#Small Antique Rug

[chloesomeone]

Miami Enclosed Living Room

[sultrydxrling]

(DRAGON HYBRID X READER

ORC COUPLE X READER

ONLY HUMAN/ MONSTER WORLD/ STRAY HUMAN/NEIGHBORHOOD SLUT/MULTIPLE MONSTER/ KNOTTING/STALKER)

Monday.

Monday was spaghetti night at the Fairfield household. You approached the door and rapped softly against the wood, and a dog barked behind it. This made you smile as your mind wandered into the void.

You thought about the past week and all the dinners you would be attending, grateful for the warm welcome from everyone you met. Recently, you moved into a lovely suburban neighborhood, and many of your neighbors, including the Fairfields, have offered to help you settle in and get involved with the community.

Mrs Fairfield opened the door, her emerald skin glowing radiently with her tusked smile,

"Hello! (Y/n), right?"

You smiled because she remembered your name and nodded,

"Yes, ma'am."

You beamed as her husband walked up behind her and rested his arm around her waist, a hand on her hip, "We're glad you could make it!"

He was only half a foot taller than his wife, his black hair pulled back into a small half-ponytail hairstyle. He has a beard that stayed along the edges of his chin, refusing to grow anywhere else, but it looked wonderful along his jawline. The larger orc gently pulled his wife a few steps back as they gestured for you to come in.

"Come on in, the dining room is this way,"

Mrs. Fairfield said, leading the way through their home. As you walked with her, you took in your surroundings. The living room felt warm and inviting, with flower-patterned couches in front of the fireplace and a simple grey rug underneath them.

Candles were scattered throughout the room, accompanied by charming little antiques on the mantel. The kitchen featured a Southern rooster theme that brightened your mood and created a comforting atmosphere.

Mr. Fairfield sat at one end of a large table, which was proportionate for the happy couple despite their stature.

You found your place at a seat in the middle of the long side of the table that you almost had to climb into because of its height. Mrs. Fairfield snickered as she watched you and slipped on her oven mitts. She carefully pulled dinner out of the oven.

"Thank you for inviting me over, Mrs.-",

You watched as she leaned over, getting a slight glimpse of her pantyhose, almost up to her panties themselves underneath her dress as she leaned over. This made your face flush a deep red, almost as red as her thick hair that curled beautifully. A few of her curls escaped from her lovely-looking bun.

“Oh please, call me Jen!”

She beamed as she set the dish on the table. Upon further inspection, there was a crispy-looking substance on top, and you were pleased to smell parmesan cheese.

"This is my famous baked spaghetti! I topped it with parmesan and homemade croutons!",

Her excitement made you smile, and you patiently waited to be served or to serve yourself - whichever came first. She handed you a pair of tongs, and you twisted the tongs around in the spaghetti, carefully maneuvering some of them onto your plate.

"Do you have any extra of those croutons?",

You looked up at her curiously.

"Oh? Of the homemade, unfortunately not. But I do always keep a bag!"

She walked over to a door that opened into her pantry and snagged a brightly colored bag of 'Texas croutons' off of one of the white shelves.

She placed the bag next to you to allow you to help yourself, and you did. As you ate, the whole table traded stories about where they grew up, things they enjoyed as kids, and how you could be the only human.

You explained that you were just found on the side of the street, blood was around, so maybe your parents had been hurt, but you weren't sure. You were taken in by a lovely dragon couple and raised alongside the rest of the monster society.

You were bullied by some kids and adored by others; it was a normal childhood. Mr Fairfield or Mark, as he'd introduced himself to you soon after Jen did, talked about his childhood and past with abuse from his family, but good friends.

Jen stood and poured herself and her husband a glass of wine,

"Would you like some, darling?"

It was almost impossible to tell her no as her eyes fell on mine.

"Yes please..",

You smiled.

She filled your glass, and over the next couple of hours, the talking continued, as did your drinking.

You all moved to the living room and found yourself leaning all over the couple, and you apologized profusely when you noticed how bad you'd gotten about keeping yourself up.

They brushed away your apologies and welcomed your comfort. You felt a heat growing between your legs, Jen was so pretty in this blurry lighting, her dress cupped her breasts just right, and it drove you crazy.

"Eccuse me Mrs.. Jen."

You slurred softly.

"Your- uhm. Your chest is very nice.."

A hot blush coated your face, and you hid your face in Mark's lap. He groaned softly because you'd nuzzled right up against his arousal.

You sat up and curled into yourself. Jen snickered and unbuttoned the front of her dress, her lacey bra peeking out from beneath the fabric, black lace accentuating the beautiful emerald of her skin. You worked your way into her lap and kissed them sweetly.

"There you go, sweetheart."

She stroked your head with her large hand and moved both of her hands to your nice shirt, ripping it slowly down the middle trying to unbutton it, but you didn't mind very much, she was so gentle and strong.

Her husband unzipped his jeans, freeing himself from the prison that had held his throbbing length. His face flushed a darker green, and he apologized for his size, yough me must've been at least 9 inches.

You crawled over to him and took it eagerly into your hands. Seeing how small they were around him, he throbbed in your hands. You licked at his tip softly, arching your back on your hands and knees.

Jen tried to gently work you out of your jeans, tearing them in a few places but managing to work them off. She gently rubbed a large finger between your legs at your genitals, a soft moan escaping your lips as the heat of her finger made contact with you.

You took the bright pink tip into your mouth as much as you could fit, happily sucking. You rubbed with both hands and moved your hips against Jen's finger excitedly.

You slipped out of your underwear carefully climbed onto Mark's lap, and lowered yourself onto his now well-lubricated tip.

He said it was 'Small,' but it took all your strength to fit it inside your tight hole, stretching you around its girth.

Jen undressed fully, smiling at you as she leaned back against the opposite end of the couch. She watched the two of you and began to rub herself, she was so wet that you could hear it from where you sat.

Mark held tightly onto your hips and began to lose control of himself, almost using you like a handheld toy. Your mind swam with dirtier and dirtier thoughts as they used you to please themselves.

You imagined becoming their prized pet and them inviting you over more regularly, turning you into the perfect toy for them.

The Orc beneath you grew inside of you as he came close to finishing, his cock pulsing and throbbing as his tip rammed into your cervix.

"God, Yes! Please ruin me!",

You cried out and they did just that, they spent hours passing you between the two of them. They always took care of you and made sure you came, and after, you got to see their beautiful shower.

The stone wall made the whole shower almost look like a waterfall or a rainforest. Jen put her hair up and helped you clean yourself in the shower.

Once you were clean, she washed your clothes and helped you into them, and soon after drove you home.

They bid you good night and sent you off with plenty of kisses, leaving you breathless. They watched you unlock and enter your door, protecting you, their sweet toy.

You fumbled your way to bed and stripped naked, feeling your soft silk sheets against your skin. The wind blew into your room, causing your sheer curtains to flow lightly in the moonlight. You smiled at the lovely breeze that greeted your skin on the warm summer evening and snuggled into your pillow.

Your relaxing was interrupted by a sound outside of your window, like movement in the mulch of your bushes. You, however, opened your eyes to see nothing had changed and laid back down, soon after drifting off to sleep.

Tuesday.

You awoke to your alarm and you saw something in your window, but it was gone when you blinked.

You rubbed the sleep out of your eyes pushed yourself out of bed, and walked over to your calendar to see which it would be for dinner.

The abriviation you'd written down was, Ero-Drag, which was Eragon, the Dragon.

He was a large, but polite creature. His scales showed a dark red, deep auburn reflected by the sun. The spikes around his ruff and along his back and tail were an even deeper red color, almost black.

When you'd met him, he'd very carefully taken one of your hands into his claws and brought it to his maw. As Eragon carefully kissed your hand, his hot breath and a little smoke brushed against your skin.

He decorated his claws with a few gold rings, and he wore a nice pair of black slacks and a black dress shirt with a purple vest. The royal purple was accentuated by the small, shining designs along the fabric.

He was very kind and charming and had brought smoked ham to the potluck.

You didn't eat very much, but you'd grabbed a small bite of everything and complimented his cooking.

He thanked you with a soft rumble in his throat and asked if you were free at some point during the week, and told him Tuesday was good.

He said he wanted to take you shopping first, which was sweet. You figured it was a part of his dragon tendencies to enjoy nice things, so it didn't seem too out of place.

He'd given you his number, so you gave it a ring.

He picked up instantly, his gruff voice slipping through the speaker.

"Hello? Who's this?"

You told him your name and asked if there would be a dress code for the shopping trip, to which he replied to be casual nice, to mean a dress or a button-up shirt, etc.

You smiled and decided to throw on a simple outfit, but it was nice like he'd requested.

(Outfit is optional based on reader preference)

He sent you a text and you opened your phone.

"Hey, I'll be coming to pick you up in thirty minutes. Is that enough time for you to get ready? Im taking you to breakfast. You should eat to start our day even if it's something small."

You gathered your things and sat on your couch.

"Im ready now, but take your time. I wouldn't mind breakfast :)."

"Alright, then i suppose I'll be on my way then. See you soon."

You smiled at this and sent him your address and decided to sit on your front porch swing.

After about ten minutes, Eragon pulled up to the sidewalk in a black, low-riding car. He slipped out of the driver seat and the car raised slightly from the lack of his weight.

He was just as charming as the day you saw him, but today, he wore a tight, charcoal grey turtle neck with a long black trenchcoat draped over his shoulders. Shining gold buttons laced the edges, and the cuffs folded over with gold cufflinks to hold them together.

His black dress pants gently squeezed his thighs in a way that made you almost instantly aroused.

Eragon opened the passenger door and smiled at you, his fangs showing slightly.

"You look good, here get in. I'll get the door for you."

"Thank you"

You slipped into the passenger seat and reveled in his red leather interior. Some of the paneling was black faux wood with small gold ribbons flowing through it.

He took you to a nice breakfast place, "Sandy's dine in". The waitress seated the two of you in a booth,, then left you with your menus. you picked out a meal with two pancakes, bacon, and eggs.

Eragon looked up at you, his elbows braced on the table, and his hands casped together under his chin.

"What exactly brought you to this area?"

"Just trying to start over. Humans also aren't very kind. Where I used to live, it was a very predominantly human populated area. There were different creatures few and far between. However, I've found myself more comfortable around hybrids or just non humans in general."

He smiled at you and nodded in 'fair' agreement.

"I understand the sentimant. It's nice to be around new things. That's why you've inspired me to try something new!"

He laughed softly and announced to me in his gruff voice.

"I'm going to try the Cali club."

You raised an eyebrow, wondering if this was supposed to be new, but then you remembered different creatures like having different diets as well.

"What do you usually eat?"

"Mostly just meat. Not that I can't have anything with vegetables in it, I just usually don't feel like it if I don't have to."

"Well, I'm glad you get to try something new. Even if it's not very new to me."

He smiled proudly, and once the waitress came by, you both put in your orders. She came back with them and your decided drinks.

The dragon gently stared at his sandwich and poked at the tomatoes with one of his claws. This made you smile and slipped the tomatoes off.

"You'll like it better without these. Less wet."

You laughed, and he tried the sandwich hesitantly, a soft crunch beneath his teeth as he bit into it.

"Wow."

He said with a mouth full.

"This is super new.. but it's nice and kind of fresh. I prefer more meat, but it's nice."

"We'll do a burger place next time."

You giggled and cut into your food after spilling syrup over your pancakes.

"Next time?"

His eyes lit up, and you looked up to meet the gleaming yellow.

"Of course. I'd love to go out again."

You both finished up your meals, and he politely helped you into the car, opening the door again.

The day was spent walking around nicer clothing stores and him doting on you. Eragon told you to let him know if you wanted something—anything. Moving from store to store, you would look at something you might like, then cringe at the price tag if it was anything over fifty dollars. As the dragon noticed this, he slowly began grabbing the things you would look at, if they were clothes, he would politely order you to try them on.

You and he would look at the different clothes and both of you would give your opinions on how they fit and looked. And if it wasn't clothes it was cute things like stuffed animals or blankets, maybe even cute little trinkets.

The dragon playfully scolded you for checking the price tags and would swat your hand away if you tried to turn even one.

"Do you like it?"

He asked, looking down at you with a smile.

"Yes.."

You answered, though relatively hesitantly.

When he was ready to drive you back to his home, you had several bags full of wonderful clothes and perfumes. He finally turned down a gravel road, the stones looked like obsidian and the occasional geodes.

Once he pulled into a circular driveway and stopped the car, he gestured for you to stay inside. You examined the house through your window. It was relatively large and appeared to have both an attic and a basement. The exterior walls were made of dark stone, resembling a marbled black color. The home looked both cozy and elegant, with the door displaying a rich dark oak hue, accented by hints of red in the sunlight.

"I'll get the door for you, dear."

Eragon stepped out of the car, opened your passenger door, and stepped back, offering his paw.

You slipped your hand into his grasp, lightly reveling in the strength in them. Your mind wandered to other, more inappropriate places. The way his claws might lightly dig into your sensitive flesh.

"Are you alright?"

"Oh yeah, I was just thinking."

"What about?"

He smirked, his canine teeth showing.

"Nothing, just off in space, I guess."

He smiled slightly as he led you to his front door, then opened it for you to let you walk in. The interior was nice and very warm. There was a fire burning, and there looked to be herbs that were tossed in the fire as well.

Due to this, the living room smelled like sage, and you smelled something else, then turned to see a large sage incense stick, held upright on a small altar.

To the left of the front door was a small mudroom with a rack full of Eragon's other pairs of shoes.

"Do I take off my shoes?"

You gestured at the room.

"Yes, please."

As he followed behind you, he gently held your hip, only to move you to the side carefully.

He removed his shoes and you followed suit, placing your shoes gently on the ground in front of the rack. You noticed how big his shoes were compared to yours, and curiously leaned foward to look at one of his shoe souls.

'Size 16' read in a small circle. Your mouth hung slightly agape in shock.

"Alright, the dining room is this way. I think i can smell dinner cooking so it should be ready soon."

You nodded, and he led you through a hallway on the opposite wall of the mudroom, taking a right turn a foot past the fireplace.

The hallway was short, walking into a larger dining room, and like the Orc family's house, the table was bigger than what was meant for you.

"I found a chair that would help you accommodate for the small height difference."

He gestured to a chair to the left of the end of the table. You assumed the one at the end was his, and your eyes fell onto your chair.

The decor matched the other chairs, featuring dark wood and red cushioning. The designs on the seats mirrored his vest, showcasing intricate swirls in the fabric.

The only difference was a small step on the left-hand side of the chair that protruded only a few inches out.

You smiled and thanked him quietly for the accommodation. He gently held onto the right side of the chair, trying to provide balance as you climbed into the large seat.

Once you sat down and were settled, he leaned forward close to your face, and a toothy smile greeted you.

"I'll be back soon. If dinner is served before I return, feel free to eat. I'm going to freshen up, and if you need it, the bathroom is just there, down that halway."

He pointed to a hallway along the left wall.

The dragon walked back through the living room and up the stairs to what you assumed was his room.

Food was served, and a plate was set in front of you by an older woman wearing a nice, black button-up shirt with an apron draped over it.

It was a larger plate, a decent amount of sliced, grilled fajita meat was lain on the left side, and mashed potatoes sat near the top of the plate.

The last thing on the plate was green beans, clearly fresh. You could see the seasonings mixed into everything and the heavenly smell filled your sinuses.

You couldn't help but steal a few bites while you waited for the other to return, and within the following five minutes, he had.

"I hope it's alright. I'm not sure how to mix meals very well. All I eat is the meat usually, as i explained earlier at breakfast. I know we just ate. But i stay hungry. You can choose to eat or not. it's up to you."

He laughed softly and took his seat, his plate unsurprisingly just covered with thicker slices of the fajita meat. Some of them looked undercooked, but that was likely how he enjoyed it.

"No, I dont mind at all."

You stated politely. The diner moved along and as he ran through his plate within a few forkfuls, you began to discuss our interests.

Eragon talked about his welding company, though he didn't look to be the labor-working type.

"Do you work there too or just work on paperwork and finances?"

"Oh no, I work too. Helps me keep up my build and feel energized."

You thought about his strength and decided this made sense. Your mind once more wandered to more sinister things, for instance, his hand slipping under the table.

You were snapped out of your daze when he asked you a question.

"Would you like a glass?"

"Hm? Of what?"

"Whisky.."

He smiled and raised his glass curiously as if he'd been talking about it for a couple of minutes. But your mind was far too busy.

"Yes, please."

He nodded and poured you some from a gorgeous bottle, the neck very long and the basin very only round.

"I was wondering if you'd take.. some pictures for me. I'm testing out a new art form, and we'll, you look like the perfect inspiration. If you don't mind me saying so, of course."

"Oh well.. I wouldn't mind helping you with art."

