#Fury of Lone Fire

[valeria-fortnite]

Even at her lowest, sobbing in the office of a man she finds herself unable to let go of, all she can think about is how she looks. There's no vanity or ego in it only shame and disgust in herself and her bloodshot eyes, the flush of her face from crying as hard as she is and the way her mouth twists into anything but graceful.

Gods, how could she be thinking about how she looks at a moment like this?

Valeria knows how though, and how years of modeling can destroy common sense in even the smartest of teenage girls. It took her years just to kick the diets and the fads but the damage to her perception of her image seems to be permanent.

Or maybe it's just gotten worse again, just like everything else about her.

That must be it, she's just getting worse because she can't get better so what's the point in stagnation in just being? She tried to get worse intentionally back on Helios, backstabbing Don and eventually Doom to no victory. She gained nothing from those endeavors, no solace or retribution or even a sense of satisfaction.

What had she even done it all for?

Why couldn't she let it rest?

You ended our marriage because of this same fear, hadn't you? Patterns, patterns, Love.

They hiccup in surprise when Midas touches them without them even noticing that he had gotten close but they revel in the affection, the sign that they hadn't ruined something so precious to them again. Instantly she cups the gauntlet with her own hand as if to try and press her cheek even more into its palm.

The cool metal against her burning cheek helps ground her back to the yacht and she looks up at Midas with nothing but stars in her eyes.

He truly was a radiant man.

"I'm sorry," They repeat it after a moment of just soaking in the coolness of his hand. "I believe you, I do. I know that you are nothing like him, I...wish I knew why I reacted like I did."

Valeria exhales, shaky and unsure. "It doesn't make what I said any better, I know. You should be furious with me."

"I missed you so much,"

✨Congratulations, Your Majesty!✨

You have made it through your youthful curse. The Prince will be sent home, and the King will return. Hopefully, you have learned something from this.

✨Welcome back, King Midas.✨

The Prince entered the King's office with a sudden push to the door. He was aggravated and just wanted to dig through his future self's affects to see if he could find anything useful towards sending him home.

However, he saw Valeria sitting at the desk when he opened the door, and his shoulders slumped. He was in no mood to have another back and forth with anyone, no matter how beautiful. However, again, she could be helpful. If he could manage to play this conversation right.

He closed the door behind him and stepped to the desk, taking off the crown from his head and setting it in front of her, "Valeria, I'd very much like to go home. The version of me you all think so highly of must have something that can help with that in this desk. So if you wouldn't mind letting me where you are, I'm going to look through it."

He didn't like the look she gave him, but just as Valeria went to speak, she and everything else seemed to freeze in place.

He then heard a voice coming from everywhere, expressing congratulations and a return to home.

"Oh, thank the Gods!" He shouted before there was a flash of light that came from his own body--

--When the Prince opened his eyes, he found himself staring into another set. One gold, and one white. They were his eyes, only...older. Tired, dark underneath, and obviously angry.

"You have made quite the mess for me to clean up." King Midas said to him.

The Prince blinked, taking in the dark tattoos wrapping around his neck and disappearing under his clothes, the scar cutting down from his forehead across his eye, and his hair. Longer than the statue, but still far too short. The Prince cleared his throat, "The company you keep should learn how to speak with royalty. Have you no respect for your own title--"

"Enough." Midas put a hand up to silence him, the Prince's eyes quickly scrutinizing the gold covering it, "You make a mockery of it, you have insulted people I care a great deal for, and have thoroughly embarrassed me. I am so very glad to have outgrown you."

They glared at each other a moment before the Prince, just as the King made a move to step, said, "Do you...do you have any advice for me? Before I go back?"

Midas paused, eyeing the other again before sighing, "No. You aren't going to remember any of this anyway."

"How could you possibly know that?"

"I just do, alright? I don't have the patience to explain, but whatever it was that put this curse on us...it would never be so kind as to give me the opportunity to fix my mistakes. No...you're going to go back with no memory of being here. Nothing I say to you now is going to matter."

"Then..." The Prince shifted where he stood, eyes locked onto the gold covering the other’s skin, "Say it anyway."

Midas looked at the young man with deep sorrow. Regret, guilt, anguish, all mixed together in his mind as two gold eyes stared hungrily at the precious metal covering him.

He reached forward, gilded hands gently taking the Prince's shoulders, "Be satisfied. Recognize that what you have...your life, your love, your future daughter, they are all enough. Please, please do not throw it all away for power or wealth. Appreciate everything."

He could see in the Prince's eyes a desire to pull back. He knew there must have been an intensity to his own gaze that would make the younger man uncomfortable. However, the Prince did not pull away. Instead, he swallowed hard, and he seemed to steel himself. He nodded somberly.

Midas did not want to let him go. Part of him thought, horrifyingly, that killing him would prevent every mistake he ever made. But, it would also prevent everything else. Every friendship, every love, every accomplishment and joy. Jules, Valeria, Tina, Marigold...all of it.

He slid his hands from the prince's shoulders, nodding himself. Both of them took the step to pass each other, both stepped towards the lights that would take them home.

King Midas stopped just before reaching his. Looking over his shoulder, he saw his younger self reach for the light, and disappear. He hadn't looked back. Of course not. Deciding not to look back, not to reflect...That was always his problem.

Not anymore.

The King turned to the light once more, and next found himself snapping open his eyes in his office. Valeria sat in front of him at his desk, his crown on its surface. He picked it up with hands covered in gold, and replaced it on his head.

“I’m back, φοίνικα μου.”

[faerune]

I was tagged by @queennymeria, @chuckhansen, @leviiackrman, @risingsh0t, @shadowglens, @jendoe, and @aartyom to make some ships in this picrew! Thanks, everyone! 🥰

🦋🚬 Tess Wyatt & Daryl Dixon [the walking dead]

🦌🐉 Argella Baratheon & Aemond Targaryene [a song of ice and fire]

🥂🦅 Camila Varo & Sam Drake [uncharted]

🐇☕ Mina Yokoyama & Ginoza Nobuchika [psycho-pass]

Tagging: Anyone who hasn’t done this yet (because I’m late)!

[samuelsdean]

Stitch Me Up

pairing: dean winchester x reader

summary: for dean, every scrape, every gash, was a twisted plea for your touch.

genre: angst

word count: 0.5k

author's notes: i wrote this at 3 am on my notes app while simultaneously rewatching spn because i'm insane and i'm a huge advocate of touch-starved!dean.

THE METALLIC TANG OF BLOOD WAS DEAN'S CONSTANT UNPLEASANT FOREWARNING THAT DEAN HAD RETURNED—HE WAS HOME. Sprawled on the floor, another injury marring his flesh, and he sees you right there in front of him. He could see the anger in your eyes, could feel the fury that bubbles in your gut is ceaseless, a familiar dance with the ever-present terror.

For Dean, every scrape, every gash, was a twisted plea for your touch.

Dean loves it when you touch him, when you lay your hands gently on his skin, careful not to cause him more pain than what he is dealing with at the moment. He loves it when you clean his wounds while going off on another tangent as to how he should be more cautious—threatening him that next time, you would not be there to treat him; yet, every time, not one did you miss his homecoming, when he comes home bloodied, the first thing you do is come running and restoring him to full health. He craved your tirades, the harsh scoffs, and thinly veiled threats that were your flimsy shield against worry. Each rant was a desperate battle cry, a plea for him to be careful.

Yet, Dean could not help himself. He reveled in your ministrations, the gentle contrast to the fire of your anger.

Dean loves it when you tend to him because it is proof that you care.

And he craves it—craves you—your presence, your touch—everything. He thinks it is sickening how much he has grown to crave you. Because he thinks he does not deserve you, and he knows that the universe always tries to play a sick joke on him.

It was a warped version of his affection born from a life spent in the shadows. Love, for him, was a dangerous dance, a promise of heartbreak waiting to happen. People he cared about had a knack for disappearing, leaving him with the cold comfort of solitude. Hunting was a drifter's existence. A life with no room for roots or dreams. Letting someone in, and building a family, was a recipe for disaster.

It is a lonely life being a hunter. One could never have the chance to put down roots because there is always a monster to hunt, a demon to exorcise, and a case to solve. Loving someone and having a family is just a foolproof way of getting yourself hurt. Yet, here he was, craving the very thing he swore to avoid. It was a sickness, a yearning that gnawed at his soul.

Because the truth, the terrifying truth, was that Dean could not bear the thought of being truly alone.

The sting of disinfectant was a cruel reminder of his twisted reality. As you patched him up, his eyes, usually alight with mischief, held a touch of vulnerability. At that moment, Dean gave you a glimpse of his plea for something more than just mending—a desperate hope that maybe, just maybe, he could find a place in a world that felt increasingly fragile, right beside you.

But the question remained, a silent echo in the tense air: could you give him what he craved without sacrificing your own heart in the process?

[rpclefairy]

𝐁𝐆𝟑 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐚𝐧𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐛𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬.

a selection of lines from the various companions' banter quotes (not cut scene dialogues!) from baldur's gate 3. these are generally spoiler free and non context specific so they can apply to different settings and dynamics! feel free to change names and the like to customize the prompts.

“Death can't have me. Not yet…”

“Calm yourself. There is plenty of me to go around.”

“Realmspace is vast. Countless worlds to be mapped, kingdoms to be conquered.”

“I have missed this. The adventure. The danger. The kicking of butts!

“Let me guess - you need something.”

“Such attention.. I never realised I was so popular.”

“Let's cook with fire, baby.”

“Do you intend to vocalise every thought?. Or just the most obvious ones?”

“Wherever we go, ye gods let there be something green.”

“Careful, or I will take your toy away from you.”

“Watch your elders and learn.”

“Perhaps try attacking the enemy?”

“So much we don't know, lingering in the furthest reaches of existence.”

“All the world's my stage and you're just a player in it.”

“The shadows are my friend.”

“Yes, yes, have your fun. It isn't you they're trying to kill.”

“Feet planted firmly on Faerûn, please.”

“Admirable stamina, yet terrible priorities.”

“Well you certainly have the 'omnipresent' part down, don't you?”

“I am ready, whatever may come.”

“My faith protects me.”

“Need a throat slitting?”

“Death greets us all - but not today.”

“You need my expertise?”

“Can you feel death's cold grip?”

“So many stars, so many mysteries yet to be discovered.”

“Death comes quietly.”

“And I thought we were going to be friends.”

“Locked tight, but there must be some way to open it.”

“No, you can't die. Get up, damn you!

“You had my attention, now you have my fury.”

“From silence to suffering.”

“So many worlds out there. You'd need a thousand lifetimes to see them all - more.”

“I hope this is important. For your sake.”

“Let them gaze deep into their own abyss, and wonder just what it is they are trying to achieve.”

“I ought to just burn this whole thing down.”

