#HE HAS A PERMIT ITS OK!!!

[opens-up-4-nobody]

...

[cover-your-ears]

fighting god (Genshin Impact)

[seresinhangmanjake]

His

Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen x reader

Summary: You used to be a Lady, a daughter of a Great House until Feyd took you. Since then, your sole purpose has been to warm his bed, but when Rabban asks about having you for himself, Feyd makes a choice that changes your future.

Words: 2600

Notes: Possessiveness. Grumpy Feyd. I know it's similar to another one of my fics, but I realized that after the fact, so...

Feyd-Rautha Masterlist

You didn’t sleep. Not a wink. You laid in his bed all night, waiting for the man who never came, and your heart didn’t cease its ferocious beats for a second. Where is he? Why isn’t he here? Is he ok? What happened? The sun rises without answers to those questions. 

You shoot up in bed when the door eases open. Expecting to find him, you’re disappointed to see instead his harpies enter one after the other. They don’t look at you. One goes about riffling through your dresses in the closet, one heads into the bathroom and you suddenly hear a rush of water filling the tub, and the last of them goes to the vanity Feyd brought in for you, lining up makeup and hair pins that she intends to use on you. 

The air about them is poised—an echo of who they used to be before they were turned into pets—as, for the moment, their vile, more carnivorous side lies dormant. 

Feyd only allows them to near you a couple hours after they’ve been fed; the peak time between their hunger sated and their bellies rumbling. At any other time, your uniquely foreign scent wafts to their nostrils and they are incapable of holding themselves back. More than a handful of instances—when they’ve managed to manipulate the guards to open their cages with their seductive smiles—they’ve gone on the hunt for you; one time in particular, sneaking into the bedroom in the middle of the night and yanking you from Feyd’s arms with the intention of sinking their teeth into your flesh. Feyd had been so furious he’d cut a finger from each of their hands. 

Still, they don’t scare you. You see in them women not entirely unlike yourself: owned, and therefore, changed. Soft are the women who have had the luxury of marriage and child-rearing in the comforts of wealth and beautiful homes—and good for them; how lovely to be soft—but it is the women who have not a choice in their existence that develop a steel shell. And you and the harpies have steel shells. In that way, they are your kin, and you try to subtly express that when you can, even though their allegiance to Feyd can make that quite difficult.

“Where is he?” you ask. 

They ignore you, continuing with their tasks, and you huff. Yes, sometimes they refuse to speak with you, and always it seems when you need their words most. In the past, you’ve been tempted to dangle your arm in front of their sharpened fangs in the hope that the offering will encourage their cooperation, but you’ve yet to find the bravery for that. Plus, Feyd would lose his mind. Well, he would lose the rest of it. 

“You’ve spoken to me before,” you continue. “Why not now?”

One of them stops and faces you. She glances at her sister who shakes her head. 

“Tell me,” you plead. 

“We are not permitted to speak with you on the matter,” the other says to your frustration. That is not good enough. Regardless of how he sees you and how you feel, he is the one thing keeping you alive on this lifeless planet and you refuse to go about your days worrying over his safety and what his disappearance means for your fate.

You throw the sheets off your legs and stand. 

“I don’t care,” you spit as your silky nightgown falls at your ankles, but then you reconsider your tone. The harpies do not do well with aggression. Being so animalistic, their instincts are easily drawn out, and they tend to attack when attacked, which is not a fight you would win. 

You take a calming breath, placing a hand over your heart. “We are the same. He owns us, he clothes us, he feeds us,” you remind them. “On this planet, I am as much your sister as you are each other’s. We all care about him in a way and if I knew what happened to him, I would have the decency to tell you.”

The harpy who drew your bath returns to the bedroom. Having overheard your words, she crosses her arms and says, “With respect, my Lady, we are not your sisters,” she says. “We have never had him the way you have, and he does not feel for us the way he does you.” 

Your clenched jaw loosens, lips parting. If you had assumed anything about the relationship between Feyd-Rautha and his harpies, it was that they had once been where you are; that when you came along, they lost their rank and became something alike the handmaids from your home world. You’d assumed that when they warmed his bed, their handmaids were the women who entertained him before them, and so on like a disgusting, perverted pattern. But if that is not the case, then your sense of identity is even more confused. Not to mention, nary a soul has referred to you as ‘Lady’ since you were taken from your family. So why show that respect now when Feyd practically stripped you of the title months ago? 

You look to the only one of the three who seems unsure of the situation. She’s biting her lip, worrying the fabric of your unworn gown between her fingers. 

“What about you?” you ask her and her head lifts to meet your eyes. She’s the smallest of them—pixie-esque, like you read in fairytale stories as a child—and despite the core of their primal nature, the gentlest. “You want to tell me.”

The harpy by your vanity hisses, but the gentle one does not shy away at the warning. “She has been kind to us,” she tells her sister in the most self-assured tone you’ve ever heard leave her mouth. 

The sister snaps back. “He instructed us to do one thing: get her ready for the day and act like nothing is wrong. It was not to tell her what happened.”

You lightly gasp. “So something has happened,” you state, feeling your heartbeat quicken. Your chest begins to rise and fall to match the rapid rate. “Is he ok?”

There are a few seconds of silent pause before Pixie stands a little straighter, setting her shoulders in a strong line. “Our Lord na-Baron was answering for the death of his brother.”

Your head jerks back. “Rabban?” you question, your brow pinching. “Rabban is dead?”

“Yes, my Lady.”

“And Feyd is the one who killed him?” That doesn’t make any sense. While Feyd has complained enough for you to know Rabban is a bumbling idiot, he eventually found a way for his brother to serve a purpose. Why would he kill a man when he is no longer the nuisance he once was, you wonder, so you ask, “Why?”

“The Lord Rabban…made suggestions,” Pixie tells you. One of the harpies groans as the other shakes her head.

“What suggestions?”

She bites down and swallows hard, then she says, “He suggested that the na-Baron share you for his own pleasure.”

Instantly, you’re hit with a wave of nausea. Share? Share you? The concept of a foreign woman hopping between men of status is not unusual, but at this point, you assumed if Feyd were going to participate in something like that, he would have sent you off already. Not doing so didn’t even surprise you. He’s too possessive. 

“You said he was answering for Rabban’s death,” you say, but answering for that surely wouldn’t have taken so many hours, not when the Baron saw Rabban as a waste of space. “So where is he now?”

—

He doesn’t notice when you step into the training room and you’re thankful for that. You came on a mission to extract more answers out of him, but you don’t mind having a second to admire him sparing against his trainer. 

He’s sweaty. You like him sweaty—sweaty and bare-chested and perfectly, effortlessly mesmerizing as aggressive grunts leave his lips. You silently watch their violent dance, your form mouse-like by the door until his trainer looks up and halts to stare at you. Feyd whips around to follow his line of sight, then he sighs and turns back to the smaller man. He mutters something as he grabs the rag at his belt and runs it down his face. 

The trainer leaves and Feyd places his knife back on the table among many others. “I told them to keep you away today,” he says dully, monotone, not meeting your eyes as he runs his finger over the blade and fiddles with the hilt. “Incompetent brats.” 

“You didn’t come to bed.”

“I was busy,” he responds without letting a beat pass. He continues to avoid your stare and mess with the knives as if he’s never wielded them before.

You slowly step down the stairs into the pit of the room. “Busy killing your brother?” you ask. The muscles in his back twitch and flex under pale skin as he grips the hilt harder. 

“That is none of your concern.” The distance between you lessens until you’re a foot from his back, but he doesn’t turn around. 

“Even though you killed him because of me?” you ask. His neck ticks and his head tilts and shifts to adjust to the tension. When he still doesn’t respond, you try another angle. “Why are your harpies referring to me as their ‘Lady’?”

That seems to do it. Feyd faces you, crosses his arms, and leans his lower back against the table. “You think spending one night without me gives you permission to be nosy?”

You don’t give in to his method of shutting you up by aiming to make you feel silly and guilty. Instead, your eyes narrow and you mirror the crossing of arms. “Why am I a Lady again?”   

“You just are.”  

“Are you sending me home?”

His eyes flash. Blue irises darken a shade. “Don’t be stupid.”

“So I’m a Lady on Giedi Prime?” you ask, dropping your chin to emphasize how ridiculous that sounds. 

The edge of Feyd’s jaw sharpens as he clenches his back teeth. “Stop asking questions.”

“Then answer one,” you say. 

It’s a shot taken by an untrained hand, as he doesn’t enjoy demands, especially not from you, but you figure you have nothing to lose in the attempt, so you don’t cower under his menacing glare. You wait. And much to your surprise, he surrenders. 

He blinks, and when his eyes open, they have softened ever so slightly. Then he says, “You’re marrying me,” and everything from your lungs to your limbs freezes in shock. 

