#Of course for totally noble reasons | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

juletheghoul · 2 months

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greedy

a/n: I cannot be stopped at this point, this man brings out the WHORE in me and I have happily accepted my fate lol. This is un beta-ed, any mistakes are my own. Shout out to @foli-vora for being a constant source of love and support and for contributing so much to this world, thanks my love! 🩷Hopefully you enjoy!

Warnings; 18+ no minors, vague but big-legal age gap, piv sex, dirty talk, Marcus being a total glutton for your greed over him, creampie, heavy possessive feelings from you because lets be REAL, master / slave dynamic (power imbalance), Marcus calls reader Girl, reader calls Marcus Dominus, let me know if I missed any!

Pairing: Marcus Acaciusx F!Reader

word count: 2.4k

reblogs are appreciated

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His house was in order, and that was mostly thanks to you.

Since your return to Rome, and the villa, he has been busy. Mostly, it’s been a parade of high ranking officials, members of the noble families making their pilgrimage to pay homage to the ‘Saviour of Rome’.

He despised it.

With all of the ferocity within him, he despised it. You could see it in his visage, in the clench in his jaw when they’d come to call. The way the normally confident expression in his eyes, faltered and focused on his sandaled feet. If he hadn’t been the person he was, you might have laughed. But he was, and so you didn’t.

After a few weeks it inevitably died down, and the whole house seemed to take a deep breath, it wasn’t to last though. Just as the air seems to settle, someone comes calling, someone very important.

“Lavinia–” She is a true beauty, of high Roman birth and the daughter to one of the most influential men in Rome, just a step below the Emperor himself. “You honour me…” He is at a loss for words as she floats into the halls of his house. His eyes find yours but you don’t need him to say a word, within a moment you’re flitting towards the other attendants, and within the span of a few breaths, his table is laid out with enough food and wine to impress even one as fine as her.

“I have caught you unawares have I not?” She giggles and the sound is almost calculated to ensnare, the jewels at her throat and dangling from her ears glinting almost as brightly as her eyes “I am glad to see I am not vying with anyone else for your attention, I wanted you all to myself this day.” He leads her to his table, and sends everyone out of the room but you.

“Yes, well.” He clears his throat, and already you can feel him closing up, hiding behind his mask of courtesy. “To what do I owe the pleasure of your company?”

You stand behind his chair at the ready, and watch her cast her spell on him, silently.

“Does one such as me need a reason to visit with you General Marcus? Surely with your victory you’d have a steady parade of young, quite available women marching through your halls, fighting tooth and nail to catch your eye.” She shook out her long blonde waves, subtly, but not so subtly angling herself in the most flattering way. “You are unmarried and unattached as of yet, all of Rome knows it.” She bites her lip, appealing to him in the way beautiful women always appeal to men and it shocks you to feel the unfamiliar stab of anger in your belly.

He grunted, noncommittally.

“I have come to…speak of such things.” She stretched towards him like a cat, picking a grape from the platters on the table, and nibbling at it softly, her lips the colour of ripe pomegranates. “If you would care to hear them, of course.”

He has no interest in marriage, he cares too much for his time alone, he will tell you to leave–

“I will, of course, listen to whatever you have to say, Lavinia.” If you hadn’t been as experienced with him, you would have gasped. Instead, you stood there, trying with all your might to keep the shock off your face, and the tremble out of your hands. “Wine.” He spoke the word clearly, and it pulled you out of your shocked anger behind him. With a practiced hand, you poured for him, and then moved quickly to pour for her.

You don’t catch his eye, but you feel it on you, no doubt noting the furrow in your brow, tracking you, as you make your way back to your place behind him. You let go of a deep, steadying breath and for a moment you could swear on all of the Gods you see him smile over his shoulder. In the blink of an eye, it’s gone.

“Let us speak of them then.” She claps her hands together happily, “My father would have come to speak to you sooner or later, but I thought it best to test the waters myself, without the scrutiny of his eye.” She leans towards him again, elbows on his table, holding her delicate face in her hands and even you have to admit, it’s masterful. The jewels on her fingers only enhance the hue of her eyes. She takes advantage of the cut of her dress, the calculated pieces of flesh she has on display, and how cunningly she uses them is something to behold. You look down at the simple tunic you wear, the uniform of your station and all at once, you feel beneath her, beneath everyone.

“And what would your father have to say to me, I believe you are more than capable of making a case for yourself. You strike me as the sort of woman that gets what she wants.” His tone is different, he sounds almost interested and it’s a dagger through your heart.

Steel yourself, you are nothing but a slave, no matter how many times he buries himself inside you. You are what’s available, until he finds another, equal to him.

She giggles, tickled, but unsurprised that he seems to be responding to her charms.

“I do get what I want, in the end.” She smiles, and it is truly lovely, “and what I want is you.”

“Shall I fetch more wine Dominus?” You step beside him, whispering with a tremble in your voice, hoping, wishing, praying to all of the Gods that he’ll spare you from this torment.

“No.” A soft word, and your stomach turns. You step back silently. “I am surprised you have come to me, I am sure there are armies of men ready to fight to the death for you, why am I the one you want”

“Oh come now Marcus, you have just led our army in a great victory, the streets cry out your name, the Emperor himself has thanked you for your service, you are the most desired man in all of Rome, you know this.” She brushes his question off, “I can raise you up higher still, to the very halls of the Senate, should you wish it.”

“The Senate? And what would I do in the Senate? I am no politician, I am quite content where I am.” He smiles for her benefit, and you do your best to remain impartial, and invisible.

Unfeeling. Unmoving.

“It is an option, should you want it.” She reiterates, “Now, what do you say of this match? What are your thoughts?” She picks more food off the plates, completely confident.

“I will say this, you honour me greatly,” She smiles, licking at the tips of her delicate fingers, “It is a lot to consider, and I would be grateful if I could have some time to think, send you word of my final decision once I’ve had time to settle back into civilian life.” He bows his head to her and she responds in kind, seemingly pleased with his response.

She stays longer than the others, and he entertains her to her heart's content, sharing the less violent stories from the war he’d just won and letting her have her fill of his food and hospitality, and you stand behind him. Listening to it all. Until she grows tired and tells him she must depart.

“I look forward to hearing your answer, don’t make me wait too long.” She smiles, pressing forward and kissing his cheeks boldly.

“It was lovely to see you, please give your father my greetings. Be safe.”

You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding, the air in the room felt thin and for a moment, your thoughts clouded your awareness.

“You are angry.” His voice cuts through your reverie, making you jump where you stand at his table, setting it to rights.

“Dominus?”

“Speak plainly, girl. You are displeased with Lavinia coming here, offering herself to me.” He stares at you, his eyebrow raised from his place on his favoured chair.

“I, I have no cause, no reason–” You stumble over your words, wringing your hands to stay obedient.

“Yes you do. She comes into this house, this house that has been your home for a long time, and asks to make it her own. She would be your Domina, and that angers you.” He speaks with a smile in his voice, his eyes shining with the novelty of your misplaced, and maybe grossly inappropriate anger.

“I, Dominus–your will is my will, whatever you command–” He raises his hand and for a moment you see a flicker of anger.

“Speak truthfully now, girl. I see the rage on your face. I feel it in your gaze. I will hear the truth, tell me how you feel.” He narrows his eyes for a moment, and you know he wants to hear the truth.

“I hate it.” You let go of a deep breath, steadying yourself for the wrath of insolence but it never comes, instead, he smiles.

“I would hear your reasons.”

“I–I would not have her come here. I would not have her marry you. I have no wish to call her Domina or have her order me away from you. I… I would keep you all to myself,” his smile widens, “Dominus.”

He gestures for you to come closer, and you do, until you stand before him.

“Would you now?” You stand in the space between his legs, watching the way his eyes dilate to hear you speak of keeping him.

“Yes Dominus, I would have you all to myself, I would not have her keeping your bed warm.” You seethe at the thought of it, to hear him having her, the way he has you makes your blood boil and he smiles bigger still, his eyes crinkling with the mirth of it.

“Tell me, my fearsome girl, how greedy you are that you cannot share your Dominus with another.” His hands slide up the backs of your legs, slipping up to cup your backside while your hands land onto his shoulders.

“I am greedy, I cannot share you Dominus, I will not.” You press yourself closer to him, your fingers threading through his graying curls. “I could not bear to hear you with her.”

“Hmm. You want my cock all for your own, is that it? Only you are fit for the gift of my seed? Tell me.” He pulls your tunic up, and off, stripping you of everything until you stand bare before him. “Only you, and this sweet little cunt, hm? Is that the way of it?” He presses kisses to your belly as he speaks and all at once the anger is gone and replaced with a hunger that only he can satisfy.

“Yes Dominus, only me-” You pull his face up and claim his mouth, moaning into it at the feeling of his hand cupping your sex.

“Take it then, girl, take what so clearly belongs to you, what you would keep all to yourself.”

You waste no time in stripping him bare, relishing to see the way his cock stands at attention for you, and not for the other woman. You ache at the sight of it, the proof of your desire for him dripping onto your thighs in your haste to mount him and when you finally feel him notch his cock at the mouth of your cunt, you practically drop yourself onto it.

He groans to feel the way you clench around him, the two of you breathing heavily into each other's faces, adjusting to the way his cock seems to kiss your womb.

“Is this what you wanted, girl?” He bucks up underneath you, and your breasts bounce in his face, mesmerizing him enough to make him do it again. “To claim me like this? Tell me–is this cock yours? Am I yours?” He bounces you again and it’s hard to focus on anything but the fullness of him, the way you feel the pleasure of it lights up every nerve in your body.

“Yes, yes Dominus, mine–” Your fingers grasp his hair tightly and with every flex of his hips, you roll yours, grinding the pleasure center of your universe against the coarse hairs at the base of his sex. “Your cock is mine, only mine.” he lets out a filthy moan to hear it, and your nipples harden.

“It is yours, take it, Gods, take it all–” He cannot seem to control himself, quicker and quicker he flexes, until your arousal drenches his lap and the sounds between your legs are wet and obscene.

“Harder please Dominus, I want it harder–” You hold onto his shoulders, rolling your hips faster and within a moment, he moves forward, placing you on the plush carpet at his feet. Once on the floor, his hips piston and the sounds of your coupling ring out through the room.

Your orgasm takes you by surprise, your legs seizing up on his hips, and pulling a scream from your throat. He groans, feeling the way you squeeze around him, the force of your climax milking his cock dry.

“God's girl, you have knocked the wind from me.” He breathes hard in your ear, pressing his lips to your mouth before moving his kisses down your throat, peppering them across your chest. His tongue licks at one nipple, then the other, making you flutter around him.

A few moments pass, and although you are comforted by his weight, you don’t want to overstep. He forestalls you though.

“Come girl, I would have this place set to rights, and retire to bed.” He pulls out with a hiss, moving up and away, “I would have you tell me of your anger, in depth, in my chambers.” He holds out his hand to help you up, and you take it with a smile.

----

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kneelingshadowsalome · 1 year

Note

Hi !!!! I’m sorry if this is bothering you and if so you can totally ignore this but…

I’ve been thinking about how Ghost would react to reader gradually pulling away from him because she gained some weight and is self conscious and ashamed and doesn’t want to be seen by him, so sculpted and beautiful… but of course he’s feeling low because he wants to be close to reader and so he asks and she finally explains it to him (ready to be broken up with…)…. And I’d love to read your take on it !

You can make it female or gender neauteal I don’t really care !!!! Thank you anyway ❤️❤️❤️❤️

Wildflowers Grow in Ruins

(Ghost x F!Reader, word count: 5 k)

Summary: Reader tries to break up with Ghost because she thinks she's not good enough for him.

Tags/warnings: FLUFF, soft sensual smut 🔞, hurt/comfort, light angst, Jealous!Ghost, Soft!Ghost, self-loathing & self-body shaming. Good girl talk/praise kink. Reader is female and wears a skirt for smut plot purposes.