The question sounded very odd, but considering you were imagining him doing things to you anyway, it was very welcomed.

"Good. Thank you. After we finish our whisky, we'll get started."

The two of you talked and both sipped your whisky slowly. You were slightly buzzed once your glass was empty and he stood, offering you his hand.

"Come, my dear. I'll lead you to my room. There's a room just off of it spasifically for my photography."

You nodded, and once you entered his room, there was a huge, California king-sized bed against the right wall, facing out into the room.

It was a black wooden canopy bed and a thick, black, velvet curtain surrounded the frame, draping itself onto the floor.

There were other various furniture pieces that matched the bed and its bedding color, which was a royal red with golden embroidery. Seemed to fit the theme.

Eragon took you into an offset room through a door to the left, and it was mostly empty apart from a stool, a set of photographer-esque lights, and a black backdrop.

There was a small table with a black velvet wrap of rope resting on top of it.

In the far corner was a metal pot of something glowing brightly. It looked like lava, reflecting its goldfish hue onto the black walls.

"The art I practice is the art of Shibari-. It's an ancient Japanese art of rope bondage that stemmed from martial arts. I will wrap the rope around your body into many knots and designs that complement your natural curves."

You smiled as you looked around and decided this seemed fun.

"Well.. is there anything I have to wear? Like a special outfit or...?"

"If you choose, you may wear nothing at all, but I'm sure I have something lying around if you prefer not to."

You excitedly took this offer and looked toward his bedroom.

"Do you want me to undress in there or here?"

You gestured to his room, just to make sure he saw.

"Whatever makes you more comfortable."

God, you wanted to tear into him. His politeness was so attractive. You chose to, hopefully, tease him a little by undressing in the other room. You'd hoped he wanted you just as much as you needed to feel him.

You slipped into Eragon's bedroom and undressed yourself, excitedly folding the clothing and setting it on his bed.

Once you were naked, you peeked around the door frame into the other room, blushing slightly.

"Haha, awe. Don't be bashful, I've seen many beautiful bodies. And if I may say so, I've been excited to see you since you went into my room to change."

You stepped into the room, covering yourself a little before trying to relax and taking a deep breath.

"Wow, you -"

He paused as he studied your body and braced his elbows on his knees, paws almost clasped together in prayer.

"You're astounding…"

Your face turned a deeper red, and you walked over to him slowly."

"So what do i do?"

"Just stand in those lights, I'm going to wrap the rope around you. Just tell me if it gets uncomfortable, alright?"

"Mhm."

You answered softly and stood with your legs slightly spread and your arms relaxed at your side.

He spent hours, delicately tying knots and wrapping you in the rope.

There were knots few and far between in random spots over your body, all managing to cross comfortably over your skin to hold you carefully.

The knots and rope lines created many different shapes around your body, a small circle created over your stomach and around the separate sides of your chest.

Eragon attached a hooked rope to a pulley and used it to pull you into the air, and he wrapped and tied the rope to a metal attachment on the wall.

You hung above the ground, watching him connect the rope strands to hooks on the ceiling, then tying more and more knots.

Once the shape came together, the red ropes looked like wings, erupting from your back and holding you in the air.

"Alright.."

He climbed down from his small steps tool after finishing the last knot, then stepped back, Inspecting his work and your body, which he greatly admired.

The dragon walked to the corner of the room where the melting pot rested and scooped a small handful out of the most definitely over-boiling temperature liquid.

He didn't even wince as he walked over to you and dipped one of his claws in the glowing liquid.

"I warn you this might hurt, but it's a part of the heart."

He used his claws to trace the burning hot, liquid gold across your skin.

It was a simple, small circle just under your left collarbone, but the pain seared deeply into your flesh. You screamed and tears welled in your eyes.

Once he was finished, he cooed softly.

"Sh..shh.. it's alright. It's almost finished. Just a little bit more."

He gently licked over the circle, his saliva giving a numbing on the new, golden wound.

He began dripping the melting gold over the road, and of course, small droplets dripped down the rope and onto your skin.

The little spots were beating with pain, but your arousal grew. Heat spread from your wounds and worked its way between your legs.

Every time a drip connected, he softly separated it slightly from the rope so the rope wouldn't stick to you when he took it off.

The gold that was now dripping off of you would not. Eragon poured the gold back into the pot like water gently peeled the other bits off his paw and claw, like dried glue, and walked back over to you.

He gently wiped the tears from your face. His scales and paw padding were almost uncomfortably warm as he did.

You leaned into the touch and watched as he grabbed his camera and adjusted the lights with his free hand.

"Beautiful.. look down to your right for me.. make a face that shows absence.. as if you've just lost something greatly important to you."

You followed his instructions, and for about thirty minutes, he began taking you down from your bindings. The gold, by this time, had healed and reflected off your skin in the bright camera lights.

Eragon took you into his arms and slipped a hand to your hip, holding you closely to himself.

"I'd like to be more intimate with you. Honestly, you're one of the most attractive creatures I've ever seen.. and I'd like to taste you."

He looked into your eyes and tilted his head toward you as if offering to let you move in for a kiss, to which you happily obliged.

The two of you kissed softly, then gradually more passionately until he picked you up bridal style and carried you into his room.

Eragon carefully laid you down and began to undress, carefully unbuttoning his shirt and then his pants.

The dragon was hard in his boxers, his length resting along his upper thigh. You crawled over to him on the bed and moved his hands away, happy to help him free himself.

You slipped his underwear down his thighs and his cock hung, tilted towards you. From base to tip, his cock was a gradient of red, then darkened at his tip, which accentuated the small amount of precum that leaked out of his length with anticipation.

You carefully took his cock into your hands and smiled as you leaned down to kiss it, up and down. Eragon groaned softly, resting his giant paw along the back of your head, and with his free hand, steadied himself with the arm of the bed frame.

You pulled away and rested your tongue against the sharp-looking tip of his length. He gasped softly at the sensation and his cock flexed, picking the head up off your tongue slightly then back down with a soft -plap-.

You giggled and took the tip into your mouth and began to suck, moving your head back and forth just enough to suck the whole head into your mouth.

"God, your mouth feels so good…"

The dragon lightly dug his claws into your scalp and began to thrust into your mouth gently. You braced yourself up by placing your hands on his hips.

You pushed your head forward, allowing more of him into your mouth, the arousal between your legs growing, and causing you to squirm slightly as you tried to please Eragon.

He watched you and gently laid you back into the mattress, then slipped his arms under your legs to place them on his shoulders.

Eragon smiled up at you, and his eyes glowed a bright yellow as he pressed his long, split tongue to your entrance. He teased you by using his split tongue around it.

This drove you crazy and caused your hips to jive and squirm desperately.

"Yeah? you're cute.."

He grabbed your thighs, his claws digging into them as he pulled you closer; shoving his tongue deeply into you. Eragon groaned softly, twisting his tongue around to reach the depths of you.

Your legs shook softly, and you tried to wrap them tightly around his head to pull him closer. you looked up and smiled as you remembered his horns, then pulled him by the horns. This forced his tongue deeper into you, causing you to cry out softly.

The dragon gently spread your hole, sat up on his knees, and pushed his tip against it. You pushed your hips down against him. you'd been thinking about it all day, and your hole grabbed him hungrily.

Eragon held onto you and pushed himself slowly halfway in, both of you letting out lewd moans as you felt each other.

"I- I need to go faster -"

He groaned, and he began to quicken the pumps of his hips.

"I'm sorry..."

He panted.

"I can't help it…"

You pushed your face into one of his pillows, trying to hide the pleasure that brought you. He 'couldn't help it'. It drove you crazy to hear.

"It's okay.. you can go faster -"

You muttered this breathily and arched your back for him. You tried to move your hips with his, leaking with pleasure as cum gently dripped down your thighs, and his cock was throbbing against your guts.

You could feel yourself approaching orgasm as you push your hips back into Eragon for encouragement.

His claws dug deeper into your hips as he began ramming himself into you, loud pronouns and moans spilled out of you.

"Fuck yes! Just like that! You feel so good!"

"So do you.."

The dragon muttered as he leaned forward, resting his weight along your back before he grabbed your thighs and plunged his knot deeply into your hole.

Hot cum spilled into your guts, which caused your legs to shake as your orgasm flashed through your whole body. You once again forced your face into the pillow to avoid the lewd noises from erupting from you too loudly.

He milked himself gently, tugging his knot lightly against your hole.

"F-fuck you're so tight."

Eragon chuckled softly and held you still while he yanked himself out of you. Cum spilled down your thighs and he placed his paw over your hole, then tossed you over his shoulder.

The dragon carried you to his bathroom and gently laid you in his large, black, marbled bathtub. It was tremendous in size and comfortable, and his gentility made you smile.

He carefully filled a cup with warm water and asked you to spread your legs, and you did. He rinsed you off and helped you get clean, then ran you a proper bath.

"There we go. You relax and I'm going to take a shower. you can spend the night, or i could drive you home."

"I'd like to stay the night if you dont mind."

Eragon nodded and kissed your head as he walked behind the bath where the shower was. The shower doors and sides were fully see-through glass, which made him very happy. He enjoyed watching you relax.

Once you were both clean and dry, the dragon tossed you a ginormous oversized shirt and a pair of his sweatpants, thankfully with a string and elastic to help hold them up.

Eragon stayed shirtless and slipped on a pair of boxers, walked up to you, and slipped his hands around your waist.

"You're so warm."

You heard a soft churring sound emit from his chest under your head. It sounded like purring but slightly different.

The dragon playfully tossed you over his shoulder, then threw you down onto the bed wrestling style.

"Rahh!"

You giggled and wrapped your arms around him tightly as he kissed all over your face and neck.

"Let's get some rest… I'll drive you home in the morning."

You nodded and slipped under the covers and draped your leg over his midriff, enjoying his cold scales against your warm skin. He continued his rhythmic churring, held you closely, and was soon snoring softly, huffing smoke from his nostrils.

You could've sworn there was a bright flash from the window, and you sat up in bed; trying to focus your eyes on the darkness past the glass. You tried to shake Eragon awake, but he was sleeping too deeply to even act disturbed. You rolled your eyes, slipped out of bed, and walked over to the window slowly.

Your heart sank to your stomach as you tried to look around, pressing your face to the glass.

To be continued...

_________________

There's a male orc character inspo beneath V however- none of the other things save for some reason? no clue fr.

The other is by Gruvu on Tumblr for someone's Oc.

If you enjoy! Feel free to ask for different monsters to see! <3

[aventurineswife]

The dad Aventurine fic genuinely made me want to cry but now i can't stop thinking of something

Imagine Aventurine having an extremely chaotic kid, like one of those kids where u take your eyes off of them 00.1 seconds and they 10 broken bones, have broken at least 15 vases and is currently on a sugar rush from eating too much candy.

It can be either a boy or a girl! Im very in love with your writing and i'd love to see your own thoughts on this Idea. Overall just Aventurine having to deal with his little demon spawn

The Greatest Award

Summary: Aventurine’s life is a high-stakes game, but nothing could prepare him for the chaos of parenting his five-year-old child. In a single afternoon, his once-luxurious office is reduced to shambles, courtesy of a sugar-fueled miniature whirlwind. As Aventurine tries to reign in the chaos with his usual charm and strategy, he learns that even the sharpest gambler can’t outwit the boundless energy and imagination of their own child.

Tags: Dad!Aventurine and his demon spawn child, Parent-Child Bonding, Domestic Chaos, Fluff and Humor, Mischievous Child, Found Family Themes.

Warnings: Mildly Destructive Child Antics, Implied Past Trauma(?), Excessive Use of Candy and Paint.

A/N: I lost my previous fic i wrote about this req, seems like it didn't save... 😭😔💔. So, have this while I cry with my broken back 😪

The room, once an opulent display of Aventurine’s impeccable taste, now resembled the aftermath of a casino heist gone wrong. The velvet curtains had been pulled down, puddling on the floor like fallen royalty. His priceless roulette-themed rug? Drenched in some unidentifiable sticky substance that smelled faintly of caramel.

And in the center of it all stood the culprit—Aventurine’s five-year-old child, grinning like a miniature devil. Their hair, much like their father’s, was streaked with suspiciously bright blue paint. In their hand, they wielded what appeared to be the broken leg of an antique chair as if it were a sword, declaring, “I’m the Ruler of the Candy Castle!”

“Darling,” Aventurine’s voice was sharp but calm, his smile firmly in place despite the chaos around him. “Care to explain why my baccarat table is missing a leg?”

The child tilted their head, pretending to think. “A monster ate it.”

“A monster?” Aventurine pinched the bridge of his nose, feeling a rare migraine brewing. “Was it the same monster who broke three vases, emptied my desk drawer of poker chips, and decided my coat rack was a jungle gym?”

They nodded enthusiastically. “Yeah, and then it told me candy makes monsters go away!”

Before he could respond, they took off like a rocket, their tiny feet thundering across the marble floor.

“Darling—” Aventurine began, but they were already scaling a bookshelf like some kind of sugar-fueled mountain goat.

For a moment, he simply stared, calculating the odds of them not breaking a limb versus the likelihood of toppling the entire structure. Slim to none. He reached out just in time to catch them mid-leap, their laughter ringing in his ears as he set them firmly back on the ground.

“Listen, kitten,” he said, crouching down to meet their wild eyes. “You’re giving Daddy a run for his money, and I don’t lose. But if you keep this up, I might have to start betting on when you’ll turn the entire estate into rubble.”

They gasped dramatically. “You’d bet on me?”

“Absolutely.” He tapped their nose. “But I’d also bet that if you sat down for five minutes—five minutes, mind you—I’d let you pick out the next ridiculous hat I wear to work.”

Their eyes sparkled with devious glee. “Even the one with the feathers?”

Aventurine suppressed a groan. He had gambled with empires, conned royalty, and survived assassination attempts, yet this small, chaotic creature could bring him to his knees with a single demand. “Even the one with the feathers.”

They pretended to consider his offer before darting off again, leaving Aventurine in their wake. A crash echoed from the next room, followed by an enthusiastic, “Oops!”

He stood, smoothing his blazer as he surveyed the wreckage of his once-pristine office. This was just another high-stakes game, he reminded himself. The rules were unconventional, the opponent unpredictable, but Aventurine always played to win.

“Alright, darling,” he called, striding after them. “You’ve forced my hand. It’s time to introduce you to the most dangerous weapon in Daddy’s arsenal.”

They peeked out from behind an overturned chair, curious. “What is it?”

He smirked, pulling out a deck of cards. “A little thing called discipline.”

Their giggle echoed through the halls, and Aventurine couldn’t help but laugh too. Because despite the chaos, the broken vases, and the candy-fueled mayhem, he wouldn’t trade his little demon spawn for all the chips in the universe.

[redflagshipwriter]

Nest Swap ch 1

Little Tim wakes up in big Tim's apartment.

The idea came from this chain started by @ew-selfish-art and the contribution by @faeriekit

(repost of something that's currently just in a reblog chain)

His first observation was that this wasn't his house.

Tim was new to detecting, but he thought that was a pretty dang salient observation.

He didn't actually remember going to sleep. It didn't feel like he woke up here, either. He just suddenly noticed he was sitting somewhere he'd never been in his whole 9 years of life.

Very weird! Pretty neat, though.

Tim prowled around in his socked feet in total silence, investigating by the little light that came in through mostly shut curtains. He wasn't in his own clothes, which was kind of scary. He had to keep hiking up his sweatpants to keep them on, and he rolled down his socks three times to tighten them up. At least the floors didn't creak at all, even when he stepped on the dark wood panels in between dark red rugs. It made him feel more secure to move around quietly.

He was in an apartment that seemed relatively expensive but new, no antiques or family heirlooms. It was an open plan, with floating stairs and a white sofa. It was also sterile, as if no one really lived in it. It was clean in the same un-lived in way his house was. Someone professionally cleaned this apartment. 

Tim was really, really careful not to make any mess. 

Theory one: he had been kidnapped. It seemed pretty sound. He went to bed at home, and he woke up sitting on a strange sofa. Danger alarms were going off.

He looked around for a house phone to call for help. There was none. Troubling. 

On the other hand, Tim opened the apartment door to the hallway and stuck his head out. He could see sunlight coming in through the huge lobby windows.

…Okay. He was going to consider that a viable escape route. He glanced at the side of the door where there was a pair of shoes. They were big but he could probably use them in a pinch.

So. He could just walk out at any time. He frowned. That wasn't very good kidnapping practice. He would plan a much better restraint system. Like, a rope would be a good place to start, or maybe breaking the little bones in his feet? 

“This is so disappointing,” Tim muttered to himself. “I'm not even being ransomed?” 

Just… Some effort would be nice.

Hmm. He didn't want to believe anyone that incompetent had managed to transport him into Gotham proper from Bristol while he slept. So. Tim formally recategorized his kidnapping theory to a  suspected no. 

