#Those lines are POTENT

[sincerely-sofie]

*points* dsmp fan! same! I was a fan of it like 3 years ago. Am kinda embarrassed about it now (which is why I'm on anon) but! Nice.

I’m in the same boat, anon! Admittedly, I was really only ever into DSMP for Tommy’s arc, so when it mostly got resolved I kinda just petered out in my enthusiasm. I was in it for the fodder for hurt/comfort found family fics to write and pretty much nothing else. I definitely have a soft spot for C!Ranboo to this day, though, and even have an OC based on his character.

Fun fact: I have a couple of friends who were very into DSMP from start to finish and kept insisting that Ranboo was a practical Sofie-insert in terms of personality. I doubted it for the longest time, and then I watched a clip compilation of him, and… yeah, they weren’t lying. The question is now as follows: am I a Ranboo Kinnie, or is Ranboo a Sofie Kinnie??? The world may never know

Now all of you go listen to “Everything Is Fine” by Mizz Fish, y'hear? I expect a two-page essay on how powerful of a line "If it comes from within, how can it not be from you?" and "I'm all by myself, but I'm never alone" are by next week.

[bunjywunjy]

Bunjy, how close to a human liver do you need to have to eat chocolate? Can great apes eat chocolate? Can any other primate?

no, other great apes can't have chocolate, and other primates can't either! you need an actual hominin-line liver to pull this trick off, so humans and human ancestors only as far as primates go.

other primates can and do eat the flesh of the cacao fruit, which chocolate is made from, but chocolate is made from the seeds, aaaand those are where the cacao plant is hiding all of its secret and most potent poisons.

(theobromine. it's theobromine)

were a chimpanzee or smaller monkey to pig out on chocolate or cacao seeds, they could expect to experience hyperactivity, tremors, increased heartrate, seizures, and heart failure. in roughly that order.

"oh god! I should have stopped thirty seeds ago!! why did I do that!!!"

so you know what? sometimes it's good to be a human, actually.

"oh, boy! poison!! my favorite!!!"

humans stand head and shoulders above every other primate on earth when it comes to the enormous variety of foods they are able to eat without getting sick or dying about it!

but also just literally. humans are very tall.

okay that's all, good night love you

[reiderwriter]

ACK I'm so excited that your requests are open again! Um okay, this one feels a bit silly but I'd love a fic where fem!bau!reader is really attracted to Spencer and the way that he smells? (I just KNOW that man smells like cinnamon and a Scholastic Book Fair.) Like, she's been doing a good job hiding her crush from the team, until Spencer catches her eyes dilating at him when he's standing close. And he's an oblivious king, so he's trying to figure out why they were dilated. If it could be race blind like my last request, and from Spencer's POV, that'd be great. (Or split POV, if you'd rather). I really see this as fluff, but if you want to include angst or smut go right on ahead! Thank you for reading my request! Your writing makes my day.

-❤️‍🩹

A/N: This was so fun and silly, and I love writing awkward, puppy love Spencer because sometimes you just have to let yourself become mildly infatuated with a coworker. For the plot. Or at least character development. I hope you like this one!!

Warnings: none.

Masterlist

You thought you'd settled into work well in your first few weeks as a member of the BAU. You thought you were up to speed about everything going on in the office. There was just one mystery left to solve.

“Where is that smell coming from?” You whispered to yourself, frustratedly sniffing the air for the second day in a row as you attempted to locate the warm, delightful smell that seemed to follow you whenever you were in the office.

“Could be one of Garcia's scented candles. They tend to linger,” JJ said from her corner of the bull pen.

“No, I checked earlier and she said they made her throw those out weeks ago.”

Honestly, it was not knowing that was driving you insane. If you knew what the smell was, you could bottle it, spray it all around yourself, and wrap yourself in it like a little blanket. It somehow reminded you of home and of the public library you'd spent much of your childhood in.

After another day of being able to figure out whoever had bought the scent version of the Scholastic Book Fair mixed with homemade cinnamon buns, you gave up. 12 hours of paperwork, and you were just as excited to get away from the sight of brown folders as ever, and as everyone else in the bureau, evidently.

Grabbing your bag, you got in the line for the elevators alongside your team.

“Ready for the crush?” Derek said, punching Spencer Reid on the arm as they waited ahead of you.

“Ow,” the younger man muttered and you tried to hold your giggles back, rolling your eyes as you watched them in amusement.

Derek’s words were true, though. Every day at home time, the elevators packed up quickly, and being on the middle floor meant that it could often take a while for the elevator to come back to you. You swore it was half the reason Hotch stayed late most nights, just to avoid the crush of the trip home.

“I've been taking the DC public transport since I got this job. You think the elevators are bad. Try 8 am subway on a Monday morning.”

The doors opened, and the three of you climbed into the barely there space of the elevator. With a quick side step, you found yourself against the left wall of the elevator. But to your shock, the scent you'd been searching for for three weeks didn't dissipate as it usually did when you got on the elevator.

It was here. The source of the scent was here.

You tried to stay calm as it grew more potent, tried not to frantically look around searching for whatever man or woman was perfumed in heaven. The doors opened again, and more people squeezed in, and suddenly, you found yourself buried nose-first in whatever sensory heaven existed here on earth.

“Sorry,” you heard a mumble in front of you as Spencer held his hand against the wall above your head, trying to keep a polite enough distance so as not to squish you any further. Your mismatching heights, however, led to your face being just about level with his neck.

You really weren't trying to smell him, but you had to inhale, and each time you did, it was a sensory overload.

It was him. Dear God, it was him.

The proximity and his scent really weren't helping your brain stop short circuiting in that moment, and you had to remind yourself after a minute or two or three that you were staring.

Though evidently Spencer had already noticed, and was looking at you with some concern.

“Are you okay? It's pretty tight in here, but I can try and move back if you're uncomfortable.”

“No! No, it's okay,” you did your best not to shout the words out, suddenly wanting his smell and his body close forever.

You hadn't been looking before, but like a freight train at maximum speed, the weight of his attractiveness hit you all at once. There was a slight stubble peppering his jaw, his hair hanging slightly loose, eyes big, and brown, and beautiful. He was tall, and you knew he was strong from watching him manhandle unsubs each week.

To put it blankly, you spiralled. Hard. Straight into infatuation and attraction, and you felt your head growing light with the tipsy feeling of a girlish crush.

You were fucked.

Spencer was concerned about you for the next week.

For starters, he knew that most new hires pushed themselves to the extreme over the first month and ended up quickly burnt out, mentally and physically. He may not have the best physical stamina, but he knew the lengths he had to go to to maintain his mental and physical wellness while working the job.

Which was why he started looking out for you a bit more. Every time he looked at you, you were staring off into space, somewhere just past him, or around him, face glazed over.

He wondered if you had a fever a few times, subtly touching your forehead - wiping away some sweat or a strand of hair - to feel you, and you did always feel hot.

You insisted you were fine though. But the nervous panic, and the constant insistence made him wary enough to pull you aside one day and ask you straight to your face.

“Do you need something?” He said, having unassumingly lured you off to the meeting room without arousing suspicions.

“What? What do you mean?” You said, instantly defensive. You'd hoped you hadn't been as creepy as you knew you had and that he hadn't caught on to your stolen glances and sudden close proximity.

You really couldn't help it. The man smelt too fucking good.

“If you're feeling sick, no one is going to think any less of you for taking a half day, you know.”

His voice was so gentle, you almost didn't die from sheer embarrassment. Almost.

“Oh! Oh, oh no, I'm fine, I'm totally healthy. As a cow!”

“A cow?”

“Yes, I'm as healthy as your average farm animal. Can I go back to work?”

You made to leave, but he grabbed your wrist gently as you brushed past him, and it was like sparks travelled up your arm and pierced your heart directly.

“Spencer!?” you squeaked.

“Your heart rate is elevated, and you feel hot and clammy,” he said, which was exactly the kind of compliment you were aiming to receive from men you were falling for. “You should go see a doctor and then get some rest.”

“No, Spencer, that's not-”

“Everyone pushes themselves in these first few weeks. I had to take a week off after two days in the field from the weight of holding a gun up for so long, which is more embarrassing than it sounds, and Derek-”

“What cologne do you use?” you snapped, desperately hoping to both shut him up and also detangle yourself from this situation with at least one win under your belt. If you found out whatever the smell was he used, you could buy it, grow accustomed to it, and grow out of whatever phase you were going through before you out your job in jeopardy.

“What?”

“You smell… really good. I was wondering what cologne it is.”

“I don't… I don't really use cologne.”

You baulked, unable to stop your face from dropping as your dreams of detaching yourself from your little crush on Spencer Reid faded before your very eyes.

“Shower gel? Shampoo maybe?”

“They're both unscented.”

“So you just… you just smell like that naturally?”

It was his turn to flush then, though the panic never left your head fully.

“Sorry, is it… distracting.”

“Yes,” you whispered, but with such an exhausted exhale, it sounded like a dreamt sigh. You wanted to kick yourself. You wanted to open his jacket, step inside, bury your face in his chest, and fall asleep.

“I see.”

“Mhmm.”

A minute passed in awkward silence, and you wanted to kick yourself for blurting everything out. Quickly turning to leave again, you wished so dearly to erase the last five minutes of your life, sending up enough hail mary’s to absolve you of any sin.

“Lavender. And sometimes patchouli,” he called from behind you as you took your first steps to the door.

“Hmm?” you said, turning back around against your better judgment.

“What?”

“That's what you smell like,” he explained, hands suddenly very preoccupied with his jacket buttons. “I'm not great with scents, but you also smell… nice. Sorry, that was weird.”

“No, not at-”

“You know, the major histocompatibility complex genes are important for the immune system and appear to play a role in sexual attraction via body odour. Studies have shown that body odour is strongly connected with attraction in heterosexual females.”

“Oh. I didn't know that…”

“Do you want to grab dinner with me?”

The words almost knocked you back into the door, as sudden as they were. Had he just asked you on a date? Or was it a friendly coworker thing? A friendly coworker thing where he acknowledged your attraction to his scent and then invited you out on a date.

“Yes?”

“Yes?”

“Yes. Yes, I would like to get dinner with you.”

He did his best to suppress the smile, and you tried hard as well, though neither of you succeeded.

“Great, perfect,” he said, circling you as he made his way to the door, his eyes always turned to you no matter what. He likely regretted that as he bumped into first the edge of a table, then a chair, and then hitting the door with his back, but in your state of puppy love, you didn't care.

“It's a date,” he said, opening the door and walking away, cheeks flushed with heat.

[starrydragoness]

Content: 18+, NSFW, Minors do not interact, more under the cut.

Contents: 2 cocks Jiyan, implied heat, fem! reader, implied breeding, belly bulge, not proof read, just thirst word vomit

“And you’re sure about this?” Jiyan’s warm breath tickles up the side of your neck, his hands firmly planted on your hips as his chest pressed up against your back; so close you could faintly feel the distant drumming of his racing heart. Arching your back, your arms go over your head and into his hair, smiling softly at him as you stare at the mirror set in front of you.

Two of his cocks stood erect and between your legs, leaking soft pearly beads of precum, the mere sight alone making heat pool between your legs. 

“Yes, Jiyan... We already discussed this, please..” you coo, blush tainting your cheeks as you avoid looking at the flustered reflection of yourself in the mirror, focusing solely on the man behind you that’s barely holding onto the rest of his resolve. He groans as he noses into your neck, eyes screwed shut as he inhales your scent that has his mind swimming. His hips grind up into you, feeling the slick from your cunt drip onto him. Pawing at your hips he hopes to ground you both to stillness, but with the tension and need so high and potent in the air his attempts all fell short. 

“Jiyan, please, you’ve got nothing to worry about.. Please. I want to feel you-” you whine, seeing how much he was holding it all off, even after having spent the last hour or so with his face between your legs, eating you like a man starved of any sustenance. His fingers had pushed you over the edge of ecstasy until your mind had gone dizzy, but it wasn’t enough - you wanted his cocks, not just his fingers. After he spent a month longer than anticipated on the front lines, both of you could use all you could give.

Jiyan looks up, a focused and seemingly stern expression darkening his features as his chin finds purchase on your shoulder, and his eyes look you up and down in the long mirror; his eyes drinking up the way your legs dangled over each of his knees,  leaving you spread for him to see, your skin glistening with a fine sheen of sweat, and that pretty face of yours - eyes half lidded and clouded with carnal desire he couldn’t ignore. 

His lips meet the skin of your shoulder, humming low in his throat. “Alright.. but if it hurts or becomes too much, tell me.. understand?” He remains ever caring, even as this heat is eating up at his belly like a beast, infecting you with his venom in its wake. You nod, fervently and impatiently, one of your hands dropping down and trailing up his side behind you, your fingers lightly scratching at the skin.

Jiyan lifts you up, strong muscles flexing as he aligns one of his cocks up to your wet slit, probing at your entrance and slowly spearing you down onto himself. Your eyes roll back into your skull, eyes fluttering shut as he finally fills you up, all the way until his tip kisses your cervix. He pushes up to the hilt, groaning at the way your walls fluttered around him, eyes shut once more, hiding those beautiful golden eyes from sight.

His second cock rests against your abdomen, and it only shows how deep inside his first cock reached within you. When you look down, it twitches, the pearly wet beads sliding down his shaft, the tip a frustrated red color, and it only makes you more eager to eventually… take both of his cocks at the same time.

Jiyan’s thrust breaks you out of your daze and thoughts, groaning as he stretches you out more, slow thrusts ensuring you feel all of him and everything he is giving you. From the way his tip throbs for more and down to every ridge and vein that brushes along the sides of your gummy cavern.

“Ahnn- yes..” Mewling, you claw at his side, slowly arching until you could comfortably wrap one arm around his neck, the other remaining down, now tracing his flexed forearm that remained on your hip. Jiyan wasted little thought and took the close proximity as his chance to kiss up at your breast, sucking a mark into the side before catching the nipple in his mouth and sucking. He groans into your skin, bucking up into you harder.

His hips meet yours and you desperately push down to feel more of him, chasing the desire you all craved, needed - deserved, after so much time spent apart.

Noticing his relentless pursuit of simply satisfying you with only one cock, you falter in your movements, the hand on his forearm wrapping around his wrist as you ground your hips against his. “Please- stop-  The second one.. I need both of them in me, please..”

Jiyan all but growls at the loss of momentum, his teeth sinking into the supple flesh below your breast where his head dipped low before rising up to meet your eyes directly. His sharp slitted eyes threaten to break you, although they broke you down to their allure too long ago for it to matter now. His kiss-bruised lips are softly parted, mirroring yours. He looks like has much to say, but none of those words make it to his tongue and before long he is looking down to his neglected cock, panting and thinking. 

You whine, curling your legs underneath you to allow yourself more support and you lift yourself from his cock, making you both hiss in unison as his length slides out until the tip remains kissing your weeping hole. 

“Alright..” Jiyan groaned, looking down at your ass, giving your hip a gentle rub as he took the base of his cocks, guiding the tips to your hole. You can swear your heart is up in your throat in anticipation, feeling the tips prod at your wet slit as he seeks to be gentle and slow. "Carefully, now.. Don't try to rush this.." he grunted as he saw you try and writhe against his iron hold.

Carefully, both tips pop within you, forcing a surprised sound to jump out of you at the sudden feeling the cocks had you feeling. The abundance of wetness was enough to coat both of his cocks and make sliding in much easier, your needy walls clenching onto the two shafts.

The stretch was a little bit much, but determination and lust won in the little battle of the mind, rationale leaving you like a mindless animal as you began to whine and bite at your lip until you were sure it would bleed. Jiyan panted, his chest rising and falling in quick successions as he got the stimulation he craved sincee his eyes laid on you the moment he got home. His brows furrowed down in the most pleading and desperate expression you could remember ever seeing Jiyan wear, his hands on your hips shaking with impatience as his eyes watch the way your hole swallows him up, inch by inch. "That's it... mmmm, good.. good.. hah-"

The shafts create a noticeable bulge in your belly once he finally settles into you fully, letting you get used to the double the size. The feeling of the throb within you, even with the stilnness of his hips, had you thinking you were gonna cum on the spot.

Words fail to escape your throat, so you resort to crying out, whining as you give a small buck of your hips. Your legs feel completely useless now, straddling the sides of his hips.

Effortlessly, Jiyan begins to lift your hips once more, before guiding you to take him again, and again, and again - slowly at first, too fearful to hurt you, but after seeing the pleasure of twisting your face into his favorite expressions, he allowed himself to lose that control. His cocks pressed into your cervix, kissing it over and over again with each thrust and making you see stars behind your eyelids.

“Oh fuck-!” you cried, his hips bucking into you in a desperate pace that had you clinging onto Jiyan, your legs shaking, feeling completely boneless as your own weight pulled you onto him.

Over and over again until you were reeling back, back arching as you writhed against him, the knot in your belly threatening to burst. The tension was nearly painful, Jiyan not being spared of it either with the way your walls squeezed him.

Jiyan’s grunts and moans mixed with your moans, echoing in the intimate space of your bedroom, the creaking of the bed falling deaf on your ears. 

Sensing your approaching orgasm, Jiyan sped up his pace, mercilessly pounding into your womb to chase the ticking pleasure. And with a few powerful thrusts, you spasmed out of control, your orgasm shaking and rippling through you in waves. You moaned, all breath kicked out of your lungs, and another groan was kicked out of you when you felt the abundance of his warm seed spill into your womb, filling you to the brim. As his thrusts came to a slow, his muscular arms curled around your waist, squeezing you affectionately but also making you still in his hold, both of you panting for air and too dazed out to think or move.

Had he not been sitting behind you, you would have simply collapsed from the power of the orgasm. 

"Hah... good girl.. hah.. you took that so well" Jiyan is breathless in his praise, but no less genuine, his lips ghosting your skin and leaving soft kisses.

His cocks twitched with the small after pulses of pleasure, spilling every last drop and not letting it go to waste, making sure your womb accepted it all. 

Ⓒ starrydragoness. Do not repost, translate, edit, and/or copy any of my works. Likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated.

[fuckyeahisawthat]

The thing about Paul is that he is legitimately kind of unhinged in his willingness to throw himself into physical danger and risk getting hurt or killed in a fight that matters to him.

The way he goes NYOOM the second he realizes that Duncan is about to fight a fuckton of Sardaukar. No shield no weapons no plan no hesitation, ready to take on the most fearsome soldiers in the known universe in his pajamas. And he would have if Duncan hadn't locked the door.

Fly through a sandstorm because it's the only escape route? Never done it before but sure. Crawl under a moving harvester the size of a building with chompy bits on the end? Worst plan ever, let's go. Bait the ornithopter gunship into shooting at him so his crush can blow it up? It was his goddamn idea. Hide quietly when the Harkonnen soldiers show up during the eclipse? Oh hell no, he is looking for a way to escalate that situation immediately. He just killed someone for the first time like yesterday and did not enjoy it. But as soon as the Harkonnens are there he is ready to throw down.

The absolute trapped raccoon energy of him just grabbing the knife blade when Feyd's trying to stab him the second time, because it's probably over but he's not gonna make it easy, and maybe that gives him the extra second he needs to pull his own knife out. That teeth-gritted look he gives Feyd when he is on his knees, beat to shit, two stab wounds, blood all over his face, and is still like bitch you THOUGHT you could out-crazy me.

Like many things about him, it's a double-edged blade. Because it's what wins him respect among the Fremen, that he's willing to go to the front lines and not afraid to take risks. It's the most potent expression of his fierce protective streak, that he'll jump into danger to defend those he loves. And it's also fucking terrifying. It just adds such a chaotic energy to all the other ways that he is scary, that he doesn't just command armies of fanatics and have the power to make the Emperor of the Known Universe bow at his feet, but that this blood-streaked feral little gremlin might show up personally at any moment and stab you in the neck.

