#The Great Devourer Expansion

[haaaaaaaaaaaave-you-met-ted]

Warhammer 40k: Conquest - The Great Devourer Expansion - Noxious Fleshborer by Alexandr Elichev

[dearlenore]

JUST LIKE DADDY • S.REID

SUMMARY: most people are delighted when their children take after their spouses, however none of them had a child with Spencer Reid. In your case, having two smart asses around is giving you a headache. A very adorable, sweet, headache.

PAIRING: mom!reader x dad!spencer

tags: PURE FLUFF, reader wears sundresses, no mentions of pregnancy (so u can imagine baby is adopted) , team doesn’t know about your or your daughter, mentions of autism and ableism (no hate crimes , just ignorance) season5!spencer

a/n: dad spencer is all that’s in my pea brain rn I should probably study tho… also you guessed it, peds surgeon reader 🥹

w/c: 1.8k

“HARPER COME HERE,” you called, glancing over your shoulder as you finished plating breakfast.

The sound of small footsteps pattering against the hardwood floor followed, but she didn’t respond right away. Instead, she wandered into the kitchen, her little nose buried deep in a book, turning pages with quiet fascination. You sighed, shaking your head with a knowing smile.

“Harper,” you said again, a little firmer this time.

She finally looked up, blinking at you with the same wide-eyed, unfocused expression her father wore whenever he was deep in thought. It was uncanny—like looking at a mini version of your boyfriend.

“Come here, baby,” you chuckled, reaching for her. She barely acknowledged you as you lifted both her and the book in one smooth motion, hoisting her onto your hip.

“Are you hungry?” you asked, shifting her weight so you could grab a forkful of scrambled eggs from your plate.

Without hesitation, she opened her mouth, happily taking the bite before reaching for more. You laughed, sitting her on the counter as her father finally wandered in, rubbing his eyes and stretching with a yawn. His hair was a mess, the result of a night spent tossing and turning, and he still looked half-asleep.

You smirked. “I forgot about the boy band you joined.”

Spencer frowned slightly, confused in his sleepy state, before realizing his hair must be sticking up in every direction. He attempted to smooth it down with one hand as he walked over to the counter, where you slid a plate of eggs in his direction.

“Daddy!” Harper beamed, momentarily abandoning her book to reach for him.

But instead of waiting for him to pick her up, she grabbed a handful of your scrambled eggs and stuffed them into her mouth.

“Wow, okay—yep, you know what? Enjoy that, honey,” you sighed, watching in amusement as she happily devoured your breakfast with zero shame.

Spencer sat beside her, sipping his coffee with a small smile as he watched her eat. You shook your head, adjusting your scrubs and tying your hair up as you muttered, “I’ve never seen a baby eat so much…”

Spencer, ever the encyclopedia of knowledge, didn’t miss a beat. “Actually, at this age, children experience growth spurts that can significantly increase their appetite. The brain alone uses about 50% of a toddler’s energy intake, which makes sense considering how much she’s learning and developing every day. So, really, it’s not just eating—it’s fueling her cognitive expansion.”

You shot him a blank stare. “Spencer, she just ate my breakfast with her bare hands.”

He smirked, ruffling Harper’s hair as she reached for another bite. “And at this rate, we might need a second fridge.”

You chuckled, shaking your head. “Remind me to get on that one.”

Leaning over, you kissed him softly, savoring the warmth of the moment before glancing at your watch. Reality settled in as you sighed. “I gotta go—one of my patients just had another seizure, which means surgery got pushed up.”

Spencer’s expression shifted immediately, concern flickering in his eyes as he reached for your hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze. “You’ll do great,” he murmured.

You squeezed his hand back before pulling away, ruffling Harper’s curls on your way out. “Love you both. Try not to let her talk you into giving her ice cream for breakfast again.”

“No promises,” Spencer called after you, Harper giggling beside him.

As you left, you could already hear Harper asking, “Daddy, can we read now?”

And, of course, you knew what his answer would be.

“Enjoy your special day off with daddy Harper, you’re very lucky,” you giggled, kissing Harper on the nose. “Promise to try and get out before dinner?” Spencer frowned.

“Oh, Baby…I have interns. After this surgery I leave whenever the hell i want, should only take 7 hours,” you shrugged. “So I can expect you by 3-4PM?” He smiled, Harper on his hip.

“Fingers crossed!” You called out to him, closing and locking the door behind you.

THANKFULLY, LUCK MUST’VE been on your side. For the first time in what felt like forever, you were home on time. You quietly unlocked the door, hoping to surprise your fiancé and daughter, and were immediately greeted by the soft sound of giggles echoing from the kitchen.

You smiled to yourself, slipping off your shoes as you followed the sound.

“Whoa, is that me?” Spencer’s voice was full of delight.

Standing in the doorway, you saw him leaning over Harper’s small frame, his hands gently resting on the edge of the counter as he studied her latest masterpiece. In front of her was a cookie slathered in colorful frosting, a wobbly yet unmistakable attempt at drawing their little family. Harper beamed proudly, nodding as Spencer adjusted a tiny smudge of icing with his fingertip.

“And is that you and Mom?” he asked, his smile widening as he pointed to two smaller figures beside the taller one.

Harper nodded again, her curls bouncing with the movement.

Your heart melted at the sight.

For a long time, you and Spencer had worried about Harper’s speech. She had been a quiet baby, slow to start speaking, and for months, you’d both second-guessed yourselves, wondering if you were doing something wrong. And then—one day—she had started talking, and she hadn’t stopped since.

Often times people would comment in stores, they’d question if she was autistic, in their words ‘like her daddy,’ which pissed you off to no end. Not that you were ashamed of either of them but for the sole fact it wasn’t their business.

“Is that for me?” you gasped, stepping into the kitchen.

Harper turned toward you so quickly she nearly knocked over a bowl of sprinkles. “Mommy! Look what I drew!” she giggled, holding up her cookie proudly.

You raised a brow as you inspected the chaotic yet adorable frosting mess. “That’s beautiful, baby. You even gave Daddy his new haircut”

Spencer let out a soft laugh, running a hand through his already-messy curls as Harper nodded eagerly. “We’ve been going over proper grammar all day,” he explained with amusement.

That made you smile knowingly. You and Spencer had agreed early on not to use baby talk with Harper. He had read several studies on how children learned language through immersion, picking up sentence structures and vocabulary from full, adult-level conversations.

“In order for her to develop a strong linguistic foundation, it’s important that she hears full sentences and proper word usage,” Spencer had once told you, mid-ramble, as you rocked a six-month-old Harper to sleep. “Children’s brains are like sponges. The more complex language they’re exposed to, the more their neural connections develop. It’s how they build cognitive associations—”

And yet, despite all his research, Harper still loved to test his patience by making up her own grammar rules.

“I drawed it myself!” she announced proudly, smearing frosting on her cheek in the process.

Spencer sighed dramatically, though the fondness in his eyes was unmistakable. “Drew, sweetheart. You drew it yourself.”

Harper scrunched up her nose, contemplating that for a moment before repeating, “I drewed it myself.”

You snorted as Spencer let out a defeated sigh.

“Close enough,” he muttered, kissing the top of her head.

You leaned against the counter, watching the two of them with warmth spreading through your chest. “I think it’s perfect,” you said, pressing a kiss to Harper’s frosting-covered cheek before turning to Spencer. “And clearly made with love by a little artist”

Spencer nodded, wrapping an arm around your waist as Harper reached for more sprinkles. “An artist and a linguist, apparently.”

Harper looked up at you both, eyes twinkling. “I’m a genius,” she declared.

Spencer chuckled, squeezing your waist. “Well, she’s definitely my daughter.”

“Don’t get me started. It’s like there’s two of you.” You scoffed playfully. Spencer’s brows furrowed. “What do you mean?” He crosses his arms and leans on the counter.

You raised an eyebrow, pausing mid-sip of the coffee you’d just taken from your boyfriend. “Spence. Seriously?”

He blinked at you, waiting. Oh, he was serious.

You set your mug down with a sigh, crossing your arms as you leaned against the counter. “Okay. Well, for starters, she walks around with a book in her hands everywhere—to the point where I’ve had to physically guide her away from furniture so she doesn’t run into things. Sound familiar?”

Spencer tilted his head, processing.

“And let’s talk about her memory. The other day, I told her we could get ice cream if she took a nap, and when I picked her up from daycare two days later, she said, ‘Mommy, you owe me ice cream.’ TWO. DAYS. She remembered the exact words I said, which, by the way, is something you do all the time, and it’s terrifying.”

Spencer opened his mouth, probably to say something about the hippocampus and memory retention, but you held up a finger. “Nope. I’m not done.”

Harper, now licking frosting off her fingers, was watching you both with amusement.

“She uses logic to try and win arguments. Do you know how hard it is to reason with a toddler who says, ‘But technically, you did say I could have another cookie yesterday’?” You waved your hands for emphasis. “She technically me’d into giving her another cookie, Spencer. She’s FIVE.”

Spencer rubbed his hand thoughtfully, as if considering his own genetic responsibility in this matter.

“Oh, and let’s not forget the fact that she infodumps—about things she just learned. The other day, I made an offhand comment about birds flying south for the winter, and now she’s been telling everyone about migratory patterns. The cashier at the grocery store did not ask for that information, but she sure got it.”

Spencer’s lips twitched, clearly amused. “So what you’re saying is… she’s highly intelligent, observant, and logical?”

You groaned, rubbing your temples. “Oh my God. Yes, Spencer, your genes are very strong.”

Before you could say more, Harper perked up, pointing a frosting-covered finger at you. “Mommy, did you know some birds don’t actually migrate, they just move to different parts of the same area?”

Spencer’s grin widened as he leaned toward you. “See? She’s just expanding on a topic she finds fascinating.”

You huffed, shaking your head before leaning down to kiss Harper’s sticky cheek. “You two are gonna drive me insane.”

Harper giggled, and Spencer simply pressed a kiss to your temple. “But you love us.”

You sighed dramatically before melting into his embrace. “Yeah, yeah. I love you both. Even if you’re teaming up to outsmart me.”