It was undeniable that he'd been moved in his sleep, which was pretty classic. But the counter evidence? The new location looked pretty easy to escape, if he was willing to get his socks dirty outside. 

Conclusion: This probably wasn't a conventional kidnapping. What else was there?

Theory two: he hit his head or fell asleep while he was out birdwatching, and some good person took them into their house to keep him safe.

That neatly explained why he was in the actual city. Tim ran his fingers through his hair looking for a bump. He wasn't sure if he found one or not. Maybe his head was just kind of oddly shaped. Troubling. Maybe he should go to the doctor about that. 

It would have been helpful information either way if there had been another human being around to talk to. 

There were signs that someone lived here. Tim poked around in the closet and in the fridge, building a mental profile for the resident.

One person lived here, and they were clearly kind of a loser because they had no photos of friends or family up. The jacket hanging by the door told Tim they were either an average sized woman or a small man. They couldn't cook at all, which was excellent because that meant there was a really great variety of ready to eat food. Tim snacked on string cheese and a can of soda while he flipped through the books on the shelves.  He pulled a couple off to check for secret compartments. Nope. Just books.

“Boring,” Tim said to himself. 

They were all books about things like business and management. It was the type of self-aggrandizing garbage that his parents made fun of: memoirs that you knew damn well that person hadn't written, manifestos on the virtues of hard work from someone born into the financial elite, and how-to's directed at an audience who had no personal shame.

Momentarily, he entertained the fantasy that he had been kidnapped by someone who was going to mold him into the ideal Drake Industries CEO, someone who wouldn't jet off across the world to follow a passion. The suspects were the entire board of directors. 

Kidnapped theory redux: the Board of Directors did it. Evidence?

Tim sat down and made a chart for his thoughts, quantifying how much each person had been inconvenienced by his parents’ absence in the last fiscal year. He concluded that Mr. Morrison might hate his parents enough to do it, but the projected timeline was beyond his scope. Tim didn't think he had it in him to plan that far out.

So, the apartment owner was just a boring person. Tim made a note. Theory two was looking pretty good. The person who lived here kind of sucked at life but they were probably really nice.

Something started beeping. That was interesting. He followed it to the bedroom that he hadn't been brave enough to poke around yet. There was a weird tablet on the bedside table. He picked it up and it unlocked automatically. Wow, the security was so bad. He felt embarrassed on behalf of the absent apartment owner.

The screen showed an email from someone called Tamara Fox. 

“Tim, can you get me the numbers from the acquisition in Peru?”

He blinked at it. Was the person who lived here also named Tim? Surely she wasn't actually asking him. He looked around uncertainly. 

There was still no one else. The blinking display on the alarm clock told him that it was half past noon, and no one else was in the apartment. 

…. poor Tamara probably really needed that information, if she was asking for it in the middle of the workday. Tim sat down on the bed and started putting together context clothes to figure out what Miss Fox was talking about. Her email signature had her title at Wayne industries listed, so that was a pretty big clue. He had access to a team calendar that showed meetings and ongoing projects, which he used to narrow it down. 

When he figured it out, he sent her back an email and sat back in satisfaction. A moment later, he realized that the email account had an attached auto signature. It claimed to be Tim Drake-Wayne, CEO of Wayne Enterprises. 

What.

He stopped breathing and momentarily considered that he had traveled to the future and this was really his apartment, but the name was impossible. There was no way he was going to marry either one of the Waynes. Bruce and Dick were kind of old. Tim wrinkled his nose at the thought. Gross. 

So, no. He wasn't Tim Drake-Wayne. “...It must be an inside joke,” Tim decided. “It seems really unprofessional.”

Tim was a little disappointed that he wasn't the boss of everyone, but at least he wasn't in a troubling marriage with a huge age difference. He had another cheese stick about it and the feeling went away.  Ah, good. Maybe that was how Mom dealt with Drake Industries: she distracted herself until she didn't feel bad about putting it on the back burner. It was a good tactic. He'd need more cheese sticks. He made a mental note to figure out how to replace these ones.

He found a loose blanket on a side chair and tied it around his shoulders, because the apartment was pretty chilly.

The email dinged again. Tim dragged his blanket cape back into the bedroom and stared at the tablet, lost in thought.

He didn't mean to be annoying. He really didn't. He knew people hated it when you got in their stuff. But the thing was: this guy got a lot of emails. And he wasn't here to answer them, which was pretty rude of him, honestly. It seemed like his job needed him a lot. 

Maybe when he got back, he would be mad at Tim for looking at his stuff. 

On the other hand, maybe he would appreciate it. Tim told himself that it would be fine, and he manned that email account until the end of business hours at 5:00 p.m. Then he gave a luxurious stretch and went to find something interesting in the freezer that he could microwave. 

His feelings about the email account had changed, after the hours spent together. It was their mutual email account now. Tim was willing to fight about it. He was emotionally attached to that email. People asked him all sorts of questions there, and he got to answer. It was pretty fun.

The apartment looked a little friendlier in the early evening light. He crossed it again and pushed a chair up against the deep freezer so that he could root around inside.

“Omigod, lasagne!” Tim ripped the package open in his excitement. Today was the best. He liked this place. Maybe he'd get to stay there when the owner came back to look at their shared email account.

While the lasagne heated, he went back to checking for fake books on the shelf. They were all disappointments. He did finally notice that there were pets here. 

“I should feed you,” Tim told the fish, because he was really fixing this guy's life. The fish didn't pay him any attention. The microwave beeped completion, so he went back and got his lasagne. He held it in one hand and ate while he searched for fish food. When he found it, he stuck his fork in the lasagne to free up a hand and shook flakes into the water. 

A secret compartment in the floor opened up.

Tim froze. He took a step back. He looked around the apartment, as if someone was going to materialize.

“…I might as well go see,” he told himself. “They're already gonna be mad that I answered our email.”

Down he went. 

[rileyslibrary]

The Log Cabin: Hurt

Synopsis: You and Ghost are on your way towards your shared vacation in Scotland.

Relationship: Simon “Ghost” Riley x GN!Reader

Word Count: 1.4k

Notes:

This is the second part of the story. Here’s Part 1 if you’re interested.

Hurt/comfort.

Render by @gamergirlbonestaskforce141riot.

No warnings. Lots of emotions towards the end, though.

———————————————————————

“You sure?” You ask as you approach a red light.

Ghost closes his eyes and leans back in his seat. He lets out a long and loud sigh behind his mask.

“This is the fifth time you’ve asked if I’m sure,” he protests. “Ask me again, and I will throw you out of the bloody car.”

He won’t do it. He used the exact same threat when you voiced your concerns the third time. You understand him, though; you’re not even on the highway yet, and you’ve been bugging him with your insecurities.

“I’m sorry.” You whisper and lower your head to the water bottle you’ve secured between your thighs.

He turns to look at you, then shifts his focus back to the road as the traffic light turns orange.

“I don’t do charity work when it comes to vacations,” he reassures you and changes gears. “I’m absolutely certain of my decision.”

You drive through the city streets, trying to reach the highway. You look out the car’s window; there are curious glances directed at you from the outside. People look alarmed, old ladies clutch their purses tighter, and fathers hold their children closer.

You can’t blame them; they’re looking at two masked figures in a car filled with tools and gear in the backseats.

“We look like we’re about to rob a bank, don’t you think?” You ask, concerned, as you observe a woman ushering her son into a store upon spotting you.

“Don’t take it off yet,” he warns you. “Wait till we get to the highway.”

He’s right. His face is unknown in the city, whereas yours is, and any identification could link him to you. That’s why he handed you a plain black balaclava before you left the base, ensuring your mutual anonymity. It’s a small city, after all.

“What if we get stopped by the police?” you ask. “Someone might have alerted them.”

He shakes his head. “Unlikely,” he replies. “The police is familiar with me and my car. Many soldiers keep their identities concealed due to the base. Civilians aren’t accustomed to it, that’s all.”

He stops at a zebra crossing and motions with his hand at the people waiting, giving them permission to cross the road.

“Look at them,” he whispers as he watches them successfully reaching the other side of the pavement. “So eager to display their faces, like they’ve never done anything sinister in their lives.”

You look at him from the corner of your eye, wondering if his words hide a twinge of guilt or envy—a yearning for freedom, just like those civilians crossing the street. They are free to walk as they please, while he is doomed to wear a cloth on his face until he’s away from anything human.

You tug at your mask. “It’s getting quite stuffy in here; mind if I...” you say and motion towards the car’s A/C controls.

He shrugs. That’s your “go ahead” sign.

You enter the highway, and he removes his mask. He reaches into the back pocket of his seat and tugs his balaclava there. He scratches his left cheek.

You follow his lead but tuck yours into your door’s side pocket. Now that your mouth is free from obstructions, you can drink water. You open the bottle and drive it into your mouth.

“Easy with the water,” Ghost advises. “We won’t find any stops for the next three hours.”

“Three hours?!” You ask.

He nods, his eyes still fixed on the road, indifferent to your shocked reaction. He reaches into the side pocket of his door and pulls a pair of sunglasses out. He secures them on his face.

“I have never seen you with sunglasses before.” You comment.

He smirks. He looks very handsome when he does that. Not conventionally attractive, though. He has a very rugged, almost weird, to point out beauty. Like those second-hand objects you find in an antique shop; they are bizarre to look at, but you can’t shift your eyes away from them. You want to study and analyse them as closely as possible.

You stare at his profile and notice him looking back at you. He still has that smirk on his face. You divert your attention back to the road.

“Sorry.” You murmur.

He looks ahead and his smile widens.

After some time, you reach your first stop; a service station with a convenience store, and fast food joint. Ghost asks if you want to grab a bite, and you shake your head. In response, he motions towards the side of the gas station.

“Loo’s over there. I’ll refuel the car.”

You hurry to the restroom; the last thing you want is to hinder his program. You better be as fast and efficient as possible.

When you return, Ghost is already in the driver’s seat. You settle into your seat beside him, apologising for your delay. He clicks his tongue.

“You went to the restroom; no need to fret.” He says as he hands you a few snacks he bought from the convenience store.

“For me?” you ask, surprised.

“For you,” he confirms and starts up the engine. “So you don’t start whining that you’re hungry when we are in the middle of nowhere.”

The rest of the trip is beautiful. The landscape shifts profoundly, from the mundane colours of the city to the towering trees that grow denser, with hues of green more vibrant than any photo could capture. The radio plays some mainstream pop music, which doesn’t suit the scenery but makes everything less awkward between you.

Occasionally, you spot a flock of sheep and comment. Ghost doesn’t respond but shifts his gaze from the road to where you’re pointing so he can give you his full attention. He smiles every time, and you wonder whether he’s genuinely happy or just trying to act friendly. Then again, when did Ghost ever try to act friendly? He’s enjoying it as well.

You must have reached the outskirts of civilisation now since the radio has started to make white noise. He switches it off.

Silence. Awkward silence.

“Sorry.” He says, which is very ironic since he was the one who lectured you a few hours ago to stop apologising for things you can’t control. “I don’t have any CDs.”

An arrogant chuckle escapes you. You didn’t mean to come across that way, but there’s no need for CDs; although the car isn’t new, it has built-in Bluetooth. You wonder if he knows it.

“Do you mind?” You ask, showing him your phone.

He looks at it, raising an eyebrow from behind his sunglasses. He must be thinking you’re asking for permission to call someone.

You connect your phone to the car’s Bluetooth and launch Spotify. Music starts playing again. His attention alternates between the radio and your phone.

“Why don’t you look at that!” He remarks. “I knew you could do that; I just never bothered to figure out how.”

“I’ll show you later.” You reply.

“Do you take requests?”

You nod and smile. “What’s your poison, Lieutenant?”

“Johnny Cash.” He replies. “Hurt.”

You nod again, search for the song and press play. You try to enjoy the scenery, focusing on the trees and farms passing by, but Simon’s choice of song wraps around you.

“I hurt myself today

To see if I still feel

I focus on the pain

The only thing that’s real.”

You turn to look at him. He holds the wheel with one hand, his other resting on the car’s window. He leans against it, his face propped on his hand.

“And you could have it all

My empire of dirt

I will let you down

I will make you hurt.”

You want to comment on the song, but your throat feels tight like something’s choking you. You swallow hard.

“What have I become?

My sweetest friend

Everyone I know goes away

In the end.”

Tears fill your eyes, threatening to escape. You don’t have sunglasses like Ghost does. It’s a matter of time until he notices.

“If I could start again

A million miles away

I would keep myself

I would find a way.”

It’s sadness, melancholy—that's what you’re feeling. But is it for Ghost and his poor song choice? Or is it for you?

For your family, your friends, and the vacation you won’t get to enjoy with them? Who are you mourning exactly? He seems to be at peace with his choices. When will this bliss come to you?

Will it ever come to you?

“Hey,” he calls out, and you turn to look at him.

Too late; he already noticed.

“It’s okay,” he soothes you. “Let it out.”

As if you wanted his permission, you begin to cry uncontrollably. You gasp for air. Ghost presses a button on his door which forces your window to open slightly. The crisp air slaps your face, but you focus on the pain, just like the song says. Your nails bite into your palms as you squeeze your fists, and that water bottle falls from your legs onto the car’s floor.

Ghost reaches over, turning the volume higher as if he’s permitting you to cry as much as you want and scream as loud as you please. You turn your head to the side, looking through blurred vision at the colours of green blending together.

He clasps your fist in his hand. You refuse to relax it.

“It’s okay.” He repeats as you pass the blue sign marked with a white ‘X’ that welcomes you to Scotland. “It’s going to be okay.”

Your first unclenches and you open your hand.

———————————————————————

Part 3 (final) this way ->

[leucisticpuffin]

On a summer evening in Rivendell, Elrond's little family are busy designing a sensory-play room for the twins. (If Elrond ends up hiding in there too after stressful councils, no one's going to say anything.)

For Day 5 of @elrondweek (a little late because of absent-mindedness...) Please click on it to see all the details!!

A lot of research went into this painting (and a lot of thought about how you'd crease a multisensory environment in a fantasy world with no electricity for pretty lights and bubble lamps) so here are some notes and headcanons:

Lighting: A number of elves who studied under Feanor later lived in Middle-earth (especially Eregion) and continued making crystal lamps and light-altering gemstones. The crystals in the small jar are a kind which glows for several hours after being “charged” with sunlight. They are used for decoration and in situations where a flame would be impractical or dangerous, e.g. a child-safe nightlight. 

Light projection jars: Glass jars decorated with colours and patterns. When a light crystal is placed in the jar, the colours are projected across the floor or wall. (Elladan and Elrohir are still a little young to be trusted with heavy glass jars, so for now these will be kept in a locked chest and used with adult supervision). 

Fabrics: Samples of cloth with lots of interesting colours and textures for the kids to choose from. Some (like the star cloth Elrohir is admiring) will be draped from the walls or ceiling of the sensory room to create a dark, cosy environment, and others made into blankets, cushions, etc. 

Star cloth: Cloth embroidered with tiny, faintly-glowing gems, resembling the night sky. First created in Valinor by a member of the textiles guild, it was popular among older elves who wanted to remember the skies of Middle-earth. It was expensive and difficult to make, and fell out of fashion when the Noldor left Valinor. The craft was revived in second-age Eregion, and easier methods of making it were developed. 

Toys: Elladan is playing with a painted wooden rain-shaker. Other sensory toys pictured include a colourful spinning top and a set of tactile wooden balls. They’re gathering a collection to keep in the boys’ toy-chest. Elrohir prefers the tactile objects, while Elladan likes any toy that makes a noise.

Room decor: Inspired by Art Nouveau aesthetics. The rug is based on an antique Donegal carpet, and the wallpaper on Arts and Crafts designs. 

Clothing: Inspired by paintings and antique garments: the twins and Celebrian are (loosely) based on paintings by John Singer Sargent and Henry Arnould Olivier, while Elrond’s robes are based on a 1905 House of Worth tea gown.

There are a number of flowers and plants in this painting; their meanings in flower language are as such: 

Bonsai pear tree: comfort

Irises (in the stained-glass window): wisdom

A vase of white lilacs: joy of youth, youthful innocence

Traveller’s joy (in the patterned wallpaper): safety

Primroses (Elladan’s hairpin and the embroidery on the twins’ dresses): early youth

Daisies (Elrohir’s shoes): innocence

Forget-me-nots (Celebrian’s dress): true love

Lily-of-the-valley (Elrond’s hairpin): sweetness, return of happiness

[katerinaaqu]

Did Odysseus have horses or not? (An Iliad and Odyssey Analysis)

This little thing came from a post made by @wolfythewitch and my response in regards to some Cephallenian horses that can still be found to Kephallonia to this day: see here So here is a more extensive analysis on the question of horses and Ithaca or the kingdom of the Cephallenians in general

So as we know from antiquity, horses are known to be a sign of nobility, proof of status and of course a valuable animal for work such as farming or war. Horses play a very important role in the homeric poems with of course the most infamous example of all the Trojan Horse that was the symbol of Troy and became its destruction. Many heroes have had the pseudonym "tamer of horses" including Diomedes and Hector.

