, without any effort.

"Have you forgotten who you're dealing with, (Y/N)?", he laments, pointing his monstrous appendages towards the shelves filled with trophies and awards.

Even better, he can show you, first hand. You don't need to flip any page for that kind of experience.

Demon King [Yandere!Demon King x Reader]

"Are you not enjoying yourself, Sir?" one servant meekly asks, glancing at his master.

They've conquered yet another world, and its inhabitants presently squirm and burn before their eyes. Normally he would take great pleasure in observing their torment, yet the King is distracted.

"Pathetic", the grand Duke suddenly exclaims, his deep voice rumbling across the hills. He pulls out a small device - a human invention, seemingly - and tilts it towards the beastly butler. It's a video edit of a fictional character, playing on repeat on the small phone screen.

"What's there of such entertainment?" he asks, defeated. "(Y/N) has been obsessing over this pest for an entire week. I'm at my wit's end. I cannot destroy what does not exist."

A pressing dilemma indeed. How does one obliterate an enemy from the realm of imagination?

Asylum Spider [Yandere!Asylum Spider x Reader]

The poor creature has no idea what's happening. He smiles, oblivious, lounging above your relaxed body, suspended from his spider appendages. He cannot see whatever has you squirming in delight.

"Is nice?" he mumbles between the sharp teeth, trying to join your activity.

"Oh, it's..." you stop yourself, glancing up. "...It's just a funny video."

You don't have the heart to be honest. You audibly tap your legs, and the creature lowers itself into your embrace. If you're happy, he's happy.

As long as you don't leave him.

[Monster Masterlist]

[pathologicalreid]

Could I request GN! Reader who is married to Spencer, and they have like a little bet that Spencer cant go a week without coffee? Mostly fluff, but maybe a lil angst bc Spencer gets sick going thru caffeine withdrawls? :D

running on empty | S.R.

spencer makes a bet to give up coffee for a week but ends up foregoing all caffeine

who? spencer reid x gn!reader category: fluff content warnings: caffeine withdrawal, spencer getting snippy, husband!spencer, teasing from the team word count: 871 a/n: a silly little one-shot for you my darling. part of me feels criminal making spencer go through any kind of withdrawal lmao. i hope you like this!!

“He hasn’t been sleeping well,” you answered Derek’s question, looking over to where your husband was staring blankly at the files on his desk. For the past few weeks, Spencer’s nightly tossing and turning had increased tenfold.

Morgan chuckled from across the bullpen, “Maybe it’s all that coffee he’s been drinking.”

The suggestion likely wasn’t that far off, the heaps of sugar Spencer put in his coffee probably didn’t help his sleep schedule either

Putting her two cents in, Emily snorted, “Oh, come on. I’d challenge you to find a member of the BAU who doesn’t have some sort of caffeine dependency.”

Again, she probably had a point. There were at least two members of the BAU who wouldn’t entertain any conversation until they were at least halfway through their first cup of coffee. Spencer’s head snapped up, “I can go without coffee.”

You scoffed, “No, love, and that’s okay.”

“I can go without coffee, Y/N,” he told you seriously, “I’ll go a week without coffee.”

Pinching the bridge of your nose, you leaned back in your chair and sighed, “Okay, a week without coffee.”

“What does he get in return for going a week without coffee?” Morgan teased, waggling his brows in your direction.

Whipping your head around, you narrowed your gaze at your co-worker, “It’s a secret guarded by the sanctity of our marriage, Derek,” you said pointedly.

Emily had made an excellent point, there was a certain understanding among the Behavioral Analysis Unit that everyone was entirely dependent on caffeine. The issue was that Spencer had cut out all caffeine instead of just coffee.

The first night, he had fallen asleep rather quickly but had been a pain when you had to drag him out of bed in the morning. The second night, he was perfectly fine, but ever since he woke up this morning, he had woken up on the wrong side of the bed. Figuratively, of course. You had been the one to wake up on his side of the bed this morning.

You leaned against the kitchen counter with your coffee in hand, watching Spencer struggle to pay attention to the words in his book. “What about just a small cup?” You offered, opening one of the cabinets to find a daintier mug for him.

He cleared his throat before snapping his book shut and sliding it into his bag, “Nope, are you ready to go?” He asked, checking his watch to make sure you’d be able to catch the metro this morning.

Sighing despondently, you nodded, drinking the remainder of your coffee in one gulp before setting the mug in the dishwasher, “Yeah, just let me brush my teeth.”

In response, Spencer huffed, “Well, hurry up, I don’t want to be late.”

“Why are the Reid’s looking so put out this morning?” Derek asked when you arrived, holding a travel coffee thermos in his hand while raising his eyebrows curiously.

Shaking your head, you looked at the rest of the team holding their go-bags, the last place you wanted Spencer to be was in the realm of a stressed-out police chief, but the two of you grabbed your things and followed the team out.

Furrowing her brows, JJ eyed Spencer suspiciously, “You alright, Reid?”

“I’m fine,” he said, tapping his foot while you all waited for the elevator doors to close.

Discreetly, you moved your elbow and nudged him, trying to tell him to cool it without reprimanding him in the company of your team.

Groaning, Spencer continued to flip through the filed in front of him, his caffeine withdrawal making it difficult for him to focus on anything pertaining to the case for more than a few minutes.

With the locals out of the room, you gently set a hand on Spencer’s shoulder, “Hey, why don’t we take a break?”

“Leave me alone.” Spencer snapped, garnering the attention of everyone else in the conference room. A lead on the case had left you with Emily, Derek, and Rossi, the latter of whom sped out of the door so quickly you were surprised there wasn’t a puff of smoke in his wake.

Your lips parted, just as surprised as the rest of the team that Spencer had chosen to lash out at you of all people. Setting your jaw, you spun on your heels and marched down to the kitchenette to make him a cup of tea. Begrudgingly, you dropped the tea bag in a mug and grabbed a paper towel for him to set it on once the tea was steeped.

Back in the roundtable room, you set the tea in front of him, “I’m not drinking coffee this week,” he said.

“I know,” you sniped, “That’s why you’ve been acting so impertinent for the last two days.” In your periphery, you saw Morgan and Emily slowly backing out of the roundtable room, wanting to avoid any sort of marital blowout. “Drink the tea, wingnut,” you told him, crossing your arms in front of your chest.

His eyes flickered to the mug, obviously noting the tea bag string hanging from the side of the mug. “Wingnut?” He repeated quizzically.

Raising your eyebrows, you shrugged, “I call it like I see it.”

[jacaerysgf]

For the night

summary: on the hunt for houses to declare for aegon the greens stumble upon house vance and its new lady of the house, gwayne seems particularly taken with her.

gwayne hightower x vance!reader

w.c: 3k

c.w: cole is an asshole, assault on reader (not gwayne), fluff, p in v, oral (fem), fingering (fem), not proofread

a.n: not my usual content but gwayne hightower you have charmed me

he was so sick of being out on the road. the mud, the dirt, the grass, the blood, everything he was sick of it all. and of course he was stuck traveling around with criston cole and the stick that seemed to be so far wedged up his ass it should be coming right out of his mouth.

it was another day of watching men bend the knees in his armor that made his skin feeling sticky with sweat and dirt and blood on his face, his hair a mess he is going to kill someone if he has to live another day like this. yet today something in particular catches his eye, the women who typically stood off to the side while the men bend the knee never normally interest him, but a particular women catch his attention instantly. staring off to the side without a care in the world as the early fall breeze hit your face.

a woman like her is far too beautiful to be standing out in this rutty old field next to these old crinkly men she deserved to be living in paintings or in a statue carved from the purest stone. He could not take his eyes off you, you must have been able to feel his eyes on you as you crane your head and lock eyes with him. your expression does not change but you do drop your head and cup your hands together in front of you when his gaze does not stray. a smile tugs at his lips he cannot fight for the first time in days.

once it is all said and done he gets stuck in a conversation with some random knight that he is less than happy to be talking to he finally manages to worm his way out of the conversation and looks around the field for you. his face twitches slighty when he sees you talking with criston cole and hastily rushes over.

Your conversation becomes clearer and clearer the closer he gets. “as i have told you before ser cole i am unmarried.” “i find that hard to believe you are the daughter of lord vance.” you merely shrug at him, “i do not know what you wish me to say, prior to your arrival i had been the youngest of six, i had four other sister ahead of me who married.my father saw no reason to marry me off. he had a son who married a nice lady and now they have all slit their throats in the castle halls, i never expected to be in charge or be married.” He had seen the incident first hand, when criston burst open the doors of the castle he did not expect to step in a pool of blood and fresh corpses laying on the ground of the majority of house vance excluding you and your father who was just beheaded for not bending the knee.

when you notice gwanye walk over your eyes trail to him for a moment which causes cole to look at gwayne before you turn away from him. “now is certainly not the time to be flirting with ladies cole” cole sighs and he turns to gwayne with his arms crossed, “as everyone else in her line is dead and she has no other living relatives she is the new lady of the house. i thought women of your, respectable age, would atleast have a suitor or two” gwayne rolls his eyes, he cannot believe cole and his disrespectfulness, if his suspensions were correct he had no clue what his sister saw in him. does he not realize he is speaking to one of the more gorgeous women in the realm?

