#Free Games Coin & Skin

[sinstear]

if there was one thing that kept her at bay from anything, it would be her arm. she loved and hated that part about herself. loved that it could protect her when needed, but hated that it could hurt someone she loved. sevika wasn’t afraid to use something so powerful to keep away evil, but she would never forgive herself if she accidentally hurt the one she swore to protect. even just holding their face in her hand, sent shivers down her spine and worry through her mind and body.  

you never minded though. in fact, there were times when you’d be sitting with her or near her, that your eyes would travel away from her current card game, down her metal arm, more times than none, and just stare at it. it was beautifully fascinating to you. with or without her knowledge of you just gawking at her. 

sevika did notice one night though, out of the blue, to your surprise, when you were comfortably sitting beside her— drinking from her whiskey glass and watching how she flawlessly yet swiftly dealt her cards. 

it started with her body tensing beside yours, calmy, when you lightly traced patterns on the cool metal, not wanting to push her into anything, just being gentle and cautious with your approach. then it was the way she looked at you from the corner of her eye, seeing you sitting there, looking down at her arm— but you didn’t look scared or worried. not like most people did. you looked interested.

“do you think it’s gonna bite you or something if you state at it any longer?” her voice rang out, raspy and gruff. the cigar hanging loosely between her lips made her look ten times hotter.

“that a challenge?” 

“maybe, maybe not, who knows with you.” 

for the remainder of her games— most of the time she could sit there all day but if she has company, aka you, then she takes time to spend with you before she’s got her usual shit to do, and finally stubbed out her cigar and put all of her attention on you. 

“you’re quiet,” she pointed out, sliding the coins off the table and pushing them into her pocket. “which is unusual, you’re never quiet.”

“gee, thanks,” you glared at her, yet the way your lips quirked up into a smile, made it aware you weren’t really mad. “just thinking.”

“well don’t be too excited to share, what’s wrong?” 

her eyes followed your gaze, and that’s when she quickly noticed you weren’t looking at her anymore, more or so looking at her arm again. “can i hold it?” 

your question was an innocent one, cautious even, but to her, it meant everything. you could tell by the way her eyes shifted away from you nervously, looking at anything but you. “i don’t think that’s a good idea,” she laughed, trying to play it off. “probably shouldn’t.” 

“shouldn’t or don’t want me to?”

“is there a difference?”

she’s looking at you again, too busy focused on what you’re saying to notice the small shift of your hand reaching for her metal one. “who knows with you,” you murmured with a playful smile.

it’s only when she feels you interlock your fingers with hers that she tries to pull away and save you the trouble but you’re faster. just a little, and pressing her hand to your cheek.

“you won’t hurt me.” you reassured. as if you were answering a question her eyes were silently asking, something she couldn’t find herself saying out loud. sevika’s lips part with a gentle sigh when your free hand reaches up and cups her metal hand against your cheek a little firmer, and she clenches her jaw tightly once you’re smiling. “i promise, you won’t hurt me, you can’t.” 

“how do you know i won’t?” she asked, insecurity laced with worry in her voice. 

“because if you wanted to you would have done it when we first met.” you stated, eyebrow raising just slightly when sevika moves her fingers across the apples of your cheek slowly. the coldness of the metal tingling your skin as she moved. “but you haven’t, so.” 

“maybe you just haven’t pissed me off enough yet.” sevika grins, and it’s almost primal in the way she looks at you. 

“yet,” you clicked your tongue with a light chuckle. “there’s still time then.”

your eyes lock with hers as she presses her thumb against your lips, almost like she wasn’t aware of what she was doing, while you mischievously winked. “maybe just a little time,” she murmured and pushed harder.

the cold metal of her fingers brushed against the muscle of your tongue before you knew it and sevika didn’t know whether to moan or growl at the sight of you grinning smugly around her fingers. it wasn’t something she was used to. she’s used to people seeing it, turning the other way and getting away from her.

but here you are, greedily sucking her fingers and having no issues or worries. not caring in the slightest. “you’re gonna be the death of me,” she admitted, in awe of you and watched you closely. “and i think it’s worrying that i’m perfectly okay with that.”

[yaut-jaknowit]

Hi. What if the reader wants a child in common with We're ar-oh? What will she do? And how will he react?

Calling For The Impossible

Pairings: We'ar-ow (Female Yautja) x AMAB!Reader

Word Count: 1930

Summary: The culture of Yautjas are widely different when it comes to humans. There are some things you wished your own kind would adopt while thankful there are others you aren't apart of. You wish for a child with We'ar-ow. There are plenty of means of producing one with a different, advanced species. But hybrids are frowned upon in many, many clans. We'ar-ow's including.

Author Note: I tried my best to make it gender neutral since I didn't know what gender you wanted. I did lean a bit more male, sorry if that's the wrong side though. We'ar-ow's different compared to Gawtin. Different backgrounds and clans. So, this is the other side of the coin.

Masterlist

Ao3

After the rise and fall of Dwainet, you have grown more than comfortable in a life of luxury. We’ar-ow is still her normal, Yautja self. Hard outer shell, but soft and mushy inside. All for you. With this calm and laxing situation, up came an idea that nagged and nagged at you. Until the words finally slipped from your lips.

In the calm quarters of We’ar-ow’s shared home, you were strewn across the pink Yautja’s lap. Your trusty tablet in your hands. A game for breeding hunting dogs had your attention. After a year, you’ve had grown quiet a large collection of dogs. Plenty of them well bred and the perfect creature. The game offered you plenty for the selling of the best of your dogs. As a soft-hearted human, it was hard to depart with them though. They were so ugly that it made them cute!

We’ar-ow’s hand rested over your stomach and ate up the majority of the free skin. An action you’ve grown used to, even craving it. The warmth she produces had a calming effect on you. The lack of clothing as well. After the day in and day out of seeing Yautjas practically naked, you’ve adapted to live like them. On their ship, in their culture, it was kill or be killed. A fact you learned the hard way throughout the year under her care and love. She may not say it in human terms, but We’ar-ow loves you more than anything.

Her thumb lazily stroked at the exposed skin of your stomach. You hummed and let your eyes drift shut. A comfortable silence engulfed the area. The game playing on your tablet forgotten about. Said tablet lowered down to rest on the edge of your ribs.

“Did you not sleep well, little one?” she asked to you once she realized your eyes were closed. Maybe you were a little tired, slightly exhausted from the long day. Yautja’s days were two hours longer than earth’s. It has led to problems where a midday nap was required to keep awake the rest of the day. Some times those naps would run much longer than you intended. That’s when your sleep schedule was messed up.

Your head shook in denial. “I did, love. Your presences… it calms me in ways I never thought was possible,” you explained why you were so lax. Yautjas aren’t used to a life like that. But, you were well protected. Not only because of where you were at. No, because of the hunk you offer your heart to every single day. She deserves it. She’s done so much for you.

Long, black claws grazed over your skin. You shuttered with a soft gasp. We’ar-ow kept doing that, tickling you in the process. Giggles erupted from your throat. You squirmed in her lap and tried to warn her off. The Yautja leaned over. Her long, black and pink tresses created a curtain around the two of you.

“And you, my dear ooman, hold my heart in your bare hands,” she purred to you in a rumbling voice. Goosebumps rose at the feeling. A soft smile broke across your features. You reached up and cupped one side of her features. Her eyes hooded over while she nuzzled against your touch. “Hmm, your hands.” She still wasn’t used to your softness. Maybe, that’s what drew her in. A touch she’s never experienced before.

She turned her head enough for her tongue to flick across your palm. Another hum rumbles from deep within her chest. You snorted at the feeling and gently looked into her eyes. The bright yellow is a stark contrast to your own. A color a human could never achieve. They were… phenomenal.

The tablet was laid down on top of your chest. You used both hands to hold her head. Your thumbs gently rubbed at the slightly wrinkling scales along her cheeks. The page book in her grasp was discarded to the side. Her massive hands gripped your hips and simply lifted you up. You giggled again, not surprised by her sudden use of strength. We’ar-ow loved to show off in front of you. A display of might.

Your thighs were forced wide to accommodate her size and hips. The same smile still was spread across your features. Pink hands continued to grasp at your waist and held you in place.

One of your hands rested on her breastbone to steady yourself. The Yautja peers down at you, features soft and open. You were able to read her like an open book like this; and she allowed you to. “What’s going through your head, love?” She was thinking. Something hard to. The gears were moving.

A hand gently grasped your chin and pulled you in closer. Deadly claws were close to your pulse point. A place where your life essence flowed quickly. You let her access, freely letting her have it.

We’ar-ow’s thumb grazed over your bottom lip. “That is a question I should ask you. You are thinking but holding in these thoughts. Let me here them. I am curious,” she states and leans in close to you. It was impossible to get away from her strong, powerful gaze. She looked directly into the soul she holds in her hands.

Instantly, you froze on the spot while a heavy heat rushes to cover your face. Though, you might think how in the worlds would she know? But this is We’ar-ow we’re talking about. This amazing leader and mate knows you better than yourself.

You swallowed hard and tried to turn your face away from her ever-seeing gaze. But, her grip prevents the move. We’ar-ow clicks her tongue then tsks with a shake of her head. “Keep those pretty eyes on me, little one,” she ordered and darkened her eyes. You felt even more in the spotlight and didn’t know how to react. Now, your thoughts were scrambled. From the deep rumble of her voice to the way she demanded your attention. She wanted to pluck the thought straight from your head. She wanted to know.

It was hard to keep looking into those piercing eyes of hers. It took everything in your power to finally speak the words.

“Well, I want…” you trailed off at first but she was a hunter. The predator was patient in her hunt. One she’s endured countless times throughout her life. A tug on your jaw got you to spill. “I want, want a child with you.” It’s been hard to hold onto an idea such as that. Such a life changing proposition.

A family with We’ar-ow, the leader of her clan and your mate. But, it came down to biology. Was it even possible between two different species?

For the first time in a long time, you saw her brows jerk up subtly. If you weren’t paying attention, you wouldn’t have noticed. As her mate, you saw the change clear as day. You had caught her off guard.

She cleared her throat, mandible twitching. “A child?” she repeated the words. Clearly, she hadn’t believed you at first. “Why would you want a child with me?” You don’t completely understand why but that had your chest aching a little. But, you had to remind yourself that Yautjas don’t bullshit around. They are straight to the point. We’ar-ow, mate or not, was no different.

Your hands were folded in your lap, nervously playing with each other. You couldn’t look at her anymore and down casted your gaze. “I just thought… it would be night. To have a part of each other in someway or another. I-I don’t know.” You grew incredibly timid after spilling that information to her. We’ar-ow hummed and forced your head back more to make you look her in the eye.

“I will let you know the possibility for a hybrid to even make it to gestation it very low.” Her hand lets go of your chin and trails down your torso. “I, myself, dislike hybrids. They are an abomination. They are to die.” You jerked, eyes flying wide. That was the last thing you expected from her.

All you could say was, “oh.” Not another word could be formed after such a declaration. How could possibly think of something after that? If the two of you somehow had a child, she would kill it. You sagged in her lap and sorrowfully looked down.

A soft sigh came from the Yautja. Both of her hands cupped your jaw and drew your sight back to hers. “It may be harsh, I understand that humans aren’t as such. But, it is the truth.” We’ar-ow paused so her words could hang in the air. As a human, you were seen as soft and mushy. This was a reminder. “But, if you are desperate for a child we could raise together, we do have adoption.”

That got you to perk up with a smile brightening your face. The gloominess of the situation leaving from the forefront of your mind.

This was the first time you heard about adoption withing their culture. Yet, the idea of it existing made sense more than not. A race and culture built on hunting. Hunting always came with a risk of death. Though, mothers rarely left their children home while going on a hunt. Food had to come from somewhere. The fathers weren’t part of the picture most of the time unless they were mates.

A new sparkle flickered to life in your eyes. “We can adopt?” you cheered and sat up in her lap, thighs clenching. Both of your hands rested on her chest.

For a fleeting moment, you saw a flash of relief entered her eyes before it was gone. The two of you were continuing to run into issues due to the cultural differences. As adults, you talked it out and figured out a solution. That’s the exact opposite with Dwainet. It was a relief for yourself to have someone who will talk it out with you.

Her pink head dipped down to confirm your question. “Yes, it’s a possibility. There aren’t many in that situation. Yet, not many Yautjas are willing to adopt. It comes from thought process of blood.” She gripped your hips again and pulled you an inch closer to her. “I have had my fair share of children. I don’t have the need to have anymore. I am willing to adopt if that’s something you wish.”

From the beginning, you knew she was willing to lay down at your ask. The leader of her mighty clan. The mate of a human she adored. It all came down to the whole talking thing again.

You wiggled happily in her lap then threw your arms around her. An excited cry left your lips. “Yes! Please, I would love that.” It was the perfect compromise to this conflict of ideas.

She returned your hug and cradled your head to her shoulder. Her other hand roamed the expanse of your back. “Alright, I shall make contact with them. We will do our research. There are different places where these younglings come from. I expect you to do the same thing.”

Again, you nodded rapidly then pulled away, hands resting on her shoulders. “I will, I promise. Thank you, love. Thank you so much for making my wish come true.” This was a different turn of event than what you originally thought would happen when the question was asked. Yet, after the solution came, you were still happy with the situation. You were finally going to have a child with We’ar-ow.

[akaridream]

all the right buttons: part 2 GOKU (college AU goku x reader)

alright goku fuckers, come get y'all juice

and don't worry geta lovers, you'll get yours soon too

You stared at the coin in your hand, anxiously rubbing your thumb over it. The only way to discover your true feelings was to flip it. Heads for Goku, tails for Vegeta.

The coin sailed through the air. You captured it between your palms and flipped it onto the back of one hand. Eyes opening, you lifted your hand. Heads.

YOU: ummm i guess i felt like i had a slightly better connection with goku?

You climbed into bed and laid in the darkness, wiggling your toes impatiently between your bed sheets. Your stomach floated nervously within you, waiting for her response. What if your guess was wrong? Would you be disappointed if it was Vegeta? No, certainly not disappointed. But there would be at least a tinge of FOMO in your heart at the thought of missing out on Goku. He seemed so sweet and easy to get along with. But perhaps he was just a nice guy with everyone and you were nothing special to him. Whatever the case, you jolted when your phone finally buzzed with Bulma’s reply.

BULMA: as soon as you left, goku said you were cool and that you should come over again soon :) and he said you were really pretty An automatic smile spread across your face and you kicked your feet up with a delighted squeal.

YOU: omg i’ll come over right now if he wants haha

BULMA: easy tiger :) i gave him your number and told him to hit you up, so hopefully you’ll be hearing from him v soon

YOU: did you tell him anything I said about him? Did you put in a good word for me?

BULMA: I told him you’re super sweet and lots of fun to be around, but he was already kinda smitten and didnt need much encouragement. it was actually really cute

Your cheeks were starting to hurt from all the smiling. Then your phone buzzed again.

Unknown Number: hey, it’s goku! i got your number from bulma, i hope thats alright

You stomped your feet on the bed, pleasantly surprised that he was texting you already. This guy doesn’t play games!

YOU: omg hey! ofc thats okay! I know I can trust bulma not to give my number to creeps. I had a great time playing with you today!

GOKU: yeah me too! I’ll have to dig out some other games we can play together sometime

YOU: I’m absolutely down for another game sesh! Wish I still had all my old games, I’d bring some

GOKU: just bring yourself and I’m sure we can find something to play! theres actually an old tenkaichi tournament movie, we could try and find it somewhere and watch it

YOU: ive heard its actually a horrible movie! but that isn’t gonna stop me, i love making fun of bad movies

GOKU: haha cool! Vegeta and I always go to the gym friday afternoons, but I’m free after 5 or so. We could order some food and just hang out here

Wow, he really doesn’t beat around the bush! Straight to asking me to hang out already?

YOU: that sounds great! And will your roommates be joining us?

GOKU: they’ll probably be around. But i was kind of hoping it might just be you and me

YOU: i think i’d like that :) so it’s a date then?

GOKU: yeah, if that’s okay with you

YOU: definitely okay with me! I can bring some drinks if you want

GOKU: yeah sure! You like chinese takeout? Theres an awesome place just off campus I order from all the time, they give you sooo much food

YOU: yeah, that sounds great to me. I’m sure you need big portions, you’re a growing boy after all!

For the rest of the week, you texted Goku without the conversation coming to a natural end. As midday turned into Friday afternoon, an anxious, fluttery feeling flooded your stomach. What should you wear? What should you do with your hair? What about makeup? In the end, you opted for a pair of high-waisted jean shorts, a cute camisole with lace trim and an oversized cozy cardigan that kept falling off your shoulder. The peek of skin would be enticing, if he was interested in hooking up of course. And you certainly weren’t against that idea. Since the day you met him, you had been thinking about climbing all over him, especially right into his lap…

You put your hair up into a clip and dotted your cheeks and lips with a soft glow. After a touch of mascara, you admired yourself in your full length mirror. Scrubbed, shaved and smelling lightly of perfume, you felt confident in your natural beauty. Your heart danced in your chest when your phone buzzed with a text from Goku, saying to come over whenever you were ready. You grabbed the case of chilled vodka soda from your dorm fridge and headed across campus.

By the time you arrived at Bulma and Goku’s front door, your cheeks were aching from smiling so much. Your heart still twirling like a ballerina, you knocked and awaited your date’s appearance.

The door swung open, revealing Goku in a tight black tee and another pair of short shorts in bright orange. He grinned and adjusted his glasses on his nose.

“Hey! Good to see ya!” he said, giving you a brief but warm hug as you stepped over the threshold. Your arms snaked around his thin waist, pleasantly aware of having his hard body flush against yours.

“Good to see you again too, Goku! How was your workout?” you asked as he led you into the kitchen.

“Great! Vegeta hit a PR on bench today, so that was cool!”

You tilted your head as he took the case of vodka soda from you and put it in the fridge. “What’s a PR?”

He blinked. “Oh! Personal record. Sorry, I forgot you aren’t a gym rat like me,” he said, shyly scratching the back of his neck. “Oh, Bulma left this for us by the way.” Goku tapped a knuckle on a bottle of white wine with a fancy label.

“Oh my gosh, that looks expensive!” you said as you examined it. “But what a sweetheart she is! I’ll have to tell her thank you!”

Goku led you to the living room where the game console and old TV had been shoved to the corner and Bulma’s fancy flat screen once again dominated the space. A new coffee table sat in front of the couch as well.

“She’s been busting my balls all week about you,” he said with a shy chuckle as he plopped onto the couch.

“Oh yeah?” you asked in a teasing voice. “What about me?” A warm blush started to overtake Goku’s cheeks. He smiled and shrugged. “Just that she’s happy to see me take interest in someone, I guess. Apparently she thinks its about time!”

You sat on the couch and propped your arm over the back, turned to face Goku. “Has it been a while since you dated someone then?”

He nodded. “Yeah, since high school. I had a long term thing with this one girl but it didn’t end so great. She was a bit of a hot-head. But since her… I haven’t even been on a date. Just been trying to sort my own stuff out, you know?”

“Yeah, I get it. I’m not the most experienced with relationships either. Shit’s complicated,” you laughed.

Goku smiled. “Yeah, you’re telling me!” His phone buzzed. “Alright, dinner’s here! Be right back!” His eyes grew wide with excitement and he raced out the door before you could even reply. He came back just as quick and unloaded a surprising amount of food onto the coffee table.

“Are you sure you ordered enough?” you asked sarcastically.

Goku furrowed his brows and looked over the selection of takeout containers. “Well, I thought five entrees might be enough, but I’ll be happy to order more if you want!”

You laughed and opened a pair of chopsticks. “I was kidding! This looks like enough to feed my entire family back home!”

His frown quickly inverted and he grinned. “Oh, okay, good! Should we break out what you brought to drink or try Bulma’s fancy wine?”