It seems also that horses are linked most to some of the richest and most powerful kingdoms are shown to have beautiful or good horses. For example except for Troy that as also linked to god Poseidon and thus to the sumbol of Horse, we also see Argos be famous for the horses (and king Diomedes earning his name from it) or even Sparta (Menelaus providing horses to Telemachus which are praised) and Pylos when Nestor also provides Telemachus and Peisistratus with horses.

But what about Ithaca?

As mentioned above and as others mentioned before me, it seems that Ithaca, the tiny rugged place Odysseus speaks about does not seem to have terrains that are capable of hosting horses like wide plains or wide and smooth roads where horses can trot freely or graze. The existence of animals for work as well seems to be touched in post-homeric sources such as Hyginus Fabulae where we see the infamous story of Odysseus pretending madness. He ties to his plow a donkey and a cow instead. Both of the animals are more frequent for plowing fields or carrying loads especially donkeys and mules that are still famous in Greece and greek islands and they are known for being capable of marching across the wild terrains and uphill paths.

Ironically, or not so much, Ithaca seems to have a lack of horses according to Telemachus himself for when Menelaus offers him parting gifts, including horses, Telemachus replies to him thus:

However the horses I shall not take with me to Ithaca but I shall leave them to you, with your permission (lit: to your glory): for you are a king of wide fields, rich in clove and galingale and plenty of wheat that is dicocum and white. However in Ithaca there are neither wide roads nor grassy meadows; place that is fit for goats to walk and graze on rather than horses. For no island that leans in the salt (here: sea) is fit for riding and grazing horses: Ithaca least of all.

(Translation by me)

So here Telemachus seems to imply that not only most of silands have unfriendly terrain for horses but also that Ithaca is "least of all". Now there are a couple of things here that are toned out:

Ithaca is described as a ragged place by Odysseus as well when he speaks on his homeland to the Phaeaces and even nowadays it is indeed true that Ithaca has more mountain plains than wide fields given how small the island is as well and in general Greece is over 80% mountains anyways.

Homer makes Telemachus speak on how Ithaca is the "least of all" suitable for horses. Probably that is a small hyperbole. For starters maybe one could speak on "least of all" in the islands of the Ionian sea instead, which Telemachus probably is familiar with because islands in the Aegean sea are much dryer and uphill than the islands on the Ionian sea so it is probably a hyperbole used by Homer to show how unsuitable Ithaca is for riding horses or comparing them to islands of the Ionian sea instead (because see for example an image of Folegandros which has even less greenery for horses to feed on:

However the image that Ithaca is probably boarderline hostile for horses and riding is also linked to the fact on how Ithaca is often perceived as a land rich in certain products such as olives or fruit trees (due to the mild climate) but a generally poorer island and kingdom compared to others like Mycenae, Argos or Sparta. When Telemachus visits Sparta is is mesmerized by her beauty and richness.

Even if we do have examples in Ithaca that show that Ithaca is not a weak or penniless kingdom (Penelope sits on a chair with ivory which is an exotic material very hard to find or Odysseus leaves for war wearing a crimson woolen mantle that is decorated with a golden brooch. Both gold and the color crimson were extremely valuable. For example crimson pigmentation is found only at the shells that come from the east so it would require good economy to obtain) Ithaca is by general idea a poorer and less powerful kingdom than the rest (Odysseus is one of the kings that brings the least amount of ships with him at the number of 12 and around 603 men in total including himself)

The absense of horses or the hint that Ithaca does not breed horses at all, according to some readings of the passage, is also linked to the lack of powerful status for the kingdom. The kingdom itself is not one of the great powerful kingdoms of Greece like his peers from Mycenae or Argos and the fact that a status symbol like Horses is absent is rather interesting way to show that. In fact Ithaca seems to gain fame by its people rather than its political power.

(See how Odysseus calls the island κουροτρόφο aka "nurturer of men". Odysseus implies that the importance of his kingdom is not to the status symbols but to its people and their braveness)

But can we really talk on complete absence of horses in Odysseus's life?

Cephallonia's Semi-wild Horses:

As I mentioned to the post I reblogged under @wolfythewitch post we do seem to have a breed of horses to the area. The horses are being left to roam about according to an ancient custom because Cephallonia has no much space to keep them so the farmers do tame them but leave them roam free to the plains and now they are part of the national park of Aenus mountain:

These horses have been adapted to ride perfectly well to the rough rocky terrains of the mountain. Now of course the breed was probably imported from the mainland (most likely from Pindos mountains). Cephallonia has also been suggested as the location of the homeric Ithaca (and the giver of name of his kingdom) due to the fact that it deprives from homeric description that Cephallonia was "the most far western island" or, as I would probably be willing to believe, that maybe the land of modern Ithaca and Cephallonia were connected by land at that time (take that hypothesis with a grain of salt but I think it is highly possible) other locations suggested were even Lefkas for they discovered Mycenaean remains there

It is of course unclear when these horses enter the terrain. Itis possible that the horses arrive way after the bronze age that Odysseus ellegedly lived or even after Homer's time even, if Homer doesn't mention them or mentions that horses are not possible to grow in Ithaca.

It could also be, though, that homer completely dispatches horses from Ithaca to that degree again to point out the difference of status between Ithaca and Sparta. And, another totally wild guess, is also interesting how the animal symbol of Poseidon is absent from the island of Ithaca to the poem that speaks about the hubris of Odysseus against Poseidon and the god's wrath against him! Food for thought! XD

No horses in Ithaca doesn't necessarily mean Cephallinians had no horses at all:

Another thing that people often forget is that Odysseus was not king of Ithaca only. The kingdom of Cephallenians was a kingdom that spread over several islands AND part of the mainland where modern day Aitoloakarnania is:

The kingdom is not limited to the island of Ithaca only. Acarnania is also a wide area. Horses can possibly be bred there and also be providing the islands if needed. It is interesting because Odysseus is not only in posession of a chariot in the Iliad but he also seems perfectly capable of riding horses. In the Iliad for example both he and Diomedes steal the Thracian Horses in rhapsody 10:

So she spoke and he (Diomedes) recognized the goddess's voice and swiftly jumped on the horses: Odysseus smote them with his bow and they trotted towards the fast ships of the Achaeans

(Translation by me)

Interestingly Homer uses the 3rd singular of the verb: ἐπεβήσετο (he rode) but then proceeds using the 3rd plural ἐπέτοντο (they flew/rode away). So what could it be? Could it be perhaps that Odysseus jumped on the horse behind Diomedes and smote it with his bow to start trotting away? In that case we could speak indeed on the fact that clearly Diomedes was a better rider than Odysseus given that he is more familiar with horses. However if both of them ride away that means that Odysseus is not completely oblivious of horses he just doesn't seem to be so capable with them indeed. In fact the first is rather confirmed at the passage that follows soon after:

Then Odysseus beloved to Zeus restrained the quick horses, while the son of Tydeus jumped on the ground, placing the bloody spoils to the hands of Odysseus and once more he rode the horses; hitting them with a whip and nothing stopped them from flying to the hollow ships, as they so much wished to be.

(Translation by me)

So in this scene Diomedes seems to be the protagonist, being more knowledgable on horses (he is the one who rides first and trots) while Odysseus plays a more auxiliary role (steeds and holds the horses or holds the spoils in hand) but he doesnt seem completely oblivious to the exietence or treatment of horses. He both knows how to restrain and steer them but he is also in posession of a chariot with which he fights in the Iliad and covers the retreat of Diomedes and later that same chariot comes to pick him up from the battle (see rhapsody 11).

Conclusions:

So Homer seems to be sticking to the notion that horses are not widedly used in Ithaca or the rest of the kingdom due to its rough terrain. Not only does Telemachus speak of it but we also see the image in Iliad where Odysseus is clearly not as capable rider as Diomedes given how while they trot away. Of course needs to be noted how the horses are often depicted unbriddled and without a saddle in the artwork so it is also interesting to think that Odysseus wouldn't be able to ride without equipment while Diomedes who is more familiar with horses he has no problem.

Odysseus seems to stick more to chariots than horse riding which also indicates that he is not familiar with horse riding to that extent or that he is not particularly confident in it, however he seems capable of doing it.

The existence of the horse breed in Cephallonia as well as the fact that the kingdom also involves the mainland could indicate that horses were not unknown to the Cephallenians just not widedly used. Odysseus speaks many times on horses and their beauty and strength so he is familiar with them and he can judge (bet he also learnt a bunch from his fellow kings like Diomedes and the idea of Diomedes showing Odysseus even more stuff about horses sounds a cute image doesn't it!?) but from the incidents such as the one from the Iliad, suggest that he is not confident rider.

His knowledge seems less extensive compared to his knowledge on other stuff such as sheep and goats (he praises the flock of Polyphemus for example, elemet that I also used to my retelling/one-shot fic "Escape from Cyclops Island: Hubris") or stars and navigation so indeed even if he does have knowledge on riding or chariots he is not very confident in it.

So I tend to be somewhere in the middle; I don't believe that the Cephallinians had no horses at all or that they had no idea on horses (Telemachus himself has some knowledge after all since he mentions immediately to Menelaus that his gift would be unsuitable for his land) it is just that if they can host horses it is just some very sturdy and adaptable ones like the ones used at mountain passages and even those were not widedly used. They would probably have more mules or donkeys for transportation like it happens to mountain terrains and use more cattle as farming animals. The use of horses must have been very scarce to the point of providing them general knowledge but not as widedly used as in other places

But what do you guys think? Let me know!

[rahuratna]

Synopsis:

"Welcome, Visitor, to Jujutsu Guild Academy, tucked discreetly away in the rolling foothills of the Byre Veld Mountains. Our team of expert sorcerers, now misfits and outcasts from society, gather here to train their talented students, as well as use their exceptional skills to solve cases brought to them by those who know the true nature of the Guild ... much like yourself. We invite you to place your case at their disposal. We guarantee that you won't be disappointed."

Genre: Fantasy AU, mystery, suspense, horror, humour, detective agency

Content warnings: dark themes, murder, violence.

Rating: T

Dividers by: @sister-lucifer

Part 1

“Balance is paramount in the world of sorcery, and yet, not easily understood or visualised. The Magical Clade system, developed in the planetary turn of 214, embraces the diverse nature of magic in all forms. Bitura and Matura; the predictable and the unexplored, the two known aspects of sorcery existing side by side in a tenuously held set of universal scales, cannot be wholly characterised by our existing body of knowledge.

Let us then examine their five known components, the arcane origins of which have, thus far, been the subject of much theorising. Human, planetary, chaotic, contractual and natural, different facets of a world we have only just begun to comprehend … “

~ An Introduction to Arcane Clades, A. Zahari.

At the top of a hill in a small vineyard, near the age-smoothed arc of the stairs that lead to an imposing set of oak doors, an elderly man hesitates.

Jirou has arrived against the will of many in his village, seeking the kind of help he knows won’t be available to him elsewhere. He looks up, at the white-painted walls of the former winery, now converted for the purposes of the sorcerers who call this their base of operations.

It seems … peaceful. Idyllic, even. He can see why this place would be a retreat from the bustle and whispered condemnation of society. Now, if only he could muster the courage to –

The doors swing open, and he takes a step back. A man appears in the cool, dark entrance. He wears a short-sleeved white shirt, ideal for the balmy weather, and smart black trousers and boots. His neatly parted hair and the manner by which he adjusts his glasses mark him as one of the officials who probably run the day-to-day operations of this place.

“Good day to you. How may I assist?”

The tone is polite, clipped, professional. Jirou clutches at his straw hat, rotating it nervously within his stiff grasp. He clears his throat.

“Ah … um. Forgive me for intruding. I’m here to see … well, here for help. For my village. I’m from Setsana, just east of the river.”

The bespectacled man glances him over in frank assessment before stepping quietly back through the door and gesturing to him to follow.

“This way.”

“Eh?”

“You want to meet with the sorcerer’s guild, yes?”

“Well … yes, but I thought – “

Jirou sees a glimmer of humour in the eyes of the dark-haired official.

“You may call me Ijichi. What is your name?”

“Jirou.”

“Well, Jirou of Setsana, this agency does not screen their clientele based on location or status. You are clearly here for some assistance, and you’ve asked for it. Now the sorcerers will hear your case.”

Scurrying up the steps and into the cool foyer, Jirou glanced warily around. It was not quite what he had been expecting. The interior had indeed been re-purposed. The terracotta-tiled floor had been preserved, rustic and slightly dusty underfoot. Comfortable rugs had been placed around the airy space. Eclectic, somewhat mismatched antique furniture added a certain charm to the room.

A large hearth stood dormant against one wall, the exquisite grey river stone banded with wooden shelves. Large glass doors opened onto a walled garden on one side, a small courtyard with a carved fountain placed centrally. A wash of cool, fragrant air entered through here, beckoning languidly as Jirou followed Ijichi out and into an adjoining annex.

Clearing his throat, the farmhand addressed Ijichi again.

“Who is it that I’ll be seeing, exactly?”

“Magister Higuruma. He hears all cases and determines what action can be undertaken.”

Ijichi paused, turning slightly, his eyes kind.

“Don’t be put off by his … manner. He simply wants to get to the heart of the matter. Just answer clearly and truthfully. Try to stick to the facts. Wait here for a minute, please.”

Leaving Jirou stewing in the hallway, Ijichi disappeared behind another door. The faint noise of voices, the rustle of paper and a cough could be heard from within. Jirou contemplated turning around and leaving hurriedly. Not running away, no. A tactical retreat. What if this Higuruma was –

The door clicked open and Ijichi reappeared, all too soon.

“You may go in and state your case.”

And thus, Jirou’s fate was sealed.

Higuruma Hiromi was seated behind a large desk, scattered with papers in what could possibly be described as ordered chaos. Jirou entered with the air of a man braving the den of a vicious mountain lion. Higuruma certainly gave off the according aura.

Dark hair, combed back, but slightly dishevelled from the number of times he’d run his fingers through it. The sardonic set of his mouth, the aquiline nose, and above it all, the deep-set, unsettlingly attentive gaze that traced over one’s form, taking in every detail. Higuruma wore a well-tailored waistcoat, gold embroidery over the sable material, his white shirtsleeves rolled back. That faint trace of disorder spilled over here too, visible in the rumpled collar, the ink-stained hands, the dark smudges beneath his eyes that spoke of inadequate sleep, the symptom of an intellect that raced over the landscape of the mundane, gathering a horde of minutiae in its wake.

“Jirou of Setsana?”

“Yes, sir.”

Higuruma waved a hand vaguely in the direction of the seat before his desk and Jirou hurried forward to comply. On the table was a map of the area, marked with a varied array of ink colours and symbols. Jirou was also surprised to see a farmer’s almanack beside the map. He hadn’t ever expected to see such a humble, worn document on the table of such a sorcerer. The sight steadied him, somewhat.

“Thank you for taking the time to hear my case.”

He received only a nod in reply. Higuruma laced his fingers over the desktop and leaned forward, the only signal that Jirou should continue.

“Ah. Um. Our village has been experiencing … some strange things lately. Animals put out to pasture turning up dead. Lights in the forest. Sometimes … well, that’s beside the point, but I feel uneasy. Like something’s coming up from the earth to swallow us all.”

In any other setting, Jirou would never have given voice to such sentiments. Speaking to a sorcerer, however, erased those misgivings. Who knew what mysteries of the arcane Higuruma had already experienced?

The sorcerer in question unlaced his fingers, tracing them over the faded ink trees on the map, denoting the forest near the village.

“Some questions.”

“Pardon?”

“I need to ask some questions.”

“Oh … oh, of course! My apologies if I’ve not given enough – “

Higuruma cut him off, eyes steady, penetrating.

“When did these animal killings begin?”

“Six months ago … I think.”

“You are uncertain?”

“No, I – There were wolves. We found corpses of wolves. Before that. But obviously we didn’t – “

“You didn’t question when the natural predator turned up dead?”

Jirou shrugged helplessly.

“Sometimes bears come down from the mountain.”

“Hmm. And what kind of animals, besides the wolves, were killed?”

“Horses. Sheep. Cattle. Some chickens. Mainly the cows, though.”

“Who found the beasts dead?”

“Different people. I found a horse in a ditch once.”

“How did the horse appear to you?”

“Slaughtered.”

“I need more detail.”

Jirou shifted uncomfortably in his seat. Higuruma’s questions were coming thick and fast, and the elderly man was accustomed to preparing his thoughts before answering.

“Ah. Disembowelled. It’s … entrails had been removed.”

“And they were lying next to the animal?”

