#I AM FERAL FOR THIS MAN

[marigoldendragon]

Not to be horny on main…..

…. But I'm gonna be horny on main for this man. I drew everyone pretty simply, hope they all read as the character they're supposed to. Based on that one Tiktok meme which I cannot be bothered editing into an actual tiktok. Lilia is best DILF

[okaytrashpanda]

"I will kill anyone who harms you," Rhys snarled. "I will kill them, and take a damn long time doing it." He panted. "Go ahead. Hate me-despise me for it."

[acewitch-writes]

I was skimming the books to freshen up on canon, and I have been noticing a trend with Remus in DH where he tends to start shouting or speaking too loudly when he is overly excited or nervous and I think that is the cutest thing ever omg I love him so much

[yourftmfriend]

I think about eating izzy out and fingering him to overstimulation and kissing his tears away when he starts to cry. I want to tell him he's been such a good boy and that he deserves this reward for behaving. At first he tries to oppose to your praises saying that he doesnt deserve all this and your love but a few orgasms later he sobs and bawles his eyes out while you shush him with more praises to his work.

[ranas-twisted-wonderland]

guess who found the heart locket makerrrrr :333

[bonesofapoet]

heart under the gun

[ simon 'ghost' riley x you ]

author's note : the one where you're stuck in a safehouse and you just fucking pine for each other. language

word count : 703

There was always something magical about the world, once dusk arrived.

Even when it seemed the entire universe had fallen sideways, and your life had been placed on pause - if only temporarily - there remained, under the battered, stained surface of your story, an unmistakable awe that lingered at the fraying edges; a kind of raw beauty impossible to miss.

Even if you weren’t searching for it, if you weren’t mindful of it staring right back at you point blank, so aggressively close to your face - it seeped in through the cracks. Always, lately, when it was the least expected, and, honestly? When it was most unwelcome.

This evening was a stunning example, really.

The sun had begun its fall into the night, dipping down behind wispy clouds and tree branches that reached tall and desperate, if only to feel the last kiss of the sun’s dying rays until dawn. Golden fingers fell through the canopies of their leaves scattered along the property, painting the ground in shadowed filigree patterns across tall, deep green grass.

Those wispy clouds had gone from feather gray and lily white to become beautifully stained with the palette of the sunset. Golds, deep oranges and radiant mauves were shining bright where the colors blended with the deepening violet of the sky above.

And yet, up is not where you were looking this time.

He was illuminated in the glow of stray sunbeams, rocking gently on the porch swing hidden around an alcove on the front porch - a charming detail that set this particular safehouse apart from the rest - in time with the gentle breeze. It ruffled the pages of the book held open in one hand - gloved, always - while the other remained draped across the back, next to him.

It had jarred you, the first few days the two of you had been here, just how peaceful someone could look when removed from the harshness of the field. The contrast of something so simple as quiet. . .it was different here. Everything was. Now, though, you had come to learn that this was just Simon being Simon. He had shed the skin of Ghost, slowly, if not hesitantly, the longer you were holed up far away from any front line.

The mask, however, was not so quickly cast aside.

Regardless, that didn’t stop you from admiring how Simon looked in the sunlight instead of shadows.

“You gonna keep fuckin’ starin’ at me, or can I help y'with something?”

Fuck.

Your recovery was quick, if not a little rushed, when you realized his brown eyes had risen from the pages to narrow at you instead.

“Yeah, Riley, you can fuckin’ help me with something," you snort for good measure. “Take your fuckin’ tea before I burn the shit outta my hand, would ya?”

He sees through it, anyway.

“Give it ‘ere, then,” gloved fingers wiggle in your direction, the arm draped across the swing reaches toward you.

You step to fill the remaining gap, the sun’s tendrils of gold slipping over you as you do. Bright flashes blinded you through the trees as you held a steaming mug out towards Simon. Gloved fingers brushed gently, quickly, over your own.