“and i thought you white cloaks were swore to purity. it seems we are both wrong.” he watches a switch flip in coles eyes and before he can say anything cole has you by the neck and you attempt to take some gasps of air. “cole! release her!” many eyes had turned in their direction as you beat your hand on his forearm but no one dared move. gwanye finds himself pulling out his sword but doesn’t point it at cole just yet but his hand is itching to strike him down.

“you have no clue what you speak of.” cristons spits at you with venom but continue attempting to takes gasps of air. “criston that is enough!” your face contorts in confusion as you continue to try and pull yourself from his grip. “i meant was some of your men were seen in a brothel a town over last night.” Criston keeps you in his hands for awhile longer before he lets you go and takes a step back. you grasp at your neck as you take many deep breaths, gwayne puts his sword back and grabs his water skin and hands it to you. He watches as you eagerly drink the sack dry before turning to criston, “do you have no decency? strangling an innocent woman?”

cole says nothing but gwayne can tell he’s embarassed about the display and all the eyes on him. criston steps towards you and you step back into gwaynes chest to which he happily keeps you against him as cole speaks hushedly. “you will tell me the names of these men.” you look around at the white cloaks and point to a group of four of them standing around and chatting pretending like you cant feel gwaynes fingers rubbing circles around your hips. “how would i know you are telling the truth?” “my brother was a frequent customer of that particular brothel, i had gone to go pick him up and i walked in to see them, sharing a particular women in the center of the room with their cocks about but still wearing their armor.”

as much as he hates to admit it cole finds himself believing you, “we will discuss this after i am done speaking with them. then we must head out.” gwayne would rather die than go back on the road now especially with you in his hands. “cole, can we not take one night to rest? look at the men and tell me they are not exhausted? think of the morale cole.” he does not care about the teams morale but criston doesn’t need to know that, yet when he looks around it is rather obvious the team is suffering. mens feet dragging about the ground and faces devoid of life. criston turns to gwayne who simply raises his eyebrows at him, criston turns to you, “your lands shall host our men for tonight. but just tonight we leave first daylight.” gwayne grins at cristons pointed addition and feels you nod your head. “we have a couple beds though not many-” “we have tents to sleep outside.” “i will be more than happy to take a bed if he will not my lady.”

criston walks off leaving the two of you standing together when you remove yourself from him and turn to face him. “i am not a whore ser hightower.” he flinches slightly in surprise and manages to shake himself out of shock with a laugh. “i never thought you were my lady.” “your eyes and hands certainly say different ser.” He had been a little forward had he? so he bow his head to you.

“apologies my lady, let me try this again. I am gwayne hightower, pleasure to meet you.” he grabs your hand and brings it up to his lips, placing a soft kiss against the back of your hand. you hum and pull your hand away from him much to his annoyance. “likewise i suppose though i wish it was under better circumstances.” he watches as your eyes drift to the large pile of bodies that had built up, hes sure your family lies within the pile, “i would like to give you my condolences.” you snort and shake your head. “im sure you would.” he wishes he could get a read on you but you keep your walls kept up tight.

he wants to rip them down and expose you to him fully. hes never been so taken with a woman and especially with such quickness, maybe it was a fleeting lust but he was so fascinated by you he cant help but want to keep talking with you, watch your every move. yet you do not give him the chance as you begin to step away from him, “one of my men will show you and your men to your room. Good day ser hightower.”

you turn your back to him and begin to walk away. he almost wants to follow after you, to chase you down and continue to talk to you but the way you turn your head back at him to give him one final look is enough to have him knowing itll be worth the chase a smirk is unable to leave his face as he steps away and turns is back to go find cole who happens to be screaming at the men you pointed at. He’ll look for you later he’s sure of it and he’s more than sure he’ll find you.

the sun had been long set and the night cold when he sees you again. its not hard to find your room, which had been moved to the main chambers only hours after your fathers death. he finally feels refreshed after a long bath and finally out of his armor or camp clothes, being given some soft nigh clothes by the maids. he should just want to lay in bed and sleep, maybe even travel with some of the other men to the brothel nearby but he doesn’t much to the surprise of his men. He instead finds himself walking through the empty halls of the castle until he stands in front of the doors of what appears to be your chambers

He knocks before he even can think about his actions and the door cracks open after a few moments of silence. Your head pops out and your eyes narrow at him, “do you need something?” “merely wish for some company, someone to chat with.” your brow raises and he can tell you do not believe a word he says. “just to chat?” a small laugh escapes him and he smiles, “well if you are offering more who i am to deny?” you roll your eyes and the door cranes open some more but you don’t let him in, standing in the doorway you lean against the wall. “my maidenhead remains in tact ser.” he throbs, you were a minx put on this plane for testing his strength. “don’t make the offer more tempting my lady, i am a merely a gentleman.”

he takes the opportunity to get a full look at you, changed out of your day clothes and dawned in a silk nightgown in a light green, the straps are thin leaving your shoulders and collarbones bare as well as your sleeves but what it lacks up top it is long enough to hit almost your feet. Your arms crossed under your chest where almost salivates at the sight. He can see your nipples poking through the almost sheer fabric of your dress. You are so much better than any sight at any brothel and more beautiful than any eligible lady in all the seven kingdoms.

“you done looking at me yet?” his eyes shoot back up to you while he grins, “never my lady.” he watches you face flash and you stand up straight. “as fun as this back and forth is ser hightower unless you are looking to marry me i must ask you to leave.” you bow your head and go to clothes your door but his foot in the way stops you. “ser,” “what if i was interested in marrying you?” you push the door open and stare at him blankly. “do not jest ser hightower.” “gwayne please and no i do not jest.” he has never been interested in marrying much, his sister had married the fucking king and had plenty children his father cared not for if he was married or not. Gwayne enjoyed the life he lived, traveling from brothel to brothel without a care in the world but you had been the first eligible lady hes ever met that even remotely interested him.

it would not be so bad to marry, this war has shown him that everything peaceful lasted forever and maybe it would be good to settle down somewhere, with someone. he watches you watch him thoughtfully, your eyes unreadable as you watch him for any signs of deceit and lies. When he makes no moves you take a couple steps back, the doorway to your room now wide open for him to step into. “If you step past the doorway you will have to marry me ser gwayne, are you really willing to give everything up for one lay?”

you stare at him with a challenge in your eyes. you think he’ll walk away and you’ll never see him again, he’ll be nothing more than a fleeting memory of a handsome man that wanted your attention for a day and you’ll settle for whatever carefully chosen lord the greens pick for you to keep you in line and you’ll live the rest of your life plainly.

The door shuts with a quiet thud and you turn around to take a sip out of your wine glass as silence fills the room you stand in.

a hand suddenly plays with one of the thin straps of your dress and pushes it down your shoulder, the right side of your dress falls down exposing the right side of your chest as his lips dance around your shoulder and neck. you lean your head back against his chest as his hands knead at your sides. He begins sucking at the part where your neck and shoulder meet while your left strap falls exposing your chest fully but his stands stop it from fully hitting the floor.

He suddenly spins your around as you take another sip from your wine, and he shoves his lips against yours, drinking the wine from your lips and some dribbles out of your mouth. when he removes his lips they trail down and lick up all the wine that had slipped out, his hands leave your waist and your dress hits the floor softly leaving you bare in front of him.

his head spins as he stares at you you sit on the table with your legs parted. “live up to your standards?” he shakes his head as he drops to his knees, “your beauty surpasses that of the maiden herself.” He rubs his hands on your thighs as you let out a shaky breath staring at his ginger hair. he presses light kisses on your inner thighs growing closer to where your dripping for him.

he licks softly at your folds first before his tongue pushes past them and greedily lapping at your core. his hands grab at your hips to pull you closer to him as you rut your hips again his face. When he groans against your core shedding shivers up your spine your throw your head back is your hand tugs at his hair softly.

you bite your lips to silence yourself in the hopes no one hears you but when he pulls away and bites your thigh you can’t but let out a whine. “let me hear you.” you shake your head as he pushes two fingers inside of you, “what if someone hears?” “let them hear us i dont care.”

Your grip on his hair grows tighter as you feel his lips wrap around your clit and his fingers begin to push in and out of you at a steady pace. you hunch over as you grow closer and closer, he revels in the way you’ve stopped holding yourself back and lets your sounds flood his ears. he can tell you’re close with the way your grip on his hair tightens even more and the way your thighs clench so snuggly around his head.

“gwayne.” he pulls away just enough to speak to you, “its okay let go.” he licks up every drop you spend out while his fingers help guide you through your peak. he stands back up and smiles at you with his bruised glossy lips. “do you want me to do the same?” he licks his lips and shakes his head, “not today beautiful as tempting as that is.” he presses his lips against yours as his hands work as his trousers to free himself. your hands join his and make quick works to free himself from his clothes leaving him bare. he picks you up and you giggle as he smiles against your lips and drops you onto the bed.

you grip his shoulders tightly as he begins to thrust into you. mumbling words of encouragement in your ear you hiss as he enters you more and more until he’s fully inside of you. he tries his best to restrain himself knowing you need time to adjust, he feels the way your walls clench around him and the way your eyes shut tightly he cant help but groan at the sensation of it all. fuck whores and fuck brothels he thought, nothing would truly get better than this. and when he starts to thrust and the way you sing to him is better than any wine.

he helps your legs wrap around him as his thrust grow more and more aggressive, as he watches your tits bounce he cant help but lean down and wrap his mouth around your nipple as he cries out. one of his had been on your thigh moves to rub your clit and only when you release around him does he allow himself to spend his seed inside you.

when you fall asleep on his chest as he traces shape in your skin a playful smile falls on his lips as he thinks about how furious cole will be, the man had been planning to marry you off to some old man who would agree to anything they said and now cole is going to be stuck dealing with him. yet he doesn’t care because as long as he can have you it doesn’t matter.