Harper beamed. “It’s ‘cause we’re genies, Mommy.” You snickered.

“So how many wishes do I get?”

[acid-ixx]

— related post !

socialite! (secret himbo/bimbo) reader who takes one look at bruce wayne in a gala and you decide you'll use your (dumbass) alluring charms on the man to spend a night with him and it ends up successful. you had the best bed-breaking sex in your life, never once questioning all the taut muscle underneath his polished thousand-dollar suit; now crumpled by how handsy you were taking off his clothes. he was great with aftercare, too, carrying you off to one of his luxury bathtubs to bathe you and leave even more marks on the expanse of your back whilst massaging your naked body (you didn't even think for a second at the romantic implications his actions had).

then you're at one of luthor's galas the next time, being interviewed by this cute man with eyeglasses, who calls himself clark kent, with the cutest country-boy accent, who looks too tall to act all lanky, but you're not one to judge. you take one look at his baggy suit, ignore the pen and paper in his hands and drag him off to one of the spare janitorial rooms to have, quite possibly, the most pleasurable quickie you've ever had spent inside a cramped closet, your sweat sliding off each other as your bodies move in a harmonious tandem. you give him a kiss on his collar right after the momentary sex, and giggle at the skittish blush dispersing on his face, as if he didn't just give you a reason to go home early due to the limp on your step.

after everything, they were buried in the back of your mind. they were great fucks, yes, you never had a moment of horny zenith not until you met them, yes; but your relationship (if you could even call it that) with both men were purely sexual and a one-time thing. you never really thought of them, you prioritize your social life and reputation above all else, not your coster of other rich people you've slept with.

but one day, you see both in the same room as you in another gala. you're oblivious to the sets of eyes hungrily taking you in, or how quickly they shove off other people just to move closer the moment their attention land on you. you take a look at the two men, biting your lips whilst your eyes devour the memory of their muscled pecs squished between your index and middle finger, and their thick thighs pistoning you back and forth, all hidden under all the clothes covering their body; and whisper not-so silently:

"i can take them both, not in a fight."

sadly, you'll never know that they're both at each other's throats after hearing your confession, ready to take each other in a fight if it meant having you in their arms once more. you'll never know just how bruce managed to throw in a microchip in your bag before you're escorted home by his limousine, or how clark watched your sleeping body in your apartment as superman just to make sure you slept well after he pounded you to oblivion in that closet.

all you'll know is that you're going to score them into fucking you once more either way. after all, if they're both the best choices when it comes to pinning you down and going crazy on your body, then you'll do anything to achieve that aching goal with the both of best worlds.

you're unaware that they'd do the same thing for you, though. but it's not out of the intentions to merely sleep with you, no. they're also planning to find a pathway into your heart while at it.

so... welp, guess that's just an added list of all the other suitors you had fighting over the chance of having another night with you.

a/n: gender-neutral reader. no bodily gender mentioned at all. this is purely sexual content with some plot. i blame my irl best friend for this (the single dialogue was me thirsting over the characters through our chats). yes, i post this after posting angst. am i shameless? also yes.

[tojisun]

john price x reader; minimal plot but it’s daddy issues and making out and just yk the sorts; mini religious analogy

it starts with a tap to the mouth—john's thumb rough against your glossy lips. he tips your head up just enough so that you can meet his eyes, crinkled in his deep smile and shining with the depths of his desire.

his adoration is palpable, rippling from his body in burning waves. it makes you feel small in the softest of ways; like you are being tucked into the pockets of his chest, wedged within the spaces of his ribs.

it makes you ache, your body racked with shivers.

no one has ever loved you this way. no one was ever this devoted—all-consuming and scorching in the way it strips the world into nothing, leaving it bare, all for you to use. to yield. to pick apart and abandon, as you see fit.

john looks at you like you're all that matters.

the tears spring up before you could stop them, prickling the backs of your eyes until they trickle down the slopes of your cheeks. you hear john's breath stutter, his hand twitching from where it's cupping your jaw, before it drags up to the side of your temple, thumb swiping at the patch of skin just underneath your eye.

"shh," he rumbles, a gentle coo. "y've got nothin' to be sad about, sweetheart."

you sniffle, ducking your gaze away, turning shy. it makes him chuckle, his voice passing through his teeth with such fondness, it fills you up with warmth; cascading down your spine, setting you ablaze alive.

“now, then,” john says, tapping the apple of your cheek. “won’t you come here an’ kiss me?”

his voice is thick and sticky with his own need, rumbling in that sort of tone that always makes your thighs squeeze shut. you nod, not knowing what else is there to say, and slide to his lap. he helps you throughout—rough palms perched on your hips as he pulls you close, adjusting ever so slightly, until your chest is snug against his and his breaths are hitting your chin.

john is so warm like this, or is it you? burning with the fever of your own desires that it buzzes into your skin and etching him with it?

whatever it may be, he presses close, dragging his palms from the meat of your hips to your back, mapping along the expanse of your skin like he’s truly feeling you; like he’s truly grounding himself through you.

you let out a shaky breath. john mirrors it.

and, finally, the two of you meet in between. the kiss is soft, careful, then it is cataclysmic. he devours your every gasps, his beard scratching against your chin as he kisses and nips and licks.

it is so debauched; sinful in the way you moan into his mouth and john swallows it whole; destructive in the way that his kisses chase the burn from your lips and force them through your synapses, leaving your nerves to moan a song until the pleasure burrows in your core—thrumming and building, your nub hardening slowly; teasingly; more.

more. moremoremore—

“john,” you gasp out, fingers tugging at his hair. “john, i want–!”

“shh,” he rumbles, pulling away just enough to press his forehead to yours. “i’ve got you, peanut. i’ve got you.”

his words douse you in the holy flames because you feel—

absolved.

you feel forgiven. you feel loved.

oh.

“please,” you hiccup, crying out again. and john pulls you in, even closer, and closer, until you no longer know where you end and where he begins.

please—

“i’ve got you,” john repeats like it is a prayer; a testimony. “i’m here f’r you.”

and you fall into him, so trusting. so faithful.

so devoted.

so small in his greatness.

[sarahisslytherin]

duty and honor.

cregan stark x tyrell!reader

summary: it has been decided. you are to wed the young lord stark. you know little of him or the north but will do your duty. this, however, does not release you from your worry of how the union will go or how you will settle into your role as lady of winterfell. luckily, cregan takes it upon himself to make you feel at home.

contains: fluff, people rooting for a bedding ceremony.

a/n: i am so in love with this man i need to be restrained.

word count: 2k

The carriage rocked on the road to Winterfell, your ocean blue gown ruffling as it did. You tried your best to ignore the wild beat of your heart in your chest, tried focusing instead on the growing pines that passed your window with increasing speed. Your mother sat at your side, a stoic presence that soothed you somehow. You took her hand in your own, and when she looked at you you didn’t have it in you to mask your utter fear. 

“You will be alright, child.” she sighed, bringing that same hand up to cup your cheek. “Lord Stark is a good man. I know you will be far from all that you know, but surely you will grow to love your new home as well as your betrothed.”

When you finally came to a halt outside its gates, you felt your heart drop to your stomach. You clutched your mother’s hand like a frightened babe when they drew open. The courtyard was full of expectant faces you knew you would eventually commit to memory. The townspeople were out and about, young rosy-cheeked girls squealing with delight as they spotted your carriage. Their soon-to-be Lady was within it, and you could only hope when the time came that you would not fall short of their expectations. They watched keenly as you stopped before them one final time, and you prepared to be devoured by hungry, prying eyes. You tugged on the fur lining of your cloak as your mother stepped down from the carriage. You quickly followed suit.

Indeed, you could feel their glares cutting clean through you. You had known enough ladies and lords to know they were searching for faults and virtues to remark upon as soon as you were out of earshot, but there were so many faces you could not focus on a single one. 

Instead your gaze swiftly fell upon the mountain of a man that was the young Lord Stark. His chestnut locks fell in such a manner that they delicately framed a rather rugged face, on which a scowl seemed to be permanently etched. But this was to be expected. It was common knowledge that smiles were rare amongst Northmen. Though winter was still months away, he was already cloaked head to toe in furs, an uncommonly large sword strapped across the broad expanse of his back. 

“Lady Y/N, welcome to Winterfell.” he rasped, his voice quite gravelly and masculine for so young a man. You offered him a small curtsy in return, but couldn’t quite muster up the agreeable smile your mother had asked you to perfect on the way here. You tried your best not to gawk as you took in the ancient castle, trailing behind Lord Stark as he strode through Winterfell’s stony halls. The biting cold of the north left your bones as you approached the hearth in the Great Hall. 

You listened as your mother exchanged pleasantries with members of Lord Stark’s court, though your eyes did not leave the dancing flames and glowing embers.

“You’re a long way from Highgarden.” he said as he came to stand beside you. His accent was harsh, the vowels flat and words clipped, but you would be lying if you said you didn’t find it somewhat pleasant to your ear.

You turned to regard him. Gods, he was beautiful. The fire cast his features in a golden hue, the color returning to his cheeks. He was a sight to behold, powerful and perhaps even fearsome, but in this moment so soft. You wondered what your future with him would look like. Would he take a liking to you? Would he hate you? When you eventually gave him children, would they take after their mother or father? Would it be a life worth living?

“Yes, my Lord.” you sighed, rubbing your hands up and down your arms. “A long way indeed.”

The muted ivory of your gown made you appear one with the snow of the Godswood. Your hair was unbound, save for the intricate braiding around the crown of your head. Only the moon’s and torches’ light showed you the way to the weirwood tree. Your father swiftly came to your side, looping your arm in his. He offered you a gentle caress along your icy cheek, a solemn look about his face as if watching a spring rose being sacrificed to the unforgiving cold of winter. Wordlessly, you began to walk.

Despite the North’s fame for brutal winters and even more brutal people, you couldn’t help but marvel at the quiet beauty of the Godswood. So still was it, that you could have sworn you felt its ancientness in your bones, could feel every ring of age around each tree stump. Snowflakes danced on their way down, coming to land upon strands of your hair. It was then that you saw him before the weirwood, his lips drawn into a thin line. He was covered in dark furs and a cloak, his hands clasped behind his straightened back. 

