#Lift Thine Eyes

[lolipoptheclown]

My phone is gonna die so I gtg after I post this but uh

We had to do blackout poetry in English today and I made this

"It is god, god had rejected me." Is what that's supposed to say

Also Eyes is supposed to have colored eyes too but it's hard to see:

[youraverageaemondsimp]

“Made for me.” // Aemond Targaryen x Sister!Reader

Thank you everyone for 1K followers, I am so grateful for all the support I've received for my fics, it's kind of an emotional moment for me cause I never thought I'd get this far, so here is the fic from this poll! this is short since I did not have much time and I do not want to delay my 1k celebration fic further! <3

MDNI // DD:DNE // reader discretion is advised.

Summary: As far as Aemond can remember, he had liked you, not in a way a brother loves his sister, no, in a way a man loves a woman, finding out that you were soon to be betrothed to a Tully for alliance, he feels devastated, until he decides he can prevent it, by ruining you.

WARNINGS: heavy noncon to dubcon, mindbreak, mindfuck, canon typical incest, creepy aemond(?), possessive aemond, dark!aemond, jealousy, obsession, breeding kink, tiddy sucking, virginity loss, mentions of blood, purity culture, medieval age standards (no smut until 18+), cum eating, cunnilingus, multiple orgasms, porn with little plot. + not proofread.

block the tag #MAE:DARK!CONTENT to avoid seeing dark content from me.

WC: 3k

For as long as Aemond can remember, he had always been smitten with you, his little sister, someone very dear to him, he had loved you since the moment you were born, immediately becoming someone he swore to protect.

He was rumoured to have some romantic feelings for helaena, which wasn't entirely false but if anyone were to look closely, they would realise that the longing gaze he holds for helaena is nothing compared to the one when he looks at you.

As he grew into a man, these feelings developed further, and as he watched you grow into a woman, desire managed to get a hold of him. He remembers the first time he felt carnal attraction towards you, it was your sixteenth nameday, you had worn a beautiful green dress that showed a little cleavage, something his mother would've been against but she let it slide that time, he remembered as you bent over in front of him to get something from the table, giving him full view of your tits which he immediately looked away from.

That night he had rushed back to his chambers as fast as possible to tug on his length at the thought of you.

He was never the same after that, every touch ignited a fire in him, when you would lay on his thigh as you both sat beneath the godswood while he read, he had to fight the urge to take you right then and there, taking your maidenhead in front of the gods to bind you to himself forever.

As the years passed, his feeling for you grew stronger and stronger.

“Aem!” There was your sweet voice calling him once again, his gaze lifted from the book on the table to your form which stood a few metres away from him, you smiled when you noticed his gaze was on you, walking over to him so you stood next to him, peering down on the book he was reading.

“What are you reading?” you ask curiously, voice leaking with inquiry, he looked down at his book before glancing up again, “Just a book about our history, valyria.” he tells you and you lean down slightly over his shoulder, your platinum blonde locks falling over and curtaining the side of his face as you read the text.

“Would you read it to me?” you inquire and he nods, before you shoot him the bright smile that never seemed to leave your face, and pull the chair beside him, causing the wood to make a noise as it glid against the floor, and sitting down on it.

He began reading and you listened to him for quite a while, before your eyes started becoming droopy and closing as sleep tried to overwhelm you, it wasn't because you were not interested in the history, no, it was due to the fact that your older brother's voice was extremely comforting.

He chuckled when he tried your efforts to keep yourself awake and closed the book, “Sister, you must not fight when sleep finds you, go to thine chambers and rest.”

“But brother! You have just gotten to Aegon's conquest.” you pout, and he chuckles, “I shall read it to you tomorrow, now go rest.” he manages to convince you and obey his word.

Aemond sighs as he watches you walk away, you were the Apple of his eye, everyone knew, he had been protective of you since you were younger, though he developed certain type feelings, the kind that a brother shouldn't develop for his sister, but alas, targaryens have queer customs, after all, his elder sister was married to Aegon, their older brother.

It was only time until mother betrothed you both, and he would wait patiently for that, he would often imagine how married life with you would be, it would be perfect.

But all those dreams were crushed when he finds out that your mother was planning to betrothed you to a tully, to get their alliance in case of Aegon's claim for the throne. Angry was an understatement, he was extremely pissed off, and what did you do? You gladly accepted it, even managing to look happy at the proposal.

Just then he remembers his elder sister's words. ‘If one possesses a thing, the other will take it away.’

He could not have that.

He can not have you be taken away from him, that too by an undeserving house such as tully.

You knew something was extremely odd when Aemond came to your chambers at night, he never did that, always deeming it inappropriate for a lady and a man to be together after the moon has risen unless they were husband and wife. So it was extremely shocking as to what he was doing in your chambers, knowing he took the secret entrance since the guard did not mention Aemond at all when you entered.

“Brother? What are you doing here so late?” you ask as you approach him, he is sitting on the chair near the fireplace, turning his head to the side as if to acknowledge your presence, the light bouncing off his face making his features look much more angular and intimidating.

“I have missed you, dear sister.” he stood up and turned to face you, and you peered up at him confused, “I had heard about your betrothal to a tully, though I do not remember his name, I came here to wish you pleasantries and a prosperous marriage.” he tries his best to not scowl.

You smile widely.

And that immediately sets him off.

“Thank yo-” before you could finish your sentence, Aemond grabs you harshly by your cheeks, pulling his face towards his own, “You're happy? You're fucking happy?” he growls as his breath fans your face, “Aemond-” before you could say anything, the same hand that was gripping your cheeks goes to your hair, pulling your head back, your hands fly up to his to make him release his grip as the tug at your strands were incredibly painful.

He doesn't say anything but slams his lips against yours, moving against yours in a frantic rhythm, your eyes widen at this and you push at his chest to pull him off, but he uses the grip on your hair to further push you against him, and soon you're all flush against him, weakly trying to pushing him off while the hand in your hair keeps tightening as the other holds your waist gently.

A true contrast.

He pulls away to breathe and he looks at your teary eyes, as you look at him, “Aemond- you're scaring me.” you say weakly, shaking as his eye narrows, “I love you.” he blurts out and you look at him shocked, “But- we're siblings–”

“We're also targaryens.” he cuts you off, and lets go of your hair.

You squeal when he lifts you up roughly, before making haste over to your bed and throwing you on it, and before you can get up, he traps you in his arms.

“I do not wish to see you married to someone else, you have been mine, since the day you were born, sister.” he whispers in your ear before pressing a kiss to it. You gasped when you felt his hand grope at your clothed breast giving it a tight squeeze and you tried prying his hand off to no avail.

“Aem- please stop-” you beg but he doesn't listen and his eyebrows are furrowed as he looks at you, “Sister, tell me the truth have you not felt anything when you stay with me? A warm feeling in your heart?” your breathe hitches as he asks you that question, and you look away from him, feeling ashamed that you held feelings for him, they very well hidden, you felt ashamed whenever you would feel heat pool between your legs as you watched Aemond do quite literally anything.

He undoes his breeches and pulls his cock out, undeniably hard, “If I ruin you then mother won't marry you off to him, besides, no one would want a woman that is ruined, especially by her own brother.” he says and you sob, shaking your head and you gasp as you feel his dick pressed against your core.

Your silence gave him the answer he needed, he tore your dress apart, the stitches popping off with a noise, as he changed his grip and undoes your clothing.

You try to push him off and hit his chest, in defiance, but he is much stronger than you, pinning your hands above with his one hand as the other pulls off the shredded clothing, with your final strength, you deliver a hard kick to his crotch which causes him to groan and plop on the bed next to you in pain, and you use that change to try and scramble up and off the bed but to your disdain, he immediately recovers and pulls you down with a tight grip on your leg but pushing them apart, placing himself between them and then wrapping his hands around your neck, the grip cutting off air circulation rapidly as you struggled against him.

“Fucking cunt.” he says before spitting on your face and you cry, you feel your brain go dark as you start loosing consciousness at the lack of oxygen only for him to let go, cause you to take a deep breath on relax, snapping you awake at once.

“Sister, look how much you are leaking, way too much for someone that pretends like they hate it.” he rubs his cock against your folds, coating it in your juices and he groans, before he leans in, kissing your neck and then your breasts before pulling back.

“Brother please- ah!” you gasp when you felt his hot fingers press against your bud, rubbing it, making you squirm as you grip his hand and try to push it off but his grip stays firm and you eventually give up, hands falling to your sides and gripping the sheets below as he plays with cunt.

He knew you'd eventually break.

He did not want to hurt you or force you.

But you weren't making it easier and he did not have much time either, so he had to resort to this.

You reach your peak with a loud moan of his name which went straight to his cock, he leaned down and kissed you once more, holding your legs apart by force and then grabbing his cock before lining it up against your entrance, slowly pushing the thick head in, your hands shot up to his shoulder to grab them, nails digging into the skin as he rips you apart on his cock, bullying into you without mercy, his hand covering your mouth as you let out painful whines to shush you up. You whimper when you feel him fully sheathed inside you, feeling too full, your cunt clenching around him painfully tight to push him out but he stays there.

“Look at you, taking my cock so well, like you were made to.” he whispers in your ear before pulling his hips back and snapping them forward, causing you to let out a scream, although it was muffled, at the pain. The orgasm before had only helped a little, he was too thick and big.

At first he starts slowly, pulling back and snapping one at a time, trying to give you time to adjust until you whimpered his name, which made him lose any and all control he had as his pace became faster, brutally slamming his cock inside you as you whined and moaned beneath him.

The sound of wet slapping noises soon fill the air and the smell of sex starts taking over, your mind becomes all hazy at what was happening to you, you watch as Aemond takes one of your breasts in his mouth, suckling on the nipple, drool spilling all over it while his hand gropes the other, massaging it. Your hand travels to his hair and you arch your back, shoving more of your breast in his mouth, making him groan in delight.

He pulls back with a pop and you look at him gasping and wide eyed as he thrusts into you, eyes dropped as slight drool leaks from the sides of your mouth, letting out moans when he hits that sweet spot inside you.

“Fuck- you're so perfect, made just for me.” he grunts, supporting himself on his hands above you, hair curtaining around your face as you stare directly in his eye, watching him close it in pleasure, gasping when he feels you clench around him.

“You're mine right?” his eye opens and he looks at you intensely, you nod, agreeing with what he was saying, your mind losing all of its ability to think rationally the moment he entered inside you, you felt your stomach tighten.

“Use your words.” he commands and you gulp, “Yes only yours— ah! Fuck aemond!” you throw your head back as your second orgasm hits you, moaning out loud and he let's out a shaky breath before you felt his thrusts become sloppy, “Fuck, I'm gonna fill this cunt up, watch my seed take root in your womb, you're mine, mine to fuck, marry, breed, you'll give me many heirs won't you?” he goes off, voicing his thoughts and you feel warm and turned on at his words, “Yes- brother, I'm all yours, only yours.” you say, grabbing his cheek and rubbing a thumb on his scar and he finishes inside you with a loud moan, pushing himself to the hilt as his cock spurts thick ropes of cum inside you.