[lokisgoodgirl]

The Rite: Consequence (VI)

A link to The Rite Masterlist is here A link to my regular Masterlist is here Summary: (6) It's the day of The Rite 🙈And whether Loki succeeds or fails in capturing your pleasure (and your heart) - there will be consequences. Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI. Mild angst. Asgardians behaving badly. Smut. I am begging, pleading for your trust. (w/c 5.6k)

Loki blocked the fall of the blade with a hanging guard, catching his brother’s wild stare through the angle of his arm.

Dust scraped across his eyes from the training ring, but he blinked it away. They both glistened with mid-afternoon sweat - muscles straining; all hard veins and gritted teeth.

Loki licked his lips, tasting salt, and his arm began to quiver beneath the press of his brother’s blade – but he wouldn’t relent. He never did.

The Rite was only hours away.

It began at sundown. He wasn’t allowed to see you, and beating his brother into the dirt was as good a distraction as any. Better than the ones I’m used to.

And besides, after the two of you had talked until sunrise – about everything and anything that avoided the question of love – there was nothing more to be done.

If Fandral had told you about the second part of The Rite, he was glad you hadn’t raised it. He didn’t think he could bear knowing its outcome in advance. Better the short, sharp shock of shame than its clammy shadow. Better to whisper in your ear and devour your lips and feel your hand searching the angles of him until he was sick with painful desire.

“Yield,” Loki grit. A thick strand of hair had come loose, trailing over his vision. The furrow of Thor’s frown grew deeper.

“Why would I? I have you on the run, little brother.” A soft grunt broke in Loki’s throat. He flexed his shoulder and parried Thor’s sword to the side with force, kicking the blonde’s left foot from under him in the same movement. Thor slammed down into the sand; sprawling and sword clattered against the stone beneath.

“You don’t fight fair, Loki” “Maybe you should fight better.” Thor scrambled to his feet, sand sticking in clumps to the sweat gathered on his chest. “I am the greatest warrior this realm has ever known because I fight with honour.” Loki rolled his eyes. “Honour,” he spat. “At least you shan’t have your ill-gotten reputation in the histories as its greatest lover for much longer.” Thor hacked a wad of dust-gritted saliva and spat it to his feet. He looked up with a twisted smile. “I don’t know about that, Loki. Of the two of us you’ve always been seen as the bigger whore. A talented one for certain, but a whore all the same. And soon enough, your Rite partner will join the throng; be forgotten like the rest.”   Before he knew it, Loki’s dagger was at Thor’s throat.

His vision flashed white, and behind him came the jangle of armoured guards, circling them with their spears readied. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Thor’s hands rise to steady them.

“Brother…” Thor said slowly, “I know you’re nervous, but killing me really would remove any chance you have at the succession—”

 “—I won’t take insult from those who wax lyrical about honour and leave their loin’s fruit to the vultures.” Thor frowned. “What are you talking about?” He tried to look down at the blade glinting by his thorax and only succeeded in nicking his skin. “Ow.” Loki released a withering sigh, flipping the dagger away and kicking Thor’s foot from beneath him. The other one, this time. His brother crumpled like a wet towel. He turned, seeing several of the guards’ facial expressions flinch between the gaps in their helmets.

“Disperse,” he muttered, striding past them and wondering mildly how long it would be until Odin found out. He needed to bathe. He needed to be alone. I need to be with her. But he couldn’t have that; so alone, it would be.

“Don’t worry brother,” he said dryly as he scraped sweat-soaked hair off his face. “I’m sure none of father’s spies will impart that you were bested by a whore.” Thor’s blustering protestations made a smirk curl the corner of his mouth. He must remember to tell you about this, when all was said and done: when the succession was set in stone, when the home for abandoned children was secured, when he knew that you loved him. And as he exited the training ring, Loki realised with horrifying clarity that one of those possibilities hung around his neck like a millstone: heavier than the others – threatening to collapse him to his knees.

If she loves me, he re-worded in his mind, beginning to walk a little quicker to the safety of solitude.

You’d been woken in late morning and bustled with minimal ceremony to the private baths on the upper floors of the palace.

Once there, your day-gown had been stripped by a flurry of exquisitely beautiful maids; each dressed in blue fabric as thin as gauze, hair like pure, precious metals. How you hated them.

You hadn’t realised you wouldn’t see Loki until The Rite itself until he’d told you last night before you parted ways. You’d kissed him so roughly against the wall, fingers digging into his scalp, that you’d almost passed out from lack of oxygen.

And now…here, with the most impossibly beautiful nymphs in all of Asgard – it felt like there was no time. You need to be near him. Isn’t that how love works? But then, you wouldn’t know. You suddenly wondered if absence before the ceremony was really part of the tradition, or if Odin and the rest of them were trying to keep you apart. Hoping he’ll fail. —Stop being so paranoid.

Steam rose from the hot spring, undulating like flame as one of the nymphs massaged your shoulders. I wonder what Loki’s doing. Does he miss me? Is he nervous…? You lifted one calf out of the water where you’d perched at the edge of the baths, the scent of orange oil thick in your nostrils.  Suddenly the fingers stopped working, and she leant down. “Loki’s very good, you know. Everyone knows it’s his favourite thing to do to a woman, or a man. You’re so lucky.” She giggled, and your stomach tightened with a wave of inexplicable anger. “I’m jealous. They say he does this thing with his tongue that—" “—Oh hush, Mavor.” You winced as Frigga’s chide sparked like a lit match. She settled, dangling her feet in the pool beside yours. “Leave the poor girl alone, I’m sure the past few days have been much to contend with.”

You turned fractionally, almost blinded by the golden assault of her sunlit hair. She’s staring at you, faint crows-feet scrunched from the vaguely discomforting smile on her lips. “What happened last night with Fandral was improper. What must you think of us?” “I don’t think it of you,” you lied, memories of the sick little girl cinching tight around your mind; the fact that Fandral and all the other court-wankers had no clue that Loki was the one clearing up their mess, doing any real good. But it was a secret, and a secret it would remain.

And then you remembered what Lagertha said when the nurse had thanked the gods. ‘Not the gods,’ she’d said, beaming with pride as Loki blushed. ‘This one’s the only one worth having.’

Frigga’s close-lipped smile grew. “We can’t blame Fandral for being in love with Loki, even if his methods were…”

Your eyebrow rose. “Petty? Spiteful? Unforgiveable?”

Frigga laughed: a practiced, twinkling chirp. “When you live as long as we do, dear…nothing is truly unforgivable.”

You frowned, vision blurring as you stifled an eyeroll and Freya continued. “Perhaps you understand how he feels…now that you’ve gotten to know my second son a little better.” “You want to know if I love him, is that it? Well, I don't know.”

Shame swelled under your thin bathing gown, and Frigga inhaled quietly. “I of all people in this palace understand that words matter less than what we feel in here-” she said, pressing a fan of fingers to her chest. “You may think our customs strange, but they were born from centuries of upheaval and selfishness of our rulers. Markers needed to be set. It’s important that the general populace knows nothing of the second requirement of The Rite. It’s sacred.” You let out a petulant sigh. Don’t sass the queen, you willed, staring ahead at the water spilling over the edge of the balcony to a waterfall below.

Frigga cleared her throat. “The Rite ensures that those in line for succession can put another before themselves, represented through giving pleasure – and can capture their heart, their love—” “—Yes…I know that now,” you spat, eyes blazing towards her. “No thanks to any of you. Fandral had to tell me, of all people. Couldn’t resist rubbing it in my face that I’d fail Loki.”

Frigga’s face fell. But now you’d started, you couldn’t stop.

“And besides…Odin, Thor…they cheated the system, didn’t they? You and Odin were engaged! Sif was pretty much raised on a diet of Thor-infatuation.” You shook your head, heat flushing up your neck. “I didn’t say it was perfect,” Frigga said. “But the succession cannot be risked. And despite your current ingratiation, you are an outsider; you cannot understand these things.” “Oh,” you said, choosing to ignore her honey-drenched barb. “It can’t be risked, I see…unless it’s Loki, the one no one cares about?”

Despite her mask of diplomacy, irritation rippled on Frigga’s face.

“He had many options, and every opportunity,” she said through perfectly straight, gritted, teeth. “And he squandered every one of them. But something’s changed these past centuries in him. Something in these past weeks, too. A mystery, certainly.”

She stood, and the wet length of her glittering gown slopped across the floor. “Although I’m pleased to see you feel so strongly in his defence – it bodes well for his performance. Perhaps he’ll succeed after all.”

Your snorted. “And if I fail him, Fandral can step in: problem solved.” Frigga sighed, waving away an approaching nymph who skittered gratefully backwards.

“That’s not how it works,” Frigga said with a cloying sweetness, "- Loki would fail you: he would have failed to bring you pleasure, and capture your heart in a meaningful way. He only has one chance at fulfilling The Rite, at joining the succession. I did urge him to wait another 500 years but..."