“We have slightly more pressing matters to attend to.”

“You have still have time to surrender.”

“Every kicked buttock, another step on the path.”

“Weave save me. I can't take much more…

“You are right to fear me.”

“Let me look around. Might be something that'll help me crack this thing.”

“Incredible, to think how many worlds exist beyond this tiny speck within a speck I call home.”

“I really wish I could cast a Hold spell on you.”

“I can fawn over my face later.”

“Ready for another round?”

“Keep your blade close.”

“I can't unlock it from here, but there must be a switch or a button somewhere…”

“No, that's not moving. There must be a way to open it somewhere.”

“Battle favours the fearless.”

“Sleep with one eye open, evil. Maybe both.”

“Gotta be something around here to unlock this thing.”

“Why do beautiful people taste better?. It hardly seems fair on the ugly - they have such wonderful personalities.”

“Oh, calm down. I'm happy to see you too.”

“Just go for the Magic Missile and fire away. Never fails.”

“Still standing, no matter what you heard.”

“Enough waiting. I crave blood.”

“Hang on - I won't allow this. You aren't dead, go it?”

“GODS, it's HOT in here!”

“No rest for the wicked, I see.”

“Better to hide than fight, sometimes.”

“Would that I could hide from you, too.”

“Are you feeling lonely, perhaps?”

“There is no right or wrong, only truth.”

“Battle is afoot - you can poke me once we are safe.”

“What good all this ethereal eladrin blood if I can still get pimples?”

“I should've been a drow. They have such stylish armour.”

“I am armed! Armoured! And entirely sick of your foolishness.”

“Let's have some fun.”

“War is an old woman's game.”

“No rest, be you wicked or wise.”

“I'm getting too old for this nonsense.”

“I would poke you back, but I fear that's what you want.”

“You have my attention - now do something with it.”

“You are insistent, are you not?”

“Do what must be done.”

“Your suffering will be spectacular.”

“Lest I sit down for a rest and not rise again.”

“Better to look evil in the eye. Even if it be very small.”

“I'm not built to crouch.”

“I think I could go another round.”

“Always the same old song.”

“Is perfection too much to ask?”

“Eyes on victory, tummy on dinner.”

“So many places to be.. and I chose Baldur's Gate.”

“I'm not opening that. Not from here, at any rate.”

“What is the point, if not victory?”

“Won't last much longer like this.”

“Let's hope the locals are friendly.”

“Let us show them how it's done.”

“Weapons high. Standards higher.”

“Must everyone be so exhausting?”

“What I would not give for a chunk of fresh honeycomb…”

“Which way to the nearest library?”

“Now this is my happy place.”

“Who shall I silence?”

“Stop, or die.”

“Wear your scars proudly.”

[miguel-owhora]

dragon!price who's an alpha—a lonely alpha. he's been alone for quite some time now, his nest barren and empty, no mate to sing dragonic songs back to him miles away, no mate to rekindle the embers in his heart.

his hoard—sorry, the 141—help him fill these empty spots. soap's rambunctious attitude and gaz's encouragement and ghost's dryly amused comments fill in the lonely parts, bringing him down from the soaring heavens and back to the ground, where price hears the thumping of the earth's core if he falls back into his dragonic instincts deep enough.

dragons are rare to come nowadays. most spend their lives in secrecy, in some rural land most would struggle to pronounce the names of, spent hiding in either solitude or with their mates—and in certain cases, families.

so imagine price's surprise when laswell drops in a new member into his little hoard. she says it's temporary, but there's a glimmer on her eyes when she says it, one that makes sense when price sees you—another dragon.

an omega, price's alpha brain tells him, awakening with glee at another dragon hybrid, at someone who could complete him. a potential mate.

price's alpha instincts are purring when he introduces himself, and he must look like a fool, when he hears his boys sniggering in the background. something lights up something in his chest, instincts roaring to life, when you smile at him and shake his hand. your hand makes his burn, hotter than anything else, hotter than the fire he hatched out of.

it comes to no surprise to him when you're even more reserved than ghost. dragon hybrids are already secretive as they are; omega dragon hybrids are worse. but eventually, price worms his way past the walls you've put up and the fun part comes: courtship.

for every type of naturalborn hybrid that roams earth, they each have their own courtship rituals. for many of them, alphas must prove their worth to their potential mate. werewolf hybrids will bring back game, will defend territory; harpies—depending on which region they live in—will also prove their worth by bringing back prey and helping to build nests.

price can recall the number of times soap had dragged in the corpse of a deer, still warm and fresh to ghost, or how gaz had proudly weaved a wall of brambles and sticks (nevermind the nails and sharp blades) outside ghost's private room. it amused him to no end, seeing them fall prey to their instincts.

but price isn't laughing when he succumbed to his own instincts.

your introduction to the team and you letting price get close to you already had his dragonic alpha mind reeling with excitement. even moreso when you approved of him courting you.

now, dragon hybrids were something else. oftentimes, they were more older than the other hybrids, more ancient and forged deep within the earth's core, connected to mother earth like no other. as such, their courting rituals were more.. barbaric, in other words.

price feels alive when he has to fight you, when your claws dig at his skin and his teeth at your shoulder, near your bite mark. when you roar with fury and punch him away, when your omegan sex has his alphan sex pumping with life. when you both tear up the training room, your set of wings flapping and glittering underneath the artificial lights, when price finally pins you down, when you give a purr of approval.

price finds the prettiest items and gifts them to you, when he dances between feeling overjoyed when you accept it, feeling like he's been stabbed when you reject it. gift by gift price feels pride bloom within him when he sees your little gift hoard grow. when he gifts you a pack of his cherished cigars and gives you his signature hat, he has to go outside and do circles in the heavens when you accept it with gentle hands and carefully guard it.

all of his hard work pays off when you tug him by his scruff and take him to your bedroom, where your bed is carefully nestled with different blankets, with clothes that reek of him. he feels like the luckiest man when you strip yourself of your clothes and lay on the bed, letting your wings—gorgeous things they are—spread out underneath you, take up the bed. your cock, hard and leaking and big, lays on your belly, cum pooling like ichor.

you spread your legs, the scent of an omega ready to mate and take what's theirs, registering in price's brain. it's all he needs before he's racing to tear his clothes off and climbs on you.

he's purring loudly when he touches you all over, dipping his head to kiss at your body, thankful that you gave him the chance to prove his worth. your scent is thick and heavy, musk strong. it makes the embers in his chest flicker and grow to a small fire.

the fire grows when he slips his cock inside, shuddering at how tight and hot you are, burning him. you don't help him, content to lay back and let him figure it out, but price is more than happy to do it by himself. anything for you.

he gets you to cum several times, spilling all over your belly, makes you whimper his name, dig your claws into his back and pull him close to kiss him hard.

price is only ever given permission to cum when you decide he's worthy. your claws dig into your chest and rip it open, an ancient heart beating, cracks of old magic glowing an unusual color. price knows what's to come, but he still grits his teeth when you also rip his chest open.

his knot is forming, catching on your hole, when the two hearts—ancient and waiting for each other after so many years—intertwine together. price pushes his knot in and finally cums, fuck, he shudders and moans, in pleasure and in pain when he feels your anal barbs dig around his cock and knot, making sure he's secured for a while.

the world seems brighter when he collapses on you, open chests bleeding together. he gives little nudges of his hips, cockhead kissing your womb, brushing against your prostate. he feels you sigh contently, and price's heart is a wildfire.

[twooftheluckyones]

Cult of the Lamb: Luck of the Lamb Part 4: Reap the Whirlwind

The physical body does not exist within the afterlife, instead the land is inhabited by the souls of the dead or departed. Resurrection repairs the mortal coil, but godly wounds ceaselessly weep. Thus, a god cannot survive death without the healing properties of a conduit crown. Despite this many have tried, though normally its not someone else's power keeping them clinging to the margins of life. A power now bonded through the sheer force of will to share a lonely throne. ~Previous/Next~ ~Start~ ~~~~ Story Segment Under Cut ~~~~

Rage. Betrayal. Vengeance.

Their fight filled the afterlife with destruction and violence. Two gods wrestling for the key to their power. Blade and blood met flame and fury.

Narinder was an old god, powerful beyond measure even in his imprisonment. He had commanded life and death, and weilded curses effortlessly. Una would not be the first god he'd killed.

Yet fate had other plans.

She crackled with divine energy, dancing around his attacks effortlessly.

Lucky.

It felt like ages, and yet before he knew it, it was over. Her blade, made of his crown, plunged into his chest, and his eldritch form crumbled. A god defeated, reduced to nothing.

And then...

Pain. Nothing but searing hot, agonizing pain. Narinder felt lost in a sea of torment, his body suddenly awash with screaming flesh. Through burning nerves he distantly noticed the world around him felt different, the brittle bone meal landscape of the gateway gone. Instead, he felt stone, grass, and chill air against his skin. His eyes felt like hot coals shoved in their sockets, and even trying to open them felt like a dagger to the skull. The sensations were nothing but a candle to the raging inferno of suffering. In another time, he wondered if this was what the mortals he damned in the afterlife felt like. Perhaps that was his fate now. Eternal pain. Fitting. Yet as he laid there, squirming weakly in the depths of agony, something approached. "Nrdnr?! Hly Shtt!" Muffled words reached his ears, soft hands scrambling over his skin. Some demonic tormentor, come to perpetuate or relish in his state? "Hld Stlll! Fgk Fgk!" It was impossible to think over the agony, and they pushed away his hands as he feebly tried to fend them off. The cold ground under him suddenly felt warm and sticky, the silken robes he wore suddenly wet with something. "Hre! Ths iz phor thg baain." His attacker grabbed his head, shoving some vial of something against his lips. The biter oily fluid hit the back of his throat, a spasm of coughs making his body jerk and flail, each one feeling like barbed wire was being flossed through his bones. This really was hell. Hands yanked his tattered robes off, exposing his skin to the cold air. Some kind of cloth wrapped around his arms, pulled tight against the angry nerves. More on his chest, pushed against the spaces in his ribs where an echo of betrayal now bled. Two betrayals. Twice now he'd trusted and lost for it. At least the last time he hadn't been alive to feel what dying was like. "Hold still! Where did all this blood come from?!" A sudden calmness entered his mind, and the fire of agony faded into a foggy, numb abyss. Narinder opened his eyes. Stars met him, the half moon's pale light shining down. He tilted his head up, the movement feeling like lifting a boulder. Some figure hunched over him, their hands covered in inky black liquid as they quickly unrolled another bandage and began wrapping it around his chest. Almost instantly the white fabric turned black. The fog around his head grew thicker, eyes fluttering heavily as consciousness became fleeting and fickle. The figure glanced at him, red meeting red. Despite his injuries, Narinder still possessed enough strength to recognize them.