He pulls out, still somehow hard and lays down beside you, and you feel so empty without him inside you, so you whine, “Aem- I need you.” you pout and he looks at you wide eyed, and you don't know what comes over you, but you find your patience running thin as you wait for him to do something, so you take matters into your own hands, getting on top of him, grabbing his blood soaked cock before rising your hips and sitting down on it.

“Sister?” Aemond asks questionably, as he grabs your hips, watching you bounce on top of his cock, breasts moving up and down as you moan loudly into the chambers, only his name, on repeat and that's when he finally understands what happened.

He broke you.

He fucked your mind.

He should feel bad, knowing how now you're seeking him and his cock out like a bitch in heat but he doesn't, he feels more accomplished at that, knowing you desire no one but him. He moans when he feels your cunt spasm around him as you reach your peak, and instead of stopping, you continue riding him, wanting to bring him to his peak as well, you take one of his hands and guide it to your breast, making him grip it and play with your nipple.

“Brother please! Please cum inside me, I want you to fill me up.” you beg and Aemond groans at that, “Want- want you so bad! please haa, I need to have your children.” you moan and Aemond felt himself reach his peak harshly at that, filling you up once again.

Aemond changes the position, getting on top of you again, cock still inside and you give him a small smile before grabbing his face and pulling him in for a kiss, his lips move passionately against yours, before he pulls away, kissing down your neck and to your breasts, he pulls out and slowly trails kissing down to your down, watching as his loads of cum leak out from you, he pushes his tongue out and collects his juice on his mouth, before shoving it inside again, engulfing your cunt in his mouth, you grab his hair and grind your hips against his face, moaning his name loudly as he works his mouth, his nose shoved against your clit, creating friction whenever he moves his head, and soon enough, you reach your peak once again, “Brother!” you moan as you arch your back and he groans into your cunt, lapping up at the juices being secreted from you, before pulling away from it, placing wet kisses on your inners thighs and coming up towards you again, and kissing you, shoving his tongue inside your mouth, making you taste both your combined juices, and you groan into the kiss at the taste.

You both spent that night just like that.

Your mother was horrified when she had heard about this, and tully had walked in on the conversation, scrunching up his face in disgust and calling off your betrothal, you stood with your arm wrapped around Aemonds arm as he explain his mother what happened, looking away and hiding in his arms as she yelled at him for ruining and spoiling you, before inevitable deciding to betroth you both as result.

And you both were married, two moons later.

The maesters were extremely confused when you went into labour earlier than what they had predicted, they thought that it was going to be a stillbirth, yet they were confused to see when a healthy silver hair babe popped out, crying and cooing. They considered it a miracle but only Alicent and Aemond knew the truth.

Aemond stood there with his child in his arms as he gazed lovingly upon him, a son. You smiled at him as he cooed in high valyrian.

“Maester, When can I take her again?” That question caught the maester off guard and he cleared his throat before speaking up, “I would suggest waiting 6 weeks until she is fully healed, or 3 moons time.” and Aemond hummed.

The maester leaves the room, leaving you, aemond and the babe alone, the baby cooing at his father, small hand entangled in his hair.

“After you heal, I shall put a babe inside you again, dear wife.” He comes down and sits next to you and you smile, “As you wish, husband.” you tease and press a kiss on his lips.

———

[mydadleft471]

A Trip Down Memory Lane

Summary: Messmer decides to surprise you in more ways than one.

Spoilers for both Elden Ring and Shadow of the Erdtree. No warnings tho, just me loving my fiery redhead.

MESSMER LOVERS COME EAT!

I finally got the courage to upload the fic I was working on! Everyone was so nice (and starving for Messmer content) so I folded lmao. Please enjoy and understand that I have never written anything like this, especially with ye olde English. It's a pain.

“I have something I wish to show thee.” Messmer’s low voice cut through the silence reverberating in his chamber.

“What is it?” You look up from patching a hole in one of his cloaks.

“I cannot say. It is a surprise.” His eye twinkled with something akin to mischief. You put down your needle and gently fold his cloak, putting it on your chair to finish later.

“A surprise for me? Are you feeling alright, My Lord?” You smile at him from where he towers above you. 

“Shush. Wilt thou follow?” 

“Always,” you say.

He leads you down countless flights of stairs and through the castle’s corridors. Down a hallway, you follow him as he steps into a lift that takes you to a part of the castle that is unfamiliar to you. You assumed you had explored everything by now, but it seems you were wrong. Messmer had given you permission to freely roam the castle, and you had spent a lot of time exploring the various rooms. You had gotten lost many times within the many twisting and confusing hallways, but the castle staff always led you back to your quarters. 

The path from the lift leads out to a part of the castle almost entirely flooded. This seems like a place that hasn’t been occupied in many years. Some of the buildings you can see appear to be collapsing and debris litters the area. The water churns uneasily below you, as if something lurks in the depths. Taking a few steps away from the ledge, you stare out into the water that swallows surrounding buildings.

“What is it?” Messmer asks. He senses your trepidation in going any further, though you don’t think you have much to worry about with a powerful demigod at your side. Still, this place sets your nerves alight and has you on high alert.

“I’ve never seen this place before. Where are we?”

He speaks as if it’s common knowledge. “The Church District.”

“What happened here?”

He takes a second before he responds in a flat tone. “It does not matter.” Noticing your face falling slightly, he gives you a small smile. “Thy surprise is near. Come.”

You continue to follow him, your footfalls mere echoes of his much heavier ones. You wonder where he is taking you, and why he decided to surprise you. Though you have gotten much closer to him throughout your time in the Realm of Shadow, you can’t wrap your head around the fact that he wants to show you something himself. So many unanswered questions, though Messmer brings about many of those. Still, you cannot complain about how well he treats you now after you’ve earned some of his trust. You are safe within his walls, and you are welcome.

Though you wish he’d let you into his heart and mind more often, you take what you can get.

Finally, he stops in a room with a large, and complete, statue of Queen Marika. Many throughout the Realm of Shadow have been beheaded, sending icy chills through you when you first arrived, but this one is intact. The only signs of damage have been from the apparent age of the statue.

“Dost thou trust me?”

His question catches you off guard. Looking up at him, he looks vulnerable and almost uncomfortable. 

“Of course I do. I wouldn’t have followed if I didn’t.” You smile at him to ease his tension.

He relaxes slightly. “Of course. I will ask thee to trust me again.”

You shoot him a puzzled look. How could you trust him any more than you already have?

“Close thine eyes. I shall lead thee, hand in hand.”

The prospect of him holding your hand makes heat rush to your cheeks, but you comply. Closing your eyes, you hold out your hands, and a few seconds later, he grabs them in his much larger ones. He holds them delicately, as if you might break if he dares to squeeze your hands. His skin is surprisingly smooth and warm. 

“I will ensure thou dost not fall and injure thyself..” 

“I’d appreciate that.”

He chuckles at your comment, a sound so rare and pleasant you want to hear it again and again. He begins walking, gently guiding you down a hill and you soon feel sunlight on your skin. The air feels lighter and there is a pleasant smell of lavender and fresh grass in the air. You wonder where you could possibly be. You haven’t seen much greenery in the Realm of Shadow.

After a few minutes he stops and lets go of your hands. You instantly miss his warmth, but you soon feel the heat of him behind you. You keep your eyes closed out of obedience and trust; you know he would not harm you.

His hands gently find your waist and he moves you a few steps to the left. Satisfied, he lowers a hand over your eyes to ensure you will not open them prematurely.

“This place is sacred. Inviting thee here was not a spontaneous act.” His voice is a mere whisper in your ear. You can’t tell whether to be scared or excited for what he will soon allow you to see.

He moves his hand away from your eyes, but they remain closed. You will not sully his trust. 

You can hear the smile in his voice. He’s pleased by your obedience. 

“Open thine eyes.”

You do, and you are immediately greeted with a grassy field speckled with vibrant flowers. You’ve never seen so many in one place. You think it would take all day to identify them. Trickles of gold sit suspended in the air like shattered stained glass and the sunlight kisses your skin sweetly. Not far up a hill is a small village made up of a few wooden houses. They look old and mostly abandoned. You take in the beauty before you. Not even Leyendell was this spectacular.

“Thou’rt pleased, I take it?” His voice wavers slightly with uncertainty.

“This is a most wonderful surprise, My Lord. Thank you for bringing me here.” You look up at Messmer, whose golden eye seems to shine brighter in the sanctity of this place.

“Forget formalities here.” He sits down in the soft grass and you are soon to join him. He looks relaxed, even happy, here.

“May I ask where we are now?” You idly skim your fingertips over the silky petals of the flowers swaying in the breeze around your skirt.

“Mother’s home. Her village before she became a God.” 

Your mouth hangs open in shock. It takes you a few moments to gather yourself enough to speak. “Queen Marika lived here?”

“Yes,” he answers. “Long ago.”

You wonder if Marika wanted Messmer to guard her old home, or if he does it out of love for her. You’ve seen the state of other Shamans within his infirmary, his medics working day and night to try and reverse the torture they’d went through. You knew Marika was a Shaman herself, but you’d never realized this place was originally her home. Your heart hurts for the God-Queen. Behind all her power was a girl who wanted her people safe.

You sigh, and Messmer shoots you a curious look. “This is the first time I’ve seen Marika as a person. Knowing she lived here, knowing she suffered… I understand now.”

Messmer reaches up and takes his helmet off, gently placing it to his side. “Mother desired revenge for her peoples’ suffering, and I became her instrument to do so here, in the Land of Shadow.”

“Did you want this?” 

He closes his eye. “Mother has endured what a thousand people could not. I will ensure she receives her long-awaited deliverance.” He dodged the question. He does not want this, but he desires to avenge Marika.

“I know you won’t answer me truthfully, and we don’t have to talk about this anymore. But know this: you are not ‘The Impaler’ to me.”

“Thank you.” His response is so quiet you almost can’t hear it, despite being right next to him.

As promised, you change the subject. “Have you brought others here?”

He looks away and you can see a faint blush creeping up his cheeks.

“I have not. The first to lay eyes on this place is thee.” He admits.

“Why?”

“I-“ he begins. “Surely thou must know thy importance to me, yes?” 

The realization hits you. 

This is his way of saying he loves you.

You scoot closer to him and lay your head against his arm. You feel him tense, then slowly begin to relax. One of his snakes gently perches itself on your shoulder. You smile.

“You can touch me, you know.” You reassure him. “You won’t break me.”

Silence hangs in the breeze as you wait for him to respond.

“Dost thou understand my reason for bringing thee here?”

You nod against him. “I think so.”

He moves away from you, earning himself a confused look, then he slowly grabs your hands and pulls you closer until you are comfortably sitting between his legs. You look up at him and see that his face is almost as red as his hair. He is adorable when he blushes.

You could get used to this.

“You will forgive me if I am too presumptuous. I am… not accustomed to touch, yet I want thee closer.” His soft, silky voice makes your heart melt.

“I want you closer too. It’s okay.” You cup his face with both hands, and though it’s a simple gesture, he relaxes into your touch almost immediately. His eye closes and you try to memorize the look of peace etched on his face.

“With thee, I am content.” He whispers to you.

“Then I’ll see to it that we’re never separated.” 