While you were busy trying not to drop the mug or go blind - permanently, this time - Simon’s eyes hadn’t left you. The descending sun had gifted you with a halo, bright, bold, and oh, so divinely ethereal he had to focus on his breath, had to tighten his grip on the mug, the book, had to feel the solid wood of the weathered bench beneath him to stay grounded because -

Fuckin’ Christ, he couldn’t look away.

Simon Riley had never been a religious man, but seeing you all glowing golden radiance inspired him to fall to his knees and pray.

He didn’t know what the fuck he’d say, didn’t even know if you would answer whatever fell through his lips, but he knows he’s never seen you like this.

Relaxed. Peaceful. Makin’ him tea just how he liked it, for no fuckin’ reason. You’ve done that often enough in the past couple of weeks that he knew it wouldn’t be scalding, wouldn’t be burnt or too strong. None of that extra, frilly shit would be tainting it either.

That’s something he liked about you. How you paid attention to the people you cared about -

Simon freezes. Oh.

[tiajk]

Thinking about how i just wanna suck prices dick until its weathering and his balls are absolutely empty as he look down at me and cups my cheek saying i'm being a good girl and goes back on his work call

[soonaa]

Had to draw my baby girl

[mi-i-zori]

Nightmare of the Frost

CoD Fae!AU - Fae!Ghost x f!reader

SYNOPSIS : The Hunter has met her fair share of dangers. The Winter is by no means a peaceful place, and she has gotten used to the never-ending waves of broken souls that keep threatening its balance. Yet some of them often turn out to be much more powerful than she imagined. It is something she is constantly reminded of when her life is almost stolen from her ; and when a far greater threat always seems to find her when she needs it the most.

WARNINGS : Gore, body horror, nightmare, death, weapons, violence, blood, wounds, predator behavior (Fae VS Human), fluff (?)...

Author’s note : I am really excited about this one. So much that I actually wrote it more than a month ago, when I just decided to start developing this AU. Turns out I really enjoy writing this kind of stuff. As always, inspired by @ghouljams ’ work.

Also : Happy New Year !

I do not give anyone permission to re-publish and/or translate my work, be it here or on any other platform, including AI.

CoD AUs - Masterlist

Main Masterlist

A Wild Hunt - Masterlist - I - II - III - IV - V

In front of her, her target howls.

The Hunter watches as its body threatens to crumble under the corruption it failed to purge. Darkness spills from its now twisted form, and its limbs crack underneath its monstrous weight. Bloody tears swarm its deranged face ; the snow pooling at its feet has become a sea of crimson. Many frozen trees have been brought to their knees by its claws. Right in front of her, the once peaceful fae quickly ends up losing himself, becoming a mindless, raging creature.

The dark magic spewing from its aura is suffocating. The sharp teeth protruding from its crooked jaw snap at every snowflake falling from the grey sky. Its consciousness has been reduced to nothing more than a few terrifying, destructive instincts. Yet, even as she stands a few meters away from the beast, the young woman can see the pain swirling in its flickering eyes ; begging for her to end it.

Her trusty dagger sings as it comes out of its sheath, glinting under the foggy sunlight. Seeing its own reflection on the blade’s surface, the monster lets out a menacing growl, standing tall on its deformed hind legs. It is probably trying to intimidate her, to force her to run away just to pounce the moment she turns her back on it. But the young woman knows better ; she steadies her own stance in the slippery mud covering the frozen ground. When her opponent doesn’t budge, staring her down, she launches herself at it. A risky move, says a voice in her mind, but she can’t let the Corruptor gather any more magical energy.

Despite its rotting bones, the monster moves quickly. It dodges many of her blows before its claws pierce her arm, caging her against its darkening form. Letting out a scream, the Hunter plunges her weapon where its clavicles probably once were, the sharp iron tearing and burning its corrupted flesh. The creature shrieks and wails, a rotten stench emerging from behind the teeth threatening to rip her head off. Its aura is slowly surrounding her, and she has to pierce a glowing red eye for it to finally let her go.

Her feet have barely touched the ground that she starts staggering, clutching her head. The acidic magic tries to dissolve her mind, erode her entire being. The ashen wards lining her skin shatter one by one, and it takes her a considerable amount of strength to hold even a few of them together. Her nerves tremble as her protections screech in agony, her fingers almost breaking around the weapon in her hand.