[randomdragonfires]

Kalopsia | One Shot

Text Divider by @saradika-graphics

Kalopsia (n.) The delusion of things being more beautiful than they really are.

SUMMARY | She associates the words with brighter days and happier memories that she’ll never get back. And yet, when he utters them into her ear, they've never sounded more tainted and wrong - but she'll tell herself they aren’t, until the lies become truth.

PAIRING | Daemon Targaryen x Reader

WARNINGS | 18+; smut; DD:DNE; penetrative sex; dubious consent; exhibitionism; forced prostitution; canon typical sexism; infidelity; angst; ambiguous and unclear motives for sex - both Daemon and reader are fucked up people in this story, and there is much about their mental conflict that may be quick to trigger someone. Please read with caution.

WORD COUNT | 8.8k

A/N | This is a dark fic with heavily triggering themes. Please don't hate anon me. Thanks. :)

SHE REMEMBERED THE DAY SHE MET HIM. 

It was a hot summer’s day when the sun had burnt her through her dress, leaving her sweating and reaching for a drink of water every few moments. He was a vision - flying through the skies of Pentos on the Blood Wyrm, with his beautiful wife, the lady Laena Velaryon right behind him as she rode the historic wonder, Vhagar. They were a wandering couple, and talk about them had been rife in the Free Cities - dragon sightings were feared, what with the Rogue Prince’s reckless nature making people assume that he’d bathe them in dragonfire for his personal amusement. 

She remembered seeing them fly out of Pentos the first time, to tour the other Free Cities. This was almost a year ago. By the time they’d come back to reside with the Prince of Pentos, the lady Laena had suspected that she was with child. Based on what she saw of the royal couple, Prince Daemon, in his own way, was appreciative of his wife.

But being appreciative of his wife certainly did not mean that Daemon Targaryen was in any way blind to everything else around him. It was this fact that had led his eyes to her.

A striking purple, and they had met her melancholic, unmemorable ones from where he stood as the Prince of Pentos barked orders and asked her to see to Lady Velaryon’s every need. His gaze held a very peculiar combination of condescension and amusement for those around him, and she was pulled to him, in the same way that fishes were to the sea. Her world seemed to melt as she looked at him in all his Valyrian beauty - it stunned her. 

He took one leisurely glance at her - beginning his perusal of her, neck to navel. His eyes rested for a moment longer between her legs, and she’d never forget the way her thighs quickly met under her skirts in a desperate attempt to keep herself contained.

It had been a long while since she felt anything but the fleeting sense of sadness that had taken over every part of her since she had lost it all and ended up in this city. And now, as Daemon Targaryen lingered - nay, took over her line of sight, she felt something more, more, more. 

She did not know what to think about the slow storm brewing in her mind, so she chose to disregard it for a time. This was royalty, and this entire matter was well and truly beyond her weight. She should not bother with the likes of those who were higher and mightier - those that would never choose her and harm her with no regard.

But the intense wildfire-like heat that passed through her body was hard to ignore, especially given the potent lack of it in the last many years. It scared and excited her in equal measure, and regardless of the possibility of danger, she could not help but be drawn to him. She felt like an ungrateful, wanton whore for lusting after another woman’s husband - a very good woman, she would soon find - but how could she reject the man who had woken her passions once more, after she thought they were long lost to her? All with just a single look, no less?  

It was often said that the Targaryens were closer to Gods than men. With their dragons, intoxicating eyes and intense gazes, she was inclined to agree. 

It was why she brought him his bathwater and helped him with his bath every morning after his dragon ride; why she scrubbed at his scarred skin with the washcloth even though he was in no need of assistance. She cleaned his chambers, and continued to do so even after he’d stepped in and burned her with his stare. Of course it burned, he was the blood of the dragon after all.

She found herself bringing his heated bathwater despite the flight of stairs that she had to brave while carrying the weight. She helped him in and out of his clothes everyday, listening to his commands like a mindless soldier who only did what she was told. She always looked for him, even in a chamber of more than a hundred people - her young girl’s gaze, flitting about - trying to find his spun-silver hair.

Whenever she caught his gaze, he was already looking.

She supposed she'd never get tired of the heat pooling in her belly whenever she was in his presence - or how her hands found their way inside her already dampened smallclothes whenever she pictured him with shut eyes at night time.

Perhaps that’s why she felt like it was a long time coming when he creeped up behind her, hand holding her in place as it snaked around her waist. His palm flattened against her stomach and the other held her neck, squeezing just enough to make the heat rush to her cheek and between her legs. He brought his nose down to the side of her neck, laughing darkly as they breathed each other in, and she let a small whimper escape her lips.

“What took you,” she breathed out before adding, “…so long?” He responded to her meek attempt at a question with a sharp bite to her neck and a growl, effectively silencing her voice and awakening the fire in her once more.

“Don’t be too loud, you’re going to wake my wife,” he whispered before turning her around to meet her eyes.

Those words should have woken her up and brought her to reality. She should have awoken from her wistfulness and tossed her fantasies where they’d bother her no more. This was a married man, a married prince. 

This was wrong, wrong, wrong.

But the blood rushing through her veins, the excitement of being coveted and central to a man’s gaze - it excited her in ways that she had never been before. The allure of him was hard to ignore, and by the looks of how eagerly his hands were slipping under her haphazardly hiked up skirts, he felt the same way too.

She’d missed this feeling - this feeling of being alive and full of life. The prospect of excitement and a renewed zest for life, after all she had been through, had only pushed her towards him a lot more. 

Wrong, wrong, wrong.

She was blind to the dangers of the man, and she'd never been happier to remain ignorant. She did not want to want him, and she hated that she did. She did not say yes to his command, or emphatically agree. She simply took his lips in hers and sunk her fingers into his hair, reveling in the feel of his rough hands holding her backside in a tight grip.

She may not love him, and she did not like him. But she wanted this, she needed this. She needed to feel something, anything at all. She supposed that there’s something that he wants too - though she does not know what.

She soon found that there was very little in their burgeoning arrangement that would favor her fantasies, and that Daemon Targaryen simply did not care - for anyone.

“WILL YOU BE NEEDING ANYTHING ELSE, MY LADY?”

Laena Velaryon is undoubtedly one of the most beautiful women she’s ever laid her eyes on. She is also one of kindest souls she’s ever had the courtesy of encountering - which is why her guilt eats at her tenfold whenever Daemon seeks out her company.

She wants to say no. She wants to say no each time.

Initially, it was an infatuation that was within her control - but the day she had indulged and let her body overshadow her mind, it had become a bit much. Initially, he had sensed her hesitation despite her being welcoming. He’d plied at her with sweet words, each syrupy sweet and meant to break through her doubt. 

She melts each time, her weak will giving in like water slipping through her fingers.

Conflict is a funny thing. Each time his hands pin her wrists above her head as he takes her for all that she is, or when he’d let a finger slip through her smallclothes and glide through her folds, she wants to say no. She wants to be the good girl that her mother believed she was, but the pleasure was too much. The high that he takes her on each time is too much to ignore, too good to pass up on.

She wants to say no. The words wait at her throat, but refuse to tumble out of her lips.

It is wrong, but she wants to feel pleasure. She wants to be reminded that she is a woman worthy of pleasure, and she feels good- no matter how guilt-ridden - each time his cock sinks into her. No other man has wanted and loved her like this before, and despite the horridness of it all, she finds that she cannot say no - no matter how hard she tries. 

However, she doesn't know what he wants. Daemon Targaryen wears his intrigue as well as he does his arrogance and condescension. She never knows what he wants - but she also worries that she may not like what she finds.

She will find out soon.

“That will be all, my sweet,” Laena says. The exhausted smile she wears as she cradles her hugely pregnant belly makes her want to throw herself at her feet and cry for mercy - but she is too in deep. How could she tell Daemon she didn’t want to share his bed anymore? How could she, when his power and famed temper may just harm her? 

I’m sorry your husband fucks me each night. I’m sorry I like it. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.

What right does she have, after allowing it all these times? What right does she have, after enjoying it each time? She doesn't love him, but in those moments, she loves what she feels. The regret that follows is gut-wrenching, but she chooses to indulge each time. It was a blind and burning desire, and it is this very same wave of emotion that compels her to follow his instructions, blind and eager to please.

A servant walks into the room and looks towards the window, eyes flitting about and nervous. “The Prince Daemon has asked to see you, lady.” Her tone is apologetic, and when Laena Velaryon stands, she feels herself crumble to a thousand pieces. When she is half-stood, the Valyrian beauty realizes it is not her that her husband wants to see tonight.

“Go. He doesn’t like to be kept waiting,” she murmurs. A heavy sigh escapes her lips as she sits back down, the weight of the impending babe taking a toll on her.

I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.

She is ashamed of the peculiar heat pooling in her belly as she walks out, unable to meet Lady Laena’s eyes. The walk to Daemon’s chambers has her head facing the floor as some of the other servants eye her and whisper the words.

Homewrecker. Whore. Concubine.

She wonders about how she could still want him after all the irreparable damage that she’s taken in her mind. She wonders when her lack of spine would dissipate, and when she’d be able to reject him outwardly and speak her mind. She wonders when she’d be able to make up her mind and stand by her decision.

She hates that she enjoys it, she hates that she’s at the center of it all. But he brings her to her peak effortlessly and with such intensity that she forgets for a moment, for just a moment, how wrong all of this is.

She pushes the door open and gulps at the sight of a half naked Daemon Targaryen sitting at the edge of his bed, hands pumping his cock with no urgency. The languid movements and his haphazard state of undress - his linen undershirt doing little to hide the lithe muscles underneath - make her head spin. He is yet to touch her.

She watches, his presence magnetic as he pulls her attention easier than he should. His gaze then finds hers as she stands frozen near the door, his breath a mangled mix of moans and groans as his hand refuses to relent. He looks at her as he continues his movements on his cock, and her thighs slap together while she folds her hands just below her breasts, pushing them up above the neckline of her dress.

A drop of sweat trickles down the side of her face as she makes her way to him, each step feeling labored and long as she positions herself between his legs. Her view of his cock is undisturbed and clear, and she hates that it is the most beautiful one that she’s ever seen. Slightly leaning to the left, the girth of it impresses her each time he pushes into her, making her feel fuller than ever before.

She continues to watch his hands move, movements as slow as ever. Her eyes are fixated upon the light silver hair that marked a path below his abdomen, and the veins that marked their way through his erect cock. The glistening white pearly drops of seed on the tip called to her, and her mouth began to water. 

“Take it” - he grunts through his pleasure - “off.”

She’s been in this position long enough to know what it means.It is one thing to lust after a man from afar, and another to be fucked by him. It is neither safe, nor ideal for her to be using her mouth on a Westerosi Prince whose wife was only one door away. And yet, they’ve been giving each other company for almost a year. 

She works through the laces on her front one by one, her focus on his almost black, dilated pupils. He wants her, and she wants him. It is seemingly simple, and yet it is the most complicated entanglement she has ever known.

He’s never been the most patient man to grace these halls, and it is evident as he stops the hand on his cock and stands up. He reaches for the dagger on a tray of fruit by the table, and swiftly cuts through the loops in a series of flicks. Each time the dagger cut through, the stray threads flew about and he dusted them off with the same disregard and impatience. 

“You’re going to take my cock in your mouth like the good girl that you are,” he growls. Candlelight illuminates his face as his dagger makes its way through the fabric, revealing her soft skin and exposing her breasts to him.

Wrong, wrong, wrong.

And yet, as the cool metal of his dagger grazes over her nipple ever so slightly, the fire in her burns bright. Her fear dictates that she say no and run before it can spiral into something beyond her control, but the faint waves of pleasure that cause the dampness between her thighs  keeps her there - almost as though her legs are stuck in quicksand.

The dress pools at her feet and she steps out of it, his hurried hands removing her shift. And when they stand, facing each other - and she wishes this was something else.

She wishes this was a simple and innocent love affair. She wishes that this was a man she could love, one that would love her just the way she would. She wishes that there was more comfort to be gained from this than the highs of the pleasure in itself - It will never be enough for her.

She reaches forward and kisses him flush on the lips, devouring his as she slips her tongue in. He bites into her lip and she tastes the copper of the blood bubbling through; he grabs her by the hair and pulls her up to meet his eye. “I said -”

“Please. Please, just… Please. Let me have this.”

He leans back and assesses her for just a moment before swooping in and taking her lips in his, no questions asked. And when he kisses her so, she can try to convince her little girl’s heart that this - what they have - is a lot more beautiful than it is meant to be.

The kiss makes her think that this is what the heavens would feel like, should she ever manage to meet the caress of a lover who’d love like she could, like she wants. A gentle and calm hand, a kind disposition that would care.  But it does not last long. He is quick to wrangle her mouth away and join her forehead to his, breathing in the scent of her as she closes her eyes and wonders how this could ever be what she wants, wrestling with the contrasting realization that she has not been loved like this, not ever.

But is this love, really? This cannot possibly be love. No. She’s known love before. It is simple, easy and comforting. Nothing about this is. 

She wants it just the same.

It is this thought that occupies her mind as she gets down on her knees. The stone cold floor and the ridges grate at her knees almost immediately, moving slightly as she bobs her head back and forth. She slowly but surely adjusts to his length, choking a little and allowing the spit to pool in her mouth, dripping down to her chin by the side of her lips. If she didn’t know better, she’d have mistaken him gently wiping it off with the tip of his thumb as affection.

She grabs his thigh with one hand and massages his stones with the other, her head continuing to bob back and forth relentlessly. His hands grasp at her hair, keeping the stray strands at bay as she reminds herself to breathe through her nose. She moves almost mechanically, forgetting him and his towering figure as she wonders. What do I look like to him? On my knees and eyes pooling with tears? 

It is a common saying among the common folk - A King’s child will be royalty, and a whore’s child will be a whore. She is the daughter of a whore, and she hates that the words may hold true for her too. 

Mama wanted for me to be more. Dignified and happy. She should not have died and left me alone.

She remembers a time when her mother had brought a friend of hers from the whorehouse back home. Her mother was a favorite amongst the nobility, and she’d entertained both the then-Prince Viserys and Daemon.

She’d become with child soon after, and had her. The idea of either man possibly being her father is sickening to her, given the position she now finds herself in. Of course, it will not matter much to them, with their Valyrian blood and queer customs - but it makes her want to cry her eyes out and worry about the kind of sickness she must inhibit to want Daemon Targaryen as much as she does despite the knowledge, despite the wrongness of it all. Her only consolation is that she has no Valyrian features. There is no way of knowing for sure, and she chooses not to entertain these thoughts while being aided by this realization. 

“Good girl. Go on,” he moans. His voice immediately brings her out of her reverie, and the words are enough to send her conflicted conscience spinning on its head.

Good girl, good girl, good girl.

Her mother called her a good girl many times before she died. The connotations of the word when they tumble out of Daemon’s lips make her want to retch. He probably believes that the tears are because of her choking on him, but she knows.

Those words meant much and more to her once upon a time, but not anymore. The loss hurts her more than it should. A lost childhood, a happiness that slipped through her fingers through no fault of her own. A much happier and carefree time that is now out of her grasp.

Her thoughts are interrupted when Daemon pulls her up - a thread of spit flowing out of her lips as she adjusts to an empty mouth - and pushes her, caging her between him and the cold stone wall.

Good girl, good girl, good girl. 

WHENEVER SHE THOUGHT OF THE TIMES that she got called a good girl, her mother was always the first to come to mind.

The city of King's Landing - she’d spent almost her entire life there before running onto the ship to Pentos - sprawled around them like a tapestry woven from the threads of countless lives. Towering structures of stone reached for the heavens, casting long shadows that danced across cobblestone streets worn smooth by time. The bustling crowd, a mosaic of colors and voices, flowed like a river through the labyrinthine alleys. The scent of roasted meats, exotic spices, and the ever-present stench of refuse mingled in the air, creating a symphony of odors that was, somehow, comforting in its familiarity.

Her mother worked at a whorehouse nestled amidst the chaotic and filthy heart of the Street of Silk. It was a place where laughter and merriment battled with sorrow and desperation, where secrets and pleasures were shared over wine, closed curtains and weak beds. As a child, she was vaguely aware of the nature of her mother's work, but she didn't fully grasp its complexities. What she did understand was that her mother often came home weary, her shoulders burdened by the weight of the world - or by bite marks and blooming violet bruises.

"Why would anybody bite you there, Mama?" she had asked once. Her mother had only chuckled, but she did not look happy. It always worried her. The bites always looked red, angry and painful.

It was the same bite mark and a line of violet bruises on her mother’s shoulder that she focused on today as she overheard her speak to her friend - another whore who worked at the same whorehouse. She watched as her mother exchanged quiet words with her friend, their voices a hushed whisper as they discussed their day.

“He does something magical with his mouth, Brenna. You would not believe it!” Her mother’s friend looked very happy as she giggled and recounted a story that she caught pieces and fragments of. The mother herself did not look happy, however - the little girl knew when her mother wasn’t happy. Don’t ask how, she simply did.

“I suppose I’ll see you tomorrow.” 

The evening sun painted the walls with warm hues, and as the other woman departed, her mother sank onto the edge of the bed. a far-off look in her eyes and a heavy sigh on her lips. 

Without a word, she fetched a basin of water, warm and soothing, and knelt by her mother’s side. Gently, the child removed her boots and began to massage her mother’s tired feet, her small, untrained hands working diligently to ease the discomfort to the best of her ability. The older woman closed her eyes, and a soft smile graced her lips as the tension in her muscles began to melt away.

In that moment, she saw her mother as more than just a tired whore; she saw her as a woman who carried the weight of their little world on her shoulders. The love she felt for her was immense, and it swelled within the child like a river after a storm. But the bite marks and the bruises still looked painful, and they still scared her.

And so, the child’s curiosity got the better of her, and she let the question slip from her innocent lips. "Will I have to work there too when I'm grown up? At the whorehouse?"

Her mother’s eyes flickered open, and a shadow of sadness crossed her face, barely noticeable but unmistakably obvious to her daughter’s young heart. She took a deep breath and then, with a gentle smile, replied, “Perhaps you won’t have to. Maybe you'll find a husband who'll love you more than anyone has ever loved me."

"But I love you a lot, Mama," the young girl said, her voice filled with innocence and devotion.

With a tender sigh, her mother pulled her close, wrapping her arms around her as if to shield her from the harsh world beyond that she was yet to see. 

If only.

"And I love you, my sweet child," she whispered, pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead. "You are such a good girl. You’re my little girl."

In that moment, the girl felt a profound sense of pride in being her mother’s daughter, in the simple act of bringing comfort to her tired soul. The city of King's Landing may have been a tumultuous sea of chaos, but in that room, with her mother's arms around her, she found her anchor, her safe harbor, and a love that she hoped would guide her through any storm.

HER BACK PRESSING INTO THE STONE WALL MAKES HER SHUDDER.

The cold sensation grating against her skin and the eerie chill of the night air make her weak in the knees. Daemon Targaryen’s cock moves against her cunt like it belongs there and nowhere else - the irony of that thought while his wife waits for him in her chambers close by is not lost on her, but she cannot deny how strongly she feels that the man is made for her.

Even if he truly was not.

His lips are immediately on hers, and she devours them for all that they are worth. She enjoys being kissed - it helps her feel wanted by him.

Even if she knew he did not.