She gave a delicate shrug. "And besides, in his haste to tarnish you…Fandral excluded himself from ever being eligible. The arousal of a god touched his skin. You should have seen his face when he realised he’d neglected to don the gloves in his pocket: pompous little oaf.”

A whirl of butterflies erupted in your gut. “So, you see, my dear…” Frigga tipped your chin up to meet her eyes. “You are my son’s only chance…”

You looked up at her: the glint in her beautiful irises – and for the first time you saw something more than the performance she presented to the court. Mischief. “My son’s…and those sweet little children.” A smile curled at her wine-stained lips. “And I hope you are prepared for the consequences of that.”

The silent, unbroken stare shattered as the doors burst open and Lagertha hobbled inside with an entourage of three. They held something in their arms like a dead snake, spread between them, covered in thick cotton and secured with the Asgardian royal seal in five places along its length.

Lagertha clapped her hands twice and you couldn’t help but smile at the irreverence on her face as she cast an imperious glance around the room. “There she is,” she said, waving you towards her. “Come, come – we haven’t got all day. Sun will be setting soon.”

You jumped up and scooted over, and immediately her surprisingly iron grip fastened to your bicep. “Loki sends his well wishes,” she hissed abruptly, “hopes his mother ain’t been too much of a cow.”

You pressed your lips together. “He’s alright? He’s not…” “Nervous? Course he is, dear. Near-on shitting himself. Not that he’d say that out loud, but I’ve known him a long time…the real him, like you do. Bless his silken hose. But now…we need to focus on you.”

Minutes passed in a blur as one of Lagertha’s deputy Weaving Crone who wasn’t quite so nobbled rolled out a small podium. You mounted it, following instructions to raise your arms and soon the dress was pulled over your head and in a heap on the floor.

A mirror was wheeled from somewhere, and behind your naked body you tried not to look at Frigga perched on a chaise, supping from a goblet.

Over your shoulder, the assistant crones were unpacking the snake-like thing. It must’ve been twenty feet long, and as it unfurled, your breath hitched. They held up the part which went over your arms, pacing forward reverently. It was as sheer as cobweb, tiny golden flecks weaved into the impossibly fine threads.

It slid up your skin like liquid moonlight. The fabric kissed your flesh like the graze of a lover, and beside you, Lagertha smiled.

You eyed your reflection warily. “How many people will see me in this?” “Just focus on the prince, dear.” “How many, Lagertha?” Her eyes flickered up to yours before taking a renewed interest in straightening the sash. “No more than twenty.” “Twenty?” you hissed. “I thought…I don’t know what I thought. Norns. Who are they?” “Odin, Frigga, Thor…some of the high gods; selected nobles to witness. It’s an honour, remember that. For them, as well as you.” You could swear the outline of your heartbeat was visible. “Oh my god…will they see everything?” “Not everything, child,” Lagertha whispered, untying the sash loop and re-assembling it; buying time. The robes sides covered your breasts but left a gap of bare skin in the centre, gathering at the naval before the flowing, split skirt began.

“It’s all very hush hush beforehand, so the participants can’t…skew things.” “Skew things?” You saw Lagertha’s lips roll together as she tried to dampen a laugh. Her eyes darted to Frigga and quickly back to you.

“Touch ‘emselves,” she said with a straight face.

“Focus on Loki, dear.” Her voice was as calming as poppy-seed tea. “I know what I see when I see it.” She ran a nobbled hand down the curve of your waist, smoothing the fabric.

You swallowed, looking at yourself in the mirror. “How will they know if I…if I love him? How will they know if I don't know?” Lagertha spun out the silence, fussing with the fabric at your breasts. “Focus on Loki, dear,” was all she said.

And soon, you were on the move again.

After his father’s ‘motivational’ speech, Loki felt no better. Although admittedly, he did feel slightly lighter when he’d left. Lagertha’s arrival had been the only bright spot in the darkness of his mood. She’d clothed in him in the same style of ceremonial garments expected from all participants in The Rite – far less grand than yours would be, but Loki’s held more elaborate stitching than his brother’s had done centuries before: tiny runes and charms woven into the hem with wishes that whispered when he moved. “Tell her…” he’d started, realising that he didn’t know what to say. He grumbled out some inane quip about his mother. Lagertha raised an eyebrow. “I know how you feel about her, silly boy,” she said under her breath, eyeing Thor snarfing down a third plate of cold meats like he’d been raised on the streets and not in a palace. "You can't fool old Lagertha."

Loki’s chest tightened: fighting the urge to deny it, fighting the urge to let his persona of bravado take hold. “I can’t love. Everyone’s always told me I’m not…made for it.” Lagertha’s laugh caught in her throat. She made a face. “Who? Him?” She yanked her head towards Thor leering covetously at a wheel of cheese. “Please,” she added under her breath. “And if she doesn’t love me?” Loki asked, voice crackling under the weight of the words.

Lagertha rolled her eyes. “It was a big ask in such a short time – any fool could see that, even your brother. But if you can…then maybe she can too.”

She shrugged, and patted his bare pecs twice. “I saw the way she looked at you when you came to get measured, and she couldn’t look away when you were playing with little Grisyna.”

Her eyebrow rose again. “Besides…if what she feels isn’t strong enough to fulfil The Rite…doesn’t mean it isn’t there. Doesn’t mean it isn’t worth exploring, tending.” “But the children," Loki hissed, ensuring he was out of Thor's earshot. "If I’m not in the succession, then if father finds out, he’ll—” Lagertha flapped a hand. “— We’ll figure out a way. We always have. Odin isn’t going to sweep in and decimate them – Frigga wouldn’t allow it…they’ll be shifted out somewhere, all nice and quiet so no one finds out what a bunch of unworthy vagabonds his court is.”

She reached up his neck and instinctually he stooped so her hands could cup his jaw.

“You are worthy of love, Loki Odinson. Giving and receiving,” she said quietly, searching his eyes. “No matter what some daft Rite says.”

“Brother you simply must try these prunes.”

Thor belched, pressing a fist to his mouth too late. Loki and Lagertha looked at him with matching expressions of disgust, and her hands fell from his jaw. Thor chuckled.

“Seems like your partner has competition for her place tonight,” Thor said, throwing a prune up and trying to catch it with his mouth. It hit off his eye and bounced to the floor. “I’ve been laying with gods since Odin was a sparkle in your grandfather’s eye, boy…I wouldn’t possibly qualify,” she said, gathering her things. She looked at Loki a final time, sharing a conspiratorial nod as Thor flushed pink. “Boy?!” Thor balked, as she shifted from the room with a quiet, purposeful grace. “Boy!?” he said again, marching to Loki. “That old witch is too familiar. I should have her removed from royal favour.” “You’ll do no such thing, brother,” Loki drawled, picking up a goblet of wine before setting it down again, untouched. “Who will make the garments that enchant your groin to look larger?” Thor’s cheeks began to turn violet. “That was supposed to be in confidence.” “Oh, dear.” Loki spun to his reflection, tilting his head. “Well, you’re lucky I’m very good at keeping secrets - if I choose to.”

Thor's lips pursed tight. Clearly, today would not be the one he’d break the habit of a lifetime and concoct a witty response. Loki’s gaze shifted back to himself.

The ceremonial Rite garment clung to every line of muscle like shimmering skin. It rippled at the merest breath; whether it was silver, or gold, or white depended entirely on the angle of the light. Bell sleeves draped from his wrists, hanging down to his mid-thighs and melting against his skin like dregs of foam into sand.

The fabric was split down his torso; cock on full display; sheer fabric leaving no inch of the skin beneath to the imagination. The hem of the robe brushed the floor as his bare feet shuffled, inspecting himself. He looked resplendent.

Loki sighed. “Fix my hair, will you? Or try, at least.”

A box rattled as Thor combed through a variety of pins. Loki rolled his eyes. “The gold one, with the emblem.” “Which emblem?” Thor asked, bored. “My emblem, you cretin.”

Thor worked in silence, and Loki was glad of it. His brother managed to gather the hair in a serviceable knot at the top of his head: fastened with the golden snake pin at its base. Loki’s cheekbones slashed deep shadows into his face, highlighting faint blue shadows under his eyes. The sun had almost set, and soon enough, there was a knock at the door. Thor squeezed his shoulder. “I wish you fortune, brother. May her heart be open.”

Loki waited for the quip about her legs being open too, but it didn’t come. And unlike the cowing pleasantries at last night’s feast, he felt a shiver of gratitude wrench up his spine at the sentiment.

“Thank you, brother,” he whispered, meeting his own eyes in the mirror. “I need it.”

The stone seemed to pulse beneath your feet.

You walked in procession: Frigga at the front, the Asgardian nymphs flanking you each holding a clutch of your train as the golden door grew closer. Goosebumps needled your arms beneath the silk-chiffon. ‘Just focus on the prince’, Lagertha had said. ‘Just focus on him’. Finally, the procession stopped. Frigga beat a fist on the door three times, and inside there was the muffled sound of trumpets.

Oh, for fuck’s sake. Heraldry? Be serious.