“Who comes before the Old Gods this night?” The words were spoken by a family ward. 

“Y/N of the House Tyrell.” your father replied. “She comes here to be wed. A woman grown, trueborn and noble. She comes to beg the blessings of the Gods. Who comes to claim her?” 

You watched as Lord Stark approached, towering over you. You hoped you would grow accustomed to it, to him. You held your breath when he spoke. “Cregan of the House Stark, Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North.” 

You dared to look up, to meet his gaze. You found nothing but gentleness in them. “Who gives her?” Your father spoke his name. And now the ward asked you the question. 

“Lady Y/N, will you take this man?”

You could feel the overbearing weight of watchful eyes, of held breaths and keen ears. But Cregan’s eyes hadn’t left yours, determined to hold your gaze. You could have sworn a flicker of joy shone in them when you gasped out. 

“I take this man.”

Cregan offered you a shy curl of his lips, then took your hands in his. You noted that they were far smaller in comparison to his weathered hands as he led you to the trunk of the weirwood tree. Its face provided you with some strange comfort. Perhaps the gods would heed your prayers. Perhaps they were watching over you as you both knelt before the trunk. Silence fell upon the Godswood as the wedding party prayed. No sooner had the moment passed that you and your now husband rose to your feet. Cregan’s large hands reached around you to gingerly remove your cloak, a golden Tyrell rose embroidered upon it by your mother. 

You shivered as the cold crept into your body, but were swiftly covered once again, this time in a Stark cloak, the wolf sigil stitched boldly enough for all to see. And just like that, it was done.

It was the first time you had seen him smile, truly smile, since you had arrived at Winterfell. From where you sat at his side on the dais, the entirety of the Great Hall stretched out before you. Jovial music filled the hall, and you watched the merry faces of Cregan’s men as they helped themselves to the wedding feast. Their chatter echoed on the stone walls, and for the first time since you had left Highgarden, you felt somewhat at home.

“Has Winterfell begun to grow on you, wife?” Cregan’s husky voice came from your left. When you turned to meet him he was wearing a boyish smirk. He was playing. You didn’t suspect the Wolf of the North had it in him.

“Well, it may be a while longer before that happens.” you sheepishly admitted, struggling to hold his intense gaze. “But I know I will come to love it.”

“Aye.” he said. “I know it will never be your true home, but I promise you I will do all in my power to make it the next best thing.” He placed his large hand atop your own, taking your palm and squeezing it gingerly. You were thankful for the gesture, and couldn’t ignore the flush of your cheeks that resulted from it.

“You’re timid.” he observed, only causing you further embarrassment. “It’s quite charming.”

“You may very well be the only person who finds it to be so. Even back home my soft temper has been known to irritate others. Most times people can barely hear me when I speak. I find it easier to keep to myself and observe.” you confessed. “I truly must grow a thicker skin if I am to survive amongst the wolves.”

“You won’t survive.” Cregan stated matter of factly. You whipped your head toward him with wide eyes at that, not prepared for what he would say next. “You will thrive.”

You felt your muscles loosen up once again, offering him an incredulous laugh.

“I am perfectly serious, my Lady.” he went on. “You will rule the North at my side.”

“I hardly think I am equipped to rule such an – unruly people, my Lord.” you tried to mask the nervous tremble of your hand as you brought your wine to your lips.

“Cregan.” he rasped. “Call me Cregan.” You nodded, eyes crinkling above a smile. He leaned in, as if he were about to tell you a most precious secret. “Sometimes all a beast truly needs is the touch of a gentle hand.” 

You backed away to meet his eyes. They held nothing but truth in them. Nothing but honor. But your moment was soon ended by the clamor of the wedding party. The men began to holler, whooping and howling in unison. “Time for the bedding!”

You had anticipated this, and you now braced yourself for the unpleasant experience of being hauled to a bed with Cregan. You had always known your first time would be like this, and though you loathed the idea, you could not alter tradition. It was a surprise to you when Cregan rose from his chair, planting his large hands on the dinner table before he spoke.

“I am sorry to disappoint you, but there will be no bedding ceremony tonight.” he bellowed out through the hall in a voice so commanding it was an effort not to shrink in his presence. “And I won’t hear any complaints about it. It’s too lovely an occasion to taint with a brawl.”

The men did their best to mask their disappointed groans as they returned to their dinner. You weren’t quite sure what had prompted Cregan to make such a decision. Did he not like you the way you had hoped? Perhaps he thought you fit to rule by him, to be a figurehead, but not someone he could ever desire in earnest. He must have read the emotions as they crossed your face, because he quickly took his seat beside you again. 

“Are you well, my Lady?” he asked. You merely nodded in response. He gently took your chin between his thumb and forefinger, forcing your gaze towards his. “When you wish it to happen it will be just the two of us, husband and wife. No prying eyes or ears.”

Warmth bloomed in your heart at the words. It was as if he had quieted the growing storm in your mind with only the touch of a hand. A gentle hand.

“You are a man of honor, Cregan.” you said resolutely.

He only smiled in return as he brought you in closer, finally pressing his lips to yours. The touch sent sparks down your spine. It was in that moment you knew that spark would soon fan into a flame a thousand northern winds could not snuff out.

tagging: @velvetcloxds @oweninadaydream @spxllcxstxr @lovemesomevesey @shemisseshome @themissgreen24-blog @siriusement @kingdomzeldaquest @gayfordabae @slayis4ever

[cor-lapis-candy]

Ayato the kinda freak to be into induced lactation, that man in my opinion would 100% be there and actively latched to a nipple day after day, nightly till the point that the other person started lactating.

If you can't tell this is about lactation then this is your warning, if you don't like the idea or the idea/act of lactation is a no for you, do not click the read more.

It was something you knew could happen, after all your young lord had something of an obsession with your chest, always mouthing and latching to one of your nipples the moment you had your shirt off, regardless of if it was sexual or not the moment he could his lips would be wrapped around your nipple stiff or not, and now...

Now here you are, awkwardly cupping your chest and watching as your ever-elegant partner lost that damned smiling mask of the commisoner from on his face and narrowed his eyes at you.

Between your fingers dripped the evidence of what his little obsession had made your body do, milky off white dripping from between the cracks of your fingers and leaking down your fingers, he had suckled his way into having you lactate, it was awkward and left your chest tight as pressure built till you were as you are now.

Leaking.

Sure Ayato hadn't wanted this initially, but now that he was looming over you pulling your hands away tongue tracing along the path your milk had taken, swirling his tongue around each finger, there was nothing about this he wouldn't love.

Now when he pressed his lips to your chest he could have more of you, taste something that was wholly his doing, something that was all him and all for him.

"My dear, is there something you want to tell me? Or maybe you'd prefer I drink it from you-" bending at his knees slightly, lets him press his cheek to your collarbones, staring up at you between flicking his gaze to where you were still leaking,"-cause I'm sure this isn't how I left you this morning..."

This morning... This morning was one that you would never forget, you had woken up to Ayato latched to your chest, as usual, one hand rolling and playing with the nipple he wasn't suckling the skin around where he was playing felt tight but you had thought nothing of it, brushing it away as he had been prone to suckle and tug at your chest in his sleep, having told you it was great for him to watch your sleepy face twist as he played with you.

Even as you had whined and tried to push him away, there was no way you would have been able to move him, the weight of his body pressed against you and the feeling of his cock hard in his yukata as he rutted against your thigh, grunting as he feels your weak attempt at pushing him away.

The morning had ended with your chest littered with hickies and imprints of his teeth, his cum splattered across the expanse of your torso as he panted and smiled down at you, sweeping away from you to head out with nothing more than a smile and a peck on the cheek. It was when you tried to bathe, hands gently trying to clean away the mess he had left that you had started leaking, the barest brush of your fingers had been the trigger.

Hours later and you had still been leaking, shirts dragging against your nipples awkwardly, wet patches blooming as you soaked through the material.

If Ayato had been unable to leave your chest alone before, there was no way he would even stop now that you were leaking, now that there was something new for him to take from you, something new to devour.

And by how he was hunched over against your body, letting heated puffs of air brush against your skin as a warning before he was latching just as he had this morning, there was no getting to the bedroom before he would take this oh so much further than just suckling.

[tastyliltina]

2. Explode ~ Pt. 1 (SFW \/ore story)

“Findin’ whatcha needs?” The heavyset finger leaned into the doorframe, taking up the entire space.

“Aye,” Chris nodded to the captain, shuffling through some bowls. “Any sign of the guards yet?”

“Nope,” Jake’s voice brightened with a grin. “Seems we’re all alone~.”

“Surprised the mayor left his place so unsupervised,” Chris mused, holding a rolling pin up to the closest window. Near perfect condition…left here with no purpose. She shook her head and added it to her bag. “Hate to see good tools go unused.”

“Mm, any good snacks?” There were footsteps behind her, and a squeak as the captain opened a pantry door.

“There were some sweets in the upper cabinets, nothing great…”

“Hm…” a huff, then a series of crinkles as the captain snagged what he could find. “Damn. Well, th’others are plunderin’. Ya’ get whatcha need and come back out when yer ready, we’ll wait on ya’.”

“Aw, not taking the chance to be rid of me?” Chris shot him a grin. “I’m touched~.”

The captain snorted, ears flicking. “Can’ts be down a good cook is all, dun get cocky.” As he walked off, Chris didn’t miss him muttering something about ‘never opening that damn crate’.

“Mh-hmm~,” Chris crooned as he stalked off. She rifled through what else she could find, some new pots and pans, and some ingredients that would last a while, make the crew some good cakes and treats for a job well done.

She lingered in the kitchen for some time before departing, having taken most of the good utensils. As she walked through the expansive halls adorned with polished wood and the smell of age, she passed by a small office. Chris paused. She turned, slowly, and peered into the dimly-lit room. Books crowded shelves, a neatly-placed desk, the floor. Chris felt her fingers twitch. Casting a glance around, she stepped into the office and knelt to examine a book on the ground.