Her hands move to the hem of Daemon’s linen undershirt, pushing it up, up, up until it is carelessly thrown halfway across the chamber. She only has one moment to get a look at his naked figure before he pushes against her and cages her between his towering figure and the wall once more. The feeling of heat passing through the pair of them and the smell of sweat and sex is intoxicating to her in a way that she struggles to put into words. Her cunt is wet with arousal as she whimpers into the kiss, allowing him to slip his tongue into her mouth. 

Time stops when they kiss. She supposes it is a beautiful thing, no matter how wrong it was.

Do things have to be right for them to be beautiful anyhow?

Her breasts are flush against his chest as he takes a hold of them, pinching her nipples until they hurt and she gasps into his mouth. He does not stop, however - her pain only seems to spurn him more, and she is ashamed to find that she is aroused as well. One of her hands travels above his neck and she tightly grips onto the root of his hair, pulling until he is in just as much pain and pleasure as she is. The other moves over the scarred planes of his back, almost as though she was mapping out a route to paradise.

The feeling of his cock pushing against her wet cunt sends waves of pleasure coursing through her, the blood rushing to her head and making her feel hazy. She lets the touches take her to the Seven hells - both the man and the circumstances making that their only possible destination.

She wonders if Laena Velaryon wishes for that too.

His cock pushes into her, stretching her walls so wide that she fears he may just split her into two. She needs a moment to adjust and he is generous enough to let her have it as his lips descend onto her neck, leaving her staring blankly at the bed as she breathes heavily. She cranes her neck just a little as she lets his cock settle in her.

And then, he moves.

She often believes that she lives with an aching sense of yearning and pushes through each day finding something to leave her feeling fulfilled. It is an empty feeling really, and the only time she ever feels like she is not a living shell of a woman is when he takes her. The feeling of being filled by him is one that always takes her by surprise - but unlike the other times that she's been taken unawares, this is something she welcomes.

“Yne drējī sȳrī jiōrā, talus. Sepār otāptan, sepār ñuhys ēdruryssy iemnȳ.” [You take me so well, niece. Just as I believed you would, just as I imagined.]

He always says these words whenever he enters her, and she never manages to retain them long enough to ask what they mean - the high of her peak always leaves her mind feeling like melted gold, taking away any chance for coherent conversation. 

Is he referring to someone? Is he appreciating her? Is he saying that he loves her? Somehow, she knows it is not the latter. She won’t have to try and remember to ask tonight - she would find out soon what it is he has gotten out of this all these days.

Every thrust is punctuated by grunts and moans, with both of them hungry for more. She meets every single one of his harsh thrusts as one of her hands slips in between them both, circling and pressing onto her pearl like her entire life was dependent on the pleasure that came from it.

It made sense. The pleasure he gives her each time is what keeps her alive.

Each brush of his flush pink tip against a rough spot inside her cunt makes her eyes roll back in pleasure. He hits it with each thrust as he pounds into her, face always wearing a mask of pursuit - but of what?

What does he want from her?

Her hand on her pearl and his cock in her is swiftly building a pool of heat in her belly - no, not the blazing kind, but a warm kind. It builds, builds, builds and she flies, flies, flies until she can’t go any higher, and she lets herself go limp in his arms as her peak takes over her entire being. 

“That’s it….” He grunts, pushing into her while punctuating each thrust with his words as he relentlessly pushes into her. “Good girl. Dāeremās, sȳres riñus iksā.” [Let go, you’re a good girl.]

She sees red as the pleasure washes over her, vision becoming hazy and rendering her incoherent for many a moment before she manages to bring herself back down to earth. And as the sights around her become clear again, she clings onto him and breathes while looking over his shoulder.

The world looks newer and brighter each time she comes down from the highs that he causes. And in this moment, his last words hit her like the stone wall that she stands in front of.

Good girl, good girl, good girl.

How can a pair of words remind her of what she was then and is now, all at the same time? How can these words hold so much power that they’d coax her into paradise and leave her there, lost and wanting for more, more, more?

She leans back and holds herself straight, looking into his eyes for only a short moment as she gathers herself. It is a deep sea of bright violet and she drowns, drowns, drowns.

She's been drowning in him and trying to catch her breath for a long while now. She's not sure if she wants to be saved - she wants a hand, and pushes it off too.

What does that mean for her?

Good girl, good girl, good girl.

The memory forms in her mind as Daemon Targaryen moves them both and turns her around to make her see out the window - fully naked. She braces herself with two palms holding onto either sides of the window as he pulls her backside to him and spreads her wide, leaving her glistening and sensitive cunt open for him to take once more. His hand moves almost softly over her rear as he enters her once more, this time purely to chase his own release.

“Good girl.”

KING’S LANDING WAS BUSTLING WITH TRAVELERS THIS TIME OF THE YEAR, and she was now fourteen summers old.

She had blossomed into womanhood, her youth adorned with beauty and a vague innocence - yet tarnished by the harsh realities of her life. She toiled at a tavern, where raucous patrons screamed sweet syrupy words at her, attempting to lure her away with their promises. 

“I’ll show you a good time, lass! C’mere!” The man at the table said, patting his thighs and indicating that he’d like for her to sit on his lap.

She had witnessed her own mother endure such advances, and now, as a grown woman, she was the object of many a man’s desire. She was both confused and intrigued, for the attention made feel disgusted yet wanted at the same time.

On one seemingly uneventful day, she counted her earnings - four copper pennies - and began to try and do the addition to determine how much more she would need to settle her mother's debt with the ominous madame of the whorehouse that her mother worked at. Her brother was meant to bring home his pay too tonight, and the sum of their combined efforts held the promise of lifting their family from the pit of debt that had ensnared them. As she left the tavern to head home, the weight of her responsibilities hung heavily upon her young shoulders.

Along her path back home, she encountered a pair of inebriated travelers, their intentions dark and menacing. They seized her arm, grip threatening to harm her fragile spirit. In the midst of her fear, a figure emerged from the shadows, a protector amidst the dangerous chaos. It was Brynden, her brother’s Riverlander friend - she has secretly admired him for years. As she held onto the stone walls of the roads for dear life, he  confronted the drunken men and drove them away from her.

She could not help the slight blush on her face as he checked if she was alright. Her mother once told her that she might find a husband that would love her - is this what love is?

Her young heart believed that it was.

Once he was sure that she was alright, Brynden brought her the news that he’d wanted to tell her. Her brother, it appeared, had squandered his earnings on ale once more and now lay incapacitated on the side of the Street of Silk after finishing an afternoon at a whorehouse. Determined to shield her mother from disappointment, she rushed to her brother's side, her heart pounding with a fervent resolve.

The smell of baked treats and food soon morphed into fragrant yet strong oils, wafting from half-naked women hoping to get a man to pay for their cunts. As she looked around, she finally found the whorehouse that her brother frequented. 

She found him in a pitiful state, his speech slurred and incoherent as he mumbled in his inebriated stupor. Anguish welled within her; he would not be bringing any money home this time either. But despite her frustration, she could not help but love him. He was her brother, and the bonds of blood ran deep.

Gently, she guided him through the winding streets, their journey fraught with the weight of her responsibilities and the uncertainty of their future. He babbled on, his words a testament to his gratitude and admiration for her sense of duty. 

“You’re a good girl, sister,” he’d said, his voice trembling with affection. “Good girl.” She pressed a tender kiss upon his sweaty forehead, her love for her brother transcending any and all disappointments. 

As the night unfolded into dawn, she herself succumbed to the embrace of sleep, her brother beside her, a fragile moment of solace amidst the tumult of their lives. When she awoke, he was gone, vanished into the shadows of the city, never to be seen again. Her heart ached with longing, but she never harbored resentment. She waited, and in her waiting, she remained faithful to the last words her brother had spoken to her. 

Good girl, good girl, good girl.

In the years that followed, she missed him every day. Her mother's health deteriorated, the weight of their struggles taking a toll. But she persevered, striving to be the good girl her brother believed her to be, even in his absence. 

Those two words became a guiding light, a reminder of the love they shared, of what she always hoped to be.

THE COLD AIR HITS HER SQUARE IN THE CHEST, and she is made aware of how exposed she is.

Daemon’s apartments are located at the topmost floors of the Prince of Pentos’ home. From where she stands, with her naked figure holding onto either side of the window as he takes her from behind, she has a clear view of the city at night. Logs of fire are lit and fitted onto stone walls on the roads, and the blurred fiery orange is visible to her as she looks down at the city that saved her. Any passerby close to her can crane their neck up just a little, and see her naked in all her glory, from neck to navel. 

Her breasts bounce as Daemon’s cock moves in and out, shining in the moonlight that her figure now obstructs, keeping the light from entering the dimly lit chamber. She lets out a strangled moan as he bullies her spot with each thrust, grunting and moaning in a mix of pleasure and exertion. The sweaty sheen on her forehead dries in the chill of the night air, and her line of sight is unstable with the way her head moves with the rest of her body.

“You like this, don’t you? For the entire world to see you spread out and wanting like this…” he says, with his lips nibbling on her ear enough to make her scream. “For them to know that you are mine. Fuck, fu-uuck!”

Mine, mine, mine. 

Is it such a bad thing to be? In this moment, as she rolls her eyes back at wave after wave of pleasure and the rapid heat blooming in her belly once more, she supposes it is. She will hate herself for wanting this when they are done for the night - but she’ll cross that bridge when it comes. 

Or burn it.

“Fuck,” she whispers as she loses herself. The shame of being put on display for every common man and woman to see is non-existent, but her heart drops at how she hates that she likes it.

A whore’s daughter is a whore too. How quickly had she given in, after all that she had done to escape a fate that wasn’t her doing?

With one particular thrust, she pushes forward a bit more than expected. She worries that she’s going to fall, fall, fall - the drop would be deathly steep and long.

She imagines what the fall would be like if her grip wasn’t tight. Her naked form falling down with her hands unable to find any purchase, flailing about as she is suspended in the air. She’d probably see all the bricks and windows in close view - perhaps, someone leaning against another window may scream as they notice her falling to what she hopes would be death, naked as her name day.

Would she be able to live it through if she miraculously and unfortunately survived that fall?

Almost as though he sensed her fear of slipping, Daemon’s hands move away from the loose grip they have on her waist. One hand snakes around her breasts and his forearm presses into her pebbled peaks, while the other cups her cunt and covers it from the cold completely. A fresh wave of arousal takes over her as he groans at the wetness that now coats his palm. The sudden warmth of his hand has her whining and moaning for more, and she moves, riding against his palm, wanting for more, more, more. It would seem that they are both insatiable tonight.

Daemon picks up the pace, his movements speeding up as she senses his desperation for release. She feels his cock hit her all the way up to her lower belly as the coil builds once more, giving her the excitement as she anticipates the sweet pleasure of release once more. She almost gives in right then, knees buckling and legs almost melting as she feels herself fly high, higher and higher still once more. Her peak washes over her in an instant as he pushes deep, her cunt only protected from the stone wall below the window by his palm.

It is a particularly long wave of pleasure that takes over her, making the hairs on her body stand upright as she struggles to stand on her own. Fire courses through her veins and her face is flushed as she finally smiles, drinking in the intense pleasure as Daemon’s thrusts get slower and slower until he spills in her too - a mix of grunts and moans as he falls apart.

The heady mix of sweat, slick and seed dripping down her thighs is enough to make her hazy and feel light in the head. Her head seems as though it is filled with cotton as her thighs quiver, making her experience relief like never before and she wants to turn and kiss him, hope to let the delusion that he loves her fester in her head a bit more and give herself the luxury of feeling genuinely loved for just a while as he-

“Good girl, Rhaenyra.”

His hands have moved away and he quickly pulls out of her, making her move forward. The stone wall hits the dark mound covering her cunt as she winces at the sudden emptiness - from both between her legs and her heart.

She’s lost her home, her memories, her happier days and a life that she loved. She’s lost enough and more for a lifetime. Daemon was never hers to be considered a loss, and she knows it too. And yet, as the realization that even his sex-addled, ill-meant compliments weren’t hers to own washes over her, she finds a lone tear slipping from her eye.

The salty taste on her lips feels like home.

Good girl, he’d said. To whom was he saying it, really?

TWO YEARS HAD PASSED SINCE HER BROTHER WALKED AWAY FROM THEIR LIVES, leaving an empty space that seemed impossible to fill. She was now a fully grown woman who was struggling to make ends meet in the bustling streets of King's Landing. Life had grown harsher with each passing day, and now, a shadow of illness loomed over their humble home.

Her mother had fallen ill, a fever that refused to break. She was too sick to continue working at the whorehouse, so they lived on scraps while the young girl’s earnings went toward settling their debts. She couldn't afford the services of a maester for her mother in the capital city, and the local healer's herbs offered little solace. Still, she continued to scrape together every copper she could find, pouring her earnings into the apothecary's pouch in a desperate attempt to buy her mother some time and relief.

Debt was a relentless specter in their lives. The madame of the local whorehouse hounded them incessantly, demanding the repayment of their debts. Her once cozy home felt increasingly suffocating, its walls closing in around them as they fought to survive.

One evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows across the room, she returned home to a sight that sent a chill down her spine. Her mother appeared more sickly than usual, her brow damp with fevered sweat. She rushed to her mother’s side, her heart pounding with fear. She pressed her palm to her mother's forehead and felt the searing heat.

In her delirious state, her mother noticed her efforts to help and laughed softly, her voice a mere whisper. "Thank you my love, you’re a good girl," she murmured weakly, her eyes glazed with fever. The girl's heart ached, and she did what little she could to ease her mother's suffering. She prepared a hot bowl of soup and fed it to her mother, tears welling in her eyes as she watched the warm liquid spill from her mother's lips.

Good girl. The last words her mother had said to her. 

The night passed in anxious vigil, but by morning, her mother was gone. She had wept bitterly, her tears soaking the tattered bed linens that held the memory of happier times.

Days later, the madame of the whorehouse came knocking, a cruel glint in her eyes. She had no sympathy for the loss, only an insistence that the debt must be paid. With ruthless determination, she thrust the girl into her mother's role, forcing her to walk a path that her mother had promised she’d never have to.

“Maybe you'll find a husband who'll love you more than anyone has ever loved me,” her mother had said once. The words had no power or weight as she braced herself to welcome the lustful drunks of King’s Landing with a closed heart and open legs.

Distressed and terrified, the girl found herself in a living nightmare. The once-bustling brothel became her prison, and her innocence was sacrificed to repay a debt she had not incurred. As the first man walked through the doors that fateful night, she realized that her life had taken a dark and irreversible turn, and there was no escape from the cruelty of King's Landing's unforgiving streets.

She remembered looking at the ceiling as she whimpered, the pain of being taken for the first time making her well up in earnest. The bed made a series of creaking sounds as she let him have his way with her, and the gold coin that he’d flicked at her abdomen afterward shined like nothing she’d ever seen before.

“Gold?” she whimpered, unable to recognize the shiny metal. She looked at the coin in awe, and the man laughed cruelly. 

“Maiden whores are worth more than the usual,” he said. 

In all her years living in the stink of the city, she’d never felt dirty - but she did now.

With each night, she caged her heart and saved up the money. On some days, it’d be a penny and on some others, it’d be a silver stag. Every coin saved would buy her escape and freedom. And one night, she finally ran. 

Five silver stags for a journey aboard the first ship she could find. To Pentos.

Her job as a chambermaid at the Prince of Pentos’s home came to her as a kitchen maid took pity and took her in. For months, she’d safely worked and made more money. They provided her with a little chamber that she shared with the other maids, and food so her belly would never feel empty. She’d escaped the brothel and she wanted to believe that she’d made her mother proud. She didn’t know if she was happy, but she was her own person again - it had to count for something, regardless of how empty she felt.

Three months later, a silver-haired Rogue Prince made his descent on the palace grounds, atop the most terrifying dragon she’d ever seen - awakening what was dead in her once more.

DESPITE HOW ROUGHLY HE’D HANDLED HER JUST MOMENTS BEFORE, she felt as though she’d been doused with cold water.

Rhaenyra, Rhaenyra, Rhaenyra.

She’d believed that she was a blot of shame on Laena Velaryon’s marriage, but it would seem that a silver-haired princess - the Realm’s Delight, his niece - was doing far worse in her absence.

Had he been taking her from behind, hoping against hope that if he closed his eyes and thrusted enough, he’d be able to picture her? 

She turns around, the thrill of being put on display while in the throes of pleasure wearing off of her. She walks over to the table near the fireplace with unsteady steps, and slips on the robe that he’d discarded - possibly before she’d stepped in. The wine pitcher invites her with open arms, offering her the comfort of ignorance and forgetfulness as she tries to wrap her head around finally finding out what he’s wanted all this time.

She wanted to be able to feel something, and he wanted to feel her. Neither of them wanted each other, and she supposes that the field is now even. Somehow, she feels a bit more powerful with the knowledge that she wasn’t just someone that he took mindlessly, but was someone who helped him satisfy what she now clearly sees as his guilty desires.

She must have known. Rumors of whores being asked to call him uncle as he fucked them dizzy have floated about before - she thought they were lies, but now she’s seen firsthand how true they are.

He was married to a woman whom he probably wishes was someone else. He was straying from his marriage vows with another woman, not even the one who he wished for. She wonders if Rhaenyra Targaryen knows how deeply she is wanted and loved. 

She wonders if she will ever be loved the same way. A whore's daughter will also be a whore. Is she a whore now? Has she become what she tried to escape? And worse - does she genuinely enjoy it? 

They accompany each other in silence, the only noise being the cacophony of thoughts in their own heads. He slips into his soft trousers and sits on the edge of the bed as she passes him a goblet of wine. She sits opposite him whilst nursing her own goblet, simmering in her thoughts as she muses about her life’s journey - from a mere happy tavern wench to a prince’s solemn bed warmer.

There is a knock on the door that brings both of them out of their reverie. The servant slips in when Daemon mutters his permission and she takes in the sight of them both before looking to the floor and murmuring words that are inaudible.

“Speak up, girl,” he says. As the servant maid breathes in, she has a startling realization. His Valyrian words, the ones that she did not recognize or understand - were they for Rhaenyra too? She does not plan on asking. She supposes she’ll never know.

“Lady Laena has begun her labors, Prince Daemon.”

The servant scurries out, leaving the door half open as Daemon throws his head into his hands. She sets the goblet aside and stands in front of him, taking his head in her arms and letting it rest on her robe-clad abdomen. Her hands run over his hair in a soothing motion, almost in a lover’s embrace. Almost.

In this moment, she can tell herself that what they have is more than just sin and adultery. In this moment, she’ll tell herself that what they have is not dirty, but beautiful. 

“Go. She needs you,” she murmurs, the words once again reminding her of the precarious position she finds herself in. He walks away after dressing himself, and in the wee hours of the morning, the Prince and his wife welcome twin daughters - Baela and Rhaena.

Only four days later, she finds herself being summoned to his private apartments once more. She is now about to fuck a man who had not one, not two, but three girls in his life that he would disregard when he takes her - all in delusional pursuit of a woman who is half a world away. She hates what she is about to do, and she hates that she is already wet and wanting. 

She wants him. Despite it all, she wants him.

Wrong, wrong, wrong.

Her mother and brother called her a good girl, once upon a time. Would they say the same about her now?

Somehow, she knows that the answer is not something she'd want to hear.

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MASTERLIST

[voidpumpkin]

A definite theme of dungeon meshi is that of selfishness and selflessness with pretty much every character defined by these two things in some way

most obviously there's the winged lion who's entire existence is defined by selfishness, he just consumes, consumes and consumes, ruining everybody, with labyrinth he is bound to and he himself encouraging and shaping the selfish and selfless desires of others. His greatest desire, to consume everybody is the ultimate act of selfishness in the series yet he frames it as and pretty genuinely views it as an act of great selflessness, which is part of another theme in the show of people imposing their selfless desires on to other people.