A powerful strike from her opponent sends her flying. Her bones crack ominously as her back collides with a nearby tree, the sharp edges of its bark tearing at her clothes and skin. Specks of light dance before her eyes, concealing the silhouette of the beast. Its ragged breaths get closer and closer, urging her to find her footing once again.

But she doesn’t.

Her legs fail to support her weight. The Hunter collapses, the snow freezing her skin through the lacerations of her clothes. The monster’s twisted silhouette comes looming over her, a thick miasma spewing from its gurgling throat, penetrating her senses and wounds. Her blood starts boiling in her veins, the ice enveloping her doing nothing to quell the pain spreading in her limbs. Crushed by the corruption, her body refuses to move. And soon, her consciousness fades.

As her eyes slowly close, she doesn’t notice the somber presence emerging from the fog.

A choir of terrifying wails and broken screams slowly invades her ears, its erratic rhythm beating in harmony with the migraine haunting the back of her head. Despite the pain, the Hunter forces her eyes open ; the crimson rays of a bloody moon fill her vision, illuminating her weary self. Something cold crunches under her palm, like fresh snow mixed with dirt, and the ragged edges of tiny rocks grapple at her skin as she tries to sit up. Her mind focuses on the pain ; yet something tells her that it is only and illusion, for her body is filled with the kind of apathy that is only born from the foggiest dreams.

Her consciousness suddenly clears, allowing her to focus on the desolate depths of the nightmare. A raging sea of darkness and ice spreads before her, its inky waves threatening to tear her away from the temporary solace of the dark shore. Hidden under the murky waters, the decaying corpses of long lost sirens sing, trying to lure her towards her own demise.

She has to wake up.

Her whole being trembles as she stands, her feet digging in the snow-covered sand. She turns away from the obsidian sea to face a massive expanse of blackened trees. Their magic resembles the one pulsing through the Winter ; yet it is distorted, broken. All around her, the shore is littered with the swaying forms of what she thinks might be the previous souls who ended up here. She is trapped, she realises. The corruption of the beast surrounds her, closing in on every single part of her body and mind. Her will to fight it is quickly fading. She has to find a way to escape before she becomes one with it.

A light pressure on her shoulders makes her jump. A series of black tendrils wrap and dance around her, gradually forming a path in the darkness. Amidst the tension in her limbs, she is tugged forward by the inexplicably familiar aura swirling in their misty forms. They seem to form a barrier around her, preventing her essence from being swallowed by the monster’s poison. Her instincts push her towards the illusion of the wintery forest ; she doesn’t know if she should fight it.

She doesn’t really know anything anymore.

Suddenly, a hand shoots out from the darkness, immediately taking ahold of her coat. She doesn’t even have time to react as everything around her shatters like glass. Her vision blurs once again, and she feels the iron grip on her clothes roughly pull her forward. The sounds echoing in her head merge into a deafening symphony as the figures dancing around her vanish. Then her consciousness sways, her eyelids closing under the pressure of an invisible force. Only the cacophony of voices remain, adamant about invading her soul.

Amidst the chaos, a hazy voice gently rings in her ears, stirring her awake. It seems close. It tries to touch her, to tear her mind away from the darkness invading it. She knows this timbre ; and, compelled by its cold warmth, she gathers the remnants of her focus on its mesmerising echo.

A sudden gust of wind blows into her clothes, hindering the senses she is trying to regain. She does her best to shake the cold away, but the Frost keeps its hold steady on her limbs. A series of painful waves rattle her bones, her muscles screaming as she tries to flex her frozen fingers. A metallic taste taints her tongue, and she feels a thick liquid coating her lips as she lets out a broken moan. Blood, she realises, and her memory suddenly starts working again.

The silhouette of the Corruptor sways in her mind, triggering the fighting reflexes laying dormant under the pressure of its magic. She tries to force her muscles awake ; but they refuse to obey, coaxing a frustrated growl from her throat. A piercing light flickers behind her eyelids.