“W–What?” you stutter. That makes less sense than Rabban’s sudden death. 

Feyd groans and stands straight, his arms falling at his sides. “See what being nosy gets you?” he snaps. “I wasn’t going to tell you immediately, and you had to go and ruin it.”

He grabs a fresh knife and stomps his way over to a dummy, ready to attack something other than you for the insecurity that he can’t completely contain. You’ve never witnessed him insecure, but you know the feeling when you see it—the defense mechanism, the distancing himself, the grumbly attitude. 

“I’m not sure I understand,” you press as he slashes and stabs at the soulless victim. “I’m marrying you because you killed your brother for wanting to fuck me?”

With a grunt, the dummy’s head severs from its torso and flies off in your direction. It rolls and rolls and stops just before hitting your feet. The dead eyes stare up at you in silent amusement. Now you’ve done it, they mock.

“I don’t ever want to hear those words come out of your mouth again, do you understand me?” Feyd growls.

Your eyes shoot to his. “The marrying you part or The your brother fucking me part?”

He tosses the knife aside. It clatters against the ground as he closes in on you. His hand wraps around your neck. “Don't test me,” he grits out through clenched teeth. “I will sew your damn lips shut if I have to.”

An empty threat if you’ve ever heard one. He would never harm you, but even if he were going to try, his fingers would need to be squeezing much tighter.

You roll your eyes. “Well then how am I going to suck your cock?”

Something about the tease stuns him. His tense features immediately settle and his whole body eases with his exhale. Glancing at your lips, he licks his own, and you think he might decide to kiss you—after all, it’s been a good twenty-four hours since the last one—but he doesn’t.

You snort. “Didn’t think that one through, did you.”

Long fingers unwrap from around your neck. “You’re not funny,” he mumbles with an odd sense of shame.

“If you don’t find me entertaining, can you maybe take the time to explain all of this better?”   

Feyd considers keeping his mouth shut. You know him well enough to know that. However, it’s ridiculous to contemplate since he’s already spilled the bigger news. Nothing could be more shocking than you, after the bed-warming position you’ve held for months, becoming his wife. 

“My uncle was going to take you away from me for killing Rabban,” he finally says. “So I told him I've had plans to marry you for the alliance and that's why I refused to share you. Rabban wouldn’t take no for an answer, so he had to die.”

Raising a brow, you say, “The Baron accepted that explanation? My House may be one of the Greats, but we do not offer much for Giedi Prime.”

Feyd shrugs. “My uncle enjoys anything that causes upset. Marrying me means we will always own something very valuable to your family.”

It would likely offend another, but you don’t mind being owned. While the Baron may believe the Harkonnens as a whole will own you, you belong to Feyd and Feyd alone. He’ll never allow anyone to hurt you and now he’ll never have to fight or argue with anyone to stake his claim, which works for you just fine, to say the very least. 

“Thank you,” you say.

“For what?”

Your head tilts as you smile. “Caring enough to protect me.”

“Don't flatter yourself,” he says. “I didn't do it for you, I did it for my own benefit.”

Your sweet smile morphs into a smirk. “The benefit being that you get to keep me all to yourself…for the rest of your life.”

With a scoff, Feyd rolls his eyes and crosses his arms again. “Whatever.”

“Feyd…” you sigh, leaning into him.

“What?” he returns in his snarky tone as if he doesn’t want you near, but he doesn’t step out of the bubble of your space.

“I'm happy.”

A pink tinge sneaks onto his pale skin, and he quickly looks away. And before he has a chance to come up with some witty remark to smack you with, you grab his face and press your lips to his. 

You hold on to him until he starts to kiss you back, and then he's reaching for you, pulling you close, wrapping his arms around you, and you know you won't be going anywhere for a good long while.

[troublesomesnitch]

The Devil You Know

Aemond x Septa!Reader - Pt. 2

Little follow-up to this, but hopefully works OK on its own! There might be a third and final part also.

Contents: Book!Aemond, filth and depravity. Coercion, manipulation, power imbalance, dubious consent, medieval fuckboy Aemond. Just the tip...

Words: 3200

Full disclosure - possibly a bit unpolished because I wanted to get it done before S2.

-

You left the grand sept just days after your investiture. 

At noon on the first day of the new month, a royal courier came to fetch you, loading your meagre belongings onto a cart to bring both that and yourself to the castle. To your new home and abode: a chamber with one bed, one table and one little chair, one sconce and one seven-pointed star on the wall. Naturally in the servant’s quarters, but on the highest floor, along with the ladies’ maids, far away from the damp cellars and busy kitchens.

The queen’s household is large, and you are somewhere in the middle of the hierarchy; expected to follow orders, but able to give them, too. You are a septa now, a woman grown, and for the first time in all of your life you have no Mother Superior to answer to, no Septon Alester, and no other girls sharing your bedchamber - which is both a blessing and a curse. It is nice and quiet to be by yourself, free of prying eyes and Sister Sybella’s snoring. But no one pays notice when you slip out at night, and if you run into a maid or steward, they naturally assume that you are headed towards Her Grace or Princess Helaena’s chambers. 

Luckily, Prince Aemond’s rooms are in roughly the same direction. 

When others are near, he is perfectly honourable. Really, his performance is quite impressive. Not too eager, not too distant, perfectly measured when he greets you in the halls, or sits with his mother in her solar. But at night, at night he is different. When the hour grows late and the royal family say their goodnights, he will find a chance to strike, to brush past you and squeeze your wrist, or run his fingers over the small of your back to let you know that he wishes to see you. That he wants you to come to him tonight. 

To his chamber, to his bed, to his arms. 

It is a humiliating plight, and you climb the steps of Maegor’s Holdfast with all the enthusiasm of a convict walking to the scaffold. Weighed down by the guilt of your actions, terrified that someone should know. And resentful, of the prince for making you dishonour your vows, and of the gods for cursing you with beauty - had they made you ugly, Prince Aemond would never have spared you a glance, and you would not be in this predicament. You would not be forced to indulge his lusts and endure the liberties he takes with your body. 

But most of all, worst of all, you feel ashamed. Of all the things you do together, and of the fact that you cannot deny it does sometimes bring you pleasure, too. 

You have permitted him to kiss your mouth, your throat, your chest. Wrapped your hands  around his member and stroked it while he fondled your breasts. Let him lie on top of you and rut against you, still fully clothed, pressing hard between your legs until both of you were sweaty and panting. And once, only once, you let him slip his hand up under your skirts and touch you there, and it felt more wonderful than anything else you have ever experienced. So wonderful that you have not allowed him to do it again, for fear that it should corrupt your soul and spirit. That you will always crave it, the warm press of his fingers, and the way your body suddenly shook and tightened with a pleasure so exquisite you could not help but cry out in ecstasy. 

But he has never had you. Never put any part of himself inside you, never even seen your naked body. It is the strangest thing - there are surely many ladies who would give themselves to him, wholly and fully, yet for some reason, he wants only you.

And he does not waste time with any sort of pleasantries. The joys of night are short, and he can only keep you for so long - you must be back in time to rest, and at the very least before the scullions and kitchen maids rise. You have hardly latched the door before he wraps you in his longing arms, laying you on his bed and parting your legs. The sheets are soft against your back, and his leathers are smooth and cool, and you do not protest when he lays on top of you. You have grown used to the feel of his chest against yours, the heaviness of him, and the hard and lean lines of his body, so different from your own. You have grown used to his kisses too. You like it when he pecks gently at your lips, and when he slides his tongue into your mouth and curls it around your own. When he strokes your body in all sorts of ways, to see what darling little noises he can coax from you this time. 

“Have you ever been touched like this before?” he breathes - a silly question, since he knows the answer well enough already. 

“No,” you whisper. “Never.”

“Say it again,” he commands, closing his eye and breathing in deeply, pressing his nose to your sweet-smelling hair. 

“No other man has ever touched me - only you.” 

It arouses him very much, hearing those words, and he groans softly when he takes your hand and guides it down between your bodies. Knowing what he wants you to do, you hike your skirts up, just enough to run your own fingers along the folds of your womanhood and hold them up for him to taste. Which he does with the most fervent passion, sighing as he licks them clean of any trace of you. He has asked many times to be allowed to taste your sweetness from its source, but you have staunchly refused, appalled at the mere suggestion. He should not press his mouth to such a dirty place. He should not lick something that serves only the body’s most revolting and shameful functions. 

Usually, once he has kissed you like this for a while, and pressed and rubbed against you, he will either reach his end from that alone, or he will make you pleasure him with your hands. But not tonight. 

“Let me feel you,” he pants. “Just this once let me put it inside - ”

“It is a sin,” you gasp, mortified, but nonetheless shivering when he pulls at your sleeve, exposing your shoulder to cover it with kisses. 