“Let’s have the wine with the movie, I think,” you suggested, padding over to the fridge and grabbed a drink for each of you.

Per usual with Goku, conversation was steady and comfy. You chatted and laughed as you sat on the floor across the coffee table from each other, both of your cell phones sitting untouched. “Is this table new?” you asked.

Goku nodded as he scarfed down some lo mein. “Yeah, Bulma bought a new one because Vegeta and I kind of broke the last one.” You sputtered a laugh. “How on earth did you manage to break a coffee table?”

“Well, we were just kind of goofing around and Vegeta slipped and… Fell right through it! It was all glass, he complained about it being invisible all the time anyway. Bulma is convinced he did it on purpose because he hated it!”

You covered your mouth full of food and laughed heartily. “That is hilarious! But what the hell do you mean you were just goofing around?”

He shrugged. “I don’t know, just… Goofin’ off like guys do?”

“Sounds just like my brothers,” you said, shaking your head.

You finished your meal, with Goku eating the lion’s share of the food. You didn’t mind, he clearly required more calories than you did. As he was clearing away all the takeout containers, you watched him in the kitchen from behind. His wide shoulders and slutty waist made your head feel light. Or was it the vodka soda?

“You ready to bust out this bottle of wine?” he called over his shoulder.

Your eyes grazed over his silhouette, admiring his stellar ass in those tiny shorts. “Sure, let’s do it!”

Goku rummaged around in the kitchen drawers. “Crap, I have no idea where to find a corkscrew.”

You rose from your place on the living room floor to help him look. “Well I sure hope you at least know how to use one, because I sure don’t! I only ever buy the cheap wine with the screw top.”

Goku bumped into you, then placed a hand on your hip to navigate around you in the kitchen. You blushed at the contact.

“Bulma’s not here, is she?” you asked. “We could ask her if she knows where it is.”

“No, she said she was heading back to West City to see her parents this weekend. And Vegeta said he’d be out late tonight.”

Way at the back of a stuck drawer, you felt a spiral shape. You turned and twisted it until the drawer could move again, finally able to extract the object. You held it up with a bright smile.

“Ta-da!” you said.

“Hey, nice!” Goku said, giving you a high-five. He took the corkscrew and carefully opened the fancy bottle to pour you both a glass.

You returned to the living room with two stemless crystal glasses as Goku made a quick trip to his bedroom.

“The library had the Tenkaichi movie on DVD!” he called down the hall as he returned. You sat on the edge in the middle of the couch, watching him lean over to load the DVD into the player. Those damn shorts are giving me heart palpitations, you thought. His body is godly.

Cheeks growing warmer by the second, you slid your cardigan off one shoulder for some much-needed cool air. You caught Goku’s eyes taking you in as he turned around, peeking at him over the rim of your wine glass.

“How’s it taste?” Goku asked, his voice quiet and soft.

You raised the crystal and gave it a swirl before taking a sip. You closed your eyes and breathed through your nose as you swallowed the aromatic liquid, a trail of pleasant warmth growing in your chest.

“Expensive,” you said. You both laughed.

Goku grabbed the remote and sat on your right, his left arm automatically fanning over the back of the couch cushion. Once he started the movie, he exchanged the remote for his glass of wine, taking a sizable swig.

“Hm, it’s sweeter than I expected. The last time I tried wine, I felt like it sucked all the moisture out of my mouth,” Goku said.

You took another sip. “Yeah, this one is nice and mild. I could drink the whole bottle of this,” you said, your head starting to feel pleasantly heavy.

Eager to move closer to your date, you sat back into the couch and tucked your feet up, leaning onto your hip. There was still space between the two of you, but it was Goku’s turn to come to you next.

The movie began with a vibrant action scene, filling the dark room with bright flashes of light. After draining half of his glass, Goku leaned forward and placed it on the coffee table. When he leaned back, he closed the small gap between you, nestling your shoulder under his wing on the back of the couch. A rush filled you immediately, and you happily leaned your weight into his firm torso. At that, Goku moved his arm from the couch cushion to rest across your shoulders. Another pleasing rush of adrenaline raced through you. You licked your lips and sipped on the wine.

“This okay?” he said, barely above a whisper.

You gave a smile and warm mm-hmm before placing your glass on the table and snuggling up to him even more. His thighs spread slightly, making his leg press into yours. Like chess opponents trading moves, you thought about what your next move should be. Your mind flashed back to the last time you saw Goku. That blue tank top had shown off his pecs just right…

Biting your lip, you leaned your head over to rest your burning cheek against his chest. With your ear pressed to him, you could hear his heart beating wildly. The excitement of snuggling up with such a handsome guy was not lost on you, as your heart was purring like an engine. His pecs really did make for a great pillow.

Goku began brushing his fingers softly over your exposed shoulder. You sighed happily and relaxed into his touch.

“You’re comfy,” you said as you worked your arms around his waist. He leaned back, pulling you into him even more.

“Thanks,” he chuckled. “You’re cute.”

“Thanks,” you breathed, heart leaping at the compliment.

As the movie progressed, you paid less attention to it and more to every fiber of Goku’s body. After polishing off your glasses of wine and feeling delightfully buzzed, you curled up even further into him, feet tucked up and thighs falling over onto his. Your head also migrated from resting atop his muscular chest to nuzzling into his neck. All it would take would be a subtle movement to start kissing his neck…

It took a while to muster the courage to make such a bold move. It was only your first date after all. Perhaps this was moving too fast. But he really did seem into you. And you were undoubtedly into him. While gently petting your hand over his chest, you parted your lips, and allowed a steamy breath to escape and tickle his neck. His heart began to drum hard enough for you to feel. You let your lips touch his skin with a feather-light press. Goku’s dark eyes slid closed with your next kiss, the fullness of your gorgeous mouth lighting up each nerve along his neck. You gave a gentle suck to it, causing a sweet sigh to fall from his lips. You trailed your hand up to hold the opposite side of his neck as your tongue began to tease him with tiny kitten licks, then bold circles.

Goku’s hand went from your shoulder to the back of your head, guiding you. You felt his pulse pound as you kissed him. His other hand found your wrist and squeezed.

“Hah,” he breathed. “Need to kiss you.”

You pulled back enough to look at his handsome face. His cheeks were pleasantly pink and his eyes were dazed and dreamy behind his frames. He took your chin with one hand and brought your mouth up to his, finally letting your hot breaths intermingle before he sweetly caressed your lips with his own. Goku’s tongue softly brushed over your lip, silently pleading for yours. You obliged and his tongue invaded to massage yours. Every movement was slow and sensual, tender yet incredibly erotic.

While shifting yourself to face Goku more fully, your leg brushed past something hard, and you were certain it wasn’t just his meaty thighs. Your core heated and revved like a racecar. Unable to keep them suppressed, sighs and heavy breaths from Goku encouraged you to continue kissing.

“W-wait,” Goku said, pulling away slightly. “You aren’t too drunk for this, are you?”

You pulled back further and looked at him, his black eyes full of concern. Your heart clenched. What a sweetheart!

“No,” you giggled, pulling his glasses off and placing them next to your empty wine glasses. “I may be a bit buzzed, but I’m fully aware of what I’m doing. And I don’t intend to stop.”

With that, you climbed over Goku to straddle his lap. Without the black frames, his eyes shone with gentleness, and lust. Using his shoulders for support, you adjusted yourself atop his lap until you found exactly what you were looking for. His lips fell open with a sharp, breathy groan.

“This okay?” you asked as you returned your mouth to his.

Goku kissed you between heated breaths as he gripped your thighs. “Hahh, yeah. Definitely.”

You shrugged off your cardigan and tossed it aside as you made out. One of your hands worked into Goku’s wild hair as his hands wandered up to your hips. He pulled you towards him, chest to chest, and your tight jean shorts gave you both a taste of delicious friction. That made him shove his tongue messily down your throat, like he was slowly fucking your mouth. You whined, grinding your hips down. He responded with a tight squeeze to your ass.

“I’ve… I’ve never really done this whole hooking up thing before,” he admitted.

You scratched his scalp lightly, making his eyes flutter in pleasure. “We don’t have to go any further.”

“But that’s the problem,” he said, kissing your throat. “I don’t wanna stop. You’re really hot and I don’t know if I can control myself.”

You giggled as his lips trailed down to your collarbone, sweet sensations filling you from head to core. “Then by all means, continue.”

“You gotta tell me if you wanna stop, or if I go too far.” He slid the strap of your cami and kissed your shoulder.

“Okay. And you do, too,” you breathed as his fingers softly traced your arm.

Just the touch of his hands was enough to make your eyes fall closed in bliss, and you wanted his big hands all over you. Under your shirt, on your waist, in your shorts…

“Can’t believe you aren’t bringing girls back every night. You’re so fucking hot,” you said as he sucked on your pulse point.

He smirked and took your cheek in in his palm. “I’m not a fuck boy. I don’t want to hurt anyone’s feelings.” He gave you the most saccharine kiss yet, making you melt completely in his lap. “Which reminds me…” He pulled back slightly to look you in the eyes. “This… Isn’t just gonna be a one time thing, is it? Because I really do like you, and I want to get to know you.”

You smiled and put your hands on his gorgeous chest. “I like you too, Goku. And I’d love to get to know you better, and make out with you more, too.”

He gave a glowing smile and endearing chuckle. If he were any cuter, you feared your heart may burst. “Yeah, I really like kissing you. Like, a lot.”

And so you did just that. Desperate yet tender, Goku’s tongue reconnected with yours as your hips began to roll against his. Those shorts of his were blessedly thin, and your tight denim put pressure right on your sweet spot.

“Mm, touch me more,” you pleaded.

“Where?” he whispered.

“Anywhere. Everywhere.”

You took Goku’s lower lip between your teeth as his big hands roamed freely. His thumbs brushed the undersides of your breasts, then boldly over the fullness of them just as your hips hitched against his stiff cock print. A moan ripped from your throat.

You gripped the back of the couch on either side of Goku’s head and started working your hips into a rhythm. It was agonizingly slow for him, just enough stimulation to tease and make him want more. Foreheads sealed together, mouths exchanging breaths, you humped his lap as he tenderly squeezed your tits.

“Can you go faster?” he asked, a desperate tremble to his voice. You grinned and did as he asked while bringing your chest close to his face. He pressed your breasts together and kissed the tops of them, slightly pulling down the top of your camisole. You slid the straps off your shoulders and pulled the shirt down to expose your tits to him. Goku’s eyes shone brightly as they drank you in. “Fuck. You’re perfect,” he praised, circling his thumbs over your nipples.

“Use your mouth.”

He obeyed immediately, placing delicate kisses over one while softly pinching the other. You sighed and rewarded him by continuing to hump him. But he teased you, only lightly lapping your nipple with his sweet tongue.

“Mm, harder,” you whined.

Goku proved to be pleasantly obedient, taking your directions well. He sucked and pulled back to let your tit bounce, then sought your eyes for approval. You groaned in pleasure and mussed his hair, forcing his head back to your chest. One of his large hands supported your upper back, the other smearing saliva over your pert nipple. The telltale tingle between your thighs was beginning to grow steadily. Based on the way he was whining and bucking underneath you, Goku was feeling good, too.

“Damnit, please don’t make me ruin these shorts by cumming in them,” he begged.

You slowed your pace and lifted Goku’s chin. “Where do you want to cum then?”

His pupils wide in awe, he failed to form any coherent words. “I… Well, wha…”

“Aw, did I make you dumb already, big boy?” you patronized.

“I was never that smart to begin with.” His expression was dreamy and he stared up at you like you were a goddess.

You giggled and stood up. “Why don’t you let me finish you off?”

You got on your knees between his, your breasts still exposed and holding his attention. Your soft hands rubbed up his sculpted thighs, sneaking under the hem of his shorts. His eyes met yours as you palmed his aching cock. His perfectly kissable lips hung open as you teased him, and his throaty little moans each sent a pulse straight to your pussy.

As you pulled at the waistband of his shorts, you saw two wet spots of precum had soaked through, a sign of a job well done by you. Goku lifted his hips and pulled down the obstruction to reveal his gloriously sized dick. You almost growled at the sight, feral with desire.

“Holy shit,” you said, eyes devouring the perfect specimen before you. The tip was fat and shiny, begging for your lips to wrap around it. “This still okay?”

He blew a puff of air through his nose. “Of course.”

You wrapped your index finger and thumb around his thick cock, teasing up and down his shaft slowly. He tried to strangle his moan in his throat. You met his eyes as he reclined and you lightly pressed a kiss to his tip, then trailed more kisses down one side of his length. You never would have guessed he could made such sinful sounds from his candy-sweet personality, but each noise weakened you. Eye contact still unbroken, your lips finally enveloped his cockhead, then pulled off with an obscene slurp. One hand on his shaft and the other squeezing his thigh, you circled your tongue around Goku’s beautiful cock. Worshipping it with your mouth and hearing his vocal approval made you clench your leg muscles, stimulating yourself.

“Decided where you wanna cum yet?” you asked as you licked up the underside, making him shudder.

“Ahh… I’m really not picky,” he chuckled.

With that, you started sucked him off with purpose and vigor, eager to hear his whines of pleasure. Your saliva dripped down, making a mess of him as your hand twisted and pulled. You kept constant pressure and pleasure on him, making his moans pitch up. They came in short, desperate bursts and you finally dove deep, taking his entire length down your throat in one swift motion. As you lifted to dive down again, Goku gripped the arm of the couch with one hand and guided your head with the other. While his touch was light on you, you feared his intense strength might rip the upholstery of the poor couch.

“Ahh, almost there!” Goku cried, hips beginning to twitch.

End in sight, you watched his face as you sucked him. A few final strokes and one beastly growl had him shooting hot strings down your throat. His brows knit together tightly, mouth hanging open, head tossing. He writhed in pleasure as you slowed, swallowing every drop he offered you. And it was a lot. You swallowed at least three times, taking more cum each time. Even when your mouth left him, tiny beads formed at the slit of his cock. You smeared them with you thumb, then licked him clean.

“Hope you didn’t mind that I decided for you,” you panted, proud of your hard work.

Goku slumped on the couch wearing a dazed expression. “I can barely move. Damn,” he said with a soft chuckle. “But what can I do for you now?”

Just as a grin started to form, the sound of someone unlocking the front door jolted you both out of your haze. Your eyes grew wide.

“Vegeta’s back already?” Goku whispered, frantically stuffing himself back inside his shorts as you fixed your shirt. You stood quickly enough to make your head spin and grabbed your empty wine glasses to busy yourself. Just as you made it to the kitchen to wash the glasses (and your hand covered in spit and cum), Vegeta shoved his way through the front door. You gave him a soapy-handed wave.

“Hey Vegeta,” you said, hoping he wouldn’t take a long enough look at you to notice your flushed face, neck, and chest. Thankfully, he just gave you a grunt in reply.

“You’re back early,” Goku said, a lilt in his voice.

“Not really,” Vegeta grumbled, barely giving Goku a glance as he passed. His bedroom door shut with a stern thud.

“Sounds like he had a bad day,” you mused.

Goku stood from the couch and replaced his eyeglasses. “Well, yeah. He’s jealous that you picked me over him.”

Your heart screeched to a halt. “Wait. What are you talking about?”

He tilted his head and padded over to you at the sink. “Bulma said that you said you had a better connection with me.”

Your cheeks began to burn. “She told you I said that? But she said one of you asked about me! She told me to guess which one! I couldn’t decide which of you I liked better, so she… That Bulma!” You dried your hands and tossed the dish towel onto the counter, pouting that Bulma had tricked you into making a decision. “Wait, so neither one of you actually asked her about me?”

Goku smiled warmly. “Actually, we both did. As soon as Vegeta got back from his lab, we had an argument about which one of us was gonna get to ask you out. Bulma overheard us and told us she’d figure out who you liked better!”

“But I just flipped a coin! Literally, I couldn’t decide!” you laughed.

“You did? So you didn’t really pick me at all, did you?” Goku asked, looking like a kicked puppy.

You stood on your toes and reached your arms around his neck, pulling him in for a sensual kiss.

“Fate picked you for me. And for the record, I’m really, really glad it was you, Goku.” His hands held your waist as he returned your kiss. When you pulled back, his sugary smile had renewed completely and his eyes sparkled with affection.

“Me too.”

tags: @artof-aristocracy @ghostlylovesstuff

[poisonlove]

The Princess and the Huntress | Jenna Ortega

y/n, a 19-year-old impoverished hunter, works alongside her father for the royal court, delivering game supplies to the king's kitchen. One day, while carrying out their routine duties at the royal court, y/n witnesses someone she shouldn't have – Jenna, a princess from the Ortega dynasty. Due to her captivating beauty, the king and queen wish to shield her from prying eyes, as she is destined to marry the duke of the neighboring realm to end the ongoing war and ensure lasting peace.

Disclaimer: Story set in the 1600s.

I close one eye to aim carefully, pointing the bow towards a rabbit timidly passing through those parts of the woods. A thin ray of sunlight filters through the branches, illuminating its thick gray fur. I breathe deeply, seeking the necessary concentration, feeling the warmth of the bow's wood in my hands.

The arrow is released, cutting through the silent air as it follows its trajectory towards the rabbit. A moment of anxiety dissolves into my smile when I see that I've hit it dead-on. The small animal lowers itself, and the forest seems to whisper my success.

An instant of gratification unfolds in my heart, a connection with nature and the mastery of hunting that has set my spirit free. I am Y/N, the huntress, and the forest is my kingdom.

I approach the rabbit slowly, smiling contentedly as I take it by the ears and carefully remove the arrow from its small body. The soft fur slides between my fingers, while the forest around seems to celebrate my fortunate hunt.

My gaze meets that of my father, who had approached silently. His proud smile reveals the joy of seeing his daughter demonstrate skill in hunting.

"Well done, Y/N," my father says, placing a hand on my shoulder. "You have incredible precision. The royal court will be grateful for this."

"I hope so, father," I reply humbly as we continue to prepare the prey. "This rabbit will be an excellent addition to the king's dinner."

Together, we look at the result of my hunt, a moment of connection between us and our mission at court. The forest guarding our secret and our skill.

"Y/N," my father says, handing me the rabbit to take it to the castle, "I'll head home and prepare our dinner. In the meantime, deliver the game to the royal court and make sure to ask for at least three gold coins as compensation. Our skill deserves proper recognition."

"I will, father," I respond with gratitude, accepting the load. "Thank you for teaching me the art of hunting and diplomacy."

My father smiles, placing a hand on my shoulder. "It's not just hunting you need to learn, Y/N. In the royal court, social skills are equally crucial. Go, and always remember who you are."

With a nod of agreement, I walk away, carrying not only the weight of the rabbit and the game but also my father's legacy. The forest has bestowed its blessing upon us, and now our task is to deliver the fruits of the hunt to the royal court.

I approached the majestic castle door. Turning to one of the guards, I asked if they knew where the game supplier was. "Have you happened to see William?" I inquired with a slight hint of curiosity.

The guard vaguely pointed down the hallway, but before providing a more precise answer, I followed my instincts and ventured into the heart of the castle. Walking through the silent corridors, tension grew in my chest.

While searching for William, I was drawn to a partially open door. Curious, I peered inside, and the scene that unfolded left me speechless: a girl seated by the window, immersed in reading a book. It was Jenna, the princess I had heard about but doubted her existence. However, I wasn't captivated by the legend of the king's daughter trapped in a golden prison but by the beauty she exuded.

Jenna was a vision of grace by the window, dark hair cascading softly over her shoulders. The room's soft light gently caressed her skin, highlighting her sparkling eyes, deep as wells of secrets. She wore a dress in delicate tones, snug to her form yet exuding an air of regal elegance.

The book in her hands seemed to be just an accessory for her, a portal to unknown worlds unfolding in the pages under the princess's attentive gaze. Slightly parted lips reflected an air of tranquility, as if she herself were a character stepping out of one of the stories she loved to read.