As can be seen with Marcille, from the beginning she is shown as the most outwardly selfless, she's the one always wanting to help other adventurers, aside from Laios the loudest advocate for rescuing Falin, resents Namari for abandoning Falin and is shocked to find out Chilchuck is doing this because he is being paid. She's the one who crosses all moral and ethical barriers to save Falin, to defeat the dungeon rabbits. And then we see how she has the greatest most all encompassing desire of them all, to equal everyone's lifespan to one thousand with a selfless motive behind it, that it will erase bigotry between races. The selflessness of it is something she is almost proud, she's insulted and very insistent that she doesn't want more selfish desire like having a child or becoming a full blooded elf. Yet this selfless desire comes from a selfish place of never wanting to experience loss and is a desire (with the winged lions help) becomes one she seeks to impose on others

Similarly to Thistle who is THE example of how selfless desires become twisted and selfish by the dungeon as he original wanted to protect the kingdom and makes sure they live forever, though even then this was a selfish desire imposed upon him by Delgal. Now after a thousand years of running the dungeon he is all selfishness that he views as selflessness.

Then there is the other notable former dungeon master, Mithrun. Once viewed as a pure and selfless man by those around him he harboured countless selfish desires that the demon exploited and consumed, leaving him with what he and others thought was just the desire for revenge. A selfish desire that manifested in a selfless form as he puts his life on the line to rid the world from demons. It's through this we see one of his most interesting traits, his sincere desire to reach out and help other dungeon masters, compared to all other interactions he is never this gentle or talkative with them, the other canaries quite clearly just want to kill them, but Mithrun, one of the very few people who can understand what they're going through talks to them. By the end of the series we also come to know that his selfish desire for revenge was in fact an entirely different selfish desire, to be consumed.

Not on to Izutsumi, she's a character defined by her selfishness, as a result of her upbringing she has to rely on and care for only herself but then she becomes a part of the touden party and is put in a caring environment for the first time, and in response grows to genuinely care for them as well, risking her life in ways she wouldn't have done before. Izutsumi acts as a pretty potent example of the crews selflessness with all of them (except Laios, who they defend her from his monster fixation) acting as parents to her. Marcille gives her the love and affection, both emotional and physical that she'd never received up until that point, and didn't even know she needed. Chilchuckvis the only one with actual experience as a parents and only parental figure who has treated Izutsumi well, he pretty quickly realises she is acting like a teenage girl and quickly adjusts to treating and caring for her as such. Sensei, who is pretty much all paternal instincts cares for her the only way he knows how and is the first person to adjust meals to her needs and desires. Izutsumi can be seen as a demonstration of environments shaping a person, her formative years being treated terribly made her selfish whilst this new caring environment allowed her to become selfless for the first time.

Building off the paternal instincts comment from earlier, that one of the two things that define senshi's selflessness. Sensei is both a deeply mature and deeply selfless character, as a result his selflessness comes in more casual and more adult forms. In respecting the autonomy of others and providing them with food. With these drawing from the two things mentioned earlier, his paternal instincts but also his experiences with starvation. His paternal instincts are best shown in the chapter after Falin is taken as we see inside his head, seeing he views Chilchuck and Marcille as very young and that it is his responsibility to feed them, and considered it a failing on his part if he doesn't. This paternal instinct also is what leads him to secretly resent Laios and Marcille as he believes Chilchuck to be a child and views them as exploiting him and putting him in harms way. His focus on feeding others is of course a result of his experience with starvation, he NEVER wants anyone to go through what he went through and is THE way we see him caring for people outside of the Touden party

Next up Chilchuck, a character who at first seems to be a deeply selfish ones, as he journeys with the group because he is paid to, not because he wants to. But then we do come to respect this, as dungeoneering is a job, a very dangerous one that, and like all jobs it deserves proper compnesation. Which is something he actively tries to facilitate in one of his greatest acts of selflessness, where after having experienced the selfishness of other races and their willingness to use half-foots as bait, he starts a union to ensure proper pay and workers rights for half-foots. Though rather interestingly our first exposure to it is through the deeply selfish Mikbell, who frames what Chilchuck is doing as an act of selfishness. We also soon understand that he deeply cares about his friends, more than even he wants to as he continues to travel with them even when the job is technically done. This does result in a moment of selfless/selfish desire as he seeks to trick the group into leaving falin behind because he genuinely cares about then, he thinks they're in over their head and wants to protect them, again selfless desire that is selfish, though he does come to respect their wishes.

Speaking of Falin. cause of her minimal time to be a character we're left what screen time she gets and that's a character defined by her selflessness, from her communication with ghosts, being framed as a mothrrly figure to Thistle and the acted that began the series, sacrificing her life to save the crew, and would define how they act going forward.

For Namari it caused her to leave and take up the better offers she'd received. A selfish act that Marcille in particular resents her for but is explained by both her backstory, she is trying to buy back the honour her father stole, which would hopefully repair the relationship between the Lord of the island and dwarves, a selfless act, and the establishment of dungeoneering as a dangerous job that deserves compensation, which is why Laios and Chilchuck who do view it as a job don't resent her while Marcille who doesn't view it as a job (a. she's very open about not viewing dungeoneering as a career b. ancient magic research is her goal, thus the particularities of dungeoneering never mattered to her) does resent her. We do see other moments of selflessness from wanting to know Kiki and Kaka's age so she can identify them if they need resurrecting and standing up for Laios. Namari's character is one meant to show selfishness, especially when your life is one the line, is not inherently immoral.

The other crew member who left as a result of Falin's death is Toshiro (Shuro), who immediately goes off to find a strong crew he is hopeful can make it through the dungeon as fast a possible to rescue Falin. In opposition to Namari he is someone who chooses selflessness over this own life, running himself ragged to save her, but it is this focus on her other his needs that causes him to fail, running yourself ragged will leave you unable to succeed, as demonstrated to him by Laios. Laios is a man he resents for various reasons but one of them being that he doesn't see Laios as sincere in his care, that he doesn't express his selflessness in a 'proper' way. That his happy go lucky attitude and focus on keeping himself health are proof that he doesn't care, when in actuality a) that's just who laios is b) Laios looking after himself is a form of selflessness because how can one help others if they can't even stand.

Laios sits in the middle of selfishness and selflessness, defined in equal parts by them. He is completely sincere and dedicated to his selflessness, willing to risk his life and go it alone to save Falin, he seeks non-violent solutions to deal with his human enemies, wanting to talk to Thistle and get him to respect the citizens of the golden kingdom's wishes and doing the same with Marcille alongside working to defeat the winged lion and putting himself on the line to do so, as well as becoming the king of the golden kingdom, which he clearly doesn't want. yet he also has a lot of selfish desires because of this and being an extremely autistic dude with basically no social skills he's viewed as worse than he is, both on his and other's fault. He loves monsters and his entire life is defined by his obsession with them, this obsession spawned from a resentment of humans how they treated his sister (he got over it, he was a teen). He seeks to examine Izutsumi, and while he means no disrespect or anything gross by it, she is a teenager and has some pretty serious trauma surrounding being treated as a circus animal. He disrespects Lycion's treatment to his suicidal body dysmorphia because it's a 'skin deep' appreciation of monsters. He views saving Falin as an opportunity to finally consume monsters, his selfish desires and his willingness to express then when it really isn't an oppurtune time to do so (dude, your sister's life is on the line) mean he is taken at his worst, viewed as literally villain by Kabru and the canaries. Laios as the protagonist of story with pretty clear themes of selflessness and selfishness shows one who is outwardly a very selfish person yet the moment you stop to look is a deeply deeply selfless person, even if he is bad communicating.

This brings us to his foil Kabru. Kabru pretty clearly defines himself by his selflessness, viewing himself as superior for it, believing he should be the one to conquer the dungeon and that Laios is unworthy based on his shallow understanding of him. This selflessness is further deconstructed as something very bad for him as similarly to Toshiro is clearly doesn't value himself like he should, not allowing himself to have selfish desires, with it being pretty clear this worldview is shaped by his childhood trauma, of seeing what the dungeon can do, his survivors guilt and believing he has a duty to prevent it. This brings him into interesting conflict with Mithrun and Laios. The former is someone is a person who literally cannot care for himself and must rely on others to do that for him. His lack of care for himself, unawareness of his own needs astounds Kabru, rather ironically considering Kabru's lack of focus on his own and his focus on Mithrun, who is noted to be looking better than usual thanks to Kabru's treatment by Lycion, indeed his focus on analysing and understanding other people in general can be seen as a form of his selflessness/care for others at his expense. The latter is a person who confounds Kabru, Laios is the first person who Kabru cannot understand, the first person he can't just casually befriend one so utterly antithetical to his own interests as Laios is fixated and loves the very thing Kabru is horrified by, monsters. This also shows arguably the biggest example of Kabru valuing others, his selflessness at his own expense when eats the monster food Laios offered him, looking like he might die as he does so. This horror and confusion causes him become fixated on Laios, he is a puzzle Kabru must solve, but also because of Kabru's views on monsters, selfishness and selflessness he views Laios as an active and terrifying threat that must be stopped. But underlying this is what Kabru refuses to acknowledge until he confronts Laios next time they meet, he wants to befriend Laios, something that horroifies himself, both cause this is Laios, but this is a selfish desire. Admitting to Laios is an admission to himself that he has a selfish desire and that maybe just maybe that isn't so bad and that doesn't make him a lesser person. This acknowledgment that desires are part of who you are is what allows him to reach Mithrun, Kabru developed a new desire, to befriend Laios and thus Mithrun can too. Kabru is very potent foil to Laios, a character defined by selfish desires and seen as dangerous because of them when in fact he is deeply deeply selfless, as he is character who looks down on selfish desire and values selflessness to his own expense, only to learn through Laios that selfish desires are not inherently bad, thus allowing Kabru to help others even more.

And last but not least is elves as a whole and in particular the canaries. Elves are this selflessness and selfishness theme on a societal scale as their racial paternalism means they view it is their duty to look after races whilst also not respecting them or their autonomy and this causing great harm, with the canaries and Milsiril being microcosims of this. The canaries are a force tasked with stopping dungeons a selfless act, though motives selfish as while some clearly do it to save lives, it's established that one of the reasons they do so is to get their hands on the ancient magic inside and their racial paternalism means they don't trust other races to know the secret of dungeons, which almost dooms everybody. We also see how many of the members of it are criminals, who quite frankly are selfish cunts, really racist to non elves and are more than willing to put shorter lived races in harms way to get what they want. Milsiril is this racial paternalism embodied, as she's dedicated her life to looking after children of other races, a selfless desire, but she clearly doesn't see them quite as equals with there also being the implication that this is the result of a selfish desire to deal with her own loneliness.

Desire is a key theme in dungeon meshi with selflessness and selfish being the accompaniment to it that really makes so much it so potent.

[pin-k-ink]

transparent // dazai osamu

tw ⇢ sexual tension, teasing, groping, mention of a casual relationship, grinding, semi public sex, fingering, dirty talk, pet names, praise kink, unprotected sex, blowjob, face-fucking

wc ⇢ 8.1k

The ambient bustle of the Armed Detective Agency's bullpen faded into white noise the second Dazai sauntered through the door that morning. As usual, every molecule of oxygen in the room seemed to realign around his presence - an inescapable gravitational pull you'd learned to resist through sheer stubborn will.

"Well, well..." That dangerous rasp curled upwards to greet your ears like a physical caress. "If it isn't my favorite co-worker looking bright-eyed and dangerously gorgeous as ever."

You refused to rise to the blatant bait, keeping your attention firmly affixed on the paperwork before you. Out of your periphery, you tracked Dazai's leonine prowl as he drew nearer, moving with that unnervingly predatory grace. 

"No 'good morning' for me today?" he purred once near enough for you to smell the sandalwood tang of his soap. "And after I took such care with my appearance in hopes of stealing a smile."

That got you to cut him a sidelong glance - the tousled artistry of his chestnut locks, the elegant sprawl of his limbs as Dazai braced himself against the edge of your desk. One dark brow winged upwards leadingly, beckoning for you to drink in each carved angle and sinuous line.

You simply hummed a vague, noncommittal noise before refocusing elsewhere. This game between you two was too well-trodden to merit much reaction anymore. Dazai practically vibrated with sensual presence hoping to rattle you, to compel even the barest response. But you'd learned to ignore those silken ploys through sheer repetition and stubbornness.

"Oh, so we're going to be difficult today, are we?" The insinuation curled rich and buttery against the sensitive whorls of your ears. "You know how I adore a spirited challenge, gorgeous."

The subtle lean of Dazai's torso brought the smoky, masculine blend of his cologne into your atmosphere in dizzying concentration. You couldn't quite smother the infinitesimal stall of your lungs as that potent scent catalyzed unwanted responsiveness low in your belly. 

Dazai didn't miss the reactive flutter of your lashes either. A low rumble vibrated up from the broad column of his throat as he straightened again, relieving the intimate invasion temporarily.

"We're early yet, I suppose," he mused, tone dripping arch self-assurance once more. "But not to worry. I plan on coaxing plenty of delightful sounds from those pretty lips before the day's through, my dear."

Allowing your eyes to slit open revealed Dazai leaning in once more, close enough for you to feel the whisper-soft phantoms of breath ghosting across your cheek like sin made solid. Close enough to drown in those heavy-lidded russet pools glittering with blatant promise and challenge.

"I do so look forward to seeing what other...responsive tells I can tease out of you next." The words all but vibrated against your own parted lips, laced with a blistering edge of confidence. "This game's only just begun..."

With that deliberately provocative murmur, Dazai swept away towards his own workspace with that distractingly predatory grace. Leaving you struggling to recover your equilibrium as heated tendrils of awareness sparked low in your abdomen despite your best efforts.  

As much as you tried to bury yourself in menial busywork over the ensuing hours, you couldn't quite shake off the thrall of Dazai's electrifying presence. Of the effortless male potency that seemed to radiate from his very pores and cloud the air into near-solidity whenever you were in proximity.

He always seemed to find reasons to invade your orbit, crowding into your space under the flimsiest of pretenses. Dazai would stretch languidly, allowing that leanly muscled torso and the shadowed vee of his collar to present itself for shameless perusal.  

Or he'd sprawl against the edge of your desk, one lean thigh brushing yours in seeming accident as those heavy-lidded eyes bored into you with simmering heat. Forcing you to confront the sensual geometry of his features up close and at dangerously point-blank range.

The air between you and Dazai seemed to grow heavier and more charged with each passing interaction. An undeniable, nearly tangible tension that thickened the atmosphere into an insulating haze of pure distillation.

Like the time you'd been bent over one of the file cabinets, digging through the lower drawers for an elusive case report. The whisper-soft pad of Dazai's measured footfalls was your only warning before the solid wall of his chest pressed flush against the curved line of your spine. 

You jolted upright, ready to berate him for the inappropriate proximity. But Dazai simply hummed a low, distinctly satisfied rumble as you found yourself effectively pinned between the unforgiving metal and his firm masculine heat.

"There now, no need to panic," that treacherously rich timbre rasped against the nape of your neck. "I'm simply...appreciating the view up close for a change."

You could practically feel the smoldering weight of Dazai's hooded regard skating down the length of your trapped form in unhurried debauch. The subtle flex of his abdomen with each humid exhale pressed your lower backs even more snugly together.

Despite willing every nerve to remain impassive, your traitor body responded to the overwhelming physicality of being encased in Dazai's orbit like this. You swallowed hard, acutely aware of the thunderous trip-hammer of your pulse visible at the hollow of your throat.  

Dazai's answering hum vibrated straight through to your very marrow, this one edged with dark sin and a hint of smoke. Then he shifted fractionally, allowing the insistent ridge of his cock to grind against the swell of your ass in blatant taunt.

"It's a perspective I really must take advantage of more often," he practically purred against your nape. "Don't you agree, beautiful?"

You opened your mouth, determined to unleash a scathing rebuke for his flagrant impropriety. But Dazai simply chuckled again - rich and indolent - before that scorching brand of his torso finally disengaged. Leaving you to sag weakly against the drawer front, ears ringing with fractures of your own wildly skittering pulse and Dazai's husky endearments.

Another time, you'd been rifling through the copy machine's depleted supply tray in search of a new ream of paper to reload. So absorbed in your simple task that you didn't register the weighted silence signaling Dazai's intrusion until he moved to loom at your back once more.

"Need a hand there, gorgeous?" The words dripped molten sin directly into your ear. "Seems awfully inconvenient having to crouch down like that in that tight little skirt of yours..."

Cheeks going instantly incendiary, you snapped ramrod straight only to find Dazai's smoldering regard searing directly down the generous vee of your blouse from over one shoulder. A deliciously wicked slant curved those lush lips as he drank in every flustered micro-expression flickering across your features.

"Although..." he mused, rich and resonant. "I can't say I mind the view from this angle." 

Dazai leaned in slightly on the emphasis, allowing the solid wall of his torso to brush against the curve of your backside. Just a fleeting whisper of contact, but it seared like a brand all the same - sparking riotous consciousness of every place your bodies didn't quite touch.   

You struggled to rally a retort, to summon some semblance of the withering composure you desperately clung to amid these escalating provocations. But Dazai simply slanted you with another heated sweep of that darkly weighted stare, effectively robbing you of both breath and cutting words.

"Then again, we'd hate for you to...overexert yourself in such discomfort, now wouldn't we?" The words dripped like poisoned ambrosia from between those sensuous lips you'd been trying not to fixate upon.

Before you could formulate a response, Dazai's hands settled in decisive arcs around your waist - pulling you snugly back against the rigid wall of his chest. Not ungently, but with enough deliberate physicality to send a tremulous frisson ricocheting through your nerves like skipped stones across a glassy mere.

"Allow me..." he rumbled, voice dropping to an even more dangerously resonant timbre that catalyzed your pulse into a thunderous gallop. 

Dazai's answering chuckle against your nape made it clear he could sense every reactive shiver rippling through you. Yet he made no move to extract himself or relieve the overwhelming potency of being encased in the scorching orbit of his body like this. The silence grew thicker and more electrically charged by the second...

The tension almost became a living, breathing force unto itself - thickening the atmosphere around you and Dazai into a heavy, charged miasma. Every interaction seemed to crackle with unspoken provocation and heated undercurrents begging to finally breach the surface.

Like the time you were working late reviewing security footage from a stakeout, so absorbed in studying the grainy images that you didn't notice Dazai's approach until he materialized directly behind you. The solid bulk of his chest pressed flush against your back as those long arms bracketed the desk on either side, effectively trapping you in the scorching vise of his body.

"There you are, gorgeous," the silken timbre vibrated against your nape, raising delicious little contrails along your sensitized nerves. "Getting some overtime in, I see..."

You opened your mouth to issue a reprimand, but all that emerged was a strangled little noise as Dazai allowed more of his weight to settle against you from behind. The hard ridges and hollows of his frame etched themselves into the soft give of your body with delirious, molten precision.

"Now, now...no need for such an...enthusiastic welcome," he crooned, each consonant seeming to score tingling paths across your thundering pulse.

Dazai shifted infinitesimally, rolling his hips in a slow, suggestive grind that had you stifling a tremulous whimper against your will. You could feel the smile curving against the sensitive span of your nape as he luxuriated in your body's involuntary reactions.

"Although I must admit, I do love how...responsive you are to me, beautiful." The words emerged thickened by sin as one large palm skimmed up your ribcage and splayed with obvious possession between your breasts. "Makes a man wonder what other delicious little noises he could coax out with some...dedicated effort."

Despite your best attempts at impassivity, you couldn't quite restrain the full-bodied shudder that rippled through you at the lascivious implication. Dazai's hips rolled again - a pointed, insistent grind punctuating his velvety murmur as he leaned until you could practically taste the sandalwood tang of his skin.