“Oh, no. We couldn’t find them anywhere.”

Higuruma raised an eyebrow, pausing slightly for the first time.

“Nothing?”

“No. It was like … the animal had been hollowed out. Like something had reached in and … scooped everything out.”

Abruptly, the sorcerer leaned back in his seat.

“These lights in the forest. Tell me more.”

“Oh, those are strange indeed. We’ve tried to find a pattern as to when they appear, but … they seem to come at odd times. It’s not firelight. Too bright. Almost white. Dancing. It’s definitely magery of some kind.”

“Above the trees?”

“Among them. Between them. Sometimes the trunks of the trees block the light, so we know that it’s moving.”

“And this … feeling you say you have?”

“Oh, that … “

Jirou gave a sheepish chuckle.

“I think with everything going on, I simply … You know. The imaginings of an old – “

“No.”

“I’m sorry?”

“No.”

Higuruma’s abrupt manner took some getting accustomed to. He raised his quill, pointing it at the farmhand like he was preparing to throw it, to pin him and his problem down to a board for analysis.

“Sorcery isn’t about vague incantations and undetermined outcomes. Everything about sorcery is calculated, precise. It relies on universal laws that we haven’t even begun to comprehend, and so, it seems distant or even esoteric. We try to categorise the arcane, place them into neat little pockets to aid our understanding, but that will only take us so far. Your feelings, your dreams, are all likely symptoms of the same problems that plague your village. It’s a pattern we’ve seen many times.”

Jirou gulped heavily.

“We?”

“Our guild.”

Throughout the brief, intense questioning, Higuruma had never written anything down. Now, he dipped his quill, scraping carefully around the edges of the well, and jotted something down on a scrap of parchment. He folded the note and handed it over to Jirou.

“Give this to ijichi when you leave. Permission from the authorities pending, expect our guild members to arrive within three days.”

If Jirou of Setsana had stayed for a few minutes longer, he might have been party to the sudden descent of chaos into the calm that had once reigned over Higuruma’s study. A large tapestry hanging across the left wall shifted slightly, as though in a stray breeze. One of the greyhounds stitched into the rich fabric of the hunting scene moved, the thread of the embroidered eyes snapping subtly back and forth until its gaze faced ahead once again.

Higuruma sighed heavily.

“Do you really think you’re being subtle?”

The hound peered at him. It looked slightly nervous.

“Gojo, I know you’re listening.”

The hound’s goggling took a turn for the worse, the eyes now comically bulging from the tapestry.

“Is it really this hard for you to behave like an adult?”

The hound’s mouth opened wide and new embroidery emerged from its gaping jaws, spelling out the word “YES”.

“For the love of – “

Higuruma raised a finger, shadowy flame erupting across the tip, and the tapestry suddenly folded inwards, then disgorged three occupants, two of whom stumbled right into Higuruma’s desk, the papers on top shifting across the surface of the map he had been studying. Clicking his tongue, the sorcerer folded his arms.

Bright-eyed, cheeks slightly flushed with embarrassment, Itadori Yuuji reached up and ruffled his pink hair.

“Good morning, Higuruma – “

“It was his idea.”

Straight to the point as always, Kugisaki Nobara showed not an ounce of shame, her finger pointing firmly in the direction of the tapestry’s third occupant, who had stepped out with stylish flair.

Gojo Satoru, Special Grade Sorcerer, gave a bow that included a flowery, if very irritating, flourish. He straightened and eyed Higuruma cheerfully over his shaded glasses, pale hair gleaming like mage-fire in the dim light of the study. As much as Gojo played into the role of fanciful and flamboyant genius, that undercurrent of monstrous power was always present, one that those close to him had learned to bear with. His apprentices, for some reason, always seemed immune to it.

“You know, I couldn’t help but overhear – “

He received a disbelieving snort in return.  

“Try another tack. I never know why you can’t just sit in on interviews instead of – “

Gojo wagged a finger.

“Oh, come on. I mean, look at me. How do you think a simple farmer would take to seeing someone like me staring at him while he tried to give testimony?”

As always, Gojo was attired as if he’d stepped right out of the pages of a racy bodice-ripper. His ruffled collar, unbuttoned fashionably low, high-waisted trousers and the long overcoat he wore over it all enhanced the roguishly handsome look only he was capable of pulling off without seeming horrendously pretentious.

Higuruma stared back, unimpressed, before pushing away the papers that had drifted over the map. Yuuji and Nobara crowded around his desk, eyes eager. He turned his attention to them.

“Assuming you two have heard Jirou’s case, what do you think the approach should be?”

Yuuji hummed thoughtfully.

“I think … maybe scout the area? Check out those woods. Look for traces of unknown sorcery.”

Nobara elbowed him aside, not to be outdone.

“And talk to the villagers. Look, I grew up in a village like this, and let me tell you, everyone’s just dying to let you know their neighbour’s business.”

Higuruma nodded.

“Good, but we’re missing something vital.”

Gojo’s hand shot into the air.

“Oooh, pick me, Magister!”

 “Come, you two. Think.”

Ignoring Gojo’s pleading look, Higuruma waited patiently. Yuuji’s face had taken on a serious cast, his eyes fixed on the map.

“Uhhh … what about the animals? There must be something about the way they’ve been killed … “

“Precisely. The fact that their entrails were removed tells us something.”

Nobara’s eyes narrowed.

“Some village soothsayers read entrails. To tell people’s fortunes and that kind of thing.”

“Except, in this case, no trace of the entrails was found. You’re certainly right about soothsayers, but they need fresh kills, and for the entrails to be present in the corpse of the animal.”

“So … “

“So you’re going to help with the investigation. With my permission, of course.”

Higuruma finally met Gojo’s gaze and shook his head in silent communication. Gojo gave a small smile in return.

“No need to tell me. You need me for that … other issue. So, who’s it going to be?”

“I’ve already sent a note out with Ijichi. He should be here - ”

A knock sounded on the study door, three sharp taps in quick succession. Yuuji glanced up at the clock and grinned.

“It’s ten o’ clock on the dot. That’s gotta be - ”

If Jirou of Setsana hadn’t hurried home, he might have also witnessed the arrival of the man who would lead the investigation at his village. Brisk, measured pace carrying him across the gravel of the courtyard, Nanami Kento arrived shortly before the stroke of ten.

Formerly a member of the merchant guild, Nanami was always properly attired in formal sorcerer’s robes, a plain, pristine, royal blue waistcoat, trousers and sensible leather walking boots beneath. A yellow patterned cravat formed a slight contrast to the sobriety of his appearance.

To ordinary folk, Nanami looked particularly unremarkable. Like Gojo and Higuruma, however, there was something about him that the trained eye wouldn’t miss; a martial air to his bearing, a certain predatory awareness in his cool glance, a grace in his long stride that spoke of great strength and agility.

Passing through the foyer, he greeted Ijichi, whose communication he had received a short while ago. At the door to Higuruma’s study, he paused, hearing the voices from within. Gojo’s dulcet tones were unmistakeable. Sighing, he checked his pocket watch.

One minute to the hour.

One more minute without Gojo.

He waited, enjoying the brief silence.

At the chime of the clock within the study, he knocked and entered.

“Nanamin!”

“Right on time.”

Nobara tugged at the blonde sorcerer’s sleeve impatiently.

“Come over here. They found some animals with their guts scooped out.”

 “Excuse me?”

Yuuji joined Nobara, lifting Nanami’s carry case out of his hand and ushering him towards the table.

“The new case that just came in!”

“We’re going together to investigate.”

“There’s a small village – “

“And they have these flashing lights in the forest – “

“And this old guy has a bad feeling – “

“And Higuruma doesn’t think it’s his arthritis or indigestion – “

“And he thinks bears come down from the mountain? You ever heard of anything like that?”

Raising his hands in long-suffering protest, Nanami finally gained some silence from the two apprentices. Gojo was lounging against Higuruma’s desk with a smile he wasn’t sure he liked.

“I’m out of this one, Nanami. Higuruma needs me elsewhere.”

Nodding Nanami turned his attention to the Magister who had been watching the scene humourlessly over steepled fingers.

“I assume you’ll brief me?”

“Of course. Give me two hours and I’ll have clearance from the USCRC.”

The Utilitarian Sorcery Centre for Regulation and Control was Higuruma’s old stomping ground, the legal wranglings that took place in its ancient auditoriums setting precedents for the dozens of new permutations of sorcery that came up every year. His exit from the same institution in disgrace, and his subsequent fall from grace in the public eye, was common knowledge at the guild.

There were many, however, who understood Higuruma’s decisions better than others, those from within the system who spoke on his behalf and facilitated his establishment in a fully private sense within the Jujutsu Guild Academy. He still maintained those contacts, allowing him full access to the legal records and accelerated permissions to conduct private investigations on behalf of the guild.

Nanami had never enquired as to the nature of Higuruma’s contacts. Nobody did.

Poring over the map on the table as the Magister pointed out the features of relevance, a crease began to form between Nanami’s brows.

“Animals without entrails … Hmm. That’s definitely cause for concern.”

Yuuji peered into his face curiously.

“What do you think it means, Nanamin?”

Shaking his head, Nanami adjusted the shaded glasses on the bridge of his nose.

“It’s too early for me to say. Speculation can be as dangerous as sprinting across a rickety bridge in cases like these. I can say that this probably involves the Matura aspect of sorcery, possibly some form of natural magic, or perhaps, something conceived to look that way.”

Gojo’s crystalline blue glance was also tracing with that characteristic gleam of sharp clarity over the map.

“I think, considering some of the other cases coming our way, that this would be a great opportunity to let the apprentices get their teeth in.”

He clapped his hands cheerfully while Yuuji and Nobara began to look worryingly excited. Gojo tended to have that effect on them.

“What do you say, kids? Tramping through the countryside, scraping cow dung crusts off your heels, breathing in the scent of fermented straw floors and making friends with fleas and other friendly vermin of all kinds.”

He let out a happy sigh.

“I’d love to go myself, but I’ll make this sacrifice for you, and only you, dearest Nanami.”

“How terribly kind of you,” came the dry rejoinder.

Turning to the apprentices, Nanami cocked an eyebrow.

“He does have a point, though. Go to Ieiri and assemble some evidence kits. Tell her to be on standby for receiving samples from us for analysis over the next few days. And then get yourselves prepared. You know the drill.”

“Yes, sir!”

Receiving two sharp salutes, the two over-enthusiastic youngsters scampered out of the study, their voices carrying back along the hallway.

When they were out of earshot, Gojo exchanged glances with Higuruma before reaching into his pocket and handing over a small vial to Nanami. Seeing the contents, the sorcerer met Gojo’s stare with a steady, measured glance.

“And what’s this in aid of?”

“Oh, just a little something. In case things get dangerous.”

“You think it’ll come to that?”

Higuruma stood, gathering his coat and heading for the door. “Take it, Nanami. I have a feeling that we’re going to need all the help we can get if the intelligence we’ve received so far is accurate.”

[starsofang]

Call of Duty || Coraline AU

Running away to start a new chapter and escape the troubles of your past, you find yourself in a darker predicament than you had hoped for.

Coraline with a twist. And COD men. Obviously.

PT.2 / PT.3

You took in the sight of your new home from where you stood in the doorway. Your eyes studied the peeling wallpaper, the old water stains on the ceiling, the long, hallway rug that didn’t seem to want to lay flat from where it slightly popped up in the middle. It was a place far from special, and in all honesty, the house was a bit… depressing in a sense. But it was your new home, and it was the first thing offered to you when you had run away, far from your original home – if you could call it that.

Sighing, you stepped inside the dingy house, slipping off your shoes that had begun to collect mud from the rain that cascaded down outside. Just like this new house, the outside was just as somber of a sight, with gloomy rain clouds hanging in the sky and weeping water drops down to the overgrown yard.

As you made your way into the home, you could faintly hear music playing from upstairs. You paused your walking to stare up at the ceiling, ears tuning in on what the resident upstairs could possibly be playing this early in the morning.

Circus music…?

Shaking it off, you proceeded to navigate your way around the place, opting to ignore the light sound of symbols clashing and strange kazoos blaring from above. Instead, you began your long journey of unpacking the little things you brought with you when you left your old home.

There wasn’t much, and in the few hours you had spent unboxing it all, you realized just how much you didn’t have. Even the furniture that came with the home wouldn’t cut it, what with its old, antique styling and dust that was definitely not from this century.

“Fuck this,” you muttered to yourself, shaking your head in disbelief.

One look at the rotting fruit in the fridge – just how long had it been in there? – told you that you’d need to run to the market if you didn’t want to starve on your first night alone.

Alone. Even just the simple reminder felt foreign, almost unrealistic. You had traveled all this way – no, not traveled. Ran all this way, and now it was a reality. This broken, rundown home was proof of that, and it was only just the beginning.

Stepping out of the home, you fumbled for the keys to lock the door behind you. Once you were sure it was secure, you made your way down the line of steps and to the paved sidewalk of the building. The rain had stopped in the hours spent unpacking, and you released a small sigh of relief at not having to drive in it once again.

As you ascended the last step, a door could be heard opening with a pair of deep voices filtering out with it. Pausing, your head whipped over to the left, where another staircase leading downwards was now occupied with two men bickering – one was tanned and pretty, with a certain confidence that seemed to ooze out of his perfectly unblemished skin (damn him), while the other was an older gentleman with thick facial hair and kind eyes.

“Oh, hello!” The pretty one greeted you when he got to the top of his stairs, a blinding smile curving on his lips. Bickering seemingly forgotten, he indulged himself with the presence of a newcomer. “You’re the new neighbor, eh? Thought Laswell locked up that ol’ place long ago.”

Laswell? 

Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion, but before you could say anything in return, the other man with the mutton chops spoke. “Don’t mind him. You settling in alright? Nothing wrong with the place yet?”

Besides the rotting wallpaper and eighteen-hundred’s couch? And the creepy circus music playing from above?

“No,” you opted to say instead, eyes flickering between them.

“Ah! Good to hear it,” The older gentleman cheered with a bright smile, clapping his hands together. “Been quite some time since having a neighbor. Well, besides Soap, that is. Wouldn’t want to scare you off so soon, now, would we?”

Pretty boy nodded in agreement, almost a bit too enthusiastically, and you felt you were missing something. These men were… strange, to say the least. And so forward, too.

Also, who the hell is Soap?

You could only assume he meant the other resident living in the apartment upstairs, what with his weird music and loud footsteps. Soap, huh?

“John Price,” The older one introduced with an outstretched hand. “And this here is Kyle Garrick.”

“Call me Gaz, love,” Gaz corrected with a warm smile.

You stared down at John’s hand, which was soon joined by Gaz’s. Hesitating for a moment, you first shook John’s, then Gaz’s, their grip firm and skin rough to the touch.

“Right. Nice to meet you.” You cleared your throat, suddenly feeling much too exposed with the way they were staring at you. “Say, John, what exactly do you mean, wrong with the house–”

“Well, it was lovely to meet you, Caroline! We’d best be off now, but do come over if you need anything, yes?” John cut you off with a crinkly smile, placing his hand on Gaz’s shoulder and guiding him away from where you stood at the end of the stairs, successfully avoiding further conversation and disappearing down the pathway to the road.

“It’s Coraline…” you muttered under your breath, before the realization that he even knew your name, albeit incorrectly, dawned on you. You hadn’t offered it in return, yet somehow, he already knew.

Your eyes followed them as they walked, watching as they grew farther and farther away until they turned the corner at the edge of the driveway and could no longer be seen. Out of sight, out of mind.

How the fuck did he know that?

[bloodyknucklesforme]

Pomegranate | Nikolai x F!reader

Chapter 1

After a series of misfortunes you've found yourself in debt to Arno, a human trafficker operating in London. You work at his club, dancing and escorting, only to find yourself deeper and deeper in debt. One night you arrive at Nikolai's. He's handsome, abrasive, gross, tender at times and he might be the most dangerous man you've ever met.

cw: cw: dark fic, dubcon/noncon, reader is being trafficked, human trafficking, cockwarming, body inspection, piv, Nikolai is evil but also kind in his own weird way

Masterpost

"Clothes off... all of them," A thick Russian accent said from the intercom. You looked up at the camera in the corner. He must have seen you hesitate, "I already paid. Don't waste my money."

It never got easier. The degradation and humiliation of stripping for strange men, being used like a toy and forced to pack yourself back up into your box till next time.  It'd been almost a year now. As you dropped your coat to the floor your anger and shame hit the ceiling. You'd trusted your ex, he promised to help you when you lost your job, when you couldn't pay rent, when you needed to borrow money. You moved to London for better opportunities now you were in some stranger's house waiting to be used. You'd lost track of how deep in debt you were to him and his 'friends'. 10k? 20k? It made your stomach clench.

"Don't cry. You'll fuck up your makeup." is what those cunts back at the club would always say before you got in the car to a client's.