I accidentally kicked the door, catching her attention.

Our gazes locked, and a moment of intense connection unfolded between us. "Who are you?" Jenna asked, lifting her gaze from the book, while I, distracted,

"I'm Y/N, the huntress," I replied with a nervous smile.

Jenna raised an eyebrow slightly, a peculiar, dancing smile on her lips. "And what brings a huntress to my room?" she asked curiously, the book now closed in her hands.

I looked around, noting the richness of the furnishings, but my answer was genuine. "I was looking for William, the game supplier. I stumbled upon this room by chance."

Jenna chuckled slightly, the sound like a delicate melody in the air. "William isn't here, but I'm curious to know what would prompt a huntress to enter without knocking."

My gaze wandered, and I noticed the canopy bed in the center of the room, a masterpiece of dark wood and fine fabric. "It's a splendid room," I commented inadvertently, admiring the opulence of the place.

Jenna smiled, perhaps noticing my awe. "Thank you... it's a regular room," the brunette shrugged, and I looked at her with a smile on my lips. "Well... I wish mine were like this," I muttered, and Jenna smiled knowingly.

I noticed the book in Jenna's hands and, intrigued, asked, "What book is that?"

The princess lifted the volume with a mysterious smile. "It's 'The Prince' by Niccolò Machiavelli," she said, indicating the worn cover.

"Machiavelli," I repeated the name even though I wasn't quite sure who he was.

Jenna smiled and said, "Do you know Machiavelli?"

"Of course!" I responded with a smile, although I was actually lying.

"Oh, I'm surprised!" Jenna exclaimed amused. "What do you think of his work?"

Trying to maintain my charade, I replied with a thoughtful expression, "He's a profound author, undoubtedly with much wisdom to share."

Jenna laughed slightly, and the sound filled the room. "Interesting choice of words. Not many share this opinion on Machiavelli."

"It seems you're trying to hide something, Y/N. Do you really know who Machiavelli is?" I blush weakly, confessing my weakness. "Actually, no. I can't read." Jenna's smile widened, but there was no judgment in her eyes. "You don't need to hide anything here. Not everyone is a reader." Jenna smiled gently.

Noticing my embarrassment, Jenna asked kindly, "Do you want to learn to read, Y/N?"

I nodded timidly, feeling the warmth of the blush still on my cheeks. "Yes, I would like to."

The princess smiled warmly and pointed to a spot next to her. "Come here. We'll start with something simple."

I approached the window and sat next to Jenna, feeling nervous about her proximity. The room's soft light created an intimate atmosphere as I tried to focus on what Jenna was about to teach me.

The princess took a book, choosing one with clear and large letters. "First, the letters. This is A, this is B..."

While Jenna patiently taught the basics of reading, I tried to pay attention, aware of the accelerated beating of my heart. It was a moment where the desire to learn to read intertwined with the emotion of being close to Jenna, creating a precious and vulnerable moment between us.

William's voice in the distance made me abruptly stand, feeling that it was time to interrupt our impromptu lesson. Jenna looked up with confusion as I smiled with embarrassment.

"I have to go... the task," I said with a hint of embarrassment in my voice.

Jenna genuinely smiled, understanding the situation. "Another time, then. Thank you for your company, Y/N."

I stood up with a smile and a nod of farewell. "Thank you, princess. It will be a pleasure to continue this lesson."

In a sudden impulse, as I was about to leave the room, I approached and planted a quick kiss on Jenna's cheek. The surprise on her face was evident, a moment that made my heart race even faster.

"It was a pleasure, Jenna," I said with a shy smile.

I headed towards the door, feeling my heart still slightly accelerated from being close to Jenna. As I walked away, I reflected on how that day had brought unexpected changes to my life as a huntress.

[dancing-with-draegons]

Poison From the Same Vine

pt. 1

pairing: Larys Strong x reader/OC (she/her pronouns, no names, no descriptions)

summary: Larys has found his match in a shrewd and ruthless widow with a taste for spying, intrigue and poison. A battle of wits and worse ensues. Sexual tension.

warnings: talk of murder, poison play, intrigue, hints of NSFW, dark

word count: 2.4k

There was no man who could stand up to Larys Clubfoot, sneaky and treacherous as he was. But there was a woman who could. She was thrice widowed, with a dangerous sort of beauty that should warn men of the dangers that lay in her alluring eyes, her blood red lips, underneath her silken skin.

But men were fools and she liked to draw them in, and ruin them.

For the longest time, she had played her own game: a dead husband here and there, an obedient lover, an obsessed knight. But when she had come to the Red Keep, the stakes had grown, and she with them.

Men liked to tattle, women liked to share the gossip they had picked up on during the day, and the widow of Blackcrown shares her bed with them, her wine or friendship, whatever was required to hear what she needed to hear.

In time, she had drawn the eye of a prince, and his desire protected her better than any armour.

Larys Clubfoot wanted her gone, but a prince’s whore could be as powerful as a queen and she had long made her throne in Aegon's bed, and Tyland’s, and a dozen others.

Did Larys loathe her for the power she held? Did he lie awake at night and dream of besting her, like she did?

He was the one person at court whom she could not win over, the one man who proved invincible to her charms.

Sometimes, he would come to haunt her in her chambers, always giving some threadbare excuse to threaten her, or goad her. And so he had come today, to speak of soldiers and whores.

“You are a shrewd man, Lord Larys,” she said, without any regard for his threats, “though few will ever see that. But you pay your spies in silver or gold – and I have a purse you cannot match.”

She traced his cheekbone with one long finger.

He followed her with his eyes, grey like cruel midwinter frost.

“It seems an…affliction has befallen many of those who have frequented the street of silk of late,” he said, and although his face was a mask of pity and his voice carefully inflected to suggest the same, she realised that this was his great moment of triumph and the true reason he had come here today.

“An affliction.”

“A disease caught from some concubine, no doubt. Many of those women hail from the Free Cities and the uncivil lands beyond.”

“It does give one occasion to pause and contemplate our construct of civility, does it not?”

“Indeed.” He inclined his head. “For now, my prayers are with the afflicted. Such a terrible pox befalls them. Many are disfigured afterwards, if they survive the disease, that is.”

“I understand why you must empathise with those poor souls. But let their fate not burden you overmuch, my lord.”

“I shall heed your counsel, my lady. Only the most depraved fall victim to it, or so word has it.”

“So it begins. Yet, if it should befall those of gentler birth, of the gentlest birth – why, I am certain the origin of this disease will be found and uprooted.”

Larys Strong only smiled. He was not fool enough to spread the disease to Aegon's brothels. And yet…was there a way to limit the spreading? If so, she needed to find it, and quickly, or else her business would soon run dry. Larys seemed to believe that she opened her legs to any man she asked for a favour, and good for her he did.

But it was the promise of her cunt that moved many a man to do as she pleased. With a pox as terrible and dangerous as that, not only would she herself be at risk, no, the promise of coin would lure more men than her smile.

“I do pity the whores,” Larys said, and there was little of his usual softness remaining, “how will they earn their keep when their purses…run dry?”

“A dry whore is as useful as wet firewood,” she agreed amiably.

Larys Strong had no taste for the whores on the street of silk. He preferred his bed warmer crowned and reluctant. And when the queen was indisposed, rumour had it his tastes were perverse and strange, and those women that had to satisfy him never talked to anyone again.

She knew what he liked.

As she leant against the table and stretched out her legs, the hem of her gown rode up to reveal her slippered feet.

It was a dare.

Larys looked down on cue, and for a moment, his eyes rested on what she had bared to him.

No stockings. That alone was scandalous.

Her slippers were velvet, soft and clinging like a lovers’ embrace, and left much of her feet bare.

Her ankles were just visible underneath the hem of her gown.

When he looked up at her again, he was smiling.

“Those women are never out of tricks, though,” she said.

“Cheap tricks.”

Larys did not look down again but she sensed that he wanted to. And he wanted to do more.

Her obvious seduction attempt had shifted something between them.

And now, when he wanted to subdue her, he would think about ways that would be gratifying for him.

~o~

“Lord Larys.” She welcomed him into her chambers. “You bring happy tidings, I trust.”

“Indeed. It seems the Silk Street pox has vanished as quickly as it came.“

It had indeed, and turned out not have been a pox at all but a concoction made by some northern witch. A few drops had been enough to make boils appear and hearts slow, and soon enough, the panic that had followed had ferried some more poor souls to the Stranger.

She had caught wind of at all not in the city, but here, when a vial had been attached to a scroll for Lord Larys. He had taken great pains to hide it, her little lover had said, and had succeeded in doing so even from the maester, yet not from him. She had bedded him in return, but by morning, the boy had fallen down the serpentine steps and broken his neck. She considered herself innocent on that front. Larys was thorough, and it had been folly to observe him so obviously. She loathed to lose faithful informers, but he had tasted the sweet nectar of her cunt and oftentimes men became less loyal after that particular promise was fulfilled, so all in all it was no loss she couldn't cope with. There were two score where the page had come from, and there was a never ending supply of foolish, cuntstruck men.

The only exception stood before her.

“How wonderful,” she said and gave Larys' her most seductive smile. “We must drink to that.”

She led him to the table in the centre of the room, then slowly poured a fine Arbor vintage into two cups.

Larys had followed her to the table without a hint of suspicion in his eyes. Did he desire her already? Had he come not only to bring her these tidings and find out what she knew but to see her, smell her, maybe taste her?

He plunged his hand into the folds of his doublet but not to open the clasps, she realised with some disappointment, when he produced a ring.

It was an ugly thing, with a thick band made of yellow gold and set with a large, square onyx. She knew it well: her first husband had once given it to her as a nameday gift.

“Have you by any chance seen this ring before?”

She took it carefully and examined it, saw where the stone had been filed down to hide the carving it had once borne, the ill-fitting seams of the heavy gold band where it had been widened.

That had been done at Oldtown ten years ago. She doubted the jeweller was still in business, it had been a small, dinghy little shop far away from the cobbled main street. Not even Larys could know.

“I cannot say I have. Is it yours?”

Larys smiled. “It was found in the pocket of a soldier.”

“No doubt he stole it.”

“He sings a different song.” Larys' pale grey eyes were trained on her.

“A bawdy one, no doubt.”

“Not so much, no. And won't ever again, I'm afraid.”

“Poor creature.”

She seized the cups to offer him one, but froze as her fingers wrapped around the brass.

Had the right one not been closer to the edge of the table? And the other one had been further away from the pitcher.

She turned to look at Larys, whose eyes still rested on her. He looked calm, very pleased.

Had he switched the cups?

It made no matter. The antidote was in her pocket, and smeared over her lips.

If he thought he could trick her this easily, he would soon have to reconsider.

She gave him the right cup, then raised the left.

“To justice.”

He replied in kind, and drank deeply. She did the same.

The wine was sweet and heavy. She drank again, to prove a point.

“A good vintage,” she said and licked her lips until the antidote coated her tongue bitter and waxy, with an odd sort of aftertaste.

He nodded and took a measured sip.

“I have come to request your aid,” he said, slowly.

“You flatter me, my lord. How could I, a lonely widow, possibly help the Lord of Harrenhal?”

There was no man who looked at her like Larys Strong. His eyes were soulless and cold, his gaze unwavering, never lustful or heated, always intense, always calculating.

“Maester Mellos was quite troubled. He had found that his study had been broken into.”

Ice flooded her veins.

“The door is rarely locked, I heard.”

“Indeed. Are you not curious how he knew someone had entered without his leave?”

Her heart beat furiously in her chest.

“I had thought you would enlighten me momentarily, my lord.”

“Something was stolen.”

“How terrible.”

She blinked. The light of the candles was strangely blinding.

“A rare poison.” His voice was a seductive whisper.

“Not deadly, I hope.”

Her voice sounded breathless.

“Very, I fear. It heightens the senses at first, quickens the heartbeat. It is most…stimulating for a while as the blood flow is increased. And then, after a few hours, the heart gives out.”

“How gruesome.”

A treacherous throbbing began to spread between her legs.

“In the Free Cities, they call it Widowmaker. Many a wife has found her husband dead after coupling. Did not your first husband's heart give out one night?”

“A horrible tragedy. I still remember how the light went out of his eyes that night, as we made love. But he was an old man, and liked ale and venison overmuch.”

“Mh.”

Larys considered her for a moment. “The poison was not all that was stolen, however.”

“No? A greedy thief.”

“There was another vial Maester Mellos found missing. It had been erroneously labelled as an antidote to the Widowmaker poison.”

“That is a curious mistake to make.”

“Do you not wish to know what that second vial contained instead?”

“Of course.”

“Mainly beeswax,” he replied, “mixed with something quite revolting, if you catch my meaning.”

She took a swallow of wine as the first wave of lust took hold of her body.

Larys smiled.

“I remember you saying you came to ask for my help.”

“Yes,” his voice was soft, almost a caress, and it stroked something inside her. She needed this man between her legs, she needed his hands, his tongue, his cock.

Her laboured breath filled the silence for a moment, as he took in the effect of his workings with unhidden delight.

“To justice, you toasted. I have come to ask which punishment you consider fit for this thief.”

“Have you found him then?”

Larys took a step towards her, then rested his hands on his cane. “I am drawing closer.”

“Good.”

“It is customary for a thief to lose their hand, and for a liar to lose their tongue.”

“Mayhaps they could put both to good use, though.”

She opened the first clasp of her overgown. The chemise underneath was thin, almost translucent. Larys’ eyes dropped to the neckline but there was little interest in his gaze.

She raised the hem of the gown.

“Mayhaps,” Larys agreed. “Though there must be some form of punishment.”

“I suppose the Lord Confessor has other ways of punishment? Less….bloody?”

His grip tightened on his cane, the only indicator that he was not as calm as he pretended to be.

“Certainly. To break a man's spirit – or a woman's – can be just as…righteous as to break her bones.”

His voice…cruel, hard, and yet so soft. She rubbed her thighs together to calm the pulsing desire between her legs but to no avail. Larys watched eagle-eyed, his lips slightly parted in a smile, the wet tip of his pink tongue softly caressing his lower lip.

“Some do not break easy though, I trust.” Though she no longer felt invincible. She would die within a few hours, poisoned by what she had given her first husband the night he'd chosen to bed a chambermaid instead of her.

There was some justice in that, she supposed, and the sort of bitter irony she could appreciate.

What she could not appreciate was the way the poison began to cloud her judgement and take over her body. She had long wanted him to want her, wanted to drive him mad with desire, and now he had turned the tables on her with alarming ease.

“All break eventually,” he said, gazing at her curiously, “Though of course, should the thief have accidentally sampled the poison, thinking the antidote is at hand, the thief will not give me a lot of time to get a confession.”

“The antidote. I trust Maester Mellos still holds on to it?”

“He thought it best that I store it safely, just in case the thief makes another attempt.”

“And you keep it in a secret hideaway, I suppose.”

“No.” Larys raised the other cup, the clean cup, to his lips and took a measured sip as he made her wait for the answer she needed. “I have it on me.”

It took her a moment to understand his meaning. Then her hands went to the second clasp of her gown.

[sokkadora]

we can’t be friends — crosshair x fem!reader

inspired by: we can’t be friends (wait for your love) by ariana grande

summary: a clinic on pabu offers to erase the pain that came along with crosshair leaving the batch, but how will he react once he gets back and sees you with his brother?

a/n: crosshair and the reader never had an established relationship for this fic, but reader had a deep love for crosshair! also NO hunter hate on this page that is my man :P also i might make a part 2 but idk

wc: 2,078

warning(s): angst, no happy ending for this couple bb, flashbacks, memory wiping, reader has poor self/body image, kinda smutty but it's crosshair so, friends with benefits, unrequited requited love for hunter

︿︿︿︿︿︿ ✎ᝰ . . . .

‘You have given extensive thought behind your decision and give “Brighter Days Inc.” the exclusive permission to remove this person from your memory:’

Stopping your pen under the last word, you hesitate.

‘Maybe this was a bad idea,’ you think with a soft sigh, glancing at the woman in the room across from you; one seat for her, and another for her box of memories. Yours sits beside you, the weight of what you’re about to do hits you quickly, and suddenly any notion of even looking at the box makes it feel like a ticking time bomb.

The woman across from you strokes a thumb across what must be her late pets collar, and you quickly revert your gaze down to the sheet of paper again. The tip of your pen hovers over the “No” option, but drifts over to the “Yes” box, checking it off, and finally, signing your name at the bottom of your page.

The necklace dangling over your neck feels like iron against fae skin as a nurse comes out of the back room, door quietly creaking open as she calls your name. You stand quickly, handing her the paperwork and the pen with trembling hands before grabbing the box labeled “Crosshair” and walking inside.

MEMORY WIPE INITIATED

“Please, Crosshair?” You beg sweetly, dragging him across the arcade to a claw machine, finally having a bit of free time on your shore leave. 

You’d been trying to convince him to have a break together with the both of you for a while now, away from the boys and the riff raff of the military, but per usual, he was stubborn about it. He’d offhandedly said how childish it was of you to want to play games with him at an arcade instead of your usual… activities, on shore leave. But you got him to agree, seeing as he can barely ever resist how cute you look when you beg.

“Hellcat, this is ridiculous,” Crosshair crosses his arms and glares down into the machine at the plethora of stuffed animals inside. Your eyes had been on the small lothcat in the middle since the both of you had arrived, and you’ve bugged him about it enough that he considered it. “Even Wrecker knows these are rigged.”

“Where’s that overcompensating confidence?” You tease, pulling out a few tokens and placing them in his hand softly. You glance up at him with a soft and pleading look, one that you don’t yet know (and will never know) gets him weak in the knees. “Please, Crosshair? For me?” 

At the sight of your big doe eyes, he scoffs, loading the coins in and barely holding back a smile at your excited squeals and the hand shaking his shoulder gently. It takes him a minute to get a hold on the controls, but after some peeking around the corner of the machine and some naturally perfect aim, he lowers the claw and catches the lothcat.

You gasp, watching excitedly as it stays in the claws grip as it moves over to the prize dump, and as Crosshair retrieves it for you and holds it out.

“Happy now?”

You grin down at the stuffed animal and then at Crosshair before lunging forward, arms wrapping around his shoulders with an breathless laugh, “Thank you.” You grin, nuzzling into the side of his head, and pulling away before he had to chance to hug back.

Overwhelmed with the happiness of the moment, you barely notice the room going dark before the feeling of Crosshair’s surprisingly warm gaze leaves you. You look up, eyebrows furrowing at the sudden void of the arcade.

MEMORY SUCCESSFULLY ERASED.

“Cross?”

“Yes?”

“Am I ugly?” 

Crosshair’s gazes narrows, glancing at you as you lay under the covers of your bed. He lifts his arm to hold up the blanket better, glaring at you, but not angrily as tears begin to well in your eyes. He shakes his head firmly, grunting.

“When I was a kid I thought I was,” You started, having his full attention from the second you walked in the room. You scoff softly at yourself, “I can’t believe I’m crying already, sorry.”

Crosshair doesn’t reply, but instead simply reaches over and wipes your tears; a gesture he never would’ve done in the first months of the arrangement the two of you had, but things had changed. You’d changed him.

“I was so lonely as a kid,” You say softly, the words just pouring out of you. “I don’t think anybody realizes how lonely kids are, even after growing up. We just sort of stop paying attention. Like they don’t matter.”

You sniff, and Crosshair doesn’t seem to want you to stop, so you keep going; relishing in the feeling of his warm hand covering your cheek.

“So, I’m like… eight or so. And I have this really pretty girl doll, that I named after myself that I’d just get so frustrated with,” You wipe your nose with the back of your hand, expecting the embarrassment of sharing the personal memory to rise, but it never comes. “It was some standard I’d hold myself to and whenever I’d find myself not liking myself, I’d look at her and it’d get me so mad. I made it to encourage myself, but it was just a constant reminder of my shortcomings as a person. It’s weird. Like… if I can make myself that pretty, maybe people would finally like me,” You finally glance up to meet Crosshair’s gaze, finding that it’d softened into something unreadable to you. 