“As is this,” he whispers. “And this, and this - ”

His mouth is lovely and warm on your skin, and his teeth are gentle when they scrape along your throat, nibbling softly above your neckline, and biting down hard below it. Making your breathing uneven as you struggle to string your words together. 

“But it is different - you know that it is, please don’t make me do it…”

The prince lifts his head to look at you, propped up on his elbow. 

“It is the movements that are the most sinful part of the act - is it not?” he says, cupping your face and stroking your cheek in the tenderest of ways. When you nod, he adds, “and if I were to not perform them, would that not be a lesser sin?”

His tone is innocent enough, but you know that wicked look in his eyes, the self-assured draw of his mouth. He knows that he is right - it is the movements, not the insertion itself that makes the act of coupling so sinful. And if he showed restraint and did not move in any such manner, then you suppose it would be a lesser sin. Although they did not mention such possible circumventions in your training, naturally. And there are other issues, still. 

“But my maidenhead…” you mutter, looking bashfully to the side when the prince touches his nose to yours. 

“I will be gentle,” he breathes. “I will be so very gentle - my angel, my love - let me at least have you this way… ”

It never really is your choice to make. To be alone with the prince is to balance on a precarious ledge - you can deny him some things, but only so long as you can offer something else that might appease him. And though he never makes overt threats, you are painfully aware that displeasing him could have dire consequences. That he could hurt you in a multitude of ways if he so wished. 

You squirm under his gaze, riddled with so many conflicting emotions; fearful of his intentions, yet blushing at the terms of endearment. Who would not want to hear such lovely words from a prince?

“Just this once,” he whispers, his voice soft and amorous. Just this once…

All you give him is the faintest nod, a slight incline of your head, and his hands are already pushing at your skirts, bunching them up over your parted knees. His breath hitches at the sight of your womanhood, your most intimate parts that you have never bared to him before; wet and inviting, framed by soft curls. Lovelier than he had ever even imagined, that rosy colour of your innermost lips, that little pearl you will not let him touch. And most of all your maidenhead, the delicate tissue that partially covers your entrance, and that he will earnestly try not to damage beyond what is necessary. 

For reasons he could not say, you have quite enchanted him. So much so that he has lavished more patience and tenderness on you than ever before on a woman, and that despite seeing so little return on the investment. For weeks he has contented himself with just your hand and your reluctant kisses, the mere feel of your body beneath him. Many times, he could have taken you by force, and many times he wanted to, yet somehow he could not bring himself to do it, could not bear the thought that you should hate him for it. That your delicate limbs should be hurt in trying to fight him off. 

He has waited long for this, and he does not want to give you time to change your mind, so he only quickly shrugs off his doublet and unbuttons his breeches to free his manhood. Which is painfully hard and in dire need of relief.

It still looks so strange to you, that unholy appendage, with its swollen shaft and its fat, fleshy head. Like the poisonous mushrooms that grow in the Kingswood, though you always keep that thought to yourself - you doubt the prince would appreciate such a childish comparison. He strokes it slowly while his other hand disappears between your legs, brushing over your womanhood and spreading your folds to reveal your little opening. Untried, uncharted by anything or anyone. 

You grit your teeth when the tips of his fingers are replaced by - something else. 

Slowly, steadily, he begins to ease himself inside of you, and you feel your muscles instantly and unwittingly tensing up, startled at the sensation. At the pressure, and at the sound the prince makes when the tip of his member is enveloped by your body, the tight rim of your entrance squeezing its sensitive head. The rest of him will not fit, but he spits into his palm and strokes it along his shaft, and that makes things glide a little better, as do your slow, deliberate breaths. 

It hurts, it really does, only not in the way you expected. You do not so much feel like anything is being torn or ripped - rather, you feel stretched, forcibly split apart and opened far beyond what should be possible. Your insides burn from it, and you wince with pain when he adjusts his position, spreading your thighs wider and driving his hips forward. Pressing in until he is fully seated. 

And he moans from how perfect you feel around him. So soft, so tight. His seeing eye closes and his breathing is hoarse, strained from how badly he needs to move, needs to thrust; his arms trembling by the sides of your head as he struggles to hold himself still. It is a bizarre thing to do, you think, just laying together like this, one on top of the other, completely motionless. Your legs raised over his hips, his chin resting against your forehead. His manhood swelling within you, throbbing with need. You can only hope it means that he will finish quickly and release you from this chore, from the searing pain that scorches your core, and the feeling of being so trapped, so tethered. Much like one of the many-legged creatures on Princess Helaena’s wall; splayed out and nailed down, held in place by a foreign object piercing your body. 

But the prince likes it. You have never heard such heavy sighs from him as just now, never seen such utter bliss on his face. His forehead is damp with sweat, his brows drawn together, his upper lip subtly twitching. One of his hands trails up the back of your naked thigh, lifting your leg to curl it around his back, and he moans from that too, as the slight shift gives him a brief feeling of movement. It is not at all comfortable for you, but you are distracted when he seeks your lips, claiming your mouth with slow, deep kisses. His tongue rolls over yours, pulling back to lick along your lip before plunging into your mouth again, over and over, in a strangely repetitive way. A rhythmic way. As if he is making love to your mouth, since he cannot make love to your body. 

It feels lovely, so lovely that it makes your insides twitch. Which in turn makes the prince curse, and a violent shudder run through his body. 

“Do it again,” he moans, and like always you do your best to please him. Clenching your muscles, squeezing tight around him, then releasing again. Very slowly, and each time feeling his breathy gasp against your face, and the thrum of a heartbeat inside of you - whether his or yours, you cannot say. It is painful with your already sore muscles, and it must be a poor excuse for what it is supposed to mimic, but it is still better than nothing, judging by how the prince moans. How he bites his lip and furrows his brow as your insides twitch and contract, so tight and slick and warm. 

How strange to think that now you have become one. Now you are as close as two people can ever be. Closer still when the prince slithers his arm underneath your body, pressing you hard against him and cradling your head. Your fingers are clenched in the damp material of his shirt, and he unfurls them gently to wrap your arms around his neck, around his shoulders; wanting you to hold him, to embrace him as a woman should her lover. 

It makes your discomfort somewhat more bearable, having something to cling and anchor yourself to. The closeness, and the intimacy of it, how his face is right above yours, your noses touching and breaths mingling. He drags his mouth against your own, from side to side, his lips brushing over yours, then over the rest of your face; your chin, your cheekbones, your temples. So, so gently, and like often before, you are stunned that he can be both so cruel and so tender with you. So selfish, and so soft. 

He has had countless chances to force himself on you, yet he never did. Even now he is keeping his promise, holding back, fighting hard to not succumb to that most powerful and natural instinct of a man, this urge to thrust, to copulate. You can feel that he is shivering with the force of his need, gritting his teeth, unable to keep completely still - there is a gentle, almost imperceptible swaying of his body that he cannot help, an impossibly slow rocking with each of his ragged breaths. 

He really is beautiful, you think, with his striking eyes and thick, silvery hair; pink lips parted in a breathy sigh. You could not say what possessed you to be so bold, but you find yourself reaching up to place a wet, lingering kiss underneath his jaw, right on top of the constellation of freckles that adorns his neck, swiping your tongue across it and tasting the sweat of his skin. To an almost immediate effect - at the feeling of your timid caresses, the prince curses loudly, clenching his fingers in the sheets, arching his back - 

“No!” you exclaim, “not inside me, not inside - ”

But it is too late; he has already shuddered once, and his manhood is already pulsing and spurting when he manages to withdraw from you. So stiff that it flops up against his stomach, a grotesque thing to look upon, the way it just hangs there, squirting out semen as he groans and gasps. At the very end of his rapture he grasps it with one hand, stroking it hard all the way from the base to the tip, as though wanting to squeeze out every last bit of fluid. And once he is spent, he rolls off of you and onto his back, completely unceremoniously. Leaving you raw and hurting inside, and with the sticky feeling of his semen trickling out between your thighs. 

“If it catches,” you whisper, afraid to even speak the words. “If I should be with child…”

The prince runs a hand over his face, panting and still too lightheaded to be thinking clearly, because he stupidly tells you that needn’t worry, he will have a tea brought to you -

“No! please no,” you shriek, panicked. “They would know I broke my vows - ”

“Then I will bring it myself,” he snaps, but rather than reassure you, his harsh tone only makes you tear up.