His eye flutters open and he hazily looks down at your lips. His hand engulfs your cheek and you feel the warmth radiating from his palm.

So many have met their demise from the man sitting in front of you now, content and complacent, and that thought sends shivers down your spine.

“No man nor God could tear thee away from me. That is a promise.” 

He leans forward and kisses you. His lips are soft and he pulls you closer to him and his hands are splayed possessively over your face and back. You don’t want to pull away, and you get the feeling he doesn’t want to either.

You are his as he is yours.

[incorrectsmashbrosquotes]

*The final battle is here. Miquella and his puppet against the Tarnished*

*Puppet-Radahn seizes the Tarnished, lifting them up to Miquella. Miquella reaches forward for their heart*

Miquella: I promise you, a thousand year voyage, guided by-

*There's a blast of blue light, burning Miquella's hand and throwing the Tarnished from his grip. Astonished, Miquella looks up... and sees that the moon is somehow, impossibly, in the sky, shinning*

???: My apologies, dearest brother.

*there's a shimmering blue light as a figure appears behind where the Tarnished kneels*

Ranni: But their heart is not thine to steal.

Radahn, SOMETHING breaking through the brainwashing: Sis...ter?

*The Tarnished rises, eyes blazing behind their helm, the Darkmoon Greatsword shining with light. the place where their heart lies iss glowing with moonlight*

Ranni: My dear Consort, eternal. This is mine charge.

*Ranni rises above the battlefield, hovering above and behind the Tarnished, framed by the full moon's light, it's baleful eye turned on those who would be Gods and Consorts*

Ranni: Free mine brothers, Mohg and Radahn both. Strike now, my beloved.

*Miquella shakes his head sadly and tightens his grip on Radahn. The momentary clarity in Radahn's eyes fades, and he roars, summoning up his power. The Tarnished brandishes the Darkmoon Greatsword in one hand, the Carian Regal Scepter in the other, and the place over their heart shines with their Lady's love. Earned, not forced*

*The battle is joined once more, Purple and Blue, Gold and White. Sun and Moon. Ranni and Miquella*

[tmrajax]

𝑁𝐸𝐸𝐷 𝑆𝐴𝑉𝐼𝑁𝐺?…

.....incl. denji, aki, power, beam, kobeni

一大 synopsis 概要: csm characters with a doctor reader

DENJI . . .

denji would be acting so silly. he would be grabbing gauze and scalpels from the medical bag you brought, causing you to swat his hand away and him to laugh. he would be poking your face as you wrap and stitch up the huge gash on his arm. ‘can i get the hello kitty band aids?’ he would ask while he kicked his feet and plastered a smile on his face trying to convince you to use them. ‘denj those won’t fit on this wound’, he would pout and go silent until you grabbed one out of his designated band aid box(full of a bunch of childish band aids) and put it on his cheek with a small kiss. ‘thanks doc’

AKI . . .

aki would be quiet. he would sit calmly with a cigarette in his mouth and just watch you patch him up. he wouldn’t look away from you as your gaze meets his in a silent plea for him to be careful, just giving a small smile and finally looking to his lap instead of your eyes. you would pick his face back up and take the cigarette from his mouth and put it out, grabbing an alcohol wipe and rubbing it along the cut on his lip. ‘next time at least aim to get hurt somewhere other than your handsome face..’ ‘pffft’

POWER . . .

she would be on one. pacing around the little room, her blood dropping onto the floor and making a mess everywhere. ‘HOW COULD THINE SELF GET HURT LIKE THIS’ she would yell, throwing her hands up and groaning out about how she ruined her favorite shirt. ‘power sit down.” you would tell her, running around after her like a chicken with its head cut off trying to catch up. only being able to grab onto her by the horns sticking up out of her head and pulling her towards the bed where all of the medical supplies were. ‘SIT POWER’ ‘NOOFO’

BEAM . . .

he’s just happy to be there. he would be overly ticklish and would giggle everytime you brushed your hands or a wipe over his skin. very over dramatic. he would let out an over exaggerated ‘ow!’ everytime you used an alcohol wipe or something sharp on him, resulting in you shaking your head and rolling your eyes at him. ‘hey if you would be more careful i wouldn’t have to do this’ you’d tell him with an attempted pointed look as you started wrapping his arm but failing and laughing, ‘listen lady, i gotta be your big strong boyfriend who beats people up’ ‘beam YOU got beat up’

KOBENI . . .

she would be passing out and hyperventilating. holding onto the walls and dragging herself onto the floor. she would be crying looking at her wounds, and then looking at you for help. ‘HELLP I DONT KNOW WHAT TO DOOO’ she would wail and curl into a ball, making you pry her hands off her knees and lift her shirt to see the wound on her side. you would be laughing at her and practically laying on top of her legs to hold her down so you can give her stitches. ‘DONT FLING THAT BOOK AT ME KO!’

[burningvelvet]

From the diary of Mary Shelley: October 26, 1824.

“Time rolls on, and what does it bring? What can I do? How change my destiny? Months change their names, years their cyphers. My brow is sadly trenched, the blossom of youth faded. My mind gathers wrinkles. What will become of me?

How long it is since an emotion of joy filled my once exulting heart, or beamed from my once bright eyes. I am young still, though age creeps on apace; but I may not love any but the dead. I think that an emotion of joy would destroy me, so strange would it be to my withered heart. Shelley had said—

‘Lift not the painted veil which men call life.’

Mine is not painted; dark and enshadowed, it curtains out all happiness, all hope. Tears fill my eyes; well may I weep, solitary girl! The dead know you not; the living heed you not. You sit in your lone room, and the howling wind, gloomy prognostic of winter, gives not forth so despairing a tone as the unheard sighs your ill-fated heart breathes.

I was loved once! still let me cling to the memory; but to live for oneself alone, to read, and communicate your reflections to none; to write, and be cheered by none; to weep, and in no bosom; no more on thy bosom, my Shelley, to spend my tears—this is misery!

Such is the Alpha and Omega of my tale. I can speak to none. Writing this is useless; it does not even soothe me; on the contrary, it irritates me by showing the pitiful expedient to which I am reduced.

I have been a year in England, and, ungentle England, for what have I to thank you? For disappointment, melancholy, and tears; for unkindness, a bleeding heart, and despairing thoughts. I wish, England, to associate but one idea with thee—immeasurable distance and insurmountable barriers, so that I never, never might breathe thine air more.”

Beloved Italy! you are my country, my hope, my heaven!”

[chaosgremlinmunson]

STWG 08/08/2024

Prompt: theatre

Steve had just wanted to eat his damn ham sandwich in peace. He was over the hushed whispers, the pain in his left eye, and the side-eye he'd been receiving all day. He thought maybe he just wanted to go to the courtyard to eat his lunch, maybe he'd get some peace and quiet, but no, the theatre kids were rehearsing some off the wall bullshit and Munson had seen him and was currently crawling on his knees towards him.

“Heaven Would through the airy region stream so bright That birds would sing and think it were not night. See, how she leans her cheek upon her hand! O, that I were a glove upon that hand, That I might touch that cheek!” Eddie came to a halt in front of him, his knuckles brushing gently against his left cheek as he gazed at Steve. “What villain has tormented you so, my dove. I will make haste and slay that beast, should I get a single kiss from thine lips.”

“Dude, what?” Steve said leaning backwards as Eddie moved closer to him still, “what nerdy bullshit did you blabber?”

“Mine heart!” Eddie clutched his chest as though struck through and fell onto Steve's lunch much to his chagrin. Steve wanted to be annoyed, truly he did, but it was almost endearing and he found himself smiling as he rolled his eyes.

“Look, man, if you want one of my cookies I'll hand you one, but you need to stop smashing my lunch with this theatre stuff.” Eddie popped up with a wild grin on his face.

“Cookies you say?” Eddie pulled his hair in front of his face before turning to his nerd friends, “alright everyone, we'll meet up later to go over our lines again.” He settled beneath the tree close to Steve, their thighs touching.

After they both had been quietly chewing for a few moments Steve decided he needed to ask, “why recite whatever that was to me?”

Eddie choked, then glanced at Steve out of the corner of his eye before swallowing the last bit of his cookie, “You looked lonely, and like you could use the cheering up. But also, you have to know you're the most beautiful man in this school. If people don't want to be with you they want to be you.”

Steve felt himself flush, but he leaned more into Eddie's space before lowering his voice, “and which one are you, my cute little riot?”

Eddie's eyes went huge, and he stared at Steve, eyes darting around his face looking for something, before he leaned in so their lips were almost touching, “I suppose you'll have to figure that out soon, won't you big boy?”

Steve pulled him further into the treeline by the school before pushing him against a tree and lining his body against Eddie's who had gulped at the manhandling, “I think you want to be with me, but you won't make a move.” He whispered as he lifted his thigh between Eddie's legs effectively pinning him in place, he leaned and kissed Eddie until he was writhing gasping mess beneath him, and smiled, “you should come by my place tonight, practice your lines some more.” He winked at Eddie before letting him go. Eddie whimpered, reaching down to fix his now entirely too tight pants and nodded.

[coyote-ralyn]

Vellicaz: SALOME

Redrawing “Salome” (Titian) ♥️

“But wherefore dost thou not look at me, Iokanaan? Thine eyes that were so terrible, so full of rage and scorn, are shut now. Wherefore are they shut? Open thine eyes! Lift up thine eyelids, Iokanaan! Wherefore dost thou not look at me? Art thou afraid of me, Iokanaan?”

[abyssal-maiden]

Serpent's Hearth Pt. 5: Blissful Sacraments

Apologies for the delays! College is like that sometimes. Please hydrate and eat my lovelies. <3

Chapter warning: xBloodplayx xBoundingx xSmutx

!!!MDNI!!!: 18+ (( xbloodplayx xsmutx xpregnancyx xothersinsx))

XTouchStarvationxLightYanderexEnemiestoLoversxSizeDifferencex

Your senses initiate to the repeated sound of knocking. As your lids flutter open, you are confronted with…him. You lift your head, Messmer's warm hand slides down to rest over the left side of your collarbone. The forgotten lord of flame, snoring softly, beautifully slumped around you, serpents nestled comfortably between. He looked so peaceful and forlorn simultaneously. The knocking persists. You gingerly reach, brushing fiery strands from his face to reveal his closed eye. As you shift, the reptilian companions stir slightly, exposing Messmer's glowing iris as he wakes. He looks at you blankly for a minute as if deciphering if you’re real. He sits up slowly, hand running up your shoulder and cupping your neck before leaning into a gentle peck. He moves to your ear, kissing just beneath it, inhaling deeply before moving away. His scaled kin hiss in protest, hopelessly pulling at his frame towards your comfortable body heat. He sits on the edge of the bed groggily, securing his discarded gambeson around his waist as he stands. Quietly striding towards the door, rubbing his eye.

He’s careful not to open the threshold of the room too wide, opting to slip out and close it behind him. An ancient woman with a cane gives him a suspicious look through narrowed eyes. 

“Egidia…” He sighs.

“My lord.” The finger reader gives a shaky head bow. The servant pair holding her chair up look to be spent following the climb. 