Minutes later, Chris dove into the fourth…or maybe tenth book, flipping through the pages to determine if it was worthy to join her collection. Her eyes flew across the words. She devoured the neatly-printed text, ravenous in a way she didn’t know possible. She added the book to her bag, and grunted with the weight as she tried to stand. Once she got to her feet, something on the desk caught her eye. A crinkled parchment weighed down with stones that overtook the entire desk.

Slowly, she moved to read over the paper. It was…a map. A map of the island, from what she could tell. Surrounding it was the thick lines of the mainland. At the top, the North point, the way they’d entered the island’s canal, and the only way to leave the island. She grazed the path inland and froze. Smattering the unevenly drawn waters around the canal were dark ink blots, each labeled “canon”. She felt her stomach drop. Amidst the blots was a large, red circle marked “pirate”, right on the northmost shore where they’d docked the ship. Frantic, Chris shoved the paper weights aside and ripped the map from the desk, sprinting to the exit of the building with it clutched to her chest.

Authors note: hi hello!! Thanks for reading so far~. This is part of a short series I’ll be writing under this prompt name using my gal baker!Chris and my good friend @sindumpster ‘s pirate!Jake. I love this AU so SO much and if you don’t follow Wiggs you def should~.

Please note, this story includes SFW \/ore in it. There’s mentions of gore and some of digestion but nothing more.

Chris slammed through the main entrance doors, and panted as she stumbled onto the extravagant steps leading away from the mansion. She scanned the beach until she spotted the captain. He was standing watch, arms crossed as the pirates moved to and from the ship.

“CAPTAIN! IT’S AN AMBUSH!”

Jake’s head whipped in her direction. His green gaze burned into hers as she approached, thrusting the opened map towards him. A few of the crew members in earshot hurried over and crowded around the pair.

“Here,” she wheezed, pointing to the canons. Jake snatched the parchment from her hands as Chris stopped to her knees, coughing while her lungs struggled to compensate for her mad dash. “Canon ships…that’s why…no guards-“

For a moment, Jake was quiet, observing the map. A clawed finger traded along the canal they’d used as entrance. He frowned.

“Bastards…knew we was comin’,” he murmured. He straightened, addressing the crew around him. “Loot whatcha got, get everyone back here and ready our blasts!” He barked. The crew nodded and scrambled away, shouting for the members still looting the ship.

Chris remained still, vision still pulsing. “What…should I do?” She managed.

“Jus’ get t’the lower deck an’ stay there,” Jake replied as he rolled up the map. For once, no teases on how he had a good place to hide her, no quips on her state from a short run. Somehow his genuine response was more worrying than being eaten alive.

“Aye, captain,” she nodded, making her way towards the ship. The crew filled the beach, all moving back to the ship with their treasures.

Chris caught a few wary glances cast her way. Not wary of her…for her, she imagined. While not close with the crew, she’d gotten on friendly enough terms with near everyone on the ship. Most of the crew addressed her as ‘baker’, or ‘cook’; a long way from ‘stowaway’, at least. It was hard to dislike the person that made sure everyone was fed and content. And, too, the closest equivalent the ship had to a medic. She put on a smile as she passed. Years on the streets taught her plenty on how to be cautious. Things…would be fine.

—

The ship was nearly through the second bend of the canal when the first blast hit. Chris yelped, pitched from her spot peering out of a stray hole in the ship’s hull as the ship groaned. There were shouts from above, and the blasts of returning fire. Chris winced, hearing pained cries from familiar voices. Above it all, too, was Jake. His voice was stern and sharp. Sometimes, among all the antics, she forgot he was the captain.

She hunkered down as another blast shook the ship. Shaking hands eased her back to her feet. Her middle felt sharp, like a knife scoring through her gut. She wanted, needed to do something to help. This was her ship too, dammit! Pushing herself back, she wobbled and searched for something to arm herself. Thankfully, there was plenty.

~~

Jake directed the gunmen, pointing to the masts of the enemy ships, and extra hands on the sails. Too many of the ships were getting too close for his comfort. If they were boarded, they’d be in trouble. His crew was large, capable, but even they could do so much against a fleet of bounty hunters. The main priority was escape for now.

The ship took some hits, thankfully nothing serious, and most of the injured were still able to move. His eyes scanned around the faces, ensuring everyone was in their positions until a brunette wielding a pistol caught his eye. His eyes widened. Ballsy, that cook…but she couldn’t get in the way.

He stalked up to Chris, who turned to face him with a bewildered expression. “I came to-“

“Thought I toldja to stay below deck.” Jake snipped.

Chris deflated, just for a moment, but straightened and met his gaze.

“I-I was-“!” She stammered, pulling the weapon close. “But, I just…I wanted to help, and-“

“An’ nothin’, Jake grumbled. “Yer not a fighter, an’ all ya’d do is get in the way. Yer better off hidin’, like I toldja, or gettin’ the injured below deck.” He met her scowl with one of his own. Gods, this cook…a part of him almost admired her bravery. Had there not been an active threat, he may have fostered it. But now wasn’t the time. She needed to be protected, and he needed to be firm.

Before she could pull away, he grabbed Chris by the shoulders and pulled her closer. His jaws easily yawned around her familiar frame. He pushed, shoving Chris back into his throat as he swallowed her. The crew hardly minded him as he bolted down the baker, throwing his head back to slurp down her legs. Her weight dropped into his middle like a ton of well-flavored rocks.

Jake grimaced, resting a hand on his squirming stomach as he felt it burble and shift uneasily around the sudden occupant. He ignored the muffled shouts of protest as he turned back to the crew. Things didn’t look good. While the ship was intact, many crew members were down, and with Chris out of commission for now, he couldn’t think of a good way to get them to safety, too.

He barked orders to the sails. Crew dashed towards them. Priority was escaping. Fighting could come another day. His eyes shifted to starboard, and-they widened. Shit. Bounty hunters flooded one side of the ship. Jake felt his stomach drop. He stepped back, claws readied should anyone try to trifle with him. The hunters didn’t seem interested in the crew-no, they scanned the ship as they fought their way through. One of them met his gaze.

“There!”

A clamor of shouts made Jake’s stomach roll. He stepped back, brandishing his fangs in a snarl. He’d show them the reason he was Jake the snake. He stepped forwards, only to hesitate as a movement inside caught his attention. Right, shit, he had to be cautious. While he could handle a scrap, a bullet or sword to the gut would be it for Chris….but mainly himself. She was making him vulnerable. He moved his hands to defend his middle. Was she still moving?

In the brief moment of distraction, the bounty hunters made their advance. Jake blinked and they were on him. He snarled, lashing out with his claws. He felt them impact flesh, tearing as he sliced through what he could. There was a scream. Jake lunged again, only to feel something drive into his leg. He roared as best he could, whirling around to deliver a blow, only for something to crash into his head.

The world pulsed once, twice, and fell dark. Jake’s ears rang. He felt something slam into his side, and jostle his gut. There was a moment of sounds, slipping away as he drowned in an inky blackness.

~~

Bean again!! If you read this far firstly thanks so much!! Second, if you enjoyed please reblog or leave a comment! I really enjoy writing, and engagement w my works helps boost me to create more. TwT also again if you don’t follow Wiggy ( @sindumpster ) please do, they’re a super sick creator and have a lot of really fuckin cool characters~. Also they’re a wonderful person. Big shoutout to him for being awesome and letting me borrow torture Jake…again XD

Part 2 should be out uhhh sometime soon…ish, depending how much engagement this gets :’)

[inocyde]

"The Husk" terminal of Jormara 25x35

In the north of Jormerun... in fact in the north at all, at the antipodes of all civilization, at the end of the world, you'll find the Jormara ice pack. A wild, inhospitable desert of ice. An expanse of shifting, all-consuming, ever-changing pack ice. Instead of fine sand dunes, you'll find titanic icebergs frozen in time or floating in deathly calm along the shores of this sea of ice.

In this labyrinth of frozen teeth and fangs, you'll sometimes catch a glimpse of great black columns silhouetted against the blizzard. These gigantic peaks of basalt rock are Jormara's only fixed points, the summits of lost mountains. Dating back to a time when civilizations and men still slept the benevolent sleep that preceded their birth. The banished gods is the name given by the few inhabitants of this white hell to the mountains that rip through the depths of this frozen ocean.

If your eyes see one of these black towers emerge, after weeks of travel in the blind blizzard, you'll be able to contemplate the flickering, fragile glow of hundreds of torches on all sides of the peak, staking out the body and entrails of the rock. If you get any closer, you'll be able to hear the song of these gods, a symphony of clatters and sharp blows. The pickaxes of dozens of miners echoing in the wind.

That's why there's life here, barely surviving, eating the snow and chasing all forms of heat so as not to die out. The treasure of the dead gods, the heritage of an entire people, glory and wealth for deserters and adventurers. Mithril.

Veins of mithril almost outcropping! Mines so abundant and rich that sometimes you only have to stoop to pick it up. This is the honey that attracts bees of all races and all countries to this great chase: the mithril hunt of the Jormara ice floe.

That's where you set off, hoping with all your soul not to end up like all those pioneers, frozen for eternity on their knees in the middle of nothing, frozen with their hope and their life's fortune packed in their bag.

After two months by boat, you arrive at the furthest point from inhabited land. Zigzagging between icebergs that have become mountains, you can't go any further. You're at the gates of Jormara, one of the departure camps for the Great Devourer.

Welcome to the Husk, home to 3 and a half people and a few sled dogs.

On the menu for the year: fish in fish fat, all cooked in melted ice.

It's best to book your bed in advance if you don't want to brave the polar night and enrich the next day's ordinary.

Make the most of the fire fed by the remains of ships that weren't lucky enough to arrive, like yours, in one piece.

As you watch your nave sail away into the dawn, you'll realize that you are now a resident of Jormara. Your wealth, perhaps, your prison, surely, and your grave, no doubt.