At the sigh of your quivering mouth, his face softens, and he reaches out to pull you into his arms, hold you against his chest, stroke your hair and rock you gently. Say forgive me, forgive me, I quite forgot myself, you mustn’t cry, my love -

“Why must you torment me,” you sob. “Sooner or later someone will know, they will shame me and ruin me - “

“They wouldn’t dare,” he says. “I would not let them - I will cut off any hand that hurts you - “

You press your ear to his chest to drown out the sound of his voice, for he has said these same words many times before, and with the same fervour and poignancy. He adores you, he reveres you, he will cut off any hand that hurts you, any eye that ogles you, any tongue that slanders your name. 

You haven’t the courage to tell him - the only hand that hurts you is his own. 

Please feel free to come into my asks or DMs with critique of my fics! Constructive is preferred, but not required.

Tags. @ladythornofrivia, @blackswxnn, @hightpwer, @toodlesxcuddles, @arcielee

@targaryen-madness, @qyburnsghost

And thank you @aemondsbabygirl for being a great one-woman focus group!

[sandsorghum]

Clouds & Curtains

husband!Nanami x wife!reader

wc. 1.3k

summary. Perhaps Nanami's approach to...rousing you in the mornings has changed over the years.

tags. Established relationship, Domestic bliss | Romance | Smut | Body (& Soul)Worship | Mentions of Nanami wanting to be a father

a/n: Super soft, super indulgent piece. Have your cake and eat it nanami girlies. Sometimes i just need to write him a love letter ok

Prologue

Back when you'd just begun to be intimate with each other, Nanami tended to be a little embarrassed about his subconscious (but hardly subtle) desires for you. He would rather suffer his internal, infernal dilemma than disrupt your rest. But he couldn't quite control his urges, squirming between decency and depravity, not when you'd rub up against him, so innocuous and merciless.

It was a hard habit to shake; how Nanami felt he ought to earn your every quiver against him, every whimper, however much he yearned to feel you tremble at his moans at any given moment. It was codified in him, there was a time and a place and patterns to follow, before he could permit himself the pursuit of your shared pleasures.

Of course, you'd unveil him in the evenings, the privilege of your touch stripping bare the prerogatives of his flesh. You unraveled him, his reticence, his reasoning, his very capacity for speech, by braiding your breath and fingers with his, in the friction-begetting-friction tangle of your lips and limbs together.

Yet he still thinks of these mornings, that find the two of you entwined, as an undeserved luxury. So Nanami would do his best instead to focus on your face, how sweet your peaceful expression was. It would be wicked of him not to cherish this, he'd chastise himself for wanting more, for wanting to drown in your adoring gaze, for wanting to return it with his own hungry one, body and spirit beggared by the night, by the hours not spent beheld by you.

Nanami assumed the beauty and tenderness of your countenance would quell, or could sate his appetites, would tame the primal stirrings in his belly. But nothing could be further from the truth, in fact they had the opposite, compounding effect; a lump in his throat would rise, and his desperation would thicken till he could only helplessly rut his hips against you.

And then your eyelids would flutter open, and in the crease of your knowing smile, all his definitions, his distinctions, all that distance between need and greed would collapse with a single kiss.

Years later, and your husband is so absolutely shameless about his...early head starts to the day. He pulls you into him, snug against the cleft of your ass cheeks, content to let your scent and radiance seep through the thin fabric and warm him in a way the sun, in its reluctance behind the clouds and curtains, can never hope to.

He stares at the petulance drooping off the petals of your lips, rose bud coiled tight before daybreak can coax it to unfurl for strobes of gold. Nanami is a patient man, too patient you've often thought, yet you feel his phantom touch, a tender sweep of your mouth, a zephyr whispering in the wings, billowing brocade and swelling muslin, ghost pulling you through the gauze of sleep.

You shift against Nanami to hear him sigh your name, soft and distant, thick with slumber and affection and it's this which rouses you more, not merely his growing rigidity pressed to the curves of you. Although, it helps, feeling every inch of his hunger like this, in a slow swirl and pinch at your waist, the gentlest rocking as your breasts are cradled in his palms, familiar persuasion pebbling your areola. You know he dreams of them swollen with milk, that all your memories of his teeth are girded by the desire for them to be suckled by the most innocent of mouths, baring only gums and tiny wails. Your nubs stiffen and a small smile stretches across your face at the thought that with his wish to grow a family fulfilled, he might find also a small regret, of his monopoly of your mounds contested by another, to whom he owes the genesis of your body's generosity, that sweet fullness dribbling, stolen, into your husband's mouth, enticing in its envy.

This prospect of hypocrisy is to be savoured for another day, far down the road. This morning brings neither hesitation nor urgency, all syrupy light and his maple gaze, the languor of his limbs splayed around you to be treasured just as much as the gradual grind of his cock. There's a certain smugness in its slowness, as with the self-assuredness of his thumb circling a bare sliver of your skin.

A familiar motion that stirs a memory, fuchsia-tinted for the both of you. You remember your then boyfriend stammering and scarlet-tipped, matched to the rosy tips of his ears, excuses lost in the shuffle of sheets and stutter of hips.

"I-it's just-just the t-temp-ah-temperatuur," he'd slurred, the excuse as thin and transparent as the sticky film he laved across your throat, dangerously growing gossamer and feebler with every twitch and each strong buck against your body.

"Mmhmm," you'd hum, carnal ache turning you conciliatory. Such complacency. You had been the one to smirk back then, canines gleaming coy, as you offered ruin in the guise of reprieve.

"Want me to warm you up, darling?" Hands already reaching for him, mind already marveling before your fingers could be reacquainted with their hubris, his girth.

"P-please, anythin-nghing" he'd panted, all wide-eyed desperation to be devoured, sweet thing.

You'd been such a fool.

To not know not greed was a two-way street, this ravenous osmosis, this vicious ouroborous.

You think perhaps, in fact, you got the worse end of the deal, trembling against your spouse now, thighs clamped together.

"My dear," Nanami hums, a teasing timbre dripping honey as he sinks his fingers in, "always so ready for me."

You squirm, eyes screwed shut and fisting the sheets, trying to grasp the pale image of the boy who'd once writhed and blushed beneath you, a spectre all but vanquished. You miss him, sometimes.

You arch your back into Nanami, the way you know he's addicted to, just to hear him groan your name, ragged with the dregs of self-restraint or slumber, you're not sure which, but it's a close enough echo to send pleasure juddering through you, the recollection churning hot in your gut, of when he was wrapped around your finger, instead of your cunt around his.

"Sweetheart."

The tenderness of his tone pries your lids open. He doesn't have to ask, doesn't have to say anything but he does, because he knows you are too stubborn to ask for what you need to hear.

"My love."

He claims your gasp, in the crush and curl of his mouth, in the crook of his fingers.

"My girl."

Another smattering of kisses, chasing the flutters of your belly down, down, down to your creases weeping nectar. He licks a whine from you, pitching high into the air, his husky moan vibrating within you.

"My wife."

You feel the hot gust of Nanami's breath over your clit, as he pauses.

"My wife."

There's a reverence as he repeats himself, pathetic attempts to vanquish his disbelief, wonder glistening in his gold-flecked irises, staring at you in awe, searching for proof this isn't some frenzied fever dream of his.Of course, he finds it in your own unwavering eyes.

You've been such a fool.

There, in the locked gaze your shared history glimmers, that shy boy paralyzed by his worship of you, prostrate as the man before your parted legs now, offering his soul, his past, his future.

You reach for him, and he surges upwards. The collision is wave returning and rising from oceans, over and over, is starburst, is incandescence, is the fission of atoms never, ever meant to be split.

It burns away all notions of him as your acolyte or priest, any concept of deity and devotee.

"My life," he breathes into you, and you feel the throb in your ribs, the furnace of his lungs.

"My life," you repeat to your husband.

Adam. Prometheus. Kento.

This morning and many after, he lavishes you with irreverence, a ravishing of irrelevance; his goddess, his woman, his joy -all that matters is that you are his and he is yours; Together, you forge a paradise that exists for as long as the melding of your souls persist, boundless as horizons and sure as sunrises.

@houseofsolisoccasum

[morganbritton132]

ahhhh i just spent the last three days reading every post on the emtts tag and im in love with your whole little universe. i kept meaning to make a list of all of the little things but i kept getting distracted and forgetting so i only started at april 18th bc i NEED (subject to your willingness to expand/care act this particular part of your universe) to hear more about all of the little stories of steve getting arrested (particularly hopper arresting steve?? and them breaking into steves parents house?)

thanks for this amazing space!! you’ve made a universe that ive been thinking about constantly and that expands on the characters in such a beautiful mundane way, its very cool!!

ps i just read one of the follow ups in the death threat part where steve admits he doesn’t want to stop teaching bc dustin asks eddie about it and i think im about to cry holy shit

pps on the death threat part with diane oh god. like just steve having to figure it out in front of her and her explaining to him and him admitting to just not being ok i just

First, thank you so much! This is all so very nice of you to say and props for getting through everything in three days. It is quite a bit! It’s honestly amazing how much has been written in such a short amount of time. I’m only going to cover Steve getting ‘arrested’ and I’ll touch on Steve and Eddie’s breaking and entering at a later date.