"What do you say, gorgeous? Why don't we find out together..."

Another time, you'd leaned over to plug in your laptop charger that had come loose from the outlet, dress riding up to expose an indecent swath of thigh and backside. So focused on your search that you didn't register the telltale quiet until Dazai's heated rumble caressed your senses from somewhere directly behind.

"Well...hello there." The gruff rasp contained undisguised sin as you whipped around to find him looming at your back - chest only scant inches from brushing your own. "Now isn't this just a delicious view to stumble across?"

You couldn't even summon an ounce of outrage, too immediately arrested by the unapologetic heat blazing in Dazai's midnight regard. The way it seemed to physically scorch across your exposed skin, raising delirious inflamed prickles.

Dazai allowed his stare to streak down the length of you in one unhurried, carnal sweep. When his russet gaze finally battled back up to lock with yours at eye-level, you felt like every molecule had been methodically undressed for perusal despite remaining clothed.

"You know..." He rasped at last, pitching his timbre around the words like a physical caress. "For someone who so adamantly claims they're not trying to tempt certain...responses...you certainly have an interesting way of presenting yourself, beautiful."

On the emphasis of that last word, Dazai allowed his upper body to roll forwards in one languid swell - forcing your spines into heated alignment as he crowded you snugly back against the desk. You couldn't stifle the sharp inhalation as sinuous muscle and blistering male heat surrounded you in a searing brand.

The low, humming growl Dazai released seemed to reverberate straight through to your very marrow. You shuddered despite yourself as his broad palms mapped the flare of your hips in a scorching, proprietary glide that stopped just short of indecent territory before retreating slowly.

"Well then, I certainly can't fault your...presentation," he husked, the words ghosting across your thundering pulse point. "Although you're making it dreadfully difficult for a gentleman to retain his composure around such blatant temptation..."

The thick, luxurious weight of the tension binding you and Dazai together grew heavier and more insistent with each passing encounter. until it felt like a living, breathing force of nature unto itself. An elemental power that threatened to finally shatter whatever fragile truces still existed between you.

Like when you reached above your head to reshelve some files, causing your blouse to ride up and expose a tantalizing strip of toned abdomen. You didn't hear Dazai's silent approach over the whisper-shush of papers until the solid wall of his torso pressed flush against your lower back.  

His palms settled with scorching possession around your waist, fingers splaying to maximize contact as Dazai effectively pinned you between the searing brand of his body and the shelving. A rumbling purr of approval reverberated straight through you as he allowed his hips to grind in one molten, indolent roll.

"Well, well..." The words dripped molten sin against the nape of your neck, raising delicious frissons. "What an absolutely tantalizing surprise to stumble across..."

You couldn't quite restrain the tremulous whimper that slipped free at the insistent outline of his dick nestling against the cleft of your backside. Dazai answered with a darker, smoke-edged growl of blatant male satisfaction deep in his chest - the sound catalyzing a betraying spire of heat in your core.

"So responsive," he rasped in carnal delight. "I'd wondered just how far I'd have to push before coaxing those pretty little sounds out of you again, beautiful."

One calloused palm stroked up the vulnerable inward curve of your waist in a lingering caress. Then Dazai splayed those sinful fingertips across your abdomen, the brand of his touch raising molten wildfires in its wake as it slowly wandered higher.

"Although now that I've heard them..." His teeth grazed the thundering thrum of your pulse in a searing graze. "I seem to find myself utterly incapable of resisting the urge to hear them again. And again..."

He punctuated the delirious promise by flexing his hips with pointed emphasis, forcing your lower back to arch in order to maintain that scorching point of contact. You heard yourself keen softly in a plaintive, needy rasp that only seemed to stoke the banked wildfire in Dazai's smoldering stare to searing new heights.

"There it is..." The timbre emerged nearly unraveled into gravel now as he sealed you flush once more. "Sweeter than any symphony, wouldn't you agree, gorgeous?"

Another time, one of Dazai's hands settled low on your hip as he leaned around you to reach for a file you were reviewing. Instead of extracting himself afterwards, he allowed the solid brand of his torso to remain locked against you from behind as if it was the most natural thing in the world.    

Even with you facing the wall, you felt the scorching weight of his hooded stare caressing the exposed nape of your neck. Each measured exhalation feathered across those sensitized nerves in delirious, searing contrails guaranteed to raise prickles across your skin.  

"You're awfully tense, beautiful," Dazai rasped at last with that rich, dripping insinuation. "And after the long day you've endured, so focused...so disciplined..."

His free hand settled at the dip of your lower spine, callused fingertips trailing up in a lingering glide that catalyzed your pulse into a molten gallop. You couldn't quite suppress the tremulous shiver despite willing every molecule to remain composed and unaffected by the branding possession of his touch. 

"Don't fret," he murmured, chin dipping to graze the fragile whorl of your ear as his palm continued meandering ever higher. "I'll be sure to take...such exquisite care in relieving that tension for you."

One broad splay spanned the expanse between your shoulder blades, allowing the solid brand of his forearm to pin you flush as Dazai's hips rolled in a suggestive grind. You couldn't quite muffle the choked whimper that slipped free despite your best restraint, scalp tingling beneath the rasp of his answering chuckle vibrating against your nape.

"There now...isn't that better already?"

After weeks of the escalating tension and suggestive encounters between you and Dazai, he finally decided to change tactics. One afternoon, after another heated brush of intimate proximity had left you both simmering, Dazai caught your arm gently as you tried to make your escape.

"Enough games between us, don't you think?" His tone was low but serious, none of the usual honeyed taunts coloring the words. "We both know this delicious dance can't go on indefinitely before one of us combusts entirely."

You opened your mouth, not sure if you intended to feign ignorance or finally give voice to the crackling awareness stretching between you. But Dazai merely shook his head, holding up a hand to forestall you.

"Don't bother denying the heat, beautiful. We're both too far down this road to keep playing coy." His gaze bored into yours with surprising intensity. "Which is why I have a proposal for you - a way for us both to finally scratch this undeniable itch that's been driving us slowly mad."

Interest and trepidation warred within you as you regarded Dazai steadily. He seemed to read the conflict because one side of his mouth kicked up in a slanted smile, but not the usual teasing curl. This one was weighted with quiet promise.

"Hear me out," was all he said, letting the susurrant words hang pregnant between you. "I'm prepared to make you an offer, gorgeous...one that will allow us both to have what we've been craving with no more teasing or games involved. If you're amenable, that is."

For once, you found yourself speechless under the solemn intensity of Dazai's regard. He was clearly offering a way to finally resolve the explosive tensions building between you, laid bare with none of the usual dazzling deflections. The decision rested entirely with you now.

After a pregnant pause where you searched his expression, you gave a measured nod. "I'm listening..."

Dazai's gaze remained steady and unflinching as you indicated your willingness to hear him out. For a protracted beat, the weighted silence stretched taut between you - alive with the same sparking undercurrents that had been slowly reaching a simmer over the past several weeks.

"What I'm about to propose may sound a bit...unconventional," he began at last, rich timbre stripped of any extraneous inflection. "But I think we're both finally ready to acknowledge that there's something undeniably potent between us. A craving that's only going to keep escalating until it finally explodes in spectacular fashion."

You felt your breath hitch despite willing your lungs to remain steady. Dazai's manner was severe now - bereft of any lurid suggestions or honeyed come-ons. This side of him felt almost dangerous in its solemn intensity, drawing you in like a cobra's mesmeric dance.

"The way I see it," he continued after a charged pause, "we have two choices before us. We can keep playing these delirious games, circling one another until the inevitable conflagration consumes us both in riotous ruin..." 

Dazai allowed his smoldering stare to streak down the feminine lines of your body in one ponderous sweep before returning to lock with yours. The sheer corporeal weight of his appraisal raised exquisite tendrils of heat despite yourself.

"Or we could...indulge ourselves a bit. Satisfy this relentless craving in a controlled manner before it spirals entirely out of hand."

The meaning behind his quietly purred suggestion catalyzed a wildfire of its own inside your veins. You couldn't quite mask the reactive shiver that rippled through you, though Dazai didn't seem to fault you for it. He simply tipped his head a fraction, maintaining that weighted connection between your locked stares as he allowed the implication to sink in.

"Just a temporary arrangement between colleagues, you understand," he clarified after a protracted beat. "No strings, no pesky romantic entanglements to complicate matters further. Just two consenting adults sating this rapacious hunger that's becoming so painfully... insistent." 

Each husked word felt like searing little brands scoring across your nerves - stoking the already molten kiln banked low in your abdomen. Despite the clinical way Dazai couched his proposition, the subtle langue of his body seemed to bleed with darker promise as he shifted fractionally closer into your space.

"Think about it, beautiful," he rumbled, pitching the entreaty to detonate against the sensitive whorls of your ears. "All of this delicious tension finally allowed to unspool in unbridled release. No more restraints, no more teasing folly - just the sweet rapture of indulgence you crave as badly as I..."

The deliberate roll of Dazai's formidable torso brought his intoxicating musk crashing over you in dizzying waves. You swayed automatically towards the epicenter of that sensual gravitational pull despite your better instincts. Close enough to feel the branded caress of each measured exhale fanning across your thundering pulse.   

Close enough to be utterly transfixed by the smoldering mural unraveled in smoked whiskey and molten onyx as Dazai searched your expression for rejection - or acquiescence.

"So tell me," he rasped at last, voice descending into a ruinous timbre that resonated straight through to the hollows of your marrow. "Do we finally break this sweet torture between us, gorgeous? Or keep stoking the embers until we incinerate ourselves entirely?"

The razor-edged promise hung in the electrified space twinned heartbeats seemed to suspend entirely. Dazai simply held you transfixed with that pointed, infinite stare - allowing his words to fully permeate your awareness and render you weightless in their wake.

For once, you realized with dawning inevitability...you didn't actually have an objection to voice.

You held Dazai's piercing gaze, feeling the weight of his proposition settle over you like a heavy mantle. The suggestion of a casual, no-strings arrangement between you hung thick in the air, heavy with unspoken caveats. 

Deep down, you knew there was no way to keep things impersonal or detached if you went down that path with Dazai. The sheer smoldering intensity between you, the steadily simmering hunger you saw reflected in his russet stare...it carried an inexorable gravity that would consume you both entirely if unleashed.

For a suspended breath, Dazai simply watched you digest the implications in silence, mahogany eyes glittering like polished obsidian. Then you saw a muscle feather almost imperceptibly along the stark line of his jaw as you failed to immediately agree.

"Or perhaps..." His rumbling timbre emerged roughened by sin and smoke. "A more... permanent arrangement might be in order between us after all, hmm?"

Your indrawn breath felt approximately as loud as a sonic boom in the weighted quiet. Dazai didn't so much as blink, maintaining his leonine scrutiny as you tried to process that molten undercurrent suddenly shifting between you. 

The very air itself seemed to thicken and constrict around you both, alive with the sparking frissures of unraveling tension. Whatever this was rapidly metastasizing into felt too profound, too utterly cataclysmic to be sated through mere indulgence any longer.

As if intuiting the trajectory of your thoughts, Dazai's full lips curved into a slanting, almost feral approximation of a smile that sent delirious tendrils of heat barreling outwards.

"Yes... I can see it in your eyes now, beautiful." He veritably purred the words into the electrically charged space twinned heartbeats seemed to suspend into breath-held entropy. "This is quickly evolving into something more insistent. More..."

Blazing overhead lights turned his irises into molten eclipses as Dazai allowed his hooded stare to openly devour you once more. Mapping every micro-shiver and telling flutter as his body seemed to radiate waves of tactile seduction without closing the scant distance between you.

"Insatiable," he concluded at last, the tone pitched to detonate with exquisite precision against every nerve in wanton detonation. "Something that won't be so easily slaked through fleeting capitulation between us, hmm?"

The weighted assessment hung in the electrified tension like the string of a bow drawn taut to near snapping. You couldn't even formulate a reply, too transfixed by the banked inferno steadily spiraling into unchecked wildfire behind Dazai's uncompromising mien.

Then his jaw flexed almost imperceptibly before he allowed an exhale to shudder free in humid duress. "Very well then..."

Before you could even process the words, Dazai surged forwards into the scant inches separating your bodies with leonine grace. The sudden, shockingly intimate collision of his larger frame with yours obliterated whatever feeble scraps of space still remained, searing a brand of delirious heat down every straining nerve ending. 

His fingertips seared like molten possession bracketing the soft knolls of your hips as he pressed the irrefutable ridge of his arousal against the cradle of your lowermost curves in a slow, purposeful grind. A starburst of whited-out rapture detonated behind your ribcage at the unapologetic insistence of the motion.

"If total... profane consumption is what you require," Dazai husked against the overheated thrum of your pulse, "then that's precisely what you'll receive from me, beautiful. No half-measures, no restraints..."

The deliberate sweep of his nose nudged yours fractionally to one side, catalyzing twin gasps that mingled with heady potency in the scant space separating your dually parted lips. Searing molten onyx held you hypnotized and weightless, transfixed beneath the intensity of Dazai's smolder as he sealed the vow in that final, scorching murmur.

"I'll simply have to raze you down to your very atoms...and rebuild you entirely anew as mine."

The finality underlying Dazai's vow catalyzed your surrender like a stone finally yielding to gravity's inexorable pull. You couldn't resist the delirious whirlwind of sensation as he closed the last few inches - mouth crashing against yours in a searing, possessive brand. 

Dazai kissed you like a man hungered, all simmering restraint finally shattered into dust beneath the onslaught. His tongue swept between your lips in blatant possession, igniting every receptor into feverish communion as you arched helplessly into the scorching demands of his larger frame.    

One broad palm anchored your nape, angling your parted mouth to deepen the onslaught as Dazai's other arm banded around your waist. Lashing you flush against the exquisitely hewn planes of his torso in a searing, rapturous grind that stole any last lingering objection you might have harbored. 

His growl of dark triumph rumbled straight through your bones as you melted completely beneath that sensual siege - thoughts unraveling into rapturous ash as you finally surrendered to the devouring provocation of Dazai's kiss. Allowing yourself to be plundered with ravenous, openmouthed sweeps that curled your very toes and liquified your bones.

When he finally wrenched his mouth from yours in clear defiance of needing oxygen, you swayed numbly in the aftershocks. Ambient reality felt scorched away by the elemental entropy now rapidly consuming you both in its path. The only remaining anchor was Dazai's half-lidded stare - a molten supernova holding yours effortlessly transfixed as your chests heaved in unison.

"There now..." His graveled growl whispered across your swollen lips, arms still banded in inescapable possession. "Doesn't giving in feel so much better than fighting me at last?"

You could only manage a tremulous, soundless nod - still too thoroughly undone to rally any response beyond instinctively arching for more searing contact. Dazai made a pleased rumble deep in his chest, holding you pinned against the rigid contours of his body by sheer corporeal dominance.

Then his mouth crashed down again in another possessive onslaught, tongue stroking between your lips in blatant avowal of control. He walked you backwards with a series of inescapable grinding steps until your back met the solid resistance of a nearby wall. Caging you there in the vise of his larger frame as his mouth plundered deeper.

You clutched at any available anchor, fingers snarling through the crisp strands at his nape in a desperate bid to ground yourself amid the delirious whirlwind. But there could be no bracing against Dazai's onslaught, only utter surrender to the maelstrom.  

He growled visceral approval at your mindless responsiveness, hips angling to bracket yours in scorching emphasis as one broad palm mapped down your body.

A strangled moan spilled from your lips at the molten drag of his hand across your waist, down the flare of your hips, around to splay against the exposed vee of your inner thigh.

"Look at me," he husked, waiting until your hazy eyes dragged up to his. Then Dazai rolled his hips in a slow, sinuous grind - making sure you could feel the rigid line of his arousal through the confines of his slacks.

"See how utterly wrecked you've left me, gorgeous?" The words vibrated against the fragile whorls of your ear, raising delicious goosebumps. "That's how I've felt since the moment you first walked in here. And now, finally..."

His voice trailed off, allowing the scorching implication to speak for itself as Dazai flexed his hips in another pointed, searing roll. Your eyes practically rolled back in your skull as the pressure ignited a wildfire of need, a molten cascade of sensation that pooled low in your abdomen with alarming speed.

"But I'm not the only one, hmm?"

Those dexterous fingers inched higher along your inner thigh, skating up the tingling span to hover just shy of where you desperately ached for him. You shuddered, unable to contain the tremulous little gasp that spilled free as your hips automatically canted towards the delicious torment.

"You're equally ruined, aren't you, beautiful?" Dazai's words seared directly into the tender shell of your ear, setting each delicate nerve alight. "I can see it in those gorgeous eyes. The way you melt into me like a kitten seeking affection, aching for my touch..."

You moaned deliriously as he allowed his fingers to skate the sensitive hollow just above your hip, dipping beneath the hem of your blouse. Each stroke raised exquisite frissons along your spine as you strained for more.

"Don't fret, sweet girl..." Dazai murmured, voice dipping even lower as his fingers continued mapping higher. "I'll make sure we both get exactly what we crave. What we've needed since that first meeting in my office..."

When his fingers finally delved between your thighs, parting the fabric to tease along the wet cleft within, your head fell back in utter surrender. Eyes slipping closed at the overwhelming surge of pleasure that rocketed through you, searing every receptor into ecstatic communion.

"Yes," he rumbled darkly against the vulnerable slope of your neck, mouth trailing a series of scalding little bites in his wake. "I'm going to make sure we both unravel and find exquisite ruin together, sweet girl. But first..."

Those long, elegant fingers finally found their target, sliding against the slick center of your desire. You cried out, spine arching as Dazai's thumb stroked a deliberate path across your throbbing clit.

"I think it's only fair to return the favor, don't you?"

Then he sank two fingers into your welcoming core, the stretch forcing a sharp keening sound from your throat. Dazai released a rough purr of approval at your reaction, laving the stinging bites with the soothing flat of his tongue as he slowly pumped the digits.

"That's it, beautiful," he crooned against your thundering pulse. "Give me everything. Let me hear how utterly wrecked you are already."

Each thrust stoked the embers blazing into wildfire inside you, turning your muscles into liquid flame as the molten rhythm built. Dazai's mouth crashed against yours in another searing kiss as the fingers curling deep inside you stroked incessantly.

You surrendered completely beneath his relentless siege, the only thing holding you upright being his solid frame bracketed against yours. Each thrust stoked the molten flames higher, driving your senses into a delirium until the world narrowed down to the incendiary rhythm between you and Dazai.

A keening wail erupted from your lungs as the pleasure coalesced, cresting and exploding behind your ribcage in a devastating implosion. Dazai's answering groan felt like the sweetest reward as he drank in every tremulous sound and reaction.

As the tremors slowly receded, you became dimly aware of his lips grazing the crown of your head as he carefully withdrew his fingers. Your thighs trembled in the wake of that intense climax, but Dazai merely gathered you against his larger frame.

"That's it, gorgeous," he rasped against the shell of your ear, the timbre thick with lust. "You've been so good, letting me take you apart completely. So good for me, my sweet girl."

The praise made you whimper softly, a shiver rippling through your limbs as the last lingering sparks of rapture finally dissipated. When you managed to crack your eyes open again, Dazai's expression arrested you instantly.

His pupils were blown wide, nearly overtaking the irises entirely. Those full lips were reddened and slightly swollen, the lower still gleaming wet from his ravaging kisses. Dazai's chest was heaving as if he'd run a marathon, but his hold remained steady as he continued murmuring quiet praise into the crown of your head.

"There you are, sweet girl," he rumbled, a crooked little grin twitching across his features. "Still with me?"