The voice calls out to her once again, and she still can’t figure out who is trying to wake her up ; but she longs to answer, to grasp the spark this mysterious presence is slowly lighting in her soul. Yet the more she fights, the more she becomes wary of this uncanny familiarity. The corruption is already trying to break her ; could this be a trick to prompt her to willingly abandon herself to its depths ?

But then, the dream finally breaks. The illusory moon crumbles as her instincts violently shake her awake, reducing the magic that tried to devour her to nothing. One last wail tears through the night as she opens her eyes. The real moon of Winter greets her, its blue light gently shining through a milky veil of mist.

Where is she ?

Her eyes automatically start scanning her surroundings. The magical fog blurs the dark silhouettes of the trees circling around her. Her skin is numb where the snow kissed it ; yet her body is surrounded by a strange warmth, similar to the one emanating from the voice that tore through the nightmare. A steady beating rings though the torn leather of her glove, and her head gently falls against the comfort of a soft, heated fabric.

A masked silhouette is the first tangible thing she sees, and the familiarity of the magic helping her out of the nightmare suddenly makes sense. The Spirit is holding her against his chest, dark clothes contrasting with the white screen clouding the forest.

- Steady now, luv. There you go.

The calm dancing in the abyss of his voice soothes her frantic mind. Despite something telling her that his magic might also have something to do with the gentle mist clouding her mind, she can’t find the strength to fight it. Instead, she coaxes her voice out of her throat, vocal cords grating against the numbness haunting her muscles.

- The… Corruptor… ?

A violent cough cuts her sentence short as blood cakes in her already dry mouth. The Ghost steadies a hand against her chest, slowly dealing with the cold discomfort taking hold of her lungs. A chuckle echoes in his gruff tone.

- Took care of it for ya.

It’s only after registering his words that her eyes focus on a twisted form laying still in the snow behind him. There, the glossy eyes of her target stare at nothing. A thick, deadly fog swirls around it, slowly absorbing the remnants of corrupted magic escaping from the freezing carcass.

When she weakly clutches her chest, she can feel the delicate ridges of a thick, brand new tether hooked into her soul.

Shit.

Yet, right now, there’s nothing she can do. Her tired self is threatening to succumb to sleep. The Spirit’s heart gently beats under her ear, his oddly comforting scent filling her senses. It’s rich, but clear. Firm, but light. Frigid, but warm. A fragrance so mesmerizing she has to fight herself not to get lost in it. It lulls her, tries to trick her into a false sense of safety. She mustn’t fall for it, she thinks, gritting her teeth. Subconsciously, her trembling hands clutch the fae’s clothes.

The man lets out a laugh as she weakly struggles in his hold, both against his magic and her own fatigue.

A part of him would love to torment her a little more ; but he wouldn’t want his prey to break so early. It is already bad enough that a corrupted being tried to steal her from him. The bitter taste of its soul still lingers on his tongue, and his lips twist behind his mask. He erases it by burying his face in the crook of her neck, the idea of her own flavor making his mouth water. After starving for so long, he wants to savor her for a little longer.

Tucking his prey into the safety of his arms, he starts walking towards the borders of the Frost. His confident strides slowly tear through the snow, easily ignoring the hungry stares of other fae in the shadows. Not far behind, even weaker monsters cower away from them, from him, silently wishing they could have a taste of the human tucked against him. He temporarily marked her with his scent before ; now, the golden thread binding her soul to his will tell all magical non-humans that she is his to play with. To consume. He still offers them a low growl, just to bury the nail further into their minds. One can never be too careful.

The heat lingering outside of the Winter makes him shudder. Yet he doesn’t hesitate to step past the borders, following the light remnants of the Hunter’s scent to bring her back on a familiar path. It guides him near a small cottage outside of the city, the magic emanating from it reminding him of the one mixed with the young woman’s. It’s probably where she gets all her magical protections from, he thinks. He’ll have to be wary of the owner.

Careful not to get too close to the house to prevent triggering any potential trap, the Spirit gently lays his sleeping prey in the grass, taking in her gentle expression. It is a stark contrast from the frown she constantly wears during her hunts, and he finds himself liking this peculiar dichotomy.