"Narinder," Una's voice poured with grief. "I'm so sorry, please just hold on. Its going to be okay."

Another empty deceitful lie. "Una..." he muttered, voice a mere whisper through his scratchy and weak throat. "Narinder?" Her eyes wept a river of tears, the guilt in her words echoed across her face. The traitorous eye of his former crown gazed down from atop her head, watching with unending apathy. Rage bloomed in his oozing chest, a small surge of fury granting him some measure of energy. He summoned all of his remaining power, defiance filling his fading mind. "Fuck you." Darkness.

[thereweredragonshere]

I don’t typically make ocs in already existing media cuz I’m not one to add characters to shows, but oh my god httyd dragons are just so drawable. I’ve had my girl Prosper for about 5 months now and I cannot describe how much I love her? This fictional lesbian reptile has my heart. (And her mate Hark, but I’ll make a separate post for her :) )

She’s 56 years old, had her right wing completely torn off in a massive battle (she’s left wing politically, ahaha get it left wing because she only has her left wing so-) with the parents of Viggo and Ryker Grimborn that sent the night/light furies into hiding. (Which is my personal hc on how there are ‘no night furies left’). She is the leader of this ‘hidden colony’ of furies, and is basically just the wise, lonely grandmother to them all. She’s also just extremely sad in general. She in in constant pain and can’t fly. I mean I’d be sad too.

She’s also like extremely very heavily against humans, so in my delusional little brain when Hiccup and Toothless somehow stumble upon the hidden colony that’s in a cave (think Minecraft lush cave) she isn’t a very big fan of them funnily enough. Although she does hesitate to immediately fire upon noticing Toothless’ prosthetic tailfin, mainly cuz she’s like “yo tf what yo tail red for? Who is this red tailed child?”

I could ramble for hours about her swckjhisuchuweichiew and she ends up getting a prosthetic wing ‼️

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Follow You Anywhere 2

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as dubcon/noncon, obsession, controlling behavoiour, and other possible triggers. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You’re online existence threatens to leak into your real life.

Characters: Captain Syverson

Note: slept like crap last night but we got this.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me <3

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!)

Love you all. You are appreciated and your are worthy. Treat yourself with care. 💖

Sy is nice enough but you're still put off by your meeting. He carries a bag gallantly to a large black truck and pulls open the back door to place it on the seat. He turns to you to take the next. You hug it, wondering if you should settle for half your load and run for the hills.

Still, you can't help but feel beholden to him. The pin on his hat and the way he looks at you. He just seems a bit oblivious to how unsettling his approach Is.

He takes the bag and you just stare. You feel hollow and your ears are on fire. You just keep going along with this and that voice in your head is screaming at you to stop.

“Here,” he shuts the back door and pulls the passenger's open.

You look at him then into the truck. Are you crazy!? You can't just go with this man in his vehicle…

You grab onto the interior of the door and climb up into the truck. He touches your lower back gently as if to help you. You drop into the seat and thank him, trying not to let your fear bubble over.

He shuts the door and your stomach plummets. Are you being kidnapped? Are you letting yourself be abducted? Oh, you're gonna end up on a podcast.

He gets in the driver's side as you sink into the horror movie unfolding in your head. You look over at him as he unfolds a pair of dark sunglasses and puts them on to block out the sun's glare. He's so calm it's frightening. He knows exactly what's coming and you can't even begin to imagine the sheer terror awaiting you.

Maybe a nice basement cell. Worse, a field and a hole six feet deep. Your heart feels like it's stopped. Your vision is hazy and your ears are ringing.

The truck rolls backwards and lurches you back to reality. You blink and look over the hood. Sy pulls out of the spot smoothly and cranks the wheel to straighten out.

“Y'okay, sweetie?” He asks as he comes to the exit.

“Mmm, yeah,” you eke out as you grip the inside of the door. “I'm all good I just… I never expected to meet a follower.”

“Yeah, I uh… you know, I only ever dreamed it. Being over there, the days… well you don't know if you'll see the next, or even the night,” he lets out a deep breath, “I didn't put real thought into it til I got back and… it's so fu– so, er, lonely, you know? You're the only thing that was the same.”

“Oh,” your cheeks twitch as you attempt a smile, “that's very sweet. I… you know, I kinda just do the streams to get my thoughts out, it's not really… I don't know.”

“I like it. It's peaceful,” he drives down the street as the passing buildings spike your concern. “Don't get much of that.”

“Sure, I… I can imagine.”

“Hey, if it means keeping sweet things like you safe, I'll do it,” he chuckles. 

Before you can respond, he slams on the breaks and his tires skid. A car in front of him flashes their tail light. He snarls and you watch the fury furrow above his brows.

“You fu–” his booming voice catches and he bites down on his words, growling instead. “Ugh,” he exhales, “that guy… coulda got hurt…”

“Yeah,” you clasp your hands together.

"Or he coulda hurt us!" He throws a hand up.

“That was close," you mewl, "but we're okay, right?”

He inhales and looks at you. He closes his eyes and nods, “you're right, sweetie.”

You bite down, fighting not to show your fear. There's something in him that threatens to boil over. You can see it in the vein popping out along his forehead.

“So, I know a place, they got good bacon, probably some good french toast,” he leans on the pedal again, “get some whip cream on top?”

“Well, I appreciate it but I really should get home,” you say gently, “but maybe another time–”

“It's my treat, sweetie,” he insists, “it's been a long time since I got to sit down to eat with a pretty girl.”

“Oh,” is all you can muster. You don't want to push him. You know the tenuous tightrope walk. Just do what he wants, keep him happy.

“I didn't say… you look real nice today. That's my favourite of yours,” he keeps one hand on the wheel and points towards you, “the overalls.”

“Thank you,” you murmur and twist your fingers, letting out a rocky chuckle.

“So cute when you do that,” he rumbles and rests his hand on the corner of your seat, “that lil laugh.”

“Um, yeah, sorry, I… it's  a habit.”

“Nah, I like it,” he assures you and rescinds his hand to flip his signal on.

He turns into another plaza and you see the bright painted sign above a diner. A white cup on a teal banner. You've never been there but you pass it on the bus. He pulls up right at the front of the lot before the windows. You can see people inside as waitress carry trays between tables.

“I don't know about you but I'm starving,” he drawls and undoes his seat belt.

You sit in the seat, paralysed and helpless. He comes around your side and you click the button on your own belt. You turn and he offers his hand to help you get down. When you ignore it, he grabs your arm to ease your landing.

He swings the door shut and you shuffle past him. You have no choice but to keep going. Get through this and you'll go home and block him. Maybe even delete your whole account.

He reaches around you as you come up to the door and pulls it open. Be sweeps you inside with his arm and follows you through. A waitress in a black blouse greets you and you look to Sy over your shoulder.

“Table, thank you,” he says.

She leads you to a table for two and you sit, arms crossed as you rock nervously. He orders coffee as he slides off his sunglasses and the waitress turns to you. You push yourself straight. 

“Um, chocolate milk, please,” you request.

“Right away, hon,” she leaves you with the menus as you unfold your arms and pick at your thumbnail.

“So cute, chocolate milk,” he comments as he takes the laminated menu from the table, “oh, look,” he flicks it, “French toast. Can get berries with it.”

You look down and lean forward to see past the sheen of the plastic sheath. You narrow in on the French toast but your stomach rolls. You're too nervous to be hungry.

“Yeah, looks good,” you say, “um, I gotta use the bathroom.”

“Sure,” he smiles as he browses the menu.

You get up, wobbling slightly before you get your balance. You search for the sign to the restrooms and head down the short hall behind the kitchen. You dip inside and lock yourself in a stall.

You really can't afford to abandon your groceries. Worse, you don't dare anger him. He's nice but you don't know how nice he'd be if you ran out on him. Just get yourself together, it's just breakfast. You'll get through it then try to forget your stupidity.

You should've known better but you didn't have enough followers to worry  it never even occurred to you but it should be. It's your own fault.

You take a few minutes to mellow out. You don't quite get there but the longer you stay, the longer he has to get suspicious. No, you're not going to run. You don't think you'll get very far.

You come back out and return to the table. As you sit, he sips his coffee and his eyes crinkle at you. Your chocolate milk is waiting beside a wrapped straw. As you tear through the paper, you sense him watching you.

He clinks his cup down, "ordered your french toast. Extra sugar... since you're so sweet."

You issue a brittle chuckle. You stare at him. He's taken his cap off, revealing a shaved head above his thick beard. His shoulders are broad, all of him is. He's so thick and his arms are bulging with muscle beneath his tee shirt. His eyes are a brilliant shade of blue, a contrast to the rest of his rough exterior.

"You don't gotta be shy," his voice gristle in his throat as he leans forward, elbows on the table. "What do ya wanna know?"

"Pardon?" You croak.

"Well, I know everything about you," he grins, "you barely know me."

You gulp, wavering like you've been knocked upside the head. You part your lips and peer around. His self-awareness if almost there but not quite.

"I..." you don't know what to say or ask or do. He toys with the handle of his coffee cup. "What do you take.... in your, uh, coffee?"

He chuckles, "really? Why's that? You planning to bring me coffee in the mornings?"

You meet his eyes again and he winks. You giggle and move your lips like a gasping fish.

"Teasing, ya, sweetie, I don't wanna rush you," he says, "I take it black, but I don't mind some cream on Sundays."

You nod, embarrassed, and poke your straw into your cup, leaning forward to slurp up the chocolate milk. His eyes linger on your lips as you do. You pull back and take a napkin to wipe your mouth.

"Erm... well, what... how did you... find my page?"

He sits back, gripping the edges of the table as he sighs, "I was just scrolling around but I'm starting to think it's something bigger than us, you know? I was goin' through it. I needed something and there you were, showin' off those new boots you got with the flower."

Flowers? You got those boots over a year ago. You remember that stream. He's been watching you that long.

"Oh, ha, right," you murmur.

"There aren't many people out there like you left, you know? I've seen the worst in people but in you, I saw the best," he explains, "the way you just take everything in. Looking at the flowers and the birds and... you just know how to appreciate life."

You smile and nod. What else can you do as the world crashes down? He was there yesterday. That blurry figure behind you in the photo, the shadow creeping just beyond your sight. You don't doubt it was him.

“I try, er…”

You sit back as the waitress approaches. She puts a plate before you, French toast with a side of fruit salad, sugar and whip on top of the bread. She lays down Sy's plate, mounded in eggs, home fries, sausage, and two types of bacon, with rye toast. You would guess that is just barely enough to fill him up.

“Dig in,” he says as he grabs his cutlery.

You sit forward and take your fork and knife. You cut into the eggy bread and stab the small triangle of the corner. As you raise your fork, Sy growls, “get some cream too, sweetie.”