-Sileas Kel Pionner of Jormara

more in my patreon

[kajilychnis]

Skrael and Mythology and Legends inspirations

Yeesss I did it for Bellroc, I'm going to do it for Skrael now! Well... we all know who Skrael is, he is a primordial demigod of cold, snow and icy winds and storms. He is sadistic and ruthless, he is a great manipulator, cunning and observant and strangely patient. He has the ideal qualities of a final antagonist, but in the series he comes across more as Bellroc's right-hand than anything else. There are several mythologies that may have influenced the creation of the character.

Of course, I'm going to talk about his Wendigo influence first because it's the most obvious and observed one. There are several similarities to the Wendigos and Skrael, firstly his black cloak which appears to be torn at the end of his cloak and with a long horned animal skull worn on his hooded head. The typical Wendigo appearance we all know, except Skrael has more of a humanoid appearance, the skull could be a wendigo he killed (potentially). But the animalized appearance of the wendigo is a creation of Algernod Blackwood in the 70s (thanks Until Dawn for this information). The true legend of the wendigos comes from the legends of the Anishinàbemiwin tribe, in these legends they were much more humanoid, skeletal with grey skin, bald, sharp teeth, terrifying and bloodthirsty/anthropophagous creatures. Which could explain Skrael's appearance under his cape and without his hood and his animal skull. However this is only physical, what could approach Skrael that is outside of physical appearance would be the fact that wendigos are associated with the sins of gluttony, greed or excess of any kind. They are never satisfied after killing a person to devour them, and they are constantly looking for new victims. You see where I'm going with this? Skrael is also power hungry, he wants more and more, he wants the world all to himself. He is also very sadistic and he likes to torment and torture mortals especially humans. So the wendigos fits him well. Aside from the fact that he seems to be a more civilized version of what a wendigo is… probably because Skrael is not just inspired by the legend of the wendigos...

This is where we come to the second part, the legend of Jack Frost. Another one that seems obvious, but I decided to start with the most obvious to the least obvious. Jack Frost is another legend that may recall Skrael, although his interpretation varies greatly between cultures and eras. In European and Anglo-Saxon legends, Jack Frost embodies the spirit of winter and frost, a mischievous being, capable of transforming landscapes into icy expanses and drawing frost patterns on windows. However, Jack Frost is not as jovial as some modern versions portray him, he is often a mysterious character, a capricious and sometimes cruel spirit, indifferent to the effects of his frost on human beings. Jack Frost is often depicted as a small elf, fast, mischievous yet innocent with a childlike character. He can also become dangerous and freeze people on the spot, if they anger him. His physique can have winter aspects: white hair, his eyes of the color blue, ice on his clothes. The two characters are very similar, much more in personality than physically. Physically we find the gel on the clothes, the blue icy eyes, the young appearance (most of the time Jack Frost is young in representations), the pale blue skin (yes Jack Frost has pale skin that looks almost blue) and the albino side that Skrael has but only on his eyelashes which are white. In terms of personality, they both are mischievous, they don't care how others might feel and they think ice/snow is better than anything. In folk tales, Jack Frost is a spirit who acts according to his own desires, without respect for humans. This indifference to the suffering of others is also found in Skrael, who sees cold as a means of purifying the world.

For the third part, I placed it here randomly, but I wanted to talk about Ymir even though there is very little to say. As we all know, Ymir is a primordial frost giant from Norse mythology. Ymir is described as one of the first beings in the universe, born from the meeting of the fire of Muspellheim and the ice of Niflheim, and he is the ancestor of all frost giants. This ancient and primordial nature is reflected in Skrael, a guardian who embodies an ancient and immutable force of winter, a power that seems to have been there since the beginning of the world. Norse mythology tells us that the gods killed Ymir and used his body to create the world: his flesh became the earth, his blood the oceans, his bones the mountains, and his skull the sky. I see this as some sort of proof that Skrael's titan is his true form and his first form, his separation from his original body makes him less strong. The giant that is Ymir must have been a potential inspiration for Skrael's titan, the fact that he is a primordial giant like Skrael is a primordial demigod titan. And the fact that they were both separated from their bodies as well, shows some resemblance between them.

Finally, I didn't think to add it in my "analysis" but… I will finally talk about Khione. Why Khione and not Boreas, the god of the north wind? Because apart from their title, their cruelty and their power I found nothing else to say about this charlatan who definitely does not know consent. To make the rest of my analysis more meaningful, I would like to warn you that I am talking about Khion from Rick Riordan's books. Like Skrael, Khione is a snow goddess, she masters snow, cold and ice. She is able to create storms, freeze objects and manipulate temperature, and she also likes to turn people into ice statues… like Skrael. Both share this feeling of indifference to human and other creatures, they are devoid of empathy, they are implacable deities, detached from human emotions and indifferent to the suffering or destruction they inflict. This lack of pity or empathy reinforces their merciless nature, each imposing cold without a soul. In Riordan's works, Khione aspires to power and the reign of winter. She is ambitious, seeking to dominate or make winter a supreme force. In a similar way, Skrael embodies this vision of eternal winter. Both want the cold to reign supreme and do not want a natural cycle where spring would return, but rather a world frozen forever under their icy control. Khione and Skrael are both beings of solitude. Khione, like a goddess of the icy heights, is distant from the world of humans and rarely interacts with them, preferring her solitude. Skrael, is a spirit isolated from any attachment and emotional warmth, he shares the same thoughts as Khione, he does not want to interact and mingle with other creatures and even less humans. There is also the connection between Khione and Gaia in Rick Riordan's universe and between Skrael and Nari which can present interesting parallels. In Heroes of Olympus, Khione allies with Gaia, the Earth Goddess, for her own ambitions of power and to bring about eternal winter. Khione sees Gaia as a primordial force that can help her impose her rule. Similarly, Skrael allies with Nari to wipe humanity from Earth and bring about eternal winter (although this is not explicitly stated in the series). Khione, though independent and ambitious, knows that Gaia is a greater power than she is, a primordial entity that surpasses other natural forces. She acts to serve Gaia's interests, even if she hopes to profit from them. Skrael and Nari are equals compared to them, but what does not change is that Skrael takes advantage of Nari, in order to achieve his goal.

The name of "Skrael" comes from Norse culture. The Vikings used the term "Skræling" to refer to the indigenous peoples they encountered in North America, including the Inuit and other indigenous groups of Greenland and "Newfoundland". In Old Norse, Skræling means "weak" or "barbarian" or "foreigner", with a connotation of "skin" or "bark", which could indicate a pejorative view. The term was often used to mark the perceived difference between the Vikings and the peoples they encountered. It is also possible that in "Skrael" there are cold or icy sounds. For example, "sk-" at the beginning of the name (like "skeleton" and "skull") may have a visual sound associated with something hard, bony, or cold.

Finally, to conclude, Skrael is an interesting antagonist even if we don't know much about him. He is ruthless, reckless, observant, sadistic and patient, the perfect antagonist inspired by legends and myths.

[haaaaaaaaaaaave-you-met-ted]

Warhammer 40k: Conquest - The Great Devourer Expansion - Toxic Spore Sac by Alexandr Elichev

[niqhtlord01]

The Great Git Hunt Part 1: The Death of a Legend

During the turning of the 42nd millennia the universe was to see many upheavals of a galactic nature.

 The 13th Black Crusade finally shattered Cadia and opened the great rift, sundering the universe in two and unleashing innumerable demonic incursions into real space. Tyranid Hive Fleets began appearing more frequently along the entire eastern fringe devouring innumerable worlds and forcing the Imperium to fight tooth and nail for every world to slow the tide of chitin.The Tau launched the Fifth Sphere Expansion while the Imperium’s attention elsewhere and sought to steal several dozen worlds from Imperial control and integrate their populations in the name of the greater good.

Yet the most perplexing, if not confounding, event was to pit two of the greatest warhosts against each other all over the death of one elderly man.

That man was Commissar Sebastian Yarrick.

Dying at the age of roughly 153, the energetic Commissar Yarrick made a name for himself by leading the Imperial resistance against Ork Warlord Ghazghkull Mag Uruk Thraka on the world of Armageddon. Taking for himself the severed arm of an ork warchief he slew in combat to replace the arm he lost, Yarrick would become a nay mythical figure amongst Ork culture and the primary rival of Ghazghkull himself. It was said that the warboss only ever cursed Yarrick; an honor amongst orks for sure. Their rivalry would span nearly a century as the two would fight again during the third war for Armageddon and then far afterwards as Yarrick chased the warboss half way across the universe seeking to end the green threat once and for all.

Many would be safe to assume that with a rivalry so deep between two titans of their peoples that their stories would end with a climatic clash of arms where one would lay dead at the others feet. Yet fate sought to intervene in the cruelest of manners.

While pursuing his eternal foe with a fleet of Black Templar space marines, Imperial Guard, and several warships of the Imperial Navy; Commissar Yarrick was set upon by the newly reformed World Eaters chaos space marines legion led by their demonic primarch Angron.

With the opening of the great rift Angron emerged from the Eye of Terror at the head of the largest force of Khorne worshipers the universe had seen since the Horus Heresy. Angron was not content to follow Abaddon and his mongrels, so set out on his own to leave a path of devastation and slaughter spanning several sectors. Each world his followers set foot upon they would leave in fire with nothing but the hollow skulls of its former inhabitants piled in mile high mounds to watch over them. It was in fact the most recent slaughter on the planet Mori that reverberated throughout the warp so strongly it incapacitated the navigators of Yarrick’s fleet and pulled them out of the warp.

Angron was surprised at the sudden appearance of an Imperial war fleet, but welcomed the new challengers with great relish. The Khorne warships descended upon the imperial fleet like carrion fiends and began pulling it apart piece by piece. The navy fought back with great ferocity but the troop transports were left to fend for themselves as hordes of boarding craft were launched at them, each packed with world eater space marines churning for the coming bloodbath.

With their escape routes blocked and the transport ships in danger, Yarrick ordered the ground forces to land on Mori. It was only on the surface of the planet could the imperial force bring to bear their full might. The landing was hounded the entire way by the ever pressing chaos war fleet with many ships never making the journey, but by the grace of the emperor several made it to the surface and disembarked their forces.

