#Rosegold fics

[westside-rot]

Therapy Hours

Pairing: husband!terry richmond x black fem!reader

Words: 3.7k words

Summary: Terry seeks comfort from the only person who can give it to him.

Notes: Minors DNI. Smut, oral: fem receiving (0ver-stimulation) and cursing. Light by my standards lol. I had to force myself to stop revising this so please forgive any errors. I'll find em eventually and fix it. 😭 In the future I plan on alternating between fluff and smut so the next one should be fluffy/angsty.

Here's a visual of the position used. Not quite the same but close enough 👀: *nsfw pic link* *link #2*

Also please don't repost this on any other sites. Reblogs/comments/likes make me happy.

Tags: @megamindsecretlair @melaninpov

Something isn’t right. You look over to the side and discover the space occupied by your husband is empty. He was there a moment ago, proud and silent in his admiration for you while you sat mesmerized by the view. This picnic was the culmination of a month-long struggle to find balance with work and each other. All you cared about was reconnecting with him in a garden straight out of a fairytale for as long as possible, forever if you had it your way. Now he was nowhere to be found.

You rationalize his absence by assuming he must’ve forgotten something in the car. Likely an item you’d noticed earlier and convinced yourself not to purchase. Satisfied with your answer you lay back on your thick cotton blanket face to the infinite stretch of blue, uninterrupted by clouds with your arms and legs stretched out in opposite directions as far they'll comfortably reach. That’s when you notice the dress you’d been wearing has somehow vanished as well.  You don’t bother pursuing logic this time. It’s beautiful outside and warmed to the ideal temperature for sunbathing. Now you’re a part of that beauty, perfectly made and carefree.

The sun’s warmth penetrates your brown skin and you relax into a gratified acceptance with your eyes closed and a smile on your face. A breeze grazes your skin. You part your legs to it exploration. It's subtle at first then harder as it sweeps up your legs and fixates on your intimate parts. You moan as your hips begin to move in a sensual dance interrupted by something you can’t name. Then you realize the golden reddish hue behind your eyelids is gone. It's dark, darker than it should be for the time of day. You find it impossible to care with so much pleasure running through your system. It doesn’t matter who or what is responsible for your predicament. They can keep you so long as they promise never to stop.

The unknown force answers with more delicious suction. It draws your body into a tight arch and pulls the breath from your lungs. Breathing is pointless where you’re headed. While your brain can’t fathom the destination, it doesn’t get in the way of supplication once you're finally pushed over the edge.  

"Terry..." You moan the name forever present in your heart and mind. His location is still unknown, you trust him to always find you.

"I’m here love." The voice is muffled. You recognize its owner the second you hear it.   The pleasurable void you’ve fallen into rematerializes as soft sheets against your back. Everything else gradually comes into focus, your husband's massive hands anchored on your waist, the prick of his facial hair as his tongue and lips move along your slick folds made warm by each labored breath he takes. Your eyes reset themselves forward as you attempt to reorient your place in the real world, a simple task made difficult by his unwillingness to pull his tongue from your drenched hole. Delirious but still guided by habit you manage to catch sight of the alarm clock on your nightstand. 3:00am.

"Shit…We have to be up in a few more hours--" Your hands act in contradiction to your words, pulling him in closer by the neck to keep him on the right spot. "Baby..."

"I know." He flattens his tongue against your clit and latches on. You realize he's responding to the urgency in your voice and not the truth you’re attempting to speak.

Where your first orgasm was tempered by your dream, the second attacks your senses at full force. His strong capable hands absorb the shock as they hold you in place.  It's several minutes before your thrashing subsides to gentle undulations from the heavy breaths passing through your body. His fingers knead the flesh around your waistline. Even though his lips are still dangerously close to your pussy you feel more like the wife he’s attempting to soothe and less like the midnight snack you've been made into. You melt among the pillows with your eyes closed one hand loosely cradling the back of his head, the other bent and draped across your face as he makes out with your inner thighs. It takes you a while to recover your voice, a little longer to remember what you intended to say next.

"What’s wrong papa? Did your regret for not playing with me earlier finally wake you up?”

He doesn’t speak right away. The answer reaches you in the silence long before his words give confirmation.

"I’d take regret over these dreams I keep having. They’re getting worse."

Six months ago, Terry nearly lost his life attempting to protect his cousin. His outer wounds have healed up nicely. It's the scars left on his soul that provoke your bloodlust. If you had your way those piece of shit cops would’ve received their karma long before the worst happened. Mike would be alive. The man you love, a man accustomed to sleeping peacefully by your side every night wouldn’t be routinely attacked by demons you couldn’t see.

Most nights you’re promoted to the role of big spoon. You hate the circumstances, but it settles the panic in your heart to hold your mountain of a man in your arms and grant him the protection he’s given you over the years. Tonight, he's found a different way to cope, a method worth keeping in your toolbelt even if it means resembling a zombie for the rest of the day.

"Baby I’m sorry. You should’ve woken me up." You reach down to massage his ears with both thumbs before attempting to bring him to eye level. He resists by nuzzling his face in your thigh.

"Technically I did wake you up." He mumbles, filtering kisses between increasingly labored breaths. The path his lips are taking force you into a conundrum. Press the issue or trust his methods. Brains weren’t meant to work this hard at this hour. It’s cruel and unfair when you realize Terry isn’t weighted down by the same predicament. Every time his breath passes over your sensitive lips you feel your logic slipping further away. He’s giving you a reason to forget and move on. You’re also his wife. The one person on this shitty planet he can always rely on, the only person crazy enough to sacrifice a third orgasm so close after the second to protect his heart from the lie he was attempting to maintain.

You find a compromise in the minute that passes, maybe two. It’s hard to separate the details when he’s making every attempt to bury his face in your pussy. You struggle to be assertive. It’s the desperation in your voice when you say his name that eventually gets him to lift his head.

The room is dark, the moonlight casts a glow across the top half of his face just enough to see his eyes. He reminds you of a sad puppy being chastised for something they don’t understand. The expression breaks your heart and makes you smile as you stroke his jawline, your upturned lips on full display to match his sad look.

“I need to make sure you’re okay and not telling me what you think I need to hear. We deal with this together. Not apart.”

He nods and turns his face into your hand to kiss your palm. There's an uncomfortable silence in the room, but you remain patient, resisting the urge to pry the answer from his now visibly tense body.

“I dreamed I lost you.” His delayed response is both a relief and heartbreaking as the previous dreams he’s shared replay in your mind. All include some variation of him being imprisoned. None include a happy ending for him or for Mike. Leaning down to kiss the top of his head, you mimic his vice like hold once he buries his face in your stomach.

Regret mixes with the anger you were already struggling to contain. It fills the room, ensnaring you in contradictory thoughts. Sit on his face to make you both feel better or do what Terry refused to and murder the men responsible for making him feel anything less than a hero, for desecrating the space in his heart reserved for the people he loved.  You could only really be mad at yourself for pressing the issue. Orgasms were a far better reward than listening to the gruesome details of your presumed demise. Given what he's been through your mind takes you to the worse possible options. You’re prepared to listen but aren’t sure how you'll get back to sleep afterward this.

"Nothing is going to happen to me." You soothe him with more kisses and tender reassurances. He answers with a tighter grip like he’s expecting something to challenge your words.

"We fought about everything…” He starts. You prepare for the story to get progressively worse. “One day you show up with some random ass light skinned fucker with a crooked hairline. I’m thinking he’s the new gardener only to find out you’re leaving me for him. You kicked me out. Had me sleeping in a tent in the backyard while some bum ass bitch wore my clothes and fucked my wife. Losing you is one thing. Losing you to a leprechaun who can’t grow a proper beard is bullshit."

 You were anticipating having your throat slashed or a hole torn in your chest by a monster you couldn’t outrun. This was somehow worse because Terry was dead serious yet nothing he said warranted a serious response.

"Ok, first of all, you’re light skinned too."

Clearly you were being tested and failing miserably. You'd taken a deep breath in the hopes of drawing something positive and meaningful into your thoughts. All you managed to do was bring up a past hilarious debate about him being caramel and not chocolate like he proclaimed himself to be. Terry’s head shot up like someone had lit a fire underneath him. You can feel him staring you down and instantly crack under the pressure.

"Be serious woman."

The poor man is clearly traumatized. You bite down on your cheek for his sake before giving him a direct view of your face, wide eyed and filled with doctored innocence that crumbles by the second. “I’m trying!” You fuss. “But you’re being awfully specific about this man's appearance."

"I saw the fucker clear as day like I’ve seen him before…I’m taking you to work. Might even stay just to be safe."

The conviction in his voice tells you not to brush off his words.  You can imagine him now posted up in your office surveying the area. He wouldn’t hover or say much, his domineering presence and chiseled muscles on full display would guarantee no woman within a 30-mile radius was productive. You would be at the top of the list. Unlike half the women in your office you had zero decorum in your husband’s presence. The last thing you needed were your colleagues gossiping about you getting fucked in your office.

"My dear sweet husband aren’t you being a little unreasonable?” Posing the question in a song doesn’t have the desired effect. It merely gives him a reason to frown harder.

"Hell no. I’m not taking anything for granted anymore, especially when it pertains to you. Far as I’m concerned this was a message from God to protect my home.”

There’s plenty to laugh at. Even less to challenge. You were looking at your answered prayer, a literal message from God to prove men like Terry weren’t a fantasy. This one was real and more than you could’ve hoped for. In honor of that gift you smile and nod in agreement and prepare to be followed everywhere.

“I can’t say you’re wrong. I can tell you no one at work fits the description.” He ponders while you stroke his neck. He isn’t silent for long.

“He could be a new security guard or the person delivering the mail."

"Mhm, I could forgive the wrinkles in a UPS uniform. Something about those brown shorts makes me feral. I’m getting wet thinking em." The laugh you’ve been holding sputters from you, putting tears in your eyes.

Terry sucks his teeth and gestures to raise up completely. He doesn’t get far when you throw your arms around his neck. He grunts but lets you have your way. "It's not funny."

"You’re right baby. It's not.  Dream me is a dumb ass bitch. I’d never leave you, especially not for an obviously unattractive man with tiny feet and a crooked hair line. You’re so pretty daddy. No one with sense would ever look anywhere else." You lean forward to coax a smile from him with a kiss. You feel his jaw loosen and his fingers grip up your ass. "I love you."

All the humor in your voice is gone, replaced with an unmistakable sincerity that eases Terry back to the calm levelheaded man he's always been. "You’re taking the necessary steps to heal. It's not something you'll ever forget but you’re going to be okay. We both are. The fact we can laugh about any of this is progress. Now I’ll promise to keep my sidepiece out the house you pay bills in if you promise not to stalk me from the parking lot."

He chuckles. "Promise."

It's nearly 4am. In two more hours you'll have to be up for work. Hardly enough time for a decent rest but your body will hate you if you don’t try to get back to sleep. You kiss your husband one last time and gently lay a hand on his chest to pull away only to be met with resistance.

"Wait. I still need to prove it to myself."

"Prove what baby?"