Marcus, your ex, now trafficker, hammered it in that this was a very important client. Probably another criminal. A rich one at that. His house was more of a warehouse. Large, stretching for almost an entire block. Nondescript from the outside beyond the vault like door and fancy keypad, one you were given a code to on the way there. 

"Turn around," he ordered when the last of your clothes hit the floor. Checking for a wire or weapons you guessed. Knowing you were being watched like this made your skin crawl but it was better than being groped immediately on entry.

The room you were locked in was more of a safe room with steel walls and thick doors. One leading outside and the other leading further inside. No windows, just the camera, an intercom panel and a white gift box that sat on the floor. 

"New clothes in the box. Put them on."

It was a too small lacy bra and matching too small panties. A washed baby blue, all mesh so you were fully exposed. There was a loud buzzer and the door unlocked.

Inside was nice. Made to look like a palace. Wood floors covered in large red patterned rugs. The walls had large paintings you recognized from an art history class years ago. You couldn’t tell if they were real or not. The details were obscured by the darkness. There was only one light on in the hallway, a door was opened down the way. It was a maw that beckoned you toward it. 

You stood at the threshold. The living room was equally extravagant. The walls were painted a wine red lacquer, almost mirror like. The ceiling had complex molding, painted the same color as the walls. The windows were all blacked out with heavy velvet curtains. It felt cold in this room. To the left was a large bar with more bottles than you'd ever seen in your life. To the right was a large couch and projector screen. Soviet era antiques were scattered about. It felt more like a palace than a home. A palace for some dark god, one that ruled pain and death. 

"You're prettier than the photo." You jumped at the voice. He was so quiet you didn't notice him on the couch. He was big, obviously tall but muscular with wide shoulders. He had a layer of fat that only worked to increase his intimidating stature. Dark hair slicked back with a widow's peak. Stubble covered the bottom part of an aged face. He wasn't old, older yes but whatever business he was in had aged him around the eyes. Dark eyes that hid any emotion from you.

He snapped his fingers and motioned for you to walk over. He had a cigar in the other hand. The smell filled the room. 

"Good. You follow instructions. More than I can say for the last one Arno sent me." He motioned for you to spin around again, giving your ass a light spank and laughing when you yelped. "You fuck anyone else today?"

"No," you shook your head. He blew cigar smoke at you, watching the silver bisect around your middle.

"Good. I'd hate to waste more time cleaning you out. They never do a good job at that." He put his cigar in the ashtray beside him. "On your knees."

"What's your name?" He asked, making space between his legs for you. You answered softly, a lie. Never give them anything was what another girl told you. Give anything and they’ll take until there’s nothing left. Even your bones could be used to pick teeth. He held your chin between two fingers, moving your head around like a doll. "Open your mouth."

He leaned forward, looking inside you. A thumb hooked over your bottom row of teeth. It tasted like tobacco and sweat. You'd learned to hold back gags long ago. 

"I don't like girls with rotten teeth." He ran a finger over your teeth, top and bottom, occasionally pressing on one.  He frowned, "Stop shaking. I'm not going to hurt you."

A lie, most likely. Men always said that before fucking you, like they could believe you were there willingly, like they didn't pick you out of a catalogue of girls. You clenched your fists in your lap and willed the fear out of your bones. Docile thing, something to be eaten to the core. You were always good. Arno controlled his girls with an iron hand. You’d heard the beatings other girls got when they disappointed. There were clients who had girls sent to them yet never returned them. Disappointing girls got sent there. Sacrifices to the gods of gold. Arno always wore gold.

"I like girls who like you." He pulled his fingers out of your mouth and pushed your jaw shut. "I paid to have you till morning. Make it worth it."

He leaned back with a sigh, grabbing a remote and turning on the projector. A hockey game flicked onto the screen, the noise from the stadium coming from speakers you never saw. 

"Is there...uh...anything you want me to call you?" Men liked all sorts of names. Daddy, Master, Sir. Rarely creative, often repeated. Some used their real name but not many, no one wants the risk of their whore becoming too mouthy. 

He looked down at you, like he already forgot you were there.

"Sir, when you answer my questions. Kolya, when I fuck you." He undid his belt and spread his legs wider. You knew your job. He picked up his cigar again as you undid the zipper on his pants.

He laid a hand on the back of your head, pressing down your hair. "Just keep me warm for now. Don't want to miss anything."

You took a deep breath before taking him into your mouth. He was thick and uncut. Intimidating even half hard. He didn't push as you worked your throat open, slowly bobbing your head. Sometimes men would ply you with liquor, help you to relax a bit more. You wish he had. The mix of salts from precum and skin filled your senses. A hesitant hand moved to rest on his thigh for leverage. He didn't shake you off. 

You glanced up at him when you took him to the hilt. Hoping for some sign of approval, not for your ego but the sake of your security. Men in pleasure were less likely to be agitated. 

"Good job, Kotenok." He rubbed his knuckles across your cheek, gold rings cooling your skin. He let you rest against his thigh, nose tickled by his dark pubes. Cigar smoke, the drone of the tv and the blood rushing around your head started to calm your nerves. Maybe tonight wouldn't be as awful as you thought.

He thrusted lazily during every commercial break. A hand holding your head steady against his thigh. He chuckled when you gagged. Everything was in Russian so you couldn't follow the game beyond his angry or excited, more so angry, ad libs.

He finally sighed and turned off the tv. He tapped your cheek softly.

"Kotenok, I need you to make me feel better about my team losing."

He made you walk ahead of him, directing you towards his bedroom. His dark eyes dug into your spine. A step below you and still a head taller. This is what a deer feels when the wolf stalks it. 

His bedroom was dark, a single lamp sat on the side table. The walls were a lime washed white. The bed was antique, made of carved dark wood. The sheets were white silk with a matching comforter. It was unmade. More paintings lined the walls haphazardly. When you were younger you used to cut pictures from magazines and tape them up to your own bedroom walls. He had seemingly done the same. 

You crawled onto the bed, swaying your hips as enticingly as you could manage. A hand wrapped around your ankle and pulled you back to the edge of the bed. You yelped as his hips hit your ass, cock bouncing against your cheeks.

"Remember  what I told you, Kotenok?" He pulled your panties down, calloused hands scraping against your thighs. "What to call me?"

"Kolya."

"Good girl." He dragged a hand down your back, knuckles bumping every ridge of your spine. You tried your best not to fidget under his touch, not to let the chill of the air or tickle of his fingers get to you. You heard clothing hit the floor behind you. You stared ahead, picking out one of the paintings to focus on. 

A young woman stared back at you, perched in a carriage and dressed in black, a feathered hat on her head. She looked upset, like you were unworthy of looking at her and you should avoid your gaze. 

Two fingers felt around your entrance. A shiver ran down your spine. You weren't wet enough, you knew that. You clung to the comforter, waiting for pain. 

"I told you to stop shaking. I said I wouldn't hurt you." He rubbed a hand across your ass. He sounded annoyed. You closed your eyes and pressed your face against the silk. It smelled clean and floral.

There was the snap of plastic and cold fingers prodding at your cunt.

"Shhh...I don't break the things I buy." He didn't admonish you for hiding your face as he scissored you open. He was almost tender, rubbing your hip with slow circles. His fingers curved to press against that soft spot inside you, pulling soft whines from you. "There we go, Kotenok."

You were pulled back again till your pelvis was hanging off the edge of the bed, toes curling around the plush of the rug. He ran the head of his cock between your folds, nudging at your entrance. He pushed in slowly, groaning loudly as you whimpered and fidgeted. Despite the preparation it was a stretch and burn. He held you down by your hips.

"Good girl," he purred with one last push. The head of his cock bumped against your cervix , causing you to clench in pain. It only spurred him to start thrusting. Your face dragged against the sheets as he rocked your entire body. His thrusts were hard and deep, like he wanted to mark the inside of you. 

"Close your eyes and let it happen. Most of them don't last long anyways," a girl said to you early on. You didn't remember her name or face anymore. 

You forced out moans every time his hips smacked against your ass. Arching your back so he could think he was pleasuring you. There was a modicum of pleasure, chasing it was too much effort, especially with unreceptive partners.

He wrapped an arm around your waist, hand dipping between your thighs. He pinched your clit till you cried out. His chin tucked against your shoulder, pushing his full weight against you. His body was hot and the thick hair on his chest scratched at your skin. 

"I don't like liars, Kotenok." He rubbed harsh circles till you moaned and shuddered. He hissed, "Cum on my cock or be quiet."

His other hand grabbed your shoulder and hauled you back up with him. Your back still pressed against his chest. Still rubbing your clit, he hooked an arm under yours and rested it between your breasts while holding your chin and forcing you to look upwards. There was a mirror on the ceiling. He smirked at you in the reflection. You dug your nails into your thighs, tears springing up in your eyes. It was horrific and erotic and disgusting and ugly and it made you wet. Some last threads of dignity snapping under the image of him fucking you. 

"Say my name," He panted.

"Kolya...please...Kolya."

"Want to come on my cock? Beg me for it." He licked your ear.

"Kolya please...please Kolya. I want to come. Please. Kolyaaaaa!"

You watched yourself as he forced you up to your peak, clenching around his cock. He laughed harshly and smacked your pussy. He held you up as your legs failed to support you any longer. You came hard, grabbing at his arms, manicured nails digging into his muscles. You would have thrashed about if he hadn’t had such a tight grip on you. 

He growled something in Russian before biting down on your shoulder. He filled you to the brim, his cock twitching inside your still clenching pussy. His cum was a familiar warm that leaked out around his cock and down your leg. He let go and you fell face forward against the bed.

"Catch your breath. I still want my money's worth." He patted the back of your thigh. You hiccuped softly as you regained sense. Limbs feeling heavy, your whole body stretched to its limit. 

You turned your head as he sat down a carafe of water and two glasses on the side table. 

“Need any?” He asked, filling his own glass. You nodded shyly. It was the first time you really saw him naked. He had a litany of tattoos across his chest and arms, too dark to make out details but you could see angels, skulls, cyrillic writing, a fighter jet, the virgin mary and a star on each of his knee caps. Near his groin was a pentagon with letters you couldn’t make out. A gold chain with an Orthodox cross hung around his neck. A layer of black body hair covered him, darkening everything even further. 

“Thank you.” You gulped down your glass, water dribbling down your chin. He wiped it away as he took your glass.

“On your hands and knees now,” He said, pushing back his hair. You faced the woman again, glaring back at her as you presented yourself to him. The mattress dipped behind you. He said something in Russian before pushing back inside you. 

You lost count of how many times he fucked you. You were pliant and submissive, following his lead as he bent you into whatever position he wanted. He was more virile than you expected. More gentle than you anticipated with a grossness you expected. The next time you asked for water he spit his glass into your mouth. He pinched and pulled but never bent you so hard you broke. Gagging, crying and cumming but never sobbing or screaming. 

You woke up sore. Dried cum and bite marks covering your body. He was sitting in an armchair in the corner, watching you sleep. He was already showered and dressed in a silk robe. 

"You’ll shower before you leave. Scrub well." He slapped your ass before shutting the bathroom door and locking it from the outside. 

Another extravagant room. Oxblood tiles and heated floors. A large marble counter and a mirror taking up most of the wall behind it.

It was a large shower but more importantly the water was hot. Not warm but hot. You could have cum just from feeling the jets against your skin. The body wash was luxurious - sweet and woody. You scrubbed well. These kinds of men didn't want their DNA wandering all over the place. 

There was a towel left for you but no clothes and your lingerie from last night was missing as well. He did leave a cup of tea for you on the bedside table. There were painkillers too. You took it all in one scalding gulp. 

You kept the towel wrapped around yourself as you walked back downstairs. You found him through the one open door in the hall.  He was sitting at the dining table, typing on a laptop, cup of espresso cooling next to him. 

"Come here, Kotenok." He tugged your towel till it fell to the floor. He tapped the inside of your thigh till you spread them. "Don't start shaking again. Need to make sure you cleaned up well."

You bit your lip. He spread you open with two fingers, tilting his head as he inspected you. You yelped when he forced a dry finger inside you, moving it around and dragging it against your walls. He pulled it out and stared at his finger for a moment before sticking in his mouth. 

"Good girl." He nodded and got a money clip from his pocket. "I like you. I'll see you again in a week."

He handed you five hundred pounds. You stared at King Charles in disbelief. You'd been tipped before but never this much. You would have to hide it. You didn’t know where but you had to. If he kept tipping you like this it could make a dent in your debt to Marcus and Arno. 

"Thank you, sir."

"Did I ask you a question?" He didn't look away from his computer.

"No...umm...Thank you, Kolya." An offering of affection, appease the god and receive bountiful gifts. 

The corner of his mouth twitched into a smile. An actual smile. 

"If Arno takes that from you, tell me. That's your money. I paid him enough as is. Now go get dressed. Your car is here." He pointed back towards the front door.

You hurried off, afraid to go back to Marcus and Arno but also too scared of what Kolya would do if you delayed. 

Here is the rewritten part 1! Part 2 will go up in the next few days. If you have any questions, comments, thirst messages about this fic please send them. I love talking about Nikolai and his Kotenok.

[morelikeravenbore]

Lessons in Upholstery

Sebastian Sallow x f!oc (Aurélie Collins).

Content warnings: NSFW/mature rating. Sebastian Sallow is needy. Puppy!Sebastian?? No explicit language but very sexually suggestive, mentions of nudity and sexual acts. Reader discretion is advised. Post-Hogwarts 18+ grown up Sebaura.

Word count: 1.6k

Preview: There was a unique ache that existed when she was out of reach — one that started as a small hole in his chest before spreading rapidly until his entire being felt hollow, an ache that demanded they share a too-small bed so they had to sleep tangled together, or eat at a too-small kitchen table so she had to take most of her meals sitting in his lap.

🦋 Read on wattpad | ao3

Upholstered in pale blue velvet, with matching embroidered silk pillows and ornately carved legs of polished mahogany, the tiny two-seater loveseat was clearly not designed for everyday use — yet every night, Sebastian found himself crammed between the armrests with a very satisfied redhead slotted awkwardly between his long legs.

When Aurélie had found the sofa in a Muggle brocante in Toulouse, Sebastian had known immediately that there was no point in trying to talk her out of buying it. They didn't own a home to keep it in, and unless they bought a bloody chateau (which was highly improbable given that Sebastian was only a trainee Healer), it wasn't likely to suit any future home they ever lived in. But none of that mattered, because as soon as that little squeal of delight had left her lips, he knew they'd be leaving the antique market as proud owners of the most ridiculously ostentatious piece of furniture he'd ever laid eyes on.

Happily, he hadn't regretted that decision since. Even when his legs went numb with pins and needles and his back got a permanent crick in it, so long as she was tucked into him, her back pressed to his chest and her soft hair ticking the underside of his chin, Sebastian would never buy another sofa for as long as they lived. — Because there was no other way he ever wanted to sit unless it was with the small, warm weight of her in his lap.

A weight that was presently — and unbearably — absent as Aurélie busied herself in the tiny kitchen across the single-roomed cottage, humming under her breath as she chopped vegetables for their dinner. Sebastian watched her over the top of his book, his attention drawn, as it always was whenever she was near (or not near enough), away from the dry medical journal he was studying to the silky fall of her hair down her back, the soft shuffle of her bare feet over the kitchen rug, and the sheer summer dress that clung to her thighs, her waist: she'd regained some of the weight she'd lost after the horrors of their seventh year, and her hair had grown several inches over the summer, lightened to the colour of golden strawberries by the French sun.

Leaving the Highlands had done wonders for her health, but Sebastian liked to think that love had done that to her. His love.

Tossing his book aside, he dropped his head back on the arm rest and let out a long, almighty groan.

There was a unique ache that existed when she was out of reach — one that started as a small hole in his chest before spreading rapidly until his entire being felt hollow, an ache that demanded they share a too-small bed so they had to sleep tangled together, or eat at a too-small kitchen table so she had to take most of her meals sitting in his lap.

Of course, he was self aware enough to know that his acute need for physical affection bordered on being a little… obsessive, and that owning too-small furniture was just a blatant way of enabling his insatiable desire to touch her — but he also knew how quickly love could be snatched away, and so he endeavoured to keep it close at all times: to see it in her eyes and hear it in her laugh, to taste it in her mouth and feel it shiver across her skin, to pour it into her until even her breath was saturated with it —

His love.

His.

Aurélie cast him an amused glance over her shoulder. ‘Hungry?’ she called, a teasing lilt in her delicious voice.

‘Staaarving,’ he whined, reaching his arms out for her.

Expecting her to argue about the virtues of patience, he was surprised when she immediately skipped across the room and climbed onto his lap, wrapping her arms and legs around him so tightly he struggled to breathe — just the way he liked it. Likely she'd heard the thinly veiled desperation in his voice, but in the short time they'd lived together, he'd come to learn that the empty awful ache of separation was a shared feeling.