Never one to back down from a massacre, Angron landed on the planet once more and led his legion against the now dug-in imperial forces. Under the leadership of Yarrick, the guard and space marine forces held the unending horde back for seven days and seven nights. Yet by the dawn of the 8th day only Yarrick and a handful of guardsman remained. Angron himself took to the field for the final slaughter and slew the guardsman with ease until only Yarrick stood against him.

Power claw met demonic axe as the elderly commissar matched blow for blow. So assured of his victory, the inability to shatter the crude ork weapon infuriated Angron and his rage furthered him to unleash a flurry of blows. One snuck past Yarrick’s guard and violently severed the commissar’s right arm at the shoulder.

As the arm and power claw fell to the ground Yarrick staggered backwards. His remaining hand tightened around his bolt pistol as blood began flowing from the wound. He looked up and saw the demon primarch looking down at him; mangled and jagged teeth grinning as Angron looked down at him. No doubt the monster expected him to beg for his life, but Yarrick would not.

Spitting out a glob of blood at the traitor, Yarrick brought up his bolt pistol and roared “FOR THE EMPEROR!” one final time and pulled the trigger. A single bolt left the weapon before Angron swung his axe and decapitated the commissar. The bolt struck home against one of the skulls hanging from the primarch’s neck and shattered it; a prized treasure as it had belonged to one of his close comrades back when the primarch had been mortal and a slave in the fighting pits of his homeworld. The primarch took up the severed head of Yarrick and put it in its place around his neck; a sign of honor for a great warrior while the rest of the skulls of the dead imperials were collected and offered to Khorne.

News of this massacre did not reach the wider galaxy for several months until a passing merchant ship picked up the distress signals of the imperial navy that still echoed in the warp. They soon found the lifeless husks of imperial ships floating above the planet of Mori and when they descended to the surface found the remains of the imperial’s last stand as well as a lone ork power claw still stained with demonic blood.

When the merchant ship reported their findings to nearby Imperial authorities an investigation force was dispatched by inquisitorial agents which further discovered the truth of the situation and the death of Yarrick.

Initially, there was hesitance with releasing the information regarding Yarrick. In a time of such chaos, the death of such a notable figure if reported to the wider imperium could trigger further outbreaks of panic. In a rare show of defiance however, the Astra Militarum insisted that it be made public and a large scale military funeral be held and broadcasted imperium wide to turn Yarrick into a martyr and potentially Imperial Saint stating that he chose to die fighting the forces of chaos then be cowed into submission.

Had the Astra Militarum made such demands a few generations earlier the Inquisition would have purged their ranks for such brazen defiance; but since the great rift’s opening they found their position had weakened and they needed the legions of Imperial Guard standing with them than against them. So, the Inquisition relented and the military funeral was held on Yarrick’s homeworld. Despite the great dangers of warp travel, several high lords of Terra made the journey to pay their respects as well as countless Imperial Guard regiments, space marine contingents, mechanicus forces, and even a rare Imperial Class Titan joined the funeral procession.

It was during this period of mourning as news of Yarrick’s death was spread throughout the imperium that it also trickled into the hands of the Imperium’s enemies as well.

Ork freebooters hijacking Imperial ships learned of the news while having fun with their human prisoners. There wasn’t an ork alive that didn’t know of the legend of “Old Bale Eye” and the impressive ork body count he had amassed over the century of fighting. News of his death spread even faster amongst orks than it had with imperials until finally words reached the green prophet himself, Ghazghkull Mag Uruk Thraka.

At first, Ghazghkull refused to believe that anyone but him could have done in his oldest rival. He had fought Yarrick too long and knew that the wily hummie wouldn’t go down so easily. But when a squad of his handpicked Kommandos came back from Mori and presented him with Yarrick’s severed power claw, the green prophet flew into a rage.

The roar let out was so powerful that it reverberated in the warp, silencing nearby warp storms and sending countless ships of all affiliations from the astral tides of the warp back into real space. Not since the war of the beast was an ork roar heard so strongly in the warp from so far away that even the navigators on holy terra itself could hear the anger of Ghazghkull.

From that moment on the greatest warboss of orks the universe had ever seen had a new mission. He would take every ship in his fleet, every gargant and war machine his boy’z made, and every ork boi in his waaagh and he would not stop until he had the head of the one who done in Old Bale Eye and mounted it to the front of his flagship.

The Great Git Hunt, had begun.  

[sleepyowlwrites]

it's that time of year. I must give you spooky songs.

I'm not just throwing my playlists at you, either. you can find all 200+ of my playlists on my spotify. spooky is a blanket term, okay. the vibes are expansive but there's something...there.

spooky but in the background, mostly

the Ghost songs by Louie Zong

Ancient Souls - The Daniel Pemberton TV Orchestra

Edge of Night - Cullen Vance

The Mist - Max LL

The Inevitable Haunted House - Boqeh

Mass (Re-Imagined) - Phoria

Dispossession - SQUARE ENIX MUSIC

Ceaseless Watcher - harvo

Waltz of the Bone King - Peter Gaundry

Thryy Wyrd Tynns - Alec Holowka

Dance Off - Heloise Tunstall-Behrens & Auclair

Dragon Lullaby - Dave Volpe

The Gambit of Night - Neil DeGraide, Dirt Poor Robbins

Sleep - The Last Bison

Mausoleum - Rafferty

White Specter - Adrian Von Ziegler

spooky but there's something here with you, a creature?

Fangs - Little Red Lung

Rusalka, Rusalka / Wild Rushes - The Decemberists

That Unwanted Animal - The Amazing Devil

Into the Woods - PHILDEL

Into the Unknown - Evetty

The Nowhere King - The Centaurworld Cast

Aha! - Imogen Heap

The Glow - The Last Bison

Nature Girl - Cryoshell

Running with the Wolves - AURORA

Howling Moon - Coleman Hall

The Pines - Roses & Revolutions

Caterpillars (Of the Commonwealth) - Will Connolly

The Night We Met - Lord Huron

Errasuriz - Kiltro

Bloodsuckers - Johnny Hollow

We Have It All - Pim Stones

spooky but maybe it's you

Devourer - Aideoneus

When I Was Done Dying - Dan Deacon

The Yawning Grave - Lord Huron

So Tonight That I Might See - Mazzy Star

The Mortal Boy King - The Paper Kites

Stone Wall, Stone Fence - Gregory and the Hawk

Ghosts - James Vincent McMorrow

Oceanica - San Fermin

Going - Tow'rs

Sticks and Stones - The Pierces

Strange - Runah

All Things Devour - aseaes

Raise the Dead - RAIGN

Sunlit Grave - Saint Mesa

Remain Nameless - Florence + the Machine

spooky but we're having a good time, I think

Let's B Goblins! - Ratwyfe

Death, Thrice Drawn - The Scary Jokes

Great Vacation - Dirt Poor Robbins

Face the Night - Tennyson

Skeleton Song - Kate Nash

Bones - anne october

The Magic - Lola Blanc

All Is Well (Goodbye, Goodbye) - Radical Face

the jester - ratz

spooky but in pastels

In The Beginning - Fahrenhaidt

Kiss the Grass - The Paper Kites

Butterfly Water - Pastelle

I Was Feeling Down, I Found a Nice Witch and We're Friends - In Love With a Ghost

The Ancestor - Darlingside

Entangled Life - Merlin Sheldrake, Cosmo Sheldrake

Night Owls - Mree

[lilac-hecox]

Amanda/Angela - amangela - Onlyfans!Amanda / Angela - Party

For @amessformiles

--

It’s at a party, a friend of a friend of a friend, where Angela meets Amanda.

Right away, Amanda is hard to miss. She is bright, vibrant, drop dead gorgeous and when she laughs, she livens up the entire room. How could Angela not notice her? Amanda’s got this low-cut dress on, accentuating her curves, the weight of her breasts, her tits all but spilling out of the dress.

Angela is hooked right then and there.

So, of course, she knocks back a few shots for courage and over the course of half an hour, makes her way over to Amanda, inching across the expanse of the party and people she only sort of knows. Finally, she’s in the outer edge of Amanda’s circle, the crowd around her utterly as captivated as Angela feels. Amanda has them wrapped around her finger, and judging by the smirk on her face, she absolutely knows this.

Angela coughs weakly and Amanda looks over her shoulder, those dark eyes meeting Angela’s before they give her a once over. Angela holds her ground, tries not to run away from this tall statue of a woman.

“Hi,” Angela says, trying to muster all her confidence, “I’m Angela.” She offers her hand.

Amanda takes it in her own, squeezing gently, “I’m Amanda.”

Through the next hour Angela learns a lot of things about Amanda.

She learns that Amanda is from the Boston area. She learns that Amanda is an aspiring comedian. She leans that Amanda mainly earns her living on Onlyfans. She learns what a great fucking kisser Amanda is.

Angela learns that last one by the wall Amanda has her pinned to a wall in a secluded hallway in the house where the party is being held. Amanda’s weight presses Angela to the wall, her mouth devouring Angela’s. The shorter girl is dizzy with pleasure, with the heat that thrums through her entire body. They kiss until Angela’s lips are red, swollen, and slick.

Once they break apart Amanda smirks, teases her fingers up under the hem of Angela’s dress shirt.

“Care for a demonstration?” Amanda asks, using the fingers on her other hand to wipe delicately at the edges of Angela’s mouth where Amanda’s transferred some lipstick.

Angela licks her lips, tasting Amanda everywhere, and she nods.

Amanda glances around before she slides her hand into the waistband of Angela’s skirt, then her panties, and then two of Amanda’s fingers slip inside of Angela.

Angela groans, letting her head fall back against the wall with a thunk. The exposed skin of her neck is open for Amanda’s taking, and she does, sucking a soft mark onto the pale skin, grazing the flesh with her teeth, while her long fingers curl inside of Angela’s wet slit.

“Fuck,” Angela moans softly.

Amanda hums in response.

All of this is wild, insane, more spontaneous than Angela can remember being in month. She just met Amanda and yet here Amanda is, holding her against this wall in an unfamiliar home, fingering her in the hidden hallway.