Steve started having seizures a little after they closed the gate on the Upside Down for good or, well. They started noticing that he was having seizures after they closed the gate. It was heavily implied in the undertone of his doctor’s voice that these seizures were likely going on for a while and that they likely not going to stop anytime soon.

Steve took this news as well as anybody could.

Everybody was kinda waiting for him to have a breakdown over it, but it never happened because Steve was – well, he wasn’t fine. Obviously. But it is what it is, right? If the worst thing to come out of all this Upside Down stuff is that he’s a little dumber than he was before than how could he complain?

Max was learning how to walk again.

What Steve didn’t take well was his doctor telling him that he wasn’t allowed to drive anymore. In fact, he did not take that news at all. He completely ignored it, and he ignored the looks that Robin when give him when he drove himself to work, and he would say, “It’s not like I’m driving the kids around or anything. It’s just me.”

“And that’s supposed to make me worry less?”

“I pull over if I feel weird.”

He wasn’t actually driving all that much anyways. Robin got her permit and Eddie got the all-clear to drive again, so no one needed to rope Nancy into lecturing him about ‘the dangers.’ He didn’t need Dustin’s complaining or Eddie’s ‘hey, maybe you should listen to them’ or Joyce stopping him on his way out the door. And he didn’t need Hopper.

Steve was learning to accept that sometimes he needed help. He was doing better, but Steve practically lived alone despite the jokes people were making about him being at Eddie’s all the time, and he wasn’t going to bother someone just because he needed toilet paper.

Steve was sitting in his car outside of the Fair Mart, trying to remember why he needed to go there in the first place, when there was a knock on his window. He startled and blinked hard twice before looking over at the drivers’ side window. He frowned.

Hopper was standing there and he looked annoyed. He gestured for him to get out of the car and Steve frowned more, fumbling with his seatbelt before pushing the door open. For lack of anything else to do once he was out of the car, Steve said, “Hey, what’s up?”

Hopper frowned more like he was annoyed with Steve which was, in itself, was really annoying because Steve didn’t do anything. He was just here to buy… He was here to get… Wait. “Huh?”

Hopper sighed loudly and repeated himself. Slowly. “Give me. Your keys.”

Maybe it was Hopper’s tone or maybe there was some stock in what his doctor said mood swings, or maybe Steve was just tired of everybody treating him like a baby that needed taken care of and watched. Just when Hopper reached to take the keys out of his hand, Steve shoved him away.

Everything kinda blurred at the edges and the headache that’s been wedged in the corner of Steve’s jaw pulsed. He didn’t really take a breath until Hopper shoved him against the hood of his car.

Hopper cuffed metal around his wrists and said, “Good going, Harrington.”

Steve yanked on his arm and snapped back, “You’re not even a cop anymore. You can’t arrest me.”

“Call it a citizen’s arrest.”

Eddie laughed for four minutes of Steve’s five minute phone call at the police station. He laughed so hard that Steve knew that he was holding his side where the bites were the deepest because they were still tender, and Steve just rolled his eyes, “Yeah, yeah. Yuck it up. Are you gonna get me?”

“Hm, yeah,” Eddie grinned through the phone. “Yeah. It’s a little ironic that the Prom K-“

Steve hung up the phone.

The ‘charges’ that Hopper (not a cop) threatened to ‘throw the book at him’ for were driving without a valid driver’s license. There was a part of Steve that knew that this was all just for show to teach him a lesson, but still argued that he had a valid license because no one took it away from him, and actually, “This is false imprisonment, right? Maybe I should call my family lawyer.”

It was even more annoying that Eddie – rolling into the building smelling like weed an hour later – agreed with Hopper. 

[enden-k]

Was not expecting the (partial) lore drop with Saran's name. Excuse me while I hyperfixate on that because ONE AND A MYSTERY LETTER IS TOO SHORT FOR ME TO CRACK IT....for now at leastLiterally too short.

I have speed consumed the entirety of the available content to determine what it's about. I am going to speed consume it once more the SECOND I have time because the theories-

Currently, sitting at the theory of last name. What i find the most interesting is that he will call himself that, but hates it when others do (the whine is mostly the same across non traumatized and reverse Saran so clearly, not that BIG an insult to his person/ego but still not enjoyable) AND it's seemingly a part of his actual name. It's not "Don't call me that" but "Don't say my name/like that"

(Second working theory and the reason i need to speed consume stuff once more is for my theory of Saran not being his name/being a nickname- Bit of a long shot. But!! If he's never/rarely mentioned by name across all of the content with pre Vika people, it becomes a little more possible. After all, he seemed to have reinvented himself after his death to a point where he was comfortable again after such a betrayal, who's to say he didn't ditch a name he disliked?)

(Or it could be just his last name he ditched. Who knows? Certainly not me)

-🦜

"saran" is the first syllables of his very long last name (family name). when his parents named him, he was given a first name and an unknown nickname for the time being until he was able to choose one for himself. which he later changed to "saran"

in their family, the first name is smth blessed and saying it is very intimate and only between close ones like family members or partners which is why they pick nicknames for outside the close circle

he went with "saran" bc its just the very shortened version of his family name and saved him the trouble of thinking of a new nickname

azai is the only one who knows his first name bc theres an important moment (OG amygdala ofc) where saran takes him HOME home; not to his apartment but to his families home to get a few things for their early amygdala experiments. azai overheard sarans mother calling his name bc its been ages since he showed up at his home again; later on when azai is alone with her bc hes not permitted to enter the sacred halls, she has a very sweet, motherly talk with him which he understands as permission to have her son

when he uses his name for the first time, saran has quite the feral reaction bc like i said, its very intimate. azai uses it without his permission and saran doesnt like it, esp not the way he says it, bc it implies theyre romantic partners

when he tells vika his first name, its given bc he wants him to use it and bc he sees him as his spouse. he loves the soft way vika says it and insist to call him only this. it visibly makes saran flustered too. bro could break vika any time he wants yet hes the one being broken whenever vika says his first name akjsbckj

(so yea, when baby saran yells at saran not to say it, its bc saran is mimicking his dad to piss off baby saran and its super effective. its ok for him to say bc its lit him and also the only ones using it in that time is his parents so yea, baby saran def connects it with his annoying dad LMAO

meanwhile in the reverse amygdala doodle, saran tells azai not to say it (without much bite tho than he would do in og) bc azai mocks him ("aw are you crying") - he only allows it here bc i doodled this as an azaisaran request ajksbck)

anw, saran keeps his names after death bc its probably the only thing left from his past and his family. have fun figuring it out tho until he drops it himself AJKBSCKJBK if someone would actually get it right they have one free wish bc that would be insane fr---

[jkgnggj]

WOW I GOT A LOT OF TORI SHIPS LEMME TRY LISTING THEM RQ okok so this is just a list of the individual pairings but I also ship a lot of these in polycules and a few of these I'm not a huge fan of or haven't thought enough hcs for but I can see the potential in any one of these pairings bc Tori is a versatile guy (desperate, just like his partner must be in order for them to somehow tolerate him)

Tori x saiki

Tori x akechi

Tori x aiura

Tori x yumehara

Tori x suzumiya

Tori x satou

Tori x hairo

Tori x saiko

Tori x kaidou

Tori x kuboyasu

Tori x nendou

Tori x mera

Tori x imu

Tori x arisu

Tori x teruhashi

Tori x kusuke

Tori x takeru (aka Chiyo's ex)

Tori x takayuki (cute band member that reminds me of Akechi)

Tori x shinya (the other band member)

id like a bit of your attention again

im making a list of saiki k ships. show me everything. anything. what do you like. @jkgnggj im calling you here specifically you know the tori ships

[littlest-w01f]

Taverns

For @polyacotarweek

Poly Acotar Week 2024 Masterlist

Day 4: Adventure

Summary: Eris and Rhysand find out that Rosalie hasn't had quite the sex life. They plan to change that.

Cw: Blindfolds, MxFxM, Oral M receiving, Fingering, Spanking, Smut 18+ MDNI

The music was loud as the three lovers were in a private room of their own in a traven they frequented. Rosalie was on her knees, a pillow between her knees and the hardwood floor for comfort. Her breathing was shallow as she felt two pairs of hands on her, her mates. She nuzzled in the hand at her cheek, knowing from the softness it was Eris.

Eris had done the courtesy of telling Rhysand that she had quite a reserved life while growing up, not permitted most things, and Rhysand, ever the kind mate had the idea of showing Rosalie some wild sides of their worlds.