“That you won’t give up on me. That I won’t lose you." He speaks against your lips, his voice moving through you like the low rumble before a storm. It stirs up the lust cast aside for his benefit. You feel it in your belly and everywhere his tongue has been.  The energy in the room changes with the dark look in his eyes. He drinks you in saying nothing and everything with his calculated gaze. Awareness pricks at your skin off the strength of his possession moves. Then his hands are on you, lowering your arms from around his neck to your sides. He seizes your waist and hums as if contemplating something. Before you can ask the question, you lose the words in the swift rearrangement on to your stomach. You gasp from the shock while the rest of you uses all your energy to push against the sturdy fingers holding your wrists down. Freedom isn’t your goal. You resist solely to reinforce his dominance and feed your desire to test his nature. You want him to stake his claim and issue a warning to anyone daring to look in your direction even if the rival in question is a phantom conjured up by his subconscious.

Handcuffs aren’t an option for obvious reasons. You wonder if binding your hands together with rope will achieve the same shuddering response to being cloaked with his weight. You’re completely helpless and content to stay right where you are, one with mattress, one with him.

"Say you'll never leave me." His warm breath passes over your ear before his teeth sink down on flesh.

"I'll never leave you." You whisper back, moaning appreciatively when he kisses down the column of your neck down between your shoulder blades. His hands aren’t pinning you down anymore, but you try your best not to move as his tongue traces a warm and agonizingly slow line down your spine to your ass.

"I’ve never taken a life. I will if it means keeping you safe…You belong to me " Terry had taken down an entire police force without sending anyone to hell where they belonged. It was comical to think a man she never met; a man who didn’t exist could provoke him to use lethal force. The unexpected sting of teeth clamping down on your backside jolts you out of your musing. He's fully awake now, unfettered by slumber and past traumas. He doesn’t need to be gentle or ask for permission. The pain from that discovery offers an indescribable contribution to the pleasure you’ve experienced thus far. You can’t distinguish the two anymore the harder he bites.

"Yes." It's an reiteration and an apology for earlier all wrapped up in jarring acceptance. This isn’t the man you fell asleep next to hours ago. You aren’t the same either. His influence has unlocked a part of your brain that craves the pain and the pleasure it brings. If branding you with his teeth will bring him peace you want that too.

You moan and arch toward your captor’s mouth. He answers the invitation with a growl, yanking you on to your knees, driving your face into the comforter to deepen the arch in your back. You’re already spread obscenely open. He spreads you further with his thumbs and stops moving. He’s probably smiling in that subtle way you catch when he thinks no one’s watching. This isn’t quite the same. He's taunting you with proximity, close enough to feel the heat from his breath, far enough away to create an ache only he could soothe.

"Please." He's reduced you to this, folded in half and shameless in your attempts to reach his mouth. When he does finally lick his way inside everything else in the world melts away.

He's merciful but also deliberate in the way flattens the wide breadth of his tongue along the length of you, slurping you up like ripe fruit he intends to savor. All you can do is shudder and mewl as he groans into your slick heat, rubbing his face in it, masking himself with your scent. The message isn’t for you. It's for him. You hope it soothes the disquiet in his heart the way it's cleared out the baggage in your mind. All thoughts lead back to him, the thorough way he draws tight circles over your clit and the depths he reaches as he simulates the way he would fuck you if he had the willpower to trade places with his tongue.

He makes himself comfortable, stretching out his legs alongside your writhing body. His ankles provide a stable anchor for trembling hands. Then they’re caging you in, limiting your range of movement.

The sheets absorb your screams as you cum without warning and no sign it’ll end any time soon. You push toward his face at the same rate you pull away. Escape isn’t the goal. It's the only proper response to sensory overload. Indescribably good and too much to handle all at once. Terry is right there with you, latched on and undeterred by your frenetic movements, grunting indecipherable praise despite the pressure your thighs have placed on his ears.  At this rate you’re going to claw the sheets to shreds or beat a hole in the mattress. Then he's putting his entire body into it, crossing his ankles behind your head to lock you in place.

Weeks ago, you expressed an interest in learning Jiu-Jistu. You expected detailed commentary while you observed from the sidelines or watched a video. This wasn’t how you envisioned your first lesson or any lesson. You weren’t even sure if this was a legit move or something he’d improvised. The absurdity of it doesn’t register correctly in your mind. Instead you’re grateful, grateful for his strength, for his persistence, for his ability to find healing through forced orgasms even it’s obvious he’s lost his mind in the process. Unlike the dream version you take your vows seriously. You accept Terry at his best and his worst, through nightmares and a demonic possession. 

Panic opens your mind to a ridiculous thought. He's going to kill you.  The irrational part of your brain is convinced you won’t survive another orgasm. You can’t bring yourself to resist the rapid strumming on your clit and the spike in pleasure it produces. You’d gladly give your life for it. Leave earth with a smile on your lips and a memory worth immortalizing in the afterlife. To call your bluff Terry brings his thumb from your fluttering hole to the soft flesh of your ass.  He prolongs the suspense with teasing swipes around the rim then very slowly pushes through your defenses when he feels you’re ready for it. Something in your brain malfunctions. You start to whine like a caught animal. They’re the kind of sounds you’d find embarrassing if you weren’t in the presence of a grown ass man.

The last thing you hear before you explode is Terry’s deep voice in your ear. "Good girl."

When you return to consciousness, you’re still face down with a damp spot under your cheek and under your pelvis. Terry is stretched across your back crooning in your ear about how proud he is of you, how beautiful you are, how in love with you he is. His touch is equally soothing as he trails down your forearms to interlock your fingers. You haven’t stopped trembling. It’s worse in your legs. Even the slightest movement revives the memory of where his tongue has been. You find comfort in the fetal position anyway. Terry is right there to reinforce the hold, cradling you with his entire body so he doesn’t lose you in the subspace you’ve drifted off to. When the consequence of his overindulgence subsides to a light shudder you feel his coiled lips at your temple.

“Are you proud of yourself?”  

“Maybe.” He drawls, the pride evident in his voice. “You’re still shaking baby. Are you good? Did I hurt you?

“Of course you didn’t. I’m a little floaty but I kinda want you to break me again--just to make sure I like it.” You offer a lazy smile and reach back to scratch his cheek. "What about you? Are you finally convinced I won’t run off with your ugly ass replacement?”

His laughter sounds like music.  You wonder how he can find the joy in anything with his stiff dick left unattended and drooling precum on your backside. It’s all you can think about now.

"I am."

"Good because it’s never going to happen. I’m also not going to work today. I can’t function like this." Despite your predicament you use the distraction to your advantage and raise your thigh to accommodate him. A little maneuvering slots the tip between your lips but doesn't quite make it inside. You whimper and try again.

“No. You’ve had enough sweetheart.” You’re more than a little disappointed when he pushes your legs shut. 

“I can keep going. Let me take care of you.”

“You have taken care of me baby.” A kiss is all it takes to end your pouting. Like a greedy brat, you twist around to claim another, then one more to sample your flavor on his lips. His dick stirs against you, it doesn’t persuade him to be anything less than noble. “I plan on keeping you in this bed all day.  Get some rest. I’ll have you later.”

Terry’s demeanor remains unchanged as he realigns your back to his chest and slips is muscled leg over your restless ones. He’s given you a preview, a reminder, and a warning. You aren’t sure how well you’ll sleep knowing what you know but you snuggle up to his arm tucked beneath the pillow.

“I love you.”

Those three words calm the restlessness in your heart and get you to shut your eyes. 

"I love you too handsome. Try not to dream about me."

[kraviolis]

debris becoming whole again (The Owl House)

Rating: Teen Relationships: Amity & Hunter, Belos & Hunter Words: 4.4k Additional Tags: Birthday Trauma, Pre-Canon Flashback, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Reference Child Abuse, Angst & Fluff, Banter, Grief/Mourning, Complicated Feelings, Post-Canon (W&D Timeskip) Summary:

Hunter blinks at her in pure disbelief. “There’s no way you forgot my last birthday.”

“I’m sorry.” Amity does look genuinely sorry about it, which is nice but not what he was getting at.

“No, I mean, it’s actually impossible that you could forget it. You were there.”

“I’m gonna be honest… I don’t think I even know when your birthday is.” She admits, looking sheepish as if that’s her fault, somehow.

AO3 LINK

__________________

Hunter is smiling as he makes his way down the castle halls. 

No one sees it, of course. All the coven scouts see as they’re passing by is the Golden Guard power walking with purpose down the hall. They step out of the way and avert their gaze, avoiding any kind of eye contact, which is just fine to Hunter. He doesn’t want to be delayed for a second longer than necessary.

It’s not every day that Emperor Belos wakes him thirty minutes early with a coven courier giving him a letter requesting his presence in his Uncle’s workshop. Hunter had barely been able to contain his excitement long enough to close the door before he was smiling ear-to-ear and rushing through his morning routine. His hair was still slightly damp, but he couldn’t be late– not today.

When he reaches the door, he straightens himself out and clears his throat before knocking.

“Come in,” Belos calls through the wood, and Hunter obeys.

The workshop is one of Hunter’s favorite places in the whole imperial palace. It’s always a cluttered tangle, with half-cooked blueprints and random tubes and bolts and pieces of scrap metal scattered across any flat surface. He’s always careful to step over the various items littering the floor, knowing that it may look like a huge mess but isn’t actually. His Uncle prefers an organized chaos just like Hunter does, and he’ll do his best to respect the space as a guest in it.

“Good morning,” Belos greets him from his seat at one of the benches, his own mask and cloak nowhere to be seen and his long hair pulled back out of his face. He’s bent over, charcoal pencil in his hand scratching away with quick strokes, but pauses his ministrations to turn to Hunter as he approaches. “I see you received my invitation.”

Hunter moves to kneel, bowing his head. “Good morning, Emperor B–”

His Uncle cuts him off with a wave of his hand. “No, none of that, if you please. I do prefer my mornings outside of court and with as little bureaucracy as possible.” He turns back to the bench, pencil in hand as he continues his sketching.

Blushing under his mask, Hunter stands and nods. “Uh. Right. Sorry.”

Belos swipes a hand over the paper he’s working on, brushing away any particles. Then with the same hand, he beckons Hunter closer without looking up. “Come, nephew. Tell me what you think of this– and take that mask off while you’re at it.”

With a practiced hand, he removes his mask and hood in a single swift motion, leaving the golden vizard on the first clear surface he sees. Belos leans back so that Hunter may look over his shoulder at the sketchbook laid on the table.

“It’s… a new artificial staff?” Hunter leans closer, putting a hand on the table to get a better look. His eyes widen as he takes it in. “No, wait, is that my staff? Are you planning another alteration to the mechanisms?”

“It is, and I am.” His Uncle confirms, pointing with the pencil at the fresh blueprint. “There’s actually quite a bit I’d like to implement, but for now– do you see this modification here? With the internal wiring? What do you make of it?”

He absorbs the page, soaking in the looping cockatrice-scratch of his Uncle’s handwriting. “Mixing metals in the wires– tonguesten, copper, and Titan’ium?” He murmurs to himself, trying to connect the dots in his head. “Using copper as the conductor instead of gold would increase power, even if the charge becomes unstable… but putting those two metals together like this wouldn’t work, right?”

Hunter looks to his Uncle, who tilts his head to one side wordlessly with a neutral expression. Seeing that he won’t be getting any hints, he hums and goes back to squinting at the page in front of him.