‘Mm, that's better,’ he hummed, wrapping his arms around her waist. The little sofa groaned under their combined weight, threatening to fall to pieces if they kept this up, but Sebastian felt the hollow pit in his chest recede back to a manageable speck, placated for the time being until she inevitably up and left again.

He wasted no time. Dipping his head, he kissed slowly along her jawline and down her throat, breathing her summer scent deep into his lungs: sugar and cream and strawberries.

‘You were gone for ages,’ he murmured into the crook of her neck. Her pulse quickened beneath his lips, and he smiled.

‘Fifteen minutes,’ she snorted, threading her fingers through his hair. ‘It took fifteen minutes before you started whining.’

‘I don't whine.’

‘Yes you do. — And whimper. You're like a puppy,’ she added, shifting in his lap in a way that made his breath catch and his fingers dig into her hips.

Instinctively, he slid his hands beneath her dress to palm the curve of her spine, dragging the pads of his fingers across her skin so that his touch might stay imbued there long after his hands were gone. She shivered in return, pressing herself flush against him until all the aching space between them was suffocated between their bodies.

It never took long for them to unravel together; no matter how innocent their intentions were upon settling onto the sofa every night, how tired they proclaimed to be or how much study Sebastian had to get through, it was only a matter of time before he was tugging the silky slip of her dress over her hips, too busy moaning into her mouth to bother pulling it all the way over her head.

Tonight was no exception.

‘Puppies are cute,’ he said stupidly, letting his lips trail a wanton path of desire along her collarbone. ‘S'you think m'cute…’

‘I think you're out of control…’

Sebastian snickered against her skin, but she was right: his hips were already canting against her, each thrust punctuated by an undignified squeak from the sofa until the tiny cottage was filled with a creaky symphony of little thrusts and heavy breaths.

Blind to anything but the taste of her skin, he hadn't noticed the ridiculous little noises he was making until, with some difficulty, she pried his lips away from her neck. Suffering terribly, he made another stupid noise, squeaking like some kind of injured bird, but she soothed the pout off his face with a slow, deliberate roll of her hips, and he fell silent.

‘You know,’ she said, tilting his flushed face to look at her, ‘I think you could benefit from a little obedience training, no?’

Sebastian swallowed — loudly.

‘Training?’ he echoed, eagerly wetting his lips. ‘What kind of training?’

Never one to back down from a challenge, Sebastian's propensity for learning, combined with his impulsivity and mildly-obsessive tendencies, meant he was usually the one who took the lead in matters of the mind — after all, he'd taught himself all number of forbidden spells when he was only fifteen, defied every “Do not enter” and locked door he'd ever encountered, and read so many books he was practically a walking encyclopaedia. But when it came to this, he found himself all-too happy to be led.

Smiling like she didn't hold his very life in her hands, Aurélie tilted his head back by his chin as she pondered his question, exposing his throat to her thoughtful gaze. Goosebumps erupted across his skin, and he shivered like he was cold.

‘Depends,’ she whispered, leaning down to plant a warm, lingering kiss to the underside of his chin — a whimper slipped out; he didn't try to stifle it.

‘On?’ he croaked.

‘On what sort of reinforcement you need. — Positive,’ she mouthed, pressing down with her hips again, ‘or negative,’ she nipped his skin with her teeth.

‘Ah — fuck.’ Sebastian's body reacted well before his mind caught up. Holding her firmly by the waist, he bucked his hips up once, twice, three times, using the momentum to create friction where they both needed it most; because despite how in control she wanted to appear, she whimpered just as loudly as he did when he rutted against her. Beneath them, the sofa gave a loud, precarious-sounding screech, but Sebastian was beyond caring about the state of his furniture — he'd level the fucking house if it meant having her closer.

‘Sebas—,’ she yelped, but he cut her off with a kiss that left no room for speech, or breath, or thought beyond how fucking badly he needed her.

They moved against each other then, lost in a mess of limbs and lips and hands and tongues, and the volume of his moaning was rivalled only by that of the sofa's antique joints begging for mercy, which they dutifully ignored until —

Crack —

A splintering crunch and a hard lurch backwards cut their frantic canoodling short, and suddenly Sebastian found himself on the floor with a broken sofa back beneath him and a very unimpressed — albeit delightfully naked — redhead on top.

Not content to let a bit of back pain interrupt them, he grinned up at her hopefully, unabashedly flashing the best, most pathetically pleading puppy eyes he could muster — but she only frowned at him through her curtains of auburn hair, pinned his arms above his head and whispered, ‘Negative reinforcement it is, then.’

With the sofa officially out of action, the only thing begging for mercy for the rest of the night was him.

[sideblogofhell]

a body with two souls

summary: there are stories about who druig truly is, he lets you see a glimpse of the truth pairing: druig x male reader word count: 1.3k warnings: 18+ warning, mutual masturbation, mind control, dom!druig, kinda dark if u put your mind into it, if u dont like ignore a/n: part three im back!

main masterlist | the repentant's corner

Stars don’t fall for men, and gods don’t come down from the heavens for men. There were stories passed down in the commune, that the leader was a god that came down with other gods. That they were there when the first civilizations were forged, guiding man as they advanced.

The leader had always loomed in the community like a shadow, with his dark robes and his black hair against his pale skin, he was like some dark angel on Earth. He would walk around and deal with troubles in the community, settling disputes and administering justice. You’ve grown fond of him, he was always gentle to you, his soft voice always over your shoulder showering you with praises as you cooked for everyone. 

After everyone was served dinner he thanked you for the wonderful meal and asked if you would meet him before midnight outside his cabin. You stood outside his door under the moonlight, it grew quite dark in the commune at night when the torches were turned off. His voice creaked in the door like he instantly knew of your presence. Come in, his voice echoed in your head. 

You opened the door to his cabin, it was a small space. There was a fireplace at the back of the room with an antique throne chair near it, his bed at the side with animal furs as rugs. There were some old relics on a shelf along with some old leather-bound books. Some torches lit the room, the cold air leaving your skin in exchange for the heat of the fire. 

“How was your day?” he asked, approaching you with a swiftness that felt inhuman. His hand reached for yours, warm around your cold palms. His blue eyes were set on yours. “Dinner was splendid as always.”

“It was good,” you said, your voice hitched at the end of the sentence. “I’m glad you liked it.”

“Well, you’re always splendid,” he said smiling. Your eyes were set on your feet avoiding his gaze. His index finger touches your chin, lifting it so that your eyes meet his. “Let me see those pretty eyes.”

You swore for a second that his eyes glimmered a faint gold. 

“Do you know what people say about me?” he asked, leaving you to place more wood on the fire. There were indeed whispers about Druig. That he was a god with the power to influence people’s minds, or that he was one of the angels that rebelled against god. 

“They say you were a trickster, that you toyed with man’s deepest desires,” you said. He hovered around you, his cold presence made the hairs on your skin rise. “Or that you’re a fallen angel.”

“I’m no angel,” he laughs. “But I do know everyone’s deepest fantasies.”

“How so?”

“Not important—but it is interesting that you find the idea of me seducing you somewhat arousing,” he whispered to your ear. You fell back in shock, your back falling into his chest. He trails his nose on the skin on your nape, taking in your scent. 

You had thought about it, his dominating presence was arousing to you. You would sometimes think of it at night as you touched yourself, wanting him to take you for his. Maybe the whispers were right, he truly was a trickster god. 

“What a naughty boy you are,” he smirked, he traced his fingers on your arm, his light touches drove you insane. You wanted him to touch you so bad. “If I told you that the whispers are true would you run away from me?”

“No.”

“No, what?”

“No, sir.”

He walked around so that his body was in front of you, towering over you. “Do you trust me?” he said, his hands cupping your face. 

“Yes, sir.”

He takes you near the fireplace, taking a seat on the throne chair, legs sprawled. Kneel, his voice whispered inside your head, as if it were your thoughts. Tonight you give up yourself to me, that is what you want right? You nod, looking up at him as you knelt. 

Show me how you pleasure yourself to the thought of me. 

Your cock throbbed inside your pants, you palmed it to the sound of his voice inside your head. You took out your sex and started stroking, it was achingly hard. You let saliva drip out of your lips to your cock, the slippery sensation drawing out moans from you. You see him start to palm his erection, looking at you with a smirk on his lips, something about this amused him. 

He took out his thick cock and started to stroke it at the very same pace you were stroking. His free hand cupped his balls as his pink tip glistened against the fire. In your head, you would have crawled to him and taken him into your mouth. You felt drunk like any sense of inhibition was taken away from you as your fingers wrapped around your cock.

Would you give yourself up to me? 

You nodded like a hungry dog, eyes beady in front of him. Druig looked down onto the moaning mess at his feet, cock leaking, your face flushed as your hand pumped your sex. He wanted to take things further, control your mind to his pleasure. To place himself inside your body for him to control, he had never done it with anyone, but your pleading eyes made him almost lose it.

“Please use me, sir.”

That was it. You saw his eyes fully glow a bright gold, like shining stars in front of you. Your body felt light like your soul lifted from your body. You were fully aware of your body’s sensations but you couldn’t move your limbs. Druig was in control of your body, he could feel your hardness alongside his. With his own will, your hands started to stroke your cock, his hand stroking his own at the same pace. It felt like someone else’s hands were stroking you, it was a strange but satisfying feeling. 

Your body felt insane, like your body had two souls, your and his taking control of your body. Your hips started to thrust into your hand, you were fully fucking your hand like it were someone's body. Druig’s hand was already wet with precum, the slippery sounds of your cocks filled the room alongside the sounds of burning wood. The sight was intoxicating to Druig, a moaning mess, you were. Your body crawled nearer to him, his hand running through your hair as he pumped his cock. 

Your whole arm was moving like clockwork, stroking your member to the point that it was aching red, leaking precum on the carpeted floor. Druig was close, his hips bucking into his hand as his chest heaved. You were already panting, sweat dripping down your forehead. You looked up at him, mouth agape as you reached for air. Druig projected his pleasure to your mind, the feeling was so alien to your body that it drew your mind to a blur, the pleasure coursing through your body like a strange wave of electricity. 

The feeling of the two of you nearing climax in your feeble mundane mind was sending you into ecstasy, you were panting like crazy, Druig too. He was groaning under his breath, his thick cock blushing pink as he stood up holding your head. At the same stroke of your hands, you shot cum on his leather boots crying out in pleasure, as Druig let out a loud groan of pleasure as his cum released into your mouth, some smearing across your face. 

You dropped down to the carpet floor in fatigue, chasing your breath after what happened. Druig picked you up and carried you to his bed, cleaning you up with a damp cloth. He later joined you in bed, stroking your hair as he whispered praises into your ear. Myths were right, the trickster god did indeed toy with people’s pleasure. 

interactions are greatly appreciated btw if u liked this fic and want more send me a prompt and i'd gladly make something from it :>

[jesssssssssica]

cowboy like me cl16

It was sometimes hard being a new person in every town you had visited, having to adapt to recognising when someone was speaking to you and your new identity and having to remember the names of the many you would eventually con.

But it was worth it and it was the only life you knew, having grown up conning the rich for all of their worth, charming them to a point of gaining their trust, to milk them dry all for the advantages of being rich.

You had met many in your journey but none of them stayed with you for long enough that you could trust them, too afraid that you too would be swindled.

It all happened in Monaco, a small country filled with the rich and greedy, making it a perfect place for you to coax the men into giving you parts of their earnings. Whilst there, you had slept with a man, many years older than yourself, but not the oldest you had ever been with. It was an easy target, with the man practically begging to bed you, and from there you had him hooked. Who knew that you could gain three antique cars in a single weekend, by just batting your eyelashes and perfecting a pout? Men could be so easy. 

But then you met him.

A fellow traveller that currently called himself 'Charles'.

To this day you still don’t know whether or not the name he addressed himself by was real or not, having no way to try and find out. 

He was handsome, sure, with his beautiful smile and his enticing accent, but his looks also equated to his ability to annoy and do your head in.

You didn't originally want to speak to the man who was somehow managing to outshine you and take away your earnings, finding him a nuisance who only got away with his crime due to his boyish charm and rugged looks , but you couldn't resist it.

It began on the rooftop of one of the country clubs, the one that overlooked the tarp covered tennis courts, the both of you drunk out of your minds, courtesy of the unlimited tab on the bar, watching the way the lights of the cityscape shone against the dark night.

You don’t quite understand how the pair of you both managed to be in the same place at once, blaming it on the alcohol levels in both of your systems, but for some reasons it was as if you two were just normal people that knew each other for years and years. 

The silence between the pair of you was comforting and you liked it, enjoyed it even, finally getting some peace in the hectic life that you lived.

"Do you want to dance?" Came the voice from beside you, the first words shared between you to be spoken in almost twenty minutes.

Silence.

You could only stare at the man in front of you in bewilderment and confusion, perplexed at the prospect of dancing with the stranger in front of you, the man with a thousand identities.

Who was to say that he had not gone through this routine with the ladies in the previous towns, the people before you, sweet-talking you into false beliefs only to leave you alone and upset whilst he's off in another city, restarting his routine.

"Y'know dancing is a dangerous game" Was the only response you could muster, too afraid to say more but too confused to say any less.

And yet the man in front of you could only smile at you, with an equal amount of coyness and understanding, but still he holds out his hand, emphasising his desire to dance with you. 

It was at that moment, as you continued to stare at his outstretched hand, that you realised that it was going to be one of those things that your mother had always warned you about, having had knowledge on what it was like falling in love whilst on the run, yourself being one of the few things that came out of the affair. 

Was it worth it to destroy yourself by allowing someone in? More specifically, was it worth it to destroy yourself by letting someone that lied and swindled for a living in?

But now, looking back on the life you previously led, thinking back to that week in Monaco, you realised that you should’ve listened to your intuition and not your heart, because now you had a heart that could never love again. 

You should’ve known better than to trust someone who swindles and lies for a living, who wants to take and take and take because of course why would someone love someone when they could swindle them out of their dignity and pride? 

Because here you are now, swirling a gin and tonic in your hand, sitting on your kitchen counter waiting desperately for the ring of the phone, praying that he calls and yet silence continues to overtake your apartment. It’s crazy that the want for some pricey cars led to this creation of a forlorn you. 

But he’s a bandit, going from town to town, hustling for the rich lifestyle and it’s understandable but you always seem to wonder whether or not you live this life together, like Bonnie and Clyde, charming everyone with our sweet tones and stories. 

You could finally understand the way the men felt whenever you manipulated them into thinking that a one night stand left you enamoured with them. You could almost indefinitely say that karma had come back to bite you in the bum after all the crimes you had committed. 

So now you speak of him as if he were a pharaoh from a distant land, an antique and precious figure, to the people you meet along the road, however never addressing that this tale is a raw and real one, one that left you traumatised and unable to love again. 

A ghost in the world.

[borathae]

"Sometimes being with each other is all that you need to be happy."

Pairing: Vampire!Yoongi x Witch!Reader

Genre: established relationship!AU, domestic Fluff

Warnings: they are so in love <3, Boongie is a lil sad at the beginning but cheers up because of her, he makes her food <3, they share kisses hehehe, hinted polyamory

Wordcount: 2.6k

a/n: i don't even know what to say anymore. i just love them so much :( i want them to be happy always <3

The lights in your room are off, only the candles are burning. You don’t need much more. They provide enough light and give the room a cozy feeling.

As of recently, the room you currently find yourself in was one of the many unused rooms in the estate, destined to a dark and dusty fate. Until Yoongi surprised you with it as your new and freshly renovated witch office. He fixed up the fireplace so you could hang your cauldron and rewired all the electricity so you could actually use the lights. He dusted the room, fixed the rotten floor, painted the walls, installed better insulated windows and then filled the room with renovated furniture and so many books. It earned him a million kisses and a billion hugs and you spent a good amount of it crying in his arms because you were so happy.

Since then, you made this place your own. The room was divided into three spaces. The first space was your potion kitchen, consisting of a hip-high work counter, a white metal sink in front of the window and the fireplace with the cauldron. The next section was your work desk, located in front of the second window. You do your magic homework there, take notes from your books or stare outside to watch the rain. And the last space was your reading area consisting of a spacious sofa with lots of cushions and blankets, a small side table on which a floral lamp gifts light and another side table for mandatory tea cup holding. From the ceiling hooks, bundles of herbs and flowers are drying and little trinkets and crystals are presented wherever a free spot offered itself. The wooden floors are covered in antique rugs and candles keep the space illuminated. Taehyung also gave you one of his record players, which earned him as just many kisses and just as many hugs. You placed it on yet another small table by your work desk.

Said record player is currently serenading you with your current favourite album. A faint knock at the door cuts through the melodies. 

“It’s open!”