Your head managed a feeble little nod, earning an amused chuckle. Then Dazai tipped your chin up until his searing gaze bore into yours with palpable intent.

"Good, because we're far from finished," he warned, the graveled timbre resonating through your bones. "I've wanted you for too damn long to be satisfied with a single taste, sweet girl. Once is going to be nowhere near enough."

You shivered at the unabashed promise, though couldn't quite muster a rebuttal. Not when the molten embers inside you were already roaring back to life beneath the searing heat of Dazai's stare.

"Now, where shall we begin?"

He pondered aloud, tilting his head to one side as he surveyed the options. His free hand wandered lower, tracing idle patterns along the slope of your spine as Dazai considered his options. You could practically hear the gears in his head whirring.

Then his gaze sharpened, honing in on something before a wicked grin split his features. You opened your mouth to inquire, but the words dissolved into a sharp gasp as Dazai seized a handful of your ass and squeezed hard.

"I've had plenty of time to fantasize about this pretty little rear, you know," he murmured against the sensitive whorl of your ear, eliciting shivers. "So many nights wondering just how good you'd look bent over my desk, ass presented and waiting for me..."

Another squeeze, harder this time as he pulled you tighter against the ridge of his erection. Dazai rolled his hips languidly, eliciting a whimper at the delicious friction.

"And the best part?" His voice dropped to a smoke-edged rasp, the timbre reverberating straight through you. "Now I finally get to find out."

Dazai didn't give you time to formulate a reply before he turned, steering you through the maze of desks with a firm hand on the small of your back. He paused once you reached the large executive desk, turning to survey the scene with obvious approval.

"Right here, sweet girl," he purred, fingers drifting down to unzip your skirt and allow it to puddle at your feet. "This will do nicely, don't you think?"

You managed a tremulous little nod, unable to resist leaning into his touch as Dazai guided you towards the edge of the desk. Your hands settled atop the cool surface for balance, and he gave a soft hum of approval at the sight.

"Such a good girl, aren't you?" He praised, calloused fingertips stroking the sensitive flesh along the backs of your thighs. "So eager to please. And you've been doing such a splendid job so far, my sweet."

A tremulous little mewl slipped free at the gentle strokes. You shifted restlessly, arching for more.

Dazai released a rumbling purr, the sound thick with satisfaction as his palm curved around the flair of your backside. The other hand reached for the waistband of his slacks, easing the zipper down as his thumb stroked along the line of your thong.

"I can't wait to get my cock inside you," he rasped, the filthy words causing a shiver. "To feel this perfect little cunt wrapped around me. So tight, so wet...and all for me, gorgeous."

His palm cupped one cheek, kneading gently as Dazai rocked his hips forwards. The ridge of his erection dragged across your slit, parting the fabric with its insistent press. Your mouth fell open in a soft whine at the delicious friction.

"I bet I can even make you scream," he husked against the nape of your neck, rolling his hips again. "Make you fall apart all over my cock as I fuck you right here, bent over this desk."

His palm cracked against the supple flesh, the sound reverberating through the air and causing a sharp cry. A second stinging smack followed, then another. Dazai's mouth roved against your shoulder blades as his hand kept punishing the swell of your backside.

"Just the thought of that has me rock-hard already," he growled, punctuating the vow by grinding his hips forwards once more. "Imagining you all desperate and dripping wet for me, aching for release."

The words alone were almost enough to tip you over the edge. Then the hand palming your backside slipped between your thighs, teasing the fabric covering your soaked slit. You gasped, canting your hips instinctively for more.

"Mm, just like that," Dazai murmured against the nape of your neck. "My sweet girl wants to be fucked, doesn't she? She's so eager, so responsive..."

One finger hooked beneath the fabric, tugging it aside. You could feel the blunt press of his erection nudging between your thighs, so close to finally entering you. The anticipation ratcheted even higher, a delicious tension.

"I've waited far too long to finally claim you, gorgeous," Dazai husked, voice thick with lust. "And I fully intend to take my time with you, sweet girl. But right now..."

One broad palm splayed across the expanse of your lower back, pressing your torso flush against the polished desktop. Your legs were spread wide, and you were held pinned in place by Dazai's weight bearing down behind you.

"Right now," he repeated, the words resonating with finality as his hand wrapped around your waist, fingers curling into the wet fabric of your panties. "I'm going to fuck you the way we both desperately need. Hard and fast, until I've completely ruined you for any other man. Is that understood?"

You managed a frantic little nod, eyes clenched tightly closed as you waited. Every nerve felt alight with anticipation, breath held in suspension.

Then, without any warning, Dazai snapped his hips forwards in a punishing thrust. You cried out sharply, unable to muffle the keening sound at the sudden penetration. His cock drove impossibly deep, filling you so completely you could almost taste him at the back of your throat.

"There now..." He rumbled dark approval, hand stroking up your spine in a soothing gesture. "So beautifully tight around me. You take me so well, gorgeous."

His hips began to move, rocking into you in slow, torturous motions that stoked the inferno burning higher. Each stroke was exquisitely thorough, each thrust bottoming out and sending a delicious jolt up your spine.

Your hands scrambled for purchase against the smooth desktop, seeking an anchor amidst the relentless sensual onslaught. You could feel every inch of Dazai's cock pistoning inside you, could hear the filthy little grunts of pleasure each time his hips snapped forwards.

"Does that feel good, sweet girl?" His voice emerged in a rough growl, the timbre nearly unraveled with the force of his need. "Being so thoroughly filled, so taken apart by my cock?"

A strangled moan ripped free from your throat at the delicious pressure, and Dazai chuckled roughly in response. One hand curled around your neck, pulling your spine flush against his chest as he increased the pace.

"That's it, sweet girl. Let me hear you. Show me how well you're being fucked, how much you enjoy taking me."

Your hips rocked back to meet his, mindless in the pursuit of ecstasy. Each thrust was more powerful than the last, a relentless cadence that stole your breath and left you helplessly panting. The delicious friction stoked the inferno blazing into wildfire, obliterating all thought in its path.

"That's it, my sweet girl," Dazai husked, voice thick with desire. "Give yourself to me completely. I'll take care of you, sweet girl. I'll always take care of you, sweet girl."

Those words alone nearly tipped you over the edge, a tremulous keen ripping free from your throat as you surrendered. You arched for more, desperate for him to finish what he'd started.

Then his arm wrapped around your waist, holding you captive as Dazai pounded into you. The angle was deeper now, his cock hitting places inside you that caused stars to explode behind your eyelids. Each thrust was more powerful than the last, driving you closer and closer to the razor's edge.

"So close, sweet girl," he husked, voice nearly unrecognizable. "Come for me. Let go, my beautiful girl."

The command detonated like a sonic boom inside you, shattering the tenuous restraint and setting the world ablaze. You screamed his name, back arching as the climax crashed over you.

Dazai snarled a filthy oath as he felt the convulsions ripple through your body, his grip tightening. He kept thrusting, dragging out your orgasm until it was nearly too much to bear.

Your legs trembled, muscles liquefying as the ecstasy crested. But Dazai didn't stop. His hand remained wrapped around your throat, holding you flush against his torso as his hips snapped forwards.

"Yes," he growled, the words vibrating straight through you. "Give it to me, sweet girl. Let me feel that sweet cunt milking me dry, let me fill you up and hear you scream..."

Each word felt like a brand scorching directly into the core of you, the heat so intense it nearly seared. You could barely breathe, barely think, barely do anything beyond shudder and moan beneath the onslaught.

The climax tore through you in an inferno, obliterating any remaining scrap of rational thought in its wake. All you could do was ride the waves, drowning beneath the deluge of pleasure.

Dazai's hips snapped forward once more, hissing a guttural curse as his own release crested. You could feel the liquid warmth filling you, flooding your core and coating the inside of your thighs as his thrusts slowed.

Then, finally, his rhythm stuttered to a halt. The arm holding you steady against him loosened, allowing you to collapse against the desktop. Your muscles felt utterly spent, trembling in the aftershocks as you struggled to catch your breath.

Dazai's hand remained on the curve of your hip, anchoring you securely as he slowly withdrew. A breathless little moan slipped free at the loss, though he immediately shushed you with a kiss pressed against the nape of your neck.

"There now," he murmured, tone thick with satisfaction. "Wasn't that infinitely better than keeping our distance, my sweet girl?"

You couldn't even formulate a reply - still reeling from the intensity of that orgasm. But Dazai didn't seem to need an answer, content to hold you pinned against the edge of the desk for a moment longer.

"But now I need you to do something for me," he rumbled after a beat, the words thickening with sin and smoke. "Be a good girl and stand up for me."

You managed a weak, confused little sound as you complied. Dazai's arm was instantly around your waist, steadying you as your trembling limbs struggled to obey. Once your knees stopped shaking, he pulled you closer.

"Good girl," he praised, the words a velvety rumble against your temple. "Now stay right here for me."

Before you could question, his hands dropped to his waistband. You watched in mute fascination as Dazai tugged his slacks down, revealing his half-hard erection. It glistened with the evidence of your shared release, a bead of his spend slipping down the side.

He didn't break eye contact, holding you trapped in the molten depths of his stare. One hand curled around his shaft, giving a languid stroke as Dazai swiped a thumb across the head.

You swallowed thickly, eyes unable to look away as he used the pearled dew to slick his hand.

"Now then," he husked, expression dark with promise. "Open that pretty mouth for me, my sweet."

Your lips parted of their own accord, the motion instinctive. Dazai's smirk widened at the immediate compliance, his free hand tipping your chin upwards to hold you pinned beneath the smoldering heat of his stare.

"I need you to clean me off, sweet girl," he explained, the graveled timbre of his voice sending goosebumps rippling across your skin. "Every. Last. Drop. Understood?"

Another tremulous sound spilled free as you nodded, eagerly getting down on your knees. The air seemed to thicken, heavy with erotic intent as you awaited his next command.

"Good girl," Dazai praised, the words dripping like honey. "Now open that pretty mouth and show me just how good you are at listening to instructions."

Your jaw fell open, tongue darting out to lap against the swollen crown. His fingers tangled in your hair, guiding you forward until you were able to suck the entire length of him into the velvet cradle.

"Just like that," Dazai crooned, the words emerging half-unraveled as his hips bucked forwards. "So fucking perfect. You look so beautiful like this, gorgeous."

His words were punctuated by shallow, rolling thrusts. His shaft grew impossibly hard against your tongue, thick and pulsing. You could feel him swelling, filling your mouth with his musky scent.

Dazai's eyes were blown wide, the pupils completely overtaking the irises. They burned with molten desire, the sight almost enough to tip you over the edge again.

"Now I need you to take me deep," he growled, voice roughened with lust. "Let me feel the back of that pretty throat, my sweet girl."

You could only nod, unable to do anything beyond comply. His fingers tightened in your hair, tugging gently as he angled your head where he needed. Dazai's cock filled your mouth, stretching the walls of your throat as he rocked forwards.

"Such a good girl," he crooned, the words emerging ragged and breathless. "That's it, take all of me. Such a good girl, sucking my cock like a proper little whore. Now open that pretty mouth and let me see those gorgeous eyes."

You moaned, the sound muffled by the length of his shaft. Dazai's fingers tightened in your hair, a warning.

"Good girl," he growled, the words almost feral with the force of his need. "I'm going to fill your sweet little mouth with my cum, sweet girl. Then you're going to swallow every drop. Understood?"

Another frantic nod, your cheeks hollowing as you sucked. He groaned, the sound rumbling through his chest as his thrusts grew sharper. His shaft filled your mouth, pushing deeper and deeper until you could barely breathe.

"Take it," he ordered, voice rough and commanding. "Take every drop of my cum, sweet girl."

Then, without warning, Dazai's entire body went rigid. His jaw clenched, eyes closing as his head tipped back.

His hips slammed forwards, bottoming out and hitting the back of your throat. You gagged slightly at the sudden intrusion, but he held you pinned. His entire body seemed to shake, muscles corded with strain.

Then his cock throbbed, pulsing against your tongue as his seed flooded your mouth. You moaned, the sound muffled by the shaft filling you.

His eyes flew open, pinning you beneath the molten weight of his stare. You held perfectly still, allowing him to spill into your mouth until his thrusts began to slow.

"Fuck, gorgeous," he panted, hips still rolling as the last spurts trickled down your throat. "That's a good girl, taking it all for me. What a sweet little thing you are, swallowing down my cum like that."

His thumb traced the outline of your lips, the calloused pad dragging along the sensitive flesh. You shivered at the feather-light caress, unable to look away from his half-lidded stare.

"You've earned a reward," Dazai husked, his voice a velvety purr. "And I fully intend to spoil my sweet girl tonight. Shall we begin with dinner? My treat."

[merakiui]

[0] 𝔭𝔯𝔬𝔩𝔬𝔤𝔲𝔢.

yandere!twst x (female) reader cw: yandere, unhealthy behaviors/relationship, non-consensual touching, power imbalance, abuse of power, descriptions of religious imagery, attempted non-con, hypocrisy, solitary confinement, rollo is immensely creepy, archaic mindsets and logic masterlist // prologue (you are here) // one

Without a shred of sympathy, discarded like dross, you are thrown before Father Flamme’s feet.

You have enough grace and dignity to resist the urge to grasp at his robes and beg for forgiveness. Instead, you condemn yourself to silence, allowing his piercing stare to stab through you with a judgment so precise it might just slice the skin from your skeleton. Your tongue darts out to wet your dry lips, and you can almost taste his disapproval, much like a snake might parse chemical witchery in the air.

“Lift your head, if you would,” he commands gently, and you do as you’re told. He folds his arms over his chest and looks on, cold as winter’s frost. You watch his finger tap out a soundless rhythm. “I must ask of you, Sister, to provide reason to your recent absences. As a child of God, you have taken oath to follow His wise teachings and devote yourself to serving this church. Am I wrong?”

“You speak wise and true.” You rise to your feet and, ignoring the brutes who so rudely cast you forward in the first place, bow your head in apology. Father Flamme waves them out without sparing so much as a second glance. “You are right that it is my duty to serve the church. I ought to be doing just that and yet I have failed to do so. Undeserving I may be, I ask that you pardon my negligence.”

Father Flamme hums. Standing in front of the altar, backdropped by a stained glass depiction of the crucifixion, he is bathed in a colorful, angelic array. He strides towards you, covering the short distance in just a few clicks, and places his hand upon your shoulder. You’re led from the steps and down the aisle. It feels more like you’re being brought away for slaughter, a lamb primed for punishment.

“There is no doubt you are genuine in all that you do,” he notes, sliding his hand down your arm. Those slender, spidery digits curl into your woolen sleeve. “You are impartial and well-bred, a woman of impressive patience and virtue. Qualities of which arouse an admiration most potent.”

You know the rest of your convent is much the same, which is why it puzzles you that Father Flamme should praise your humble name in such a sickeningly fond manner.

“You are too kind, Father,” you acquiesce. “As a modest servant of God, it’s my pleasure to devote myself to Him, the church, my fellow sisters, and the community.”

“Hmm. A laudable outlook.” His lips quirk up in a smile. Strangely, it looks sharp and predatory. It does not reach his eyes.

Father Flamme steers you in the direction of another stained glass window. This scene is of The Resurrection of Christ. You gaze at His face and wonder if there truly is something up there, watching over the world’s sheep as they live out cyclical days in their pastures.

Immediately, you realize you should commit yourself to writing lines to chase that doubtful notion away.

Father Flamme rests his hand on your other arm to hold you in place. “A quote paraphrased from the Gospel of Matthew, chapter twenty-two, verses thirty-six through thirty-eight, if you’ll listen: ‘When asked which is the great commandment of all in the law, Jesus would reply, ‘You shall love the Lord, your God, with all your heart, with all your soul, and with all your mind. This is the first and great commandment.’”

You nod mechanically, only half-listening. After observing you closely, he frowns.

“What troubles you, Sister?”

“It is hardly a burden worth shouldering. I assure you I’m of sound health. My recent habit of absence is most unbecoming of a sister. I should sooner confront the great shame of my actions than let it fester within.”

“There is still time to atone. You must seek counsel and, having taken it in your arms just as God embraces all, you will know forgiveness.”

You rest your hand upon Father Flamme’s, which has somehow found its home at your hip. “And how do you suppose I do that?”

He smiles that empty smile again. “If He is to provide for you, you must first lay yourself bare before him. I am no fool, Sister. There’s something you’re not telling me.”

“I have been truthful, Father. I would never lie under this sacred roof, nor would I have the gall to do so in your presence. It would be an offense so beastly I could not bear to let it weigh heavy on my heart.”

“Yet, rather than scorch your tongue with a dissolution of the truth, you evade the simplest of queries.” His fingers toy with the knots of your cincture. “What manner of tale will you spin to mystify me next?”

Reacting on instinct, you rip yourself from his immoral grasp. The nave is as silent as the grave, so stuffy it’s suffocating. Father Flamme narrows his eyes at you. His gaze cuts through you like blood swirling through the cracks in ice—like a scalding brand pressed onto flesh.

A thick tension blankets the air. You merely stare at him, and he levels you with the same calculating intensity. Both of you are searching the other’s face, hoping to find an explanation for such polar opposite behavior.

You’re courageous enough to break the quiet first.

“If it would please you, Father, I will graciously offer myself up for confession. There is no reason or need to circumvent the Lord.”

“Sister (Name), if you may spare the time, I entreat you to take a short stroll with me.” Before you can object, he offers his arm. “All children are lost lambs who will soon find their way when following the path illuminated by God’s brilliant light. You are no different. It is my duty to see that you are no longer led astray by temptation and the litany of filth propagated by the fiend.”

Sensing no other option, you link arms with him and subject yourself to his whims. “I’ve a frightful feeling. Most frightful indeed.”

“By all means, confide in God and trust that He will provide shelter. Under His sacred roof, He will lend an ear just as I am doing now.”

You inhale a steadying breath. At this moment, Father Flamme is all you have. In the depths of your heart, you’re aware he’ll never understand. He will never know the morbid secrets that dwell in darkened corners, swept expertly away. And if he knew, you would never be welcome in the church again. Your fellow sisters would certainly turn their noses up at you, loathing the sin of your very existence.

Even as you walk alongside the righteous bishop, you feel an overwhelming itchiness.

“Recent events have led me to believe—though I pray it isn’t true—that my heart has been possessed with a ghastly malady. Umbras waltz in my peripheral—no trick of the light, I assure!”

“Perhaps it is merely a case of wicked dreams?” he posits, leading you through the aisle like a father might accompany a bride on her wedding day. You shake your head insistently, and so he holds his hand up to soothe your frazzled disposition. “Peace, Sister. The songs of night are naught but whimsical folly weaved from the silk of zealous minds. You would do well to shake yourself free of their deceitful shroud.”

“I shall do so most ardently.”

“To rectify this trouble, might you consider attending evening mass? It can only do you good.”

You step up towards the altar, keeping pace with Father Flamme’s casual gait. “Oh, I couldn’t. As of late, I’ve felt uneasy in my solitude. I fear my shadow is not my own…”

His verdant eyes are so stark against the pallor of his face that it reminds you of coins placed over those of the dead. His arm slips away from your waist and, gathering your hands in his, he assesses you more carefully. Under the watchful stare of both Father Flamme and a crucified deity, you feel as if someone has taken a spoon to your soul and scraped it out. And then, for extra, unnecessary measure, they’ve flattened it out on a table for dissection in hopes of picking apart each of your dirtiest secrets.

“Oh? Do elucidate.”

Hazarding a glance at the cross situated grandly in multicolored glass, you lower your voice so as to not be heard by any outside parties. Paranoia grips you in a clenched fist.

“Something—what it may be, I could not begin to form ample conjecture—is hunting me.”