A/N: I hope you like this take & I hope you don't mind that I tweaked this request just a little bit!) Also: JFC I'm wordy. The "I need to explain why they're fucking!" meme comes to mind every time I write anything.

Wars are exhausting.

You know fighting for something can empower people. Fighting against something usually just depletes your strength.

But waging a war against yourself…

Now that is pure hell.

It started somewhere in your youth. You thought adulthood would take it away; that reason and tolerance would take it away. You were supposed to feel more confident in yourself, more positive about life. And for a moment, you thought you might just succeed.

But standing beside a god of war is no easy feat.

He came into your life like a walking myth, swept you away, and you only laughed as you went. It was fun at first. He was supposed to be your savior, the solution to all your problems. If a man like him found you attractive, perhaps it was the world that was crooked and not you.

But then you got soft: you started to gain pounds. Meanwhile, he became even more magnificent. It reminded you that it had all been just a dream.

Perhaps it was his eyes that seemed to worship you, that seemed to look past your every flaw. Perhaps it was the hands which never seemed to get enough of your skin. Whatever it was, it was too much. And at the same time, never enough.

The day has finally come to let him go.

You think yourself heroic. It's like it should be: it's only right that you finally release him to someone better than you.

But inside, the noble feelings twist and turn and curl around your throat and stuff your stomach full of ice - the kind they fill glasses of mojito with. The drink you'll always remember him by because he teased you about it: that you wanted an ice-cold summer drink even in the middle of winter.

Now you feel cold all over, and wish he could warm you like he used to.

You would forsake all the mojitos of the world to keep him. You would renounce the whole drink if it came to that; if you could make him yours.

But he's not yours. He never was: he was just on loan to give you a taste of what it would be like to have a man like him. That taste should be more than enough for a lifetime. You should feel grateful.

So why is it so hard to let go?

The key on the front door turns, and your heart shoots up your throat: you're supposed to settle this thing once and for all. You're supposed to let go of him today.

And still, when he arrives, you can't find the courage to say what you need to say. The words are stuck in your throat, but tears are not. He should already be a memory, but you find yourself suffocating on memories as you cry. You've learned to do even that in silence, like the rest of your suffering.

You take a few deep breaths, wipe the tears away, shove the rest of them down your throat – you save them for later, later, when he's far away and you can finally curl up and cry your heart out without no one there to look. Fucking later.

Good.

Great.

You put your heaviest armor on. It protects weak and soft flesh because you can't meet him all bare. Then you step forward with the knowledge that you’re a thoroughly wounded guerrilla while he is a seasoned, well-rested veteran. The fight is nowhere near even, but it's ok. You are not meant to be in the presence of immortals anyway.

The man looks at you warily as you finally enter the room. That haunted look has followed you for some time now as the distance between you has grown.

It should be easy, what is about to come, because he hasn't touched you in weeks. You haven't wanted him to.

Or you have… But it's not easy to have his hands on you when your body is only a vessel you hate. How can you even think about pleasure when all you think about is how it must feel for him to caress something as awful as this?

The man is a vision, and he settles for a peasant. It should be against the law, but it's not… so you figured a some time ago that you should simply find the strength and grace to do ii: do what's right.

"I need to talk to you."

Your voice comes out neutral, and it makes you more confident, if only for a second or two.

He lifts his chin: already knows what's coming, because he's not stupid. You've been shutting down for weeks, and he hasn't done much about it. But when the thunder rolls in, he doesn't flee. Probably because he fears nothing.

"Go ahead then," he says, equally as neutral, equally as icy. Got his armor on, too.

This should be easy…

It's really not, so you decide to rip the band-aid off in one yank.

"I think we should go separate ways."

The following inhale from across the room pierces the air like a bullet. You can hear his breaths gain depth and speed all the way to where you're standing.

"Ok."

It doesn't look or sound like he's ok. If anything, he looks like he's trying to process the sudden storm.

"Ok…" His eyes are on the floor as he rubs the back of his neck. Then he starts to pace around the little kitchenette you've shared for almost six months, just before you started gaining weight.

He stops to look out the window, then turns to you, and the hurt in his stare comes through like a thousand needles pushing through skin.

"Is it because of my work?"

"No."

"What is it then?"

Your breaths are getting out of hand, too. He looks like a lost, tired creature in an abandoned animal shelter for a moment, and it breaks your heart. It squeezes the organ inside a flaming fist until it shatters like it has never been nothing more than ice.

Your lip starts to tremble, and he notices, as per usual. Nothing escapes this man, except perhaps the true reason for your anguish.

"Hey. Hey."

He comes to you and hugs you like it's the only thing that matters: to comfort you when he sees you're about to cry, no matter how crushed he's feeling himself. The sudden warmth, the intimacy after weeks and weeks of pain is knee-buckling.

"Is there anything I can do to change your mind?"

His voice is soft, so soft… The tears rush forth now; there's no way of stopping them. What the hell can you even say to a question like that? That you wish he could grab a magic wand and turn you into someone gorgeous, the woman he deserves?

His embrace feels good, kind of. It also feels smothering because your self-hate makes you want to disappear from existence entirely. His eyes are equal to physical touch, a probing scan that sees every little flaw, not to talk about massive faults, the ones which make you feel like you're simply disgusting. His touch only reminds you how you must feel like to him: soft, too soft, weak.

And he must hate weakness.

"What do you need me to do? I'll do anything," he tries with a parched throat, then swallows.

It's fucking horrible. This isn't going at all like you had imagined.

"It's not about you," you struggle out of his hold, and he lets you go with reluctance. You have to basically fight your way out of a bone and steel prison. Why would he even want to hold a pathetic woman who's on the brink of ugly crying on top of everything?

"What do you mean?"

He's slightly breathless – and restless as fuck. He's usually so calm; nothing can get to him, nothing can rattle the tower of raw strength. Now you've not only pierced some invisible armor; you can hear pieces of it falling on the floor.

"Have you found someone else?"

What the…

"No." You put as much weight on that word as you possibly can. To imagine that he thinks you are cheating… Fucking cheating on someone like him. "Jesus Christ…"

He takes a deep breath and sighs deeply, sighs out relief, perhaps. Then his razor-sharp stare fixes on you again, and you can see the fear turning into something akin to concern. You suspect you have to tell him the truth, otherwise he will dig it out of you.

"I'm just…"

Jesus, this is just humiliating.

"I'm just not your type."

"What the hell are you talking about," he mutters, the impending fury giving way to momentary surprise.

He gets intense sometimes. This time, the ferocity is born of barely concealed distress. He's broad and magnificent, even in despair. He’s just so fucking fine… The perfect man, someone you had never even imagined yourself with. Pulled down to the world of puny mortals, evidently stressing about losing one.

Losing you.

"If you have someone new, you can just bloody well tell me."

"It's not that. You don't understand–"

"Try me."

"I just…" A tear escapes down your face as you finally break for him. "I'm fat. Okay? And ugly. And–"

"Stop right there."

The look on his face is just… It's priceless, you suppose.

"Bloody fucking hell…"

He looks at the floor, then runs his fingers through the short cut hair on top of his head. You've yanked those blonde strands more times than you can count, nearly every time he's been between your legs, and you miss it – you long for it, like fallen angels long for heaven.

And if there was a time this man was rendered speechless, you would say you were witnessing that moment right now. His brows knit together, then he looks up at you again with blaring disbelief.

"You're serious?"

"Yes."

"This is the reason you wanna break up?"

Ugh.

"Yes?"

His voice grows rougher with every question until it resembles thunder, and you suspect this is the commanding tone his soldiers are used to hearing.

But you're not: it's gravelly, harsh, and betrays the feeling of having been insulted. You feel even more devastated with yourself – it appears you can do nothing right.

"Where has this… idea even come to your head?"

"I don't know."

"And you never thought to ask my opinion?"

"Would you please stop yelling," you whisper and blink back some putrid tears. His mouth is snapped shut, his head pulls back just a little as he realizes what he's done.

"Sorry," he says with a half-whisper, and you catch the strain in his throat. You've never seen him cry, but now his voice is suddenly thin and frail. "I'm sorry."

He takes a step, then another, places fingertips on the counter as if to take the faintest support.

"Can I touch you?"

You don't really want him to do that, but you feel pity for the man. He's trying to find a way through this mess, and you want to help him.

"Yes," you whisper, and he immediately comes and takes you in his arms again. Hot tears disappear into his shirt, and you sniff a few times. He feels so good, so safe, even when you're about to lose him. His hold tightens around you, and the kitchen is silent; the whole world is silent. You don't know if you're being put to a grave or if you're in a deaf womb, waiting to be reborn.

"Now I don't know who's said this shite to you but ugly is the last fucking thing I'd call you," he declares above you. As if it was some bully whose fault it is that you were this way, a bully he could deal with with his fists or a gun. If only things were that easy…

"Have I said or done something? To make you feel this way?"

Then the blade is turned against himself. The man desperately searches for a culprit so he can deal with them.

"No," is the only thing you can say because it's true: he has never done a thing to make you feel like you weren't good enough; quite the contrary. But then again, he doesn't have to. It's enough that he exists and resembles a god.

"Then why do you think you're not my type?"

"Because you're so perfect," you hear yourself wail, no, cry into that shirt that smells of sweet safety and familiar musk – his scent, another thing you have missed like it's the only way to heaven.

"That for sure ain't true."

"But it is."

He seems to have the utmost difficulty in grasping what the issue here is. You can almost hear the wheels turning in his head with a rusty, laborious creak.

"Can't believe you wanna break up because of this," he finally says. You've chipped his pride, the ego that lives off of pleasing the ones he loves: the few chosen ones who he wants to give his whole life to.

"To me, you're perfect," he then says, and you simply… You stop breathing. "You're like… my dream woman. Ever thought about that?"

It can't be true, even if you vehemently, desperately want it to be. You reach out to his words like they're precious food after years of famine. Like they're sun and spring rain after being buried in the cold, dark soil whole winter.

"No…?"

"Never occurred to you that I might find you fucking beautiful?"

"Stop," you whisper, because it's too much to take in. He sounds so serious, so sincere.

"No, I don't think I will."

He pulls back a little and cups your face. Brushes away a tear, looks at you with so much love that it physically hurts; you feel like it's a lance that slowly drives through your heart.

"How about I kiss every part I love about you?"

You let out a soft little whimper. Fuck, that you want him to…

It would also be uncomfortable as hell. To try and let him love you and your body, which you have grown to loathe.

"It's gonna take all night, though. Wanna be as thorough as possible."

"Simon–"

"Love. I want you. Thought I'd made it pretty clear, but apparently I haven't. If you only knew how much–"

He sighs deeply. The man is frustrated with his shortcomings, thinks that this is all his fault. You cry a tear or two just for the sake of how absurd it all is.

"I don't want you to go. I fucking love you. Everything about you."

For the second time this afternoon, your lower lip starts to tremble as if this was some stupid, romantic movie. He can be so soft when he wants to, more romantic than the soft-spoken gentlemen in Jane Austen's novels. It doesn't even require any effort: underneath the cynical surface, there's fiery emotion, so powerful and raw that it almost bleeds out of him. Fuck… Does he even know what he's doing to you?

"I love you too," you whisper back, and the warmth that starts to bloom in his eyes is an entire sun on its own. It's hope, and you believe him, almost believe him.

"Then I'd say it's a bloody bad idea to break up."

You chuckle while few more tears push through to the surface.

"Simon…" You sigh and look back up at him, your armor falling to the floor too. "I feel like a wreck."

You allow him to see the pain, all of it. His breath is sharp as it hits him, but he still doesn't waver.

"Then let me help you."

The arms around you gain more strength, and you're crushed against a chest made of power. He tries to turn shit to gold, and threatens to succeed. You allow yourself to soften in his hold. How good it feels to be supported – no, loved.

"You don't even let me touch you anymore."

It's a filed complaint, but also heart-rending, soul-wrenching longing. You have evaded him for weeks now – hell, this shit began months ago and has escalated gradually, stealthily, until the moments together were a rarity, the space between you was full of frost; and not the crispy, happy summer drink kind.