It’s dirty, but fuck, it feels good. Amanda is damn good at this and Angela thinks she probably really needs to check out Amanda’s Onlyfans because already, even with this taste, she’s hooked, addicted, like a drug addict ready for their next hit before the high has even left them.

Amanda finds that spot in Angela, and she has to bite at her own hand to keep quiet as she shivers against the wall, her hips bucking, her body practically riding Amanda’s fingers as she nears the edge, her orgasm just a hint away from her.

“Wanna see you come on my fingers,” Amanda whispers, her voice so low and sultry.

How could Angela say no to that?

She whines high in her throat and comes, eyes rolling back in her head, shuddering apart on Amanda’s fingers as she works her through her orgasm.

Amanda doesn’t stop until Angela is near sobbing. Then she finally pulls back, wiping her slick fingers on her dress. Angela slumps against the wall, trying to catch her breath, trying to remember how to breathe and act like a normal person again.

When she recovers, she looks at Amanda, licks her lips.

“Can I…do you want me to return the favor?” Angela asks nervously.

Amanda looks at her with arousal in her eyes, tilting her chin up and smirking.

“Absolutely. Come back to my place? I have lots of fun stuff I think you’d like, and we can really get to know one another.”

Angela is old enough to know not to go home with someone she just met, but if this is a trap, if Amanda is something to fear, then Angela is walking willing into the wolf’s jaws.

“Let me get my coat,” Angela says.

Amanda nods, “Lead the way.”

[iavulture]

Excerpt from the Book of Yoba: The Demise of the Galaxy Serpent

Thank you @swanno-arts for inspiring me to write this fic and use the image of Galaxy Serpent!Mr. Qi!

Excerpt from the Book of Yoba: The Demise of the Galaxy Serpent by 2DewList aka HandWriter

You can also read it HERE!

And so, Yoba and the others watched over creation, over the world that had come from within the Fruit of Life borne from the celestial vine. For long, peace reigned over the denizens, their praises reaching Yoba's ears. With devotion, came the rains for the earth and waters, so that crops and fish sprung forth and fed the hungry; with devotion, the sick and injured found new strength to persist and live; with devotion, love was to be found amid the soft flower petals in spring or frigid snowflakes in winter. For these gifts, the people of this world revere Yoba, and Yoba doted on them as a parent would to their child.

But lo, in the distant reaches of the heavens is a great Serpent, flecked not with scales as of earthborne snakes, but of stars and the essence of space devoid of Yoba's holy light. Once coiled within the dark, churning hole in the center of the universe, he has since slithered to many worlds, his arrivals heralded by hisses and screeches from the skies above. With unfettered mischief, he granted chaos, sowed discord among these worlds. But his reveling in chaos grew unchecked, so much so that the gods grew fearful and hateful of him, most of all Yoba, for they had had enough upon witnessing the Serpent devouring suns with his ever expansive maw.

And Yoba, o great Yoba, heard the people's cries, and one day confronted the Serpent to put an end to the chaos that so threatened to disrupt the peace and order of this world.

"O Serpent," said Yoba, "why do you choose to devour the suns, whose image and light reflect mine own likeness?"

Unfearful of the vessel, the Serpent stretched himself upright, his height towering a height beyond what mortals could bear to comprehend. "O Yoba, have you not thought of the dullness of order, of a set routine never to cease? I only wish to bestow excitement, thus I made myself an adversary for the mortals you call your children. A being to confront, for them to keep themselves alive with the surprises I deliver to them unseen."

But Yoba had no time for the Serpent's words. "You speak as if your life and the life of every creation is but a game, without regard to their health and well-being. But your honeyed words hold no power over me, and so I say that you cease thine own needless mischief and retreat to the center of the galaxy from whence you came."

The Serpent took Yoba's warning with only a smile, baring his fangs. "Very well, Yoba. I shall bring no further harm as you have decreed. Farewell."

And the Serpent left, seemingly taking great Yoba's words to heart for a long time. But his nature to grant excitement in his own way resurfaced, and so Yoba confronted him once more.

"O Serpent!" said Yoba with great fury, "have you not heeded mine own words?"

The Serpent laughed. "I have, Yoba. Alas, I have forgotten. May you restore my fading memories by repeating what you have once told me long ago?"

But Yoba saw through the Serpent's trickery, then shone with a great light, a light so bright it could be seen across the entire universe. And from that light Yoba forged a great sword, its blade infused with the infinite energy of stars. From this, the Serpent felt a hint of fear, and clashed with our great Yoba, who never faltered and repelled his strikes. For mortal eyes, the battle raged for days, yet for the great deities, it was for mere hours.

But even a Serpent will eventually fall to a mighty blade.

Yoba then cleaved the Serpent, weakened from their duel, and scattered his segments around our world, inspiring great cataclysms upon their impact. The Serpent's head was the last to fall, landing upon the mystic sands of the land of Calico.

But know, dear listener, that Yoba is merciful, for after the Serpent's defeat, Yoba travelled the world in search of the severed Serpent's segments, blessing them so that the cosmic flesh may be accepted into the soil. Upon this, the lands flourished for years to come, and so the people have become elated for Yoba's great work.

With the Serpent's head remaining, Yoba approached him with great power, and made his oozing blood disappear into the ether, causing the desert air to grow cool despite the blistering heat of the sun.

"O Yoba," bemoaned the Serpent, "forgive me for what I've done."

There in the Serpent's radiant eyes was remorse. "Serpent," said Yoba, "I forgive you, in life and your coming death."

"Will I forever cease to be, Yoba? Immortal as I am, I however fear what comes after."

It was enough to shake Yoba, and the Serpent's repentance moved Yoba's divine being. "You will, Serpent, but not unless you choose to accept my offer."

"I will accept whatever you say," said the Serpent, his eyes losing their luster.

"As you have taught me adversity and challenged me to my limits, Serpent, I grant you a second life. And though your body may remain immortal and retain a fraction of your power, your shape will be that of a mortal, so that you may live with them and learn their ways."

With nary a minute remaining of his life, the Serpent whispered, "I accept," and expired. Upon the Serpent's death, Yoba transformed the sand around his decomposing head into an ephemeral oasis, skull adorned with green and flowers as the Serpent's soul rose from his gaping maw and vanished, departing to whereabouts unknown in this great and wonderful world.

[the-gentle-wave]

𝒹𝒶𝓌𝓃

and she had some strange warmth that drew him in like a magnet, the spirit of Dawn.

for when he drifted past her window, whispery sleeves snuck in, brushing across her sleeping cheek.

only, she never shivered. she pulled his sleeve close - icy and dewy in the deep silvery purple bloom.

he paused, held still by soft fingers. he drifted back to the window, peering through the open window, down at her slumbering spirit.

he quietly stepped into the little room, coating the sill in diamond dew.

gently, he tried to tug the end of his endless sleeve past her grip. she drew it deeper into the crook of her neck, unflinching at its cool touch.

curiously, the Dawn hovered over her form - the loose dark waves spilling everywhere, the warm exhales slipping past her open lips and the deep brown smudges under her eyes.

his finger drew down the same cheek his sleeve had brushed. he stared in awe as warmth bloomed through the contact - blistering and wild, strange and familiar.

he thought of the fleeting dream of the morning sun as it thread its warmth through his icy locks - an illusion of warmth he melted in willingly.

yet her warmth, did not devour him.

he watched as her fingers covered his on her cheek, before tugging it close to the crook of her neck.

her warmth caressed his coolness, quiet and deep, full of dreams.

and when she drew him close, his being stumbled, falling to her.

her unflinching warmth that held him kinder that the morning sun.

she drew him to her embrace, soft arms curling around his great form, warm cheeks nuzzling sweetly against his frosty ones.

dew sparkled across her skin in the silvery gleam, some running in languid stream along her arms, down her eyes and past her lips.

he drowned in the warmth, in the visions of golden stillness and the soft thrum of life that woke his ancient spirit.

at dawn, in the lonely streets and the dark expanse, there were only souls bereft of dreams, trembling in the arcane whispers of the wind, fleeing for the rising bloody orb, flinching at his silky laughter.

in her ember heart, he falls asleep now. dancing with her dreams, drunk on the essence of the stars flickering softly in her heady warmth.

morning streams made their way past the far east, bright and hot, playing over their entwined bodies.

she stirred, soft vision falling on the creature fast asleep in her embrace.

she raised her finger, pressing it against the cold skin of his face.

his eyes opened. they were blue like the first ripple on a lake.

the sun snuck deeper through the dark, melting.

strange rapture and warm kisses.

"until dawn," he whispered, before stealing away like dew.

.̩₊̣.̩✧*̣̩˚̣̣⁺̣‧.₊̣̇.‧⁺̣˚̣̣*̣̩⋆·̩̩.̩̥·̩̩⋆*̣̩˚̣̣⁺̣‧.₊̣̇.‧⁺̣˚̣̣*̣̩✧·.̩₊̣.̩.̩₊̣.̩✧*̣̩˚̣̣⁺̣‧.₊̣̇.‧⁺̣˚̣̣*̣̩⋆·̩̩.̩̥·̩̩⋆*̣̩˚̣̣⁺̣‧.₊̣̇.‧⁺̣˚̣̣*̣̩✧·.̩₊̣.̩.̩₊̣.��✧*̣̩˚̣̣⁺̣‧.₊̣̇.

divider by @soft-rains

[navsink]

to be gentle is a choice. | sukuna x sorcerer reader !

tw: typical sukuna things, arguments, violence, syringes, hospital setting, referenced/mentions of cannibalism (sukuna), tba.

If there was a god, I bet it would be smugly smirking down on me as if it was any better than I am.

To preface, today I went away into domain expansion with Uraume. bad fucking idea.

Uraume couldn't stop nagging about how I'm rotting from the inside with all this mushy love stuff. I almost feel like one of your kind, my Emperess, is this what you have to go through everyday? I hate the feeling yet enjoy it to an extent, it doesn't change my mind to what humans are. They're maggots who cling to every bit of nourshment and flesh trying to preserve their kind. As if I couldn't just snap my fingers and have them all pile up.