He does not grace you with a reply, and this only incenses the unrest bubbling within you.

“How say you, Father? What is it that causes me such nocturnal torment?”

His features are set in perfect neutrality; it’s impossible to glean any sort of emotion from the way he acts. He coaxes you closer, pulling you along towards the altar. 

“It is with great devastation that I must behold you as you are,” he says, breaking the suspense. “Tainted with the despicable sins of the world outside, young and promising as you are… I shall remedy that.”

You open your mouth to voice concern, but in one swift motion he shoves you against the altar. You land with a thud, your back colliding against sturdy mahogany. It happens in a flash, like the final expulsion of breath from your lungs in the wake of the end. He’s between your flailing legs, pushing you up and onto the cloth-covered surface. Brass candlesticks scatter in a haphazard clatter. Globs of wax bespatter stone floors.

In the quaint tranquility of the church, the struggle is louder than a newborn’s cry.

Your chest heaves in a panic. 

Gracious God above, I implore you—save me from this wretched devil!

Your pupils flit wildly, assessing every area within your range. There must be a means to escape! Above the ornate display, his head hung, your god looks on silently. He does not offer a whit of protection.

“Father—”

Frigid fingers crawl upon your legs like a flurry of scurrying rats. You blink up at him, helplessly hopeful.

He inhales a long, steadying breath and shuts his eyes. “God, have mercy. Have pity on this wayward soul. May she be cleansed beneath my fingertips, pure as freshly fallen snow, and may you forgive her every transgression.”

You sputter an incoherent noise.

He opens his eyes and smiles serenely. “Amen.”

Squirming beneath him, you resist his touch like it’s flickering flame. “Father, I beg of you… Quell your frustrations and release me at once. I am innocent.”

He sighs, unconvinced. “You are exquisitely venust, Sister. As sweet as the first buds of spring. You must know it is impossible for beauty to exist freely when there are fiends who wish to tarnish it—who will trample upon the virtuous garden in which you bloom and pluck you by the root, rough as barbarians. Thus, it is my duty to see that you are scrubbed of their detestable influence. May God pardon my iniquity.”

His hands slide up your calves beneath your habit. You watch, prickled with horror, as he parts your legs. 

“Belle chose, unfurl your petals so that we may make feet for children’s stockings.”

He leans over you, reaching to secure your wrists with one hand. The other climbs higher in its rapacious pursuit of a place most sacred. In the midst of your ferocious thrashing, you espy His divine eye once more.

I adjure you, Lord… Save me from this demon. You must. Please, Lord…

Silence. A haunting, engulfing silence. 

There is no salvation to be found beneath the cross. None for you, as it appears so disturbingly clear.

“Unhand me! Unhand me at once!” you snap, tearing your arm free. “You would allow yourself to fall lower than the ground you trod upon—to so flagrantly commit sacrilege in His hallowed home?!”

“It is not I who is to be scorned so. I am guiltless,” he sneers. But then he smooths his scowl into that of pristine, practiced patience, and he speaks in a soft, pitying tone. “Oh, Sister, you have allowed them to tip poison into your precious ears… Your perception is clouded with the cobwebs of that uncouth crowd.”

“To stand at his feet and reveal your malice in such a grotesque manner… You are no better than swine!”

“You shall see there is no better solace to be found than with me.” Tenderly, he fits his hand, cold and skeletal, in yours. “I shall shelter you from all that is cruel and unjust. You need only take my hand.” His fingers flicker at your inner thigh, waltzing in circles. His incessant petting sends a shudder wracking through your body. Paralyzed as you are, you recognize the monster lurking just beneath human flesh. A demented desire flashes in his eyes. You’ve never felt more lost. “And your sins shall be forgiven.”

Father Flamme leans down, chancing to catch the scent at your neck. You reach between your bodies, searching for the garter secured around your thigh, and unsheath the dagger from beneath your habit. It’s thrust at his throat, the sharpened edge pressed close enough to pierce through the collar of his alb and draw the slightest pinprick of blood. Clasping the ivory handle in a trembling fist, you face him with a fire burning in your fear-filled visage.

Perhaps it is his own disbelief that prompts the rattle in his chest—an ominous chuckle. 

“You are a bride of Christ, yet you dare turn a blade on me?”

“You’re a man of God, yet you besmear His holy name with the sin of your incorrigible lust?”

“You are mistaken, Sister.” He grabs hold of your fist with both hands and folds his fingers over yours in mock prayer. As if intending to stoke your ire, he tilts his head in taunt. “Let my blood run red on this altar and you shall know of my humanity.”

“Defile the Lamb of God and you are no shepherd but, rather, the wolf who adorns himself in woolen mendacity.”

Before he can utter a response, the doors burst open. Father Flamme releases your hand and climbs off of you, brushing the wrinkles from his robes. An icy gale claws at the interior, and with it two men arrive in a whirlwind rush.

“Your Excellency, forgive our intrusion!”

Your arm falls to your side and, with a mounting sense of defeat, you gaze at the ceiling. You don’t feel soothed, but you must compose yourself. And so, shoving your frenzied emotions to the side, you sheath your blade and scramble to make yourself presentable once your feet are back on the floor. Brightening at the sight of the two villagers, you cradle your rosary and pray silently.

Dear God, may you smite he who spreads abhorrent rot with his fingertips and, in witnessing a most magnificent death flail, gralloch him without mercy.

“Ah, gentlemen, what fortuitous timing,” Father Flamme greets them, smiling. “Do come in. I’ve a task for you, if you would be so inclined.”

You linger behind, cautious like a gare-fowl often is when at the receiving end of a hunter’s rifle.

“Your Excellency, you need only ask and we are at your service.”

“Before that, you must accompany us to the hogs,” the other interjects. “Death has soiled these grounds, Your Excellency. A sight so barbarous it forebodes only the worst! You must come—come and behold the infernal darkness which has cursed this village!”

Father Flamme glances between the both of them, assessing the urgency of the situation that has been so cryptically illustrated.

“As you have described, the present circumstances appear dire. Oh, but I do require your assistance before that, gentlemen. It shan’t be too arduous a task.” He turns on his heel and indicates you with an outstretched hand. “Sister (Name) totters at the precipice with her fickle faith. As it is my duty to ensure all are well in the arms of God, I must take…caution—you might say—in sorting such a sensitive matter.”

The men exchange bewildered looks.

“You imply…punishment, sir?”

“Nay, I think not!” you interrupt, striding forwards. You’re stopped by Father Flamme’s arm, held just in front of your chest to keep you in place. “Father, I am steadfast in my faith. I have—”

“If such were the truth, you would not speak nullifidian filth.”

Pushing past him, you plead with the men: “Sirs, he knots his tongue and utters dishonesty! You know of my virtue—my loyalty to Him. And of my father, who has provided comfort and care, the means by which I was raised into the woman you see before you, I am justly proud. As the daughter of (Last Name), I sicken with the thought of bringing dishonor to my father, my faith—all of which I hold true in my heart. Sirs, you must believe in—”

Father Flamme lifts his hand to silence you, but you’re aware of his cunning machinations. “I ask of you this, good sirs. When sailors set out at sea, do they allow themselves to fall prey to the song of the siren? Just as those wretched sea-beasts sing, so, too, does honey pour spoiled from the mouth of a sinner. Her words serve to chart a course for ill-founded temptation.”

“Sister, your virtue I do not question.” The villager addresses Father Flamme next, disregarding your presence entirely, as if you are naught but a worthless speck. “What shall we do, Your Excellency?”

A smile curls on his lips. “Take her to the tower just beyond the village. She shall remain in solitude for seven days. That shall provide her with ample time for contemplation.”

The men approach you without a hint of remorse on their lips. Cornered, you look to Father Flamme for guidance.

“Father, I beg of you—you mustn’t send me away! I shall repent! I shall do so before you now.”

“It serves me no satisfaction to subject you to solitary confinement.” He folds his hands in front of him and observes the spectacle of your resistance. “You have proven to me your doubt in the capabilities of the Lord. It is my right to correct your contumacious thoughts. I’m certain your father would share this sentiment. No daughter should empty her mind of His valuable teachings.”

“Do not speak as if you have dined with my father,” you hiss, wriggling in the firm hold of both men.

Father Flamme steps closer and smiles. “Let us away.” 

You are dragged, struggling all the while, out of the church and down the steps. There is a ferocious bite to this year’s autumnal weather. Father Flamme is gracious enough to drape his cloak over your shoulders just before you’re lifted onto a horse. He mounts his stallion and, with the crack of a whip, the four of you are off towards the decrepit tower at the rugged foothills of the mountains. No words are exchanged. You’ve said more than enough and you still remain the accused, guilty due to distorted logic.

The tower, which had once appeared so distantly out of your mind, gains striking clarity as you approach. You gaze helplessly at the man transporting you. He offers nothing of substance, his gaze focused squarely on the dirt footpath ahead.

When you were but a babe, the tower served as a warning for all children in the village: Those whose souls are stained with the sins of their atrocities shall wither away in silence.

There was once a raving madman who was imprisoned there in your youth. A heretic, he was called. Driven to his end, his sanity thin as a hair, he scraped at the walls and pulled loose bricks free until his fingernails cracked and blood trickled down his hands in rivers. When he had created a sizable opening for himself, at the peak of his derangement, he climbed out to meet the sun’s soft rays, a singular blessing owed for years of captivity. And then he threw himself from the tower, landing in a broken spattering at the very bottom.

In the years following, the tower housed numerous prisoners. It is a cold, unforgiving place, existing solely for the ugly and the crooked. And, now, the misunderstood. The wrongfully accused.

As you’re helped down from the horse, you ponder how many have been sent here to live out time for unfair accusations.

You’re joined by the second villager shortly, and they flank you like soldiers as they shove you along.

“Have you no sympathy, sirs!” you snap, shaking yourself from their grip. “To treat me so callously when my devotion is fervent and true! I am no fabulist.”

The men say nothing and amble onwards, pushing you closer to the tower. One of them attempts to seize your wrist; you evade him gracefully. Father Flamme observes your outright stubborn refusal and hums his disapproval.

“Unhand me! I’ll go of my own accord. I’ve feet for a reason, and thus they shall work as God intended. I need not the assistance of fools. My legs shall be the ones to carry me.” Punctuating that with an indignant huff, you stride ahead.

What brutish handling… These doltish fiends sit under the tree of knowledge and yet not a single fruit falls into their laps. To think this is how they would treat someone sworn to the church—and a lady, no less!

The latch is weather-worn, and it creaks a discordant note when lifted. You peek into the shadowed entrance and frown. Before you are subjected to the impatience of the men at your side, you step into the dimness. It is alight with the red-orange slivers of a setting sun.

“You shall wait here. I will accompany this misguided Sister to the very top. After which, we shall return to the village and I shall accompany you to the hogs.”

The men nod and stand at attention.

If you’re so dedicated to foolish play, you would be wise to salute, you think with a sardonic tut.

Father Flamme offers his arm. “Shall we?”

Ignoring his attempt at chivalry, you lift your habit so as to not trip on it and begin the lengthy ascent up the spiraling staircase. He chuckles and follows your lead. Every wooden step creaks under your weight. Something brushes your face—dust, perhaps. You swat at your face, grimacing. The scent of mold and rot clings to the bowels of this tower like maggots on a corpse, impossibly redolent in ways you shall avoid giving thought to.

I must not breathe so deeply, lest I wish to savor the taste of decay and bitter rage.

You carry on, ignoring the creeping revulsion and the stench of death as it clouds the air, accompanying you on your journey. A door waits for you at the top. You note it is without a lock.

“A bird will not fly in captivity,” Father Flamme advises, pushing it open to reveal a sparsely furnished room. It’s equipped with the essentials a common prisoner would need. You can’t help feeling less than human the moment you pass through the threshold.

It is enough of a sight to wear on my eyes and render them woefully sore.

He meets you at the door and offers an embroidered reticule. “I shall retrieve you in seven days’ time.”

You eye him dubiously and, upon sensing no additional malevolence, swipe the reticule from him. “May you rest guilty on your bed of lies.”

He leans in close, his voice as faint as a phantasm. “May you reflect on what it is you hold dear, for I assure you it is well within my reach.” He pivots and begins his descent, his footsteps tapping out a resounding rhythm. “You will learn a glorious lesson here. Treasure it as you would a child.”

Minutes later, the door below shuts and the latch is dropped into place. The noise races up the stone spiral in echo, filling your ears with its haunting reverberation.

Now you’re truly alone.

“How boorish he must be to condemn me to this prison!” You slam the door in your anger and drop the reticule onto the bed. In an effort of appraisal, you feel the lumpy mattress. It’s packed full of straw. “I am not nameless, nor am I a harlot. Yet I am gifted the opulence of peasants. I can scarcely accept such generosity.”

Alas, this is your new misfortune.

To busy your idle hands, you open the reticule and peer inside at its contents. A thumb Bible rests beside a bulk of misshapen cloth. Gingerly, you unwrap it to find bread, cheese, and salt pork. Somehow—and you have every right to be fastidious—you doubt this modest portion will be enough for seven days.

“And not a drop of water!” you announce to the empty room. “He has an astounding amount of faith in me if he thinks I will surrender so simply. One day he shall get his gruel. I’ll make sure of it.”

Until then you will never know peace.

Bundling the rations, you place them within the reticule alongside the Bible. Perhaps you should have requested writing implements or a book—anything to preclude the impending accidie. 

Beyond the window, which is sized perfectly for the smallest bird, the sun disappears below the horizon. Ink spills across the sky, darkening the surroundings outside the tower and leaving room for stars to speckle the vastness. You sit at the edge of the bed and wrap your fingers around your rosary.

“Dear God, you know I am faultless and so I ask that you guide me in understanding your ways. Father Flamme speaks of protection in your home and yet when danger is knocking you are not there to answer.” You tug anxiously at the beads. “If you are there, show me… Show me that you hear my prayers. Show me that I am not alone. That even I, imperfect as I may be, am deserving of your sanctuary and forgiveness. Amen.”

Shrugging the cloak off, you fold it into a neat square and set it at the end of the bed. Your veil and coif are next to go, and you take immense care in handling both. You slide your dagger out of its sheath and set it on the bed. The night is cool and so you resolve to remain dressed as you are, in your robes and chemise.

“I will endure these seven days. Each one, night and day, I will be strong. My faith will never falter. I will never waver,” you whisper, repeating this oath like a mantra. You settle into bed, sparing a final glance at the square cut into the brickwork, where a starry sky wraps the world in a celestial counterpane. “Perhaps then you might acknowledge me.”

Clutching the rosary close to your chest, comforted with the weapon at your side, you drift into dreamless slumber.

[wandamaximoffsbadgirl]

Be Kind

The Bruises On Your Ego Make You Go Wild (1)

Scarlet Witch x Witch!Reader x Wanda Maximoff

Summary: You looked up to the Scarlet Witch, but what happens when you finally get the chance to learn from her?

Word Count: 2.4K

Warnings: 18+, MDNI, R calls SW Goddess, W refers to herself as Mommy, pet names (little one, pet), SW is abusive towards R, W takes care of R.

A/N: I mean if I was R.....I'd do it. I was in fact listening to Be Kind by Halsey on repeat while writing this.

In a secluded corner of the mystical realm, where the lines between reality and magic blur, the Scarlet Witch, Wanda Maximoff, stood amidst swirling energies, her presence commanding and potent. It was there that she encountered a young woman, whose devotion to her was fervent and unwavering.

"T-the Scarlet Witch." You stammered, your voice barely above a whisper as you beheld your idol in the flesh.

Wanda turned her gaze towards the diminutive figure before her, her expression unreadable. "Who might you be, little one?" Her tone held a hint of icy detachment, sending a shiver down your spine.

"Y/N...Y/L/N..." You managed to utter her name, your hair cascading around your face like a veil as you stood in awe before the legendary sorceress.

"What is it that you seek?" Wanda inquired, her crimson eyes piercing into your soul as she took a step closer.

Your heart raced, your breath catching in your throat. "Y-you...My Goddess," You confessed, your voice trembling with reverence.

"Goddess?" Wanda's curiosity was piqued as she regarded the young woman before her.

"Yes. You are a Goddess to me, the power you wield...it's unimaginable for someone like me," You confessed, your eyes shimmering with adoration. "I know I'll never be anywhere close to you, but I would love to be beneath you. Learn from you. Have you tell me exactly what to do and how to do it."

"Why?" Wanda's question hung in the air, demanding an answer.

Your cheeks flushed with embarrassment as you spoke your truth. "Making Doms feel powerful is my favorite thing to do. You SHOULD feel like a fucking Goddess when I'm worshipping your feet and praying at your altar. I want the powertrip of you owning me to ruin your life so you can never accept anything less than being treated like royalty."

"Beneath me is right where you belong pet." She's right up against you, hand around your neck squeezing ever so slightly, just enough to make you fuzzy.

Your heart raced as the Scarlet Witch loomed over you, her presence both intimidating and intoxicating. Despite the fear coursing through your veins, there was an undeniable thrill at being in the presence of your idol.

"I-I'm yours," You stammered, your voice barely above a whisper. "Completely and utterly."

The Scarlet Witch's grip tightened, and Harley's breath caught in her throat. But it wasn't fear that consumed her; it was a heady mix of desire and devotion.

"Good," the Scarlet Witch murmured, her tone sending shivers down your spine. "You will serve me well, little one."

With those words, you knew your life would never be the same. You had found your purpose, your goddess, and you would follow her to the ends of the earth and beyond.

With a flick of her wrist a portal opened, "You will always stay a step behind me. Never beside me and absolutely never in front of me." You nod and she grips you a little tighter, your breath catching. "Words." She demanded.

"Yes My Goddess." She smiled, letting you go as you fell to your ass, gasping for air.

"Let's go. Now." She commanded. Heart pounding, scrambling to your feet, your body trembling with anticipation and excitement. You followed the Scarlet Witch through the portal, your mind swirling with a mixture of fear and adoration.

As you stepped through to the other side, you felt a surge of power coursing through your veins. You were no longer just a mere mortal; you were a disciple of the Scarlet Witch, ready to do whatever it took to prove your loyalty.

With each step you took behind your goddess, you knew you were exactly where you were meant to be. And as you vanished into the unknown, you vowed to never stray from her side, forever bound to serve the one who held your heart and soul in her hands.

As you delved deeper into your role as a disciple of the Scarlet Witch, you found yourself immersed in a world of rules and rituals. Each day brought new lessons, new challenges, and new opportunities to prove your devotion.

You learned to always stay a step behind your Goddess, never daring to step out of line. Pets weren't allowed on furniture, a rule that you quickly adapted to, finding comfort in your place at your Goddess’ feet.

Touching was strictly forbidden unless granted explicit permission, a lesson you learned the hard way more than once, but each reprimand only fueled your desire to please your Goddess even more.

And then there was the rule of silence, a constant reminder to only speak when spoken to and to always address the Scarlet Witch as "My Goddess." It was a rule you followed religiously, your words carefully chosen and spoken with reverence.

But amidst the strict guidelines and rigid structure, there was magic. The Scarlet Witch shared her knowledge with you, teaching you the ways of the arcane arts as the two of you went about your days. And as you found yourself clad in nothing but the barest of clothes, you knew that your Goddess held the ultimate power over you, both body and soul.

As you unleashed your blue light magic, a palpable energy filled the air. The Scarlet Witch observed with a wicked smile, recognizing the potential within her devoted disciple.

"Oh, I'm going to have to corrupt my pet much more in order to train you properly," the Scarlet Witch declared, her voice carrying a husky tone that sent shivers down your spine.

Your eyes sparkled with a mix of fear and anticipation. "Yes, My Goddess. Do with me what you must," you responded, a fervent willingness in your voice.