"I thought you'd found someone else. Could've found out if that was the case in minutes, but honestly, I didn't wanna know."

Oh my God…

Has he lived with a growing suspicion and dread all these months?

That would explain why he has avoided you too…

He has allowed you to go to your supposed lover, has given you space to be alone and without too much attention. The man has shielded himself from pain.

Jesus fucking Christ.

"I'm so sorry," you say with a strained little breath. "I swear it's nothing like that. I just… I feel like a mess."

"Never seen such a gorgeous mess."

He speaks on your skin, the kiss on your forehead feels like an absolution.

Then you notice it's not only his words which try to assure you. He's growing harder by the minute against your stomach, just from a simple hug. Just from being pressed against you like this, after weeks of dry, bitter longing.

"Miss your taste," he murmurs to your skin, his voice like sand wrapped in burning velvet. "The sounds you make when you want it hard."

Oh God–

"Miss your smile when we go to shower after."

"Hmh…"

"Don't wanna live without that smile."

You don't have to.

God, you don't have to…

"How about we make a deal," he draws fingers down your chin, coaxing you to look up at him. His eyes are stripped from the cold distance that greeted you just moments ago: now they are filled with warmth that spreads to your chest and belly and bones. You drink him in like summertide.

"You come to me every time you feel bad and I'll make you feel good. Alright?"

"...Ok."

He tilts his head a little to the side, not entirely satisfied with your shy little answer.

"Come on. Make me believe it."

"It's a deal," you say with more grit to it, even if you're nearly crying again, this time from relief.

"That's my girl."

Oh fuck…

He knows exactly what strings to pull, the good girl talk being one of the things that instantly makes your legs feel like jelly.

And why does he always have to use that voice when he calls you a good girl or his girl, that sultry smoke that makes you want to swoon until he catches you and carries you to bed?

The man seems to be a mind reader as well, because he sweeps you off your feet and does exactly that: carries you to your bed which has mainly seen silent tears and painful sleep last months.

"Poor thing doesn't even know how lovely she is."

He sounds amused in the face of your darkness: sees it in full and still doesn't fear at all. He's ready to battle your demons for you, and you feel like shaking: from his touch and that voice, from the stress and loneliness that starts to release as he lays you down on the bed.

He looks so different from the man that has haunted this place for the past months, the complete opposite of the reserved soldier retreating into the shadows.

He moves to kiss you, and it's been – what? Weeks since your last kiss? And even that was only a quick peck, nothing like this… Wet, and desperate; a devouring. It makes you clench around nothingness, and you finally surrender.

No one can fake such fervor.

You try to accept it: accept the fact that even if you hate yourself, he does not. For some reason, he adores you. His breaths hit your face hot and urgent, and he can't keep his hands to himself anymore. They wander over your waist and hips, they even risk to steal a feel of your breasts, and then he groans in your mouth.

"I've missed you. Fuck, I've missed you..."

You taste notes of burning leaves; tobacco, his only weakness. You fantasize on the thought that you might be another weakness, too.

"Remember when I fucked you in my office?"

"I've missed you too," you utter softly in between the kisses that threaten to turn into a sloppy mess. "So much..."

He smiles at that, and it makes you weak, even when lying down like this.

"Yeah…?"

"You were so loud I had to put a hand over your mouth."

His voice is thick as he laughs a short chuckle. Your inner walls clench again at the sound, you throb among the warm syrup surrounding you.

"Never seen you so wet. Almost dripped all over my gear."

"It's that stupid mask you wear," you hear yourself breathe like you've just been underwater. Feel yourself throb some more, feel a burning sensation in the nether areas from the scorched desert turning wet again. You want him so much that it actually hurts down there.

"Knew you'd like it. That's why I kept it on."

If this man keeps talking, your underwear is going to be utterly ruined. And of course he does; of course he continues to pour more love in your ear.

"Everyone looked at you like you were a queen," he grunts in your ear, sounding almost… pissed.

"Don't be ridiculous," you try to form sensible words. It's only a faint breath, really, but he huffs at your modesty.

"You don't have eyes in the back of your head, love."

Wow… He is a bit pissed.

Had they checked your ass out when you visited him?

It was the first and, what you thought, the last time you got to visit him at his workplace… but you never would have guessed the reason for him not asking you to visit again would be jealousy.

"Don't worry. I put those fuckers in their place after you left."

Whoa.

Ok…

First, he had fucked you senseless in his office – a highly inappropriate move for a man in his position – then got jealous because some soldiers had checked you out as you left with his cum practically dripping from your cunt.

You put yourself in his shoes for a moment: he's had to live with thoughts of you running to some other man's arms when he's not home, and then watch you waltz around his workplace after making what was supposed to be the last effort to make him love you… When he has loved and adored you this whole time, has watched the sway of your ass with the rest of those home-deprived, horny soldiers, thinking you had fallen out of love and were on your way to go see some other guy.

Had he invited you there to try and win you back, too? By showing himself to you in all his puffed up, masculine glory? A desperate man in a skull mask, hoping to get love from you…

There's so many misunderstandings; they rip your throat. A sob escapes, and he stops his caress.

"Love… Tell me to stop if you–"

"No. No, I don't want you to stop."

Your request comes out with such demand that he hesitates only a second or two. Then he moves on top of you and tugs your skirt up. You don't even have time to realize what is happening before he has worked himself out of his pants.

He's hard and heavy between your legs, and your eyes go wide as you realize he's not going to bother to take your briefs off. He just slides a hand under the skirt and draws the fabric aside, and the fat tip of him is pushed in the middle almost clumsily. It's hot, and slips down to your opening with ease.

Oh f–

"Been jerking off to you nearly every night at the base," he says just before he pushes himself in.

"Uh–...."

Your thighs spread wide as he fills you slowly, inch after inch. The sound that leaves him is starved: a dry, painful sigh. He's been waiting for this for god knows how long, and you're just as hungry to take him in. He seems endless, the way he finally works himself fully inside, spreading you even wider as the thickening base of his cock reaches its end.

"Thought you were getting railed by someone else while I only get to fuck my hand."

"Oh god…"

There's really nothing else to say as his balls press against you, heavy and taut. He's not going to last long.

"Yeah. Imagine that," he admits, breathless like you.

You look at him with what must be the most helpless stare of longing in your eyes. Then he moves, and you want to grip him to keep him inside. The first thrusts are divine, they're pure heaven, and your head sinks deep into the pillow as you try to get enough air, try to not scream from pleasure already. Somehow, all you are able to utter is a desperate little whisper.

"Simon–"

His cock is good enough to bring tears to your eyes. You're starving too, you're pulling him in with fierce hunger, and he groans, then nearly falls forward, his weight pressing against you, swallowing you, until you feel like you're an idiot for thinking that you're too big. The thickness of his chest rubs against you as he makes love to you with passion that echoes the first times you did this.

"Just wanna adore you, love." He's panting desperate somewhere above you. A god and a man, both furious and gentle. "I wanna adore you. Just like this."

You answer him with what must be those sounds he told you about, the sounds you make when you want it hard.

You want him to fuck you, to wreck you after weeks of loneliness and hate. To love you until you break into a million pieces.

"Simon," you whisper. "...Love me."

He halts, huffs in your neck. It's almost a sob. There's so much emotion and desperation in the air that it could be scooped up and sold in the streets.

"Always," he rasps in your ear, then moves to kiss you again. "Always."

The promise echoes around you, it coats your lips as he loves you with all he has. It's been so long, and he feels so good that you nails dig into his shirt, his shoulder, you try to hold onto him even though he's the wave that rocks you.

"You feel that?" He goes deep; he's out of breath and desperate, even more desperate than you. "That's love. You feel it, yeah?"

"Yes," you sob in his shoulder, tears trying to escape your waterline as you're going dumb from the pure sensation, the sensuality of it all.

"That's it, love. That's a good girl," he turns to your neck and gruffs in your ear as you whimper and moan. "Always such a good girl."

Shit…

"I, I'm gonna…"

Your legs wrap around his middle, your muscles twitch and your hands reach and grab – they claw and yank and tug everything they can: his back, shoulders, shirt, something sturdy to keep you from drowning in a glorious orgasm.

He laughs in your neck and continues to grind you through your climax even when you're shattering, sighing, moaning, writhing under him. He just laughs, the man who never laughs: from witnessing you respond to him calling you a good girl.

Fucking bastard…

Lovable, infuriating bastard who knows you to your core.

You're an overstimulated heap by the time he comes as well, not long after you, but long enough to make you feel like you're only a tender bunch of nerves. Your legs have fallen to the side, he has open access to take what he needs: you, your love, all of it.

His whole middle goes tense as he cums, he groans and swears somewhere deep into your neck, rolls his hips over and over again like it's a must that his balls press against you with every thrust that shoot his load.

Then he falls slack, nearly collapses on top of you, reminding you of what it feels like to be small under a giant like him. You're throbbing together, you're full and fulfilled, and he is still lodged deep inside you, panting and broken in a sweat.

"Jesus Christ…"

He sounds dazed.

Relieved.

"Should've done this weeks ago."

You laugh at seeing him so done – a man in love, torn by jealous yearning, finally taking what's his. You stroke his neck, his back – it's so good to have him finally there… So close, with no barriers in between.

"I should've talked to you weeks ago..."

"Yeah. You should have."

"Are you going to punish me?" You giggle a little – the flirt is light and frees your heart further from its recent jail. He moves to look at you with all the tenderness there is. It's too much... His love is too much. But you won't run from it anymore.

"Nah. Think I'm gonna spoil you some more."

He spoils you right away with a kiss. You surrender to his treatment with happiness: happy tears, even.

The medicine to your anguish has been the exact opposite to what you had first tried, what you had originally thought. The true remedy for your sickness is mercy. Perhaps some spoiling…

And love.

#simon ghost riley #simon riley smut #simon riley fluff #ghost x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost fluff #soft simon riley #simon riley imagine #ghost x you #simon riley x you #fluff and smut #call of duty

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superhardlikesteel · 6 months

Text

I'm begging the pro-Palestine movement to inject even the slightest bit of nuance into their rhetoric. I'm basically pro-Zionist at this point, but even I believe you SHOULD be pro-Palestine to an extent.

Here are some things to consider.

Israel has a right to exist. They didn't steal the land. You can say Britain did, but it doesn't matter. It's their land now and they have a right to live there, just as Canadians have a right to live in Canada despite the history of the indigenous people. Apply this to basically any other nation.

The October 7th attack happened. It was bad. It was an act of terrorism. They killed innocent civilians on purpose. The civilians didn't deserve to die for living in Israel. You condemn the attacks.

Hamas is a valid military target. They are a terrorist organization who are constantly attacking Israel. They're not freedom fighters. They may use the plight of Palestinians as an excuse, but they cannot be taken in good faith. You condemn Hamas.

Israelis are not Nazis. There are far right people in Israel as there are anywhere. Right now Israel's right wing is exaggerated due the attacks they've experienced. People's rhetoric can get extreme when such a thing happens. It's certainly something you should be concerned about, but comparing them to Nazis is not useful at all.

Generally speaking, Israel has a good track record of taking a lot of care to avoid civilian deaths. They have a strong history of calling areas by phone to warn civilians. They will then drop a knock bomb onto the roof to scare people out before dropping the actual bomb. They do not have a policy of killing Palestinian civilians.

The reason why Israel has the reputation they do for killing civilians is threefold. 1) Palestine is densely populated which creates huge complications in war. 2) Individual IDF soldiers or groups sometimes commit attrocities, on purpose or by accident. 3) Hamas has one of the most devious PR strategies the world has ever seen.

Hamas uses human shields. And I'm tempted to say they use them more effectively than anyone has in the history of the world. They operate in or under civilian infrastructure... seemingly exclusively. They make damn sure that, if you want to bomb them, you are taking civilians with them.