The doors swung open. The hall was narrow, with padded benches lining the walls like one of those Midgard chapels and torches throwing throbbing amber hues on the floor. It was so polished that the gemstone stars set deep into the dark ceiling reflected on its surface, and your feet wobbled as the world slewed around you. “It’s alright,” the nymph to your side whispered, staring ahead. “Just keep walking.” You tried not to look at the shaded figures who populated the benches, but the curiosity was too much. Fandral sat with a sullen expression, glowering at your progress, the centre of his face marred with a purple bruise which spread to his eyes. You smirked. Frigga stopped, and stepped to the side.

And then, you inhaled sharply. Loki stood with his hands clasped behind his back: posture impeccable, body tight with braced muscles and his raven hair swept up in a devastating knot.

He wore a robe made of the same material as yours. In torchlight, it looked like pure gold – rippling with opacity in time with the flames. But still, his alabaster skin was visible beneath it. The god’s bare form was as flawless as you remembered from the night in the baths – it felt like a lifetime ago.

And yes, his cock really is that big, that perfect. You thought you might have imagined it. His face was set in ceremonial stiffness, but those eyes sparkled. He isn’t embarrassed. You decided – fuck it – you weren’t going to be embarrassed either. You opened your mouth to speak but, regrettably, Odin got in first. “Gods, nobles…you are welcome to the attempt of my second son – Loki of Asgard – at fulfilling The Rite of Successional Pleasure, and taking his place as one of the realm’s true-royal sons.”

Loki sidestepped as you found yourself guided by the nymphs holding your train, nudging you towards a raised platform at the end of the hall. A firm looking cushion sat on top of it: the deepest navy blue, scattered with silver thread.

You climbed each of the four steps, turning to the crowd of shadowed faces occupying the pews and trying to ignore the graze of your hardened nipped against the fabric. For Loki, you reminded yourself.

Looking up, you could make out a golden railing suspended from the ceiling, thin bunches of material hanging from it in thin sections.   Loki mounted the steps with easy grace, cock swinging, drawing your hand to his lips when he reached the top.

“You are well?” he murmured against the skin, looking up through his lashes. Your stomach roiled with the need to kiss him, but all you could muster was a nod. A silent understanding passed between you of how fucked-up this was. “It will be over soon,” he said, brows peaking. Your lips rolled together, but as words shaped your lips—

“Loki Odinson: God of Mischief and Lies, Son of Asgard.”

Odin’s voice rang around the cloisters like a war-cry. “I command you to prove yourself worthy of the people you seek to rule by bestowing unrequited pleasure on this woman. By doing so, you prove that you can put those you rule above yourself; that if you can cultivate their love, you may one day hold the crown.”

Cultivate their love. The phrase made a shiver tighten your shoulders.

A woman even older than Lagertha shuffled up the steps, and beside you, Loki stiffened. Red markings smeared down her face, paste crusting into deep wrinkles. She gathered your hands. Her eyes closed, face tipped to the feeling. The very air seemed to sharpen. “She is untouched by a god: she has known no seed, she is eligible for the ceremonial Rite,” the woman announced. Beside you, Loki’s muscles relaxed. A nymph tapped your shoulder and you drew your eyes from Loki’s. “My lady- we need to—” “—I can do it,” Loki cut in. He observed her visible panic with clear irritation. “Nowhere does it specify this in the ceremonial texts, I assure you.”

There was a hum from the crowd, but no objections. Loki ushered you to the bed. He leant down to your ear, and the warmth of his breath ignited fierce, obscene desire in your core. The crowd, forgotten. “Lie on the bed, so that your head rests near the top," he whispered, shivers running down your limbs. "Those two women will fan the train of your robe. It’s very important that you let them arrange it how it needs to be. You’ll be restrained, but don’t fear…it will not hurt. It’s only so—” “—I don’t touch myself,” you finished. Loki smirked. “Skew the results,” he replied, eyes glittering like the gems in the ceiling. His knuckles trailed down your bicep and for that moment, there was only you and Loki in the room. “Shall we?”

You did as he’d asked, settling on your back. True enough, the two nymphs spread the train of the robe until its huge length spilled down the steps and halfway up the narrow aisle. The rest of it pooled across the bed, pearling weave undulating in shadows. When they were done, your arms were spread and satin tied to your wrists; fastened somewhere down the sides.

And all the while, Loki stood where you’d left him – facing the crowd with what you imagined was a thousand-yard-stare.

One of the nymphs approached the long material draped from the ceiling. Loki brought a hand up, clicking his fingers. The material sprung to life, metal rings scraping on metal as it worked around the railing; surrounding the bed in a circle of thin, voile fabric.

You’d been prepared to repeat Lagertha’s mantra in your head at this point, but it turned out it wasn’t only easy to focus on Loki – it was impossible not to.

He drew a portion of the curtain to the side and slipped through: utterly beautiful in his regally-repressed lust. That lithe body shifted beneath the sheer robe as he knelt on the bed: one knee, then two. You squirmed, unable to help yourself. You were already wet, arousal sliding between your thighs.

“Kiss me?” you asked quietly.

His brow furrowed, eyes falling to his crotch. He was hard. It was the first time you’d seen him erect without any clothes on. Even in the baths, he’d been underwater. Saliva welled in your mouth, heart thumping. A bead of pre-cum had already swelled at the tip. “This is rather unorthodox,” he muttered. Whispers were audible from the world beyond the curtain. Loki swallowed. “But you look so…” He swallowed again, eyelids fluttering closed and hands falling to the mattress. “I’ll get seed on you. And we can’t have that. Not now.” “Not now,” you agreed as your legs parted.

Loki’s breath hitched as he drew the sliver of fabric covering your crotch to the side. The god lowered, lips fastening to your thigh as his hands scooped under your legs. You felt like you might catch fire.

He kissed up to the knee, lingering on each inch of skin like you might vanish. Your nerves were wild, and it wasn’t until the whine of his name had left your lips you even realised you'd done it. There was a ripple of amusement from the crowd, and one of Loki’s brows rose. “As you desire,” he murmured, before fastening softly to your clit.

A moan ripped from your throat.

The touch was almost nothing, but it was a lit match to sulphur. All the desire, the longing, the denial – it came rushing up your throat in that moan.

Loki’s tongue was silk. It smoothed over the folds of your sex, coating you in his wet enthusiasm. Every long, languid lap coupled with a groan of approval in his chest; the sharp angles of his jawline slotting perfectly between your spread legs.

“Loki,” you gasped, back arching while his fingers spread against your hips.

He suckled your clit, eyes opening with calculated precision to lock with your own. “Loki,” you chanted again, reaching to tangle a hand in his hair and failing. His mouth broke from your pussy. “Yes, little owl?” he hummed, chin glistening with your arousal, a playful dimple winking at the corner of his mouth. You huffed.

“Don’t stop,” you pleaded as the god chuckled against you thigh, wet, lazy kisses bitten into the flesh. His eyes met yours as he kissed over your mound, lowering completely before dragging his nose through your cunt and covering your clit again.

“Gods, yes….f-fuck,” you gasped.

There were more titters of mirth behind the curtain. But you couldn’t hear them – you could only hear Loki’s desperate sighs of need as he worshipped you, only feel the coil winding in your belly as orgasm began to crest; only sense the press of his fingertips pulling your hips deeper into his open mouth.

Suddenly someone shouted: another, and then another. They were hushed by a voice suspiciously like Frigga’s.

You turned your face unwillingly to the side, craning up, straining against the binds. The end of the train was just visible were it ended down aisle. You squinted. Where before it was a kind of white, now it was… “Green?” Loki’s palm pressed against your chest, sliding to cup your breast with a squeeze as you lowered.

“Ignore it,” he breathed: wet, hot. And then, he pushed your knees back. Your eyes widened as he towered above you, fingers spread on your calves like a chariot-rider. A single curl had come loose from the top-knot. Loki lapped from the base of your slit to the tip.

His movements were fluid, and wild – yet perfectly controlled. You’d heard tales of how he swept through battlefields like a whirlwind; slicing enemies down like they were paper; harnessing madness with the absolute precision. And this was like that. Except his battle was your pleasure – and gods, he was winning.

You’d begun to pant, and nonsensical words shaped your tongue as his movements became slower, massaging your cunt with slow, methodical licks. “Loki…” you pleaded, chest heaving, lips parted. And then, you came.

It was like nothing you’d ever known. Everything else had been a pebble of pleasure scattered on a beach – this was the cliff. It slammed into you, spine arching as he shifted to your thrashes; holding your hips fast to his lips as you spilled into him.

Somewhere, people were clapping – but all you could feel was him, guiding your sizzling pussy from its high with gentle, careful licks.

The binds at your wrists loosened and the moment they did, you sat up – audience be damned – and collided with his mouth.

The kiss was deep, wild: fingers digging into the tight hair at the base of his skull, his lips teased open by the demands of your tongue. The taste of you was thick: sweet, hot, dark with your deepest needs. It tasted like love - like trust.

Loki’s moan as you shifted onto his lap and dragged your pussy up his cock: scorching your insides with an unquenchable drive to have him buried inside you. “It’s done,” a creaking voice announced. You squinted through the curtain, panting. The old woman from before with red crusted on her face was standing, facing the crowd. “Loki Odinson has completed the Rite of Successional Pleasure.” A roar erupted through the darkness. Loki shook you by the shoulders, his face smeared with your cum a picture of fierce delight.