He leans over and plants a firm kiss on your mouth, his hand sliding down to grasp the sides of your neck before he pulls back. His hands start wandering down with his mouth that keeps peppering you with kisses, softly murmuring the word ‘pretty’ between each kiss. You writhe under his touch, a hand rising to cover your mouth as a warmth shoots down to your lower stomach. You relish in how safe you feel under him before he… he…

MEMORY SUCCESSFULLY ERASED

“Why won’t you come home?”

Your voice echos through his head as he stares out into the vast horizon where Tipoca City used to stand; where the home he grew up in with his brothers and met you in used to stand. He scoffs, glancing back at you from over his shoulder.

“That is not my home anymore,” He says in a low tone; a warning to anyone else, but you knew you had a bit more leeway with him. Fists clenching at your sides, your gaze narrowed into a glare. “Now leave. Hunter’s staring after you like a kicked dog,”

You don’t bother to glance back at the man you already knew was waiting for you, but at the mention of his name he seemed to back further into the ship to give you some privacy, trusting that Crosshair wouldn’t hurt you, of all people.

“This isn’t about him, Crosshair,” You snapped, “Come home. Please. I need you, and so do your-”

“I don’t need you,” Crosshair says sternly, pivoting on a foot to turn to face you with a cold glare. You reeled slightly at the look; you’d seen it before, but never aimed at you. “I never had and I never will. And if you were as smart as you made yourself seem, you’d join me on the right side of the battle. Just like how I thought you and Hunter didn’t have anything going on,” You open your mouth to correct him; he knew there was nothing happening between Hunter and you. He was your best friend, but Crosshair beat you to the punch, “But I guess looks can be deceiving, huh?”

It felt like a clear blow to a vulnerable moment you’d shared with him— only him — and it nearly sent you to tears. You reached up, taking the necklace and snapping it off your neck with a harsh glare in the sniper’s direction; another look that had never been sent directly at him from you, but one that he found made his heart break.

“Fuck you, Crosshair.”

MEMORY SUCCESSFULLY ERASED.

The sense of overwhelming dread that filled your chest and sank down into your belly had you jolting awake, eyes darting around the mundane white room as the panic of what’s happening begins to set in.

The heart monitor picks up its speed, and the two nurses rush to your side as your hand shoots up to grab and fidget with your necklace. You’d fixed it from when… when… 

Why did it need to be fixed? Who broke it?

Who gave it to me? What was his name? Cross…

The nurse grabs your shoulder as your throat tightens with your hands grip on the jewelry, “Can I keep this one? Please?” You sob, managing to smile through tears at the nurse to your right, “Please let me keep this one.” 

‘Crosshair!’ You think, another sob scratching it’s way out of your throat. ‘What am I doing?’

The nurse glances to her coworker and nods gently. She comes to rest her hand over yours, and you let the necklace fall against your chest, but you rest a hand over it protectively. If you couldn’t save your memories of him, maybe this could be the one thing that you do save.

MEMORY WIPE RESUMED.

You can feel yourself being jolted around before finally landing in another memory, your head resting on a warm, firm shoulder and your hand gripped in a strong one in your lap. The person you’re resting your head on… they sit up, and hand you a box which reveals a necklace that relates to your namesake. 

You grin, but the figure in front you shifts which causes you to look up.

Hunter.

He’s smiling at you softly, they way he almost always had; save for the first time he met you. You grin back to him, leaning forward on the couch from your kneeling postition to wrap your arms around his shoulders.

He returns your embrace without hesitation, and you allow yourself to feel how perfectly the both of your bodies meld together. The warmth of his body under the civvy clothes you held for him in your personal dormitories on Kamino sank under your own, causing you to pull away. 

You barely notice how the room around you starts to shift, any objects affiliated with C4!@#??? begin to disappear, whatever holds your mind in it’s grasp seems determined to keep your attention on the sergeant sitting before you on the couch when you pull back from the hug.

‘Hunter gave it to me…’ You look up at him and smile lovingly, ‘of course he did,’ before leaning over and slotting your mouth over his.

MEMORY WIPE OF ??? COMPLETE.

The nurses gently help you up out of the chair, removing the device from your temples as the doctor comes to greet you. Another nurse holding a box hauls it out of the room as you shake the doctors hand and thank him profusely, grinning at the light and happy feeling on your chest as you turn to embrace the nurses in thanks. The woman at the front desk hands you an envelope of slips to give to your family and friends, and you thank her on the way out.

After leaving the office, you enter the outside of Pabu to find Omega waiting for you. Grinning you sneak up behind her, lifting her up and spinning her around. She shouts your name, but you can hear the smile in her voice as you set her down.

“How are you feeling?” She checks you over, and you smile dotingly down at her. 

“I’m alright,” You ruffle through your bag, the feeling of the necklace against your chest making you feel giddy. ‘Why did I feel so bad about it before?’ You think, but quickly shake it off and pull out the envelope. “The secretary said to give this to family and friends, but I don’t think I’m supposed to see.”

Omega curiously takes the large orange envelope from your hands, opening it and reaching in to find a ticket that said that you had:

‘Y/N L/N has erased Crosshair (CT-9904) from her memory. Please never mention their relationship to her again.’

Omega glances up to where you’re walking off with an arm looped through Hunter’s and feels a sense of dread fall to the pit of her stomach.

[green-eyedfirework]

“We’re in need of your services,” Slade said, and Dick stiffened.  Everyone wanted a magic user at their beck and call.  Dick knew it.  Letting him go had been—a mistake, a misstep, Dick had gotten free, the village would’ve protected him but he’d been stupid enough to come back here—“We will, of course, pay for your services.”  Slade’s eye flicked over him, and he added, “If you choose to accept.”

Oh, more games.  Delightful.  Dick drew himself up, as haughty as he could manage while trying not to tremble, “And if I don’t choose to accept?”  His grip spasmed on his knife.

Slade’s gaze was drawn to it, and Dick’s breath caught in his throat.  “If I wanted to keep you, little bird,” Slade said, low and heavy, “All your magic tricks wouldn’t stop me.”  He was right.  He was right, and he was stepping closer, and Dick wasn’t unarmed, wasn’t powerless, but Slade fought with the strength of his whole pack, and one man couldn’t stand against it.

Slade stopped right in front of him.  Dick waited for the hand on his shoulder, the blow sending him to his knees, the fingers gripping his jaw.  But Slade didn’t touch him.

“Birds don’t belong in cages,” Slade said simply.  Dick stared up at him, heart still stuck in his throat.  “If you choose not to accept, I turn around and leave.  No catch.”

Dick took a shallow breath, and stumbled back a couple of steps, not willing to be so close to Slade.  The alpha didn’t follow him, merely stared at him, silent.  Waiting.

Dick’s voice was hoarse.  “What services?”  And could he truly afford to deny Slade?

“One of my pack has been injured.  Fatal if left untreated,” Slade’s gaze was heavy, but not suffocating, “I was hoping you could help.”

Healer.  Slade wanted a healer.  Dick took a shaky breath, and tried not to sink down in relief.

“I can see what I can do,” Dick replied, steadier, because he healed anyone who asked for it, tried to help them to the best of his ability.  Slade backed off, letting him collect the borage by knotting up the cloth, and grabbing his bag as well.

Slade set off towards the northeast, and Dick followed him, careful not to get too close.  Staring at the alpha’s simple, sturdy clothing, another thought jumped into his head.  “Wait, what will you pay me in?  Coin?”  Werewolves didn’t usually do business with humans, not unless they were bartering, and Dick couldn’t imagine they carted around money.

Slade turned to tilt his face towards him.  “If you’d like,” he said casually, before dragging his gaze up and down to give Dick a very obvious once-over.  “I’m open to alternative methods of payment as well.”

Dick nearly tripped over a root, his heart stuttering a beat as his cheeks began to burn.  Slade’s smile turned more wolfish, and Dick willed his expression to stay blank.

“Coin is fine,” he said, forcing his words level.  Slade made a noncommittal sound, and Dick refused to look at Slade’s outline, the easy definition of muscles, the effortless way Slade had carried him those few weeks ago, that smirk—“Tell me about my patient,” Dick said, taking a deep breath and settling in his role, “What happened to them?”

~#~

Dick managed to walk-stumble-hobble out of the tent on his own power, though the world was just a little too bright and painful.  The cuts he’d cleaned easily, but the sickness was a curse, and breaking it took more magic than he’d liked.

He just—he needed a moment to breathe.  Probably sit down as well, but leaning against the tree was working fine for now as he sucked in deep breaths, shivering against the painful sensation of being laid bare, like his skin had been peeled off to let magic seep back into him.

It took him more blinks than it should’ve to recognize that the outline in front of him was a person, to register the eye patch, and to automatically straighten in the presence of the alpha.

Unfortunately, that was a bad idea.

The world tilted alarmingly around him, and Dick gasped as his view of Slade turned to a view of leaves and dirt, bracing himself for a painful and humiliating collision with the ground.

He didn’t hit the ground though, instead caught and pulled up, against something that ran hot.

“You sure you want payment in coin, little bird?” a low voice rumbled against his cheek, “That’s thrice you’ve fainted into my arms, anyone would start getting ideas.”

Dick groaned and tilted his head enough to bury it against Slade’s shirt.  “Fuck you,” he said, muffled.

“You’ve got the general concept down,” Slade murmured, “But you’ll be the one on your knees, little bird.”

The only worthwhile side effect of magical exhaustion was apparently he was too tired to flush.  Not too tired to imagine it though, and Dick had to ruthlessly kill that train of thought before it led into directions he was not prepared for right now.

Slade chuckled, catching the skip in his heartbeat, and the sound vibrated through Dick.  “Sleep first,” he said, and Dick sank deeper into the waiting exhaustion with the swaying of Slade’s gait.

There were sounds around him, low conversations, the rumble of Slade’s voice, and Dick just sank deeper and deeper and deeper, letting go, trusting that he was safe.

[captainnameless]

This is no stress and only when/if you have the time and inspiration.

But talk to me about super hyper little Max please😇

It doesn’t get like this very often, Max quite literally bouncing off the walls. Max gets excited, sure. About race day, about cheat meals, about Daddy time, about flags and animals, but rarely this… active.

It’s usually a sign of overstimulation, they’d been pretty busy these past few weeks, very little time with each other and even littler time for any regressing. Daniel’s glad the coin’s fallen this way though, he loves Max regardless but this is a little easier to deal with than an overly defiant Max who toes the line of boundaries and oversteps until Daniel puts a stop to it.

The pancakes don’t help though.

“Taste?” Max asks, holding out a bite for Daniel to take and Daniel blinks slowly, eyeing Max, then the bite, then GP, who shrugs sheepishly.

“He deserved a treat.”

Max always deserves a treat, Daniel thinks. But he’s also thinking about the added sugars and their 10 hour flight they’re about to get on. Oh well.

Daniel wasn’t wrong about the extra sugar, he tries getting Max to take a nap on the plane but Max is way too busy chatting, coloring, he’s doing puzzle games on his phone and keeps getting up out of his seat to walk around.

There’s a minor tantrum that Daniel has to navigate them through when he denies Max a Red Bull, distracts him with a Trash Truck episode and gives him an apple juice instead.

Max falls asleep on the ride home from Nice to Monaco and Daniel curses silently because this is not a good time to fall asleep and he knows this will bite him in the ass for bedtime but he doesn’t want to risk waking Max up and having to navigate another tantrum while driving.

Max wakes up 2 minutes from home like he senses it and turns on immediately. He’s darted up the stairs to the penthouse, refused the elevator while Daniel struggles with their luggage, and goes straight for the cats.

Daniel’s still navigating their luggage and then goes to take Max’s shoes off when he’s having a moment of being in one spot to cuddle his pets.

As soon as his feet are free he takes off and Daniel has to catch him again to remind him of the “no running inside” rule but takes Max’s sock off anyway, knows his boy well enough to know Max’s listening ears might not be tuned right now and he’s limiting the risk of a slip and fall.

Max tips over the entire bin of legos they have, busies himself with it while Daniel whips up some dinner, comes in to the kitchen every five minutes with a “Daddy, look!” while showing off a new build and explaining what it is.

Daniel realizes quickly Max is not going to stay seated for dinner, and pulls him into his lap instead in hopes to keep him there and get some food into the boy.

Max tries sliding off again after two bites and Daniel wraps an arm around his waist, keeping him in place. “Can you keep your butt still for a minute?” Daniel chuckles lightly and Max whines at him.

“My butt doesn’t want to be still.”

“We’re having dinner, buddy.” Daniel says, squeezing Max’s hip. “I’d appreciate it if you would sit and eat it, you like the lasagna.” He adds, grabbing Max’s fork and pressing it down into the lasagna and then offering Max the piece.

Max nods and opens his mouth for the bite, then speaks with his mouth full. “I like it but my butt doesn’t.”

Daniel rolls his eyes fondly, shifts Max a bit and feeds him another bite. “Too bad for your butt.”

Max finishes most of his plate before Daniel decides he cannot contain him anymore and takes the victory with most of the dish gone.

Max is dashing through the living again when Daniel catches him around the waist, digging his fingers into the soft skin around his fingers. “What did Daddy say?”

Max bursts into a fit of tickles immediately trying to unsuccessfully squirm out of Daniel trying to reply but his voice is cut off by another squeaky giggle when the tickling doesn’t stop.

“I can’t hear you.” Daniel smirks, shifting his grip and moving Max around so he can tickle all the way up under his arm. Pulling a delightful squeal out of the younger and another fit of giggles around a “Please Daddy!”

“Huh?” Daniel asks, pausing his tickles, still holding Max. “What was that?”

Max gasps for breath, cheeks flushed, big smile. “Please don’t, Daddy.” He breathes. “No running.”

“Oh, so you do know?”

The flush on Max’s cheeks deepens then, and he goes to bury himself in Daniel’s chest. “I’m too awake! I need to get the shakes out.”

Daniel sighs gently, wrapping Max up in a quick cuddle, the gears in his brain working as he tries to think of something. He really can’t be arsed to go on a run right now, sticking Max in front of a screen will probably only make it worse but he is suddenly reminded of Max’s pool.

“Wanna go for a swim?”

Max nearly forgets the no running rule again when he’s going to grab his trunks, and again when Daniel opens the sliding doors and Max makes a run for the pool, this time he argues they’re not inside anymore.

They splash until their fingers are wrinkly and Daniel takes his tike shampooing Max’s hair in the outside shower and sneaks in a little massage he hopes will mean Max gets a little sleepier.

He gets his first yawn when he’s helping Max into pajama’s which gives Daniel a tiny bit of hope that bedtime will be alright until they’re laying in bed and Max’s bright blue eyes are staring right at them.

“Maxie,” Daniel whispers, grabs Leo from in between them and uses his paw to gently stroke Max’s nose. “Close your eyes, baby.”

Max whines around his thumb, scooting closer to Daniel, speech a little slurred around the digit. “ ‘m not sleepy.”

Daniel bites back his own whine. “Daddy’s sleepy, and Leo’s sleepy. Can you try, please darling?”

Max nods, such a good boy, and scrunches his eyes shut that brings a smile to Daniel’s face. “Relax, bubba.” He whispers, goes back to using Leo’s soft paw to gently map Max’s face, trace over his brows and the bridge of his nose until the scrunch is gone.

He switches tactics then, maneuvers Max onto his chest and gently scratches his fingers into the shaved up bits of Max’s hair, lips pressed against the top of his head while he murmurs a song Max likes.

He’s worried he’s gonna murmur himself to sleep before Max but right as his own eyes start to feel too heavy he feels Max relax all the way, breathing evening out.

Daniel gives him one more kiss before his own eyes shut.

[noellerain]

Antithetical ♡ [suguru x afab!reader]

noe: this man is living rent-free in my mind for days now so you can consider this fic a brainrot/love letter to this gorgeous son of a bitch.

Warnings: [ DEAD DOVE! ] dark smut, noncon/rape (reader to Suguru), somnophilia (reader to Suguru), femdom, babytrapping (reader to Suguru), profanities (vulgar words), intoxication, spitting, implied that Suguru is drugged but not by the reader, obsessive behavior (reader to Suguru), proofread once, Gojo has a cameo lol, just over all madness. [LET ME KNOW IF I MISSED SOMETHING! THANK YOU!]

+ BLOCK, DON'T REPORT!

[If you read the warnings then proceed to click/press the cut button, you consent on reading the dark material below.]

Suguru Geto is midnight personified. His jet-black hair reminds you of the night sky when it's void of the moon and the stars. His eyes are blackholes that can consume your entirety if you look hard and long enough. His scent smells like the Earth after rain: a unique, addicting scent that makes your stomach flip yet still brings you a sense of warm melancholia.

Suguru Geto is way out of your league. You know that. But while everyone is fawning over his annoying best friend, Satoru, your love-struck eyes are fixated on that enigma of a man. Just one look, whether it's intentional or in passing, can shake and blow you away like the flimsy petals of dandelions.

Tonight, as you stand in the dark corner of Satoru's living room while everyone else drinks and dances to the rhythm of the song booming from the speakers, the walls seem to close in on you. 

There he is, sitting on the couch with his arm around a girl. His hair is up in its usual bun; tresses hanging on the side of his face. He's wearing a simple white shirt and black cargo pants. The simplicity amplifies his good looks.

They say that he and Satoru are two different sides of the same coin. Satoru's boisterous personality is on the face; one look at him and your alarm immediately goes off. Meanwhile, Suguru's serenity is the reason why he catches people off-guard when his true colors show.

He is a fucking mastermind. He plays the good guy role; carefully making the bed and patiently inviting his victim to lay down on it. Perhaps that's their difference: Satoru's always in a rush, his thirst never quenches. Suguru, on the other hand, takes his time. You conclude that it makes the game more enjoyable to him. That sweet, sweet reward of fucking someone dumb after all the efforts you exert may be Suguru's personal brand of drugs.

He leans closer to the girl, whispering something in her ear. She laughs and the bubbling jealousy in your chest tastes more bitter than the liquor you're currently drinking in a red cup.

It's a vicious cycle of his. For two years now, you've been nothing but a bystander. Always in the corners, watching. You've seen him lay out an elaborate plan, working his way down to different women's panties. When he finally gets what he wants, he puts his pants up and throws them away like ragdolls. Then he puts his façade— back to square one again and again and again.

Your face contorts into a frown when he smoothly puts his hand on the girl's knee. From your perspective, it looks unintentional; like his hand just happens to be there. She smirks at him, obviously enjoying the situation she's in. Your eyes narrow on his long, slender fingers, now gently rubbing her skin. It's fucking funny how life slaps you in the face over and over; there he is, the object of your obsession, sitting next to someone else, to anyone else, to everyone else but you.

His fingers slide up her thigh and give them a squeeze; the hem of her miniskirt bunches up on her lap. Your mind is beginning to go into overdrive. It's so unfair. So fucking unfair. What do others have that you don't? You take a big gulp on your drink.

"Oh? What a pleasant surprise!" Satoru's loud voice snaps your mind to sanity; your soul back to the dark corner where you're standing.

You look up at him as he strides lazily over to you, a red cup in his hand as well. He's wearing a tight black shirt and jeans that hang loosely around his waist. "I don't usually see you at my parties. What's a pretty girl doin' here in the dark?"

He leans against the wall and takes a big gulp on his drink. You don't humor his attempt for a chat. You can still feel your simmering envy as you look down on the brownish liquid in your cup.

"Not gonna entertain me, huh?" He laughs; an annoying sound that grinds your ears. "I understand, though. After all, I have a better vision than my best friend over there."