“Forthwith with thy purpose..” he groans, still digging at his tired socket. “Thou wouldst disturb mine slumbering state, the first in moons.” 

At this, the old woman chuckles. “Most curious then, thee hath joined us in the corridor…” she ventures, glancing at the door, taking in his lack of shirt and steel. “ Wouldst thou not prefer to converse in thy bed-chamber, my lor-”

“State thee objective crone.” He hisses quietly over her.

“Very well, my lord.” She croaks in a malcontented tone. “Thee hast appointments to attend. Tis nearly high noon.”  She lifts her hand, the servants standing. “Dost thou intend to break thee fast this meridie?”

“I do desire such this day. See to it that it is grand. Enter not thine chambers unannounced.” He glowers as the group turns. “Do postpone mine audiences, I wish to bathe. Dismiss mine throne house servants until niht.” 

She looks as if to protest; the slitted eye of her sovereign warns her to cease any resistance. As they descend, he can hear the old matron cursing under her breath. He feels generous today; choice words never seem to affect the finger’s witch anyway, and he would not dare depose his mother's stooge too harshly. He enters the room to see you sitting at the table next to the window, observing the rampart. You’ve added a log to the fire, giving it new life in the cold stone hovel. A smile plays on his lips; you look beautiful in the midday glow of the Scadu Tree’s remains as your eyes cast over the distant ruins across the canyon. You turn your head to his towering image, a subtle look of uncertainty in your visage.

“Messmer…”

“Beg thee...another eventide to enjoy thou spell of firmament…” He murmurs, kneeling to sit eye-level, hand raising your knuckles to his lips. The heat grazes them as he soaks in the sight of you, your presence. His eye is vulnerable, his timbre possessive, like a puppy with a capacity for murder. He searches, but the flames have dispelled from your eyes. Verily, I shall make thee gaze shine anew, lightless minx.

He’s grasping at your head and pulling you to his lips. Leaning forward into your enchantment. He’s on his knees in front of the stool you inhabit, clinging to you as his tongue osculates around your own. His fingers hungrily dig through your hair, sliding down your frame at individual paces, exploring delicate blushing flesh under the calefying aura of his touch. The wood scrapes as he pulls your seat toward his chest so that his chin is nestled comfortably between your breasts. He looks up at you unguardedly, his face flushed. He parts his lips to speak but is interrupted by another knock at the door. He sits up from his crouching posture, sighing. 

“Mine honored beauty, sit upon the bed but for a moment.” He whispers, pulling your hand as he gets up.

Following his lead, you plant yourself on the side of the large circular piece. He smiles, finger tracing your chin as he draws the tattered curtain past its scorched edge. He answers the door once more. You survey the burns in the fabric, how they're ripped into frayed holes at the front end as if taken in rage, several of the small rings broken off the rod above. From behind the veil, the clattering of trays and the hushed pleasantries of several servants entering and departing can be heard. You try your best to hold your breath.

He’s met with a pout when he pulls the curtain back, his brow communes a look of concern. The attitude dissolves almost instantly when the heaping feast behind him beckons you. Every fruit, grain, green, and meat you could imagine was laid intricately on a tray, white groupings of various cheeses dotted in different parts. 

“I’ve never seen so much fresh food in one place…” Your eyes betray a look of esurience. He seems delighted, standing straight, a proud gleam in his eye at your amusement.

“Tis for thee…” he glances away bashfully—his hand motions for you to sit at the table again. He drags his chair to the flank of your stool. Hand drawing circles on your thigh as he watches you eat. He periodically snags a grape, a chunk of cured meat, an olive, the like—his attention shifts between your lips and your hands. The serpents intruded by flecking at the dried delicacies and retreated at a soft cough from their master.

“Forgive me, I must quell these ravenous pests.” he hisses, rising and walking to the room's opposite corner. A small door above the end table opens, and he reaches in, fingers gripping the tails of a couple of mice. You could hear the squeaking terror as he tossed them into the air. The rest you turn away from, 

Your meal, however delicious, adjourned shortly after. Messmer excuses himself, returning a few moments later to collect you. He insists on carrying you down the winding staircase, passing the hall from which you originated. The snakes snuggle up in your lap and the curve of your neck. His heart beats quickly against your eardrum as you rest your head against him; glancing up, you meet his gaze. The glowing of his seal always gave away his attention in the dark, but he did not shy away from you now. 

“I cannot recall when last I enjoyed companionship…”

“How…long has it been for you..?” You blush in the dark, thankful for the dimly lit area. You had not been with a man since your reanimation and hoped it was not evident from your performance. 

“Well….” he pauses momentarily, the steps echoing around your movements. “I suppose…fifteen, no, sixteen hundred cycles now.”

You hear the wall appears behind you after exiting the stairwell. Another previously unseen awning across from the entry gate emits a pleasant aroma mixed with humidity.

How many fucking secrets did I miss?

The bathroom pillars extend the length of the room—a charred granite disrupted by cracks of gold from the floor to the vaulted ceiling. The space is filled with steam, myrrh wafts along with it. Trays of exquisite crystalline bottles line the right side of the wide bathing pool. The sides of the bath host an indented sitting ledge along the entirety of the inner perimeter, delving deeper towards the back of the room. Custom-built for the giant pawing at your thighs as he sets you on your feet. The ancient-looking candle stacks come to life as he enters, dropping his vestments on the slab floor and stepping down. He turns to you, holding his lengthy arm out, clawed hand extended. The serpents seem to gather together on his shoulders, giving the impression they dislike this particular activity. 

You take his hand, venturing out over the first step, water lapping at your thigh as it sinks into the warmth. He looks down and chuckles at your height. 

“Mine perfect toy.” He mumbled, sitting on the ledge and drawing you down onto his lap in the hot water. 

His fingers move in the air, and the doorway gives way to the illusion of brick.  Hands sloppily eager with pursuit, sliding up between your breasts to grip your neck, the other between your thighs. He inhales along your neck, pulling your head back, nipping your ear before rasping quietly.

“Ne’er have I felt such in the presence of another.”  His fingers spread across the gap of your thighs under the water, his ring and index gently running down your labia carefull not to part it just yet. 

“I extend thee an accord, A union wrought in lightless possession.”

Your mouth opens to speak, but his grasp slips into your open lips, nail tracing the center of your tongue.

“I wish to bind thee.” He groans, lifting you slightly with his grasp on your pussy. “Such impious fealty I would pay with mine own head.” 

His fingers curl, gripping the front of your slitted joy, plunging only knuckle deep. They teasingly alternate under the water; you feel his breath in your ear again.

“I will make thee fold in mine thrall.” he moans, you can feel his throbbing member against your back as he yanks at your cunt. ���Thou shall want for naught, ne’er another.”

You moan around the digit penetrating your lips. His iris trembles with ecstasy, watching his finger covered in your saliva slide through your muffled mewls. 

“Agree.” He pulls harder against your sensitive clit, fingers parting the folds in the bath's warmth. 

“Agree.” His whisper is more commanding than before. His tongue slides up your neck; he sucks gently before plunging the two fingers into your hole.

“Say you are mine, mine alone, tarnished.” His finger pulls out of your gasping breaths as the two inside of your slit move around. His lips part in the effort, his pumping feverish before he moans again.

“ Say you are mine.”

“Yes me-MesSMer!” That familiar pulsing forms in your guts as his fingers dig into your core. “I am for thee alone!”

“Speak with sincerity, cherished little toy!” He hisses in your lobe, pulling back and using his spit-slicked grip to turn your face towards him. The water splashes around his bicep as he beats your cunt with his large hand.

“Dev…Devotion, my lord. I will bid devotion!” you call out as your body spasms in a twitching symphony around his hot fingers. The snakes have regained motivation as they observe and caress your flushed face.

You gutturally moan when he rises, gripping your left breast and right hip. The water cascades down as he stands, spinning around so your hands are slapped against the cold perimeter before being seized again. There is no hesitation in the first thrust as he bucks into you from behind, begging you for your capitulation in short, murmuring bouts. Miel and Purkoy constrict your arms, pulling them back into Messmer's thrusts. His hand leaves a stinging mark on your ass as he loses himself, hips jerking forward wildly against your addictive body. He leans down, the force of his cock pushing you to drooling bliss. 

“Thee must submit most wondrously, exchange for mine endless heed. Give me wholeness, and I will reward thee eternal.” The silk command flows into your mind easily.

You nod vigorously as he pulls on your hair, using the excess leverage to push the limits of your distending folds.  His sharp talon slides across the side of your neck as he pounds relentlessly, his glowing eye obsessive as he watches your blood well up. He rips at his palm, waiting for your gasp as his teeth sink around the slit on your throat, slipping his blood into your maw and stifling the moan. The taste of copper laces with the heat of his flaming ichor, running down your throat, warming your body as your breasts slip and bounce against the granite of the bath with each forward motion of your lover's girth. His moan vibrates against your neck as he sucks.

“Yes, oh....gods. F-fuck, yes!” your voice is barely audible as the pounding of your snatch mixed with the splashing of warm water against Messmer’s swinging testicles and tensed thighs as they collide with your rump.  

He smears his blood all over your beautiful chin, pretty deep crimson on glass skin—your cheeks tingle, your eyes alight with his flame once more. He mewls joyfully at the sight, his left hand cupping your oblique before sliding to feel your tummy underneath. He moans, feeling the way his cantilever is hollowing you through your soft skin as he drives vigorously into your quaking split. His blood is eventually dripping from your hip, shoulder, neck, everywhere as he squeezes each part possessively with his leaking palm. Taking account of your form with his abyssal envy, moaning in ecstasy as he paints you in red. He can feel his need pooling in his lower stomach.

“Thou’rt mine.” He lustfully calls out to you.

His hot palms wrap the front of your thighs; the serpents tighten their hold on your arms. He’s lifting you, shoving himself into your tight trembling pussy. You’re on the verge of melting away while suspended when he shoves one of your legs up onto the edge of the pool. One hand stroking the base of his cock as he watches the cream of pleasure slowly collect along his shaft with each push of his convulsing monster. The constriction of your walls sucks every drop of his semen from his hulking phallus. You hear his hands come down on either side of your stimulated being as his faltering pace becomes slow and deep, shooting hot pangs against the limits of your sensitive walls. His long hair tickles your arched back. He stays like that, panting, pulling out with a slight gasping hiss as he views the mess he’s implanted spilling down your inner thighs. 

“Thou’rt mine.” He repeats, sitting back down in the bath, head leaning against your thigh as you lean on the side for a second to catch your breath. He pulls you back onto his lap.

“Thou’rt bound by blood.” He turns you, pulling your chin and placing a long, steamy smooch against your willing lips. “Thou willst know the imbuement of everlasting longing”

Your tongues dance for a while, the cloud of red surrounding you two dissipating over time. The mixture of blood adorns both of your faces as it is exchanged between the caressing of cheeks. The ritual is only dispelled when a shocked gasp sounds from the direction of the doorway. 

Master List

Previous // Next

[yourlocaldisneyvillain]

...the dawn of ♥ kink!week ♥ is upon us...

(don't know what kink week is? click here!)