I did it, those eyes said.  

For a reason you couldn’t explain, your stomach dropped.

The curtain was torn aside and you toppled from Loki’s lap, pulling bundles of the robe’s length to cover your modesty. And then, you saw it. The train spilling down the steps and onto the aisle was almost completely green: a deep emerald, like it had been dipped in ink which soaked its material like the tide. As you watched, the stain grew closer, starting an ascent of the steps. “He has proven himself able to give pleasure to those who serve him,” the woman’s voice cut through the din. “He has proven himself able to earn their love, their allegiance.” Loki stood from the bed, his arms spread wide to the applause: robe open, cock still hard. You frowned, shuffling forwards and tugged the back of his robe. He glanced over his shoulder, expression faltering.

You loved him. He knew that now. Everyone did. So why did it feel like… A mob descended and suddenly Loki was absorbed into a mass of congratulatory back slaps and cheers. Thor stood at the side, clapping all-too-slowly. His eyes darted towards you, before falling to the ground.

‘A triumph,’ the voices in the crowd around Loki said as his smile widened. ‘Never seen anything like it…magnificent.’ They pulled him down the steps. 'One for the histories.'

“Loki." Your voice broke, and you shuffled forwards and stumbled over the tangle of your train. You thought you saw the flash of Loki’s profile; you thought you saw him trying to lurch back through the throng.

But fingers curled around your arms and pulled. The mossy perfume of the Asgardian nymphs stung your eyes and you wrenched against them, hearing a rip from below as someone tore the delicate robe with their feet.

More fingers fastened to your wrist and you yanked away before meeting a pair of piercing blue eyes. Sad eyes. “Let him go,” Frigga whispered firmly. “He has much to celebrate.” Everything else was white noise. Only the memory of Fandral’s smarmy voice loud in your head. ‘He’s trying to make you fall in love with him,’ he’d said. ‘And afterwards, he’ll discard you like the commoner you imagine yourself to be.’ You faltered at the scrunch of Frigga’s brow, strength leaving your limbs.

Her pitying gaze said more than platitudes ever could. Glancing at the door, shouts of jubilation faded in echoing wisps as the green spill completed its ascent up the enchanted fabric.

Loki’s colour: proof that he held your heart in the palm of his hand, proof that you were willing to give yourself to him body, and soul.

And Loki was gone.

A/N. Just trust me, okay? Please? 🙏❤️ Please please. Tags in comments x Next Chapter : Marked (Finale) The Rite Masterlist is here

[hoonven]

SUPERNATURAL.

❪443❫ Jay believes in ghosts. You don’t—until you kiss him just to shut him up… or was it something else?

PAIRING? park jongseong x female reader

GENRES? fluff, best friends with a side of mutual pining

⚠︎ // profanity, mention of ghosts and being haunted, reader is a skeptic and doesn’t believe in ghosts

“That purse really brings out the color of your eyes.”

Jay stops mid-step, turning to glare at you over the rim of his glasses. “It’s not a purse. It’s a satchel.”

You hum, nodding thoughtfully in your usual sarcastic manner as you follow him into the supernatural section of the library. “Right. Just like how a ghost isn’t a ghost—it’s a displaced soul caught between realms or whatever nonsense you’re about to try and convince me of.”

Jay huffs, adjusting the strap of his definitely-a-purse satchel and ignoring you in favor of scanning the bookshelves.

He pulls out a thick, dusty tome with Specters & Spirits: A Comprehensive Guide to the Afterlife written in an ominous font on the cover.

“I’m telling you, my apartment is haunted,” he says, flipping through the pages. “I keep hearing weird noises at night. Lights flicker. My phone charger disappears and then reappears in weird places.”

“Just sounds like you’re messy,” you say, plopping down on the carpeted floor.

Jay joins you, cross-legged, with a determined look on his face. “Okay, but listen to this.” He clears his throat dramatically before reading aloud. “Spirits are often drawn to places of intense energy—grief, love, despair—”

“Holy shit, they’re just like me,” you cut in.

“Can you take this seriously for like, five seconds?” he says, exasperated.

You gesture for him to continue, suppressing a smirk.

Jay launches into an in-depth, slightly unhinged explanation about electromagnetic frequencies, ghostly apparitions, and something about residual hauntings while you tune him out, watching the way he gets all passionate about something so ridiculous.

His brows furrow, his lips move a mile a minute, and his hands gesture wildly as if that’ll somehow make him more convincing.

You don’t even realize you’re leaning in until you do it—cutting him off mid-ramble with a kiss.

Jay freezes. The book slips from his fingers, landing with a thud between you.

You pull back, smirking at his wide-eyed, slack-jawed expression. “What?” he finally croaks out.

You shrug. “The ghost must’ve possessed me. There’s some real poltergeist shit going on here.”

Jay blinks. Once. Twice. Then groans, dragging a hand down his face. “You’re such a jerk.”

“Well, this jerk just made you blush like an anime schoolgirl being kissed by her senpai,” you tease, nudging his knee with yours.

He doesn’t deny it. Instead, he shuts the book and shoves it into his satchel (purse). “I’m never bringing you ghost researching with me again.”

You grin. “Oh, come on. Who else is gonna protect you with logic and facts?”

Jay sighs dramatically, but you don’t miss the small, stupid smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

© 2025 hoonven, all rights reserved. i do not give permission to modify, repost, translate, or plagiarize my works on any platform. NETWORK! @kstrucknet

[devildomwriter]

Christmas Morn’ Again | Others x Reader

2.1K Word Count | GN! Reader | CW: Children

Previous

Solomon x Reader

Christmas morning smelled like many things. Candy canes, gingerbread, sugar cookies…today it did not. You sat straight up in bed to be greeted by the faces of your sons and their father holding a tray of food.

You stared at it for a second and your sons recognized the fear in your eyes.

“We made it for you!”

“Daddy didn’t help at all!”

They reassured you and you breathed a sigh of relief.

“Isn’t that thoughtful of them?” Solomon asked. “They really wouldn’t let me help they were so determined to make you happy all on their own.”

You hugged your sons more tightly than usual that day, having escaped your husband’s traditional breakfast in bed on Christmas morning.

Your sons began to roughhouse as Solomon set up everything in the living room and you ate your warm waffles which your sons had done an amazing job with. You wondered where they got their culinary skills, you were just glad it wasn’t from their father.

After you finished your waffles you set your tray aside and held out your hands for your sons to take.

They excitedly pulled you into the living room and gasped in delight at the presents under the tree. They quickly broke away from you and slid on their knees to their individual piles.

Solomon smiled and handed you a mug of hot cocoa that you pretended to drink as you relaxed into his side watching your children open their gifts.

The two were so much like their father, asking for educational toys and books for Christmas instead of video games and money. It made you proud and your heart felt full as you hugged your husband while they began flipping through their science books that Christmas day.

Simeon x Reader

You set an alarm for Christmas Day. You had much to prepare for before your children woke up. Simeon quickly silenced the alarm before anyone else heard it and he began your morning with a gentle kiss to your lips.

He wrapped his arms around you and quickly got out of bed to help you get dressed, helping to hide your hickies as he adjusted your Christmas Snuggie.

You parted from Simeon and began preparing breakfast as one by one Simeon began to rouse your many children.

The sounds of excitement grew louder and louder and before anyone else came downstairs your eldest son, Simon, came to check on you in the kitchen. He was a kind and helpful boy just like his father, your wonderful husband, Simeon. A literal angel.

There was no better way to spend Christmas Day than with a real angel so when Simeon appeared downstairs followed by your children you ran to him first and wrapped your arms around him.

Your daughters giggled while your sons mostly rolled their eyes and everyone made their way to the Christmas tree and excitedly waited for their father to begin handing out their gifts.

You let breakfast warm up and sat down on the couch wrapped in the warm Snuggie Simeon had gifted you years prior when Simon was just a newborn.

Simeon helped his littlest siblings sit upright as Simeon handed his gift to him, pride beaming in his eyes.

Even on a holiday as chaotic as Christmas, it was clear as day that the two of you were managing to raise your kids just right as they managed to wait patiently for you to take out your D.D.D.

Simeon sat with you and smiled as you began filming the room that erupted into excited squeals. You rested your head against Simeon and he kissed your forehead as you began your Christmas day.

Raphael x Reader

You’d never been so grateful for your silk robes as you were on Christmas morning when your son stood on his father’s bare chest waiting for you to wake up.

Raphael stared at his son, surprised he’d broken in and snuck up on him. Raphael was supposed to be the most efficient hitman in the Celestial Realm and its most skilled fighter but it was beginning to seem as though his son would quickly surpass that.

Raphael looked at you, relieved you’d redressed from the previous night; Raphael had not done the same so you quickly got out of bed to carry your son away so Raphael could redress.

Seconds later Raphael followed you out the door already dressed in winter pajamas that matched your red robe.

Rafal quietly asked to be put down so you set him on his feet and he nodded and looked at his father.

“You’re growing dull,” he commented and Raphael shook his head and tucked his son under his arm like a football.

“You can criticize me when you can beat me,” he advised and Rafal protested as his father carried him into the living room, deciding to take away his free-roaming privileges after barging into your room when he was naked beneath the sheets.

Rafal was finally sat down and Raphael breathed a tired sigh and gently led you to the couch and wrapped a blanket around you.