Combine that with the fact there's basically no way to identify a member of Hamas from a civilian and Hamas can generate an insane civilian death toll. Why? Because they can sell it to us. The western liberal is horrified by civilian deaths. Especially if the skin color of the victims is darker than the people doing the killing. It's the perfect plot for a terrorist group to pretend they have noble intentions of freedom fighting and whatnot.

So is being pro-Palestine just utterly foolish? Absolutely not. Palestinians are in an utterly horrible position in this world and you'd be absolutely insane not to care about that. They absolutely should have their own nation with their own government. They should have the opportunity to live in peace. They should have the opportunity to live in freedom. It's almost self-evident.

Of course Israel is too expansionist. The settlements are a disgrace. The IDF's reputation is not totally unearned and neither is their government's reputation. There is the stench of far right rot in both their military and their government. Netanyahu is absolutely a religious zealot.

All I'm saying is you can't look at this as a totally one-sided thing. Most of the people posting pro-Palestine stuff are being misleading at best and spreading flat out lies more often than not. This is not a valid strategy to enact change. And, frankly, you deserve better for yourself.

You do not need to lie about Israel to be pro-Palestine.

#fuck israel #pro palestine #free gaza #from the river to the sea palestine will be free #palestine #israel #ip #israel palestine conflict #israel palestine #the tags are just for reach

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wolfiesmoon · 8 months

Text

The TWST boys and their number 1 princess

reader is fem! and is a bit of a bratty princess typa girl😌

i already wrote this on my haikyuu blog a bit back but somehow the song world is mine fits with like every character ever (defo reccomend listening to the song while reading)

seriously it's so fun imagining the song with different characters

Characters featured: Silver, Leona, Riddle, Jack

₊˚⊹♡ Silver

"Siiilver!~ Where aaaare you?" you called out to him in the courtyard. Lilia told you he would be there so you're beginning your search, well, there.

Why you're looking for Silver in the first place? To hold his hand, of course. None of the subtler methods have worked so far, much to your chagrin.

Holding his hand is the first step to making him your prince, you see. You've spent countless nights fantasizing about him kneeling down and kissing your hand while singing praises about your endless beauty.

Oh, how exciting it is to see the future play out in front of your eyes! You even got endorsement from Lilia for the wedding!

You eventually found him laying in the green grass, peacefully asleep. He really does sleep a lot, huh? You just can't get enough of his face, especially when it's so relaxed and at peace.

Wait... now that you think about it, in a lot of fairytales where princesses are asleep, their problem is solved by true love's kiss. Maybe his issue can be solved by it too....

Forget holding hands, you have a curse to break (atleast you assume it's a curse, since Lilia has told you he can't control it at all)! And being the top princess, you can break it, of course!

You kneel down next to him, quickly checking your breath. Probably smells fine. It's now or never!

As you lean in, his eyes gently open and you immediately jump back, pretending you weren't just about to kiss him. Out of all the times he had to wake up, it was now... You were this close!

"Ugh... I fell asleep again...?" Silver seemed to be bothered, like he always is when he wakes up.

"You did! And I was kind enough to wake you up! You should be glad I happened to stumble upon you!" you tried your best to look unbothered and collected. Silver pouted slightly at your tone.

You got up, placing one hand on your knee and extending the other towards him to help him get up. He silently took it, getting up with your help. "Thank you." he said curtly, expression softening at your happy little grin.

Wait... He just held your hand for a moment there! He really did!!!

The wedding dress! You have to pick out a wedding dress, as soon as possible!

₊˚⊹♡ Leona Kingscholar

"Hmph! Won't you just say something already?!" For some reason, he looked nervous when he heard the anger in your voice. His eyebrows creased in worry for a moment before returning to their normal resting position. He's definitely not asleep then.

You finally got fed up with the lack of acknowledgement from Leona. Practically everyone but him complimented you on your outfit today.

You even dressed up all pretty just to impress him and get him to notice your outstanding appearance. Not that you need pretty clothes to impress. Any guy would be begging at your feet even when you're in your at-home shirt and your old worn out shorts.

Leona should consider himself lucky in that regard. You've fallen for him. He has to act fast or you'll be swept away by a much more noble prince before he can place a ring on your finger.

"Hmmm...? What are you yapping on about?" Leona opened one of his eyes, acting like he has no idea what you mean. He definitely noticed the outfit. He's just choosing not to mention it.

"The dress! You're supposed to mention it!" you stomped your foot on the ground, annoyed with him.

"Oh, I don't really care. It doesn't matter if you're wearin' the finest silk or a potato sack when you're a pain in the ass anyways." he closed his eyes again, sighing with annoyance.

"Ugh! You know what? I don't care about you anymore! I'll go find a guy who can appreciate me properly!"

You were totally bluffing, but you might actually start considering it soon if he keeps acting so annoyed around you.

A great princess knows when to give up, too. Unreciprocated love brings tears, and tears ruin cute makeup.

As you turned on your heels to stomp off to Vil for more makeup advice, you felt your wrist being grabbed roughly.

"Stay here. Just stay quiet and you can stay." He squeezed your wrist, his face looking like the very definition of annoyance and... jealousy?

This is certainly a turn of events. "Fine, I'll stay." You huff. "But ONLY if you say I'm pretty in my dress." You smile smugly, watching him sigh and furrow his brows.

"You look... beautiful." He said it as if he was forced to, but somehow you could sense some truth behind those words.

You never asked him to call you beautiful after all, he definitely could have gotten away with a three-quarter hearted 'you look pretty in that dress'.

₊˚⊹♡ Riddle Rosehearts

"Hiiiii, Riddle!~ Hi Silver, hi Sebek." You greeted Riddle cheerily, treating the other two Equestrian club members like an afterthought. Riddle is much cuter in comparison, after all.

You're here for a poetically romantic reason. You see, ever since you learned that Riddle knows how to ride a horse, a certain fantasy has been visiting you in your dreams every night. Ideally, you wish he had a princely white horse, but you suppose a brown one can fulfill its duty well enough. The fantasy of him taking you on a romantic horse ride is the same no matter what his horse looks like.

Which speaking of, you visit the Equestrian club every day so you can convince Riddle to let you ride his horse, to make your dream a reality. So far, no luck. Actually, you've been trying to get closer to Riddle in general recently.

He isn't the most receptive to your flirting attempts but he makes adorable faces of anger when Cater or Trey tease him about you. Truly, a prince deserving of your attention.

"Hello. Have you come to watch us again?" Riddle asked with no particular emotion behind his voice. Surely, he knew what was coming by now. No need to ask such foolish questions.

"No, I came to ride your horse with you. You should know that by now." You are equally calm and collected in your own request. You try to put on your most cute, charming smile to lure him in.

You have been getting close to Vorpal, since you knew some horses are untrusting of unfamiliar riders. You researched every known piece of horse-related literature you could get your hands on in the library just to impress Riddle with horse facts. You're very prepared.

"You..." Riddle sighed.

"Just let her." Silver placed a hand on Riddle's shoulder, probably getting a little sick of your nagging too.

"...Fine, if I must." Riddle said after a short pause and you damn near passed out from excitement right then and there.

"As you should. I cannot believe you made me wait this long." You kept it casual on the outside, not wanting to let your excitement show too much.

Once you were properly sat on the horse with Riddle behind you, you felt like you achieved something great. You still almost can't believe how many refusals it took for this to happen. But a princess always gets what she wants in the end.

"Just don't be tense. Horses can sense that and it puts them in distress." He instructed. When you turned back and smiled cheekily at him, you noticed his cheeks were pink.

"What is it, my prince?" you gave him puppy eyes.

"D-Do not call me that, or look at me like that. It's distracting." His face got even redder. Yikes, even Vorpal can sense that he's panicking right now.

₊˚⊹♡ Jack Howl

"Get me food. Something sweet." You crossed your arms, raising your chin smugly. This is a non-negotiable matter.

"I don't think I'm indebted to you right now." that was his gentler way of saying he's not doing it. Why he doesn't just straight up say "no" to you is a mystery. Perhaps he knows the proper way to respect a princess such as yourself.

You sighed in annoyance. Seems you have to pick up the charm.

"But Jaaaaack, I'm just so hungry!~ And I can't run around in my pretty heels..." you put on your best puppy dog eyes. Surely, you can convince your future prince to do a simple favour for you.

Future prince...

The fact that wolf beastmen have one partner for life has been keeping you up at night, in both a good way and bad way. That means once you get him hooked, he's there for life, BUT! He can easily get stolen away by another and then you lose all your chances.

Truly, a challenge befitting of someone like you. That's why you're hanging around him so much.

"You know, you make it really hard for me to say no sometimes." Jack scratches the back of his head. "Doesn't mean you succeeded this time, though." he smirks slightly at you.

You would squeal (internally) over his smirk if you didn't feel slightly dissapointed right now. Oh well, you suppose you can't demand everything from your future prince. He is your equal, after all.

Upon seeing your slightly sad face, something bubbled up within him. It doesn't look right.

"I'll go get it. Do you want anything in particular?" he got up suddenly.

"Huh? Jack, you don't have to. I changed my mind." He felt a strange sense of unease to see you acting so... gently. It wasn't a bad thing neccesarily, it just felt wrong. And besides, you'd never 'change your mind' about sweets. He knows you enough to know that.

"I'll still do it.... Not because I feel bad, though. Don't get the wrong idea." he huffed, turning away before you could notice the slight pink dusting his cheeks.

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hazbinshusk · 2 months

Text

blitzø x afab!reader. you're holed up at home with a broken leg and blitzø has surprised you by coming by to keep you company. you feel depressed and completely bored stuck in the apartment, so he decides to take your mind off it. for totally noble, selfless reasons, of course. featuring: oral sex (female receiving), masturbation, overstimulation, squirting, and horse drawings of questionable skill. 2.3k. anon request. I hope you're feeling better!

Fucking gravity.

You were a complete badass, both in Hell and on Earth – you’d spent a good long while now building up that particular reputation through your work with I.M.P, and no one was ever going to argue with that. At least, no one smart.

So, if someone could explain to you just how in the ever-loving fuck you’d managed to trip down a flight of stairs and break your goddamned fibula, that would be great. Because right now, you feel like an idiot. A hobbled, immobile idiot.

The cast wrapped snugly around your leg is bulky and irritates your skin, and Blitzø glances up from his place on the floor when you groan, an eyebrow raised. You’re sitting on your couch while a movie you’re only half paying attention to plays in front of you, your injured foot propped up on the coffee table, a pillow tucked under your heel. The other imp is sitting cross-legged between the couch and coffee table in front of you, a marker in hand. He has been happily doodling away at your cast for a while now, his forked tongue poking out as he concentrates on his latest addition to the plaster.

His tongue slips back between his lips as he registers the discomfort in your expression. “You good?”

You sigh. “My leg itches.”

“Which one?”

You give him a pointed look. “Take a wild guess.”

He snorts a laugh, abandoning whatever he’s scribbling – probably his latest (and as always, greatest) horse design – and tosses the marker on the table beside him. The plaster is already covered with his drawings; scribbles of horses all labelled with names like Bumblebee and Octagon, his name in bubble letters and badly designed graffiti, Loona giving everybody the finger. There was even one that looked like the two of you side by side, the lines jerky over the uneven expanse of the cast.

“Where?”

You lean forward long enough to tap your finger over a drawing of a horse that was christened ‘Crayon’, a couple of inches below the top of the cast. You exhale softly in relief as he slips the spade of his tail down into your cast and rubs it over your itch, letting your head fall back against the back of the couch.

“Oh, that’s godly…”

“’Bout fuckin’ time someone else said that about me.”

You chuckle, smirking at the ceiling. “Idiot.”

“Oh, c’mon.” he teases, wiggling his eyebrows at you. “You weren’t exactly fuckin’ shy about callin’ me a ‘god’ the other night…”

“Is that what I was doing?” you reply, even as you feel your cheeks warm. “Maybe I was praying for you to stop.”

“Yeah? And the shakin’ thighs and beggin’ for more?”

“…I’m an incredible actress.”