You flinch but do as he says. You swipe the bread through the dolloped cream and shove it through your lips. You stare at your plate as you chew. You wish he wouldn't watch you. You don't like eating in front of others.

“Is it good?” He asks.

“Very,” you swallow and cover your mouth.

“Don't worry, I think it's cute you got cream on your lips,” he plucks up a piece of bacon with his fingers, “didn't get good fixings like this in the sh– over there,” he bites into the strip and chews.

“Yeah, I wouldn't think…” you twirl your fork nervously, “do you have to go back?”

“Mmm, not anytime soon. They're tryna get me on a desk,” he shrugs, “might be a good change but I don't know if I'm suited to it…” he tosses back the rest of the bacon, chewing thoughtfully, “but I'm about that age. Gotta settle down, so I figure, makes sense.”

“Right, right, yeah, fair,” you garble mindlessly.

“Besides, when you got someone at home, you don't wanna run back into the bull– into war,” he smirks.

You take another bite, even as your stomach churns. You don't like how he's talking, as if you're together. As if he knows you. It's strange.

He scoops up a forkful of home fries and shovels them back. You can't fault his table manners, he was probably eating out of cans for the last few years. Not that you would say anything. You're much too scared for that.

You fall into a trance, focusing on the simple task of cutting into the toast, chewing but not tasting as your heart tamps behind your ears. You sense a shift and look up, your cheeks full of food as you make eye contact with Sy’s phone camera. You swallow painfully and nearly choke.

“What are you doing?” You squeak.

“For your Instagram,” he smiles, “I’ll send you the pics…” he frames his phone with both hands as he admires the screen, “you look so cute.”

You shudder and grip the knife and fork tight. You look back to the stack. You think you’ll ask for it to go. If you eat any more, you’re definitely going to be sick.

[demonicbaby666]

You’re Mine

One shot | Marvel Masterlist | Masterlists

Fandom: Marvel

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x fem!Reader

Genre: Smut

Words: 1.5k+ 

Warnings: 18+, minors DNI, jealousy, fingering, daddy kink, asphyxiation, sort of public sex being that people are on the other side of a door...

Summary: Natasha has always had a thing for you being hers and only hers. It's one of the things you love about her. However, it's impossibly hard not to rile her up because of her tendency to get overprotective and possessive. This time, you may have pushed her too far. So much so that she takes matters into her own hands with a lot more urgency than what you're used to.

A/n: my finger slipped and turned my laptop's whore mode on xxx

Emerald eyes were glued to the hand on your thigh. Of course, Maria hadn't meant to stir the pot when she'd harmlessly laid her hand down. Someone had made a joke, and after a series of light slaps, her hand just settled. It wasn't uncomfortable initially, but as Natasha's eyes continued to bore into you, it certainly was.

The next thing to do was to simply move Maria's hand away. Yet, there was something so satisfying about Nat's flushed face, reddening from anger, and her auburn hair that seemed to burn brighter similarly that - you didn't care to admit it - made your stomach tense in the best of ways. Was it a good idea to egg her on? Of course not. That didn't stop you from leaning into the casual contact from Maria. The lonely hand on your knee was soon joined by yours.

If Natasha wasn't pissed off before, she sure as hell was now, and you couldn't blame her. It would have been too much for anyone to handle, what with the exaggerated laughs, nudges, and non-existent space between you and Maria. You served up a platter of green and practically spoon-feed envy straight into Nat's mouth, which was now clenched together.

"A word outside," Nat said, suddenly standing above you. The veins in her neck were strained and pulsing; her nostrils flared as heaved breaths racked through her whole body. The tight-fitted shirt she wore rose and fell plain as day, and from this sight alone, you realised you may have pushed too far.

Not waiting for a response, Natasha grabbed your wrist, pulling you up and out of the room - ignoring the following sets of eyes.

Once you were away from said prying eyes, the older woman had you backed against the wall in an instant, eyes of fury scorching through you.

"You think I'd let that slide?" She seethed, wrapping her fingers around your throat, "Do I need to remind you that you're mine?"

The tight, possessive coiling of her fingers burned down your chest and ignited a fire between your legs. Nat had never been shy about where she stood on you getting comfortable with others. Even mentioning previous relationships would have repercussions. Often, these were reminders of how said relationships lacked vital things only Natasha could give you, i.e., the ability to walk the next day.

"No," you squeaked.

"It's obvious I do," Nat growled, sliding a hand between your bodies and roughly palming your breast.

The beginnings of a moan caught in your throat as the auburnette squeezed her fingers tighter around your neck. In some ways, you knew it would boil down to this, though you expected the display of dominance and ownership to come later in the night, when everyone was fast asleep, and no sound made would penetrate the alert ears that filled the room the other side of the wall.

You tried pleading with her, "Nat, they'll hear."

"Let them," she said, her lips inching closer to your ear, "It seems they also need a reminder of who you belong to."

"Nat," you attempted again before you were cut off by the sharp feel of her teeth biting the flesh under your ear.

With her hand still firmly holding you against the wall, airways fighting to get oxygen in, she lowered her hand down your ribcage and cupped your clothes cunt. Adrenaline coursed through your veins, knowing what was to come. It would have been easy for you to say stop or to have pushed Nat away entirely, but excitement was bubbling under the surface, and a large part of you wanted this. To be owned. To be claimed. To be reminded of what happens when you forget your place.

"You want daddy's fingers, don't you?" She muttered into your ear, her tone low, her voice raspy.

"Yes," you shamelessly breathed out.

In one quick move, your body was flipped, face pressed against the wall and hands on either side of your face. One of Natasha's hands held your hip in place, the other slithered between the wall and your stomach, slowly moving south. Deft fingers trailed a line up your thigh, reaching the waistband of your panties and wasted no time delving into the sticky mess she'd created.

"Did having Maria's hands all over you do this?" Nat asked, the disdain in her voice evident.

Having her so close to where you needed, yet refusing to appease your growing desire, had you shaking your head and wriggling your hips, trying to position your clit over her stubborn fingers. However, Natasha was unrelenting and moved her hand away entirely, resting on your jaw and yanking it back so you could face her.

"Tell me who your cunt belongs to," she demanded.

Behind the anger and lust that donned her eyes, once light sage, the shade of dark juniper, you saw a hollowness that encircled and sought to wreak havoc on the one certainty she held sacred - you. Of course, you had always made it clear that you were hers and she was yours, but despite her tough bravado, sometimes she also needed to be reminded. After all, the avenger was only human.

"You," your voice crackled in your throat, desperately trying to remain quiet yet sure in your words when all you wanted was to be mercilessly fucked against the wall, "you, you and only you."

"Good girl." she pecked the underside of your jaw. A smirk lined her smooth, balmed lips as she did so.

You could have cried with joy when Natasha released you and trailed her finger back down to your underwear. Instead, you settled for a soft moan of gratitude when you felt the pressure radiate off your body and the beginnings of lazy circles drawn over your clit.

Despite the urgency that flooded through you and the precarious place where your body was being taken, Nat showed no signs of being in a rush. The languish exploration of a place she knew all too well was still being undergone after gruelling minutes. A complaint had touched the tip of your tongue so many times, and as if the older woman knew when it was coming, she'd give you the tiniest taste of relief and settle back into the depth of endless torture.

It was too much. A lump was caught in your throat, your bottom lip was sore from the firm bite of your teeth, and your body fought to keep itself upright and steady while simultaneously trying to remain docile.

"Please, daddy," you begged, rucking your hips for the hundredth time, "Fuck me."

Immediately, you sensed the change in Nat's stature. She stood taller and closed the space between your bodies, pressing her chest firmly to your back and pushing you further into the wall. The cold paint was welcome against your flushed cheek and cut your gasp off short.

This newfound calm would only last a millisecond before two fingers penetrated the junction between your legs, and a fire set ablaze every living cell in your body.

There was no need to move anymore because the expeditious pace and vigour of Natasha's talented fingers left you sated - in addition to clouding your conscious mind. The only task necessary to focus on, thanks to the body and hand holding you in place against the wall, was breathing.

"Say it again," she ordered.

The moment her thumb made contact with your throbbing clit, a bolt of lightning plummeted through your spine and forced your neck to snap back with a silent whimper. Thankfully, the avenger's quick reflexes came to her aid. She moved her head in time for the back of your head to crash down on her shoulder. The thudded contact would have been painful had it not been for your senses being somewhat preoccupied with the brain-numbing ecstasy that was reaching its peak.

"Fuck me, daddy!"

Careful to make sure the force of her body would be enough to keep you upright, the auburnette wound her arm around your body and placed her hand firmly around your neck. Everything around you faded and ceased to exist; the floor beneath your feet was gone, and you were floating on cotton clouds. You dragged your nails down the wall in an effort to grasp onto something tangible. Instead, the mix of the dulled scratching sounds and emptiness in your palms left you increasingly consumed by the ethereal feeling of pure, unadulterated pleasure.

"I'm going to come, daddy," you cried out, surely extracting a snigger from someone on the other side of the wall, "Please keep going."

"You're mine," Natasha uttered into your ear, squeezing the sides of your throat harder. She ran her thumb faster over your clit, curved her fingers at the end of each thrust, and within the next few seconds, the stars in your visions illuminated a blacked-out night sky.

"Mine."

When you regained the ability to see again, you spun around and crashed your lips to Nat's. It took her by surprise, though quickly enough, she reciprocated and poured every ounce of love she had into the kiss.

"I'm yours," you whispered softly against her lips, "and only yours."

Taglist: @ssa-sapphic @red1culous @7thavenger @five-bi-five-mind @kenyakimble34 @12fluffybunny12 @asensitivecookie @maxinehufflepuffprincess @whosprentiss @asolitaryrose3 @lesbi-hinest-here @imlike-so-gaydude @taylorswiftsboyfriend @asphodelvamp @tmlwattpad19 @jareguiromanoff @lilfartbox1 | click here to be added to my taglist

[dominantslasherking]

More feyd rautha please🥺🥺🥺🥺

Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen With Dominant Male S/o

My Stories are meant for the much more mature audience, 18+ Backstory: You're a fremen and Feyd eagerly wants to catch you; for his own personal desires, as he has been obsessed with you.

The merciless desert was relentlessly heated by the searing sun that descended onto Arrakis's limitless dunes.

A lone person crept among the dunes like a desert cat, graceful and stealthy. He was a Fremen, a warrior of the dunes, named 'the ghost', practically disappearing into the sandy terrain with his quiet strides.

But Feyd-Rautha, the phsycopathic nephew of the Baron Vladimir Harkonnen, was not one to be easily deceived. He had been tracking this elusive Fremen for days, driven by an insatiable desire that gnawed at his very soul. Ever since he had caught a glimpse of him during a skirmish with the Fremen raiders trying to stop the spice collectors, Feyd had become consumed by an obsession unlike any he had ever known.