“I’ll get some milk,” he said and Rafal bounded on his knees excitedly as he waited for his father to bring him a refreshing drink.

Raphael came back and handed a glass to his son and a glass to you before sitting down, leaning back into the couch, and wrapping an arm around you.

You snuggled in closer, head against his chest as his son excitedly unwrapped his gifts.

You knew Raphael had gotten his son a special gift from the Celestial Realm but when he unwrapped a set of throwing daggers you stared at Raphael in shock who was beaming with pride as his son cheered.

You sighed and decided to leave it be for now and let the two enjoy Christmas as you took pictures of your happy family.

Mephistopheles x Reader

The early birds screeched as the moon shone brightly in the sky. You sometimes missed the bluebird and robins soft songs but you were used to it after so many years in the Devildom with your husband.

You were shocked you’d slept in past eight considering it was Christmas Day. Perhaps after disobeying you last night, your son had decided to sleep in to make up for slipping downstairs to try and catch Santa.

You rolled over and gently woke your husband. His maroon bangs fell across his face and he yawned and stretched.

It took him a moment to realize what time it was and he was also shocked by the late hour. Claud had never let you sleep in so late. He came to the same conclusion as you, that he must feel guilty.

Mephistopheles straightened his silk pajamas and helped you out of bed. He looked in the mirror and combed his hair to the side to look more decent in front of staff before leaving your bedroom.

He waited for you before opening the large doors and he led you downstairs to the fireplace nearly as big as the wall itself.

The presents remained untouched under the Christmas tree and Mephistopheles kissed your cheek and opted to wake your son himself. Your son was so used to staff rousing him that it was a great Christmas surprise to see his father waiting for him at the end of his bed to bring him downstairs.

Your son was beaming in Mephistopheles’ arms as they walked downstairs together.

The staff made way for them holding your breakfast trays and after Mephistopheles set Calud down the trays were brought to you. The staff bowed and left and you scooted closer to Mephistopheles as your son began to unwrap his towering pile of gifts.

As your son excitedly thanked you every time, Mephistopheles grinned, pleased with himself for doing a good job. You kissed his cheek and smiled approvingly making him melt in your arms as Christmas properly began.

Barbatos x Reader

The world was silent as you lay snug under the black covers in your bed. The more you woke the more you became aware that Barbatos, your husband, was not next to you. You rolled over, saddened by the loss of the warm demon next to you.

You had expected that at least on Christmas he would sleep in with you but you supposed that six in the morning was sleeping in for Barbatos already and you should be content with that.

Moments later, before you could fully awake, the sweet smell of ginger wafted to your nose and you sat straight up blinking until the fuzziness in your vision passed and you could see your husband standing there, pleased with himself as he offered you a tray of food.

Barbatos watched you eat with a pleased grin and kissed you as you bit the head off a gingerbread man.

“Shall I fetch Sebastian?” He asked you as you set your empty tray aside and you nodded and wiped your mouth.

He nodded and quickly left the room to wake your son a few doors down. You thought your son was probably still exhausted from an accidental trip to the Mariana Trench last night but were proven wrong when he came running into the room.

He jumped onto the bed and hugged you.

“Merry Christmas!” He exclaimed and you hugged him and kissed his head.

He laughed and smiled, turning around to his father. “I knew they’d be awake already.” He declared and you tilted your head.

“You have your son to thank for the early morning call,” he said with a sweet smile that perfectly hid his annoyance. Barbatos too would have preferred a few more hours with you wrapped in his arms but Sebastian was a child who did not underhand such things so you couldn’t find fault in him.

Diavolo was also awake in the common room of the castle warming up with some breakfast Barbatos had already found time to make him.

“Uncle Dia!” Sebastian exclaimed and hugged him.

Diavolo occupied your son for you so that you and Barbatos could find a comfortable spot to relax. In each other’s arms, you sat on the soft rug as your son opened his gifts on Christmas day.

Diavolo x Reader

You thought you heard squeals outside the door first thing that morning but just as quickly silence followed. You sat up, prepared to chase your children back to bed but saw that it was already seven and that this was actually quite late for the three of them.

Diavolo snored next to you and covered him back up with a blanket and dressed yourself to check on the commotion in the hall.

Just as you approached the door you heard a soft knock you identified as Barbatos.

You opened the door, shielding Diavolo from view, and accepted your breakfast trays from the diligent butler who had three children clinging to his tail.

You gave your children a cross look, “please don’t bother Mr. Barbatos,” you scolded and they nodded and giggled, still holding onto the steward’s tail.

Barbatos sighed and shut the door so you could wake up and help dress your sleepy husband.

Diavolo had worn the both of you out last night but surprisingly you were the one with the most energy that morning. Maybe it was because you were still unused to such extravagant gifts

like the ones you knew Diavolo would be getting you. In that case, you could hardly blame your children for getting up as early as they could.

Diavolo woke up, startled you were dressed and holding breakfast but he happily accepted and welcomed the day with the optimism you hoped would never leave him.

Diavolo quickly made himself decent but comfortable and together you opened the doors to your bedroom. Barbatos leaned against the wall facing you, holding your youngest under his arms and your daughter by her wrist as she tried to break free.

Your eldest son and Diavolo’s heir waited patiently but you could see the giddy excitement within him as he barely contained himself.

You smiled proudly and took your son’s hand as Diavolo apprehended the youngest two and held them captive in his arms as you took the elevator down to the main room with the grand tree and all their gifts beneath it.

Barbatos readied his camera as Diavolo set your daughter and youngest son loose. They tote into the presents without waiting and your oldest son, Chao, looked up at you for approval. You smiled and nodded and he ran to join his siblings as you reunited with your husband.

He held you in his arms and snuck kisses against your head and your hands when the children weren’t looking.

It was already turning into a perfect Christmas Day.

[dcxdpdabbles]

Master Posts Links

All the dabbles I have posted on my DC x DP account. Under a read more due to how long it is. Broken into three categories:

Multi-parts - Dabbles that have more than one part written.

One-shots- Dabbles with only one part written.

Requests- Dabbles written for the requests of readers. (Note: If a request is for a continuation of the other two categories, they will be filed in Milti-parts)

Master Post 1 Link

Master Post 2 Link

Master Post 3 Link

Completed AUs Master Post Link

NSFW (+18 ) Link

Please read the indexes to determine which master post each au is filed in.

As of 12/25/2024: The newest stuff is inside of Master Post 3.

Updated as of 02/14/2025: Stop on Muli-part: Danny's Grill Part 6

MASTER POST 1 INDEX:

Multi-parts:

The Royal Consort,

Child Support

Phantom's Number 1 fan

Danny and The Fan Blog

Congratulations! It's Triplets!:

Ghost King Summon dare

The Dauntless Matchmaker

Demon and Angel Brat

Single Dad

Jason's Doll

Misplace Baby

One-shots:

The Assistant

The Ghost Trio's Food Trip

Legal Compensation

Love Among Fans

Lex Luther's Youngest

The Infinite Realms Hobby Store:

Obsession Runs in the Family

Farm Hand

Vague Threats

Game of Deadly Love

Retired-Rouge

The Real Blood Son

The Kid of Candles

Magic Older Brother

Keep The God Kid Busy!

Dog walker

Clockwork's Cookbook

Respawn and Relive

The Summoning Conditions of the Ghost King

Finders Keeper

What's the rule again?

The Contact, the Butler and the Sly Time Lord

Big Fish in Gotham Pond:

Immunity system:

Wrong Number:

Timeline Prevention Squad

Requests

The Masters are Aliens

Ghost Zone Read

Red Hood's Snow

Jason Sees Dead People

Ghost Dad

Wayne Manor Ghost

The Siren of Iceberg Lounge

The Orginal

The Ghost King's Fibs

Red ParentHood

Woo thy Butler, My Lord

Double Vision

Dealeyed Soulmates

Rescue Mission

Danny's Online Persona

Practice makes perfect

MASTER POST 2 INDEX:

Multi-Parts

Cass the Halfa

Danny's Grill

The Audit

Why Ten?

Cluster of Cores

Demon Head Slightly to the left

Danny Fenton's Ex

New Management

Billy's Parents

Phone a friend

Super Robin

Cassandra's Curse in Gotham

The Summoned Demon

Marriage Trap the Office Supplier!

It's all Fun and Games Kids!

The cinnamon roll's son

One-Shots

Red Yummy

Professional Protector of Love

The Backroads

In 30 Minutes or less

One hell of a good bellhop

Corporate Rivals

Rude Kryptonian

Ecto-Specialist

Side Hustle

Copyright

Love at first (club) meeting

Catnip for heroes

Old Friends

Danny the Nanny

Lights and Camera

Hot Wings

The ones who got away

Vanishing Bookstore

Petal to the metal

Lover Boy

PenPal

Fishbowl Bones

Unwanted House Guest

The Roommate

Missing Half

Danny's Did you Know?

Yeti's orders.

Who's Child is this?