You whip your head to him, confusion all over your face. Heart beating loudly in your chest at the mention of Suguru, his one and only friend. Your lips are pursed and your brows are deeply furrowed. "What do you mean?"

He drinks again, his electric blue eyes glimmering with malice. When he puts down his cup on his side, he gives you an impish smirk. "Heh. Watch."

He pushes himself off of the wall and begins to walk away. But before he's beyond your earshot, he yells: "Second floor, last room on the West wing!"

You roll your eyes. As usual, Satoru is a menace. A baffling menace. You do not get a single word he says and you have no plans on trying. After all, guys like him are meant to be heard, not to be listened to.

Your eyes go back to Suguru. He's still on the couch but fortunately, his hands are now off the girls' body. Instead, he's pressing his forehead with his thumb while his eyes are shut tight as the girl next to him continues to babble away. The sight strikes some chords in your heart. You notice the creased skin between his forehead. It only goes away temporarily when Satoru appears and hands him a red cup.

You gnaw on your bottom lip as he taps on his forehead again with the pad of his thumb. You glare at the girl whose red lips continue to move. What is she even saying to him?

Your mind begins to wander. If it's you who's next to him right now, you're fairly certain that you won't be talking at all. You'll stare at him and listen to everything he says; hang on to every word. But Suguru is not selfish like Satoru. You know that it will be a conversation between the two of you; not just him yapping away like Satoru does.

Your heart skips a beat just by imagining how he'll look at you while you talk. He will nod, smile... Laugh. Gives you pennies for your thoughts. You pray to a higher power for the chance though you're certain that you won't be able to mutter anything coherent.

A few minutes pass by and the girl leaves. Suguru also leaves and a part of you dies inside again and again every time you see him with another girl. Where are they going? Is he going to sleep with her? Kiss her, touch her, claim her in places your mind does not dare to imagine? You finish your drink in one gulp before storming to the kitchen to grab more.

Your childishness tells you that your anger and envy are valid. After all, you've been pining over Suguru for two years now. Every time you try to move on, there is a pang of guilt in your heart. You never had him but he lives in the trenches of your heart, his name emblazoned in your mind.

But the rational part that's left of your intoxicated brain tells you that it's wrong. That you have no right to feel this way. Suguru doesn't even know you. How can you let him put a chain in your limbs and control you this way?

You wipe the liquor that dribbles down your chin. You look up and see through your hazy eyes that there are less people in the living room now. What time is it? You look down on the bottle of alcohol that you're cradling in your arms. Hiccuping, you realize that you drank half of its contents.

You stand up and the world around you begins to spin rapidly. Your knees feel like boiled noodles, unable to keep themselves upright. But still, you persevered. You leave the living room, determined to see Suguru. You decide that the madness has to stop once and for all. You can't live your life—

"Second floor, last room on the West wing!"

"Fuck you." you mutter beneath your breath as you hit your head with your fist repeatedly. For some reason, Satoru's voice decides to pop up out of nowhere.

You hiccup and begin your search to find Suguru. You look for him outside, trying to spot him in smaller crowds. At the pool area, staring at the people fucking on the water, the bathrooms… he's nowhere to be found.

You crawl your way upstairs, opening the rooms but either they're locked, empty or some people are fucking like rabbits inside.

You squint your eyes as you peek through the crevice of another door you opened. Another couple is fuck— wait. The jeans pooling on his ankles, the tight black shirt and the messy mop of white hair...

"Satoru," you drawl, inserting your head through the space between the door and the doorframe.

He whips his head, bullets of sweat dripping down his face as he smirks. "Hey. Anything I can do for ya?"

His breath is labored as he speaks; his hips continuously drilling against the girl's cunt. You can't see her from the angle but knowing Satoru, he's into beautiful girls. Beautiful, whiny girls. Her moans sound pretty, too.

"Where's Suguru?" You ask, blinking slowly.

"Told ya," he laughs. "Second floor, last room on the west wing."

"K," you sigh. You close the door and pray for the poor girl. You've never seen Satoru in action before but gods, are the rumors right. He is merciless and bursting with vigour.

You drag yourself to the last room on the West wing. Frankly, you don't even know what you're going to say to him. Does he even know you? Is he going to even hear you out?

Dread fills you to the brim when you stop in front of the door. What if he's not even here and Satoru is just messing with you? Worse, what if you see him fucking someone else inside? Gods.

You slap your cheeks to try and get a hold of what's left of yourself. It's a good thing that you're still somewhat sober despite drinking half of that bottle. You thought the liquor will make you forget but here you are, about to make the most stupid choice you've possibly ever done in your life.

Staring hard at the door, you take a sharp breath in. Your shaking fingers close around the cold knob before slowly turning it. The door finally opens and you feel your heart throb in your chest.

You peek inside then gasp in surprise.

"Su... Guru?" You whisper, pupils blown wide from the sight sprawled in front of you.

He's laying down on the mattress with his luscious long black hair spilling on the pillows. His eyes are closed and his chest is heaving erratically. Bullets of sweat drip down his forehead and there is a deep frown on his face. He seems asleep but he looks far from being peaceful.

You enter the room; your eyes languidly take in the curves of his shoulders, the muscles on his arms and his chiseled torso that are illuminated by the shaft ray of moonlight pouring through the window. Suguru always opts for loose clothing; his naked image that you've sculpted in your mind is a drastic comparison to the real thing. You thought he's going to be built like the gods but... He isn't. There is still softness; a mix of godhood and humanity in his features and your fingers twitch with the desire to touch and hold him.

Your eyes travel down his black sweatpants. The poor garment is hanging on for its dear life on his prominent v-line. His lower abdomen has a pathway of light black bush that leads to his...

You swallow thickly. There is an indentation of his dick against the fabric. You know it's wrong but your body begins to feel that familiar warmth. Here he is, the source of your mirth. The destination of your late night adventures when deep-seated desires stir. The subject of your dreams, of your fantasies, the muse of your high as thick hot cum dribbles down your inner thighs while you gasp for air; reality settles and you feel pathetic with your fingers knuckle-deep inside your cunt.

You should leave. But then what? Remain on the sidelines, longing for him, envying other girls and touching yourself to the idea of him? Here he is, served with his walls down. If you can have him once, just once…

You close the door. The sharp sound of the lock's bolt sends tingles all over your body. Slowly, you approach him. Shame burns your gut and makes your cheeks flushed. But you're here. You're here now. What matters is right now.

Slowly, you kneel in the space between his spread legs. The mattress shifts and you eye him nervously. But Suguru is still in deep sleep even when you pull down the waistband of his sweatpants and his cock springs free.

"Ah..." You breathe out, calming your heart. It's beating in your ears now as you stare at his length that's resting on his lower stomach.

The picture of his dick that you've crafted in your head is similar to the real deal and that makes you uncharacteristically giddy. It's on the longer side and its bulbous crown is pinkish in color.

With shaking fingers, you reach for it. He stays still even as your hand closes in around the base and gives him a few pumps.

"Suguru…" you whisper. The normalcy of you whispering his name like a prayer is true only in your bedroom as you touch yourself. But right now…

You continue your ministries as you stare at him anxiously. Is he going to wake up? A part of you wishes he does. Hoping that you will get to experience the stories you've heard from the women he fucked before. For him to watch you as you serve him, the memory ingraining in his mind. Your chest burns with envy again but you get a grip of yourself.

Who cares? The pad of your thumb caresses his tip. Your experience will be different. Exclusive.

You lean your entire torso down, your ass hanging in the air. You purse your lips and gather a blob of saliva before spitting it out on his dick. You use your own fluid as lube, pumping him a little bit faster now.

"So pretty, Suguru," you giggle when he breathes deeply. His cock is smooth and it's now starting to take a rigid stance. "I'm sure you taste pretty, too."

You descend your lips and pepper his length with feathery kisses. Lolling your tongue, you give him a few kitten licks, particularly the tip that you find endearingly charming.

He smells so good, too. Sweet like warm vanilla. You open your mouth and shove his length in. He's a bit longer than what you can take so your hands wrap around what's left of his dick, pumping it simultaneously as you bob your head.

He moans in his sleep, tossing a bit. Tears prick your eyes when his length hits the back of your throat. Your hands instinctively squeeze his hips, putting him in one place. You hollow your cheeks and pick up your pace, tongue swirling and licking the tip that's now leaking with precum.

"Haaa…" he gasps and you freeze.

You look at him; your eyes widen when you meet his dilating pupils. "W-what…"

He seems at loss but he doesn't push you away. Suguru blinks a few times at you as he heaves. You can almost see the cogs in his brain turn as he takes it all in.

You quickly release his dick with a loud pop before straddling him by the waist. "Shhh… It's okay."

You cup his face as panic settles in your nerves. You stare deeply into his eyes but notice that they're… absent. It's as if they are somewhere else even though they're looking at you.

"It's fine," you whisper. "It's fine. You're good. Trust me."

His head falls back on the pillows and he winces. You take the chance to finally kiss him, your legs pressing against his sides. He lays motionless, his eyes now closed. Panic dissipates from your nerves… now replaced by the thrill of it all.

You cup his cheeks and forcefully slither your tongue in. You shut your eyes and moan into his lips; he tastes like peppermint. Hollowing your cheeks again, you suck on his tongue.

When you pull away, a string of saliva keeps your lips connected. He opens his eyes, whispering something along the lines of "Who are you?"

You don't answer. Instead, you kiss and lick his skin. Worship every nook and cranny of his flesh, marking him. Your hands are all over the place too, touching him, staining his body with your shameless, scorching affection that you can no longer contain.

Your mouth envelops around his nipple as your other hand kneads on the other. You look up at him while you suck like a starved baby. He groans, his weak body trembling a bit.

"You like it?" You ask, swirling your tongue on his perked nipple. "You like being sucked like this, Suguru?"

He mumbles something that you didn't catch and do not honestly care about. Your lips go south, reaching his happy trail and his cock again.

"S-sto…p," he sighs when you press your face against his dick. "Stop… it…"

"But it makes you feel good, though…" you reply. "See? You like it. You're hard."

You shove it in your mouth again. Suguru groans like an angel as his hips buck upwards; his dick reaching the back of your throat again. He says he wants you to stop but his entire body's reaction does not match his words.

"Stop!" He screams, trying to pull away. But you keep your head in place, gripping his hips. Greedily, you suck him off until his cock trembles and spurts hot ropes of milky cum in your throat.

You pull away and swallow hard— he tastes salty. You smirk at him. He's frowning while gasping for breath.

"Wh…"

"Shhh," you shush him, leaning down and kissing his cheek. "It's alright. You taste so good, Suguru."

The words spilling out of your mouth, as well as the desire that is overtaking your body are beyond the heavens now. Your mind is in a haze and your pussy pulsates with need. You want him. You want him so bad it hurts.

"You seem weak," you whisper. "What happened to you?"

"I…" he mumbles.

You coo and kiss him again. "Shhh. It's okay. You're safe with me. I love you so much, Suguru. I love you so, so much."

You sit up on his stomach and take off your top. Your breasts spill out of the garment and Suguru can only watch with droopy eyes.

"I've always wanted you…" you mutter as you lift your hips. You take his hand and bring his fingers to your mouth to suck them.

When they're wet enough, you guide them to your aching cunt. You hold onto his index finger and use it to rub your warm clit. You keep your eyes on him as he remains still, letting you do whatever you want. He looks confused and it makes your heart ache. What's going on with him?

"Gonna put 'em in…" you whisper and slowly ease in two of his fingers inside you. 

A moan rips out of your lips when his slender fingers fit snug inside your walls. You move your hips— up and down, up and down until his entire fingers are coated with your cum.

You take them off, licking the middle finger before you align the index in his mouth. He whips his head to the side— a stubborn act of defiance that makes you annoyed.

"What the fuck? You did this with other girls, I bet. Other girls that don't fucking care about you," you angrily snap, cupping his jaw. "And you can't do it for the one who loves you? How dare you?!"

You squeeze his cheeks until his lips form a small opening. You shove his index finger in, coated with your cum. With a maniacal smile on your lips, you watch as he struggles.

"I taste good, right?"  You laugh and kiss him on the lips, tasting your own essence on his tongue. "I taste so good."

"S…sto—"

"Sh," you hush him. "Don't say anything. I don't want to hear you talk. I only want to hear you whine and moan. Understood? Such a good boy, Suguru."

You get off of him. Hastily taking off your jeans and underwear, Suguru's eyes widen in panic. Before he can move away, you position yourself on his waist, straddling him again into place.

"I was so fucking envious of the girls you fucked," you laugh. "They say you're good in bed. I'm a bit sad that you're too weak to show me but don't worry, okay? I love you. I love you so much, I'm going to make you feel good."

Suguru shakes his head when he sees you lift your hips. He winces when he feels you drag his dick along your clit, using your cum as lube. You spit on the crown before finally shoving him in.

You hiss in pain as his bulbous tip bullies its way inside you. Suguru thrashes for a bit before you finally take him all in. Eyes rolling to the back of your head, you quickly move to ease the pain; bouncing your hips on his cock.

You look down and see him completely helpless. He's too intoxicated to even think straight, moreso move. It delights you to see him like this; beneath you as you use him like your personal toy.

"Suguru," you gasp for breath, leaning closer to him. "Does it feel good? I feel so good."

He whips his head to the side again but you don't care this time. You're too lost in the feeling of his dick sliding in and out of you; caressing your gummy walls perfectly.

You anchor your hands on his chest and pick up the pace of your hips. It's starting to strain your legs and thighs but you're determined to reach the highest of highs. Strings of whimpers and groans escape his lips. You laugh upon realizing that he doesn't have a condom on and you're not taking any pills.

"Hey, Suguru—" your breath hitches in your throat when he hits that particularly sweet spot inside you. "You're gonna be so mad at me when you wake up tomorrow. Might as well get my fill, huh?"

It's all getting in your head. You arch your back as you put your hands on his knees to anchor yourself. You throw your head back, sliding in and out of him with ease. The squelching sounds of your skins are music to your ears.

Your mind wanders as your legs begin to tremble. God. What happens if you get pregnant? Just the thought of carrying Suguru's baby makes your entire body tingle and the knot in your lower belly tighten. You look down at him and smirk.

If by chance, you get the privilege of carrying his child, will he stay in your life? That's uncertain. But one thing's for sure and that is you will have a piece of him with you forever. A laughter slips out of your lips as the knot in your belly loosens and turns into a mess— hot cum gushes out of you and sprinkles his lower abdomen.

But you continue to move despite your shaking body. You need him to reach that high. You need him to cum deep inside you and fill your womb. Suguru's hips stutter as he lets out a guttural growl. You laugh once again when you pull out and see his sticky cum drip down your inner thighs. Quickly, you gather the fluid and shove your fingers inside you, not letting a drop go to waste.

The reality sets in, akin to the times you spent alone in your bed. But this time, it's different. You don't feel pathetic. Matter-of-fact, you feel happy. Your dream is now fulfilled. This experience is yours and yours alone. And even if Suguru fucks other girls, it doesn't matter anymore. You have a piece of him in you now. You're certain that no girls had their ways with him until you. You were in charge and that made you feel powerful.

Suguru's eyes flutter until they finally close. Sweat drips down his forehead as his chest begins to heave deeply. His face does not look like he's in pain anymore and that makes you smile.

You lean towards him and kiss him for the last time on the lips before you get dressed. You pull up his sweatpants, his cock now flaccid. You don't bother wiping him clean. Even just for tonight, you want him all over you.

You leave the house with your head above the clouds; your throbbing cunt misses him already.

[bardic-tales]

Tumblr Games: OC Prompts: Profile: Mordecai Delacroix

Thank you so much for the tag, @inkednotebook. I loved Teddy's appearance and his goals in yours.

Rules: Answer the prompts for an OC

I choose to fill this out for my newest OC, Mordecai Delacroix, my incubus who fought against Asmodeus to save his wife and lost. Mordecai plays an important role in Fantasy Worlds Collide, as it shows that demons can resist the call of a primordial demon, like Asmodeus.

Matt Bomer is Mordecai's face claim

Full name: Mordecai Alessio Delacroix (formerly Atticus)

Age: Over 2,000 years

Gender: Male

Species: Vampiric Incubi

Appearance: Mordecai is 6'1" (185 cm) with a lean, muscular build. His skin is often pale with nearly trimmed dark brown hair. He has very sharp facial features, including a chisled jawline and piercing grey eyes. His eyes turn blood-red when he is anger or he is feeding. He likes to wear tailored suits in very dark colors.

Occupation: CEO of Dark Light Publishing, a publishing house that caters to supernatural beings, such as he.

Family Members:

Spouse/Partner: Bianca Moore (wife)

Parents: Unknown Roman parents

Siblings: None known

Demonic “Father”: Asmodeus (not biological but influential)

Best Friends:

Lucian Grey: An ancient vampire who works as Mordecai's right-hand man at the publishing company. He’s a bit of a trickster and the only person who dares to challenge Mordecai's serious nature.

Isabella Tremaine: An old lover who specializes in magical artifacts and occult research. Mordecai relies on her expertise in supernatural matters and considers her one of the few people he can trust, outside of Bianca and Lucian.

Pets: None. He prefers a minimalist lifestyle and hates the idea of owning pets.

Describing their bedroom: His bedroom is spacious and uncluttered. He has a king-sized bed draped in black satin sheets. A black marble fireplace stands across the bed. Next to it is a floor-to-ceiling bookshelf filled with ancient texts and modern literature. A sleek desk sits in one corner with a laptop and a few scattered papers. His walk-in closet is organized by color and occasion: featuring mostly suits and former wear. There is few personal items, save for a framed portrait of a night date to the coast with Bianca.

Way of speaking: Mordecai speaks with a refined, aristocratic tone. His speech is deliberate. He very rarely raises his voice, as he doesn't need to. He will occasionally use archaic phrases. When agitated, his accent subtly shifts, revealing his ancient Roman roots.

Physical characteristics: Beyond what is already mentioned, he has no visible scars. He has demonic healing abilities like Bianca. His nails are kept short, but occasionally grow into sharp claws when his demonic nature is triggered.

Items in their bag/purse: Mordecai doesn’t typically carry a bag, as he prefers to carry briefcases. If he does, it would contain:

a leather-bound journal for note-taking

a small vial of Bianca's blood for emergencies

the latest iphone.

ancient coins to remind him of who he really is

Hobbies: Mordecai enjoys fencing, historical research, martial arts, reading, and playing the piano. He likes to manage his publishing company, finding comfort through history and literature. In his free time, he is often honing his swordsmanship or reading obscure occult texts by Aleister Crowley and the Ordo Templi Orientis.

Favorite Sport: Mordecai is not a fan of modern sports, like hockey or football, but he has an interest in fencing.

Abilities: As he is a demon, he has enhances strength, speed, and healing. He also has an enhanced scent of smell, as do all demons. As an incubus, he can manipulate emotions and desires. He avoids using his incubus powers, due to his grief. He is also well-versed in ancient languages, rituals, and supernatural lore. Mordecai is probably the person who knows Asmodeus the best, as he has dedicated his life to finding a way to destroy the demonic prince once and for all.

Relationships:

Bianca Moore: His wife, whom he deeply loves and protects. Their bond is built on mutual respect and shared trauma. He never consummated the marriage, respecting Bianca’s boundaries.

Asmodeus: A figure from his past who turned him into a vampiric incubus and serves as a constant threat.

Lucian Grey: His right-hand man at Dark Light Publishing and a trusted confidant. Their relationship is founded on centuries of camaraderie and shared struggles.

Fears:

He is terrified that he won't be able to protect Bianca from Asmodeus or even his own dark nature. He had already murdered his mirrored soul when he was first turned, as he had no control over his powers.

Despite his centuries of discipline, he is haunted by the fear of losing control and harming someone he loves by his bloodlust, as he did centuries ago.