Feyd strode into the darkened dwelling of his spacecraft, a ferocious fury burning in his eyes. With his jaw squeezed into a harsh line and his hands clinched into fists at his sides, he demanded answers from the trembling crew. "What happened?" Those who ventured to catch his eyes were sent shivering down their spines as he hissed, his voice deep and menacing with a scratchy and horse undertone to his voice.

A spice collector came forward, recounting of the conditions that had happened in the desert, his voice trembling from fear. "My na-Baron, we faced opposition from the Fremen invaders," he stumbled, his gaze flitting uneasily to Feyd. "I-We tried to fight back, but the strength of the Fremen was too much. Before we could get him down, I was able to secure a scratch on his face."

"By..'Him', do you mean, the ghost? MY GHOST?" Feyd's voice bellowed out his cole black eyes churning with rage.

Feyd's lip curled in disgust at the mere mention of his fremen being harmed. Without a word, he strode forward, his movements fluid and predatory as he closed the distance between himself and the cowering crew member. With a swift and brutal motion, he seized the man by the collar, lifting him off the ground with a strength born of rage.

"You dare to let a mere scratch mar the perfection of what is mine?" Feyd snarled, his voice echoing off the metal walls of the ship. "You are worthless, all of you!"

With a guttural roar, Feyd slammed the spice collector against the wall, his grip tightening with each passing second. The man whimpered in pain, his eyes wide with terror as Feyd's fingers dug into his flesh, leaving bruises in their wake.

But Feyd's heart was consumed by a fire that could not be quenched. With a savage cry, he brought his fist crashing down upon the man's skull, the sickening sound of bone meeting metal filling the air. Again and again, he rained down blows upon the hapless spice collector, his rage fueling his every strike.

After Feyd was a bloody mess, coated in crimson his eyes stared down at the once recognizable face, now just a bloody and gushy mess on the floor, "Worthless." Feyd spat out baring his black coated teeth, as he stared, and hissed at the other spice collectors.

One had shakily come forward, his breath palpable with each step he made towards Feyd. Feyd cruel smirk turning into a cocky, almost mocking one at seeing the man holding a torn cloth.

"You...have something for me.." Feyd asked, ripping the cloth out of the man's hand. "Its...----I manage to rip it off, the Fremen you wanted." The spice collector muttered his eyes flickering towards the dead spice collector on the floor.

Feyd's eyes flickered with a hint of something. Suddenly, in a swift and rapid motion, Feyd brought the cloth to his nose, inhaling a deep breath of the scent that roamed the torn cloth. Your scent. A delicate blend of spice, and your musk..

Once he was finished, he stuffed the cloth into a pouch on his utility belt. "If you worms can't get the job done, I will."

Feyd brushed passed them. making his way towards the ships control center to fly the damn thing.

"He couldn't have gotten far." Feyd muttered, tapping his fingers on a button.

"I'm coming for you." Feyd hissed out, his eyes dimming into a possessive spiral of obsession.

[enviedear]

scream is kind of my special interest, so i simply MUST rent out Scream for Jason Todd.... Scream AU! What would he be like as the killer versus as the survivor?

omg i was praying someone would request exactly this so THANK YOU!! i hope you like it honey <3

join spookfest... if you dare !

as the KILLER... JASON TODD is rather too put together. it's eerie how well he can separate himself from the GHOSTFACE persona. he totally gives me billy energy just less out of it—he's stuck in his ways. his motivations would lie with everyone he felt wronged him before and/or after his death. he’s back with a vengeance in the truest sense of the phrase. as ghostface, he’s going to be calculated. all of his moves are purposeful. he’s smart too, he knows gotham’s underbelly and how to manipulate it. and if manipulation doesn’t work—he’s lucky to be blessed with brute strength. jason todd would deal out very twisted justice. sure gothamites don’t have to worry themselves with joker, black mask, or even crooked cobblepot—but they do have to answer to him now. and ghostface is willing to rid the world of every single person he deems deplorable.

as the SURVIVOR... JASON TODD is frantic. he’s internally freaking out, externally stoic. he lives his canon life as a rather lone wolf, so that’s his role as final girl. (final girl jason todd save me) he’s the one that watches everyone drop like flies, and he’s constantly on edge. he’s meaner too, a tried and true survival tactic. but as things get worse i see him falling into a bit of a leader role, entirely unwanted by him. he’d rather only worry about himself—but he can’t say no to someone that’s begging for help. if anyone’s going to follow him however, they should prepare for his unsettling stare. he doesn’t trust anyone—that’s what keeps him alive. he’ll question and interrogate for the slightest slip up. he wants the killer gone—eradicated from his life. and it’s that fire and fury that helps him overpower and kill them. because he is killing them. wether he’s got a weapon or not, jason todd is not dying again. especially at the hands of some freak dressed up in a mask. that’s his thing.

[valaenatargaryensdragon]

Can you please write a sequel to the au where the greens win and Aemond forcibly married his niece where one of their children accuses him of making their mother sad which makes him realise that he has become like his father.

A/N: I hope you like it!

pairing: Dark!Aemond x Niece!reader

summary: sequel to the au where the greens win and Aemond forcibly married his niece where one of their children accuses him of making their mother sad which makes him realise that he has become like his father.

Word count: 1,2K

Warnings: Angst

Masterlist 1

Masterlist 2

"Daddy, why is mommy locked in her room?" Your youngest, Helaera asked innocently. Gaelys, your eldest snapped his head up to look at his father. watching his facial expression, he was never brace enough to ask such a question.

"Whatever do you mean, sweet one? Do you not see your mother in the gardens and during banquets?" Aemond chuckled picking her up to sit on his lap. Your sewing by then had paused, but still you did not dare look up from the tablecloth you were busying yourself with as of lately.

"Yes but otherwise she is locked in her room" She began playing with the buttons on his shirt pouting sadly. Gaelys moved to sit by your side now. He reached over to take your hand in his, you were trembling.

"Darling, your mother made many mistakes and must be punished for them" Aemond kissed her forehead. Her frown deepened and she wiggled out of his arms. She wobbled over to you on her chubby legs, reaching for you to pick her up.

"Come here, love" You put the tablecloth to the side with a smile trying to act as if you did not hear her questions. She giggled as you moved her to sit on your lap.

"Poor mommy, always being punished" she whispered snuggling into your bosom for comfort. Gaelys could not hold himself back, he was about to burst. He stood up from the couch and approached his father with a fire Aemond only saw in dragons.

"You once told us that grandsire Viserys was a horrible man, that he married our grandmother when she was much younger than him and that he never loved her-" Gaelys began. You gasped shocked at his snappy tone. You feared that Aemond would punish him like he did to you for so many years.

"-but you treat mother worse. You lock her up like some animal and only let her out for show. You use your authority on her as if she was some servant, no servants get treated better than her" Gaelys was panting by the end, from anger or loss of breath you did not know. You held your breath awaiting Aemond's outburst, tightening your hold on Helaera fearing she will be also on the receiving end of Aemond's fury for bringing the subject up.

"Go to your room, Gaelys" Aemond ordered, his voice low and angry. Gaelys turned to you begging you with his eyes for you to let him stay.

"Yes and take Helaera with you" You wanted him out of here, you wanted both of them away for when Aemond would let his furry out on you and your body. He has done so before many times.

"Mother-" You cut him off with the famous motherly glare. He sighed but took Helaera from your arms before leaving with his head bowed. You waited for the outburst of yelling and smashing of things but it never came.

Instead Aemond pushed himself slowly from his chair, as if he was fearing scaring you. Still you flinched as he stepped closer making the guilt inside of him twitch like some knife lodged into his side. He crouched down in front of you slowly, his hands softly caressing your knees comforting you.

"Gaelys' words made me realise something" Aemond began softly. You dared to finally look up and into his eyes. All he could see was fear, you even feared looking in his direction. What has he done?

"I am worse than my father" Aemond chocked on his tears. One lone tear trickled down his cheek landing atop his pouty lips. His brows were furrowed at the confusion on your face, you did not believe him capable of caring or even showing the slightest bit of emotions.

"I have become what I hated most" Aemond leaned his head down on her knee. His voice sounded full of despair. You felt conflicted on what to do with him, what to say to him, You could only come with the words "It is okay"

"No tis not!" Aemond jumped to his feet again. He ran a hand through his usual well kept hair, ruining the perfect half up do. He pulled his eyepatch off feeling the leather irritate his skin with his tears.

"I have treated you horribly, the woman I have been in love with since I was ten!" Aemond paced with his hands in his hair, pulling trying to hurt himself. You sat back and watched him break down. Watched him relive every single moment with you, every time he forced himself on you or showed you a side of himself he himself hated.

"I fell for you ever since you defended me during Driftmark. I imagined you to become my wife ever since then. When I learned the ways of the flesh at ten and three it was you I imagined ever since when I touched myself. Ever since I began reading poetry it was with you in mind" He cried. You stood up from the chair approaching him like some scared child. He paused his pacing and faced you, trying to read your facial expression.

"I will not justify what you did nor will I say I forgive you Aemond, what you did is horrible but I will accept that it is from the past for the sake of Gaelys and Helaera" You spoke calmly. Always the collected one in your family. Aemond rubbed his face noticing that you kept your distance, you were disgusted by him and did not want to touch him.

"I will not however tolerate your behaviour any longer, I have had enough, yes Gaelys is right even the servants have a better life than I" You hissed, regaining some of your old fire, but not all, you were tired. You were beaten with no hope. Your hope was now in Gaelys, the heir to throne after Aegon who now had a burned cock and unable to have anymore children.

"I am ready to beg for your forgiveness, my love" Aemond whispered, taking a step closer to you. He placed his hands on your shoulders. You hated the sight of his tears streaming down his face, you sympathised with him, he went through so much from losing his eye to losing his sister but so did you, you lost your brothers and mother.

"I don't want you begging, I want my freedom, I want to have the right to walk around like everyone else not like some animal on a leash. I want to have the right to see my children whenever I want and most importantly I want to go home" You pushed him back. Aemond stumbled a couple of steps back shocked.

"Dragonstone? At once we will go there" Aemond nodded eager to please you, eager to get on your good graces again.

"No, you stay here like the lap dog you are but I will move with my children to Dragonstone" You shook your head coldly. Aemond hiccuped from shock and despair, it was like you grew heartless in a matter of minutes.

"What about me?" He whimpered. He stepped closer to you but you pulled away before eh could touch.

"You stay with your green family and lick the ground they walk on. My children are Targaryens and they will be raised as such with their black and red flag on their castle"

[faerune]

What terms of endearment do your ships use for each other?❤️‍🔥

Oh boy I have quite a few ships because I don't have self control but I'll try and hit the big ones for me rn!