Hence here she was, blindfolded with a black cloth, hands obediently on her lap, the music from outside, soft teasing touches from her mates all over her body causing goosebumps all over her skin, making the hair on the back of her neck rise up.

"Are you sure about this, little fox?" Rhysand asked, undoing her updo to make her hair fall over her shoulders.

Rosalie nodded wordlessly when Eris stroked her chin with his hand, "Words, my fox."

"Yes," Rosalie breathed and Eris took the chance to place his thumb on her tongue, smiling and watching her instantly wrap her lips around him to suck.

As the music played, it seemed to envelop Rosalie in its sensual embrace, causing her heart to race and her breath to hitch as they continued their exploration of her body. The sound of their voices whispering sweet nothings against her ear, combined with the soft caress of hands, only served to heighten her arousal further. Her body quivered between them, every nerve ending alive and aware of the pleasure being bestowed upon her.

She was drenched in the wetness of desire, her red lace soaked through, the fabric sticking to her skin like a second layer of skin. The scent of her arousal filled the air around them, an aroma that was both intoxicating and enticing.

"My my, aren't you excited." Eris taunted, watching her squirm for friction while on her knees.

"Do you rember the safe word we decided?" Rhysand's hands were on her corset, unlacing and clipping it off, throwing it somewhere uncaring.

"'Red'" Rosalie responded, something easy enough for her to remember for her first, as she did, Rhysand cupped her breasts in his hands, gently kneading and rolling her nipples between his fingers while also giving them a playful pinch.

"Good girl," The Night male simply responded, biting down on her shoulder.

With the blindfold taking away her ability to see, everything felt electric, making her gasp and moan softly, Rhysand was behind her, chest to back as he played with her body, Eris stood tall in front of her, using his shoe to nudge at her closed knees, "Spread."

She spread her legs as Eris removed the pillow from under her, "Think you can keep up or does one of us has to chain you?"

Rosalie shuddered as Rhysand bit at her sensitive ears, whispering, "I'd be glad too,"

"I think I'll be ok," Rosalie confirmed, burning in anticipation.

"Good," Eris smirked, watching her balance on her toes with her legs spread wide for him, his eyes on the damp patch of lace that covered her.

Rhysand, noting his stare was quick to rip the fabric of their mate, making her gasp at the air softly, leaving her exposed and vulnerable between the two males. With a soft chuckle, Rhysand pulled away from her ear, moving down her body to her thighs. He took one leg in each hand and spread her legs further apart, revealing her wet slit to Eris. He couldn't help but give it a gentle smack, the impact sending shivers of pleasure throughout her body.

"Did you like that?" Rhysand gave her another gentle spank to her wet folds, making her quiver lightly, Eris watched her with a grin, the way Rosalie twitched in efforts to not move as Rhysand wrapped an arm around her waist, caging her arms in.

"Yes, yes..." Rosalie gasped out as Rhysand groaned in satisfaction as he slipped two fingers inside her tight, wet cunt. He used his thumb to rub against her clit, causing her to writhe against him. The sensations were intense and added to the overall pleasure she felt. Her mate continued to fuck her with his fingers, his movements becoming faster and more frantic as he worked her up into a fever pitch of need and desire.

Both their pants grew tighter with hearing her moans as Eris burned away their clothes, amber eyes black with lust, a matching look in Rhysand's eyes.

Eris approached her, fully hard cock in hand as he stroked it, his hard cock throbbing in his hand as he guided it towards her lips, "Open up for me, my little slut." He gave her a small push, encouraging her to open her mouth wide enough to take his entire length. As she did so, he thrust his cock into her mouth, burying it deep within her throat.

Rosalie gagged lightly at the sudden full thrust of his cock in her mouth as Rhysand held her still, hand still buried in her cunt, playing with her and stretching her.

Rhysand groaned in approval, Eris' cock slapping against her tongue as he continued to work her cunt with his fingers. Eris continued to fuck her face, his cock filling her mouth and throat as he pumped in and out of her. He could feel the resistance of her throat, the tightness of her grip around his cock, and he loved every moment of it.

"Fuck, Rosa, you look so hot." Eris panted, finding his rhythm with his thrusts as Rosalie licked and sucked his cock while he moved.

Rhysand kissed her neck and shoulders, marking her skin as she did, watching Eris' cock go in and out of her mouth, "Such a good girl you are, Ro, so good." He kissed over her cheek where the imprint of Eris' cock formed when he pushed in.

"I love how you suck my cock like this." Eris' pace quickened as he grew increasingly harder and more desperate. He could barely stand the feeling of her hot, wet mouth around his cock, and he needed release badly.

Rhysand's hand worked to stimulate her as she tried her best to rut against his hand, he smirked feeling her tense up on him, "Are you close?" When she sends down a wave of affirmation down their bond Rhysand pulls his hand away, chuckling to himself. Moved his now-drenched hand to his lips while making eye contact with Eris and took his fingers in his mouth, sucking her arousal clean.

Rosalie whines in disappointment and that causes Eris's hips to stutter more while watching Rhysand, his final string breaking and he let out a loud groan as he came, spurting his seed into her mouth. His cum shot out in a torrent, splattering against her tongue and the insides of her mouth. The taste was salty and bitter, as she drank him whole, sucking for more, scenting him on herself, he just wanted to feel her warmth and wetness around his cock. He kept fucking her face until he was spent, emptying his balls into her mouth before finally pulling out, his cock covered in spit and cum.

Rhysand let go of Rosalie and she wobbled lightly on her toes, caught on nothing and all she could hear were the sounds of sucking. Rhysand had taken Eris's cock in hand, licking and sucking over his lover's length to clean him on his cum and her saliva, with a small kiss to his head he pulled away.

Eris was breathing heavily as he knelt in front of Rosalie, "Oh you poor thing," He tutted, "Did Rhys really not let you cum?"

Rosalie nodded, earning a pull on her hair from Rhysand, "Come now, I was just playing," He smirked, landing another spank on her sensitive cunt.

Rosalie twitched at the impact, gasping softly when she felt fingers on her cunt again, warmer, Eris', push in, "Oh, Er..." She sighed in slight relief.

Rhysand pinched and rolled her clit between his fingers as Eris had his buried deep in her warmth, rubbing against her inner walls, she moaned and whimpered between them as they picked up the pace with their hands, the sounds of kissing right by her ear making her tremble.

Eris' tongue thrust into Rhysand's mouth, tasting the remnants of himself as they both brought their mate over the edge. Eventually, after several minutes of stimulation, Rosalie cried out in bliss, her body trembling with pleasure as she came. Her face contorted in ecstasy, and her mouth opened wide in a silent scream of pleasure as she climaxed, pressed between her two males.

With a final peck, Rhysand pulled away from the kiss, turning his attention to the female who had fallen limp on Eris, her breathing rough, "Fuck, so pretty," He groaned, stroking her clit through her orgasm, having her trembling as Eris held his fingers still in her, kiss the crown of her head, using his teeth to pull away the blindfold on her eye.

Rosalie blinked a few times to adjust to the light in the room, smiling when her eyes met Eris', "Hi..." She offered softly and Eris smiled, pecking her lips, greeting her back.

"Yeah, yeah, very sweet." Rhysand spoke from behind her, putting pressure on her lower back to make her arch and present her quivering cunt to him, "I'm going to take you now." He kissed over her shoulder, leaning over her completely, landing a hand fast on her ass.

With her slight nod of approval from being buried in Eris' neck, Rhysand plunged into her wet cunt fully, he couldn't help but feel the warmth of her body enveloping his cock, the sensation driving him wild with desire. He started to fuck her with fervour, his cock slamming against her walls with each powerful stroke.

Rosalie squirmed in Eris' arms, holding her for Rhysand to take mercilessly. He simply chased his own high, using her like a cock sleeve.

"Oh god, your cunt feels amazing," He groaned, his voice full of lust and need. He continued to pound into her, his cock seemingly never tiring or slowing down. Each time he hit her sweet spot, he felt a sharp, electric shock course through his body, through her pleasure that he felt down the bond, making him all the more determined to keep going. "Does my cock feel good, little Fox?"

"Yes... Yes... YES." Rosalie cried, trying to push back on him, Eris groaned softly watching them, biting on her neck to mark his spots too, Rhysand laughed, his cock still buried deep in her cunt as he too began to pound into her. He was eager to claim her as his own, and his cock slapped against her inner walls with each brutal thrust. The sound of skin colliding with skin filled the air, punctuating the rhythm of his fucking as he continued to drive into her.

Eris reached his hand between them to stroke her clit, murmuring praises on how well she took Rhysand, wanting to bring her over another high.

After what seemed like an eternity of fucking, Rhysand finally reached his climax with a growl, his cock pulsing with the force of his release as he came inside her. Empting into her cunt, his cum mixing with her juices as he pounded into her. Rosaile's body shook with the intensity of his orgasm, her own following his, her cunt contracting around his cock, holding him in.