He is fearful of fire as it reminds him of his transformation. He is very uneasy around flames.

Faults:

Mordecai has an overwhelming sense of guilt which often prevents him from moving forward. He is afraid that if he becomes entangled with someone he will harm them. However, meeting Bianca, Asmodeus' biological daughter and his tool for ascension, shook up his life.

He keeps others at arm's lengths to avoid causing them harm or facing his own emotions

He prefers to handle problems himself, leading to difficulty in delegating tasks or trusting others.

Good points:

Although he is distant, he is fiercely protective of those he cares about. This is illustrated when he sacrificed himself for Bianca's well-being.

Due to his love of history and literature, Mordecai is very well-read and resourceful.

Despite his internal struggles and who he currently is, he continues to be a bastion of light against Asmodeus' darkness. He will never allow the demonic lord to take Bianca and her soul.

What they want more than anything else: Mordecai desires redemption and to rid the world of Asmodeus and the other demons' influences. His ultimate wish is to ensure Bianca's safety and happiness, even if it means that he will have to sacrifice himself and send her to another dimension.

[xmochilyx]

My piece for @trafficzine !

Thank you so much for letting me be a part of it. Go check out everyone else's contributions, too!

~♡~

My Beautiful Castillo

word count: 839

the beginning meeting

~♡~

You open your eyes to a new world. It's not unlike any other world you've explored before. Only, this one holds a short-lived purpose. In the earth below your feet you feel the echoes of worlds past. You've played this game before, and now, you have another chance to win.

It starts as it has three lifetimes before: in a ring around the heart of your first spawn. Now, sixteen people stand before you, a blur of smiles and vigor. You know these people. You stood beside these people before, a partner in any way that mattered. Across from you stand your closest friends. Allies that took you arm-in-arm while you rushed headfirst into danger. A soulmate whose life is held in your hands. An enemy whose home burns to cinder underboot. A friend whose blood has dried under your fingernails. You remember the bloodbaths and lives taken several times over. You remember gambling lives away like coins in your back pocket. Most importantly though, you remember love. The love you hold for your closest friends, the love between a haphazard family, the love cast by heartbreak as you carry on alone.

But this isn’t those now distant times. This is here and now. Before the first bonds of alliances doomed to shatter. Before the promises and betrayals. Before the blood that stains your skin and dries beneath your nails. Before the glory and devastation of a lonely win. This is a new time, and this new time, like all the many times before, promises to be no different. There are differences, though. A missing friend you haven’t played beside in months. A towering statue that casts a deep shadow on the earth. More health than you’ve ever had before. A portal to a dimension you’ve never seen in these games before. You try not to humor the idea too much. Not yet.

It is, however, a familiar voice that rises above the clamor of the crowd. The same voice that welcomes you every time.

“Hello, friends! Welcome to Secret Life. In this series we have thirty hearts per life, but no regeneration. The only way to regain hearts is from the Secret Keeper. At the start of each session, we'll be given a secret task. When you've completed your task, you can visit the Secret Keeper who will reward you with ten new hearts. If you fail your task, you get nothing. Remember, the whole time, you must keep it a secret!”

The sun is high and bright in the sky, a spotlight on the group around you. The shadow cast from the Secret Keeper is deep and long, but it leaves your small campfire alone to warm you. Anticipation of the unknown sends thrills down your spine, and you see mirrors of the same feeling on the rest of the group, too. You join in with the soft, excited cheers that ring out from the group while others around you call out friendly hellos.

Not yet finished, Grian motions towards a new face in the group, “As you can see, Gem has joined us this series,” you turn your head without a trace of subtlety, “She kinda didn't leave, and no one wanted to say anything.”

Giggles ripple around the circle and Tango nods,“it was awkward, yeah.”

Impulse shoots Tango a sharp glare, “you mean we love that she's here,” he defends at the same time Gem says: “you can't get rid of me!”

Jimmy steps forward, taking all the attention of the crowd, “surely for a newbie, everyone gets one free punch on Gem, right?” Interspersed agreements from the circle drown out anything else he wants to say, leaving Gem to vehemently deny the idea without help.

The friendly banter and sharp quips last only a moment. It quickly changes to shocked ohs as, instead of Gem, Martyn punches Jimmy and first blood is drawn. An uproar of booming accusations and bewildered laughter make the once friendly climate into something chaotic. Jimmy, the first to die every game since the beginning, was already half a heart down.

Martyn, eyes wide, puts his palms up guiltily, “my bad! My bad!” Apologies on his lips, he does the only thing left that makes sense, “let me give you this back!”

It takes only a moment for the heart transfer feature to do its job. In moments, you all bear witness to one of the new gimmicks of the season as it shines on full display, and the once disadvantaged Jimmy is half a heart ahead of the game.

The crowd, still unnerved, backs up, making their circle thinner. Unlike before, the noise does not dissipate, but rather, grows more discordant than ever. “With that,” Grian says, whipping around and breaking free of the meeting, “I'm getting outta here!”

Mumbo follows his lead, Scar casts long glances at the ominous statue, and you notice the players scatter in all directions. You retreat, letting the world take you as it always does.

Lᒷℸ ̣ ℸ⍑ᒷ ⊣ᔑᒲᒷ ʖᒷ⊣╎リ.

~♡~

Cross-posted on ao3

[mudandmire]

Eris Week: Free Day

~ drip drop, gimme what you got ~

Eris has an itch, a burn he cannot out-run or fight. Azriel has hands, and cunning eyes, and most importantly for tonight, teeth.

This isn't going the way it sounds.

Technically this was supposed to come out on AU day for @erisweekofficial, but homework ended up kicking my ass :/

---

They find each other, like all mistakes do, at a bar.

Down the street—a right and down one block a sudden left—from the gym Eris frequents. The Jig is a building scooped out of the red bricked fronts of the town houses lining the street. Its door is a dark stained cherry, the swinging sign above a weathered green that reminds him of oxidized copper. Black metal patio chairs sit askew behind the iron railing, one little umbrella shading the tables. It's not often people sit outside The Jig, mostly because the inside feels like a dragon's lair.

Warm and heavy with air from the patrons and boisterous laughter jingling like fallen coins. A faint smoke, not from cigarettes, but no one truly knows where it comes from, lingers along the pockmarked beams above in strands of gray ivy. Light reflects oddly in the cavern of the bar. Great glass bulbs, so clear the intestines of the electrical work can be seen even by the drunkest patrons, hang from the ceiling. Their gaze is warm, a yellow balm that makes the sable colored liquor in their bottles on the shelves sparkle.

Outside, night has fallen, and The Jig continues to glow like a homely hearth. Eris had found his way hours before the gym closed—a rarity for him—and now remains firmly planted on a bar stool at the black quartz counter.

His knuckles ache. Raw along the joints, soreness stretching its tired limbs up into his shoulder, cresting the back of his neck. Rolling his head, tilting it at an angle where his bones pop, Eris sighs long and low. The fighting for the day had been less than satisfactory. His usual opponents either were completely off their game, or their heads weren't in it enough to give him their all.

Even Anton, who Eris can usually count on to give him a good run for how much he runs his mouth, hardly touched him in the ring.

He sucks his teeth after taking a sip of his drink. The lingering sting of his victories melding with the bitter bite of the alcohol.

How selfish they could be, he knew, allowing him win after win with only a conceding smile. Wrapped hands held above their head as though surrender was what he was after.

Now he nurses his victory like one might cradle their broken pride. But all that's between his numb, ice-chilled fingers is his glass.

The rubber sole of his loafer taps on the metal bar that runs under his stool. It rattles the whole of his seat, but there's a kind of comfort in the constant bounce of his knee.

The only annoyance is that he wanted that itch, that energy, kneaded and pressed out of him like one meticulously and brutally folds dough.

Eris is used to the current in his body. The call and the silent cavern that never answers back. Jolts of bone-deep prickling in his legs, a restless picking and skinning and rapping in his fingers.

It makes him agitated. Unfocused. A liability.

The fact that no one understood this was mainly the reason he ended up in The Jig in the first place.

Eris sneaks through its cherry wood door, a thief in what hardly can be called night for how alive it is. He steals into the lair, bruises and hurts donning his frame like scales, and pretends his heart doesn't patter a different beat than the bass drum of whatever plays on the speakers. He'll tuck his hands into the cuffs of his green turtleneck sweater, and ask for his drink—heavy on liquor, make it sweet so he can't taste the underlying bite when it hits his tongue.

Eris' breathing will never even. The drink will turn into two, and still—his hand will fall to his chest. Fingers pinching at the soft fabric of his turtleneck, as if maybe they'll hit an exposed wire and restart something.

Or break him entirely.

By the second glass, the bar lights going glossy, it doesn't sound so bad. A reset, a break, an end to the quiet, relentless, drive in his chest—

Someone falls into the stool next to him. Caught from the corner of his slowly clearing eyes. There's a hint of dark blue, maybe black but it's hard to tell with the dim golden glow. The knees of the stranger spread wide, feet resting on the bar of the stool with a kind of mindless ease Eris can only hope to imitate.

His arms lay casually on the bar, skin bronzed in the golden light. Eris catches sight of something curious with a gaze that would not be as obvious if he weren't two cups deep.

The hands of the stranger are scarred, a mottled clay work. Eris' finger traces the counter top, lazy and thoughtless, mirroring those patterns in the marked skin like landmarks on a map.

Hands like that do not belong in a lair like this.

Not when Eris is hungry. Not when he is desperate.

Apart from the obvious nature of their otherness, Eris finds them to be entirely too distracting. Large, encompassing, a glinting silver watch on his wrist.

They move suddenly under his stare and Eris hears the low rumble of his voice.

"I'll have whatever he's having." He gestures to Eris' glass—empty, has been for a while—while the bartender in shades of shadows Eris can't make out, acquiesces and slips away to make…

His mind poses his own question, wary eyes peering down into the dry bottom of his glass. What am I having?

Eris knows the taste, the stale reminder that he definitely had alcohol, the way it lays on his tongue.

He knows it better by how fuzzy his head has gotten. To the point he doesn't mind when his back begins to bow, shoulders slumping forward into the fold of his arms. A collapsing kingdom of cards until he's resting his head; the hard line of the bones in his forearm pressing against his temple.

The stranger, man, with wonderful hands, is even more enticing from a sideways angle. Wide lens: the two black bars, a roof and floor. The tip of Eris' tongue ends up between his front teeth.

Eris doesn't get a chance for his gaze to meander past his shoulders, broad and heavy-set. The kind that looks earned, that could barge through walls and all that would be evidence is a dusting of drywall like powdered sugar.

Eris is caught. When the stranger gets his drink and takes a small, modest sip, he says, "you stare a lot, you know that?"

Somewhere between the first and second drink, Eris lost his ability to feel shame. Maybe it dried up along with the last dregs of his sanity.

He shrugs, and it must look weird hunched over and meek as he is, because the stranger laughs. Sort of—a breath of air from his nose. But it's more in the way creases form at the corner of his liquid dark eyes. The pupil absorbs every scant inch of light and holds it captive in a flicker of candlelight.

"I'm out of drink," Eris tells him. "You're very stare-worthy," the alcohol adds.

There's no little breath lost to the general hum of The Jig. His mouth, pink and soft, tips up. From the angle Eris sits at, he thinks it's a smile. From the way the stranger's shoulders straighten, and the breadth of his chest leans just that much closer—a stretch of dark cotton over skin—the challenge becomes clear.

Of all the things Eris tries to plan for him to say—though the script of dialogue is lost to the buzz in his head—he cannot predict what comes out of his wonderfully formed mouth.

"Who'd you hit?" He asks, gesturing with the soft openness of his hand at the raw, scabbed knuckles on Eris' fingers.

The wounds are scaled, Eris wets his lips with the tip of his tongue and draws back the bitter taste of alcohol.

"My opponent," he says honestly. "In the ring."

Eris still gazes up at the stranger from the cradle of his folded arms. There is an insistence to his presence, kept secret and safe at the end of the bar. Back pressed to the lacquered wooden paneling that runs around the perimeter of The Jig. His front, however, remains entirely exposed to the strangers gaze, though he keeps his knee bouncing under the overhang of the counter top.

In a smooth movement, the man steps one foot solidly onto the ground, and shifts his chair closer with the other still propped on the metal rung. He ends up closer than before. A dark, raven-slick curl dancing on the hard line of his thick brow.

He takes another sip of his drink. Eris follows the path with his eyes, his tongue. His longing coiled like a fire-breathing beast in his chest.

"You're a fighter?" His head tilts and the glass sets down on the quartz top with a delicate sound.

Eris shakes his head, then frowns to himself. "I box at the gym down…" he loses track, hand held up in front of his face as he tries to map the streets of the city from his vantage. "The one on Main, that's where I go."

Mindless, his hand falls to the bar top. The cold of the stone sinks into the sensitive warmth of his palm—stealing it away as he watches the condensation bloom to trace the outline of his hand.

So enraptured by the sight, the dichotomy of feeling warped under his skin, Eris completely misses when the stranger ducks his head low.

His breath, lost between those plush lips, pools on the quartz. So low is his mouth, Eris can feel the heat of it on his fingertips, his knuckles, and freezes. It is not ice that runs in his veins, it is not sobriety that steals away the pleasant buzz of alcohol. The stranger stares up at him through the dark curtain of his hair, and with a flicker of something in those liquor colored eyes—something that Eris finds mirrors the stirring of the beast in his chest—his teeth close gently around the raw knuckle of his pointer finger.

Eris' lungs stall for a heartbeat. When they refill, he is the gust of air blowing into a forge—expanding and feeding that internal flame that refuses to be doused no matter how he taps his foot, or twists his body in the ring.

"I don't even know your name." He says. If it comes out more breathless than he'd like, the stranger doesn't seem to notice.

His teeth release from around Eris' knuckle—not that it had pressed hard on the sore wounds, or dug into sensitive joints. 

"Azriel." His eyes glance up at Eris, curiosity curling in their depths. "Did you win?"

Eris doesn't have to ask what Azriel means. His name swirling like thick, heavy smoke in his head. This man seems to jump around, subject to subject with no real destination, at least not one Eris can predict.

His finger twitches, cold in the exposed air. Azriel catches it, and with little more than a flutter of his sooty eyelashes, pupils blotting darker, he dips down and takes his knuckle in his teeth again.

"I'm not drunk enough for this," Eris whispers. "And I don't believe you are, either."

Azriel hums. The vibrations course through Eris' bones, and his foot abruptly stops tapping.

"I did win." His eyes dart away from where Azriel's lips spread to hold his finger. Heat, a kind apart from the warm blanket the alcohol laid on his shoulders earlier, grows claws and begins to dig into the tender inner-lining of his stomach.

Azriel draws away again, but this time not without a gentle press of lips to his knuckle. A brief goodbye, before the weight of his gaze is pinned solely on Eris.

He shifts in his stool, straightening slightly so he's not fully hunched over. Eris leaves his hand spread out on the counter, though, and he doesn't want to think of why.

"You won the fight." Azriel repeats, something dawning in his tone. His glass is all but forgotten, the whole of his attention fixed on Eris who flushes belly to cheeks at the idea of being an axis point.

"Fights." Eris corrects him.

If anything, Azriel's small grin widens. The sharp threat of his canines pressed to his lower lip. "Never would have guessed since you've been drinking like a home-sick sailor."

Eris' eyes narrow. "How do you—" his head swivels, looking over the line of his shoulder at where the rest of The Jig flourishes with its tacky, oak tables and low-hanging bulb lights. "How long have you been watching me?" He asks, waiting for the weariness to set into his bones and smother the flames, yet the heat doesn't abate.

Azriel's eyes crinkle, and his arm reaches over for Eris' empty glass he had completely forgotten about. The curl of those fingers, scarred and warped though they are, around the cup sends lashes of warmth to his stomach.

"Don't need to watch you, the fact that you're drinking a Manhattan says enough, honestly." He brings the glass to his nose, sniffing it and scowling.

Eris blinks a couple times, before saying, "but you ordered the same thing?"

"Ah," he gestures with a stern finger, "but unlike you, I've lost today—so I earned it."

The vagueness of his statement leaves Eris wishing for more. More information, more specifics, more intimate knowledge about this man and how exactly he lost.

Unwittingly, his eyes dart down for a heartbeat to rest on Azriel's hands. The knots of his knuckles, the whitened, tight ridges of skin along the back of his hand. Thin enough that the veins stand out stark like a mountain range.

Azriel catches his gaze and follows it with a quirk of a dark brow. "You gonna ask?"

They've leaned closer over the span of their conversation. Map-less and without a compass, it has led them here and there, yet still Eris finds himself momentarily floundering.

His nose scrunches up. "I would think that rude." He says haltingly, and Azriel doesn't take it any other way he meant it.

He shrugs, and then his legs spread wider, closer, and suddenly Eris can feel the hard pressure of his knee against the outside of his thigh. It takes a moment for him to understand the heat of it, the kind only naked skin can give off. A single glance at Azriel's legs reveals wide, lengthwise cuts in the black denim of his jeans. Dark, coarse hair on his leg and knee.

Eris swallows thickly at the spike of his pulse at the sight. He knows his cheeks have gone pink, can feel the heat of it under his skin, around his eyes, the coiling cunning of a beast that lets its tail flick lazily from side to side in his chest.

Azriel leans closer. Perhaps drawn to Eris' sudden bout of flushed skin and glazed, amber eyes. One of his hands lays out on the bar top, fingers spread, half way between Eris' body and his.

It takes a moment, and the dawning idea is so ridiculous it nearly draws a crow of a laugh from his lips.

Whatever it was supposed to be, comes out a choked wheeze. Dilated eyes dropping to the exposed hand and back up again.

Azriel raises his hand, elbow to counter, until it rests like a veil between the two of them. 

"Ask." He says, and then peers through the slits between his fingers as if daring Eris to creep closer to the enclosure of his restraint.

Eris has never been very good at lines drawn in the sand. Or palms meeting as nothing more than condensation on a black quartz countertop. But he knows what drew him to The Jig in the first place, the burn under his skin that he could not deplete no matter how many times he rolled his sore shoulders, flat on the canvas floor of the boxing ring. No matter how he kept his feet light, his body aware. No matter how many times he won; easily, stupidly, without challenge or complaint.

He turns in his stool, facing Azriel completely. A lock of his copper hair comes tumbling to rest on his cheekbone, light and ticklish. A pulse of victory—the kind he's been searching for—rushes through him when Azriel's shadowed eyes do nothing but follow the path his fingers take to tuck it away.

"What happened to them?" Eris asks, hardly more than a whisper, and then shifts closer.

It's very easy then, the liquid courage of alcohol wholly unneeded, to tip his head forward and hold Azriel's gaze as he parts his lips. His teeth come to rest around Azriel's knuckle on his pointer finger.

Azriel's smile is sharp, splinters of glass shards Eris gets stuck in his skin. "A fire happened." He replies easily, nothing more than a shrug of his shoulders. As if it was merely a prick of heat; a match that burned too long till the pad of his fingers stung, and not the whole of his hands to his wrists.

Eris swallows, trying to clear the uncomfortable feeling of saliva pooling in his parted mouth. Yet he does not want to draw away—not yet. The action brings his tongue closer, enough to brush against Azriel's knuckle for a second before it's gone.

There's something more to his words, a lingering blade kept hidden behind his tongue. The inner corner of Eris' eyes tighten, narrowed, and his teeth pinch with just enough pressure to draw out a hum from Azriel.

"Well," he drawls, and Eris is struck with a shock of heat when his head dips closer. "A fire my half-brothers started." Azriel reveals, giving Eris no chance to react before his face is a breath away from Eris'—paralleled completely.

Azriel sighs, Eris can feel the heat of it flow over his parted mouth. There’s a boundary between them, but Azriel’s eyes are lidded low, wholly locked on the bow of his top lip. Bringing his face closer, he brushes their noses together gently. Eris doesn’t breathe once.