Daryl & Tess: Dear, honey, baby are all used by Tess to refer to Daryl with baby being only used in intimate, private moments. Daryl calls Tess 'my girl' a lot both to her and in reference to her 'My girl will fix you up.'. Tess uses pet names more than Daryl does.

Aemond & Argella: The major ones for them are 'husband' and 'wife' including the Valyrian words for the same. Initially, they're used distastefully and sarcastically but they become genuine nicknames too. Sweet thing/sweetling is used by Aemond occasionally in private (primarily when they're abed). Also, whore (affectionate). Aemond uses terms of endearments more.

Sam & Camila: Camila oddly enough is the one who uses them the most though Sam is pretty close behind. Camila uses dear, lover, love, handsome, baby, and also uses his full name primarily. Sam uses baby, hon (more so in their later years for this one), doll, sweetie, sweetheart, princess (a lot of the time teasingly/sarcastically).

Angel & Mia: Mia is queen of pet names. She loves baby, babe, honey, sweetie, lover, big guy, tiger, etc for him. Angel prefers more classic ones for her honey, my love, dear, baby.

Johnny & Vera: Dick, brat, asshole...common lmao. A lot of the times affectionate. I can see them using babe/baby and Vera calling Johnny (her) 'old man'. Babe and baby are the ones they use the most tbh.

Joy & Bones: Bones is a classic kinda guy with his endearments: baby, love, honey, sweetheart, etc. Bones calls her beautiful a lot too and in turn Joy calls him handsome. Joy is the same in terms of more classic pet names I think!! Joy pulls ahead a little in how often she uses them.

Joel & Claire: Hon/honey are big ones for them. Joel calls Claire sweetie/sweetheart a lot. I can't really see either of them using babe but I can see Joel calling Claire baby!

[tojisun]

dunno where this came from bc i honestly just wanted a short ramble and not smthn long but here we are :'D this is an extension from my rambling yesterday about simon x reader but it's a dowry of blood au (brides of dracula retelling). i havent finished the book yet tbh but if ur planning on reading it, i do just wanna give a warning that it's dark and prose-heavy

cw: death/massacre; blood drinking; vampire-turning and stuff; inaccurate references to dracula lore

the village is gone. burnt. fire crackles amidst the broken hymns of the dead—they don't sing, not anymore of course, but their losses are catastrophic. you never realized how the apocalypse could be so loud.

you stand at the centre of the chaos, bloodied. bruised. ruined. the lone survivor.

the only one who was lucky enough to be saved.

brought out from the pyre, you were dragged into the shadowed corners and hidden from the pillagers who slaughtered everyone you loved and everyone you knew. you shook in your grief, screams erupting from the base of your throat, but all were silenced by an ice-cold palm over your mouth.

"shh, little one," he said. the first of his words; the first of his kindness. "you must be quiet."

your fury sputtered into anguish, the loss descending to you like the first drop of snow. tears spring from your strained eyes, staining even his hand; you did not know how to compress the bloating agony that was pressing into your lungs. your only comfort was that he seemed to favour you enough to keep you safe, even if just for a moment. 

rain had fallen by then—it seemed like it knew that tragedy had struck this little place. it extinguished enough of the fire, washing away the smell of ashes and leaving only the pungence of iron. blood.

with it, your adrenaline wore off, and you began to feel the extent of your pain. of course, you were not unscathed, but you didn’t expect your body to be so brittle. 

you fell, tumbling into the muddy ground and right before his feet. you croaked in pain, lungs constricting. it was becoming a lot more difficult to breathe, to speak. you wondered why death came to you slowly.

he knelt down by your side, cold hand brushing away at your dirty hair. he was speaking to you softly, words passing through his lips in soft lilts. you struggled to hear him, your ears ringing, numb, as your mind pulsed in your skull.

you groaned, begging him to stop. to go away. you had nothing to pay him back with, nothing to entertain him, so you told him just as much. you told him to let you die in silence because how else could he save you?

“that is troubling,” was all he said, his words were rumbled from the depths of his chest like he hadn't used his voice in eons. 

you peeled your eyes open, wondering what it must be that he was after, then you finally saw what he was—pale skin gleaming underneath the moonlight with eyes dark like wine. he was not a human. he couldn’t have been one.

your mother told you tales of the wicked. of those cursed and abandoned by the almighty father—she told you of their beauty, of their wealth, of their hunger.

(they do not know how to love, she said as she tucked you underneath your sheets. they only know how to deceive.)

your body locked, heart congested with fear—your body knew then, didn’t it? that this being that held you close was far more terrifying than the invaders. that your body survived the fire, the greed of humanity, only to be devoured by the devil.

“please,” you whimpered, the will to live burning inside you once again. you didn’t care about the pillagers, you didn’t want their mercy, but this being. this creature of the dark, oh how you craved his clemency.

“please, save me.”

“i cannot save you,” he said. 

his hand fell to your throat, grasping it gently, almost reverently. he swiped his thumb along the expanse of your skin to feel the way you swallowed. 

“but i can help.”

you tried to reply, to beg once more, but the words could not be sounded out, your throat having been too ruined for any prayer. you shook with your desperation, turning your eyes to him to express your ragged hope. you prayed that he may see your plea. you prayed that he may bless you with his curse.

he smiled, fangs glinting before your eyes. then, he murmured, “of course.”

(mama? how do you know when your prayers are answered?

well, sometimes it starts off painful.

painful?

yes, little star. but then, it becomes euphoric. freeing. good suffering.)

his teeth tore into your skin, ripping apart the muscles as it hunted for the blood. you screamed, throat scratching at the intensity of your pain; it was unbearable, burning unlike that of fire, scalding as it slithered down your very being. something was happening then. something unholy. 

you were being remade. reshaped. taken apart one bloodied fragment at a time.

you felt like you were at the precipice of death, so close to the edge and into eternal damnation, but he would not let you. chained to his hunger, your body writhed underneath the extent of his power; burning. burning. burning.

he was your new pyre. 

he was hell.

you begged for anything to subdue the pain; for a touch kinder, warmer; for the ceasing of it all. 

and it did.

his lips left the sensitive patch of your neck, pulling away with a hummed smile as though it were ambrosia he was sucking out of you. you stared at his lips, stained with your blood, and, within a fraction of a heartbeat, unrelenting hunger coursed through you.

you yowled, your mind heavy and your body sore. you felt lost; you felt like you were drained and left as nothing but a shell of what you once were.

“good. that’s good,” he crooned, his eyes wrinkled in his joy. “this hunger is proof of your new life.”

he brought his wrist to his lips and bit into his own skin. the first puncture oozed out with blood; you watched it pool, beading, before it trickled down the length of his arm. your throat constricted, tongue heavy all of a sudden in your mouth.

a taste. you craved for a taste.

he smiled as he pressed his wrist to your lips. “go on,” he murmured. “drink.”

you were delirious, or you must be, for you to have listened to him—your weak hands grasped at his wounded arm, pulling it closer to your maw.

you drank. 

that experience of having the first drop on your tongue was indescribable. it was like you have never eaten before; like you have never been fed. never been nourished.

it was like anything that sustained you before had been erased from your memories; you don’t remember the taste of your mother’s cooking anymore, nor the sweets that your grandmother brought home with her for you on occasions when her mistress remembered to reward her, nor the milk from your father’s cows. 

every sweet memory was washed away by the blood pouring down your throat; every gulp a sinister promise of what would be irreversible.

your body sang, skin mending itself, and bones healing underneath torn muscles. numbness filtered in—it had never felt like salvation before.

lost in your new paradise, you didn't notice as your saviour cupped your cheek once more. his touch was gentle. it was kind.

he leant forward and kissed your forehead—a reward for surviving.

“my name’s simon,” he whispered, nuzzling you. “and you will be my bride, won’t you, my dark miracle?”

your mouth left his arm, reluctant but necessary, because even before he said his name, you knew he was your master. you knew that in exchange for this new life he’s cursed you with, you were to be obedient to him no matter what. 

you nodded, breathless and ragged.

“yes, my lord.”

[candy69gurl]

POV: You are Sukuna's Vessel 6

Warnings- consequences of self harm, private touching

wc- 2.3k

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 7

You wake up abruptly, your eyes flutter open, your body drenched in sweat. You stare at the ceiling, your head pounding, hands reaching for your phone. Messages from your friends and Gojo Satoru fill your screen.

It's 5 AM, you realize, feeling disoriented.

You struggle to get out of bed, your legs feeling unsteady. You notice a warm sensation between your legs, realizing you're wet, your core feeling damp and humid. You head towards the basin.

Staring at your reflection, you notice that same short hair, droopy eyes.

Suddenly, you vomit, bile burning your throat as you stagger back, your stomach twisting in revulsion.

Then.. Everything comes flooding back to you, the Malevolant Shrine, the tangled intimacy with Sukuna, the swirling mix of pain and pleasure...

You freeze in place, your heart hammering against your ribs. Panic claws at the edges of your mind, the looming specter of pregnancy flooding your thoughts. You vividly recall Sukuna's climax, the fear of its consequences gripping you.

With trembling limbs, you collapse to the ground, tears tracing salty paths down your cheeks.

"Oh, God," you whisper, your voice a fragile tremor. "Am I pregnant?" Your mind whirls in a tempest of uncertainty, grappling with the weight of the possibility.

In a sudden twist, Sukuna's lips form on your cheek, his tone dripping with mockery. "Are you daft? You're not pregnant," his voice laden with disdain cuts through the air.

"But why do I feel sick?" you inquire, your voice quivering with uncertainty.

"Oh, dumb girl," he croons, a hint of amusement in his tone. "I merely indulged your soul, not your mortal shell," he chuckles softly.

Your heart lurches, a surge of bewilderment flooding your senses.

"So, my soul was... defiled? Then, I am still untouched?" you stammer, your voice trembling with disbelief.

Sukuna's grin widens, his lone eye glinting with malice.

"Yes, your physical form remains pristine," he confirms, his voice icy. "But your soul will forever bear the mark of our encounter, even if it traverses to another vessel," his words drip with menace.

Shock grips you tightly, leaving you staggered.

"What have you done... to my soul?" you manage to choke out, your voice trembling with dread.

Sukuna's grin stretches wider, malevolence gleaming in his eyes. "I've granted it an unforgettable taste of ecstasy. It will ache eternally for more of me, regardless of where it may reside," he purrs, satisfaction evident in his tone.

"You... monster!" you spit out, your anger boiling over.

"Mhm, daring to insult me once again?" Sukuna's voice challenges you, daring you to defy him.

Fury courses through you, igniting your veins.

"Yes! A monster, you are!" you shout, a fire lighting within your eyes. "Why did you do it? Why would you taint my soul like this?"