He really can’t wait to see more of her.

His shadow rises under the moon as he takes one last glance to the sleeping woman in front of him. Before leaving, he makes sure to take a souvenir of her, just to give her a reason to come and find him again.

Days later, when the Hunter wakes up in the safety of the Apothecary’s home, she notices that her trusty dagger is no longer in its sheath.

And, somewhere in the depths of Winter, a new blade of iron dances in the gloved hands of the Ghost.

[estrellalithia]

And I’m supposed to be normal about this man?

[moonchildsorcery]

halsin’s new forehead kisses will cure me

[materlux]

I am Icarus and you are my sun, lord I know I will burn before I reach you, but I'll be damned if I don't try.

I used first-person pronouns, this is entirely self-indulgent, i do not care, this was for me. It's pure devotion and body-worship, but not in a smut way, a soft wholesome fluff way.

Main Masterlist | Honkai Star Rail

Argenti, a knight of beauty and a man who claims to be better with actions than words, as strongly as many would disagree, myself included, I think he has a point. At least he is proving something now, or maybe it’s just his unrelenting honesty combined with calloused, gentle hands.

   At first his hands were gloved, still warm, and glided over fabrics, tracing the outline of a body ingrained in memory. As minutes passed and comments of the day were made, somewhere along the way he lost his gloves. Calloused hands sneak under the fabric, with them they leave warmth that rivals the sun, in their wake they leave goosebumps and shivers.

   He mutters every synonym for beautiful in the known universe into now exposed collarbones, at some point it feels like he’s making up new words, just to describe the patterns of my skin. Heavy armour gleams in the sunlight, abandoned on the floor, it will be picked up later and treated with the utmost care.

   He does this alot, at this point I have given up in proving his stance wrong, ‘he’s better with actions than words’. Instead, I make a game of this, a competition to see who loses to the whims and charms of the other first. After all these years you’d think I’d grown immune to his sweet tongue, but everyday he proves me wrong, and I find I don’t mind being wrong this time.

   Red hair filters between my fingers, soft as silk, he responds with a light kiss to my skin. I call him every word under the sun for handsome, and responds with more words, real and ones that seem made up. We go on and on, I caress his scalp and kiss his hair, his hands run over my skin, tracing his thoughts in cursive patterns.

   Perhaps my mind is playing tricks on me, but I swear I can see flowers grow under my fingers as they graze his skin, I can feel them grow in my own skin, their roots sinking deep and mimicking nerves. In the late sun I watch him unwind and unfurl, like a flower growing in adversity.

   The way he says my name, it’s as if it is the only lyric to his favourite song, and honestly, if I had to choose, I’d choose his voice singing my name as the only sound to hear for the rest of my life. And if it drives me mad, then I shall welcome it, though at this moment I fear it may be his hands that will drive me to insanity first.

   I know now, I have lost, for nothing I can say could ever amount to this same meaning. But I speak his name in a way that makes me wonder, was it the first word I ever spoke? It feels so natural on my tongue, that it must have been.

   In time, the sun sets in the sky, but my sun never sets over the horizon, he looks into my eyes instead and pledges his life to me. I lean in, like a moth to a flame; like Icarus and Helios I fear not the fire. But unlike the examples before, that will surely end in tragedy: The moth will turn to ash, Icarus will crash into the sea. I do not believe we will end in tragedy, and perhaps that is exactly what they all say: Does the moth know it will burn in the candle light? Did Icarus know the cold sea would be his last resting place? He did, I think, but did he care? I think not, and neither do I.

[wooyo-bae]

CHRISTOPHER BAHNG?!??????????

[mostlyghostlyy]

Please please just hear me out, PLEASE

[c28hunter]

nace in glasses delivered right into your dms

I literally fell off my chair

He is too pretty, too cute, I want to squish his cheeks, boop his nose and pet his hair 🥺🥺🥺

[psychedelic-ink]

Sex on the beach with javi g

That’s it that’s the post