Blitzø scoffs and leans his arm on the sofa beside you, resting his temple against his hand. He gives you an appraising look as he withdraws his tail, letting the tip of it skim over your knee and over the top of your thigh as he does. You raise a brow at his expression.

“What?”

“Nothin’,” he shrugs, a devious grin curling his lips. “’s jus’ kinda fun seein’ you all helpless like this.”

“You think so?” you say, faux-brightly before letting the fake smile drop and flipping him off. He snickers. You were actually grateful, if not still surprised, that he was here. He turned up a few hours ago and let himself into the apartment – despite him not actually having a key – apparently fine with skipping work in order to keep you company and alleviate some of the boredom. He’d brought shakes and greasy diner food with him, and had been doodling away on your cast for the last hour, as content and as boyish as you’d ever seen him. It was endearing, really, if not still completely weird.

“Just give me my meds, would you?”

“What, you can’t reach ‘em?” he asks, feigning innocence, and you scowl at him. Blitzø grins, but straightens so he can collect your painkillers and your milkshake from the table. You swallow the pills down with the last dregs of the shake, sucking down the mix of chalky pills and chocolate foam noisily.

Blitzø takes the cup from you and sets back on the table, and you wince as he leans his elbows on your leg, his chin resting in his hands mockingly.

“Do you mind?”

“Not really.” he shrugs, his tail switching back and forth behind him in a slow, steady rhythm.

“Asshole.”

“You love it.” You roll your eyes despite your smile, and his widens. He removes one hand from under his chin, tip-toeing two of his fingers teasingly up along your cast and past it, from your ankle to the bare skin of your knee and higher as he speaks. “Y’know what I really love about you bein’ all busted up like this?”

“Vivid imagery?”

Blitzø gives you a sharp, wicked grin, ducking under your leg to plant himself between your thighs. He takes hold of your knees, pressing them wider, leaning in closer to you tauntingly. “You can’t go anywhere.”

A shiver rolls up your spine at the sudden huskiness to his voice, and you flush. Still, you try to push yourself further back onto the couch, away from him. “Blitz, I’m all sweaty and—”

“Not yet, baby, but you’re about to be,” he shoots back without hesitation, his claws squeezing the flesh of your thighs. “C’mon, bitch. You know I can make you feel so good…”

Your breath catches, a soft whimper slipping out of you before you can stop it. His smirk twitches wider, his tail switching back and forth predatorily behind him. He’s watching you with heavily-lidded eyes, and his expression burns into you, excites you in a way that makes you want to squeeze your thighs together to quench it. But his claws are too tight on your legs, and you can’t do it. He feels your muscles tense though, and he growls, low and hungry under his breath.

Blitzø slides his hands further up your thighs slowly, delighting in the way your breathing grows unsteady in response. The sleep shorts you’re wearing are threadbare cotton, and it takes so little once he hooks a claw into the leg of one for the threads start to tear.

“Say you want it, slut,” he urges roughly, eyes still burning into yours. “Say you want me.”

You bite your lip and nod, and that’s all Blitzø needs before he’s leaning up to catch your lips with his in a rough, hungry kiss. His tongue meets yours, his breath hot and sharp as it mingles with yours, and you sigh into the kiss, one hand coming up to cup his cheek. You can feel his smirk still playing on his features, feel his hands take hold of the waistband of your shorts and underwear. There’s the sharp sound of fabric tearing and then his hand is cupping your cunt.

You whimper into his mouth as he slides a finger up between your labia and finds you clit. He kisses you again, his fangs catching your bottom lip before he pulls back. Blitzø waggles his eyebrows at you cockily before he lowers himself back onto his knees between your thighs.

“Look at you, all wet already,” he growls before his mouth is on your clit and you moan, bucking up as best you can without moving your injured leg. Blitzø hums a laugh into your cunt, the vibrations a heady teasing against your clit, and he wraps an arm around your thigh. He hooks your injured leg up over his shoulder, and you grab blindly at the back of the couch with one hand as he smooths his claws up the outside of your thigh. He tugs you further towards the edge of the couch, opening you up further to his tongue. “Fuck, always taste so fuckin’ good…”

He doesn’t know subtlety, and he doesn’t work you up slowly to the sensation of his tongue against your clit. No, Blitzø practically attacks your cunt with his mouth, a groan rolling through him and into your pussy in a way that makes your eyes roll back. When he slips finger up into you, you moan aloud, wrapping a hand around his horn and bracing the other on the couch so you can grind against his tongue.

“Shit, Blitz, fuck…” you can feel yourself already soaking, dripping onto the cushion beneath you whenever he pulls away to tease you with biting kisses to your thighs and hips. He sucks a possessive mark into your hipbone, lathing his tongue over the same spot just as he pushes another finger up into you. “Holy fuck!”

He snickers, flicking his forked tongue tauntingly over your clit again, eyes on your face. “Careful, whore, you’re gettin’ close to callin’ me a ‘god’ again.”

“I’m…” you pant, brow creasing as you screw your eyes shut as though it can help you focus on your words instead of the way he curves his fingers inside you. “…rehearsing. Big role coming up.”

You jerk as he sinks his teeth into your thigh. “Only thing fuckin’ cummin’ here is you.”

“Satan, that’s lame, Blit—” you break off with a loud, keening moan as Blitzø sucks your clit into his mouth and tortures it with his tongue, your eyes rolling back and your hand tightening so much on the couch cushion beneath you that you hear the threads pop. The heat inside you expands, tingling through your limbs and making your back arch, and Blitzø reaches up to grope at your chest, palming your breast through your t-shirt. “Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuckfuckfuck, fuuuuuck…”

That heat clenches inside you and releases and you cum, hips lifting off the couch, your cast balanced against his back. Blitzø moans into your cunt as you soak his face, lapping at your clit relentlessly. He slows only enough to let you catch your breath, keeping you burning on that breathless precipice, too stimulated to come back down, but not enough to keep the orgasm rolling through you.

He releases your breast and you hear his zipper lower. Blitzø groans against you as he wraps a fist around the base of his cock, stroking himself with the same pace he finger-fucks you with. He’s muttering the filthiest sweet nothings into your pussy, each touch of his tongue against your clit sending sparks through you that make your body jerk.

You sink your teeth into your bottom lip hard enough to draw blood, a thin trail of drool leaking from the corner of your mouth. “Blitz… please…”

“Fuck, that’s it, bitch,” he moans, withdrawing his fingers from your pussy to roll over your clit, his fist quickening around his erection. “Fuckin’ beg me for it, c’mon…”

“Please, baby…” you whine obediently, too far gone to care about how he’ll lord it over you as soon as you’re done. He pushes his tongue into your quivering cunt, eager, hungry for every part of you he can taste. You’re boneless against the couch except for the disjointed jerks of your hips into his face, your body chasing another release even as it finds it too overwhelming to continue. “Please, Blitz… fucking, God, please…”

He presses his fingers down on your clit just as he quickens them further and you cum again, eyes rolling back and your vision going white. Blitzø groans loudly, leaning back on his heels to watch your cunt throb and pulse, his fingers still moving over it ruthlessly. His eyes flicker up from your pussy to your face and he cums too, shouting a string of curses you don’t really understand through the endorphin-fueled haze leaking through your brain.

“Shiiiit…” he lets his head fall against your thigh, and you giggle breathlessly, punch-drunk. His shoulders shudder as he catches his breath, then his head snaps back up as though he were completely unaffected.

He rests his chin on your thigh, raising an eyebrow at you with a small smirk. “Feel better?”

You run a hand through your hair, and Blitzø watches the movement lift your breasts under your shirt. “About being stuck on the couch, or do you think your tongue somehow heals broken bones?”

“Bitch, my tongue is a fuckin’ miracle and you know it,” he shoots back, grinning against your leg as you laugh.

“I do feel more relaxed…” you admit.

“Fuck yeah, you do.”

“…But now the couch is all wet.”

His grin widens lasciviously. “Fuck yeah, it is.”

“Blitz.”

He rolls his eyes, unhooking your injured leg from his shoulder and setting your foot back on the coffee table with surprising care. He stands, making a show of tucking himself back into his jeans, winking at you when he doesn’t do them back up. “Alright, alright. Unclench that ass, sugartits, I’m on it.”

You raise a brow. “You are?”

“Yup.” he says, clapping his hands together before grabbing your crutches from where they’re propped against the coffee table. “You’re gonna take a bath, I’m gonna scrub your cum outta the couch—’

“Ew, Blitz!”

“—and then,” he continues pointedly. “You’re gonna go get all comfy in bed.”

You feel a smile twitch at the edge of your lips, surprised by your thoughtfulness. “Really?”

“Yup.” he says, popping the ‘p’. “And then we’re gonna see just how well you suck dick lyin’ down.”

You snort a laugh, shaking your head. “There it is!”

He grins widely, holding a hand out to help you up off the couch. “Fuckin’ right. Now get your ass up before I decide to make your crippled ass run this fuckin’ bath bullshit by yourself.”

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ldknightshade · 6 months

Text

how to write a morally grey character (and keep them from being a total bore)

so. your other characters have a “clear” distinction of good and evil - that is, from your perspective, your other characters have a distinction of good and evil that aligns with your own and would generally be considered by societal standards to fall under one of two groups… but now you want to make a guy that breaks those boundaries.

look no further.

i. myths

first step is giving them a balance of good and bad traits

1. every character should have this???

2. every trait works on a sliding scale; when amped up to 11, good traits can become bad ones

those who are morally grey are unpredictable

to YOU and those they interact with, maybe… if they do not have a clear moral code of their own, of course they’ll seem this way. but they’re actually quite predictable if you actually comprehend what their motives and values are.

example: Herbert West from Re-Animator’s only motivation is re-animation of the dead. this may be evil to some, noble to others… but is it unpredictable? not really. i think we all know not to trust this man around corpses.

example: Charles Foster Offdensen from Metalocalypse’s only motivation is ensuring the health, safety, and happiness of Dethklok. he goes incredible lengths (war crimes, literally) to do so; this is evil to some, noble to others… but it he unpredictable? not really. if Dethklok is in danger, then he has dropped everything to save them and is doing so as we speak.

they’re relatable / more human

see above examples. moral greyness is not inherently relatable; in some cases, it would be argued that they shouldn’t be. either way, their moral greyness does not make them any more or less human than any other character. their moral greyness makes them morally grey and that’s that.

you need to show them doing both good things and bad things

wrong. you need to show them doing things that align with their personal motivations and values. if your character wouldn’t do it, why force it? this goes both ways.

they need to be sympathetic / have understandable reasons

anyone saying this is afraid of making characters truly morally grey. sympathy is not something that defines morals, anyway; but regardless, sugarcoating their actions and motives by making them a poor little meow meow on purpose is… bullshit. if every morally grey character was sympathetic, fiction as a whole would be dull.

ii. values

this is the real meat of it. what does your character value? is it something practical, like revenge or power? or something wackier like the previously mentioned examples?

clearly define the values your character holds and how it shapes their goals.

iii. motivation / lengths

now… how hard does motivation hit them? how far do they go? where do they draw the line? is there a line for them?

would your character lie to meet their goals? cheat? steal? manipulate? maim? vandalize? kill?

even amongst those, is there specific lines they won’t cross? would your character go as far as killing, but draw the line at children and animals?

and amongst those lines… what would make them cross it? does your character value honesty, but would lie to protect someone? are they a pacifist… but believe followers of certain schools of thought deserve a baseball to kneecaps and won’t hesitate to act on that?

draw out the line for them and then examine their exceptions. this is what will make it seem to other characters that their morality is a roulette wheel; when, in actuality, there is a line of logic that your morally grey character is following.

#ldknightshade.txt #writing #on writing #creative writing #writeblr #writers on tumblr #writers #writing advice #writing help #writing tips #writing inspiration

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mythicmanuscripts · 28 days

Note

Okay, the person who sent the vampire ask awakened something in me, because all my faves from HOTD fit at least one trope of vampire romance/erotica.

We've already established pretty boy Aegon (as usual, love that for him).