If that didn't make me barf, there's even more to discuss on, but I digress. I don't know what Uraume was trying to do, but of course I wasn't going to let that menial woman slide with that snarky mouth of hers. With a quick snap, I crossed my legs from the comfort of my bone adorned throne and twisted my fingers.

'Snap'

In a quick fraction of a second, she twitched and writhed under the influence of my cursed energy. The once sarcastic mouth turning paler by the second, and then another, and another... I missed just using my powers for fruitful things like this one. She whined and whined, the black robe and sandals dangled in the air, flailing around in a desperate attempt to fall down. The chuckle and contemptible mocks I hurled at her only proved to satisfy me more than this measly body I'm currently residing in. I let go of my fingers and leaned against the arm rest of my throne, thinking back on that day.

--flashback--

Kenjaku and Uraume were bickering on what 'D-day' was supposed to go all the while I devoured upon some delicious russian on a skewer. The domain expansion Uraume held for us presented the Shirahama coast to ourselves. She had pressed for a meeting, apparently to discuss on finally incarnating my body somewhere reliable.

"I've found a vessel for you, Master." Uraume announced, putting her hands together under her long sleeves.

"You have?" I've been uninterested in vessels lately, it's been nothing but substandard bodies that cannot stand a few punches and broken soul pacts.

"This one seems like it will last you for more than a year if you're tame with its body." I scoffed to her flat tone, though her serious countenance let on a hint of hope and excitement.

"It's not worth it then, what use can a body be to me if I can't use it how I want to?"

"I understand Master, but, I would like to remind you that we are trying to ambush the sorcerers. So discretion and prudence are a must for this."

"You think I don't know that? Continue. About this body."

"I've targeted a young male, around 25 years old, he's a recently graduated researcher at the Tokyo Jujutsu Tech and has great credibility with other curse users. We can gather a lot of intel--"

"Skip the trivial details Uraume, get to the point." I leaned back on the beach chair and waved off to her, disregarding any useless information.

"He has borrowed four of your fingers from the Tech's library, promising to study the seals and whatnot. He seems to be a compatible fit for our purposes. Coming from a line of monks and priestesses, he may endure around ten fingers at most."

"Ten huh?... Will he be able to take on more as time progresses?" My brow cocked to the side, and as I rubbed my chin, I turned to her.

"I think that will be for you to decide, Master. His lineage is pure and every information on him is promising, one might be even able to deduce that he has a slight tinge of cursed blood."

I can still recall the shit eating grin that was plastered onto my face, I had finally reached the jackpot out of many maggot looking duds. Of course, with inferior species nearby, it could only last but a second of my apparition in the domain.

"Elated news, partner! Congrats, now we're one of the same." Kenjaku exulted.

I dimmed out his words from my conscience and tuned out to my own, a simple wave of acknowledgment to shut him up being sent.

"Bring it on."

"Is it settled then? Has he ingested any fingers?"

"I'm afraid not, but if at your command, I'll make sure he ingests one tonight."

--present

Those were the words I uttered to Uraume the day I got into this body, the one that got me into your arms at the buzz of a simple 'Hello!'.

Y/n, you have a way with words don't you?

On the topic of Uraume, I'm one to lie, but when I say that servant makes a mean meal, it's because she does. My once peaceful lunch just had to be interrupted by those two's bitching when a shard of icecicle had to shoot right next to the stack of bones I was leaving behind. God, the glare I shot them, true definition of if looks could kill. My brows furrowed as my fingers twisted and slammed down to the ground. The two froze in place, a drop of cold sweat dripping down their heads. I glared at them and without more trouble, my fingers relaxed, falling to my side.

"Permission to speak lord." Uraume muttered

"Granted"

"I wanted to survey how the body is adjusting to your grand presence, have you encountered any problems yet?"

"Other than the humans calling me Ryosuke? I want to have them all beheaded."

"That would prove unwise lord." Her head bowed and her busy hands proved tired as I kept talking.

"Tell me something I do not know." I sighed and dropped my arms to the side.

"I am sorry to not be of help, could I take samples and examine your body sir?" Her hands held a syringe and a vial, and in her arms dangled a measuring tape which I quickly examined before grunting an answer.

"Granted."

Snap

I exited out of the domain, finding myself in a laboratory Uraume had secured for me. The white walls were coated with ancient scriptures and fun decorations. A few bones here and there just to my liking, as I kept admiring the room, Uraume examined my new body's blood with the same syring and vial.

"What are you looking for inside my blood really?"

"Signs of stress, rejection and of course any foreign cursed techniques, this is a jujutsu researcher after all, it would be surprising htere is no kind of trick here."

"Right you are U-" I bit my mouth as the syringe touched my vein, a feeling so clear that had even me straightening my back in a kind of fear.

"Sorry, I should have warned, that's leaving a bruise sometime in the day."

I shot her a bloodshot (no pun intended) look as she clinks the vial with her long nails, the clicking sound makking my face twitch.

"The results will be in a week, so busy yourself acting normal to your new peers and do not exert the body in any way." Uruame's monotone half commanded as she inserted the vial into a centrifuge.

I rubbed the inside of my arm tenderly as I walked out of the room, with little effort, my technique transported me back to Ryosuke's home.

I should start asimilating myself more with that name if I want to keep the body safe for now...

The air today was dense, I could tell a storm was about to cross paths with me as I crossed the street. The pungent city air was an offense to my ancient nose, how can anyone live in this place?

I slam the door open, the floor behind me dripping wet from the storm, the walk from home to the tech was pretty long. No wonder this Ryosuke's guy house is so broke, still as soon as I came in your head shot towards me.

"Good afternoon Ryo!" a chirp accompanied by your feathery voice. How is it that you maintain that in a place like this?

"Afternoon." I mumbled back as i shook off whatever droplets that still clinged to me. A slight palpitating vein on my forhead reminded me of my role today, to be human.

"How was your day? Any luck out there with information?" your tone soothed his annoyance as he relaxed his shoulders and looked at you directly.

"Tired...." I took a minute for a brief pause before trying to understand what you meant. "On what?" On instinct, his brow jumped up as he spoke.

"We all are, whenever students are on break, principal gives the heaviest loads of work doesn't he?" you took a candy from a little tray and unwrapped it with skill, and in a swift move, into your mouth it went. "On finding what the bindings of the fingers meant" you mumbled with your mouth full.

I shot a small nod of acknowledgment as I answer "Not really, there is no easy way to translate those to modern language. I feel like lighting it all on fire now that I think about it." I huffed in fake annoyance as I walked towards you, a slight pull against your mouth revealed a chuckle.

That chuckle, you let out a chuckle as soon as I spoke that, god I could never forget my exact words today, you just happened to smile. What is it about me that is so amusing to you? I don't know what I am supposed to say, so I thought that being a normal human I could just take the chance.

"Positive as ever Ryo, on the good side-" You hinted, that is before I interrupted. What good side is she even talking about?

"There is no good side." I interrupted as I stitch my brows together holding a staring contest with her.

"Shut up, let me speak" You chuckled with an eye roll. "We're going out for drinks, celebrating surviving your first few weeks here, basically that you're alive and no curse has tried to kill you yet!"

It seemed almost moronic, to asume that I would let myself be defeated by some mere stupid curse. I rubbed my temples carefuly before decidding on what to answer. As you typed away on the computer, as the smoking doctor's secretary, I noticed the slight rash on your hand.

"Hasn't the school doctor checked that rash?"

"Don't concern yourself over this, instead tell me so I can call it off with the staff here. They all think you're very promising and kind researcher, all the others have been asses really." You blew away a stray hair as you kept on typing, barely looking at me anymore. That stupid lingering smile of yours. God can someone be as hard to read as you? What are you even thinking?

"Shoko has been pretty busy with the resurgence of a phenomenon where people start growing plants out of their bodies, pretty weird if you ask me." You added as the swift little fingers kept on moving from one key to the other.

Without warning my sight turned hazy and soon everything spun. I held my temples and tried facing you as best as I could.

"I zoned out, sorry, I can't believe the plant thing though-" i sighed and looked down, feeling like my whole body was shutting down. "I... Does Shoko have any pills for migraines?" Soon my equilibrium was turning like gelatin, feeling the whole rigidness of my body turn water in a matter of seconds.

"Ryosuke?" you called out but soon enough I felt my body crash down, I had never experienced this before.

--------

"25-year-old male, Ryosuke Ijichi—septicemia! He’s fainted in the ambulance. He’s febrile, tachypneic, and unresponsive!"

That's all I heard as I felt myslef being hauled from room to room, a bunch of Jujutsu medics swarming over me like some kind of anomaly. My eyes were stitched shut and movement was impossible.

"Temp’s at 39.7°C, respiratory rate 28 per minute—he’s in respiratory distress."

I tried moving and even swinging at one of the doctors as every possible hand was on me. My arm was burning and I could feel some kind of bump on the spot where Uraume had taken blood from.

"Get a liter of saline in—fast. We need to draw blood cultures, CBC, and get a lactate level ASAP. Start him on vancomycin and meropenem for broad-spectrum coverage."

All these doctors were talking over me, and I swear I could not comprehend for the thousand years of my life a single thing. An oxygen mask was placed over my mouth and soon enough I could feel myself doze off again.

"Heart rate 140, blood pressure’s tanking—85 over 50! He’s hypotensive and febrile!"

As I was dragged to a final room, I could feel two strong presences between me. A soft warm hand placed against my forehead and a strong hand that covered my throat.

"This is not your body is it?"

2k words.

~~~~~ A/N

Yoohoo! Heya there, I hope you enjoyed it after a long time of not hearing from this story. Sorry about it. Really. Plus thank chat gpt and my friend for the awesome medical terms and dialogue because I have close to 0 idea to what CBC or febrile is. Sorry that this wasn't really centered around romance, I tried setting the setting as best as I could I swear the next chapter is about fluff and comfort!!

As a preview and motivation to like yn is much better introduced in the next page and we get tension!