“This configuration would brick the staff at best, or at worst, cause it explode in your hand the second you try to use it.” He crooks a finger against his chin, running through all his knowledge of magical engineering. “Copper is leaky and Titan’ium reflects magic, which is why normally you should make an effort to avoid using them together, but… not unless… the tonguesten! ”

He straightens his back, holding back a smile as he finally makes the connection. “Using tonguesten as the barrier because of its density will prevent the leaking and keep the refractions of magic within the wire itself, which lets it flow faster and at higher concentration!”

“Very good, Hunter.” Belos nods his approval, making Hunter swell with pride. “These new wire compositions should prevent both that pesky half-second delay and make this mechanism here unnecessary. Once we can remove that eyesore, the head will become lighter and render the staff more balanced than ever. In fact, all these changes I’ve noted down should make it all feel a bit more… natural, so to speak.”

Hunter can’t stop the grin this time. “That’s so– Uncle, you’re a genius! This is incredible!” He says, turning to the elder in excitement.

Belos smiles back, but it’s tense in a way that gives Hunter pause. When he raises a single brow, Hunter suddenly realizes he’s grabbed the Emperor of the Boiling Isles by the shoulders. He pulls his hands back quickly, cheeks and ears burning like he’s just slathered firebee honey on them as he takes a step back.

“I– uh. Um.” Keeping his eyes to the ground, he clears his throat and tries to regain his sense of professionalism. He bends at the waist, arms planted to his sides. “I apologize for my overenthusiasm, sir.”

“That’s quite alright, Hunter. I’m glad to know you’re appreciative of my work.” Belos puts a hand on his head, patting gently. “Just don’t make such reactions into a habit, hm?” Hunter’s breath catches, something warm blossoming in his chest at the gesture even when his Uncle quickly pulls his hand away.

It’s not every day that he receives so much casual affection, as his Uncle has never been very open with his touch– which Hunter understands, of course! The curse is dangerous to those around him, and Belos doesn’t like Hunter getting too close just in case he accidentally injures him. But today must be a good day, one where his curse isn’t bothering him too badly.

“Are you ready to get started?” His Uncle asks, drawing him from his mind. 

Hunter blinks and tilts his head. “Started on what?” 

“On your staff modifications, of course.”

“Today?” Hunter breathes, lighting up at the nod he gets. “Really? And I get to help?”

Belos chuckles, regal and dignified. “It is your staff, Hunter. You know it nearly as well as I do.” He glances to the door of the workshop, his brow raising again. “Though, I don’t imagine we can begin right this second.”

“Oh.” Something deflates in Hunter but he does his best not to frown or whine like a petulant child not getting his way. “Do you need me to gather the materials first?”

“No, I should have everything we need already.” His Uncle gestures towards his storage containers in the corner, half the lids off of the containers and several labels misplaced or illegible from age. Hunter glances from the materials back to Belos, still not understanding. “It’s just that… well, it would be rather difficult to begin when your staff isn’t here.”

Hunter gasps. “I forgot it in my room! Agh, stupid!” He hits his forehead with his fist a couple times, then turns to run out the door. “Sorry, Uncle! I’ll go and–”

“Hold a tick,” Belos grabs his own staff from where it leans against the wall to his right, using it to levitate Hunter’s mask over to him. “You don’t want to forget this as well, do you?”

“Right– Thank you!” He slips it over his face and pulls his hood up swiftly. “I’ll be right back!”

Before he can rush out of the door, his Uncle calls him back again. “Oh, and one more thing.”

He freezes and wrenches his head back into the room, buzzing with enough energy to power his staff a hundred times over. He forces his tone to stay polite and respectful, no matter how badly he wants to just take off running down the hall towards his bedroom. “Yes, Uncle?”

Belos smiles kindly at him. “Happy sixteenth birthday, Hunter.”

Hunter is so, so glad his Uncle can’t see his face anymore. The second he processes the words, he smiles so wide it makes his cheeks hurt and has to blink the sudden blur in his vision away. It feels like his chest is about to burst from nothing but pure joy.

He has an urge to run back across the room and throw his arms around his Uncle, or even just tell him for once how much he means to him, but he fights it back. No matter how much he cares for him, he can’t cross those boundaries. 

His Uncle is a complicated man and has been through a lot of pain in his life– he wouldn’t be appreciative of gestures like that. It’s not in his nature, and Hunter refuses to make his Uncle uncomfortable or, Titan forbid, start putting up his walls when it’s just the two of them again like he did when Hunter was small.

(Back when his Uncle was so distant he often would go weeks without seeing him at all. When he couldn’t find a single chance to show his Uncle how helpful he could actually be to him. No, he won’t go back to that.) 

(He’ll show the Emperor every single day just how much he can rely on Hunter, how useful he can be. He’s not going to become more dead weight, and he’s not going to let anyone else take his place.)

(Plus, it’s best for Hunter to remain as professional as possible in the castle. After all, he can only take so much muttering behind his back about nepotism and daycares.)

Instead, Hunter just nods quickly to show his appreciation. “Thank you, Uncle!” 

He waits a second for his Uncle to wave his hand, officially dismissing him, before he closes the door to the workshop politely and takes off in a dead sprint down the hall.

Hunter grins under his mask the entire way there and back. 

_________________

Hunter sniffles, drawing his knees to his chest tighter. 

It’s getting colder out here by the second as the sky darkens, the sun already gone below the horizon. His back is pressed against the wall of the Owl House as he hides away in the backyard. The sounds of the birthday party still going on inside does nothing but make his heart sink even lower.

There’s a sudden raucous of muffled laughter and Hunter squeezes his eyes closed. Everyone is having such a good time. Why can’t he? Why does everything have to be ruined by his dumb brain? Why does he have to be ruined?

It’s not fair of him. It’s supposed to be Gus’s special day. Hunter is supposed to be inside playing games with him and teasing him for turning fourteen and still being a pipsqueak, not sitting outside in the cold and having his own little pity party. 

Gus is gonna notice he’s gone soon, and then he’s gonna have to deal with Hunter’s stupid problems instead of getting sick from eating so much of the human cake Luz and Camila brought. But even though Hunter wants more than anything to just suck it up and let himself have a good time with his friends, he just… can’t . 

“Stupid,” He mutters to himself, sniffling again.

“Hey.”

Hunter whips his head around, startled. Amity is standing to his right, hands folded in front of her awkwardly. He hadn’t even heard the backdoor open.

She frowns at him and Hunter quickly turns away again to wipe at his face. “Hu–” He cuts himself off and clears his throat before trying again. “Hey.”

Amity approaches carefully and sits down right next to him, not touching but still close enough that he can feel the warmth radiating off of her. Ghost is conspicuously absent from the palisman’s constant post of circling her ankles, and Hunter knows it was on purpose.

His friends can’t even just hang out with their palismen near him without needing to walk on eggshells because of how stupidly sensitive he is. Like, it happened months ago, and Hunter still can’t even think about Flapjack without–

Hunter sniffles harder and scrubs at his eyes. Stupid. He’s so stupid . What’s wrong with him?

“There’s nothing wrong with you.” Amity tells him, and he realizes he was talking out loud. “You’re just having a hard time.”

“I’ve been having a hard time for seventeen years,” He says bitterly and continues to fight his own tear ducts. “I should be used to it by now. I never had these kinds of problems before– before I…”

“Before you left the Emperor’s Coven ?” She gives him a look, flat and unimpressed. “The same coven where showing an ounce of real emotion like this was– how did Luz word it? Like bleeding in shark infested waters?”

Hunter looks away without answering, frustrated over hearing such a logical comment in the face of his very illogical emotions. It makes too much sense for him right now, which makes everything about what he’s doing feel even more stupid. 

Amity sighs. “Do you… wanna talk about it?”

Hunter stares ahead, eyes fixed on the edge of the forest around the Owl House. The crowd inside laughs together at something again, muffled and barely-heard through the stone walls and thick glass window next to them.

“I’m just being stupid.” He repeats, turning his head to look at her.

“I mean, when are you not?” She elbows him, smiling. He glares at her in mock-offense and elbows her back, causing a mini elbow war that ends in seconds after a mutual surrender. “Seriously, though. Spill it already.”

Hunter moves a hand down from his knees, picking at the red grass underneath him. “Swear you won’t make fun of me for it?” He asks. 

“Swear. Look,” Amity makes a gesture across her chest. “Cross my heart.”

Hunter raises a brow at her. “...What does that even mean?”

“Luz did it once. It’s a human way of pledging a serious promise.”

Hunter sighs. “If Luz used it then good enough, I guess. Fine.”

There’s a long stretch of silence between them. Amity twiddles her thumbs together and Hunter tries to fit the words together in his head in a way where it possibly, just maybe, won’t actually be the stupidest thing he’s said and ever will say to another living soul.

“So…” Amity says. “Are you gonna–”

“My birthdays have always been my favorite memories.” Hunter blurts out, digging one hand into the grass and the other into his hair. Amity goes silent instantly, fixing her attention on him. “Except for– well. You know what happened during the last one.”

“...Do I?” She asks, squinting.

Hunter blinks at her in pure disbelief. “There’s no way you forgot my last birthday.”

“I’m sorry.” She does look genuinely sorry about it, which is nice but not what he was getting at.

“No, I mean, it’s actually impossible that you could forget it. You were there.”

“I’m gonna be honest… I don’t think I even know when your birthday is.” She admits, looking sheepish as if that’s her fault, somehow. “I didn’t realize you already turned seventeen until you said so just now.”

“I… Oh, Titan.” He laughs, but it’s not actually funny. He stops quickly. “I– I just remembered I never actually told anyone. I was so focused on everything else, I never…”

"When is your birthday?"

“My birthday is– Amity, it’s on Samhain." He swallows, his mouth suddenly dry. "Or, well, technically last year it was on Halloween.”

Amity blanches. She’s frozen in shock for a second, staring at him with wide eyes, before she nearly scrambles to take his hand in hers. The pressure is grounding, and he squeezes back just as tight. “Hunter,” She breathes in that same old tone– the one that everyone uses whenever Hunter shares anything about his life that’s less than perfectly happy. Horror, concern, and pity mixed into one single specific tone of voice.

“Don’t.” Hunter shakes his head. His free hand twists itself in the front of his shirt. “I already know. It’s– That isn’t what I wanted to talk about.”

Amity purses her lips and nods, but that doesn’t stop her from looking like she won’t be forgetting it. He just hopes she doesn’t let it slip to Luz before he can get the chance to tell her on his own– that will only end in a grievous amount of tears and yelling. Again.

“Anyways,” He clears his throat. Amity gives his hand another squeeze, encouraging him. “Um. Where was I again?”

“You said your birthdays were always your happiest memories.” She tells him, and he nods.

“Yeah. They were. Are? It’s– complicated.” His shoulders fall, and he leans his head against his knees again. “I didn’t get my birthdays off, in the Coven. No one did, really, but even when I was a kid I never had any birthday parties. Not like this one.”

“Are you upset because you… want one?” She guesses.

He shakes his head. “I– I don’t think that’s it. I think…” He hesitates, rolling the next words on his tongue before deciding to just spit them out. “I think I miss him.”

Amity doesn’t ask who ‘him’ is. She doesn’t have to. Hunter avoids looking at her face, not wanting to take the risk of seeing disgust or hate in reaction to his admission. She doesn’t stop holding his hand, which he takes as a good sign.