I totally agree that Aemond fits in the vampire role (I mean, look at his aesthetic. Boy's right at home there), where he's smitten with a human and refuses to acknowledge that he was basically stalking them at the beginning, until said human calls him out and shows no fear of him, they're just pissed off. And that does it, he's down even worse than he already was.

I feel Daemon and Rhaenyra would also fit vampire roles, with Daemon being the one who turned Rhaenyra, and she took to being a vampire like a fish to water. I think they'd be the type that has several "partners" they feed from, on a somewhat regular basis, but they also enjoy "hunting" every now and again, Daemon especially. They don't kill anyone, but they do enjoy the fear they can feel from the person they're feeding from.

Then One human shows up that seems immune to both Daemon's charms, and threaths, and Rhaenyra is living for it, she's having the time of her life watching him being flustered. And that's how they end up with a regular partner, not just in the feeding sense.

And of course, our boy Jace. I just feel like he would be such a good fit for an ingenue kinda trope? Noble birth, slightly sheltered, intelligent as hell, maybe too curious for his own good. He stumbles upon a vampire feeding on someone, nearly killing them, and ends up conflicted when he finds out the person was a reprehensible sort of criminal (like, heavy shit, type of criminal). And he keeps seeking the vampire out, even after being turned away because he's a stranger at that point, they don't trust him.

But he's relentless, and gets himself into trouble, and the vampire saves him, and he's head over heels for them.

TRULY INCREDIBLE THOUGHTS HERE OH MY GOD?? Anon I love you.

I'm gonna write a little bit about each of these ideas and then we can go from there! All ideas in this AU will be tagged with 'supranational!au' so block that if you don't want to see this or search it to see everything thus far :))

-------------------------------

AEGON:

Okay I know this anon didnt even mention much about him but I must briefly discuss pretty boy Aegon!!! Pretty boy Aegon who just absolutely ADORES the vampire who fucked his brains out that one time and now he's obsessed.

Everyone else thinks you're absolutely terrifying, and for good reason, but does Aegon care? No absolutely not. In fact, he gets rid of his personal kings guard and just has you instead. The kings guard can patrol the keep and stand watch outside his quarters but none of them even get close to him anymore because he's got a vampire behind him at all times.

And just one more quick thing about Aegon: originally you don't intend to only drink from Aegon because you don't want to put that much pressure on him and risk harming him. Aegon, however, is very possessive and will be very unhappy if you feed from another.

AEMOND:

Absolutely love the idea that Aemond essentially stalked someone for a solid two weeks without even knowing. Even better if you actually knew he was following you. He's not exactly subtle about it, especially because if he's standing behind you then anyone in front of you will look utterly terrified.

The way that you interact with him without fear just gets him completely hooked and yeah you just have a vampire following you around now.

Also, I kinda love the idea that Aemond actually doesn't seem capable of being the same level dangerous and skilled when he's around you? It's like he gets your scent or your attention or lord help him your blood and he just... brain off. No more Aemond.

DAEMON AND RHAENYRA:

Okay I LOVE this idea and I can't believe I never considered this concept with them. I definitely agree Daemon would have changed Rhaenya and then hunt together regularly. They're absolutely a couple that would love to fuck whoever they're feeding from at the same time.

I think Rhaenyra would be interested in you first. She'd sport you and have a conversation with you and discover that he really likes talking to you (and complaining about every single member of her small council because of course). You only meet Daemon about a week later, maybe when Rhaenyra invites you to dinner with them. Of course she had told Daemon all about you, and Daemon was certainly excited thinking they'd get a good feed and bed partner out of this.

To Daemon's dismay and Rhaenyra's delight, you don't even react to any of Daemon's attempts at flirting and seduction. You just listen to him and smile, but don't seem flustered at all.

Originally Rhaenyra had hoped to bed you with Daemon that night, but now that she's watching how worked up Daemon is becoming and how good you are at handling him? Well she's more than happy to have a front row seat to your interactions with Daemon.

For the next 3 weeks Daemon is adamant that they will never bring you into their bed, not for sex or for a feed or for both. Rhaenyra just nods and smiles to herself becasue she knows with absolute certainty that you absolutely will end up in bed with them. If Daemon truly didnt want to fuck you then he wouldnt still be talking about you weeks later.

The very first sexual thing to happen is you and Rhaenyra fucking while Daemon can only watch. He had finally made one too many ridiculous comments and so you put him in his place.

And so, Rhaenyra gets to sleep with you and drink from you while all her husband may do is watched. Eventually when you're satisfied with Daemon's punishment, you allow him to come join you two in bed. He ends up drinking from you while Rhaenyra strokes him.

The last thing he says before he falls asleep is to mumble, "We are never letting you out of this bed"

JACAERYS:

Absolutely love the thought of Jace just sort of stumping into a vampire. Maybe he was in a dodgy part of town? Like maybe he had been dragged out by Aegon but then Aegon abandoned him and now he has no idea where he is. It's while he's wandering around trying to find his way that he finds you.

You're feeding when he sees you, and as much as you want to just ignore him, he's far too pretty and far too scared for that. I think he'd run away at first, and you cant figure out why you did this, but you run after him. And it's damn good that you did becasue you find him being cornered by some people who clearly want to mug him.

Needless to say none of them made it to first light. Once they've all been dealt with, you look at Jace and he is just in awe. You escort him back to the red keep and think that's that.

Except no of course it's not Jace is desperate to find you again, and so maybe... maybe he goes back to that very dodgy area, just wandering around on his own and trying to spot you.

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luceafarul-de-dimineata · 5 months

Note

mc who ships the kings with their nobles (its an excuse for leviforas)

Mc that ships the shippers with their kings

Overall, I think none of them would think much of it because all the nobles seem to have a crush on their kings. They would mind if you started losing interest in their king because you percieve them to be in a relationship.

Paimon would, like always, be the chiller one about this whole thing. While he sometimes gets angry at his fellow shippers, he'll never get angry at you unless you do something really really stupid. Shipping him with Satan is just kind of silly in his view. He might humor you a bit, but he'll shortly cut all your hopes when he says that he has no romantic feelings for Satan and never will. Doesn't want to give you too much false hope, he just wishes you'll put your sights on what really matters.

Eligos would be dumpfounded. The whole interaction was like

Eligos: Mc! I'm so glad I've found you! I've prepared a nice bow for you to wear on your stroll with his majesty Mammon.

Mc: I'm sure Mammon likes ribbons a lot. I mean, with how close the two of you are... he sure has a thing for small cute things.

Eligos: Oh, he totally does! That's why I will make you the cutest being in Hell... behind me, of course.

Mc: No, don't worry. I don't want to tempt your man.

Eligos: My... what?

Mc: Come on, it's obvious that you and Mammon have athing for eachother. The way he pets your head for longer than anyone else, the way he always calls you his. I bet you have a full collection on lingerie just for him.

Eligos: I do, but no! No no no! I'm not in love with his majesty Mammon! Never!

Mc: First stage, denile

Eligos: First stage of WHAT?!?!?

Congratulation, you just broke Eligos' brain and made him take an emergency trip to Paradise Lost to get checked for whatever illness you implyied he had.

Foras gasps when he hears that and covers your mouth.

Foras: Mc, do you like breathing?

Mc nods

Foras: Good, then stop saying stuff like that. He always listens

Leviathan: Is this what you two are doing instead of sorting paperwork? The only reasons I allowed you two to stay together was because you're incompetent and Foras keeps getting distrected on his phone. I would strangle you both, but you're into it, you filth.

Foras: I apologise, great, powerful, handsome Leviathan for my wrong doings

Mc: I'm adding degredation to my newest fic

Leviathan: Don't flatter yourself a writer, I would never degrade Foras. He actually has qualities to speak of.

Foras: (I wish he degarded me as well)

Sorry, I've been too Leviathan possitive on my blog lately, I have to spread the hate

Amon would choke on his own spit. On one hand, hot, yes, he does want to get revaged by his king. On the other hand, that would be illegal because you're already with him. Amon is delusional, partly because he's starving, partly because that's just how he is. He would try to talk you out of it out of genuioun fear that he is breaking the law.

Gamigin would be repulsed. Lucifer is his brother, why would you ship him with his sibling? Please stop, he's really uncomfortable by the whole idea.

Mc: You know, I've been thinking about you and Lucifer recently

Gamigin: Really?! What about?

Mc: You'd look lovely together. He's so nice to you, I bet he likes you well enough in bed.

Gamigin.exe stopped working

Marbas: You need to leave!

#whb #what in hell is bad #shipper au #whb paimon #whb eligos #whb foras #whb amon #whb gamigin #whb leviathan

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princessanonymous · 9 months

Text

When Night Comes

Platonic Yandere Vampire

Previous Part | Next Part

First Chapter

6. 𝓒𝓸𝓶𝓹𝓮𝓷𝓼𝓪𝓽𝓲𝓸𝓷

Dinner in the vampire's grand estate was a silent but pleasant affair for (Y/n). The food was unlike anything she had ever seen before. She had heard that noble meals were separated into multiple courses, but the lavishness of it all exceeded her expectations. Five courses in total, with the last one offering a delightful assortment of sweets and fruits.

She ate quietly, aware of the vampire's watchful gaze on her throughout the meal. As he reached the end of his own meal, her attention was drawn to the glass filled with a red liquid at his side. The sight of it, coupled with his actions, sent a shiver down her spine. She knew all too well what the crimson liquid truly was. The vampire called a servant, who took the glass and refilled it with the disturbing substance.

Feeling a sense of unease and in need of diverting her thoughts, (Y/n) broke the silence, saying, "I am growing bored. There is nothing to do here."

The vampire arched an elegant eyebrow, waiting for her to elaborate. "Would you like more dolls?" he suggested.

She rolled her eyes, her frustration mounting. "I don't need more dolls," she retorted. "I want something genuinely interesting to do. I miss going into the forest."

"No," he replied firmly.

She gave him an outraged look. "Why?"

"Too dangerous," he said dryly.

Brows furrowing in irritation, she argued, "I've spent a lot of time in the forest near my home! This one can't be any different."

"You won't go anywhere," he hissed, and the air grew noticeably colder around them.

Her stomach twisted, but she wasn't ready to back down. Her mind raced for an alternative. "If I can't leave this estate, can't I at least do something here? The horses! I want to ride horses."

"No," he fumed, his anger so palpable that it led to a shattering glass as he tightened his grip. "I don't want to hear any more about this matter."

The blood was now dripping on the table. She pushed her chair back. It was a good thing the table cover was red. As servants rushed to clean up the mess, (Y/n) pushed her chair back, her appetite vanishing.

Well, she had at least tried with the vampire, she pondered. There were still the servants she could try to convince. She had talked briefly with one servant named Mary. (Y/n) wondered if she would be able to use this to her advantage. Instead of insisting on it, she would occasionally talk to that lady to gain her trust.

"I shall buy new books," the vampire announced, his tone more composed. "What would suit your taste?"

She hesitantly lifted her head and shrugged. "I don't know," she admitted meekly, still mindful of the vampire's previous anger. "I don't read much."

He narrowed his eyes. "What do you mean, you don't read much ?"

She fidgeted, unable to understand what was so wrong with her statement. "Not really necessary when harvesting food, is it ?" She reasoned with a dismissive shrug, hoping her response would suffice.

The vampire sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I suppose we shall have to change that, then," he remarked with a shake of his head.

⊱ ────── {⋆☾⋆} ────── ⊰

"Now, I want you to be on your best behavior," the duke instructed, his gaze sweeping over (Y/n) from head to toe, making the final adjustments to her appearance as the maid who had dressed her discreetly retreated.

(Y/n) let out an impatient sigh. "Is this really necessary?"

"Yes," the man— vampire, insisted. "I must ensure my daughter is well educated." Another exasperated sigh escaped her, and she crossed her arms. "None of that now, do you know how difficult it is to find a governess willing to work during the night ?"

"No," she acknowledged with a careless shrug. "But you wouldn't have to if you simply agreed to me having lessons during the day."

He scoffed at the suggestion as if it were the most ridiculous thing he ever heard. "That would disrupt your sleep schedule."