Under the pressure of Azriel's knee, his thighs tighten, tensing toward each other. A band of energy lashed from the nape of his neck to his tailbone buzzing under his skin.

"But it's alright." Azriel says, and it draws Eris back. He gives a hum as if to say 'I don't see how.'

Azriel's dark eyes gleam, close, pools of the deepest drink he could sate himself to death on. "They're in prison, so I feel as if I got the better end of that deal."

A thrill trails fingers down Eris' spine. His breath shudders out over Azriel's finger, warming and soft in between his teeth.

"But, that doesn't matter." Azriel's thumb runs tenderly against the skin of his cheek, gaze firm where lips are parted. "I find myself much more interested in heading to your gym."

Though his soft touch hasn't stopped, Azriel's tone has deepened enough for Eris to feel it like a sudden swoop in his stomach.

He pulls away, eyeing the faint imprint of his teeth on Azriel's knuckle with a keen gleam in his eye. It shimmers with the trace of his tongue when the amber light hits it just so—a gem sparkling in the dim dragon's lair.

"Sounds presumptive to me," Eris says, raising a cautious eyebrow. "What makes you think I want you in my gym?"

Azriel has yet to lift his head, the sooty shadow of his lashes brushing against his cheek as he stares at the hand Eris had left. It shifts closer to his face, and Eris catches a glimpse of his eyes—and swallows thickly.

"Forgive me," Azriel does not lower his hand, voice low and dangerous and suddenly Eris is looking into the eyes of the beast coiled in his chest. Sat right across from him. Draining a glass of alcohol, resting his feet on the metal rung of his stool, drawing closer and closer to Eris like the draw of riches to a fool. This man may as well heave smoke from his throat from how utterly he's drawn Eris into his treacherous talons.

So easily; hardly a word, a breath, and Eris had taken his knuckle between his teeth like an iron bit in a horse's mouth.

Azriel is not asking for forgiveness; he is not sorry. Eris can tell enough through the glint of satisfaction in his eyes, carving his bronze features into a charming, reckless smile.

"I find myself entirely under your thrall—I think I just need to blow off steam. Long day, you know."

If Eris had walked into any other place besides The Jig, with its sticky tables and patrons crowding with their secretive smiles and low-hanging bulbs hoarding light like reflected gold coins, he would insinuate something entirely different.

Unbidden, his throat bobs. If he were anyone else—without bruised, scabbed knuckles—he'd carve his teeth into that plush bottom lip. Eris can see it, the imprint of what they would make. It is not beautiful, and it does not play across his mind's eye like a scene in a darkened film room. It would be…biting.

There is a danger, lingering like the aftermath of a lightning strike, in imaging where else his teeth could bury.

Azriel is not the only reptile in this place who craves to hoard and covet. He just wears it better.

"Pay your tab—they're open till three," Eris rasps, nodding to the one empty glass that sits forgotten on the counter in front of Azriel. He's got one hand searching his back pocket for his wallet, already pulling out the bills needed for his two drinks.

Azriel cocks an eyebrow, victory glinting in the shine of his eyes. Deftly, he obeys and settles bills on the counter as well.

"I've got the whole night," he's up and standing, taller than Eris thought now that they've left their stools. "I'm not on call." Azriel ends with a knock of his knuckle against the quartz counter.

"On call?" Eris asks.

Something crosses Azriel's face, too quick to identify fully before it slips away. Eris thinks whatever it was had just transferred to the mischievous grin that spreads across his lips.

"Firefighter." He shrugs, head bowed slightly.

Eyes falling automatically to where Azriel's hands are—one on the bar, the other half-tucked in his pocket—a low pulse of heat drops heavily into his stomach. 

"You're fucking insane," he breathes. It takes effort to ignore the lack of force in his voice, and he can practically feel how his pupils dilate.

Azriel laughs, the kind where his head tips back and then his gaze comes to rest on Eris once more. Crinkles at the corners of his amused eyes.

"Glass houses, sweetheart. I wouldn't throw stones with those bruised fingers of yours."

Eris jolts at the feeling of the back of Azriel's fingers trailing over his knuckles. His next inhale is shaky.

"Let's go," Eris urges.

Eris doesn't wait for him to say anything else—sure if he did, he'd end up at the bar for another hour, a whole day. The walk out of The Jig is jarring; every laugh is too loud, the lights, which had been so soft like a calling of a reflection from afar, burn into his eyes and make them water. Azriel walks behind him, matching his pace, and he clings like smoke to Eris' back; he can almost feel the heat of his chest through his black cotton shirt.

The night hasn't changed much, if any. When Eris had first walked through the door the sun was just sinking below the strict line of the horizon. The streetlights had looked out of place at that point, muted in the dusk. Now they gild the dark asphalt street—rain-wet, the scent of damp rising with the last of the day's heat hours earlier. The air is shockingly active around them. Whatever atmosphere hung around Eris like a cloak has fallen away as sweet, chilled night air clings to his exposed skin.

Eris takes a moment to breathe it in. The faint scent of fried food, warmed concrete, and engine exhaust creates a strangely pleasant aroma as he stands in the middle of the one-way street. All but barren, the distant hum of traffic alive and well a block or so down.

When his eyes open again, they fall to Azriel. It's with a jolt he tries to keep maintained that he realizes Azriel's already looking at him. Though he can hardly stop how his eyes widen.

Eris clears his throat, hands stuffed into the tight pocket of his slacks even though the fabric pulls at the scabs on his fingers.

He winces. "Right, well, it's this way." Fumbling for the heated remnants of their earlier companionship in The Jig, Eris keeps his glances brief though he tries to re-engage Azriel.

In the brisk, night air, for some reason sobriety of the soul seems to seep into him like the coldest water.

Azriel hasn't made any movement to follow—nor has he spoken one word. The itch, burn, whatever Eris could call it, starts up again in his legs. He rocks up on the balls of his feet, the heels of his loafers coming off.

"Unless you don't…" He trails off, awkwardly abandoning the sentiment. Eris would back off, immediately and without scorn, if Azriel were to have a change of heart in the empty street.

Something of his tone, or posture, must prompt Azriel into moving. Eris holds his breath, unwilling to let it free him entirely, and keeps Azriel's unreadable gaze as he walks closer.

"Take your shoes off." He says softly.

Eris blanches, his whole body stilling in shock. "I'm sorry?"

Azriel leans in closer, the breadth of his shoulders strong, the toned muscles of his arms tense as he keeps his hands in his pockets. His eyes, now nearly indiscernible from the asphalt itself, narrow at Eris.

"Off. Shoes off, Eris." Azriel reiterates, and this time Eris rolls his eyes, a spark of heat he found and kept collecting in The Jig appearing now bright as any of the streetlights among them.

"Gods, you're demanding." Eris scoffs. He doesn't hesitate to shift closer to Azriel, keen, lidded eyes watching as his grow darker like ink spilled on paper.

Eris doesn't expect the flick to the bruised knuckle on his pointer finger. The thrum of pain catches him off-guard, and a noise slips from his throat. He refuses to acknowledge it, though the sudden heat embedded in his cheeks demands attention.

"I—" his voice breaks.

"Shoes." Azriel demands, and his rough voice is countered by the soft pad of his thumb soothing down his smarting finger.

Eris swallows hard, but obeys. He toes off his leather loafers, not losing Azriel's gaze once. Minutely, his hands are trembling—though not from any kind of lingering effect of alcohol. Everything left in his bloodstream had been scorched away in the heat of Azriel's body. His gaze, his nearness.

Bare feet on the rain-damp asphalt, Eris' toes curl. He bends down to pick up his shoes, and holds them pinched at the heel. There's defiance rising like a slowly building tide on his tongue, but everything he had been meaning to say is lost in a whoosh of air from his lungs.

Azriel had dipped down in a swift, sudden movement. And in the next second Eris had been caught, warm palms spreading across the backs of his thighs, and thrown over Azriel's shoulder as if he weighed no more than a sack of grain.

A shriek rises to his throat, pressing at his teeth now that he hangs upside down. His grip is precarious, shoes in one hand while the other grasps desperately at Azriel’s waist, the belt loops of his black jeans. This close, he smells like woodsmoke, as if it’s been sown into the fabric of his tee-shirt. 

"Here, gimme." Azriel releases one hand from holding Eris and reaches behind his back.

"What are you doing!" He cries, voice thick at this angle while the blood pools in his head. "Don't lose your grip, you're going to drop me!"

Azriel hefts him higher, the muscled bulk of his shoulder pressing into Eris' ribs so hard he has to draw shallow breaths. The dizziness that comes from the angle, and the lack of air, is so delicious he has to close his eyes to re-settled his pounding heart.

"I'm not going to drop you." Azriel replies, hand still open and grasping for the shoes. Eris can practically hear his eyes rolling.

"Fine," he offers begrudgingly, "here." 

Eris shoves his shoes into Azriel's hand, aware that he could stand like that the whole night waiting for Eris. Azriel thanks him with a wordless hum and a pat on the back of his thighs.

"Good," he says softly. "You said your gym was on Main, right?"

Azriel starts walking down the street, and clarity rushes through Eris. Soft and cloying as the night air around them. He breathes out slowly, trying to maintain the heat building under his skin, and the gentle pounding in his head.

"Yes." He says hoarsely, anticipation running its frequented course through his muscles; stringing him tight and ready. "Yes, it's on Main right across from the office buildings, streetlight in front—I'll tell you when I see it."

Another tap on his thighs is his reward, and Azriel begins the trek down the street Eris had walked earlier. Back when the world looked different; unassuming and vague. What they walk through now, leaving the maroon neon sign for The Jig behind to glare at them from the damp asphalt, is entirely separate. The rules Eris had followed don't apply anymore, nor does the cheating of his satisfaction.

Eris hangs from Azriel's back as they walk in quiet—every thought telling him this should be unbearable, complete madness.

He doesn't quite mind, finding it easy to think over the hushed rumble of discontented voices in his head, none of which come from the burning claws sinking into his belly. The want he had been hunting this street at dusk for; found so easily, taken so willingly back to his gym, his ring, his coveted ritual.

One last glimpse of The Jig is all he gets before they turn the corner onto the street that will lead them to Main. Eris' shoes hang from Azriel's free hand like a prized trophy.

---

...can you tell I watched the Hobbit movies on repeat while writing this.

Trying to involve myself back in the community because I love it and y'all are so wonderful and talented and sweet. Just working through things but this fic is kinda my way of sticking it to myself.

Thank you for reading ❤️, and happy Eris Week!! Very excited to read through what everyone's made and look at all the art! I've already seen some things and they're absolutely amazing no shock there :D

[darklydeliciousdesires]

The Games We Play - A Sean Wallace/Reader One Shot Story.

I did originally write a similar version of this premise for another fic, but loved it so much I had to rework and revisit the idea again here because it is 100% Sean energy. Enjoy, darlings!

Words - 1,594

Warnings - Smut below the cut and a brief mention of spousal abuse. Minors DNI!

The pleasure of him is biting, like a thousand tiny icicles chased by fire, melting through your blood as his cock rhythmically fills and empties you. His groans are all grit and sin, teeth crushing the delicate skin of your neck, his hand fisted in your hair.  

He keeps your head held back as you watch the sight of him fucking you in the large mirror you’re kneeling before, Sean behind you, his free hand leaving a scorching path of heat in its wake as it slips down over your curves, settling to begin stroking your clit in the same slow, rolling tempo his cock glides into you with. 

“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you? Yes, she likes watching herself getting fucked properly for the first time in years,” he mumbles, kissing your throat, grinning when a sharp snap of his hips leads to your body jolting, your wail filling the room. “Haven’t had a man treat you this well in a while, have you, darling?” 

You feel conflicted in answering, something unpleasant tugging at your guts. He chuckles darkly, the pressing of his fingertips against your clit prompting further wails. “You needn’t verbalise. Your body is doing a very good job of answering my question for you.” His chuckle continues, icy blue eyes snapping over to the corner of the room, lifting his chin. “She doesn’t get this wet, or make such beautiful noises for you, does she?”  

“Fuck you, Wallace,” your husband spits from his location tied to a chair, seething with rage. 

Sean raises his eyebrows. “Fuck me? No, thank you. But I will let your wife do that, when I take her to the bed again, lie down and let her ride me. All while you continue to watch, of course.”  

“I will fucking kill you for this!” 

He tuts, driving into you a little quicker, trailing kisses from your neck to your shoulder. “No, you won’t. You were warned what would happen, should you decide to fuck with me. I explicitly said I would break you down and take everything you love the most. I took your money, I took your foot soldiers and now here I am, in your bedroom, literally taking your wife. She won’t want you again once I’m done with her. I’d say you could bet money on that, but you have none left.” 

“You are pure evil.” 

He smirks again, releasing your hair, hand stroking your neck before slipping to cup at your breasts in turn. “I am, but at least I know how to treat a lady. You don’t have a clue. Women, they like to be desired, attended to, made to feel as if they are the centre of your universe. You can’t just lock them within a gilded cage and throw money at them. Well, some you can, but not this one.”  

Your husband stares at you so unblinkingly, you’re finally forced to meet his gaze. “When I come for him, I will shoot you, too. Nasty, dirty fucking slut!”  

“See,” Sean begins, groaning when you clench around him, whispering the word ‘fuck’ a couple of times, teeth nipping your earlobe. “That is precisely what I mean. It isn’t her fault she finally had a man show her exactly what it is to be desired.” He then returns his attentions back to you, turning your head, kissing you with fiery need. “Everyone knows what he does to you. He makes no secret of it. Come with me and I promise, he shan’t be able to touch you ever again.”  

You can’t quite trust whether he truly means it magnanimously, or whether you’re a mere pawn in the game he is playing in dismantling your husband’s empire as he climbs back to the top of the criminal underworld. You want to believe him, though, that he’s going to rescue you from the living hell of being imprisoned within – as he rightly coined it – a gilded cage, by a husband who only cares that you’re a pretty trophy wife, a man who thrives upon knocking you around, and worse, whenever he is drunk or high.  

Looking back at the mirror, you see it in his eyes, something earnest through the many layers that make up the complexities of Sean. You feel conflicted, but he makes it okay for you. “Do not decide now, darling. Enjoy yourself first. It’s been a while since you have, hasn’t it?” 

“Mmhmm.” You moan, feeling his hand settle to your throat, fingers stroking, the fingertips upon your clit speeding up as his cock begins to pound you with keenness, evoking your cries, making you feel – as he rightly said – desired for the first time in a long, long time. Finally, you let go, let go of the fear, turning your head to kiss him, moaning into his mouth as your tongues roll against one another, the glimmers stirred by his beautifully thick cock streaking through you in a hail of bliss.  

The head of his hardness repeatedly ruts against your g spot, a blaze of pleasure burning, the sound his deep groans in your ear fuelling your undoing as he pours it into you, your waves crashing against his shore as you come with a feral wail.  

His fingers gentle at your throbbing clit, cock slowing, lips pressing your cheek. “Now, take me back to your bed, and show your husband exactly what he will be missing. Because I think you’re leaving here with me, aren’t you?” 

Moving off his cock, you stand, Sean rising to his feet. You reach for him, nails trailing over his neck, making him quiver with lust. “I'm coming with you a few more times first."  

He smirks, chuckling deeply. “Oh, that's an absolute given, princess.” He smacks your bum hard before you both move to the bed. He positions himself on his back, making it that you have to face your husband. Of course, he’d do that. He wants him to see it, watch further as you enjoy him, sinking down onto his cock with a soft mewl, leaning forward to kiss him.  

He’s so gorgeous, you near lose your mind looking down upon him, the juxtapose of being a very deadly man wrapped up in a package that is nothing short of male perfection. His skin is gorgeous, pale and inviting, freckles trailing over the planes of skin covering the taut muscles beneath.  

You glide your hands over his thick arms and shoulders keenly while beginning to bounce upon him, forcing deep groans from his throat, enjoying the sensations of being split so wide around him searing you to your marrow.  

“You look so gorgeous while you’re being fucked,” you whisper, able to see your husband glowering from the corner. 

Sean grins, hands cupping at your breasts. “And you look absolutely incredible while you’re doing it. You love it, don’t you, spearing yourself on a nice, fat cock, hmm?” 

“Fuck, yes I do!” you cry, wailing as he bounces you on it hard, hand gripping your hips, his nails leaving crescents behind. You both put on the kind of show so scorchingly erotic that anyone else watching it couldn’t help but be turned on, but for your husband, your pleasure is his torture.  

Watching a man do a better job than he ever has is bound to do that, though. And Sean knew it before he even stepped foot into the room.

He makes you come a couple more times before finally pinning you to the bed and fucking you like a jackhammer, your screams filling the air as he pulses thick ropes of cum within your sore, fluttering walls, collapsing atop you, absolutely done for. Or so you think.  

“It takes fifteen minutes to arrive back at my house. I look forward to the next bed I fuck you in being mine.” You smile at him, your heart skipping a beat when he kisses the tip of your nose. “Pack a bag, quickly.”  

There truly is little from this life you wish to take with you into the next, a fancy, designer hold all pulled from the wardrobe, your favourite things packed, the rest left there to act as ghosts of the presence of you within the house.  

“I suppose it is only fair I untie you,” Sean speaks, redressed in his suit as you arrive at his side, where he’s stood before your husband. “I am not a particularly fair man, though.”  

He eyes him dangerously before staring right at you, spitting onto the ground before your feet. “Fucking gold digging, garbage whore. He won’t treat you any better.”  

Sean glares at him, a cold stare of menace as he reaches for the waistband of his trousers, drawing a gun. “Yes, I will. And I plan on beginning that right now.” Pulling his finger upon the trigger, the semi-automatic fires a shot straight between his eyes, your husband slumping, blood trickling from the hole blown in his skull.  

“Nobody calls you a whore on my watch.” He slips the gun back into the back of his trousers, reaching to lift your chin and place a soft kiss upon your lips. “I will never lie to you, darling. I am not a good man, but I will be good to you. You’ll see.”  

He takes your hand, leading you from your former home, from the life of being on the arm of one gangster into another. You do see, though, as the weeks and months pass, that Sean truly wasn’t lying. He isn’t good, but by god, he’s good to you.  

[umbral-dominant]

-Burdened Embers-

[Closed Starter for @taleswritten ]

The Hideaway.

A place of second chances, with a roof to defend from the torrents of Storm, food to warm empty bellies, and companions who knew the same aches as the brands across your cheek. A promise full of good will; built on the back of guilt.

That’s how he’d always seen it, and even now as trained steps brought the shadow from the wilds with ever followed silence, he knew that outlook wouldn’t change - that weight that came with the sound of the living only wrought the barbs of discomfort across broad shoulders, his hand thumbing against the comfort of steel as people parted to give distance to the soldier and his encumbered bag slung across a shoulder, warry of it’s rust coloured mysteries.

“Aramis, been almost a moon. What’er you got for me?” Lady Charon’s voice cut through as clear sunlight to his attention. Not an ounce of hesitation to greet the looming guardian as he approached - despite the lacking of his own greeting as other polite hands, her tone held no malice or dissatisfaction of his nonexistent pleasantries - taking only another sup to smoke a pause while he placed the bag aside her counter to open.

Well skinned and salted meats lay within, supplies for the abode he so avoided.

“Venison this time is it? Got yourself a large buck or two by the looks of it lad, hrm?” Though she posed questions, the older woman continued about her business as if not expecting an answer; as none came beyond a slight nod, the man’s attention drifting across the other bodies within the room with flicking appraisal. Something of this hidden world had changed since he was last here, and it was with a chuff of air that Charon caught him as she ever did. “If you’re lookin’ for Cid he’s been busy with a new friend.”

Friend? The question came unspoken with a tilt of the head, dark locks drifting across clawed scars as the tall shadow turned his attention down to her.