Sukuna's laughter rings through your mind, a mocking soundtrack to your turmoil.

"Because that was the only way to tame YOU," he replies, his voice laced with arrogance. "Besides, your soul was so eager, so ready to embrace the sin we offered. Why resist temptation?"

A new wave of disgust washes over you, a bitter tide of betrayal.

"I feel sick.. So sick," you cry out, your chest heaving. "And now, I'm left with the memory, the shame... I hate you, Sukuna!"

His laughter dies down, replaced with quiet, cold amusement.

"Perhaps, that's where you're wrong," he whispers, his voice like icicles. "You crave me, desperate for more, even if you deny it. And I believe you'll come begging for it, sooner than later," he predicts.

The accusation leaves you reeling, struggling to regain your footing.

"No..." you gasp, your denial wavering. "I can.. NEVER."

Another wave of laughter washes over your mind, a cruel riptide in your mind. "We shall see, darling. We shall see," he promises, his voice ringing with dark confidence.

With a shudder, you turn away from the mirror, wiping your tears.

"This doesn't change anything," you vow, your voice firm. "I'll never let you control me, never let you win."

Determination courses through your veins, a steely resolve settling into your core.

Nausea gnaws at your insides, your body rebelliously refusing to accept sustenance. Each bite results in heaves, bile scalding your throat. As if to torment you, Sukuna's presence lingers, smug and triumphant.

"Why can't I consume anything? My head hurts so much," you complain, your frustration palpable.

Sukuna chuckles softly, his voice caressing your mind, "You see, dear, you bled profusely last night," he explains nonchalantly, "While I healed your wounds, your body isn't used to such treatment. The trauma is taking its toll on your equilibrium."

Your stomach churns, the reality sinking in. "Is there... nothing I can do to feel better?" you plead, your voice trembling.

Sukuna's laughter echoes in your mind, a cruel serenade to your plight.

"Ah, do you understand now?" he mocks, his voice syrupy sweet. "You shouldn't have tried such foolish acts, suffer now."

Your heart pounds, rage coursing through your veins.

"That's your fault," you snap, your voice sharp with anger. "You made me angry"

He sighs, his voice laced with false regret, "This is what I get after healing your body? Accusations?"

As you run your fingers through your hair, the thin strands catch uncomfortably. A decision forms in your mind. Slipping on a cap, you step into the quiet morning, hoping to evade notice.

Alas, fate conspires against you - Gojo and Yuji materialize in front of you, concern etched on their faces.

"Hey, you alright?" Gojo questions, his brow furrowing. "And why the cap?"

Your heart skips a beat, guilt gnawing at you. "Oh nothing.." you mutter, avoiding their gaze. "Getting a haircut."

Yuji tilts his head, studying your face, "Is everything alright?" he asks, worry lacing his voice. "You don't seem well."

Laughter of Sukuna flashes through your mind, "Go on tell them you tried to kill yourself."

Ignoring Sukuna you speak up, "Just tired, Yuji," you dismiss, forcing a smile. "Really, it's nothing."

Gojo raises an eyebrow, skepticism clear in his gaze. "Let's go to Shoko," he suggests firmly. "We need to check on you."

Your breath hitches, anxiety coiling around your stomach.

"I'm fine, really," you insist, trying to shake off their concern. "Just a bad night's sleep."

Yuji frowns, his eyes searching yours. "Pls tell us if something's wrong," he urges, his voice filled with sincerity. "We're here for you."

Your heart aches, gratitude and guilt warring within you. "Thank you, both," you murmur, offering a weak smile. "I promise. But today, I need some space, please?"

Gojo nods reluctantly, his gaze softening. "Alright, then. Just remember, we're here if you need us," he assures you.

Yuji reaches out, gently touching your arm, "Take-", but all of a sudden, he pauses, looking at you in disbelief.

"Y/N, you are cursed", Yuji speaks, withdrawing his hands from you.

Your eyes widen, shock washing over your face.

"Remember, you are not allowed to tell them anything", Sukuna warns, his voice clear through your mind.

"Yes, Fuck you Yuji," you laugh waving at them leaving the scene with confidence.

Yuji looks at Gojo after you leave, " I feel weird sensei. She is indeed hiding something from us."

Gojo replies, " I am aware of that. Gotta do something about it."

At the parlor, you opt for an undercut, the stylist expertly trimming your locks. As the transformation unfolds, you can't help but feel renewed. With a fresh look and restored energy, you venture back to your place.

"Don't mess with my hair again", you threaten Sukuna in your mind.

"Don't provoke me then," Sukuna retorts, matching your tone.

Throughout the day, you attempt to eat, engaging in small battles with Sukuna.

"I blame you for this," you grumble, your voice laced with irritation. "For making me feel like this."

Sukuna's voice echoes in your mind, "Oh, spare me your misplaced outrage," he responds, his tone dismissive.

"You ruined everything!" you retort, your voice shaking with anger.

"Everything, yes," he agrees sardonically. "Except for the fact you are still alive."

Silence descends between you, the weight of his words heavy. You swallow hard, conceding his point.

The evening casts its shadow, painstakingly slow hours stretching before you. Despite Sukuna's taunting, a faint empathy seeps through his words. Silent tears track down your cheeks, blurring your vision. An overwhelming sense of helplessness consumes you, your heart heavy.

As darkness falls, you retreat to bed, unable to find solace in sleep. Tossing and turning, rest eludes you. Your thoughts swirl like a tempest, each wave crashing against the rocks of your soul. You remember, Gojo and Yuji tried to comfort you today, their concern gnawing at your conscience.

Guilt tightens its grip, suffocating you.

Sukuna's voice echoes in the silence, "Stop pitying yourself," he advises, his tone unexpectedly gentle. "It doesn't suit you."

Torment gnaws at your insides, hunger and sleeplessness conspiring against you. Each rumble of your stomach serves as a reminder of your failure. Frustrated and desperate, you toss and turn, seeking solace in the darkness.

Sukuna's voice cuts through the silence, "Enough of this self-flagellation," he drawls. "Do something about it."

Curiosity piqued, you listen as he continues, "Touch yourself. Release the tension, and perhaps find sleep."

Defiance courses through your veins, your jaw tensing. "No way," you retort, your voice firm. "I'm not going to listen to your perverse suggestions."

Sukuna's laughter resonates, a sinister melody in the dark.

"You know it would ease your predicament," he purrs, his voice teasing.

Your heart races, temptation coursing through you. But you resist, adamant. "Not happening," you state resolutely, turning away from him. "If I fall asleep you will do weird things to with my body again."

Sukuna's laughter fills the void, his voice rich with amusement. "Fair enough," he relents, his tone mockingly placating. "But if you change your mind..."

Unsettled, you huddle under the covers, the weight of his words heavy on your mind.

Trembling, you hesitate, the truth of his words gnawing at your resolve. Gripping your sheets, you reach for your clit, the sensation immediately electrifying.

Sukuna's voice intrudes, "How delightful," he croons, his tone dripping with smug satisfaction. "You are really doing it."

Embarrassed heat floods your cheeks, mingling with pleasure. Ignoring him, you focus on the rising tide of sensations, each stroke bringing relief. Despite the distraction, your hand continues its steady rhythm, easing your restlessness.

He chuckles, "So vulnerable, so weak."

Sukuna's voice filters through your mind, his words laden with smug anticipation.

"You know I can help, right? Make it better?" he proposes, his tone smooth.

Unease twists your insides, but you consider his offer for a moment. With a final resolve, you push him away.

"No," you utter defiantly.

His voice drips with disappointment, "You can trust me right?" he sighs, resignation evident in his tone.

"That's the least thing I do", you spit.

With a shaky breath, you continue, focusing on the building sensations. Pleasure washes over you, slowly ebbing the turmoil within.

Sukuna's voice pierces the quiet, "Feeling good?" he inquires, his tone laced with curiosity.

You nod, your breath ragged. "Yes... I've never felt like this before."

A pause ensues, suspense hanging heavy between you..

His voice hums with satisfaction, "Then let's take it further. Insert, one finger," he suggests gently. "Just one."

Hesitant, you consider his proposal. Fear threatens to undermine your courage. "I don't know... I'm scared," you confess, your voice wavering.

"Don't worry you can take it", Sukuna assures you.

Cautiously, you follow his instruction, inserting one finger, gasping at the new sensation. Waves of pleasure wash over you, heightening your arousal.

Sukuna's voice vibrates with approval, "See? Doesn't it feel good?"

Breathlessly, you agree, "Yeah... it feels good."

Another pause stretches between you, anticipation mounting.

"Two fingers," he encourages softly. "Go ahead."

Pulse racing, you obey, adding a second finger. A fresh wave of pleasure engulfs you, your moans growing louder.

Sukuna's voice resonates, "Good girl," he praises, his tone approving. "Now, deeper."

Obediently, you move your fingers, exploring deeper. A surge of ecstasy courses through you, your body trembling in response.

His voice echoes in your mind, "There you go. Keep going, feel it."

As you continue, an uncanny sensation unfurls – a mouth forms from your palm. Its tongue flicking and lapping at your clit sends shockwaves of pleasure cascading through you. Overwhelmed, you cry out, your body bucking involuntarily.

Sukuna's voice rings triumphantly, "Ah, the moans you are making.."

Panting heavily, you struggle to respond.

In awe, you stifle your cries, covering your mouth with your other hand. Despite your efforts, the sounds escape you, a soft moan slipping past your lips. Simultaneously, a second mouth appears, its tongue delving into your mouth in a passionate kiss.

Sukuna's voice rumbles with satisfaction, "Shh... It's okay," he murmurs, his tone husky. "Let go."

Your body trembles, pleasure and embarrassment warring within. As his tongues dance against your clit and lips, you surrender to the overwhelming sensation.

His voice echoes in your mind, guiding you. "Come for me," he coaxes, his tone seductive.

With a final, fierce thrust, you climax, a deafening scream trapped behind your hand. Wave after wave of ecstasy crashes into you, obliterating all thought. Your body convulses, surrendering to the bliss.

His voice resonates, "That's it, sweetheart. Let it flow."

As the storm subsides, you collapse onto the bed, breathless and spent. Relief washes over you.

Sukuna's voice echoes in the stillness, his tone encouraging.

"Again," he urges softly. "This time, play with your nipples too."

Reluctantly, you obey, adjusting to his request. Your fingers explore your nipples, their sensitivity surprising you. Combined with the continued stimulation, a familiar fire blooms within.

His voice hums, "See how responsive they are?"

With renewed vigor, you succumb to the sensations. Pleasure builds once more, escalating with intensity.

Unexpectedly, your hand halts, replaced by a sudden invasion. His tongue plunges into your hole, sending a shockwave of pleasure coursing through you. Meanwhile, the hand manipulating your nipple transforms into a mouth once more. It suctions your nipple, eliciting a sharp intake of breath.