Rhysand fell on her, taking both Rosalie and Eris with him, the two males gave gentle kisses to soothe her, Rhysand pulling out gently, watching his cum leak from her ruined cunt.

"That's a good girl." Eris cooed softly, stroking her hair, "You took us so well."

Rhysand pulled them both up, laughing as Rosalie wobbled on her knees, grabbing her instantly, "I've got you love," He smiled, holding her close, "I've got you."

Rosalie smiled sleepily, "Can we go home and cuddle?"

"After we clean you, yes." Eris pushed her hair out of her face, followed by a gentle kiss to her forehead.

{General taglist- @nox-ceur @sonics-atelier @lilah-asteria}

{Eris taglist- @fxckmiup @amygdtjhddzvb @slut4acotar}

[scarianheadcanons]

Ok, here me out what if - Scar jokingly suggests he finished a marriage form at the permit office. He presents the form to Grian, pretending it's official.

Scar asks Grian to sign it playfully.

Grian realizes Scar's humorous proposal and happily signs the "form."

Scar thinks they are now romantically involved 

Grian now has to explain that their not married because there was no official involved.

scar is DISAPPOINTED to say the least.. but it doesn't stop him from making up a form for them to start dating (because its probably abit too early for marriage..) and grian realises that oh, he is being serious

lets say he had was put on hold while grian freaks out (in a good way)

[personwithatophat]

Correction Theory

i have met my quota of at least ~ 1 ~ interested party

so lets talk about the hair thing.

Correction Theory is the idea that showfall controls their cast not just in showy ways with flashing lights and wires but also in subtle ways that the actors (mostly ranboo) try to tell us about. when studying this theory and incorporating the hundreds of tiny potential cues I implore you to read this and then rewatch even the first 20 minutes of genloss TSE with this new perspective. Even if you don't believe me, its very interesting to notice. anyway I noticed this a bit ago but nearly every time that ranboo goes to do something that progresses the plot, it is followed or proceeded by him wiping his hair out of his eyes. ok? so what? its a tick it was a live show he was nervous? just stick wth me Showfall media's main goal is to have this show go smoothly, to keep the script breaks scripted and to keep the actors where they're supposed to be. due to the promotional material we know that the initial TSE live stream wasn't the first replay of the show so they've already gone through the process of things to adjust by the time were seeing it for the first time. Notably, headaches. the control items that showfall uses on the cast gives them headaches. ranboo shows us this a few times when he comments on his head hurting in TSE, as well as any time he wakes up in the show he tries to clutch his forehead. but he doesnt. its stopped halfway like he forgets that he has a headache and he instead runs his hand through his hair in replacement. now we have a base to work off. that when he touches his head its a potential headache indicator. a headache indicator that flares up specifically when showfall gives a command or correction to their protagonist. so

with this base in mind, as a sane and logical conclusion, i noted every time this happens to try and line it up with whats happening on screen. and 8/10 times it works. Corrections. small insignificant things that showfall wants to control so that the show goes smoothly but isn't worth drawing attention to it with blinking lights or plot. normally proceeded or followed by a headache indicator. - when chat chooses where ranboo should go - when ranboo looks into the camera and instantly looks away - if showfall feeds ranboo lines "I guess I better find these keys" - before or after every action during evil snag fight - when directed to/not to touch something (ep 2 detonator, ep 1 bolt cutters) these are only a few examples of when the action can align to certain commands and corrections relating to the show each correction is small enough that attention isn't drawn to it, but its also giving him a headache and its why we see him brush his hair out of his face instead of clutch his forehead. if ranboo were to act in distress or pain during the show when its uncalled for it takes away from the immersion or the script. pain isnt permitted. instead its redirected.

the theory sounds insane in shorthand but I do genuinely believe it, and you can immagine the written commands or corrections if you watch close enough. please ask me if you need clarification or more proof, I will happily provide. :) -Tophat

[joydoesathing]

Here is my pre prepared writing list for my next fanfic!! :)

(It’s ok to answer this rlly late bc I’m still working on Mike and Wil’s fanfic. i’m just getting this list ready for when I start the next Fanfic.)

1. How did Frances’ parents find out she was pregnant?

2. How old was Nacho when he got his first job?

3. How was Anatolii as a baby? (Did he like cry a lot or was he just chill lol)

4. Did Frances enjoy being institutionalised?

5. Does Anatolii like going to school?

6. How did Nacho run away?

7. How did Frances track him down?

8. You said their parents weren’t aware of their ‘relationship,’ but did any of their friends know?

9. How long did it take for Nacho and Frances to recognise each other when Frances moved into the apartment?

10. Does Anatolii get bullied/teased by others because of him not having a mother? (I mean, its the 50s. It wasn’t considered normal to not have both parents unless one of em was like, dead.)

🎀

1.) Well, naturally she still lived with them at the time so they'd find out eventually.

2.) Around his mid-twenties

3.) In first few years he was with Nacho, Tolya cried quite a lot , mainly because Nacho knew jackshit about taking care of babies and he was quite busy and didn't see Tolya much (college then finding a stable job)

4.) Not really but not enough for her to hate it there

5.) Yeah, pretty much

6.) He moved states. When he first met Frances, I imagine he was living independently away from him parents and home state for college, much to his parents' dismay. Then when he heard about the pregnancy, he got help from his "buddies" to move to a state nearer to his home state and transfer to a different college there. Of course, the sudden transfer did shock his parents but they were able pull off the excuse that Nacho's grades in that college were tanking because he didn't really like his previous college, so his parents permitted it (plus they also thought it was a good thing since he'll be closer to home now). In case you haven't noticed here already, Nacho has very loving parents that would excuse him of most of his antics.

7.) Scurried through a bunch of phone books for months on end until a previous neighbor of Nacho's took notice of her situation and provided her a few details they heard of him and his whereabouts

8.) Nacho's buddies knew and Frances kept it between her and just one close friend.

9.) It took probably almost a year and a few months.

10.) Well, when he was smaller, no, because he never disclosed that fact, but later on his classmates did notice was a bit odd that they have never seen Anatolii with his mom, so some people just jumped to their own theories and a good few of these guys would use it to get under Tolya's skin out of boredom or spite.

[mintjeru]

thinking about sethos voicelines (up to friendship lvl 2) and how he'd get along with kvthm bc i love them all a normal amount-

(unrestrained brainrot under the cut)

i've actually been thinking about them since cyno's 2nd story quest bc i was pretty intrigued by sethos' backstory but didn't want to hc too much until i had a better idea of his personality

and disclaimer: i only have sethos at friendship lvl 2 which means i don't have access to his "about [character]" lines and may be disproved by canon (but when has that ever stopped me)

ok so first, i know in my heart that kaveh and alhaitham would be permitted to enter the temple of silence given they have the trust of not only cyno and tighnari but also lesser lord kusanali

if sethos and those affiliated with the temple agreed to it, i think kvthm would be sent there to study its architecture and record any inscriptions

both of them, especially alhaitham, would also be excited to be able to read the books only available in the temple of silence

but moving on.

sethos and alhaitham would get along well bc they're both knowledgeable people who actively try to learn more

sethos considers himself a people person and enjoys learning more through talking w/ desert travelers and meeting others in sumeru city

whereas alhaitham is well-read and stays on top of current events through hearsay as he demonstrated during the optional dialogue during cyno's 2nd story quest

and sethos is always happy to help those who have questions, even going so far as to ask around in his network

so i think they could have interesting conversations and learn a lot from each other

now for kaveh, both he and sethos have similar voicelines on being out and about rather than cooped inside all day

and they both get sentimental about the stars in the night sky

also i like to think kaveh likes shopping at the grand bazaar, which sethos also frequents

so!! kaveh and sethos might go stargazing in the desert, maybe after kvthm have settled in after the journey to the temple of silence

and back in sumeru city, kaveh and sethos would enjoy sharing snacks and shopping in the bazaar together (or just taking a stroll and people-watching to relax)

and i'm not sure if this is canon yet but To Me, sethos gets invited to the cyno/tighnari/kaveh/alhaitham dinners whenever he's in town ^^

they are all good friends i know this to be true in my heart

[bluestrawberrybunny]

Garth from @ask-marios-apprentice asks

I got some asks from some from some friends.

Mario: How does your Mario protect the Kingdom. Garth told me that he is not a SUPER Also congratulations on your wedding.

Peach: What is your Kingdoms government like. Is Peach doing a good job. What are relation with other nations.

Meggy: Meggy. Do you remember our mom and dad. Our biological parents I mean. I sometimes have trouble remembering who they were.