As ever, she answered, a motion of her own out towards nothing in particular as she sorted through coin and coffer. “Aye, a recent lad who, evidently, got his personal attention quick enough. Can’t blame him, the kid’s got more on his lap than most who cross in here, can’t blame him for getting roped into Cid’s plan.” She was quiet then, gossip never came for free - and it wasn’t a topic that Aramis himself often indulged in.

Though, as payment passed from her hand to his, the gravelled rumble of his voice spoke in one last question; as if trying to quell the feeling that itched at the back of his skull. “…Who?”

Her eye sparkled with an elder’s mischief, cocking a brow as her posture shifted to once more take a pause to smoke, before replying with that same teasing tone. “Why, you interested in helping us out then?”

A scoffed frown was his reply, turning from the conversation without hesitation as he ever did; to leave back to the solitude of a fugitive’s hunt-

“Clive Rosfield.”

The weight against his prosthetic leg stilted with an audible click as the man stopped, pausing to take a breath before glancing back over his shoulder - looking for a game in her expression, but he knew better than to hope for that. Lady Charon never lied. She was smug of course, tapping out the smoke at the edge of a bowl to clear the ash as her quiet hum rose to meet his thoughts. It was a name he’d only known from a lifetime ago - a protector as he, to a charge just as cherished - fleeting in their few meetings, but such a valiant heart was impossible to forget.

“He’s alive?” A whisper he’d not meant to speak. Charon only nodded, motioning outward towards where Cid’s office lay.

“That he is, why, does that weigh your scales to helping us?” She knew his unsaid burden.

Dark rubies drifted down as his fingers grazed to steel, tapping that one solid lifeline as a grounding while his mind sorted through the sudden upheaval. Anger. That was the first reaction. A violent wrath that set his teeth on edge; the reminder of her, of the demoness who’d set it all in motion - but that was not him, that was not the son’s blame to hold.

As easy as it would be.

But… would that slighted child not eventually return to the mother? A dark thought, perhaps one of falsified reasons to ‘do the right thing’ - to combat the isolation that pulled as a siren, begging him to leave.

With a deep inhale, and slow exhale, Aramis’s forefinger stilled from it’s muted tapping, only a handful of heartbeats from the original question Lady Charon had posed; and, turning on his heel, the man moved with purpose towards Cid’s chambers, a pace set quick as to negate any chance for that comforting solitude to tempt him away.

His knuckles against the door locked out any chance for him to change his mind.

[wildelydawn]

“I’m telling you, Chay! You gotta download this dating sim! It’s so fucking cute!” Ohm scrolls a bit and shoves his phone in Chay’s face. “Look at him!” An angry, but very hot man in a full suit and pony tail is on Ohm’s screen.

Chay bats Ohm’s phone away. “Why do you even play those games?”

“Oh, please. You would eat this shit up. Between that nasty stuff you’re writing instead of taking notes and the spank bank you have on your wall- OW!”

Chay nudges Ohm again. “Keep your voice down!” Chay leans in, whispering furiously. “Writing about WIK is private. This is a stupid social media game.”

“You used to play dating sims all the time!”

“Yeah! And then I realized real dating is nothing like a video game!”

Ohm sends him a referral code. “Come on, give it a shot. It’s fun. And it’s not like you’ve got any dates lined up.”

“Ugh, Ooohhhhm.”

“Just click on the link and make an account! So I can get the coins! Then you can delete it.”

“Fine, but not now. I’m busy.”

-

Later that same night, Chay receives a text from Ohm, reminding him yet again to make an account for A Ravishing Romance!, the newest and hottest dating sim on the market. 

According to the lore, the player is the protagonist who is visited by Nya, a “cat tamer” who whisks the player away to a secret island, The Meowland Marshes, where cat boys are running rampant. The protagonist has to romance each catboy, cat girl, or cat-person (depending on the settings the player chooses) and prepare them for the Adoption Party that’s happening in a week. If the protagonist fails to romance all the catboys in time, the Adoption Party doesn’t happen, and the Meowland Marshes are lost to the antagonists, the Kittjinn, evil spirits trying to take the catboys and make them their personal minions. If the player successfully dates all the catboys, brings them to the Adoption Party, gets all of them “adopted,” then the player successfully wins the game, and they get to choose the catboy they want to adopt.

The game sounds so bad that it could be good. 

There’s a free version and a very adult version for some money.

Chay is not going to spend 400 baht on a dating sim. But the coins are important to Ohm, so he downloads the free version, starts up the app, makes his gender neutral character named WIK, and begins the prologue to the game.

The game…. Is really something.

Nya, the catboy who’s going to narrate the game, is a blue-haired, pale skinned, lean looking man with a black crop top, choker, tight leather pants, and blue jewelry and accents. Anndddd he’s sporting the whole cat ears and tail and teeth thing. After explaining the prologue (Nya picked you, the protagonist, out of the other 8 billion people on earth because you wrote the most Kudos!’d catboy fanfic on Database of Our Own), Nya whisks you away to Meowland Marshes.

There, Nya basically traps Chay’s character in an apartment and tells him he has a week to romance all five catboys on the Marsh. Nya gives you a weird looking whistle that attaches to your phone; blow on it, and you can call Nya for help, access the catboys you’ve already romanced, or take yourself to the Pawwwn Shoppe, where you can buy treats, outfits, catnip, leashes, and other weird cat (and kinky) stuff to lure the boys. 

Chay clicks on one of the grasslands first because allegedly, one of the catboys is there.

Whisked away to the grassland, Chay encounters his first cat boy. He’s dark haired, wearing a white button up that is definitely not anywhere close to being buttoned up, with some maroon pants. He has his maroon blazer hanging on his shoulder, and his tail is up and ears relaxed.

“Hey there. Did you happen to find a watch here?” the cat boy asks. 

The game gives Chay two options:

“Uh, no. Sorry dude.”

“No, but I can definitely help you look for it!”

Chay sighs. He needs to find at least three catboys to reveal the rest of the map and to get Ohm his bonus coins. He clicks on the second option.

“Oh, thank you! I was being chased by some rabid dogs, but I think I dropped it somewhere. I can’t leave it behind. It’s like a collar.”

*You and the catboy look around the tall grass. He captures three mice, scratches behind his ear, meows in a pained voice before you find the watch.*

The catboy goes from sad to elated. Now Chay can see his thick forearms as he punches the air. Pink hearts erupt on the screen. “Thank you! You’re a really nice person! This watch means a lot to me. But since you were so kind, I’ll let you have it.” 

The game gives Chay two options:

“No thank you! I have a phone that tells time already. I’d love your number though! ;) ”

“Aw, that’s so sweet of you. I’ll cherish it forever, Mr…?”

Chay rolls his eyes and clicks the first option.

The catboy goes from elated to coy, his thick eyebrows raised. “Wow, you work fast. My name is Kinn, but I’m not that easy. Come back tomorrow and I’ll think about answering when you call.”

The screen lights up and Chay’s character’s phone rings. Chay clicks it, and now Kinn’s number is there. There are three options: CALL, TEXT, ASK ON DATE, and all three of them won’t be available until tomorrow.

Chay sighs. He opens the map and finds another location: a spa. Why would cats go to a spa? No idea, but this game makes so little sense to Chay, that he just clicks on it anyways. The sooner he finishes these first quests, the sooner he can delete the game.

A high pitched musical note signals that Chay’s character has landed in the spa. There, he finds another cat, but this one has a mischievous grin on his face. His ears are twisted back, like he’s ready to pounce on Chay’s little character. The only weird thing is that his legs are in the water… his fully clothed legs.

“Aren’t cats supposed to be afraid of water?” Chay muses. He clicks on the catboy.

“Ah, did you bring me my red wine?”

The game gives Chay two options:

“No, but I have these extra large condoms and some harnesses if you really wanna relax.”

“No, but you shouldn’t drink. It’s only 1PM.”

Chay clicks the second option. The catboy goes from passive to annoyed, a little vein popping out. 

“Who cares what time it is? I’m at the spa! Go find me a glass of wine and put it under my tab: Vegas.”

A sad face pops up on the screen. Apparently, Chay has met Vegas the Catboy, but hasn’t secured his number. So Chay must try again tomorrow.

“That’s irritating,” Chay sighs.

The final place that’s open to explore on the Meowland Marshes is the park. Chay clicks there and the same high pitched sound transports him there.

On a bench, surrounded by flowers and bushes, another catboy sits, with a guitar.

Chay’s jaw drops.

This catboy looks suspiciously like WIK. As in, real life singer WIK who’s currently promoting his second album on a sold out tour. The catboy is wearing a gray t-shirt and light-washed jeans, and lots of silver jewelry. His hair is longer towards the back, and his ears and tail are slightly droopy. He has a notebook next to him on the bench. 

Clearly, the game developer is keeping up with the times.

Chay clicks on the catboy.

“Oh. Hello. Am I making too much noise?”

The game gives Chay two options:

“No, you sound great!”

“No, but you sound stuck. Want some help?”

Imagine helping WIK with writing a song? Chay thinks. Only in his dreams. He clicks on the second option.

The cat boy’s tail perks up immediately. “You write music too? That’s great. Can you tell me how this sounds?”

Suddenly, a really slow guitar starts to play. The tune is melancholy and sweet at the same time.

Sort of like WIK’s music.

When the tune plays, the catboy says: “What do you think?”

The game gives Chay two options:

“It’s perfect! Don’t change anything!”

“It’s really good, but maybe change…” *give basic music advice.*

Chay laughs. He clicks the second option.

The catboy’s face changes to a soft smile. Pink hearts fill up the screen, which didn’t happen for the other two catboys.  “Wow, that’s good advice. I should get lessons from you. Do you come to the park often?”

The game gives Chay two options:

“Yeah, I love smelling the flowers. How about you?”

“Yeah, I love birdwatching. How about you?”

Chay clicks the first option.

More pink hearts fill the screen. The catboy’s smile gets even bigger and the guitar goes from his lap onto the bench. “Me too. I hate being at home, so I stroll through the park a lot. And flowers feel good when I touch the petals. I wish I could rub my face in them.” The cat boy goes from smiling to shy. “My name is Kim, by the way. What’s your favorite kind of flower?”

The game gives Chay two options:

“Uh, I don’t know the names, but the pink ones?”

*take a pink flower from the bush and put it in Kim’s hair.* “You.”

For shits and giggles, Chay hits the second option.

Red hearts appear on the screen while Kim the Cat boy blushes and touches the pink flower in his hair. “That…” There’s nothing else on the screen before the game gives Chay another two options:

“You look pretty like this.”

“I want to spend my life with you.”

Chay clicks the second option.

Suddenly, Chay’s phone becomes warm. Then hot. The app goes black and his phone shuts down, but now it’s burning in his hands. With a yelp, Chay drops his phone, and a silvery white beam erupts from it, blinding him. A strange breeze sweeps up the papers off his desk, and it picks up speed as Chay covers his eyes and feels his shirt billow against the gusts of wind. 

There’s a loud thud, a soft groan.

Chay uncovers his eyes as the light dims.

A man in a gray shirt and light wash jeans is heaped onto the floor. With a flower in his hair.

Not a man.

A cat boy.

Chay feels faint as the man-cat-boy hybrid stands up and dusts off his pants. “Your life… with me?” as if Kim is continuing the same conversation from the game. 

Chay can hardly breathe. “What the fuck is going on?” he whispers.

Still looking shy, Kim the man-cat-boy hybrid repositions the flower carefully. “I think it’s too soon to move in with each other. Maybe we can…” He looks up towards Chay. “I’m hungry. Do you… do you want to go get some noodles?”

[mrxadreamin]

GACHA MECHANICS: Nu:carnival vs What in "Hell" is Bad?(Part 1)

When it comes to characters that we love and adore, we want nothing more than to be able to obtain them. No matter what it is, whether it be their designated/signature weapon, their skin, or even the character themselves, we try to obtain through means necessary. For most gacha games, we either "roll" or "pull" for them for a certain amount of times until they "come home." Now for most players, they need to save up their currencies to a certain amount because half the time they come home by a lucky or by pity. Now although it takes most of players effort to save, what if the game itself helps their players save enough to pull for who or what they want in a pull and how does accommodating them help boost sales and consumption? Well, the best prime example here is Nu:Carnival? How did their mechanics allow them to thrive and how were they able to build both community and financial status?

NOTE: some parts of this essay is just an overview of how the currencies/pulling/banners work so feel free to skim to the thesis of each paragraph. Thank you and please enjoy reading!

Spirit Gems/Contracts vs. Greater/Lesser Keys/Solomon Seals

Like any gacha game, we have dailies, we complete the dailies, we get rewards. As someone who has played Nu:Carnival since their release(or rather a few months after and got back into it since), I can easily say that earning gems in that game has never been more easy. As long as the player does at least five tasks(leveling characters, fighting for coins or leveling potions, etc.) they earn 100 gems. At times, we also earn contracts, but since contracts are a little more hard to come by(they are earned through either daily logins, rewards, or through ecoins) so to help players, they are given spirit gems. About a year ago, we are able to buy 10 contract once a month on a discount using spirit gems and convert them into a contract bundle(10 in 1).

In WHB, we have Great and Lesser Keys of Solomon which are either earned through achievements, login, or likeability. They can also be bought at the shop, to which costs about less than 198 about 50 and for lesser keys cost about 1980 for 30. Solomon seals are a little more harder to come by because they're either earn through achievements. Luckily, we are now given the option to earn them through the dark sanctuary by defeating the three seraphim(Grabiel, Michael, and Raphael). Unfortunately, we usually earn about two or three in the more difficult stages, so it's the more common solution to fight the bosses daily.

In terms of banners, when it comes to Nu:carnival, it's 1 contract bundle = 10 pull first then if the player runs out, they pull with spirit gems which is 6,000 = 10 pull. For WHB, there are at least four banner types: Greater Keys Banner, Lesser Keys Banner, Solomon seals and Nightmare Pass(will get to Nightmare pass a little later...). The Greater Key Banner is designated for devils/artifacts ranked under A, A+, B, and/or S while Lesser Key Banners are for devils ranked under A+, B, S, and L. For lesser keys banner the ticket is usually 50 keys = 10 pull and for greater keys, it's 30 keys = 10 pull. Solomon Seals banner, the ticket is usually 500 seals = 10 pull(half is 250, but again correct me if I'm wrong;;) and this banner is dedicate to L ranked characters that player can pull exclusively before they are moved to the lesser key banner, where they can pull for an L ranked character, BUT it's 50/50 that they will pull for a character that they did not intend to. Now, you're probably thinking: "Mira? What is the point of this extra information" well here it is: accumulation.

As previously stated, we have to save up to pull for character we want. In Nu:carnival, players can save up to 10 contract bundles and/or 60,000 gems which for 200 pulls and that's already pity(sometimes 300) and again, gems are easier to earn through dailies, reward, shop, etc. Whereas in WHB we would have only one lesser/greater key earned through rewards, or logins. Luckily, we can also get them through the pancake house(however, seeing the update maybe a tad more difficult..). In one month, player can earn up to 3,100 gems in Nu:carnival, and yet in WHB we can earn at least 100 or 150 greater keys through likeability and keep in mind, about 50 greater keys = 10 pull, and 30 lesser keys = 10 pull. 220 x 50 = 11,000 keys for greater keys pity, and 150 x 30 = 4,500 for lesser keys pity.

ACCUMULATING in Nu:carnival is more friendly towards F2P than WHB is due to their rewards and even if plays need to spend money, they don't need to spend so much on ecoins due to existing amount that they already have, sohitting pity won't necessarily be a problem for them because they can get them back through time. Although the pity in Nu:carnival is a harsh, they way the games allows for players to gain more spirit gems is compensation in itself. For WHB, they are, again more gracious with their pull so players can pull for a much as they want, but once those keys are gone, it will take more time and effort to regain all those keys and as a result they sometimes to have to spend pocket money to gain more keys through guilty gems(how does that work? I'll mention that in a little bit). On the other hand, there are other ways to regain them!

Sorcery Gems vs. Guilty Gems/Nightmare Pass

HOO BOY, here comes the part nobody likes, but let's slow it down first. In Nu:carnival, we have sorcery gems to which players can buy through ecoins or earn though rewards. Although the for each sorcery gem, players can convert them into spirit gems. One sorcery gem = 200 spirit gems. This also helps in accumulating because 10 sorcery gems is already 2,000 and players can chose to spend between $15-$100 for sorcery gems.

Now for WHB we have guilty gems to which are the rewards that easier to gain through achievements and through the shop as well. To go more in depth, we have blue guilty gems to which plays can buy with ecoins and later convert them into red guilty gems. Players, once again, can buy Lesser or Greater Keys of Solomon using red guilty gems and through the pancake shop.

In addition, we have the evidently least favorite child of the bunch: Nightmare pass. Essentially, they are currencies used to unlock rewards in the Nightmare Pass Banner and can be earned through purchasing at the shop or through the Dark Sanctuary(more specifically the holy coin portal).

Now here's the kicker, the nightmare pass comes into two tiers: the freebie, the advance, and superior which is usually between $40 and above. usually the advances about $20 which plays can pay to unlock small rewards, while the superior ranges between $40-$60. The problem lies more with HANDLING the nightmare pass. In past events, we have As we all know the news, the newest Bath!Beelzebub is to be earned through nightmare pass.

Sooooo, what's got everyone in a riot? Well for one: Beelzebub, our beloved king of Abyssos is now behind a paywall specifically a paywall of $48(you have to buy both advance AND superior to unlock all rewards to get Beel).

When it comes to general gachas characters, they are earned through pull ticktes, but this case, we have the nightmare pass, to which we would have to buy directly. Here's a chart of how much ecoin bundle would cost

In this case, we would have to spend about $53.94 to get the full 2,834 ecoins that alone is for the Nighmare Pass.

Even accumulating nightmare coins takes a lot of time in comparison to getting spirit gems in Nu:carnival, even then we would get around 50 to 100, while we earn about 1 or 3 nightmare coins anytime we fight in Dark Sanctuary.

That alone has already gotten everyone to throw the boat over because this is the second time, rather fourth time that PB has put an L raking character behind a paywall, the first the angels, then Juno/Ppyong, then Lucifer, and now Beelzebub...

Now what does Sorcery Gems have to do with Nightmare Passes? Simple, and I will reiterate again: accumulation and oh yeah, saving. As we all know, Both WHB and Nu:canrival are porn games, so the main demographic are adults ages 18 and up. Meaning, said adults are working, and in the states, paychecks are bi-weekly, SO imagine buying 20 sorcery gems for $17.62 + $7.20? That's about $24.00 every paycheck. Due to that fact, players can save up to how many gems that want per paycheck for future reruns in Nu:carnival. I mean, it's alot to spend $100 all at once, but the sorcery packs are there forever whereas nightmare passes are only open when there's a nightmare pass banner.

Not to mention the one thing that sorcery gems and (red)guilty gems have in common is that they can be converted into gacha currency (sorcery gem = spirit gems, guilty gem = lesser/greater keys of solomon). The only difference is that guilty gems can be converted into two types of keys, and it's more likely that we can convert guilty gems to greater keys since lesser keys cost about 3 for 198 and 1,980 for 30(which is equivalent to a 10 pull)

What fueled the fire even more is that PB has removed the original pancake house, which allowed for players to convert their tealeaves to pancakes and then use said pancakes to get lesser keys TO WHICH is the daily limit is 30. So imagine having to pull only 30 a day in comparison to earning 100 spirit gems every day? Pretty hard, but the rate for WHB isn't as high as Nu:carnival. Point is, it was the only way that players can get gacha tickets WITHOUT having to spend money, which makes it easier for F2P, but now that it no longer esists, or is bound to be removed completely, players would have to resort to buying guilty gems, to which the most players can get is $35.25 for 392 blue guilty gems + a bonus of 67 gems...how generous...

Part 2: The Electric Bugaloo!