‧̍̊·̊‧̥°̩̥˚̩̩̥͙°̩̥‧̥·̊‧̍̊ ♡ °̩̥˚̩̩̥͙°̩̥ ·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙·̩̩̥͙*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ °̩̥˚̩̩̥͙°̩̥ ♡ ‧̍̊·̊‧̥°̩̥˚̩̩̥͙°̩̥‧̥·̊‧̍̊

∼ those faint of heart, look away and shield thine eyes — miserable sinners, prepare; for we have entered the unholy week ∼

∼ day one brings us our beloved metallic lady ♥ Jane Murdstone ♥ ∼

∼ tags and the fic are under the cut ∼

♥ i've worked very hard on this series — it was a huge project to undertake and i would very much appreciate if you left me comments with your thoughts and impressions — you already know they make my heart sing ♥ (AO3 link — i prefer it to tumblr vastly)

‧̍̊·̊‧̥°̩̥˚̩̩̥͙°̩̥‧̥·̊‧̍̊ ♡ °̩̥˚̩̩̥͙°̩̥ ·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙·̩̩̥͙*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ °̩̥˚̩̩̥͙°̩̥ ♡ ‧̍̊·̊‧̥°̩̥˚̩̩̥͙°̩̥‧̥·̊‧̍̊

tags: #alternate universe - modern setting #dominatrix #bdsm #bladder control #watersports #piss kink #mistress/slave #dom/sub play #fetish clothing #leather gloves #face slapping #degradation kink #humiliation #golden shower #masturbation #aftercare #kink!week

don't look away (as i bare my soul to you) (clicking on the title will lead you to ao3)

You will always remember the night you met her.

You were attending a house party organised by one of your good friends — very much a social butterfly, unlike yourself — and you weren't surprised there were all sorts of interesting people there, and that one of them just happened to be the tallest, most beautiful woman you’ve ever seen. 

You could tell she was exceptionally bored as she sat on the couch alone, long legs crossed, typing on her phone and absentmindedly sipping her wine. You probably stared at her for a full minute, just awkwardly hanging by the door with your own drink, taken by her commanding presence and how stunning she looked just in her casual black slacks and blouse that was unbuttoned just enough that you could almost see her bra if you angled your head the right way. 

You surely would have stared much longer had she not lifted her gaze and raised her eyebrow at you. You immediately felt your cheeks burn and your palms sweat, embarrassment overwhelming you, as if you’ve been caught doing something terribly wrong. You opened your mouth, wanting to say something, but you didn’t know what could be said after so rudely staring at someone, so you turned to leave.

What stopped you from fleeing in shame, with your tail between your legs, was that she smirked and gestured you to join her, tapping a spot next to her on the couch. You immediately obeyed. No other option even crossed your mind — something about this woman drew you in.

“Jane Murdstone,” she said with a delicious, velvety English accent, extending her arm towards you as you sat next to her. You noticed how piercingly blue her eyes are.

“My palms are sweaty,” you said stupidly, looking at her with your mouth slightly agape, feeling as if you were in the presence of a goddess.

“Then wipe them on your trousers,” she said calmly, cocking her head. The corner of her lips barely perceptibly curled upwards.

You wiped your palms on your trousers and went on to shake her hand. You immediately noticed how big it is compared to yours, and you didn’t know why it flustered you so much. She gave you a firm squeeze and lingered a second longer than necessary. 

“Will I get a name, or just reports on the state of your palms?” she asked.

You stuttered while telling her your name, but she didn’t comment on it.

“Do I have something on my face?” she just asked, leaning back into the couch and swinging her arm over the headrest. 

“Why?” you asked back, confused.

“You stared at me for a full minute,” she answered, smirking, and took a sip of her wine. She never once broke eye contact with you — it made you squirmy, but you couldn’t look away, as if under a spell. You felt as if she was looking at your very soul — bare and unprotected and vulnerable.

“I—I’m sorry, I just thought��� I just thought you were beautiful,” you managed to utter.

“Did you, now?” she asked, looking very amused .

You nodded.

“Well, thank you. But don’t you know it’s quite rude to stare?”

That finally made you avert your gaze in shame. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

“Oh, don’t worry — I like making people flustered. I’m having a lot of fun right now.”

You looked up at her again. She was staring at you with that piercing gaze that made you feel completely naked, her blue eyes twinkling in amusement. “And what do you do for fun?” she asked.

Oh, you were completely enraptured by her.

You spent the entire evening talking about everything and nothing. You were surprised how comfortable you felt with her, despite her commanding presence — or maybe because of it. She never paid any attention to you stuttering, nor your blushing — she just sat there and waited until she got an answer to a question she asked. It made it hard to avoid talking about yourself — and oh, it felt so good to talk about yourself for once. 

At one point you asked her what she did for work — and then choked on your drink when you heard the answer. It surprised you, even though her commanding presence could have been an inkling — but she just looked so normal, with her dark brown hair in a loose bun, her tasteful and minimal makeup, and her slacks, blouse and pumps that made her look like a businesswoman on her evening off.

“A dominatrix? That’s really cool,” you said, blushing, “I just didn’t expect it. Don’t get me wrong, but you just look very normal.”

She raised an eyebrow and took a sip of her wine. “Oh, and what did you expect? Latex? Or leather?”

You felt very silly because that is exactly what you expected. “Sorry, I just… I just never met a dominatrix before.”

“So, not familiar with that world, I presume?”

“Not really. But, I mean… I’m… interested. I mean, not interested interested, don’t get me wrong. I just, you know, had like, thoughts, and I’d never actually do it, but I think about, I mean not think about, just like… I wonder sometimes, you know, like what it’d be like, like, none of the hardcore stuff, but just, you know—”

She interrupted your pathetic rambling. “Would you want to try it?”

You froze. “What?”

“Would you want to try it?” she repeated. Her expression was completely calm and neutral, as if she just asked you about your favourite colour. 

“I—I—I mean, that would make no sense. I was always… I’m boring. I just go to my job and then I go home. It couldn’t be into something like that, like, it’d be so out of character and it… it just makes no sense that I would, you know, be like…. into it,” you fumbled.

“I didn’t ask you if it would make sense. I asked if you’d like to try it.”

You spent the next couple of seconds just staring at her, mouth opening and closing like a goldfish. She just sat there in silence, calmly sipping her wine, waiting for you to answer.

And finally, you did.

“Yes.”

‧̍̊·̊‧̥°̩̥˚̩̩̥͙°̩̥‧̥·̊‧̍̊ ♡ °̩̥˚̩̩̥͙°̩̥ ·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙·̩̩̥͙*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ °̩̥˚̩̩̥͙°̩̥ ♡ ‧̍̊·̊‧̥°̩̥˚̩̩̥͙°̩̥‧̥·̊‧̍̊

You glance at the clock. 

It’s 12pm — another five hours until the end of your work day, and you already can’t focus on anything else besides the pain in your bladder. 

You press your thighs together — you can do this. 

You take in a deep breath before turning your attention to the pile of paperwork laying on your desk — mocking you and waiting for you to go through it. And you will — you must. It has to be done by the end of the day. You won’t let yourself get fired — you’ll push through.

You wouldn’t want to disappoint your Mistress, after all.

Jane has been your Mistress for about six months now, and slowly you are starting to venture into kinks you never thought you’d admit being interested in — to anyone — ever. You were fully prepared to take those with you to the grave.

Truth be told, you once thought the same about trying out a BDSM lifestyle, and then… well. Then you sort of stumbled into it — and now it’s something you do on a Monday afternoon after working hours.

Or, in this case, during working hours.

Your belly tingles with excitement just thinking about it — no one knows you’re engaging in a sexual fantasy of yours right now.

You clench your thighs together again — both to help with the fact that you really need to pee right now and to give provide some friction. You know, however, that you absolutely cannot touch yourself, nor go to the bathroom — not until 6pm today, when your scheduled session takes place.

You smile and start sorting through the paperwork in front of you. You’re giddy with anticipation.

6pm can’t come soon enough.

‧̍̊·̊‧̥°̩̥˚̩̩̥͙°̩̥‧̥·̊‧̍̊ ♡ °̩̥˚̩̩̥͙°̩̥ ·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙·̩̩̥͙*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ °̩̥˚̩̩̥͙°̩̥ ♡ ‧̍̊·̊‧̥°̩̥˚̩̩̥͙°̩̥‧̥·̊‧̍̊

You can barely stand when you get to her apartment and ring the doorbell. Your bladder hurts — you don’t think you can hold it in much longer.

She opens the door in a black, silken night-robe. Her long hair is loose and fluffy around her shoulders, she isn’t wearing any makeup, and she’s barefoot. She seems to be naked underneath the robe. It’s unusual — she normally puts on something more fitting for her role. however, you still think she looks gorgeous — perhaps even more so than usual.

She eyes you up and down. “Come in,” she says, face impassive, then turns around and walks towards the playroom. “Coat, bag, shoes,” she commands, not bothering to turn around or look at you as she disappears into the room on the right. 

You quickly hang your coat and bag and take your shoes off before you follow her, pressing your thighs together and clenching your pelvic muscles as hard as you can.

She waits for you in the playroom, sitting on the big couch next to the window. She gestures for you to stand in the middle of the room.

“Stand here and don’t move. You’ll watch me get dressed. When I’m done, you can go to the bathroom.”

As much as the thought excites you, you don’t think you can last even another ten minutes.

“But, Mistress, I… I don’t think I can hold it in much longer. It’s been an entire day.”

“Well,” she says, tilting her head. She watches you squirm from the couch, lips curling in amusement. “If you can’t make it, you’ll just have to go right here.”

“R-right here?” you repeat. You can feel your cheeks starting to burn. “But… I can’t.”

“Well, if you can’t then you won’t,” she simply says and gets up from the couch. She walks towards the little vanity in the corner of the room and stars sorting through her makeup. “And if you can, you are welcome to. However — you don’t get to use the bathroom until I’m done.” She sits down on the little chair and starts applying moisturiser on her face. 

“But—but—” you start, but she interrupts you. 

“You will not give me attitude, or there will be consequences,” she says, looking at you through the mirror. The tone of her voice sends a shiver down your spine — cold, uncompromising, and so fucking hot. 

“Yes, Mistress,” you say and your voice sounds squeakier than you intended. 

“Poor little thing — always so flustered around me,” she coos while dabbing concealer under her eyes, saccharine condescension oozing from her voice. “You just need to be stepped on, don’t you? You need someone to tell you what to do and when to do it — even your bodily functions. Can’t even do that yourself.”

“No, Mistress,” you say, shuffling on your feet, pressing your thighs together. Your bladder really hurts. 

“Stop squirming,” she says, dusting eyeshadow on her lids and glancing at you in the mirror. “You have one very simple task and it is to stand still. Or are you too incompetent even for that?”

“It really hurts, Mistress. May I sit down?” you ask.

“No.”

You try your best not to squirm. You press your thighs together as tightly as you can, trying to take deep breaths to soothe yourself and breathe through the pain. You somehow manage to zone out — you watch her do her makeup, as if in a trance, and you’re proud of yourself for doing rather well. You make it through powder, mascara, blush, eyeliner and lipstick, and before you know it, she’s done. She fluffs out her hair and checks her makeup in the mirror, and then she gets up and turns to look at you.