The dual assault overwhelms you, a potent mix of pleasure and surprise. One tongue probes deep within you, its rhythmic motions stirring your core. Meanwhile, the suction on your nipple intensifies, a delicious pull that leaves you breathless. Sensations overload your senses, each action synchronizing in perfect harmony.

"Oh god!" you gasp, your body arching involuntarily.

His voice hums in your mind, "Almost there," he promises, his tone tantalizing.

Intense pleasure swells within you, threatening to break free.

"Please..." you plead in your mind, "Gonna cum again."

Sukuna's voice echoes in your mind, "Cum on my tongue, let me taste you," he assures, his tone confident.

The onslaught continues, his tongue and lips working in harmony. You teeter on the edge, each touch pushing you closer.

With a loud cry, you orgasm again. Ecstasy engulfs you, washing away all thoughts. Your muscles contract, riding the intense waves until exhaustion takes hold.

His voice whispers in your ear, "Well done, human."

Exhausted, you sink back into the pillow, your breathing labored. In the afterglow, you drift off to sleep, lulled by the residual pleasure.

Sukuna's voice lingers in your mind, "I wanted you to orgasm a few more times but for today, rest."

"O-oversenstive", you say before drifting off to sleep.

While you're lost in sleep, a shift occurs. You're unaware of the change, unmindful of Sukuna's return. His consciousness merges with yours, awakening a sense of familiarity.

His voice hums in delight, "Ah, it feels so good to be in this flesh again."

Curiosity piqued, he explores his newfound freedom, his fingers tracing your body. An instinct guides him, his digit finding your clit.

He chuckles, startled, "Whoa, it's clenching like crazy! and so fucking wet.."

Unease creeps in, his action initiating a reaction. Oversensitivity courses through your body, amplifying even the slightest touch.

His voice trembles, "Oh fuck.. this is so sensitive."

His fingers continue to explore, reveling in the hypersensitive state. Each stroke incites a jolt of pleasure that reverberates throughout your body.

His voice quivers with disbelief, "Damn, I didn't think it would be this strong!"

Unable to resist, he indulges in the experience, daring to venture deeper. Your body responds predictably, a fresh surge of desire building. Thighs shaking, abdomen twitching.

Ignoring the oddity of the situation, Sukuna dives in, his fingers delving into you. The oversensitivity catches him off guard, a low moan escaping your lips. The sound is foreign, a deep male voice emanating from your feminine form.

"M-mhm, a-ah this.. this feels better than that day's", his deep voice softly echoing the room.

Despite the peculiarity, the pleasure beckons. His fingers continue their assault, your body responding eagerly. Each thrust sends rippling waves of ecstasy throughout.

His voice groans, "I c-cant stop.." his tone strained. "Can't resist."

Driven by curiosity and pleasure, he persists, the feeling too exhilarating to abandon. Your body writhes beneath him, reacting to every touch.

His voice rasps out, "So tight, so hot... Perfect."

The feeling intensifies, nearing a crescendo. He struggles to maintain control, each thrust fueling the impending release.

His voice shakes, "You're going to come again..."

And you do, a third round of orgasms tearing through your body. Your body arcs, gripping his intruding digit in a desperate attempt to prolong the pleasure.

His voice growls, "God, this body feels incredible."

Once the storm subsides, Sukuna pulls back, his eyes wide with wonder. The unusual sensation lingers, a testament to your newly discovered oversensitivity.

With reluctance, he releases you, allowing consciousness to seep back in. As awareness returns, you find yourself in sleep.

TAGLIST: @moonlightazriel @unholiiness @nyxlai @cocoaxbunny @persephone-lilly @iraa567 @rabbidbunwy @sweetchildcloud @lotus-n-l0ve @smashhed @imhellakawai @loveoreos @selfloverrrrrr @matchainthemorning @freckledmuffin @palegardenrebel @hellomeow12 @rowrowrowyourboat13 @zurakoofgintama

Dividers from @cafekitsune

[waeirfaahl]

My thoughts about old version of Hellfire

Here I analyzed judge Claude Frollo, his arc, twisted worldview, conflicting feelings toward Esmeralda and the one certain and important moment of Hellfire, comparing it with the workprint version. What I can tell about the character's arc, it is pretty interesting arc for antagonist, especially in animation of 90s — in contrast to protagonist, who growths as a person and improves himself, learns something new and accepts some mistakes and wants to become better, valuing the new friends, the antagonist tries to save his world he created in his mind.

Now I want to discuss about the early version of Hellfire. I recently discovered and listened this song and noticed different lyrics in some parts. So, I'll show them and write my thoughts, because these early lyrics, from one side, confirm some aspects of the movie and final song and, from another side, have quite different dynamic and mood, still keeping the initial message about love, corrupted by Frollo into obsession, possessiveness and wrath due to Frollo's fanaticism, racist and deluded worldview, ignorance, denial and fear to encounter own imperfection and to realize own crimes.

Yet, the early version and the final version (in contrast to the workprint version) show the character as the lonely and lost person, who falls into madness in attempt to save the twisted and sick (while in his eyes — nearly perfect) world he created in his mind. The first difference happens in the scene of Frollo's fetishism with Esmeralda's scarf. If in the final version we hear "Like fire! Hellfire! This fire in my skin! This burning desire is turning me to sin!",

in the old version the lyrics are these: Hellfire, it must be hellfire! I feel it searing, scalding underneath my skin! Hellfire! What is this? Hellfire! My brain is boiling, boiling, driving me to sin!

This moment confirms that Frollo never experienced neither falling in love, nor physical attractiveness before (like, he is 50-55 — very late puberty, you know). He doesn't compare it with hellfire, explaining it for himself in a bit subtle way, he blatantly explains his sudden feelings toward Esmeralda as hellfire. In the final version of Hellfire his previous line "Then tell me, Maria! Why I see her dancing there? Why her smoldering eyes still scorch my soul?" hints this aspect too (interesting, but smoldering also can mean "condemning" — previously Esmeralda accused him of cruelty and hypocrisy in front of all Parisians, and in my previous post I already mentioned Frollo's arc and biggest fear as the part of his inner conflict, why he doesn't want to admit his feelings to Esmeralda as a love). Plus, in the scene on the festival, when Esmeralda kisses him, you can notice another hint of his lack of experience — how confused, embarrassed, timid and meek Frollo is at this moment, until Esmeralda jokingly moves his hat. Simply saying, his aggressive and unadequate behavior is caused by his unability to understand his feelings and what he has to do in the conditions he happened to be — while his fanaticism and xenophoby are the bullets for the final blow.

The next moment is in the scene with Esmeralda's spirit Frollo dreamily walks to and wants to hug. In the final version he sings "Protect me, Maria! Don't let this siren cast her spell! Don't let her fire sear my flesh and bone! Destroy Esmeralda! And let her taste the fires of hell! Or else let her be mine and mine alone!". The final version focuses on his anger, fear (also fear of unknown), despair, turmoil, woe, how Frollo is afraid of his feelings and runs from them, hiding it under the mask of fury and blaming Esmeralda and others, and only in the small, but very personal, tender and powerful scene with Esmeralda's spirit we finally see, what Frollo actually wants — he wants to be loved by her, he wants her sincere and willing reciprocity, and that he actually idolizes and admires her. He looks lost, vulnerable and very lonely. And all this you actually can read and see in the visuals and expressions of the character. In the old vesion the lyrics are these: I curse you, Maria, and all your saints so cold and cruel, Who let this fire consume my flesh and bone! I curse Esmeralda, that name which means a fiery jewel! She is a jewel, and one that I must own! Here Frollo blames even the saints and at the same time here he openly admits especially to himself that he admires and idolizes Esmeralda, comparing her with a fiery jewel. The same theme of possessiveness and obsession with tiny shred of hidden real feeling of love, but more openly explained. Most likely, these storyboards demonstrate exactly this early version.

For some reason, it reminds me a little bit of ballet or figure skating. After Esmeralda's escape in the final version Frollo sings "Hellfire! Dark fire! Now, gipsy, it's your turn! Choose me or your pyre! Be mine or you will burn!". This version focuses on how terrifying Frollo is in his madness, possessiveness and anger, since he talks with Esmeralda through her scarf and gives to her the ultimatum, as if she intentionally ran away exactly after he opened up and revealed his feelings toward her. Some paranoidal disorder right here.

And partially the reason of such his outburst also can be explained by this previous scene with Esmeralda's spirit — I mean, Frollo clearly has some issues with trust at least toward humans, he is afraid of betrayal, so he will obviously feel wrath, if some person he opened up to will betray him and reveal Frollo's weaknesses to others or whatever. This outburst also allows him to burn Esmeralda's scarf he previously wore on his chest and hugged to himself.

While the early version gives a bit different mood: Hellfire! Let there be hellfire! I will possess this gypsy witch for whom I yearn! Hellfire! Let her taste hellfire! She will be mine, or at the stake I swear she'll burn!

He is still in wrath and feels insulted and betrayed, but here he promises and swears to himself that he will either possess Esmeralda or burn her. What's interesting, in this version it is the first time, when Frollo openly and seriously tells his goal of exactly taking away the life of Esmeralda, before this he didn't mention even the idea of that (while in the final version it was not so clear, 'cause he already sang "Destroy Esmeralda! And let her taste the fires of hell!" — although from his side it was a lie and another attempt to hide his true goal, which was later revealed "Or else let her be mine and mine alone!") and the way how he sings "Or at the stake I swear she'll burn!" — some kind of frightening realization of how far he had come, and there's no path for return. In the final version he is blinded by wrath in this moment and only after burning the scarf he realizes and feels regret and hesitates, but then immediately oppresses all these feelings in favor of "But she will be mine or she will burn!". So, yeah, it was pretty interesting journey and comparing the old and final versions of the gorgeous song, how the authors communicate the theme and ideas of fear, victimblaming, obsession, possessiveness, corrupted love, loneliness, fanaticism and self-hatred. It could be interesting to read the early script, since the authors mentioned about the couple of deleted scenes — for example, how Frollo actually visited Esmeralda in the prison, revealed to her his feelings and gave the choice to either be with him or to die, and only after this we would see the sentencing before execution scene and Frollo's final and last attempt to possess Esmeralda we saw in the final movie "I can save you from the flames of this world and the next. Choose me or your pyre." (honestly, Frollo could make the ultimatum even more terrifying and hopeless — I mean, he wanted to genocide all Romani, so he could tell to Esmeralda "You and all your kind will die! If you choose me, I will save you and mercy on them all!").

Looking at the horror in Esmeralda's face and eyes during this sequence in the movie, and how she shrinks into the pillar, just to distance herself away from the judge, I wonder, what frightening he told her and even did in the prison.