“He always made time in his day to spend my birthdays with me.” He keeps going, not sure if he can stop now that he’s started. “Even if it was only for fifteen minutes, even if we spent it going over budget reports, he always made an effort. For me .

“It’s stupid, right? How idiotic does someone have to be to miss him ?” Hunter growls, clenching his hands. “He was nothing but a liar and a murderer. He wasn’t even my uncle! I was only a tool to him, one that he had no problem with throwing away the second I–”

Amity quietly lets out a pained squeak, and Hunter rips his hand away from hers quick as lightning. “Sorry!” 

“It’s fine,” She can’t hide the wince in her face as she rubs her palm with her thumb. She shakes her head, her purple bangs falling out of place. “Don’t worry about it, keep going.”

Hunter hesitates but with a threatening brow raise from Amity, he deflates and curls back in on himself. It takes him a second to regather his thoughts from where he’d left them.

“You know what the worst part is?” He says. “When he wasn’t actively making my life into a living nightmare, he was actually really nice to me. For example, he used to sneak me hard candies during meetings that went long. Oh, and he’d let me sit in his workshop with him and rant about my day, or ramble about magical theory while he tinkered. That’s the version of him I miss more than any other. The version who felt like… like an actual, real person.

“And I know it wasn’t ever real to him, I know that everything nice he did was just another way for him to manipulate me, but… but it was real to me.” A lump begins to form in his throat, and it doesn’t fade when Hunter tries to swallow it down. 

“Belos,” He spits the name like it’s poison. “Never cared about me, but I cared about him. I– Damn it.” He scrubs at his traitorous eyes again, his breath hitching. “I- I loved him.”

His voice breaks, and so does Hunter. Unable to hold it back anymore, he wraps his arms around himself as his body begins to tremble and jolt with every sob that rips from his throat. Amity pulls him in, leaning him on her shoulder as he cries. 

It’s stupid. It’s so, so stupid . He should know better. Yet here Hunter is, grieving a genocidal tyrant who wouldn’t have given his own death a second thought. Grieving the man Hunter had thought he was. Grieving a family he never even had when his new family was right inside. They’re going to smile at Hunter when he goes back in later and look at him like he’s made their lives better just by being there, but right now he’s sobbing over someone who made Hunter feel like he had to earn the right to be his nephew.

“Stupid,” Hunter chokes out through his tears. “‘m so stupid.”

“It’s okay. I- I get it.” Amity tells him quietly, one of her hands rubbing up and down his back. “I miss my mom, sometimes.”

Hunter leans against her with more of his weight. “Your mom s-sucks .”

“I know,” Amity laughs wetly, ducking her head down. “How awful is that? I still love the woman who tried to kill Luz like, twice. I’m a horrible girlfriend.”

“Shut up.” He sobs, serious despite his sniffling.

“It’s true.” She argues back, something weird in her voice. “I have dreams about my mom waltzing into my life again, completely changed and telling me how sorry she is. I always end up crying when I wake up and remember it’s not real. I’m such an idiot .”

“Shut up.” Hunter repeats, shifting his neck to look her in the face. He barely blinks at seeing Amity with tears streaking down her face, too. “Don’t– don’t say that. You aren’t an idiot for missing the person who– who raised you.”

“I know I’m not,” Amity agrees breezily, tears all but forgotten in the blink of an eye. “And neither are you.” She pokes him in the forehead, and Hunter stops crying out of pure shock. 

“You…” He trails off, pulling back from her even more.

“Now, if you say you’re stupid for missing your Uncle, you’re calling me stupid, too.” Amity flutters her still-wet lashes, as if she’s one of those innocent little angel baby statues that sit on the shelves in the Noceda living room, and not what Camila calls el diablo .

Hunter stares at her, mouth gaping like a fish. She giggles and the sound makes him scowl. He crosses his arms, glaring at her. “I’m– I’m changing my mind; you also suck.”

“Gotcha.” She grins wickedly, taking a second to wipe her face. Her eyeliner had run when she was crying, painting black streaks down her pale cheeks before her hands smeared it all into an even bigger mess. 

He groans and pushes her away, rubbing at his own eyes and nose. “I can’t believe you. You can’t just– trick someone into not calling themselves stupid over something that is objectively stupid!”

“I just did, though.” Amity leans her chin on her hand.

“That’s not how it works!” Hunter argues, throwing his hands up. “I’m not gonna stop doing it just because you– you think you trapped me!”

“What if I blackmail you?” She says it so sweetly, like she’s asking to give him a hug and not attempting to threaten him into being nice to himself. Honestly, Hunter is ninety percent sure she doesn’t actually have anything to blackmail him with, but that ten percent is making him nervous.

“I know for a fact that you don’t have anything on me.” He calls her bluff.

“Do Camila and Mr. Deamonne know when your birthday is?” Amity asks, checking her nails casually.

Hunter reels back, eyes widening. “You wouldn’t. I told you in confidence!”

“Hmmm,” She rolls her eyes up to look at the stars in the fully darkened sky, tapping a single finger to her cheek. “I really wonder what they'd say if they found out.” 

“This is low, Blight.” He shakes his head. “Even for you.”

“All you have to do to guarantee my silence is agree to my terms.” She smiles at him, waiting for what she knows is inevitable.

Hunter plants his face into his hands and groans into them. “FINE!” He bursts, throwing his hands up. “ Fine! I won’t call myself stupid. You happy now?”

“Very.” She nods primly, a smug little smirk on her face. “Though, I would be happier if you went back inside, hugged Camila, and had some cake.”

“You’re so bossy.” He rolls his eyes, using the wall as leverage to lift himself up. His legs take a second to solidify under him, but he manages.

“Hunter, you’re the only one who lets me boss them around like this.” She tells him bluntly as she holds out her arm in a wordless command. He sighs and pulls her to her feet in a single smooth motion. “I have to capitalize on that. Where else am I gonna get the same rush of power and superiority now that I’m not a total bitch?”

“You’re just taking advantage of my brainwashing from being a child soldier.” Hunter sniffs. 

“You can’t keep pulling the child soldier card.” Amity argues. “It’s so unfair!”

He doesn’t actually care that he was a child soldier or whatever– it was quite honestly the least of his worries. He’s just echoing the words that Darius or Raine or Eda have said to him after witnessing one of his more unnerving habits. Like the compulsive kneeling.

“Whatever. I know when I’m not wanted.” Hunter raises his nose at her as he says it, brushing past towards the door leading into the kitchen. “And, for the record, you still are a total–”

He yelps in a very dignified manner as something trips him and he falls face first towards the ground. Before he can hit the ground in a way that definitely could have broken his nose, he’s caught in a levitation spell.

“You wanna finish that sentence?” Amity asks from behind him.

“...no.” Hunter grunts, struggling in the grip of the magic.

“I thought so.” She says happily, helping him to his feet.

“That’s cheating.” He huffs, brushing himself off. “I can’t do magic like that.”

Amity breezes right past him and to the door. “And I can’t use my childhood trauma as a trump card to win every argument. We all have our strengths.”

He grumbles under his breath but follows her. Before she opens the door to rejoin the party, she pauses, as if realizing something.

“Did my makeup get smeared?” Amity asks, looking up at him.

Hunter blinks. “No. Not at all.”

[miffysrambles]

NAJSIANYS ITS MY OC JIA LI

Aka Redson and Diàn Lán’s half sister and DBK’s youngest daughter 😭

@lallxrona <33

YEAHHHHHHHH !!!!

BISEXUAL LI WINS !! SHE WON A GF !!

im about to become SO ANNOYING WITH THEM LALA—

[westside-rot]

I love this story so much. Your writing is perfection.

Deliverance

Hunting down a monster, you are led to an isolated little town...and into the arms of its enigmatic priest, who harbours a dark secret.

Warnings: 18+, MDNI, Vampire!Priest!Nanami, monsterfucking, winged vampire, soft!Dom/pleasure!Dom Nanami, loss of faith/disillusionment, enemies to lovers/forbidden lovers, haematophilia, corruption kink

Very much inspired by Mike Flanagan's exceptional "Midnight Mass" which I highly recommend.

Soundtrack: "Take Me To Church" by Hozier, and "All Around Me" by Flyleaf

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The bridge to the mainland lived most of its saltcured life underwater. It rose, skeletal against the fog, as if the wreck of a ship from some bygone era, only twice a day, at low tide.

You were, by now, well-established into this friendly little town; a much-needed teacher to its handful of muddy-toed children. They did now know of your armory, your deadly weaponry. They did not know of your vow to hunt down the monsters that stalked the night.

And, they did not know how you suspected that the beast responsible for the deaths of at least 20 men on the mainland, may be one of their very own. 20 murders all occurring at low-tide, and only low-tide, could not be a coincidence.

They were all scum, you mused to yourself, all rapists, paedophiles and murderers...so perhaps it does have some sort of moral code. It must be here, you reasoned, fingers tapping the woody shelves of your little school cupboard in thought.

Your hunt was hampered by the timekeeping of this sleepy fishing town; often up before sunrise to take to the sea, and back before the sun broke above the horizon, it was not unusual for its residents to sleep during the day, and rise in time for the sunset. Its little church even held an evening mass, attended by plentiful nocturnal residents, after dinner.

"Hello?" A rich baritone, which was beginning to feel so intimately familiar to you, stirred an illicit want in your belly. He called your name. You could not help but run to him.

"--sorry, I'm-- I'm here! In the cupboard!" You called out, breathless in...what? Your rush to get to him? Anticipation? Something...more?

You flurried round the corner, all eager smiles, flyaway hairs and dimples. Your eyes melted so softly upon each others' forms, both sighing with relief. Neither of you knew how the other stirred within.

"Ke--...Father Nanami. What a lovely surprise. You're not usually up so early."

Nanami Kento cut an imposing figure in his cassock and white collar. He was a big man, with mountainous shoulders, and long, broad hands. You remembered the heat that pooled in your belly, the first time he had rolled up his sleeves to help you to move supplies into the schoolhouse, his forearms so alluringly thick and corded. His size belied an easy grace, and the elegant quick-step of a busy, intelligent man.

"I found myself unable to sleep," Kento admitted, his head bowed and hands clasped as he stepped to you. He seemed paler than usual, as he continued, "I was thinking abo--...just, thinking." He finished weakly. His eyes drew so fleetingly to your fast little pulse, thrumming from your throat, down your cleavage. His mouth dried, a double-edged hunger climbing down his abdomen.

"...thinking?" You offered, slowly closing the distance between you. You ached to remove it completely, your respect for his holy vows the only thing that contained you. Kento cleared his throat, running one strong finger between his neck, and corseting black and white collar.

"...wondering. If you would be attending mass. Tonight. I have miss--...you have missed the past week, I believe."

Ah. Yes. There was rarely another time when the homes of the local residents were empty enough to allow for investigation. You had only a few more to ransack, to find your monster, and you could feel yourself closing in on it. You felt a heavy rock of regret in your belly, and you clasped one of Kento's cool, pale hands in your own. His cock twitched, to feel the burn of your flesh against his, in ways so much less intimate than what he had imagined, alone at night.