A servant knocked at the door before announcing : "Mrs. Mitchell has arrived, Sir."

"Let's proceed," he ordered, striding toward the door. The girl practically had to jog to keep up with his brisk pace.

They entered the reception room, where the tutor was sitting, waiting for them. The woman had a sharp, stern look about her. She wore a white chemise and a long black skirt reaching her ankles.

"Good evening, Duke de Beauvoir," greeted the woman.

"Greetings, Mrs. Mitchell," he replied politely. "Please, take a seat," he offered.

The adults engaged in conversation, and (Y/n) stood beside the vampire, remaining silent. Her thoughts drifted, and she began to daydream. Eventually, Mrs. Mitchell decided it was time to assess her current level of knowledge.

The tutor instructed her to read and write a little. After the brief examination, she slightly furrowed her brows and remarked, "She appears to be slightly behind, but I believe this can be rectified in no time."

"Very well," the man agreed. "A room will be prepared for you, and your lessons will commence on Monday night at 6:00 PM."

At this time of the year, the sun sets early in London. (Y/n)'s jaw dropped in outrage. That was insanely early. She was usually still in bed at that time. Nonetheless, they agreed on the hours without the girl's consent.

Mrs. Mitchell, however, seemed curious and ventured to ask, "May I inquire why nighttime is the preferred time for these lessons?"

The vampire's expression turned cold. "I do not believe that is any of your concern, Mrs. Mitchell."

The tutor nodded humbly. "Of course, Duke de Beauvoir. I apologize."

He accepted her apology, then turned his gaze to (Y/n). "Your duty is to educate my daughter, not to interfere in our affairs."

"Understood," Mrs. Mitchell replied with utmost respect.

(Y/n) couldn't help but wonder how the woman would react if she eventually discovered the truth. Would she leave? Or would fear keep her bound, much like the other servants?

The vampire placed a cold hand on her shoulder as they left the room together. Lately, he had expressed an interest in teaching her to play chess.

#platonic yandere #yandere platonic #yandere vampire #yandere father #obsession #yandere #vampire #platonic #x reader #female reader #reader insert #child reader #yandere x reader #kidnapping #tw kidnapping

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iliveforyouilongforyouvesuvia · 2 months

Note

Ohai! How about probably a full HC of the M6 as larger-than-life folk heroes like Paul Bunyan and John Henry? Assuming you haven't done this already ofc

Thanks!!

The Arcana HCs: When M6 become folk heroes

Julian

Absolutely living for it, for all the wrong reasons

Does it make him absolutely giddy to overhear tall tales in the pubs he doesn't frequent about the famous Dr Devorak? Absolutely

Does he immediately jump up and correct whoever's talking if he feels like they're painting him in too much of a positive light? ... yes

He's not supposed to be some kind of purehearted, idealistic hero, with a noble focus on the greater good! He's supposed to be a dastardly, dangerous fugitive. (Because that's totally what he is)

You don't know how many times you've watched him go through the following phases, in this specific order:

Phase 1: perk up with his classic roguish grin when he overhears someone bring up the infamous Doctor Devorak

Phase 2: turn bright red and attempt to hide his wobbly face in his tankard when the storyteller starts praising his (very real) good points and recounting his noble deeds

Phase 3: finish his drink, knock over at least one furniture item as he leaps to his feet, and attempt to spread some kind of rumor that the doctor in question is far more questionable than assumed

Phase 4: grab you and run when the storyteller gets mad

Asra

They're genuinely lost about the whole situation

He's not stupid. He's well aware that he practices magic with a kind of ease and experience that's well above the average skill level

(And, if you let them continue, they're more than happy to wax lyrical about how impressive of a magician you are, too)

Yes, he played an instrumental role in thwarting the Devil's plans to take over the human realm not once but twice, and yes, he does associate closely with several public figures. However -

They. Don't. Like. Being. Perceived

Seriously, do you have any idea how hard it is for him to be mysterious when that's all people are talking about??

At this point, they've concocted multiple aliases (for them and you) with names, personalities, accents, and backstories to throw strangers of their trail. They'd like to give the fame back now

Will still bring it up in private conversations with you if it makes you laugh or gives him a potential edge

What, you don't feel like a snack? What if the Famed Magician Asra conjures one for you from a bridge of rainbows growing neon cloud fruits? Would you want to try a bite then???

Nadia

To put it bluntly - she's used to it

She grew up in a very visible, very influential royal family. Strangers on the street knew her name before she was even old enough to say it out loud herself. She's well acquainted with fame

While she's not overly fond of it, being a private person herself, she had no qualms about using the perks that come with it

She has an idea for a new movement in Vesuvia to revitalize the flooded district. Sure, she could fund programs from behind the scenes, or the Great Countess Nadia could make a speech

Of course, playing into this public role means that the people who adore her feel more freedom approaching her to express their admiration, which can feel stifling at times

Nadia tends to deflect the enthusiastic praise by talking you up as her famed, esteemed, talented partner, often whispering a half-felt apology as you have to share the sudden attention with her

Hates it when her family hears and repeats tales about her

One time, Navra approached her with a rumor about the Countess's incredible physical prowess to convince her to dance together, and Nadia almost banished her from Vesuvia in response

Muriel

He hates it as much as he expected to, but right next to it is a sweetness he didn't expect at all

It's not the first time he's had a reputation. It's not the first time he's overhead his name casually mentioned in stranger's conversations, or seen people's eyes light up with recognition as he walks by in the streets. Last time, though, it was as "The Scourge"

Now it's with his own name

Now, though he still gets uncomfortable comments on his size and strength, there's an undertone of safety and trusting appreciation instead of fear and morbid awe. They think he's a hero

As sweet as it is, though, he still prefers not to be noticed and he'd much rather be able to walk through the crowd like a perfectly unremarkable, undetectable presence

Which he tries to do anyways. He continues to ignore most of the strangers who come up to him (unless they're kids. those he has more a of a tolerance for, even if he's completely exhausted after)

All in all, he minds it less than he expected. Now if you would kindly go ahead with that disguising-spell-glamor thing that you do, he'd love to hide behind you on your next trip to the market

Portia

It's not that she's uncomfortable as much as she's surprised

You're telling her that she's famous? Well-known? And not in the context of "Julian Devorak's little sister" or "the Countess Nadia's handmaiden"? She's famous as "Just Portia"? Inconceivable!

If she sits down with you and really processes it verbally for a couple hours (which is a common occurrence in general), it does technically make sense

Like, she did play an instrumental role in taking down what could only amount to as an eldritch god-like being, that being her Aunt, and successfully avoid the collapse of the realms

But it still doesn't compute. She's Portia. She works at the Palace and tends to her garden and lovingly punches her brother. Oh, and proudly flaunts you as her partner, but that goes without saying

It's genuinely the only thing you've ever seen make her act socially awkward. It's the one topic she can't make a conversation out of

And it's insanely endearing. As soon as she overhears a tale of her exploits, she's flushing bright red, stammering, and making wide-eyed eye contact with you like a confused cat

So, so, so delightfully easy to tease about it

Lucio

Oh, he's loving it

He's already been pretty well-known for a large chunk of his life. Before he was "the Arcana's last hope!" (his words, not yours) he was the Count of Vesuvia, and before that he was Spada's mentee

That doesn't change the visible thrill he feels every time he's reminded that he's famous, or the addictive boost to his ego

Does he feed into it every chance he gets? Absolutely. He has blown his personal budget multiple times now, covering the tab of everyone in the local pub when he hears his name praised

This is why you keep your finances separate

What does catch up to him, after a bit, is how different the stories about him now are from the stories about him before

He used to hear words like "bloodthirsty", or "ostentatious", or "merciless" - all of which he didn't mind being described as!

But now he hears words like "generous", or "brave", or "kind", and it makes him want to hear those words about him from people who know him personally and not just strangers who've heard his deeds

He wants to hear it from you. And from the party you two partnered up with yesterday. Maybe even from Morga, one day

#ask arcana brainrot #the arcana #the arcana headcanons #the arcana hc #the arcana game #asra the arcana #julian the arcana #nadia the arcana #muriel the arcana #portia the arcana #lucio the arcana #asra alnazar #julian devorak #nadia satrinava #muriel of the kokhuri #portia devorak #lucio morgasson

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ichorai · 5 months

Text

the wolf and the beast ; toji fushiguro.

part of the A SONG OF CURSES AND CROWNS collection!

pairing ; assassin!toji fushiguro x stark!f!reader

synopsis ; nobody told him that his target had a direwolf.

words ; 3.3k

themes ; fantasy, asoiaf au, assassin au, prisoner au, enemies-to-???

warnings / includes ; mentions of murder, descriptions of injury/blood, classism, foul language, toji hates your wolf, toji stealing from a whorehouse LMAO

main masterlist.

Lannisters paid good money for their dirty work to be done by someone other than them. Toji was more than happy to comply once he heard the price for your head was enough to last him a few years, maybe even more if he stopped betting on jousting events. He asked no questions, and didn’t bother dwelling on the reason why they wanted you dead. Though, if he had to guess, it might have been because you were the most eligible noble lady to be married off to the king (a white-haired cunt, Toji liked to call him). Being Queen Regent of the Seven Kingdoms was clearly a position the Lannisters were hungry to get their claws on.

Toji didn’t really care. He was just happy to get the gold.

It was supposed to be a simple, easy task. After all, you lived in a cushy castle, draped in expensive furs and coats, eating the softest of breads and drinking the sweetest of nectars. The spoiled brats were always the easiest to take out.

Getting into Winterfell went smoother than he’d expected. A few miles down the road leading to the castle, he’d killed two men driving a horse-led cart full of wine barrels—meant to be delivered right to Winterfell.

And so he got through the South gate with ease. The guards interrogated about the wine, and Toji prattled on about the aging process of the alcohol, the special concoction of grapes and infused spices, the sweetness of the reds, the tartness of the gold wines, and whatnot. None of it was really true, of course. Toji just spoke out of his ass, pulled out product papers he found in the satchels of the men he killed, and smiled charmingly when the guard waved his hand to let him pass.

A gangly, young stableboy with red hair and blue eyes escorted him to cellars, where the wine barrels would be stored. And, after asking the little boy, Toji realized, to his utter delight, the Great Keep was just above him.

Up the cobblestone staircase he went, far louder than a mouse, but Toji moved quick enough for it not to matter.

There was one problem, however. He hadn’t taken into account the possibility of you not being in your chambers. Which, you clearly weren’t. The entire Keep was silent and vacant, save for a few handmaidens he spotted collecting soiled laundry. He made sure to keep out of their sight.

And so, Toji settled for waiting in the largest chamber—which he assumed was yours, being the Warden of the North and all. He glanced around, inspecting all the trinkets laid about on your desk: silver jewelry, shoddy wooden carvings of wolves, and, interestingly, various scabbarded daggers. He pocketed what looked to be of some value. He inspected some more, lazed around on your large bed, and rifled through the many furs and fine garments in your closet. Many of the dresses he held up to his chest spanned only half the width of his broad shoulders, much to his amusement.

Hours later, once footsteps echoed down the hall, Toji sprang up from the polished wooden chair (he totally hadn’t fallen asleep) and hid behind the door.

You strode in, covered in dirt, snow, and dried blood. There were leaves clinging to your hair. It seemed that you’d just gotten back from a hunting party. You had yet to spot the tall, burly man in your chambers, your back still to him as you began to shirk off your boots.

That was when Toji moved.

Curved blades in hand, Toji surged forward and aimed to stab you right through your heart—

You turned around just in time to see your direwolf lunge at the figure, her sharp teeth sinking into Toji’s shoulder. The man let out a startled cry of pain, the weight of the wolf sending him careening down to the ground, his head cracking against one of the posts of your bed. Stars danced about his vision as pain shot down from nearly every part of his body.

Its teeth tore through the musculature of his bicep and collar, its claws tearing through his tunic and the skin of his abdomen with each swipe. Toji landed a poorly aimed strike to the direwolf’s midriff, but she merely grew more aggressive in her ministrations.