“You’re doing well,” she says. “A bit too well. Is this too easy, hm?” she asks, approaching you.

“No, Mistress.”

She stands in front of you — and fuck, she’s so tall. It makes you feel all fuzzy and tingly inside. 

“Oh, I disagree,” she says. She throws the robe off of herself, revealing that she is, indeed, naked underneath. You mouth waters. “You’ll help me get into my corset.”

“Yes, Mistress.”

She turns and walks towards the couch. Her ass and thighs jiggle as she walks. You lick your lips, and your belly tingles — you hope she lets you touch her today. You’d love to worship her.

Laying on the couch, you only now realise, is the outfit she picked for herself for today — a black corset, a leather harness, black stockings, and — your favourite — black leather gloves. Black heels are on the floor next to it. You see no panties of any kind, which is a bit unusual, but not unwelcome. 

She takes the gloves first. She makes eye contact with you as she slowly puts them on, taking her time, wiggling her fingers and clenching her fist after she slides each of them on — and it’s so hot you almost forget abut the burning pain in your bladder. Your mouth gapes open and your heart beats faster.

“Close your mouth,” she says sternly before she moves on to the stockings, and you immediately obey.

She puts one long leg on the couch and slides the stocking on — painfully slowly — then does the same with the other one. You lick your lips and squirm again. “Don’t. Squirm,” she commands.

“Sorry, Mistress.”

She slides her feet into black heels, then grabs the corset before she slowly walks to you, swaying her hips. Her breasts bounce as she moves and you can’t help but stare. She’s even taller now with the heels on, and it makes you giddy. You feel so tiny next to her.

As soon as she reaches you, she slaps you across the face — hard. You gasp.

“You can’t even follow simple directions — stand still and keep your mouth closed. How many times to I need to say it, hm?” she says and grabs your jaw with her gloved hand. She presses her fingers into your cheeks so hard it hurts. “Answer me.”

“I—I’m sorry, Mistress, it won’t happen again,” you utter, eyes wide, chest slightly heaving. You have to crane your neck so far back to meet her gaze — you love it.

She lets go of your jaw, and then immediately slaps you again, making you suck in a sharp breath.

“How is your bladder?” she asks as she wraps the corset she’s holding around her torso. It’s already buckled in the front, but the laces on the back are loose. 

“It hurts, Mistress.”

“Poor thing,” she says, her face stony, as she pokes your belly with her finger. You tense your muscles and clench your thighs together. 

“Please, Mistress — it hurts,” you say. You’re doing so well — but if she does that again, you know you won’t be able to hold it in.

“Does it now?” she asks condescendingly. 

“Yes, Mistress.”

She simply chuckles. 

“Tie this. Make it tight.”

She turns around, holding the corset pressed to her stomach, and you immediately start working on the laces. The pain in your bladder is becoming worse by the minute, especially after her poking it. You can barely concentrate on your task, but somehow you manage to push through. 

She turns back around to face you. “Only the harness left. Do you think you can make it?” 

She reaches inside the corset to adjust her breasts. Your gaze wanders towards them. You bite your lip as you watch her gloved hand fondle her breast, cupping it and pushing upwards. “Eyes up.”

You look up. The intensity with which she looks at you makes you shiver — it always does. With her, you always feel like you’ve nowhere to hide. It’s like she can see inside your soul, like she truly sees you — pathetic and shivering and naked — and she never averts her eyes. 

“I can make it, Mistress.”

“Are you quite sure?” she asks, and her blue eyes twinkle, but her face is otherwise unreadable. 

“I think so, Mistress.” 

It hurts — badly — but you don’t want to give up now that you’re so close to making it.

“Wait here,” she says and walks out of the room. You watch her ass wiggle and her hips sway as she leaves.

The moment she exits the room, you squirm and press your thighs together as hard as you can. You don’t know how to feel — on one hand, it would be really hot if she made you pee your pants, and on the other, you don’t think you could handle the shame you’d feel. You like humiliation — but this? You’ve never done something like this before. You decide you’ll try your best to hold it in until she lets you go to the bathroom.

She returns quickly, carrying a big water bottle. She hands it to you. Your heart sinks into your stomach.

“Drink,” she says. “All of it.”

“Yes, Mistress.”

You start drinking, and she watches. It’s a big bottle, and you aren’t sure you can drink it all. You can feel your belly filling with water, and the pressure in your bladder is unbearable. You try to lower the bottle, pace yourself, but she tilts it and pushes it into your mouth. 

“I said, all of it.”

She reaches under your shirt and grabs your hips. You’re still drinking. She gentle runs her gloved hands over your stomach — lightly, teasingly — then under your bra. You continue drinking until you finish the bottle as she fondles you, sending tingles down your spine.

“All done?” she asks, running her fingers over your ribs. 

“Yes, Mistress.”

“Give it to me.”

She takes the bottle and puts it on the little table next to the couch, then returns to you.

“You must be so uncomfortable,” she says, sliding her hands under your shirt again, putting one on the small of your back and the other on your bloated belly.

“Yes, Mistress.” You’re sure you can’t make it at this point. “How long… until I can go to the bathroom, Mistress?” you ask.

She gently massages your belly and you whimper. “Oh, but you could go right now, and it would all stop.”

“But I can’t, I’m too embarrassed.”

“And what if I commanded you to go, hm? You wouldn’t disobey me, would you?” she asks, circling around you as she caresses your stomach, until she’s behind you and pressing her body into yours. She leans down and you feel her hot breath on your ear. You whimper.

“I can’t, Mistress, please, I—”

She grabs your neck from behind you, her gloved hand pressing against your windpipe. “Do not give me attitude.”

Suddenly, she grabs your hips and presses her fingers into your pelvis. You gasp and your muscles give in — and the next thing you know warm liquid is trickling down your thigh. Horrified, you watch a dark, wet spot form on your trousers.

Jane lets go of your waist and walks to stand in front of you as you continue to stare at your crotch, deep shame colouring your cheeks red. You can’t help but gasp in relief as the painful pressure bladder finally subsides, which makes you even more embarrassed. You hide your face into your hands and press your thighs together. It just keeps going — you have’t peed all day. You feel it trickle down your calves and onto your feet until it pools on the floor. Tears of shame prickle in your eyes. 

“Look at me,” Jane says. You slowly lower your hands and clutch your shirt, breathing deeply and trying not to cry. You look at her. She’s standing a few feet away from you, watching you, her gaze as intense as ever. “Don’t avert your eyes.”

You watch her, tears streaming down your face, your underwear, your trousers and your socks uncomfortably wet, as she walks towards the couch and takes the harness. She puts it on, but it takes a while. You just stand there — embarrassed, blushing, crying and wet. 

You aren’t wet just from your own piss, however.

Something about the humiliation makes you incredibly aroused, and Jane knows it — oh, she knows it well. She knew it from the first night you talked — you didn’t even have to tell her — and she pushes you, always pushes you just a bit further than the last time.

She walks back towards you, now clad in the elaborate harness that hugs her neck, her waist, her arms and her thighs, black leather belts crisscrossing. She looks like your dirtiest fantasy.

“Kneel,” she says. 

You kneel into the puddle of your own piss, wetting your trousers even further. 

You look up at her. As she isn’t wearing any underwear, your gaze wanders to her pussy — it looks pink and delicious and absolutely delectable. You wonder if she’s command you to eat her out, and you shiver in anticipation, heat pooling in your belly. 

She lifts her leg and puts her heeled foot onto your shoulder. “Since you’re already so filthy,” she says, “it’ll make no difference if you’re even filthier.”

You stare at her pink, slick folds and your mouth waters. “Tilt your head back. Look me in the eyes,” she says. You do as you’re told and you meet her gaze. She watches you, her lips parted and her eyes dark with lust. 

You gasp when warm liquid hits your chest. You feel her piss slowly wet your shirt and your bra and drip down your stomach into your underwear. She keeps eye contact the entire time. “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?” she says. “Filthy girl.”

“Yes, Mistress,” you whimper, cheeks red, chest heaving. 

“Nasty, dirty girl,” she says, her voice deep and thick with lust. “I bet your pussy is all wet, hm?”

“Yes, Mistress,” you breathe out. She looks like a goddess, looking down upon you. Your mind feels fuzzy and you feel as light as a feather. You’d do anything she asked of you right now. You just want to serve her.

She removes her foot from your shoulder, and you barely notice that the heel dug into your flesh — you only feel a sort of a euphoria. 

“Stay on the floor and touch yourself. You can come.”

“Yes, Mistress,” you say and immediately slip your hand into your soaked underwear. 

“Sit down, ass on the floor.”

You do as she tells you and sit down in the puddle of piss. Your trousers immediately soak through on your ass, but you don’t care.

She looks down on you as you start rubbing your clit. “Look at you. Nasty girl. You like sitting in your own filth, hm?”

“Yes, Mistress,” you moan, rubbing your clit faster.

“No wonder you need me to guide you. You can’t do anything yourself except rub your pussy like a bitch in heat.”

“Yes, Mistress,” you whine. You’re already getting close. “Ah, Mistress, you’re so good to me.”

“I’m too good to you. Nasty girls such as yourself only deserve a firm hand.”

“Yes, yes, yes,” you whimper. You slip your fingers inside of your dripping cunt and start pumping your them in and out — but your trousers are in the way, and you quickly unzip them and pull them down your thighs along with your underwear, and you’re now sitting bare in a pool of piss. You spread your legs as far as you can as you continue to fuck yourself, hitting your clit with your palm every time you pump your fingers into your aching pussy.

“Look at you — so desperate. I don’t even have to touch you for you to fall apart. Such a dirty fucking slut.”

“Ah — yes, yes, Mistress,” you whine. You’re so close.

“Look me in the eyes when you come. I want you to know who you belong to — every orgasm you have is mine, do you understand?”

“Y-yes, Mistress, ah—” you breathe out as your eyes meet her icy blue ones. 

“Come for me,” she says, her voice cold and stern and uncompromising as she watches you, her gaze baring your soul. You are unable to hide from her — she is witnessing you at your lowest, in a puddle of piss rutting against your hand like an animal, and yet she never averts her gaze. She disarms you, renders you unable to do anything other than obey. You belong to her.

And you love it.

You keep eye contact as your orgasm washes over you, fast and hard and intense. For you, for you, it’s for you, you think as ecstasy overwhelms you and the only thing you’re aware of are her blue eyes, watching you, judging you and absolving you at the same time. You keep fucking yourself through the aftershocks, mumbling, “I’m yours, Mistress, it’s for you,” as you slowly come down from your high, unsure if anything you say is intelligible. 

She is silent — she waits for you to come to your senses.

A wave of shame hits you as soon as the orgasmic euphoria is gone. Tears pool in your eyes and fall down your cheeks. You want to hide your face in your hands or your shirt, but you’re covered in piss and it disgusts you. “I’m disgusting,” you cry, tears blurring your vision. You can’t look her in the eye.

“You aren’t,” she says as she takes off her gloves, and you want to believe her, but you can’t. 