Yoongi steps inside and closes the door behind him. He shrugged off his riding coat and gloves, but kept the sweater on. A black turtleneck, tugged neatly into black riding pants. He doesn’t wear shoes – courtesy of your no shoes in your rooms policy – which results in his already silent steps to be noiseless on the floor. 

“You got wet”, you gasp, “oh, love what happened?”

“Nothing, I just got rained on”, he assures you and walks to you in hasty steps. 

“It started to rain?” you look outside, “it did. I didn’t even notice that it did.”

“Yeah, it started ten minutes ago.”

You are currently in your kitchen, tying camomile into bundles. Yoongi places himself behind you and wraps his arms around you, nuzzling his nose into the crook of your neck. 

You giggle because it tickles, fleeing him with minimal effort. His lips and nose feel cold from outside. His wet hair rubs against your skin and sends shivers through you. He kisses your favourite spot, ending it with a small purr. 

“Hey”, he whispers sweetly.

“Hey there. Your face is cold.”

“The wind’s strong. It’s why I got so wet”, he says.

“And it’s not because you’ve been riding in the rain for so long?”

He chuckles and nibbles on your jawline, “probably.”

You laugh softly, relaxing in his arms as you return to your task. You plan on using the herbs for teas and sleepy cushions. Taehyung especially loves those cushions and he already has a collection of five with plans of growing them. You love making them for him, because he gets so happy when you gift them to him. 

Yoongi keeps hugging you as you work, stealing neck and shoulder kisses whenever he can.

“Tea or pillows?” he asks.

“Both, but mostly tea. It’s getting colder again, so we’ll need to restock.”

“Mhm, can’t wait. Your teas are very good”, he says, making you smile. 

“Thank you, my love.”

“Mhm.”

Emma and Seokjin asked you if you wanted to have a small section in their perfume shop where you could sell your teas and creams. You instantly said yes. Jimin has been helping with packaging. He finds lots of purpose doing something which might seem so insignificant to others, but to him it feels very important. Something where he can be careful and tender, where he can go slow and where he knows that he won’t be punished even if he messes up. You think that it helps heal a few wounds in his heart, because whenever you watch him fill the packages of tea with a concentrate pout on his lips or the jars of cream with furrowed brows, a sense of tranquillity surrounds him.

You are currently drying camomile for a new patch of your very delicious tea mixture against colds and sniffles.

“How did it go with him?” you ask him, placing a finished bundle aside to start work on a new one. 

“Good, I guess. He’s still the same.”

“Yeah? Well, at least that’s positive news. The spell worked without side effects.”

“Yeah”, Yoongi says and rests his chin on your shoulder, “he refused to talk. Again. Like always.”

“Mhm, I see. That’s not that good of news. Does he eat and drink at least?”

“Yes, but…I don’t know what to do anymore. Nothing I try helps. It’s like he’s, he’s”, Yoongi stops talking and sighs instead, “it doesn’t matter.”

“No, it does matter”, you turn in his arms, placing your hands on his chest, “I can hear that it upsets you.”

“It doesn’t upset me.”

“Yoongi…” you warn.

Yoongi lowers his eyes, “it makes me sad”, he whispers.

“Gosh my love”, you cup his right cheek. 

He leans into it instantly.

“I understand your pain. You are trying so hard, but nothing helps. It must be so painful to watch him rot away like this.”

He nods his head, “I keep wondering if we did the right thing. If, if we never should have turned him human. I wanted to heal him and, and now he is just a shell of-”, he stops again and looks into your eyes, “I’m sorry”, he whispers.

“For what, my love?”

“I almost cried, but I don’t want to.”

“It’s okay, let it all out. You’ll feel so much better afterwards.”

“No”, he shakes his head, “I can’t do that. I want a hug.”

“Com’ere.”

Yoongi falls into your arms, hugging you back with grateful tenderness. 

“It’s okay to cry, my love.”

“No, I don’t want to.”

“Okay, but if you need to, don’t hold back, yeah?”

“Yeah.”

You hold him for the duration of one song, swaying him to the melody and caressing the nape of his neck. He doesn’t cry, but it is still clear that the hug has the same effect on him as crying would have. Once he steps back, the weight on his shoulders seems to have lifted and he gives you an honest smile.

“Thank you”, he says.

“Don’t. You know that you can always come to me.”

“Yeah”, he nods his head, “thanks. You can always come to me too.”

“I know, love. Thank you.”

He smiles and nods his head once.

“And we’ll get through this together, yeah? You don’t have to go through this alone.”

“I know, thank you”, he says and looks to the side shyly, “I cherish you so much”, he whispers with his fingers touching his own hair. 

“I cherish you too, my beloved.”

Yoongi hums and touches his own tummy.

“Uhm. I’ll dry up now. My nipples are coming through the shirt because I’m so cold”, he says, cracking you up. 

Yep, he definitely feels better again. 

You glance at his chest and the very prominent nipples poking through the fabric.

“They do. Oh dear, look at them”, you say, touching them softly. 

He swats your hands away, “don’t. They’re sensitive”, he whines.

“Sorry”, you apologise with a mischievous twinkle in your eyes. 

“You’re not”, he says and steps back to leave, “I’ll dry up.”

“Yeah, okay. Have fun, love.”

“Mhm.”

He leaves the room, but returns soon. The vinyl already finished quite some time ago. Now the pitter-patter of rain against the windows is keeping you audible company. You are by your bookcases, cleaning up the books you had to use lately. You like sorting them back into your shelves in alphabetical order once you are done using them. 

Yoongi knocks on your door again. By the sound of it, he used his elbow for it. 

“Come in!”

“I need help.”

“Oh dear. What’s wrong?” you gasp, hurrying to the door to open it for him.

Nothing is wrong. He is merely carrying a big tray filled with tea and lots of little snacks. Biscuits, sandwiches cut into triangles, sliced fruit and a can of cinnamon tea with some milk. He clearly couldn’t twist the doorknob like this.

“Oh wow Boongie, what's all of that?” you gasp. 

“I thought that you were probably hungry”, he says, carrying the tray to your work desk. 

“I am. Thank you”, you tell him as you trail behind him. You hug him from behind, rubbing his tummy as he prepares the tea for you. He prepares himself a cup as well.

“There you go.” 

“Thank. You”, you say sweetly and giggle, circling him so you could clink mugs with him.

You and he share silence as you try the tea. It tastes rich in spices and leaves behind a comfortable warmth in your tummy. 

“This is so yummy. You make the best tea, my love”, you gush and pick up one of the sandwiches, “now what’s that?”

“Just some burrata with tomatoes and pesto and prosciutto and stuff. Yeah, I thought it could be good.”

“Mhhm it is good, wow Boongie this tastes amazing.”

The sandwich is perfectly grilled to be crunchy outside but still soft inside and the flavours of the fillings harmonize together perfectly. You feel your mouth water even as you are munching on it. 

He looks to the side, smiling to himself. 

“Yeah, eat a lot”, he says, nodding his head. 

“I definitely will. Thank you, my love”, you say and pick up the plate, “do you wanna sit on the couch and talk while we eat?”

“Yeah”, he says and follows you with the tea cups. 

You sit down in a way so that you can rest your bend legs on his lap and he can run his hand up and down your thigh. He drinks his tea while you eat the delicious sandwich. He asks you if you had a nice day until now and you tell him that you did. Then you ask him if he feels better now that he is dry and he tells you that he does. Afterwards you guide the sandwich to his lips, offering him a bite which he accepts with a faux frown on his face. In the end, he goes in for one more bite and says that the sandwich was good. 

Once you finished your sandwich – and you told him all about the caterpillar you saw in the garden – you share the plate of biscuits and another cup of tea each. You busy yourself with your books as you do, while Yoongi relaxes on the couch with his phone. 

You share silence like this, coexisting in the same space. You love doing this with him. To be alone, but not lonely. To know that you can partake in your favourite things, but if you wanted to, you would just have to turn and see your favourite person. To know that he is there and that you could just go over there and kiss his lips makes time feel so meaningful and precious.

You place the book aside and give in to the voices. You go to him and place yourself in front of him. Yoongi lifts his head, running his eyes over your face in silent curiosity. Wordlessly, you lean down and cup his cheeks to pull him into a loving kiss. 

“Hm”, Yoongi lets out and drops his phone for the sake of holding you. He feels dizzy instantly. Oh, how much he loves to kiss you. 

It breaks way too soon for his liking. You even straighten up again, looking down at him with warm eyes. 

“Why did you do that?” he asks breathily and with his sparkly eyes racing between yours. 

“I just felt like it”, you answer him, caressing his lips gently. 

He chases your touch with a tilt of his head and a breathy, “oh” slipping from his pouty lips.

“Why? Is that a problem?”

He shakes his head, fluttering his lashes at you.

“That’s what I thought”, you say and gift him a fond smile, “you’re so handsome, my love”, you say and step back again to return to your books.

Yoongi lowers his head shyly, touching his own lips. Your surprise kisses won’t ever lose their spark. Yoongi swears he discovers new colours whenever you kiss him that way. He is so giddy when he is with you. You make him feel so good. You really do. He watches you work for a little while. You are almost finished with the books, taking tea and biscuit breaks every now and then.

Yoongi switches his eyes to the guitar next to the work desk. It’s from his collection. It was made out of black wood with pearl engravings on the guitar neck and produced a beautiful sound. It has a permanent home in this room, just like a few of your plants have a permanent home in his wing these days. It happened naturally that you trickled into each other’s spaces with the intent to stay. It doesn’t feel out of place, as a matter of fact, your spaces wouldn’t feel complete if the little hints of the other weren’t present.

Yoongi gets up from the sofa, “do you mind if I play the guitar?” he asks.

“No, of course not. I was already thinking how quiet the room is”, you allow him with your nose lost in one of your books, “woah, that’s interesting. Why did I wanna put this away? I gotta take notes on this”, you murmur and turn to hurry to the desk.

You meet Yoongi there. He is carrying the guitar by its neck, smiling at you with curious eyes.

“What did you discover?” he asks.

“Look”, you show him the pages in the book.

Yoongi looks at them with great interest. They present knowledge to a spell you are currently practicing under his guidance.

“That’s the spell we practiced yesterday. I didn’t even see those pages yet.”

“Mhm, they seem helpful. It’s a good idea to take notes about them”, he tells you and glances at your face.

You notice, meeting his gaze.

“Can I have another kiss?” he asks.

You nod your head and close the distance between you and him to kiss his lips. Yoongi deepens it with his hand on the side of your neck and his thumb caressing your cheek. By the time he finally breaks it, your heart is racing just a little. He gives you a smile.

“That was nice”, he says.

“Yeah”, you agree, nudging his chest, “you’re so sweet.”

“Mhm”, he hums and steps back to get comfortable on the couch, “do you have any song wishes?”

“Not really. Just play whatever you wanna play”, you tell him and sit down by your desk.

“Okay”, he says and seconds later the melodies of his guitar fills the air. 

[crime-alley-cat]

☆ | OPEN RP | ☆

The antique store that was placed flush in the middle of the Bowery and Crime Alley had been there for a long time. The front of the shop was worn, the blue paint peeling and the name of the store ('Good Old Fashioned') was written across it in white cursive. Shockingly enough, all the windows were completely intact and the displays featured items such as grandfather clocks, teapots, lamps and jewellery boxes.

Inside of the shop, the walls are lined with bookshelves, filled with novels of varying ages. Small ornaments also decorate the shelves and vintage, well-crafted tables lined the aisles, each holding more items for sale. The floor was lined with handcrafted rugs and the walls that weren't covered in bookshelves held tapestries.

At the front of the shop, lay the counter. Redwood frame, glass on the front and top. Jewellery and watches shone in the display case. A few signs rested on the top along with an ancient cash register.

"No refunds." / "No smoking." / "Don't touch the teal clock."

A girl with purple hair, wearing an old band shirt too worn to see the logo and baggy grey jeans, stood behind the counter. She flicked through an old book lazily.

[blondewhoresworld]

silent night !

saltburn fanfic

!femreader x !felixcatton

tw: talks of hookup, hugs, alcohol use

you had never liked christmas. it was something about america. made it hard to love. the ugly decorated trees, smell of plastic and tinsel. it was always too hot for it to feel jolly. plus it was just another excuse for your family to force ugly sweaters over your head.

that had been your opinion on christmas. hated it, a grinch even. but coming to england, oxford to be exact, had slowly started to warm you. something about the freezing cold cobbled streets, hot chocolate stands, woolly hats, watching how your own breath pooled out in waves of humidity.

you would never admit it but maybe it was starting to grow on you. plus with every coming christmas came a cheesy christmas party. your college was known for them. it’s where you had met felix.

he was dressed in a way too tight, way too small santa outfit. the top undone to show off his lazy but lean chest. you had watched him all night from across the room. desperately trying to get a peek of the tattoo that would flash itself every so often.

felix had approached you first, beaming, cheeks flushed with the strong liquor. he was a towering figure. made even the tallest person look insignificant.

“you alright?” he had said, double fisted with two bottles of smirnoff mixes in his hands.

“yeah… fine.” you replied, you always loved a college party, had dressed on theme. little elf outfit, your cheeks painted pink.

“dance?” it was easy for him, one word and it was the next day and you had woken up in his twin bed.

that’s where you were now, the following year. thin cigarette in hand as you sit with your back against the cool stone wall.

“what do you mean you hate christmas?” he had his face scrunched up, trying to unscrew his eyebrow piercing. he was heading home for christmas and had already lectured you on his mothers clean cut household rules.

“it’s shitty, just an excuse for people to get drunk and put up ugly decorations.” you shrugged, taking a long drag of your cigarette and trying not to laugh at him.

“that’s the best part.” felix argued, still fiddling with the tiny metal ball. “trust me y/n you have never had a good english christmas.”

he said it with such confidence and certainty that you burst out laughing, it caused him to jolt and loose hand on his piercing. he swore under his breath and shook his head, that same crooked smile on his lips.

“don’t laugh.” he said, rolling his eyes. “if you saw my house all lit up you would change your mind. mum throws a wicked christmas eve party.”

he paused and looked at you. “where are you this year? the states?”

she shook her head. “nah, i was gonna stay here or go to my meemaw’s down in kent.”

“sick!” felix exclaimed, that posh accent still brought a smile to your lips. ��you can come, i’ll get a car and everything. it will be totally chill vibes.”

it was everything but chill vibes.

you arrived late on purpose, your black cab dropping you just outside the gates.

felix wasn’t wrong so far, you had been to his house before in the summer. but now it looked stunning.

every inch was covered in warm fairy lights, fountains had frozen over, the gates had little merry christmas signs dotted all over them.

huge wreaths decorated with holly and dried out oranges were on every door and as the gates opened you could hear the music already playing.

a butler dressed in a black suit and a christmas themed tie took your things and led you into the entrance hall. that was almost showstopping.

two huge trees lay at the end of each room, both had been so carefully decorated and curated it felt scary to be so close. warm colours, red, orange, yellows covered each branch. and when you looked closer you noticed that each catton had their own personalised bauble. it was so perfect. so warm. the house itself was warm.

a table lie in the middle of the room, sat on a red intricate antique rug. it had a little miniature village on top that was playing out christmas scenes. it was genuinely like spending christmas with the windsor’s.

“y/n mate!” it was felix, he came bombarding into the room, sporting no shoes (or socks) and a large piece of tinsel wrapped around his neck. “you are so late!” he leant down and picked you up like it was nothing. it was a sweet embrace, something that made your cheeks burn.

he was clearly already tipsy but you couldn’t figure out what it was. “come, come.” he led you through the rest of the house and into the ballroom.

he had your hand tugging you along as you attempted to steal glances of the rooms. his sister sat in one room, she had let the blonde fade out of her hair and it had returned to its natural brown.

she made the small room glow, sat watching the tv with a glass of red wine in her hands. the room was so stacked with fairy lights and sofas it was hard to see her at first. she didn’t see you.

the next thing you saw was the gardens. he led you through a corridor that had huge windows. you could see everything, the fog that lingered over the grounds, each tree had been dressed up in orange lights. usually saltburn was scary at night but this was almost breathtaking.

then you were finally in the ballroom.

now that was what christmas was.

a slow and jazzy version of silent night was playing lowly as earls and sirs and ladies and lords all talked it happy drunk voices.

about seven antique rugs had been placed over the floor and every stood in their socks or bare feet. candles sat on every surface and you really began to believe you were in a harry potter book.

you passed a huge nutcracker and almost fell. felix caught you by your arm and laughed, his cheeks red. you couldn’t tell if it was from the alcohol or the warmth of the room.

“totally chill, hm?” he said, handing you a glass of red wine. “maybe christmas is better in england?”

you didn’t reply, just sipped the drink and took in the smell of the happy guests and the sound of the music.

ps tysm @tinytennisskirt for inspiring me to write again <33