Nobody had told him you had a fucking direwolf.

If he’d known, he would’ve reconsidered taking the job. He still would have agreed, in the end, the gold was too much to turn down, but it would’ve been good information to know beforehand.

Curse the Lannisters. Curse their gold. Curse you and your stupid pet—

“Down, Reika,” you ordered, which had the accursed beast backing away from him with snarling, bared teeth, dripping with what he assumed was his blood. “Good girl.”

Toji made a strangled noise of pain as he attempted to sit up.

“It’s been a long day,” you stiffly told him, eyes narrowed as you knelt down and pressed one of the daggers from your desk—now unsheathed—right over his jugular. The cold metal kissed his skin and he immediately stopped moving. He could see his weapon scattered an arm’s length behind you. There was no way he could possibly reach it without you slitting his throat first. “Hunting party gone wrong. I wanted nothing more than to come home and take a long, hot bath. And what do I have to deal with? A sad attempt at an assassination, and my carpets covered in your blood.”

Toji scowled, but said nothing in return.

“Guards,” you said, strangely calm for someone who had nearly (if not for your wretched, overgrown dog) been assassinated. “Take him to the dungeons.”

As Toji was dragged away, leaving a dripping trail of blood in his wake, he caught a glimpse of you kneeling by your wolf, your hand shaking with adrenalized fear you hadn’t dared show in front of him. He was glad he was able to see it—just a glimpse of weakness was more than enough ammunition for him.

The dungeons were cold and dreary. Much like the rest of the North, Toji bitterly thought. It was hard to see as well, for the sparse few torches hanging on the walls only barely lit the walkway.

He could hear everything, though. Dripping of water in the distance. A raven cawing outside. The torch’s flame whispering greed to the air. Footsteps growing louder—

Toji sat up against the wall when a figure stepped in front of the wrought metal bars, dark with decades of use and age.

“Food,” came your voice. “I don’t usually do this, you know.”

The man, your prisoner, lazily tilted his head up from his position on the ground to look at you, his gaze dropping down to your hands where one carried a bowl of braised meat and the other held a chalice of wine. The chalice alone was probably worth more than anything he’d ever owned in his life.

“Bring food to a man? I can tell,” Toji dryly responded.

Your expression remained unchanged. “Bring food to a prisoner.”

It was then that Toji noticed a pair of glowing eyes by your legs, the beast’s tale curling over the back of your knees. The maester might have bound him up nice and clean (though not without pursed lips of obvious disapproval), but his wounded shoulder still throbbed with terrible pains.

“You brought your dog,” he observed.

“Wolf,” you corrected. “Her name is Reika.”

“Wretched thing,” Toji half-heartedly snarled.

The beast snarled back at him. Its eyes, amber and sharp, only grew brighter with agitation.

You decided to ignore his comment. “Do you want to tell me what you were doing in my chambers?”

There was clear disdain in your features, from what little Toji could see of it anyway, but he could also pick up on the evident curiosity there—it wasn’t every day you had to deal with a Southern commoner.

“Won’t make much of a difference now, would it?” he drawled, kicking his feet out so he could rest his elbows over propped-up knees.

“Your choice of words could very likely spark up a war between houses,” you said. It was said as a jest, though you knew it was a large possibility.

“Would be no fun to start a war if I’m not there to partake,” came his reply. His stomach cinched as he inhaled sharply, the warm smell of peppered venison wafting through his cell. “You came here to give me food and yet you’re still clutching onto it like a babe with its mother’s teat.”

“You have a foul mouth,” you said, now slightly amused. Who knew the Warden of the North had a sense of humor? “Tell me who sent you. Then comes the food.”

Toji glowered some more. For a minute, he considered what you’d do if he simply refused to say anything. But his tummy grumbled, and his resolve dissipated into mist.

“The Lannisters paid me a pretty sum to have you dead,” he said.

To his interest, you didn’t seem a single bit surprised. “Ah. Yes, I suspected so. Jenna Lannister was particularly prickly to me last we met.”

“Are you going to give me the food or what?” Toji barked, words heavy with irritation. He really couldn't care less about your snooty endeavors.

“I don’t want the throne,” you went on, much to his chagrin. Though, you did lower yourself to his same position and slipped your wrists through the bars to place down the bowl and chalice. “Not the Iron one, at least. The burden is heavy… and the North is enough for me. Marrying the king means I’d have to sire heirs, and I have no interest in doing so. Winterfell is not short of Starks—my brother and his lady wife have had enough little children for our name to carry on the family legacy for centuries.”

Toji could have easily grabbed at your wrists and slammed your head bloody into the bars. Your stinking mutt made him pause, however, and you pulled away before he could make a move.

Besides, he was hungry.

Toji tore at the meat like a rabid animal. It fell apart in a deliciously tender manner. Hot soup dribbled down his palms, which he ravenously licked away. You didn’t seem to mind at all. In fact, you took a seat opposite his cell and watched him with clear fascination.

“How’d you get that scar?”

Toji chewed at a particularly large chunk of meat and swallowed it with little effort. “Not everyone grows up in a lavish castle eating pastries and meats and sucking squire cock.”

It took you a moment to respond, but when you did, your words were calm and flat. “I’ve brought you meat. If it is pastries and squire cock you require, you need only ask. Give you a taste of a lordly life.”

Now you really must have been japing. Mocking him, even. Toji didn’t find you all that funny.

“Why are you here?” he gruffed around another mouthful after taking a long swig of wine. “Are friends hard to come by in the North? Or is it just you?”

That seemed to strike a nerve. You sucked at your teeth.

“I saw you,” he pressed. “As your guards dragged me away. I saw you looking scared. Cowering by your wolf because I nearly got you. If that beast hadn’t been there, you would have been long dead. It would suit you.” Toji’s eyes gave you an intrusive onceover, despite all the layers you were wearing. “You’d make a lovely corpse.”

“Only a fool fights back fear,” you shot back, though it was quite obvious that your confidence had taken a blow. “Fear keeps us alive.”

Toji made a humming noise into the bowl that he picked up to slurp at the last remaining drops of soup.

“More,” he demanded once he pulled his face away, tongue laving over his lips to catch what had smeared over his mouth. The portion you had given him was ridiculously small.

Perhaps that was a calculated choice. Toji only realized that when you spared him a cold little smile.

“Hey!” he growled out when you pushed yourself back onto your feet. “I’m fucking starving here!”

Silent as a wraith, you strode out of the dungeons with Reika padding along beside you.

Much time passed. Each night (Toji assumed it was night, he could hardly tell since there were no windows anyway), you would come down with a bit of food and drink. You would sit and talk with him about the most mundane of things, the most asinine of topics, and the most boring of subjects. Toji yawned and yawned so you would take the hint, but you ignored him each time.

He was beginning to think you truly didn’t have any friends up there. Other than your stinky mutt, of course.

There was even one time where you had opened the grating. From what he heard, Starks were quite religious folk—slobbering all over their bloody trees and old gods. He’d told you he wanted to see the Godswood as he himself was devout (he, of course, was nowhere near devout and hadn't prayed a single day in his life), and you, with softened eyes, reluctantly agreed on the condition that he remained shackled and quiet.

He killed a guard that night trying to escape. You struck him with a terribly strong blow to the back of his head, and your damned wolf sunk its teeth into his shin. The maester was none too happy to see him again. No milk of the poppy was administered, so he suffered through the pain. It was all worth it, though. He was outside of the dungeons for a grand total of two seconds, and the air had never tasted so clear and so sweet.

You were angry at him for quite a while but still found it in you to visit nearly every day, which Toji found highly amusing. Then you grew soft on him again (which took many moons), and Toji oft wondered if you usually pardoned prisoners this quickly.

“Why haven’t you killed me yet?” Toji asked on the seventh moon of him being your prisoner. Of course, he had asked this question multiple times before, but your answer seemed to always vary.

You may be of value. You do not deserve death. The gods smile at mercy. Reika likes you.

Those were all reasons you’d given him before. Though Toji had a very hard time believing the last one.

You regarded him with knitted brows. “If I’m being honest… I’ve grown quite fond of you.”

Toji drew his head back in surprise. Then, an arrogant, flirtatious smile flitted over his scarred mouth. It was the same smile he used to use on whores in the Street of Silk so they would take him to their seducing chambers—he could never understand how the drawers and shelves of whorehouses seemed to always have an abundance of loose coppers and silvers.

“But—” You began to continue but Toji quickly cut you off.

“I know what you’re going to say,” he said, lifting a hand up. You frowned. “You’ve fallen in love with me. And you’re thinking that if the circumstances were different, we’d be pawing at each other’s bodies like there was no tomorrow. And you worry that your people wouldn’t approve. You needn’t worry about such matters—I’m sure Northern folk would regard me as your equal if you let me out of the cell and force me into marriage. That would make me their liege lord, wouldn’t it?”

An indignant look settled over your features, your skin flushed as if you’d downed a heady drink.

“Are you mad? Of course I’m not in love with you, you imbecile,” you retorted, crossing your arms. “Besides—I’m not looking to marry anyone. And if I was, you’d be the very last on my list, thank you very much.”

Toji didn’t even have the gall to look embarrassed at his bold assumption.

“I had to try, didn’t I?” He gave you that lazy smirk once more. “Being Lord of Winterfell sounds like a cushy life. Cushier than this one, at least.”

“Well…” You toyed with a frayed thread on your robes. “I can offer you a life cushier than prison.”

Toji snorted. “I’m not going to be a glorified stableboy or a squire. I’d much rather sit here and have you bring me food than the other way around.”

“I considered sending you to the Night’s Watch,” you admitted with a ponderous look. “There are plenty of men like you there—I’m sure they would welcome another good fighter.” Toji didn’t have time to snark about how you’d complimented him before you were already speaking again. “But then I realized that you might still be of use to me.”

“I’m a good bed warmer,” offered Toji. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d laid on a plush bed. Not since yours, at least. He thought about your bed often. Usually without you in it. The times he did imagine you there, your wolf always came in and ruined his entire lovely daydream.

You spared him an unamused look. “I want you to be my spy. Ears and eyes for me down South. Particularly in the West, where the lands crawl with Lannister cock-sucking houses. I need to know what they plan so I can be five steps ahead.”

A moment of silence passed by. Toji’s upper lip curled into a sneer.

“No,” he began to protest. “Why in the seven hells would I—”

“I’ll pay you with enough gold to sink you to the bottom of the ocean. And once you have tired of gold, I’ll fill you with as much venison stew as your heart desires. And once you get sick of that, I will find you a Northern castle and grant you the title of a lord for your services. You’ll live the rest of your days comfortably. Granted you do as I tell you, of course.”

That made Toji pause and consider your offer.

“Why me?” he finally asked. He drew nearer to the bars, nearer to you.

“You’re a Southerner, aren’t you? You know the lands better than any of my loyal Northmen. You’d… fit in.”

Toji wanted to laugh. He wasn’t ever very good at fitting in.

“How do you know I wouldn’t just lie to you and ally myself with the Lannisters?”

“Because,” you huffed, nose wrinkling. “You think they’re all cunts. You’ve said it yourself plenty of times. And—I’m not foolish enough to have you as my sole plant. If you lie, I’ll know. And I’ll have Reika hunt you down… and she won’t be held back this time.”

She was holding back the previous times? Toji distantly thought with a scowl.

“What do you say?”

“It’s a far journey down South. You’ll miss me.” Toji’s cheek pressed up against the uneven metal bars. They were so cold it felt as if they were burning right through his flesh.

“I’ll find another prisoner to entertain,” you replied, eyes glimmering. Another jape. You didn’t deny his words, however.

A moment of considerable silence passed. Toji bowed his head ever so slightly. The first time he’d ever done so to you.

“I’m in, Wolf.” It didn’t pass his notice how your eyes lit up, how your back stood a little straighter, how your fingers curled excitedly into the fabric of your riding cloak. You didn’t even seem to mind the nickname he’d given you. “When do I start?”

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