"I'm so sorry...not tonight," you frowned, and you hurried to reassure Kento as he visibly deflated, "But tomorrow, I promise you. I'll come. Truly." Kento's face, so angular and strong, softened down at you with the hint of a smile.

His hand raised up for a moment, hesitating, before cupping your cheek. You felt your heart skip a beat, the tips of his little and ring fingers ghosting over your pulse point, while his thumb swiped beneath your eye.

"...chalk," Kento whispered, seeing your pupils dilate under his inherent, dangerous magnetism. He wished nothing more than to lean down and taste you, clutched against him and whimpering in the schoolhouse. You heard thunder rumble in the distance, and smelled the petrichor of an oncoming storm.

"...I can't wait," Kento whispered, stepping back from you, with just one backwards glance before sweeping out under the wind and blotting clouds.

+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+

Your hunt had amounted to nothing. Either, your monster was meticulously careful, or your suspicions were incorrect, and it did not reside on this island. There was just one more place you had not explored, and you resigned yourself that you may be heading home sooner than you thought.

And yet, you felt a rope behind your navel, a red string around your finger, holding you here. You decided to complete your final investigation at the home of the priest, who had become the lifeblood that ran inside you, at midnight. He generally stayed late at the church, completing administration. You would be undisturbed.

Armed, rogue-like, you blended with moonlit shadows until you reached the windows outside his bedroom. You peeked through the gaps in the wooden blinds, and were met with an image of Kento, erotic and resplendent, that seared itself into your brain for the rest of your days.

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Kento didn't need sleep, ever since his God had forsaken him. Yet still, he craved that sweet embrace, to take him away from the twisted torture of what he had become. His resolve to die this way, as some fallen angel, had been unexpectedly fractured by the will to live-- fractured by you.

Kento switched the shower off, the last droplets of water running down his back. His cassock and collar were discarded, all woven lies against the skin of a faithless hypocrite. Kento wrapped a towel loosely around his waist, stepped past the empty mirror, and out into his bedroom.

His gut churned to see his empty bed. It had been weeks since he had fed. Years since he had taken a woman for the last time, before taking his vows. Weeks, since you had begun to consume him, mind, body and soul.

Kento had been losing his faith before the change. He had grown further from God, as countless monsters died beneath his teeth. But it was thoughts of you, spread, penetrated and whimpering beneath him, that took Kento beyond redemption.

Kento shuddered at the aching greed within. He lay back on his bed, hair still damp and floppy, but desperate for sleep to grip him and pull him under. His cock, rapidly thickening and tenting beneath the towel, made him curse, one broad arm flung over his eyes, while the other tried to squeeze himself into submission.

Kento squirmed with guilt, his semi-erect cock gripped in his palm. He thought of you, your fingers dipping into your needy wet cunt, the vibrator on your clit doing nothing to relieve the ache in your soul. He thought of the way you had squirmed and begged, to your god, and to him, to be granted your release. He thought of the way you had sobbed as you came, curled round yourself, your fingers desperately trying to reach the sweet spot that would make your orgasm climb all the way into your belly.

He didn't need to imagine it, Kento thought blithely, his thumb now stroking slick pre-cum under his foreskin, and over the sweet swollen head of his cock. He didn't need to imagine it, because he had seen you, through the gap in your curtains in the dead of night. Watching you, a pale angel in the rain, hunting for the forgiveness of a body he couldn't allow himself to sully.

Kento's hand had begun to masturbate himself instinctually, to the thought of you crying out for him. For him, and he could do nothing but pretend he hadn't seen you fall apart, to the dream of him inside you.

Kento groaned, low and rumbling, his hand gripping tightly around his throbbing, heavy length, longer than his thick fist could cover. Dripping with pre-cum, Kento began to fuck into his own fist to lubricate himself. He moaned in time to the memory of you, writhing and mewling against your pillow.

Kento's other arm reached round above his head, and he sunk his sharp teeth into his pillow, licking at it, imitating how he would flick his tongue against your pert little clit with a ragged moan. He pictured you above him, riding his mouth and nose as the length of his cock fucked down your throat to the tune of sweet wet gags. Kento whispered filth into the dead of night, trying to rut himself to orgasm.

"--take it-- good girl...cum down your throat-- cum in my mouth...shit...fuck you through it soon, angel-- promise, I promise--...ahhhh, shit, SHIT--"

Kento cursed, spitting venom, his balls heavy and sore, his own hand so woefully inadequate. His canines had lengthened, his mouth twisted into a teeth-baring snarl, and he gripped his cock harder. Trailing his other fingers to his mouth, sucking on his fingertips with a shiver, Kento pierced them until he could taste the hot rush of blood, imagining it was you quenching his thirst--

At the window, completely unnoticed, you gripped the windowpane, weak-kneed. Your other hand clapped over your mouth. Kento lay naked on his bed, sprawled and ethereal under strips of moonlight, masturbating with gasps and groans that you only wished you could hear.

Those hands, that you had spent night after night, wishing were inside you. That cock, thicker and longer than you had pictured...and oh. The way he rutted into his fist with such devastating ferocity, left you jealous of his hand. Your mouth watered.

What would he do, if you knocked right now? If you offered yourself to him, spread bare and pleading? Would he forsake his vows for you? Would he turn his back to God, as he stroked his cockhead to orgasm between your wet folds, singing your praises, and spattering hot, thick cum over your clit--

You were drawn back out of your head as Kento convulsed, his anguished, sloppy moan breaking through the windows, shooting through you like a knife. You gasped, delighted by Kento's twitching pleasure.

Kento hit his orgasm with the turmoiled strength of a stormfront, breaking. His final image was of you, cradling his sore cock between your legs, humping him inside you while you whispered to him and he whined into your hair and got lost in the smell of you, god, the smell of you, he could smell you now--

Kento spasmed, crying out as cum spurted in heavy stripes up his abdomen, his orgasm threaded with a tinge of horror-- fuck, he could smell you, you were here nearby, he knew the smell of that skin and that blood and that cunt--

Kento sat up with a jolt and a snarl, still gasping, the power of the hunt crashing through him. His teeth bared, animalistic, he wrenched his window up, sticking his head out into the night.

The smell of you, quickly fading, was being carried away by the wind. And Nanami Kento was losing his mind.

+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+

You could barely compose yourself, walking into Church the next evening. The night had crept in fast; another storm churning over the water, was pulling the moon in with it. You felt overburdened with...guilt? Desire? You could not hide it, you were sure.

You could not hide it, as Kento's rich voice embraced the pews. You could not hide it, as your voice trembled its way through hymns. Kento's stern, impassive face remained unreadable, as you took communion from him. You met each others' eyes, both thinking about the same thing; his finger grazed your tongue, and gazed upon your sweet face, open-mouthed and doe-eyed, kneeling before him.

And despite all this, it was each others' company you craved more than anything more carnal. You found excuses to stay, in the church, loitering as Kento bid the crowds a warm goodbye. As the last person left, finally alone, you turned to each other. You both held your breath.

After a few moments, yours released in a twinkling laugh, and a blush, that had Kento's chest clenching in possessive adoration.

"I...have neglected you, father," you offered, brushing your hair behind your ear. Kento huffed, at first, pinching the bridge of his nose, before laughing. A genuine laugh. Deep, velvety, and rich. You were putty in his hands, and he didn't even know.

"Alas...it is the life of the clergy. Our own needs, go...unmet." Kento grimaced, a forced half-smile. His hands clasped over his lap.

You felt the tinge of bitterness at the edge of his words. You swallowed, thickly. Your fate balanced on the edge of a knife.

"Not...not all of them, surely? You could...you could join me for dinner?" You couldn't miss how Kento's eyebrows raised fractionally, his pupils dilating. Kento felt a dangerous hunger.

"I...I'm not sure-- I shouldn't--"

"Of course, you're completely right--" you flapped, taking a step back, and Kento's hunger gripped you back with jealous need.

"...I shouldn't be long here. An hour, maybe? If...if you'll allow it." Kento could feel himself twist under the need to possess you, one way or another. Judging by the smell of you, you would be wet, supple under his lips.

"Perfect," you blurted, standing up on your tiptoes for one happy moment, "perfect. I'll cook. We can...we can talk. I can't wait."

+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+

A brisk knock. You hurried to the door, biting your lip, briefly abandoning dinner on the stove.

"Father," you cried, damning yourself for sounding so excited, "you're here...I'm glad. I was afraid you wouldn't...anyway..."

You hurried back to the stove, leaving the door open. After a moment, you looked up, seeing Kento leaning against the doorframe, looking at with with something...unreadable, in his eyes. He simply stood, drinking you in as you cooked.

"...Father? What are you waiting out there for? Come in." Blinking, chuckling to himself, Kento stepped over the threshold, closing the door behind him and gently placing a bottle of wine on the table.

"Please. Call me Kento. It seems...silly, if we're having dinner, and a night together." You felt heat blossom through you, at the accidental double-meaning behind Kento's words.

Dinner together was soft, intimate, the food and wine smoothing over an already glossy conversation. You were made malleable by the wine. You were intoxicated by him. Kento looked into you with such knowledge of you, that you were laid bare beneath his gaze.

Sat facing each other on the sofa, Kento had abandoned his white collar, the buttons of his cassock and white shirt undone to his chest. He rolled wine around his glass, his head leaning on one hand, smiling as you talked. The wine made you stupid, and you blurted out;

"Why? Why...did you join the church, Kento?" It was, in part, rhetorical. A cry of despair against the crime of Kento being made untouchable. His answer surprised you, and you found yourself shuffling closer as he talked.

"I ask myself that same question every day. Ever since..." Kento bit his tongue, thinking of the night he was turned, on a missionary trip abroad. Thinking about the day you walked into his parish, setting him aflame with unquenchable burning thirst. Kento cleared his throat, swirling his wine. He felt his primal magnetism drawing you to him like a moth to the flame, and he could not stop himself.

"...I have become...disillusioned, with the church. I am...torn," Kento admitted. Your knees were touching his now, and you leaned towards him with lovesick eyes. Kento felt the thrill of the hunt, feeling the sting of his teeth lengthening. His cock twitched as your breath passed over his cheek.

"...torn?" You felt a quiver of fear now, in the way Kento's eyes darkened, his hand slipping over to grip behind your knee, pulling him into his lap. He set aside his glass. It should have rung alarm bells. You were so drunk, but you had only had one glass of wine. Kento smelled so intoxicating. You were warm, floppy as he pulled you to straddle his lap, cupping your face with both hands.

"...torn," he whispered, his nose brushing yours. Kento's hunger overtook his panic for you, a victim to himself. Kento whispered against your lips, watching your eyes flutter closed, your head heavy and lilting to the side, exposing the pretty thrum of your throat to him.

"...torn," he continued, gliding his tongue up the pulse in your neck, feeling his cock jump against your clothed pussy, "...all because of you...if God has forsaken me, I hope he never wants me back. If only you would let me worship you, instead."

Kento's lips hovered over yours, barely quelling his urgent need to feed on you, until you whimpered his name. Kento snapped, and pulled you in by the back of the neck, crashing his lips to yours with the ragged groan of a starving man.