You cry and you cry, and she helps you clean up. You shower together, and she wordlessly holds you while you cry, and then helps you put on clean spare clothes that you keep at her place for occasions such as this one. You cry some more, and she caresses your hair and lets you cling to her.

She isn’t a very gentle woman — you learned that quickly — but there is something about her presence that comforts you. You feel safe around her. She says few words, but they are picked carefully — and she won’t argue with the mean voices in your head. She says what she means exactly once.

“I’m glad you trusted me with this,” she says as she bids you goodbye at the door. You say nothing — you just hug her. She tenses up, not expecting it, but then she relaxes and hugs you tighter. She smells like citrus shower gel, and you know you do too. You look forward to lying in your bed tonight smelling like her. 

“See you next week, Jane,” you murmur into her chest. She pulls back and kisses your forehead — a rare show of affection.

“Take care,” she says. 

As you walk back home, you feel pleasantly light.

‧̍̊·̊‧̥°̩̥˚̩̩̥͙°̩̥‧̥·̊‧̍̊ ♡ °̩̥˚̩̩̥͙°̩̥ ·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙·̩̩̥͙*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ °̩̥˚̩̩̥͙°̩̥ ♡ ‧̍̊·̊‧̥°̩̥˚̩̩̥͙°̩̥‧̥·̊‧̍̊

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[bluemallow-log]

Tales From The Ackerman Estate

Chapter 31: Heavy Heart

“I lift my heavy heart up solemnly, As once Electra her sepulchral urn, And, looking in thine eyes, I overturn The ashes at thy feet. Behold and see” — Elizabeth Barrett Browning

Link: AO3 (10k words)

Notes: *clothes tattered and covered in blood* H…hi guys *cough* I’m… *crawling on the ground* I’m backk….

Click here if you want to read from the first chapter: AO3

Synopsis: A young governess, Hange Zoe, is hired to teach Mikasa Ackerman, the young cousin and ward of the owner of the great Ackerman Estate in Trost, Levi Ackerman. Their bad impressions of each other alongside the polar opposite of their personalities shall make it impossible for mutual affection, and yet they inevitably find themselves to be dangerously intertwined with each other. [Levihan Victorian Era AU]

[ranbowkng]

Forgive Me Father for Thine Lips are the Sweetest Sin

Summary: Gary shows up on John's porch and expects to initiate him. Instead he initiates a spark between them

John Ward sighed, his bedroom eyes wearily glancing at the smirking cultist before him. He thought it was over. He sealed the crucible, if only temporarily, and had left with Lisa and Garcia, allowing them both a safer place to reside than their apartments. So why was the demon back? And why had it been so confident as to walk up to his front door and knock as if he wouldn't try to send it back to hell? He was pretty sure it was looking at him the way it would a snack.

"What do you want?" John leaned against the door frame, crossing his arms as he looked up at the cultist.

"Glad to hear your enthusiasm," Gary said, a chuckle laced in his tone, "Because I need you."

"...what?" John raised an eyebrow. Holding a carton of cigarettes in his hands.

"I've realized my mistake! It's all so simple! I've been trying to go about this as if we are different, but you and I, we're exactly the same!" Gary waved his hand in a hundred different directions, adjusting his sunglasses frequently, "What do you say? You and me in a new world order?" He shimmied his shoulders a few times as he spoke. John wondered if this is what all those kids were referring to when they referred to something as "radical." He still didn't understand the appeal.

"Hmm, what a difficult choice," John spoke sarcastically as he placed a cigarette between his lips, "I'll certainly have to uh...think..." He patted down his pockets, searching for a light.

"Allow me," Gary said, snapping his fingers to light the end sticking out of John's mouth.

"Oh... thanks," John inhaled deeply, letting the smoke escape his lungs before holding the cigarette between two fingers to continue talking, "Not happening. In case you haven't noticed, your cult is gone, we defeated you."

"Not necessarily," Gary hummed, "At best you've momentarily inconvenienced us, but you've hardly come close to defeating us. After all..." He gripped John by the shirt, pulling him close to whisper in his ear, "We still have the girl~"

John's breath hitched as he dropped the cigarette on the ground. Gary stomped it out with the heel of his boot, grazing over John's toes in the process, "What have you done with Amy?"

"It's hardly Amy you should be worried about dear preacher," Gary hummed, using his grip on his shirt to spin him around, pulling him to the walkway to his house, "I'd be more concerned about them if I were you."

John looked up, horrified at the sight. Two cultists, covered head to toe in crimson robes, sat atop the neighbor's houses, pointing guns at two windows in his house. One towards the window of his bedroom where Garcia had laid down for a nap, and one towards the kitchen where Lisa had been preparing herself lunch. John looked to the cult leader before him, fury scrunching his face into a threatening glare, "Call them off, now!"

"Calm yourself priest, I shall," Gary held up a palm, a signal to the cultist to hold their fire temporarily, "If you agree to my terms."

"What terms?" John raised an eyebrow, clutching his crucifix.

"You drop that silly stick and join me as my right hand man, and I spare the girl," Gary said, "Join me as a lover and I spare them both."

John's face flushed, how did he know?! See, from the moment John laid eyes on the cultist, he felt a spark. Previously he was able to push off these feelings merely by being thoroughly annoyed by the prospect of them. As time went on, he had to make more excuses why the feelings weren't real. Excuses like "he's evil" "he's dead" "he hates your guts and wants to use them as Christmas tree decorations" "he's probably a man" but now here he is, bringing them up to use against John.

"I am not joining you, lover or otherwise!" John yelled.

"That's quite a shame," Gary sighed, lifting his arm, "Take aim, and-"

"Wait!" John grabbed Gary's arm, stopping him before he could give the command to fire, "I'll...I'll join you..."

"Excellent!" Gary motioned for the cultist pointing a gun at Lisa to stand down, "I suppose minimizing the casualties to one would be efficient. Take aim-"

"I'll be your lover!" John shouted, stopping the cultist.

Gary smirked, lowering his arm, "Mind repeating that for me?"

"I-" John couldn't believe what he was agreeing to, but if it saved Garcia's life, so be it, "I...will join you...as a lover...if you accept my terms!"

Gary rolled his eyes, "I hardly believe you're in a position to make demands here."

"It's one demand, and if you refuse then I will exorcise you," John lifted his crucifix, pointing it at Gary who raised his arms in surrender, "Are you willing to listen now?"

"Oh I'm so scared-" Gary was silenced by the sudden sizzling of his skin as John rested the tip of his crucifix against his wrist, "Ow! Okay! Okay! I'm listening!"

"One kiss," John's expression was cold and unmoving as he spoke, "I want one kiss before we agree to anything. If we both enjoy it, I'll go off with you. If you enjoy it and I don't or vice versa, oh well. If neither of us enjoy it, don't waste my time by putting my friends lives in danger ever again or I will exorcise you twice."

"Feisty" Gary smirked, signalling for the other cultist to stand down, "Fair enough, and to liven this up a tad, I'll let you be the one to engage the kiss."

"Fine!" John huffed in annoyance.

"Indeed," Gary was far too full of himself for someone who was cowering under what he believed to be a "pathetic stick" two seconds ago.

John inched closer, more annoyed by the closeness with each movement he made. One part of John wanted to rip off the cultist's face, the other part of him wanted to rip off something else. Regardless, he stood an inch away from Gary, looking into the eyes hiding behind the shades.

John reached up and in one swift motion pulled Gary's lips onto his. His vengeance for all the cultist had put him through, he ravished the taste without room to breathe, and bit his lip harshly as he pulled away. The worst part of it all, he enjoyed it.

Gary's face was red as his robes as he was released, blinking twice as he tried to catch up with what just happened to him, "...priest."

"Didn't enjoy it much did you?" John waved him off, hiding his own blush by turning to the side, "Run along, don't waste my time again."

"...I apologize," Gary didn't even give John a second to process the words before he pushed him through the door frame with his lips on John's, kicking it closed behind him.

Both staggered backwards, refusing to pull away from the other until John couldn't breathe. When they finally pried themselves away from each other, they had landed on John's sofa with Gary sitting on top of John.

"Priest..." Gary's voice was soft, unable to conjure more than a whisper.

"Cultist," John said back, trying not to mirror the cocky smirk, "Enjoyed the taste of my lips more than a little did we?"

"I... didn't think asking you to be my lover would go so deep...I thought it would be a business exchange. I didn't know it could taste so...good," Gary said, "Forgive me, my accomplice."

"Hmm," John failed to not conjure a smirk, "You can earn forgiveness by-"

"Gross," Lisa's voice caused him to shut up, "Get a room."

"Ms. Pearson!" Gary said, frozen in John's lap.

"This isn't what it looks like!" John said quickly.

"I don't care," Lisa said, walking away, "I'm going out with Tiffany tonight. Please try not to do anything stupid." With that, she walked into the bathroom, which John could no longer navigate due to the excessive amounts of makeup products that littered the sink.

John and Gary turned back to each other, both of their faces dusted pink.

"We had a deal," Gary said, "You are now a part of my Order."

"And you are now mine," John said with a blank stare, "An even exchange."

Gary was a bit startled by the sentiment, his blush growing ever further, but he quickly buried his head into the priest's shoulder, "John..."

"Gary," John said.

"Perhaps, I don't mind if we're romantic without a trade to justify it, even though you now most definitely are now a member of my Order," Gary's voice was muffled in John's shirt, but John heard every word very clearly.

"Mm, you want to kiss me again don't you?" John asked, patting the cultist's shoulder.

"... perhaps," Gary responded.

"Go for it," John said. And he did, melting into the sinfully good taste of John's lips.

And it wouldn't be the last time he did.

[emyn-arnens]

No need to do this because I already got one, but if it inspires, any character(s) + Angband (and area) + 'shadows of madness and despair'. (You did say darker ones...)

An age later, here this is! An AU with Finrod and Sauron in Angband, ~700 words | AO3.

Finrod stood in the dark of his cell, searching. A hushed song fell from his cracked lips. Its notes buried themselves deep within the stones and mortar of his cell, probing for fissures and points of weakness.

In whispered words, he sang of loosening, of breaking, of splitting, of falling free, of light piercing the shadows. The stones trembled at his voice, and his chains shivered against his skin. Dust trickled over his fingertips, pressed against the stone wall behind him. He scratched at a line of mortar with his fingernail as he sang, and a spray of dust fell upon his hands.

He sang of the lashing rain throwing down great rocks in mountain passes, of the flash of lightning cleaving mighty trees in two, of the thunder of cavalry rattling the mountainsides, of the howling of wind splitting strong walls asunder. The stones of his cell danced and quivered in response, and dust and shards of stone fell like rain, biting into his bare skin.

Finrod sang louder, until the stones shook with both the power of his song and the ringing of his voice.

And then, in an instant, the stones fell silent and still, and his voice died in his throat.

Shadows, darker than those he already stood in, gathered in a corner of his cell, and from them came a voice: “Thou hast great power in thy voice, but it will not avail thee.” The shadows twisted and coiled, and from them stepped his captor.

Finrod bore Sauron’s mocking appraisal in silence. 