Requests

Batman with a gun's lover

IRS's boogie man

Dear Elder Brother's mistakes

The Undead Florist

Pit's Merman

Dullahan is my roomate

Nightowl Appartement

The one with Sunset Hair

The Cinnamon Roll's son

The lost In-Laws

The Lady and The Dad

Big Brother does not approve

Gotham's star and Shadow

Pride in Gotham

Revenant Prompt

The King and his Not-Knight

Contestant Number 3

The Lost son of the Bat

AroAce Danny

Extended Family

Master Post 3 Index

Mult-parts

Passion for Fashion

Alfred's Boy Friend

Alley Boyfriends

Mr. Flavor

Freelance Inventor

One-shots

You ARE the father

The Good Luck Charm

To be Human Again

Travel Buddy

Shift

A little bit of Home

New Money

Beyond the Grave

Lex Luthor's annoyance

Die with a smile

Cold Case

Online Siren

The End and the Beginning

Damian's (not) real friend

Family Bonding

Gotham Gossip

Request

Access Granted

Skulker's Past

Surviving Babysitting

The Twins

Echo's Dad

The Artifact Repair Man

Flip of A coin

New Neighbors

Over and Over again

The West Wing

Never the Bride

COMPLETED AUS MASTER POST INDEX

The Bakery is a Front!....right?

Cave Boy

The Adoptive Son

[fratttymatty]

The Jock Within

(All characters are 18+)

Eric had always been the quintessential, gay nerd—glasses perched on his nose, books piled high, and an encyclopaedic knowledge of video games. He was perfectly content with his world of fantasy, where he could escape into realms of adventure and heroism. But in the real world, he often felt invisible, particularly around the confident jocks at school.

One Friday afternoon, while browsing a local comic book store, Eric stumbled upon an old, dusty book tucked away in a corner. Its cover was faded, with strange symbols that seemed to shimmer under the light. Intrigued, he flipped it open and began to read. The pages were filled with spells and incantations, and before he knew it, he had uttered a few words aloud, laughing at the ridiculousness of it all.

As he closed the book, a sudden wave of dizziness washed over him, and he stumbled backward. The world around him blurred, and he felt as if he was being pulled through a tunnel of light.

When the sensation faded, Eric found himself standing in front of a mirror, but the reflection that stared back was not his own. Gone were the glasses and the lanky frame. Instead, he saw a tall, muscular guy with chiseled features and a confident grin—Ethan, the kind of jock he had always envied.

“What the—?” Eric gasped, his voice deeper and more commanding. Panic surged through him. Had that book really done this?

He tried to piece together what was happening. His thoughts, once filled with strategies for studying and discussions about the latest sci-fi novels, now seemed to swirl with excitement for sports, workouts, first person shooters + minecraft, and social gatherings. He felt an urge to hit the gym and play basketball, something he had never cared for before. He also stopped thinking about dating boys, only seeing himself dating girls. He also felt very homophobic.

As he navigated this new body, Eric—now Ethan—decided to test his transformation. He strutted out of the store and headed to the local gym, his confidence building with every step. The stares he received felt entirely different; people were looking at him not with indifference but with admiration.

One striking change was his hair. Gone was the blonde side part that he had always worn; in its place was a tousled, messy hairstyle that seemed to embody the carefree spirit of a TikTok star. The dark brown locks framed his face perfectly, falling in soft waves that exuded a relaxed, effortless cool. It had a charming disarray to it, almost like he had just rolled out of bed but looked effortlessly stylish.

But the most dramatic shift was in his body. Eric had always been average height and skinny, but now he stood at a towering 6'2", his broad shoulders and muscular build radiating strength and vitality. His biceps were defined, and his chest was broad, giving him a powerful presence. He could hardly believe the reflection—Ethan looked like someone who belonged on a sports team, not sitting at home studying.

“Hey, man!” a voice called out. It was Brad, the captain of the basketball team. “You coming to practice today?”

Ethan grinned, feeling a surge of camaraderie. “Yeah, wouldn’t miss it!”

Practicing with the team was exhilarating. Ethan’s body moved with agility and power, and he quickly impressed everyone with his skills. The adrenaline coursed through him as he dunked a basketball, the rush igniting a fire within that Eric had never experienced.

But one of the biggest perks of his transformation came in the form of his new girlfriend, Cassie. She was the ultimate cheerleader—blonde, bubbly, and absolutely stunning, but not exactly known for her brains. With her long legs and toned physique, Cassie was everything Ethan could have dreamed of. She’d been flirting with him ever since he transformed, and now they were the picture-perfect couple.

“Like, oh my God, Ethan! You were, like, totally amazing out there!” Cassie squealed, her voice high-pitched and full of enthusiasm. She bounced on her toes, her cheerleading uniform hugging her curves perfectly. “I, like, can't believe how good you are at basketball! You’re, like, so strong and stuff!”

“Just natural talent, babe,” he replied with a cocky grin, flexing his biceps as if to emphasize his new physique. Jess’s eyes sparkled with admiration, and she leaned in, giving him a quick kiss that made sure all their friends were watching.

Ethan loved the attention, both from Cassie and the crowd. He had traded in his old life for one filled with popularity, and it felt exhilarating. Cassie was always by his side, her bubbly personality adding to his newfound status. “We should, like, totally throw a party at my place this weekend! Everyone will be there, and it’ll be, like, so much fun!” she said, her excitement contagious.

Days turned into weeks, and Ethan embraced his new life. He found himself in the centre of the social scene, surrounded by friends, and even dating the head cheerleader, who adored his newfound charm.

Ethan began to embrace not just the confidence but also the attitude that often came with it. He started to act more cocky, revelling in the attention and admiration he received. One afternoon, at lunch, he and his friends were joking around, and he caught sight of a couple of freshmen sitting at a nearby table.

“Hey, look at those losers!” Ethan laughed, nudging Brad. “What are they doing? Planning a Dungeons & Dragons campaign or something?” The table erupted with laughter, and the freshmen shrank back, embarrassed.

Ethan revelled in the power he felt, but a small voice inside him—Eric’s voice—simmered with discomfort. It was a stark contrast to the kindness and acceptance he had always valued. But the thrill of being the centre of attention was intoxicating, and he found himself pushing the boundaries of his new persona.

Days passed, and Ethan continued to grow more arrogant. He’d strut down the hallways, flexing his muscles, high-fiving his teammates, and belittling those he considered beneath him. At one point, he overheard a group of students discussing a new video game, and he couldn't help but interject.

“Video games? Seriously? Don’t you guys have something better to do? Like, I don’t know, actually live your lives? Go lift some weights or something. Living in your mom’s basement can’t be fun!” He laughed dismissively, and his friends joined in, further reinforcing his newfound bravado.

The next day at school, he walked through the hallways with his head held high. When he bumped into Brad, the basketball captain, Ethan smiled.

“Yo bro, wanna go to the gym later?!" Ethan said cockily.

Brad’s eyebrows shot up in surprise, then he grinned.

“You got it, man! Let’s hit the gym together!” Brad said excited.

As time went on, the memories of Eric—the late-night gaming sessions, the comic books, the quiet moments of joy—began to fade into the background. Ethan thrived in the social scene, basking in the admiration and respect he commanded. He was no longer just Eric the nerd; he was Ethan the jock, and he loved every second of it.

One afternoon, as Ethan lounged at the park with his friends, he realized he had no desire to return to his former self. The excitement of being part of the in-crowd, of being respected and admired, felt too good to give up. He looked around at the laughter and camaraderie he shared with his new friends and felt a deep sense of belonging.

In the end, Ethan never sought out the spellbook again. He had fully embraced his new identity, reveling in the thrill of being a jock. “Who needs to waste time with video games and comics when I can be out here dominating?” he said, flashing a cocky grin. “I’m living the dream, and let’s be real—I’m too good for that nerdy life. This is where the real fun is.”

With a swagger in his step, he walked away, fully confident in the fact that he was the king of the social scene. As he tossed a basketball to his friends and kissed Cassie one more time, she giggled and said, “You’re, like, the best, Ethan! Let’s totally keep this vibe going forever!”, he couldn’t help but feel that he had truly arrived. And as he stepped into the future, he knew he wouldn’t look back—because being Ethan was just too good to be true.

Months passed since Ethan had shed his old identity as Eric, and life had never been better. He thrived in the spotlight, effortlessly gliding through his days as the star of the basketball team and the center of attention at every party. The transformation had solidified his place in the social hierarchy, and he relished it.

Cassie was always by his side, her bubbly laughter ringing in his ears as they navigated the halls of school together. “Like, I can’t believe how amazing you are, babe! You’re, like, totally the best!” she’d gush, her enthusiasm infectious. Together, they became the ultimate power couple, a fixture at every event.

One afternoon, as Ethan lounged with his friends on the bleachers after practice, he looked out over the bustling campus. The sun cast a golden hue over everything, and he felt an overwhelming sense of satisfaction. He had left behind the insecurities and awkwardness of his past, fully embracing this new life filled with confidence and camaraderie.

As he flexed his muscles and tossed a basketball back and forth with Brad, Ethan couldn’t help but smirk. He had become everything he had once envied, and it felt amazing. The laughter of his friends, the adoration of the crowd, and the love of a girlfriend who idolized him—it was everything he had ever wanted.

Looking around, he realized there was no going back. The thought of returning to his nerdy roots felt foreign, almost laughable. “Who needs that?” he thought, a cocky grin spreading across his face. This was his life now, and he was more than ready to own it.

With Cassie leaning against him, her laughter ringing out like music, Ethan looked ahead with certainty. The future was bright, and he was ready to seize it, one slam dunk at a time.