Your head swam with Kento, clutching his open collar and falling against him, allowing him to devour your mouth with bliss. You murmured against his lips, sloppy and licking, tasting the sweet allure of him, and his grip on the back of your neck grew crushing, his weight now bearing over you to press you back into the sofa, a sharp sting on your lip--

"Ow! I...ugh, sorry...I'm bleeding--"

As you moved to sit up, shocked back out of your reverie, Kento had pushed himself back to the other side of your sofa. One hand had clasped over his mouth. He trembled, and shook, white-knuckles clasping the sofa. You heard a sharp gasp, as if Kento was in pain.

With blood on your lip, you reached for him-- and stopped. Your eyes fixed on the switched-off television opposite you both. You stood, slowly, moving towards the hallway, and your bag, trying to control your terrified little heart.

"I'll just...get a cloth, for my li--"

As you pulled a blade from your bag, standing up to spin around, you were thrown back to the wall, your head cushioned by Kento's hand. You cried out, feeling him bracket you against the wall, his cassock now abandoned, his form seeming to grow and swell before you. Kento's face pressed to your neck, and you felt the hot throb of his growing cock against your belly.

You stood this way, both panting into each other, your knife pressed over Kento's heart, and his teeth pressed to your throat. Your heart broke, fragile beneath Kento's twisting form, and hungry mouth. You hiccuped, your hand and resolve faltering.

"...I never wanted...I wish it wasn't...why did it have to be you?" You sobbed, your arm starting to lower. Kento growled against you, already two feet taller, his enormous chest trapping you in against the wall. You felt the lights blotting out around you, as vast, black, velvety wings unfurled from Kento's back.

"...always...you always knew...just couldn't accept--" Kento gasped, his tongue darting out against your neck, ridged and trembling. His chest burst with pain to feel you sob beneath him.

"I can't do it," you cried, your knife hand lowering again, "just take what you want, because I can't-- I love you-- I'm not strong enough." Kento's teeth gritted, his face crumpling against the soft copper scent of your skin. His enormous hand gripped yours, raising the knife to press to his chest. You gasped and cried out, resisting his pull; a bead of blood sprung up around the tip, pressed to Kento's chest.

"From the moment you arrived," Kento growled, his teeth pressing gently over your pulse point, starving and needy, "...my life...everything I am, has been yours to take. I would know you, blind and deaf...and I would be honoured, for you to take my life as penance for my sins."

You gritted your teeth, completely releasing your grip on the blade. It clattered to the floor. You reached up to trail hands up Kento's enormous, powerful shoulders. Your fingertips grazed the soft base of his wings, and Kento shivered, shuddering into you. He felt a dribble of pre-cum soak his stretched, ripping boxers.

"Then I condemn you to live, Kento," you whispered, pulling his face up to yours. His pupils were dilated, bursting with lust, inky black in pools of crimson, "...and take me. However you want me."

Kento snarled at you again, pressing himself to you, pinning your arms above your head with one thick hand; "You have no idea what you're asking for," he hissed, "I will eat you alive." He felt you tremble, seeing the golden resolve in your eyes. You leaned forwards to his mouth, begging.

"Then eat me...or fuck me, like you fucked your hand to me."

Kento cursed, snapping, lifting you against him. You wrapped your legs around his hips, feeling Kento reach down to shred the clothes off himself, completely absorbed by the need to possess you, to love you.

Flung backwards onto the bed, you gasped at Kento's monstrous form. Eight feet tall, broad and exquisite, his great black wings folded and unfolded against his back. His aching cock dripped with pre-cum, so much bigger than when you had seen him cum into his own hand. His face, still undeniably Kento, stared into you, owning you. Heat pooled between your legs, as he grasped his cock in one great hand, groaning and shuddering.

You crept forwards, still drunk on him, and his nephilim glory. Kento's hand stuttered around his cock as you licked the tip.

"--fuck-- too big for you-- you can't--" Kento uttered a strangled moan, to feel your hot little mouth engulf his cockhead, your lips stretched wide, gulping him to the back of your throat, all hot little licks and sucks. Every fibre of his being needed to buck forwards into your mouth, and you felt two great hands tangle in your hair.

When your hands joined your mouth, stroking down his aching length, masturbating the parts of his cock your mouth could not reach, Kento rutted involuntarily. Moaning, begging and whining your name, his voice ran deep and ragged around his sharp canines.

"--darling, I-- shit I-- so good...so good for me...taking me s--so well, haaaaah...not-- can't last-- like this--"

You hummed around his cock, swallowing down a trickle of salty pre-cum, feeling the gentle pressure of his fingertips against your head. So aware of his size and strength, Kento handled you like a china doll, with the utmost love and affection. Kento moaned with abandon, his head thrown back, his great wings furling and unfurling with divine pleasure.

Swallowing around Kento's thick tip at the back of your throat, you felt his cock leaping in warning. Kento tried half-heartedly to pull you off him, whimpering and moaning with fractured cries of your name;

"--can't swallow-- s'too much-- ohhh fuck, my love-- c-cumming, I'm cumming-- fffuuuck yes, swallow-- all of it--"

You squeaked as his cock jolted and twitched in your mouth, Kento's balls clenched tight as he hunched around your mouth, pressing your head to him. Your mouth and throat flooded with Kento's bitter seed, cooler than that of a normal man, and you swallowed him down with pride. Kento's groans and breaths ran ragged, as you licked him clean.

Kento panted, glossy-eyed as he came down from his high, his cock still half-hard against his thigh. Crowding your body against the bed with his, his fingertips grazed the dress you wore, before ripping it from you with a bared-teeth growl. You felt your bra snapped in the middle, as if it were paper. Your breasts heaved, nipples peaked under Kento's ravenous attention.

Poking his tongue out to tease it over one hard nipple, you felt your clit throb to feel the otherworldly ridges and grooves running along his tongue's sides and tip. Whining as he sucked your pebbled nipple into his mouth, you shuddered to feel Kento's sharp teeth graze your sensitive peak. He savoured you, lathering your nipple against his tongue, until you felt you could cum from that alone.

His other hand rose to engulf your second breast, your nipple rolled so tenderly between two great fingers. You felt a trickle of arousal soak your underwear. Kento could smell it, and pressed his hand to your lower belly, feeling vaguely for the telltale swell of ovulation.

"...made a mistake, angel...letting me take you like this-- nothing of you left, by the time I'm done with you--mine-- all mine-- fuck--"

Trailing kisses down your belly, sniffing you and eager to fill you with his smell, his body thrummed for you. Kento threw your legs over his shoulders, ripping the sides of your underwear and tossing the scraps aside.

His eyes fixed on your pussy, slick and clenching. Kento shuddered, feeling his cock beginning to bound to life again. It flopped, heavy and twitching against his thigh, filling again in preparation to fill you. Kento felt a vague desire to ensnare you, trapping you inside his drunken intoxication, to fill you, and fill you, and fill you, until your belly swelled, oozing his thick, white seed.

"...Kento...please..." Your sweet begging pulled Kento out of himself. Despite his monstrous form, his face softened, his eyes fixed to yours as his tongue, long and ridged, stretched out of his mouth. You saw stars as it lathed insistently from side to side, spreading your folds, stroking back and forth over your aching, pearly clit.

Kento mumbled into your pussy, tasting you, his long tongue fucking into your cunt while his nose nuzzled your clit. Mewling, your hands flew down to sink into Kento's hair, and you felt your hands grasped and pinned against your belly. Kento knew, with a faint pang, that if your fingernails scratched against his sensitive scalp, he would surely spill his seed all over your floor.

Kento draped his other forearm over your belly and hips, pinning you down as you twisted beneath his attention. He lapped, sucked, and nipped at you with the softest bites to your clit, his tongue fucking in and out of you with inhuman dexterity.

You bucked your hips down the bed, eager to feel his tongue sink into your deepest parts, and Kento obliged with a wet moan. You felt his tongue lathe against your spongy spot, pinned down as he devoured you.

"--just there...harder please, please-- god I need your cock in me, please-- fuck me please-- please--"

You begged and pleaded your way to orgasm, your arousal seeping out around Kento's tongue as you came with a jolt and a cry, your thighs clamping around Kento's head, feet tickling against his sensitive wings. Kento continued to fuck his tongue in and out of you, lathering you with his spit, tasting your arousal, desperate to taste more of you.

You reached down, trying to pull Kento up your body. He almost laughed at your casual management of a true to life vampire, about to fuck you into the mattress. Kento allowed it, settling above you, his pupils narrowing at the insistent beat of your throat. Suddenly, and with a strangled growl, Kento knocked your head aside, his teeth grazing at your throat, and his monstrous cock throbbing at your entrance.

You trembled beneath him, heaving and gasping from your high. All of your resolve left you, beneath his tongue, and you uttered words you knew to be true;

"...I trust you, Kento."

Kento pressed into you, with teeth and cock and a husky moan. You felt a sharp pierce at your neck, his teeth just deep enough to feel the hot splash of your blood against his tongue. Kento almost finished then and there, his seed threatening to spatter into your folds and entrance, instead of in your belly, as he had promised himself. Kento drank you, his mouth clamped around your neck, one great hand cupping your head to the side while the other gripped your hip.

With a squeak and a protracted, broken moan of his name, you felt Kento's cock stretch through your wet velvety walls. You squirmed, trying to climb up the bed, feeling Kento growl around your throat and yank you back down.

Kento was enormous, by far the biggest cock you had ever taken, splitting you with a dull sting. Your fluttering hole soothed as Kento began to rut his length into you. His red, leaking tip bullied your cervix, bumping it up against your womb, with inches of him still outside of you.

You uttered strangled little moans, completely pinned beneath his hulking form, feeling him rut as much of his cock inside you as he could fit. With a shiver, Kento denied himself of any more blood at your throat. His tongue stroked your wounds, clotting the blood there, as he fucked gently into you.

Kento's wings caged you both in, and he stared down at where his cock tried to stretch your pussy out with dopey, lovesick eyes. A trickle of your blood ran down from the corner of his mouth, and he was struck with a sudden burst of pride for you. Kneeling back, Kento pushed your knees up to your chest, crushing over you in a mating press.

You writhed, as Kento managed to sink more of his cock into you, groaning which each stroke he watched enter and pull out of you. Your slick formed a translucent white ring most of the way down his cock length. Kento was eager to see it drip down his balls. He gasped down at your prone, fucked-out form, and gently began to press and roll the fatty flesh around your clit, making you buck up into him with pathetic little mewls.

"--fit it in--fit all of me in...if you cum again-- fuck you through it, baby...fuck you through it...fuck you through it..."

Kento repeated this like a mantra, every gradually strengthening thrust into you taking him deeper, your pussy stretched to its limits around his terrifying girth and length. Leaning over where you joined, Kento spat a smooth mouthful of spit, stroking it around his base, lubricating you both, before upping his pace and intensity again.

You cried out, head thrown back as you arched, feeling Kento so deeply that you clasped your belly. Kento planted one hand over yours, his fucks growing gradually more feral as he bared his teeth, determined to finally take what was his, after so many years of miserable self-denial.

"--mine make you mine make you mine--leave it behind...leave it all...for you...shit-- so tight, just--milk it out-- all my cum-- all yours, I swear..."

As you came, your pussy clenching and spasming, Kento finally bottomed out. His head flung back with a cry of success, slamming into you with abandon as he chased his high, desperate to see you filled with his cum. Cursing, and spitting, teeth bared and blacking out the room around you with his wings, Kento came with a roar, and you felt your pussy and belly flooded by him.