Sauron circled him, the shadows following him like the swish of a cloak. He tipped a clawed finger beneath Finrod’s chin and looked deep into his eyes, searching. His own eyes burned like the hearts of embers.

Shadows and whispers pressed upon Finrod’s mind, probing, prying. He held his mind silent and still.

Sauron tilted his head. He lifted his hand to Finrod’s face, studying it with appreciation, and the slow stroke of his fingers down the side of Finrod’s face was like a caress, even as the tips of his claws drew beads of blood from Finrod’s skin. “Wast thou a king? Thou hast a kingly bearing.”

Finrod did not speak.

Sauron gripped his chin and leaned closer until his breath stirred Finrod’s hair, lying lank against his neck and shoulders. “Thy tongue is better suited to song than silence,” he murmured. His words skittered over Finrod’s skin like the grazing of claws. He released Finrod and stepped back, a smile playing upon his lips. “Sing for me, little king.”

Finrod did not speak.

Sauron’s smile spread. “If thou dost not wish to sing of thy own doing, I can aid thee in loosening thy tongue.” 

The shadows that clung to him peeled away, and in an instant, they seized Finrod’s throat and forced open his jaw, and a cry tore from his lips.

“Sing.” The command filled the cell until the stones trembled.

Finrod’s voice tore from his throat despite himself, and he sang. He sang until his tongue was thick with dust, until his lips cracked and bled, and until his voice was no more. He sang until his limbs shook and trembled, and he sagged in his chains, utterly spent.

Only then did the shadows about his throat relent and slink back to their master.

Sauron cupped Finrod’s face in his hand, and his eyes burned into Finrod’s. “I will learn thy true name in time, and thou wilt come to do my bidding of thine own will.”

Finrod’s tongue was too heavy to respond.

Sauron brushed his fingers over Finrod’s lips and then smiled, sudden and sharp. “Dost thou thirst?” The sound of falling water filled the cell, and a rivulet of water trickled from a crack in the wall mere feet away from Finrod.

Sauron vanished as quickly as he had appeared, and Finrod stood alone in his cell once more. He strained at his chains, but though he strained until his limbs burned, the trickle of water evaded his reach, and he collapsed against the wall more weary and parched than he had been.

The rivulet of water disappeared. Lilting laughter echoed about the stone walls of his cell. How foolish thou art, little king.

And all through the night came the sound of gently falling rain, though not a single drop fell upon Finrod's skin.

[android-and-ale]

(Belated) WIP Wednesday

I've been tagged by pretty much everybody I would tag back. Since all y'all actually put something up yesterday, I won't spam your mentions.

Meanwhile, here's an excerpt from an Untitled Spirk WIP with the premise of "Wait, We're Married?" It takes place 4-5 months after Amok Time.

---

“How fares thy husband, Spock?” asked T’Pau.

Kirk watched the subtle march of expressions on Spock’s face as he tried to contain his exasperation. 

“As you know, great-grandmother, I remain unbonded.”

“Your husband,” T’Pau lifted a hand, pointing to the captain, “James Kirk.”

The bridge crew stared at Kirk. 

Kirk stared at Spock. 

Spock glared at T’Pau.

“Honored Matriarch, I understand how crude translations from Federation Standard into our Vulcan Golic may be misleading. James Kirk is my captain, not my husband.”

“Nay, Spock,” said T’Pau. “Be not ashamed. I know the men of my line.” 

As someone fluent in Spock’s own micro expressions, Kirk watched a faint but familiar bemused annoyance color T’Pau’s features. 

“Thy father and grandfather before thee found humans … irresistible,” said T’Pau.

“Great-Grandmother,” Spock began.

T’Pau held up a silencing hand. Everyone on the bridge reflexively sat up straighter. “Challenge was issued, and challenge was met. Thou fought with him upon our Sacred Sands of Vulcan and did not die. He fought with thee and yet still lives. By our laws, thou art wed.”

Kirk couldn’t suppress a grin. “Why, Mr. Spock! You didn’t even buy me a ring!”

“The consort of Sarek has taken responsibility for your territorial markers,” said T’Pau. 

“Wait, what?” Kirk’s eyes widened. 

Spock’s low voice was laced with frustration. “Great-Grandmother, no.”

“Challenge was made and accepted by our ancient laws.” said T’Pau. “Had thee died, T’Pring would be his consort. As thee live, thou belongst to him.”

The crew looked from Spock to Kirk and back again. 

“Your James Kirk must come to Vulcan. Consort Amanda Grayson will give unto thee the ring worn by her mother’s mother as a symbol of her own bonding. She is disappointed thee went not unto thy ancestral home to retrieve it when last thee walked the sands of Vulcan.”

Chekov leaned close to Sulu, “The keptin is in trouble with his mother-in-law!”

“Indeed,” said T’Pau. “Spock, there be a diplomatic gathering eighteen days hence. Thou shalt attend.”

“Honored Foremother, I am a Starfleet officer,” said Spock, “Not a diplomat.”

“Before the witnesses, thou shalt place thy ancestral ring upon Kirk’s hand so all who behold him will know he is thine. When he is so marked, he shall sculpt thy pendant with his own hands, so you will have his presence upon thy body whensoever thou shalt be parted.”

“That’s so romantic,” Uhura whispered. Sulu furtively nodded. 

“What kind of diplomatic event is this?” asked Chekov. 

“The kind that doubles as a wedding reception.” Uhura whispered.

[nonbinaryurianger]

FFXIVWrite 2024, day 28 - Deleterious

Emix and Urianger admit their feelings for each other about an expansion earlier than I'd expected.

"I must beg thine aid on a matter of research. If thou art resolved to face Lord Ramuh, I would ask thy leave to observe the event."

Before Emix could respond in the affirmative, their colleagues butted in with what had become their usual japes.

"Research, is it?" Y'shtola teased.

"I'll grant that Emix does cut a striking figure in combat," Thancred said. Then, with a feigned realization, he added, "Oh, you mean to observe Ramuh! Well, then, forget I said anything."

Even Papalymo seemed to be suppressing a chuckle. Despite the gloomy lighting in this part of the forest, Emix could tell that Urianger's face was growing red under his hood. They knew the teasing would never cease until they either gave them what they wanted or called them out on it. So, despite their usually endless font of patience, Emix reacted in a way that surprised even themself.

"Matron's tits, would you all cut it out?" It worked, at least in the short term, and that was all they needed. They turned to Urianger and said, "Of course you can observe," before stalking off towards the battlefield where the Lord of Levin awaited them.

After the battle, they reunited with Urianger for the walk back to Little Solace, the others having blessedly left them alone. As the rush subsided, they found themself regretting their outburst. Its efficacy likely lay only in how out of character it was for them, and in acknowledging what was going on, they worried that they had only lent credence to the others' suspicions. Had they ignored it, they probably would have let up eventually.

"Um...sorry about earlier," they finally said, mostly to the ground.

"Nay, 'tis I who should be offering mine apologies to thee," Urianger said. "'Twas my responsibility to shut the rumors down ere they reached thee, but I regret that I did not find the courage in time. I pray that my failure hath no deleterious effect on...our relationship, in whatever form that may take."

That wording made Emix wonder: what form was he expecting it to take? Were the jests and rumors from their colleagues based on speculation, or was there actually a chance that they were based on something more concrete? They had long since come to terms with the fact that their own feelings for Urianger went beyond friendship, but they had never wanted to assume that it might be reciprocated. Well, given the circumstances, now was as good a time as any to ask.

"What form does it take, in your eyes?"

Urianger paused in his steps. "I could ask the same of thee."

"I asked first," Emix grumbled, earning a chuckle.

"So thou didst. Very well." He took a moment to gather his thoughts, gently grasping Emix's hand. "I shan't deny that I have made certain attempts to signal my feelings, though my perception is that they have gone unnoticed, or unaccepted, or simply landed in the realm of uncertainty, much as I have been uncertain as to how to interpret certain gestures of thine. Thus, directness may indeed suit us both. First and foremost, thy friendship doth mean much to me. If thou wouldst have that alone, then may it bloom forevermore. If, however, thou wouldst have more"—he lifted Emix's hand to his lips and placed a soft kiss on his knuckles—"I would welcome it wholeheartedly."

It was hard to believe, somehow, despite all the signs, but the touch of his lips made it real. They took half a step forward, taking Urianger's other hand in theirs.

"I would," they said. "But unfortunately, this means we'll have to tell the others that they were right."

[crowfootwrites]

Finally, a fic for Julian! I feel like he doesn't get enough love in fandom unless he's paired with Garak. So, here's my attempt at remedying that!

Kinktober Masterlist

Taglist: @horta-in-charge

Day 13: Oral - Julian Bashir x GN!Reader

Warnings: This contains smut, so minors, avert thine eyes; oral sex (m receiving) | Words: ~500 | Song: Unholy - Sam Smith & Kim Petras

“Oh! Julian, you’ve saved the day!” you exclaimed dramatically, throwing your arms around Julian’s neck and placing a meaningful kiss on his cheek. Julian beamed in your arms, his ego more than a little inflated after defeating the villain in the espionage program you’d selected for the holodeck and saving you and several other computer-generated characters from a dire fate. 

A faint blush colored his cheeks in spite of his cocky smile, and you pulled away just enough to meet his eye. You bit your lip flirtatiously. You’d spent the better part of the last hour watching your boyfriend in his element - solving puzzles, strategizing, wielding weapons. You’d be lying if you said you weren’t more than a little turned on. 

Tracing your hands down the length of Julian’s arms, you tangled your fingers with his and drew him coyly toward a black leather couch in the corner of his holodeck office. His brows pinched together in slight confusion, but he followed, allowing you to deposit him onto the plush lounge. 

“Maybe you should let me thank you for saving my life,” you teased, throwing in a wink for good measure. Julian’s eyes widened almost comically, and you had to bite back a laugh as you watched him gulp. 

“Are- are you sure?” he asked, leaning forward and reaching for your hand. You clasped your fingers with his and nodded slowly, determined not to ruin the bit. You knelt before him, his knees bracketing your sides as you squeezed his thighs reassuringly. 

“Let me give you this,” you practically purred.

“Are you absolutely sure about this?” 

You nodded, biting your lip again, and he hesitantly leaned back against the couch. You made quick work of his fly, carefully extracting his hardening cock from his tuxedo pants. You teased him just a little, placing soft, fleeting kisses along his shaft, then dragging your tongue from base to tip as he groaned loudly above you. His head dropped back on the couch the moment you placed your lips around him, his sharp inhale like music to your ears.

You relished in the feeling of his hot, heavy length against your tongue, bobbing your head experimentally as your hands massaged his thighs. You knew what Julian liked, of course, but you wondered if Agent Bashir had different preferences than Doctor Bashir.

Julian’s hands flew to the back of your head as you took him as deep in your throat as you could. Your name tumbled from his mouth as he lifted his head to watch you work him over. You swirled your tongue around his tip for good measure, his thighs tensing beneath your palms. Using one hand to stroke the base of Julian’s cock while you swallowed around him, you felt his hips jerking forward and you knew he was close. Putting more pressure behind your tongue, you pulled him deeper, pushed him closer to the edge. Moments later, he snapped, fisting your hair tightly as he came down the back of your throat.