Shigeru Miyamoto: how is the Kopai doing. Does tears of the kingdom do well. We need to know if we can release it in tandem with the new switch in 2022

Ricardo (My dad): Ask if they need you also to kill the artist guy like in the universe with the mutants.

My dad was referring to how SMG4 in the @asksmg4hollowau wanted me to kill Axol because he was showing symptoms of an illness

SMG3: why would I ever want to marry that smooth brain knucklehead. I have me, eggdog, and a cafe i almost have a permit for.

Alice (The Fourth SUPER): ask what was the organized syndicate seem like in their 1950s. I want to know if their Alice stayed fully evil.

I'll see if I can find anyone else who wants to ask questions.

SMG4: Pfft. You would totally say that back then.

SMG3: Oh, shut up! ... baka...

SMG5: Ok, so... let's go question by question...

Mario: Okey dokey! Mario protects the kingdom by being Mario!

Luigi: ... he means the whole avatar thing...

Mario: That's what I said-donkey!

Luigi: Basically, the whole SMG4 crew works together for that. But Mario and I have some special abilities due to being our world's avatars.

SMG6: For the second question... um... our Peach here is... uh... we don't talk to her much after... the... um...

SMG5: Since SMG4 got possessed by a demonic keyboard in his pursuit of perfection and destroyed Peach's castle and kind of left her to rot down there for 2 years as some sort of virus mutant beast and then we snuck down there and then you got possessed by the demonic keyboard as well, and then we had to go in and save you and then we finally turned her back to normal but now she's taller and has 4 arms and white eyes and isn't exactly friendly with the crew anymore but will remain civil?

SMG6: Um... yeah... that...

Meggy: Um... no, sadly I don't remember our biological parents either. Sorry...

SMG5: What is Kopai...?

SMG6: I'll take this one, Bunny! It's doing. Although its more known as Nintendo around here. And Tears of the Kingdom is great! But... try not to... announce the title when the Queen of England dies. Yeah? Yeah.

SMG4: *wheeze*

SMG6: Wait! Controller drift! Get that shit fixed or I swear-

SMG4: Ok. That's enough out of you

SMG6: But Dad!

SMG4: Nope. Don't cus out random interdimensional Miyamotos. You can do that enough in our dimension.

SMG6: Ok...

Melony: You'd better not!

Axol: Yeah... I literally just got brought back from the dead a year ago... please don't kill me again...

SMG4: *laughing* Hey 3... wanna answer that last question?

SMG3:

SMG3: No

SMG4: Awwww... :(

SMG3: Listen, if other dimension me is asking why I'd marry SMG4 he's either lying to himself or has 0 feelings towards his SMG4, so... not answering

SMG5: SMG3 HAS HAD A CRUSH ON SMG4 SINCE BEFORE SNOWTRAPPED AND HE SAID THAT HE IS VERY IN LOVE WITH SMG4 AND WOULD DIE AND KILL FOR HIM AND THINKS HE IS ADORABLE AND ACTUALLY FINDS HIS JOKES FUNNY AND WANTS TO SQUISH HIS FACE AND KISS IT ALL DAY!

SMG3: ...

SMG5: I know. I read his diary.

SMG3: ...

SMG5: He also wants to do unspeakable and unholy things to him.

SMG3: I hope you die

SMG5: Damn. Rude.

[qingyingpocketlirary]

Snapshot 5

“Why is that animal in here?!”

Bai He winced, stroking the soft fur of the cat in her lap with shaking hands. “He's…” She tried to say, but her voice faded away. Raised voices, female ones in particular, were still very triggering to her, they made her feel unsafe.

But she knew she was allowed to have her cat here! Uncle Pigsy said it was ok, he even said that ‘as long as the fluffball doesn’t scratch his seat cushions, it can come out of the carrier and sit with ya.’

M.K and Mei had helped her find him after the Lady Bone Demon had possessed her, and after a lot of checks and training, Sandy had given her a little vest to put on him. Red Son had even helped her pack a little back pack of important things, like the certified support companion card for the cat and the emergency contact card just in case he ever got separated from her.

She wasn’t doing anything wrong! This lady was just being rude, like MK said some people could be about support animals. She was allowed to have him here-

“I asked you a question, young Lad-”

“He’s a support cat, Miss. Did you not see the vest?” 

Uncle Tang. Uncle Tang was here, and he’d used that tone of voice that made people listen to him, he’d make the rude lady go away.

“It’s an animal in a food establishment! How un-”

“Madam. You either lower your voice and step away from that little girl or I’mma have you escorted out.” Uncle Pigsy stated, his tone firm and full of authority. Bai He felt a warm weight gently come over her back and rest on her shoulders, the smell of jasmine perfume and a hint of fire came from teh warmth too, chased away the last of the phantom chills.

Mei, it was Mei’s jacket over her shoulders, blocking her and her cat from the lady’s sight. Then Mei crouched in front of her, a kind smile on her face as she said. “It's ok, little sis, Uncle Pigsy will handle the nasty lady.”

“Here.” Uncle Tang coaxed her with a soft smile, gently handing her one of the little fidget toys from his pockets. “Just breathe and focus on you, sweet heart, it’ll all be alright.”

“I don’t care who you are or who your husband is, Lady. This is my shop and if I say the cat can be in the lap of its person, then he’s gonna be there. And if you or any one else has got an issue with that, you can take yourselves out that door and never come back.” The pig said firmly.

The lady huffed and walked out. No one else moved.

“You ok kiddo?” Uncle Pigsy asked her as he came over with three bowls of noodles and a little dish of chopped liver for the cat.

“...” She nodded, her voice still wasn’t back yet. 

“That’s good, you and your cat stay as long as you want. Mei?”

“Yeah Pigsy?” Mei answered.

“Anyone else starts any issues, you have my permission to throw them out of my shop. With force.” the chief permitted and Mei smiled sharply.

“Understood Boss.”

Nobody was gonna make any kid feel uncomfortable in his shop.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You can not tell me that Bai He wasn't messed up after all of what LBD did to her. So I am giving her a support cat, and supportive people who can help her recover.

Enjoy!!!!!!

[topaz-witch-tea]

absolutely loving the au, here to ask a question and to offer up my own ideas because i am brainrotting and adoring this

my question is, are you ok with people writimg their own fics of this au? credit of course will be given to you if permission to post is permitted on ao3, and it'll also be gifted, but i haven't written anything for hsr yet and i wanna get to practising the sillies

second, what ideas/petnames/doting names did jy, yx and df call yanqing when he was younger? and alternatively, if there's ever a time where yanqing is upset, would they call him that, even when hes a bit older, to comfort him, just an old habit they can't shake?

and, also, what similarities do yoy think he shares the most with each respective parent? yingxing and him definitely bond over swords,but what about the others?

i have plentyyy more ideas brewing in the ol noggin but i adore this AU, i think its wonderfully written and i cant wait to see what happens in elegy! have a good day!

Hello!!!!

Yes! Please feel free to write your own fics of this au, just remember to credit me and let me know because I would love to read it. 🥰 If you want any information on my AU that I have not posted about/published yet, let me know I will be more than happy to provide you with the info. Feel free to message me if you have any questions. 😁

The main petname that shows up in the fics is "Little Bird". All three of them call Yanqing this because when he was little, the sparrows and fiches would like to perch on his crib to look at him and Yanqing loved to copy them. He would flap his arms to mimic a bird flying whenever he saw one. They still call him that in private, though it gets less and less common as Yanqing gets older.

It does show up when they are comforting him, especially when he is upset about something concerning them. When he is upset, Yanqing likes to hide in dark places where other people can't reach him. He'll hide in the corner of his bed with the drapes pulled down or in his closet behind his clothes. His dads will often call him "little bird" to coax him out to get them to talk to him.

You are correct, Yanqing shares his interest in swords with Yingxing. For Dan Feng, it's the arts, primarily music. The Vidyadharas are known for their music and profoundly sad ballads. Music has always had its place in traditional education, particularly those of wealth and nobility, so I see Dan Feng knowing music and incorporating music into Yanqing's education. I can see Dan Feng giving Yanqing his jade dizi as a present.

For Jing Yuan, I don't see it as any tangible like swords or instruments but rather politics. Even though he is young, Jing Yuan will also give him exercises. "Who is talking?" "Who is listening?" "Who is at this event and who is not?" "If this were to happen, who would benefit and who would lose?" Yanqing's birth has always been a focus of gossip and his every movement is judged due to his position and lineage. So Jing Yuan considers it important he knows how to defend himself in these situations. If the three of them were to pass, Yanqing would still inherit titles and fortune and Jing Yuan could not bear it if someone took advantage of his son after he passed.

AWWW!!! THANK YOU!!! I love answering asks so please feel free to send more. I am also excited for the next chapter. I want the angst to be perfect.