His cock jerked long, protracted twitches inside you, spurting thick bursts of cum, with nowhere to go but up, plugged by his enormous girth. You were pliable and dazed, taking it with the sweet relief of his love for you, his seed soothing your swollen inner walls like a balm.

Kento faltered above you, staggered and dazed. Keeping his cock stuffed inside you, manoeuvring himself onto his side, he swept one great wing beneath you, and one above you. You felt yourself cocooned, sleepy and full, reaching into hand up to tangle into Kento's hair. He pressed a lazy kiss to your palm.

"...you're a...terrible vampire hunter..." Kento slurred, fading out into soft snores, just seconds later.

He's not wrong, you reasoned to yourself, wondering and drifting to sleep in his arms and wings, maybe he'll help me.

[hyperfixated-writer]

OKAY SO ONE OF MY FAV AUTHORS WROTE A FIC INSPIRED BY ONE OF MINE? AND IT'S REALLY GOOD, SO UH- GO READ IT

The fic is It’s Nice to Have a Friend by justsummr over on AO3! It's inspired by my A Stupid Mistake and features lots of cute rosegold bonding and traumadumping and protective friendships and yeah ;-;

[littlelamy]

hey queen was wondering if you could do an angsty rafe fic don’t care what the topic is just need my soul to be crushed tbh…

anyway love your work😛😛

lamy's note: thank you bby!! i hope i did it justice! 💗

the evening clung to the air, heavy and suffocating like a storm waiting to break. you stepped into the mansion, your heels clicking against the marble floors, echoing in the quiet stillness of tan lines and rosegold hues. everything about tonight felt off. rafe’s texts had been sporadic, distracted. but you’d convinced yourself it was just his usual mood swings—the volatility that came with his name, his family, his demons.

“just come over,” he’d said earlier, voice low like he was speaking through gritted teeth. you’d asked if everything was okay, but the curt reply and abrupt end to the call told you everything you needed to know. he was pissed about something. probably ward. maybe topper. or… maybe you.

anxiety gnawed at the edge of your thoughts, a sharp-toothed beast sinking into your resolve. still, you went. because it’s rafe. and you’ve never been able to stop yourself when it comes to him. his pull was magnetic, a gravity you couldn’t escape no matter how much it burned.

but as you approached the living room, your heart sank. voices. hers.

sofía.

your pulse quickened, thundering in your ears. you knew sofía had been hanging around more. her smile always too sweet, her touch lingering a second too long when she’d brush rafe’s arm at parties. you’d pretended not to notice. pretended to trust him. because rafe promised you, over and over again, that he was yours.

but now, as you turned the corner, you saw it.

rafe’s back was to you, broad shoulders taut under the strain of whatever this was. sofía stood inches from him, her hand on his chest, and before you could even process what was happening, she leaned in, pressing her lips to his.

for a moment, it felt like time stopped. your lungs seized, your vision blurred. the room tilted like you’d just stepped off a spinning carnival ride, nausea and disbelief crashing into you all at once.

“rafe,” you choked out, voice cracking under the weight of betrayal.

his head snapped up, his blue eyes wide with shock. “baby, it’s not—”

“this isn’t what it looks like!” sofía interrupted, a perfect picture of feigned innocence, but you saw the glint in her eye, the slight curl of her lips. she wanted this. she wanted you to see.

“what the fuck is wrong with you?” you spat, glaring at her. your hands were trembling now, the fight-or-flight adrenaline coursing through you making every nerve hum with raw energy. “are you seriously trying to act like i didn’t just see you?”

sofía shrugged, crossing her arms over her chest. her expression was maddeningly calm, like she was toying with a piece of prey. “he didn’t kiss me back,” she said smoothly, like that somehow made it better.

“get the fuck out,” rafe growled, his voice low and dangerous. the venom in his tone made even sofía hesitate for a split second before she gave a mocking smile and sauntered out of the room, hips swaying like she’d won.

silence hung between you like a blade, sharp and ready to sever whatever fragile thread was left.

“you’re unbelievable,” you finally said, your voice trembling, barely containing the torrent of emotions surging within. “she’s been throwing herself at you for weeks and you just… what? let her?”

“no!” rafe took a step toward you, his face a mess of desperation and guilt, but you recoiled, and it hit him like a slap. “baby, i swear to god, i didn’t—i wouldn’t. she kissed me, i didn’t even—”

“but you didn’t stop her.”

he froze, his jaw tightening as your words landed. “what?”

“you didn’t fucking stop her, rafe.” your voice cracked, the dam breaking as tears spilled over despite your best effort to keep them at bay. “how am i supposed to believe you when you just stood there?”

“baby, please.” his voice broke, raw and pleading. he reached for you again, his hands trembling now, but you stepped back, shaking your head. the distance between you felt insurmountable.

“i trusted you,” you whispered, the words bitter on your tongue. “i fucking trusted you.”

“and you still can,” he insisted, his voice rising with desperation, his eyes glistening with unshed tears. “you’re it for me. you’re the only one, i swear. she’s nothing, okay? she’s fucking nothing.”

“but i’m supposed to just ignore what i saw?” your voice rose too, the pain clawing its way out of your chest, demanding to be heard. “how many times do i have to wonder if i’m enough for you, rafe? if you even fucking want me?”

“you are,” he said fiercely, the raw intensity of his words cutting through the tension. he stepped closer, slow and deliberate, until you were backed against the wall. his hand cupped your face, forcing you to meet his gaze. “you’re everything. i need you to believe me.”

you shook your head, fresh tears spilling over, your chest heaving as you tried to catch your breath. “i don’t know if i can.”

his hand dropped, his expression crumpling as the weight of your words crushed him. “don’t say that,” he begged, his voice barely above a whisper. “don’t fucking say that.”

“then prove it,” you said, your voice trembling but firm, the storm inside you raging. “prove to me that i’m not wasting my time loving you.”

his eyes searched yours, frantic, his chest rising and falling as he tried to find the words. and for the first time, you saw it. fear. raw, unfiltered fear. because he knew. he knew he was on the verge of losing you, and for once in his life, rafe cameron didn’t have a plan to fix it.

and the worst part? you weren’t sure you wanted him to.

taglist: @namelesslosers @maybanksangel @averyoceanblvd @iknowdatsrightbih @rafesheaven @anamiad00msday @ivysprophecy @wearemadeofstardust0 @rafesangelita @sstargirln @rafedaddy01 @soldesole @bakugouswaif @skywalker0809 @vanessa-rafesgirl @evermorx89 @outerhills @ditzyzombiesblog @slavicangelmuah @alivinggirl @rafesgreasycurtainbangs @rafesbabygirlx

[summerdoddles]

Rosegold duo one-shot fic

[sunshine304]

New Fanbinding! Two fics by KouriArashi

Now that the gift copies for @gingersnapwolves have arrived (and how quick the post was this time, I'm in awe!), I can post about my latest fanbinding project.

I had decided on binding both fics about, uhm, two years ago? XD I love all of Kouri's CQL fics; she's actually the reason I started watching the show in the first place, so it was a no-brainer to bind some of her fics!

I think I did the typset for "The Way It Wasn't" in 2021 but I had a specific design idea for the case in mind and didn't feel confident to tackle that just yet, so the printed version sat around for... a while. Sometime after that, I did the typeset for "Picking Up the Pieces", which took longer because of the photo edits.

I finally got around to actually making the books in May and I'm very pleased with the results, though there were a lot of stumbling blocks in both projects and I'm actually surprised that the finished books look good. XD I was sure I'd case in the block upside down after all the other mishaps, but at least I didn't do that. XD (I might have checked each book like five times, though... just in case. XD)

More pictures and info about the process behind the cut.

The books are supposed to be the first in a series of 5, each focussing on one of the great sects, and so I decided to use the same basic design ideas: colour-coded for the sect, the cut-out on the front, the little graphic on the back, same brand of Parisian marbled paper, frontispiece depicting the location, sect logo as title page, same design for titling on the spine.

For some reason, my camera refuses to really catch the foil colour from "Picking Up the Pieces" on the titling - it's a light pink/ rosé coloured foil.

The planned design for that book really caused me quite some grief, because it turned out that the foil I'd wanted to use (a light lilac one) did not work on this kind of book cloth. It's only for using a laminator / hot iron and so also doesn't work on paper with a foil pen.

I changed the colours for that books so often, going to a coated lilac cloth (where the foil works because it's coated...) but that didn't look good with the light coloured paper I used with the logo (no contrast), so I went back to this cloth and went looking for another foil. I tried rosegold which was okay, but then I lucked out and got the light pink one at a local shop.

For "The Way It Wasn't", I used a lot of official art:

For "Picking Up th Pieces", I used a mix of (edited) official art and photo edits I made myself. The "problem" of this fic is that Lan Wangji starts living at Lotus Pier, wearing Jiang colours most of the time and no forehead ribbon.

Also, Jiang Yanli is now sect leader and needed some fancy clothes. Luckily, Xuan Lu has acted in a lot of dramas recently where she wore some more dramatic robes that would fit a sect leader. I had to do colour edits of the robes at times and at one point had to photoshop Lan Wangji into a picture with her. My old Photoshop did not like all of this but I managed in the end. XD

I'm pleased with the results and might make a post with the photo edits at one point.

I also asked Kouri about her fancast for the OC Yu Zhiyi; that was a while ago. I wanted to include a picture of the character but didn't want to choose someone at random if Kouri already had someone in mind. Of course, I never mentioned that this was for the book; it was supposed to be a surprise after all! ;D

I'm really pleased with how the books turned out, especially considering all the stuff that went wrong in making the cases... XD I guess I can say I learned some things? XD

It's always fun if you mess up something on one case and think, "Ah well, this will be my copy then, I guess!" and then you mess up even worse on the other case! XD So Kouri got the book with more air bubbles in the logo because on the other case, the title was crooked. Argh!

I added some ornaments to distract a bit from that. It's also important to know that I'm a bit OCD about titles and stuff being crooked, I just hate it. This was a very sad moment for me.

But that's always the danger when fumbling around with that flimsy foil and the print-out. I'll live! :D

Materials used:

Printed on Clairefontaine Papago 80g (TWIW) and Clairefontaine DCP 100g (PUTP)

Case + endpapers "The Way It Wasn't":

- booklinen Brillianta - French marbled paper 120g - craft paper - hot foil (on brand)

Case + endpapers "Picking Up the Pieces":

- booklinen Imperial - French marbled paper 120g - Rössler letter paper 100g - hot foil (cheap stuff)

[smuttyfantasyrecs]

Druig

🦋 comfort 🦋 make you scream 🦋 put on a show 🦋

@stranger-nightmare

🦋 sun dresses 🦋 shower 🦋 little games 🦋

@buckyhoney

🦋 kyphi 🦋

@clints-lucky-arrow

🦋 jealousy 🦋

@get-your-fics

🦋 eyes on you 🦋

@eviewritesoccasionally

🦋 non-con request 🦋

@rosegold-darling

🦋 spectral tease 🦋 seduce and maim 🦋

@inklore

🦋 soft dom 🦋 cockwarming 🦋 getting you off 🦋

@greenorangevioletgrass

🦋 temper 🦋

@barnes-n-nobles

🦋 his clothes 🦋 innocent 🦋 i'll take care of you 🦋 192 🦋

@wannabevampire

🦋 off limits 🦋

@wickeddruig

[kraviolis]

hi i spent all day writing a one-shot instead of doing literally anything else

[may-or-whatever]

mine has 57 fics and the half of them is not even in english it's wonderful... /s

Reblog if your rairpair has less fics than bowuigi

[miffysrambles]

Rosegold headcanons because they have infected my mind/pos

• Jia Li has doxxed people for Li and will do it again

• Sometimes people say Li and the both of them answer because they don’t know who they’re referring to

• They have cutesy lil spa nights as dates consisting of face masks, video games and fluffy pillows

• Jia Li has a full album on her phone dedicated to Li

• Meanwhile Li has Polaroid pictures of her and Jia

• They do that cheesy two straws one milkshake thing

• Jia Li bullies Xin-Yi

• Yin and Jin are Jia Li’s cousins so they act as her wingmen (it goes horribly wrong)

• “You’re doin’ great J!” “STFU IM ON A DATE-“

• Li constantly has to stop Jia Li from murdering anyone who even looks at Li the wrong way

• Jia Li calls Li ‘Hunnybunny’ or ‘bun’

• Mini fashion shows at Jia’s apartment

• Jia Li is a girlboss but when she’s trying to flirt with Li she is a girlfailure™️

@lallxrona <33

WAHHHH I ADORE THEM SM !!!

the girlfriends everrrr KEEP SENDING THESE LALA

[oh-cramity-its-amity]

jst want a silly little step sibling rosegold fic where amity and hunter are both trying to ask out their crushes (luz and willow respectively) and the entire point is that they both give each other HORRIBLE dating advice to the other.

like amity telling hunter that willow throwing up means shes having fun and hunter telling amity that she should take luz to a cat shelter (bc of ghost) but is later revealed that luz has a really bad allergy against them.

their dates- going all wrong. hunter thinking willow didnt have a fun time because she didnt vomit and luzs allergies flaring up. meanwhile they had the most fun theyve ever had.

[westside-rot]

Don't be sad sis 🥺. I haven't really posted anything since my last story. I'll be sure to tag you for the next one. My plan is to have it done soon 👀

It's crazy how i'll go from having nothing to say to having everything to say after finding a writing prompt I like. Hopefully I continue to deliver relatable characters as I slowly get these ideas out of my head.

Talk To Me Nice

Pairing: Terry Richmond X Black reader

No warnings for this one. Hopefully there aren't too many errors cuz it's only lightly edited. I'm trying to squeeze in my last post of the year lol

This little idea is the result of a writing prompt and @megamindsecretlair keeping me honest about writing something every day. Figured I'd share the results with whoever else wants to check it out.

“That’s a bit harsh my love…”

After spending the last 20 minutes filling your home with negative energy you expected reciprocation.  Instead you were being derailed with a new form of gaslighting, the kind reserved for evolved men who appeared harmless on the surface but harbored a petty side few got to see. Though impressive, you knew Terry was only using kind words to paint himself the victim. It didn’t matter how many steps ahead you thought you were. The guilt still hit with the same bruising force.

Six months of newlywed bliss cruelly interrupted by disappointment you never wanted to feel so early into your marriage. Perhaps there was a better way to convey that hurt to your husband. Maybe sitting him down for a mature conversation would’ve spared you from the growing pressure around your temples and the rawness in your throat from all the yelling you’d been doing. You were convinced the window for apologies and grand romantic gestures had closed. He'd started it. You were damn sure going to finish it.

You pushed through your doubts and committed to your frustrations with arms folded tightly across your chest, the initial urge to roll your eyes shifting to a hard, resolute stare. “Well Terrence sometimes harsh is necessary.”

He scratched his beard and nodded as though you’d just agreed on what to have for dinner. Silence took over the room once again, intensifying the conflict between you. His eyes never broke contact.

“Are you done?” From anyone else the question would’ve triggered your inner toxic and possibly resulted in the police being called. But there was note of calmness in your husband’s voice that exonerated him from the accusation before it became your new truth. Terry wasn’t being dismissive. He was simply better at regulating his emotions.  His inability to stop wringing his hands together revealed the stress hidden within. For a second time you were forced to ignore your guilt for the sake of winning. Mirroring his casual demeanor, you continued to stand firm and prepared for whatever he intended to say next.

“I must’ve imagined sitting in premarital counseling for all those weeks. Or maybe I was the only one taking it seriously. That must be it 'cause at the first sign of a problem you’ve broken every promise we made to each other.” His words landed direct hits on your conscience. Everything holding you together began to cave under the weight of his response. Terry wasn’t wrong. Instinctively, you went into defense mode anyway.  

“That’s not fai—”

“Nah, you’re not about to interrupt me. I let you speak. You’ll show me the same respect. Understand?” The natural base in his voice instantly got your attention. Yes sir rang so clearly in your mind you weren’t entirely convinced you hadn’t said it out loud. You prayed Terry couldn’t somehow feel the lust pulsing alongside everything else flooding your system. One day soon under normal circumstances you were going to explore his newfound aggressive side. How, you weren’t entirely sure. With a new goal seared into your brain and soaked through panties clinging to your ass you managed to retain a sense of dignity as you obeyed your husband’s command. 

“You’re my wife. One day you’ll be the mother of our children. I refuse to let them hear us talking crazy to each other, so I’m gonna need you to find a better way to communicate your feelings. If I need to sign us back up for therapy I will but this shit ends tonight.”

All the fight drained from your body. Shame took its place. In its presence you were finally able to recall those important conversations leading up to your wedding, the dreams you shared, the legacy you wanted to create. If not for your anger you could have revisited them sooner and found a better use for them. Now you were facing an evening apart, perhaps more depending on how long Terry held on to a grudge.

All you could do was stare at the ground and wait for it to be over with. Hopefully you’d find a way to sleep knowing you had failed your first test as a wife. When your lip started to quiver you promptly bit down on it to keep your hurt feelings in check.  You hadn’t behaved in a way deserving of care but when Terry's long fingers reached out to palm the side of your face you sought out his warmth like a needy kitten.

“Now you’re breaking my heart.”

“I can’t help it. Did you have to be so mean?” Though you found your ability to speak you burrowed your pout lips further into his hand. The loudest person in the room didn’t deserve to cry. If you were lucky you'd disappear and rematerialize tomorrow with more sense.

“It got your attention. Besides, I thought harsh was necessary. Or does that only apply when you’re cursing me out?” He chuckled.  You weren’t persuaded by the playfulness in his voice to look up. Terry initiated the gesture with fingers affectionately placed beneath your chin. It wasn’t lost on you that he'd repositioned your face at the same proud angle you held while lecturing him as if two nights apart somehow equated to years of neglect. You wanted to look away but soon discovered his eyes remained steadfast and beautiful in the aftermath of the storm you’d caused. They connected with your soul in an instant providing a gentle assurance that you were safe with him.

 The words flowed through your upturned lips effortlessly. “I’m sorry baby. You didn’t deserve all those ugly things I said to you.” Before you could say more he captured your face in both hands, stroking your cheek with his thumb.

“You’re already forgiven my love.” Terry’s lips grazed yours as he spoke. The distance was torture. Finally, after what felt like an unbearably long time, he covered your mouth with his, reestablishing his dominance with a tenderness that sets your heart and mind at ease.  It was a proper reconciliation, but it also wasn’t enough. Not after the way you behaved tonight.

You treated the sincerity on his lips as your own personal buffet. When it became difficult to breathe you pulled away to regain control over the situation.  “I still have a lot to make up for.”

A smile tugged at his lips as he pushed the curls back from your face. “We both do. Your approach needs some work, but you had a right to be upset with me.” You nodded and yet nothing in you wanted to celebrate the vindication. You were simply relieved to know you hadn’t caused any irrevocable damage by overreacting. Even more relieved to see him smiling again.  "I think my beautiful and extremely childish wife should get the honor of going first.”

The frown you attempted to hold cracked under the pressure of his wide grin. You hate being teased. You were also guilty on all counts and willing to take your punishment. “I suppose that’s fair.”

“It’s very fair.” He mumbled between prolonged kisses down your neck.

You exhaled and curved your fingers over his broad shoulders. It was becoming harder to think or even breathe with him sucking everywhere his lips could reach. “Can we talk it out like grown-ups tomorrow?”

“Of course, baby. It's mandatory from now on.” When he spoke the guttural quality possessing his voice registered deep in the places he’s yet to touch. You felt painfully empty but knew you wouldn’t stay that way for long. At the rate his lips were moving you weren’t convinced you'd make it past the couch. You preferred the comfort of your king-sized bed the scene of your crime was a fitting place for getting down on your knees to make proper use of your mouth.

Terry surprised you when he broke the suction on your collarbone to reunite at eye level. There was a noticeable glint of mischief in his eyes before he bent down to throw you over his shoulder. You squealed and braced a hand at the center of his back for support you really didn't need.

"You better not drop me trying to be cute!"

"I was planning on letting you off easy tonight. Now I'm thinking your apology needs to be as loud as all that shit you've been talking."

"Yes daddy. Remind me what all these big strong muscles are really for. Also, please send help!"

With a single act you reclaim the home you’ve built, your gasps and combined laughter echoing along the walls as he carried you upstairs.

[allhandsondeck1]

i have a idea for a chapter you don’t have to write it or anything! But my idea is the group have a day training with Hunter and bc hunters a child soldier he’s obviously rlly good yk it’s just a fun silly idea bc technically In my eyes he would win but you absolutely don’t have to write anything aboit it!

Okay! So 1. i actually like this idea a lot! I also agree that Hunter is pretty flexible because of his training. I think that not only having to be built, strong, a little muscular, but the golden guard (and scouts) will have to be extremely agile and flexible too!

2. thats actually really cute and silly and if i do get two chapter out this weekend (i have rosegold based chapter planned alreafdy) this will definitely be it! if not, it'll be next weekedns chapter!

and 3. ... i LOVE asks like this. or comments, or dms. i just get so giddy giddy happy and laugh and kick my legs like a little anime school girl whenever someone expresses their love for any of my fics like PKSDNLHSKJ PLEASE KEEP SENDING YOUR TEXT SCREAMING AND KEYBOARD SMASHING AND IDEAS I GO FERAL FOR IT

[icouldbeflying]

-ˋˏ 𝐢 𝐨𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐩𝐨𝐢𝐬𝐨𝐧 𝐢𝐯𝐲 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐈'𝐦 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐝𝐚𝐢𝐬𝐲 ˎˊ-

𑁍 rose | 25 | asexual | she/her

𑁍 selfshipper ↳ our ship tag is 💐: rosegold

𑁍 18+ only please !!

𑁍 sideblog

welcome to my blog !! I've been a selfshipper for sixteen years, been on tumblr for seven. i have multiple romantic f/os, but this is my sideblog specifically for hazbin hotel / adam stuff.

i'm a writer and will post headcanons, imagines and fics for adam x reader.

will also occasionally post moodboards and stimboards for adam and potentially other hazbin characters.

𑁍 I work two jobs, so I probably won't be extremely active or respond to dms, asks or mentions too often, so please be patient!

𑁍 I am NOT currently taking requests, sorry.

recently written pieces

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