In that moment, the Scarlet Witch saw not just a follower, but a canvas upon which she could weave her magic and desires. The journey of corruption and training had only just begun, and you willingly surrendered yourself to the whims of your Goddess, ready to be molded into something both powerful and utterly devoted.

You were doing your normal chores around the house for your Goddess as she spent time in her room meditating. Laundry, cleaning up the various rooms of the house, and of course cooking dinner for your Goddess. You hum a tune, moving your hips to the imaginary tune in your head, so focused on your task that you don't hear her come into the kitchen until you’re suddenly pushed against the counter. "Who told you that you could have fun while doing your chores?" She growled at you.

Startled, you froze as the Scarlet Witch pushed you against the counter, your heart pounding in her chest. The playful hum died on your lips as you looked up at your Goddess, your eyes wide with surprise.

"I-I'm sorry, My Goddess," you stammered, your voice barely above a whisper. "I didn't mean to... I was just... lost in my thoughts."

The Scarlet Witch's gaze bore into you, a mixture of irritation and amusement flickering in her eyes. "Lost in your thoughts, hmm?" she mused, her voice low and dangerous. "You forget your place, little one. Your only purpose is to serve me, not to have fun."

Your heart sank as you realized your mistake. You had let your guard down, allowed yourself a moment of pleasure amidst your duties. It was a mistake you wouldn't make again.

"I-I understand, My Goddess," you replied, your voice tinged with remorse. "It won't happen again."

With a dismissive wave of her hand, the Scarlet Witch released her hold on you, allowing you to straighten up. As you resumed your chores with renewed focus, you vowed to never forget your place again, determined to be the perfect servant for you goddess's every whim.

After getting your Goddess' meal together you stayed curled up next to her on the floor silently while she ate. You didn't want to upset her anymore, but as she finished up, throwing away what she didn't eat instead of giving it to you a small whine came up your throat. She ignored the noise as she grabbed your bowl from the floor and grabbing last night's left overs throwing them into your bowl without reheating it in anyway, setting it back down.

"Eat pet." Another whine, you hate cold food. "Now or you can starve tonight." you didn't want to loose your food privileges. With a heavy heart, you obediently began to eat the cold food, each bite a reminder of your place in the hierarchy of your relationship. "There we go pet."

As you ate, the Scarlet Witch cleaned up the remnants of her own meal, her movements precise and efficient. You watched her, a mixture of admiration and longing swirling within you.

Once you finished your meager meal, you lowered your gaze, feeling the weight of your goddess's presence beside you. You knew you had disappointed her, and the thought pained you more than you cared to admit.

But as you sat there, bowl empty and stomach still grumbling, you vowed to do better. You would serve your Goddess with unwavering devotion, no matter the cost. For in the end, you knew that your goddess's approval was all that truly mattered.

"Come on pet. Living room. Time for some rest " You went to get up, but she pushed you back down, "Bad pets crawl." Another whine pushes through you as you felt your knees throb.

"Yes My Goddess. I'm sorry My Goddess."

You obediently crawled behind your Goddess, your knees aching with each movement. You suppressed another whine, knowing that any sign of defiance would only earn you further punishment.

Settling at the Scarlet Witch's feet, you shivered as a draft swept through the room, causing goosebumps to rise on your skin. But you dared not complain, instead curling up tighter in an attempt to ward off the chill.

As the Scarlet Witch relaxed on the couch, book in hand and music filling the air, you remained at her feet, your gaze fixed on your Goddess with unwavering devotion. Despite the discomfort and the ache in your limbs, there was nowhere else you would rather be.

For in that moment, with your Goddess by your side, you felt a sense of belonging unlike anything you had ever known. And as you drifted off to sleep, curled up at the feet of your beloved Goddess, you knew that you would follow her to the ends of the earth and beyond.

You fell asleep at The Scarlet Witch's feet and for a moment the Scarlet Witch wasn't that she was Wanda. The soft caring Sokovian that only poked through in small moments. Looking down at you Wanda couldn't help, but smile. She noticed the goosebumps and the shiver that wracked you as she grabbed a blanket, throwing it over you. Wanda watched as the young girl curled up with the blanket, a smile on your lips.

As Wanda's soft, caring side emerged, she couldn't help but feel a sense of warmth and tenderness towards you, the young girl who had devoted herself so completely to her.

"I do love being your Goddess," Wanda whispered, her voice filled with genuine affection. "But maybe we can have more moments like this sometime when you're awake."

Leaning down, Wanda ran her fingers through your hair, savoring the fleeting moment of intimacy. For a brief instant, she allowed herself to revel in the bond you shared, the connection that went beyond the roles of Goddess and disciple.

But as quickly as the moment had come, the Scarlet Witch reclaimed control, her expression hardening once more. With a final glance at you, she rose from the couch, leaving you to your dreams.

As Wanda disappeared into the shadows, a part of her held onto the hope that perhaps, someday, they could have more moments like this, where the lines blurred, and they could simply be two souls finding solace in each other's presence.

As you woke up with the comforting warmth of the blanket draped over you, you couldn't shake the feeling that something had shifted between yourself and the Scarlet Witch. Gone was the brief glimpse of Wanda's softer side, replaced instead by a harsher, more unforgiving demeanor.

As days turned into weeks, you found yourself facing increasingly harsh punishments for even the slightest slip-up. The Scarlet Witch's reprimands grew sharper, her punishments more severe, leaving you constantly sore and bruised from the onslaught of red magic.

Confusion and frustration gnawed at your mind as you struggled to understand the sudden change in your Goddess’ behavior. What had you done to deserve such harsh treatment? Why had the kindness you had glimpsed before been replaced by cruelty?

But try as you might, you couldn't find the answers you sought. All you could do was endure the pain and punishment, clinging to the hope that someday, the Scarlet Witch's wrath would relent, and you would once again know the gentleness you had experienced that one fleeting moment with the blanket.

One day it happened, you cracked and just started crying, you weren’t even being punished you were just thinking way to much.

"I...don’t...understand. why...why is it only punishments? Why can't I do anything right anymore? I'm sorry I'm not good enough. I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry..." As your tears flowed freely, your heart heavy with sorrow and confusion, you felt a presence beside you, a warmth enveloping your trembling form. You looked up through blurred vision to see Wanda, her eyes soft and filled with compassion.

"It's okay, little one. It's okay, Mommy is here," Wanda murmured, her voice gentle and soothing. She gathered you into her arms, holding you close as she shushed away your tears.

Your heart skipped a beat at the unexpected term of endearment, "Mommy?" you whispered, your voice trembling with disbelief.

With a tender smile, Wanda nodded, her green eyes shining with love and affection. "That's right, little one. I'm your mommy," she confirmed, her fingers gently brushing away your tears.

A sense of warmth and safety washed over you as you nestled into Wanda's embrace, feeling a bond between them that went beyond disciple and Goddess. In that moment, you knew that you were loved, cherished, and protected.

"I'm sorry she's been so mean to you recently," Wanda apologized, her voice filled with regret. "But I won't let her keep hurting you like that. You've had enough. It's time for some nice play to take place."

With those words, Wanda wiped away the last of your tears, her touch a balm to your wounded soul. And as the two of you shared a tender moment together, you knew that you had found solace in the arms of Wanda, the Scarlet Witch's harshness melting away in the presence of Wanda's love.

[yanderemommabean]

for the red rooms in devildom, imagine lucifer finally deciding to give red rooms a shot when he realizes mc will soon leave devildom and/or keeps rejecting his affection

Lucifer being the avatar of pride means he can’t exactly handle rejection. Maybe a few times at first, seeing it as a way to chase and have fun and to prove himself to you and sweep you off of your feet, but after a while it really gets under his skin. 

Why? Why are you denying him? Sure he can understand being scared of him, he’s one of the most powerful demons after all, and sadly you were more than once on the wrong end of that ire and anger when you first arrived. He won’t deny that your emotions with those incidents are possibly why you wouldn’t want to be with him, but surely now you see hes trying to make amends? That he’d kiss the ground you walk on and make sure to keep you safe? 

It seems you were serious about denying and rejecting his affections. You tell everyone at dinner what a wonderful time you’ve had, and how in three days time you’re expected to leave, back to the human world, leaving them to wallow in your absence. 

Well, you won’t get away with that. He won’t let you make this mistake. He just gives a soft smile, a gentle hug, and tells you that he’ll miss you, but as you head up to bed and listen to Mammon and Levi’s blabbering and sobbing, Lucifer decides to make a rather last resort call. 

The Red Rooms. The last place he ever wanted to bring you. While they care for the darling's experience, he doesn’t want to have to force this, but you’re really leaving him no choice! 

He’ll make sure the rooms are to your tastes. Stuffed animals to cry into when overwhelmed, softer gags to be easier on your jaw, padded cuffs to make sure your delicate human skin isn’t bruised unless he decides to bruise it himself. 

The demon chuckles on the other end of the line but once they hear who’s making the call, they shut up and show respect. 

“Nothing rough. This is to prove my devotion and how I’m better than my brothers. I want only the best, the softest, the cleanest and the safest. I won’t hesitate to kill you and wring your blood into my food to devour. Do we have an understanding?” 

He goes through the list, his mind getting even more perverted than Asmo as he pictures how he’ll make you moan and whimper for him. “Oh? Well I must admit that golden hellfire newt syrup would be a nice touch but I'm as ready as ill need to be. Yes, I'm aware it's a potent aphrodisiac but I assure you, my love and lust know no bounds when it comes to my sweet little minx” 

The call goes on a little longer, Lucifer giving some final details on safety measures, only giving Diavolo's emergency number in case he completely loses himself, and so on. Who woulda thought the demons in the seediest parts of the underworld would be so caring? Then again it’s rumored Barbatos and Diavolo run the palace in disguise so…

When asked how they are to bring you in, Lucifer just smiles and tries not to break the phone in an angered crush. To think they’d touch you, it just sent a pang of anger through his core. But he knows they’re simply doing their job, so he can’t exactly kill them just yet.

“I’ll use the spells you have on hand, or ill bring them in myself under a guise of a last dinner together. You’ll know it's me by what I'm wearing. None of this better go wrong, or I assure you, you wont live to warn the others of my wrath”.

-Mommabean (HI! I hope you likes this bean!!)

[dcxdpdabbles]

The bakery is a front!...Right? Part 5

Danny opens his eyes to the sight of a potent magical barrier glowing around him. It would have held off many of his subjects but did nothing against his court, much less the king.

Then, he noticed he was in some sort of cave, strapped down to a fluffy bed. There isn't much he can see besides the various machines hooked up throughout the place, various cars, two planes, what appeared to be a training ground, and a.... dinosaur?

Where the hell am I? He thinks, trying to recall what happened to lead him here. But all he can clearly remember is fighting with Phantom over going to the park. Everything after that was a blur.

He tries to move, frowning at the very little give of his restraints. One around each of his four limbs, three large belts over his knees, stomach, and upper chest.

After a few minutes of struggling as a human, he slumps in place.

His blue eyes fly over the runes that shine along the barrier's side, noting three magical signatures. This was a group effort. Strange. Who would put Danny here?

Phantom remains silent but watchful from their shared eyes as Danny scans his surroundings again to ensure no one is around before shifting. As soon as his ghost forms, the barrier flairs, indicating an alarm has been tripped.

Danny sighs tiredly, allowing his body to pass through the restraints. Phantom reaches out to push his hand through the barrier, wiggling his fingers on the other side. Just as they thought, it's not going to keep Danny inside.

Feels like water. Phantom says, and Danny agrees. Whoever put him in here either overestimated their strength or underestimated Danny. He hopes it's not another death cult. Those always left him feeling sick after dealing with them.

It's then Danny realizes another fact. Phantom does not feel like his body trying to split in half; Phantom feels like himself again, another part of who makes up Danny.

Like the inner voice when you read in your head, just as his ghost half had always been since he was fourteen. Danny had been in this creepy cave for over a week because his mating season had finally ended.

That also meant that Danny was missing a full week of memories.

He is going to have some words with whoever is responsible. Danny rechecks the barrier, realizing it's still flaring, and decides to wait for them to approach him. He can pretend he's trapped inside, hopefully creating a false sense of security and getting answers from his kidnappers.

He crosses his legs under him just as a portal rips open a few feet away from his barrier and out rushes a blond man in a trench coat. Behind the man is a woman in a magician outfit and a teenage girl in a purple cape. Danny scans each person, noting the barrier's magical signature matches them all, and knows they are responsible.

Trench coat falls to one knee, bowing his head in respect. "Your majesty."

The other two follow suit after he speaks, repeating his greeting. It seems Trench Coat is the leader. The ghost king leans back on his hands, frost slowly spreading over the blankets under his palms.

It crawls to the edges, slowly falling down the legs of the bed and around the floor. Danny stops it right at the lines of the barrier, knowing the blond man is watching it. The blond man's shoulder relaxes when the frost fails to go over the drawn lines.

So they did underestimate Danny. Well, it made things easier, at least.

"Where am I?" Knowing Phantom's voice echoes and unsettles the three kneeing magic users, he asks. Sam had once told him it sounded like the cracking of ice glaciers from within the giant ice caves after his friend returned from a trip to the artic with her parents.

Danny wasn't exactly sure what that sounded like, but he had always thought it made him more intimidating, especially when he kept his voice a regal calm. Tucker said the calm made it extra creepy, and he wanted to watch these three sweat right now.

"The Batcave, your Highness." Trench Coat responds. Danny's jaw drops.

"The what cave!?" He gasps, springing up from the bed to spin around and look at his surrounding better. He knows he just shattered the illusion but come on! It's the Batcave! This place was a legend among his customers! "Batcave as in Batman!?"

"Indeed." A new voice calls and Danny's head snaps toward a man hiding within a shadow. He's good for a human, but although the shadows open their arms to him, they are not part of him, and Danny can trace every inch of him as easily as though a spotlight had been shined on him.

"Batman" He whispers in awe. The Dark Knight steps out into the line of sight of the other three, ignoring Trench Coat when the blond man starts to hiss at him to kneel. "I got kidnapped by Batman. That's so metal."

Batman, to his credit, doesn't even flinch at the accusation. "You were deemed a danger to the public."

Danny snorts. "Been there. Done that. Got a cookie on the way back."

The mask man's eyes narrow. "Are you aware of the damage you have caused? The lives you have potentially ruined since arriving in my city?"

"Dude, I have no idea what you're talking about. All I did was open a bakery." Danny glances down at the magic users before waving a hand. "You three can stand now, by the way."

The three stand as Batman steps up against the barrier. He looms over Danny in a poor attempt at intimation. Even with having to tilt his head back to keep eye contact and the glowing yellow stip of magic, Danny finds himself on equal footing with the human.

"Batman, bugger off. Now." Trench Coat hisses, yanking the other back a few steps. "We do not need a war with one of the most powerful beings in the multiverse."

"A being that tried to steal my sons." The other man growls, and Danny blinks.

"First of all, I didn't even know you had kids. Second, I have never met them in my life, much less steal-"

"Red Robin will not be going with you, no matter what you say!" Batman interrupts. "If I have to keep you here until the contract is neutralized, I will."

"This is not helping B." The woman dressed like a magician says. She was beyond nervous, a slight tremble ranking her frame. "We're supposed to be negotiating the terms of the engagement."

"The engagement?" Danny mouths, confused.

"We have his sister, Jassmin Fenton. That's a good enough starting point-" The girl in the cape starts, and Danny snaps to attention at his sister's name. Her neck is in his hand, cutting off her words with a chock gasp. He sneers in her face even as the other three scream at the speed he crosses the barrier.

"Where. Is. Jazz."

"Raven!" The other woman screams. "Prat eht gnik ni a egac!"

Her magic washes over him but freezes as Danny's power overtakes it. The spell lands on the ground as a sparkling clump of ice.

The girl claws at his hands, trying to pry him off even when a bear tazer slams into his side, sending electricity throughout his body. If he had been fourteen that would have been enough to have scared him enough into letting go.

He's not a little kid anymore, though. He backhands Batman away from him, catching the tazer he drops as he is flung and throwing it at Trench Coat.

It slams against the man, knocking him on his ass. "I didn't even do anything!"

Danny raises the girl, wondering if he should squeeze more- it's not choking her. He just wanted to scare her.- when Ellie came flying from the direction of a large stone stairway. It seems the Batcave was underneath something. "Danny, stop! Let her go!"

"They kidnapped Jazz!" He yells, eyes blazing in an angry green. Raven's eyes widened at the color. She chants a spell, but her magic is frozen like Zatanna's was before it could even form. She looks stricken.

Not surprising since magic is supposed to be one thing to never fail against the paranormal. Too bad for her Danny is the king and thus far more powerful than the average ghost.

"No, they didn't! She literally upstairs flirting with Jason!"

Danny lets Raven go to swing his head in Ellie's direction. "Who the fuck is Jason!?"

"A really buff book nerd."

"Of course he is."

"Yeah, he's also Peter Draper." Ellie continues with a What can you do shrug.

"Oh, word?" Danny tries to imagine Jazz and Peter, but his employee is so short-tempered that he finds it odd his sister would ever look his way twice. Then again, Peter was only short-tempered because he was trying to keep Alvin safe from Phantom's charm, so....maybe that's what got her attention?

"Your Highness," Trench Coat clears his throat. "We really need to discuss the engagement."

"What engagement?"

Ellie flies over to drape herself across his shoulders like a floating scarf. "The one between you and Timothy Drake."

"The Wayne CEO?" Danny never met the guy; how was he engaged to him?

"Yeah, but you know him as Alvin Draper or Red Robin." Ellie shrugs at his Godsmack expression. "The Bats thought you were selling drugs, using kids as carriers, and using the bakery as a front to cover up your crimes."

"Drugs? Child endangerment!? Why would they think I would do something so terrible?! My bakery is a lovely place!"

"Cause you're kind of shady, Danny. Fruitloop shady."

"I'm disowning you." Danny turns his attention back to the four - heroes? If they were with Batman, they had to be right?- and frown. "I love Gotham. I was just trying to sell pastries and help my community."

"Yeah, but you're still shady." Ellie laughs, ignoring the disownment like every other time Danny threatened her. "They sent in spies to figure you out."

"Spies? In my bakery?" Danny repeats, horrified. He snaps his fingers at his sister, narrowing his eyes. "You can never tell Andres he was right."

She bares her teeth in response, and he knows his store manager will be unbearable come Monday. Danny covers his face wanting to scream, until Batman steps to growl at him. "Tim isn't going anywhere with you."

Danny squints at him. "You're making it sound like I'm taking him by force."

"You are." And another voice jumps in, but this one is familiar. Danny twists around to see Alvin-er Tim calmly walk down the large stairway wearing only white pants. Along the sides of the pants are runes that make Danny's stomach drop.

They're the marking of a human sacrifice in the ghost zone.

"I won't resist." Tim continues stopping before a horrified Danny and clasping his hands tightly. Tim's gaze rests on his feet, every inch of him portraying submission. A group of people quickly come down the stairs, each trying to talk over the other, but Danny can't take his eyes off the human, giving himself up.

Phantom's core weeps. When a human is made into a sacrifice, there is nothing other ghosts can do to intervene. It's one of the Rules within the zone, like Truce Day. There was nothing he could do to save his employee.

"Who?" He whispers his ghostly glow highlighting the youth in Tim's face. Only nineteen. "Who do you belong to?"

Tim's hands twitch, but it's the only sign of discomfort as he lowers his gaze even more. "To you, your highness."

"Wha-"

"Oh, for goodness sake!" Jazz yells, walking over to whack him on the head. Ellie moves so her hand can reach his skull and punches the back of his head. Several people gasp, scandalized, but she does seem to care as she starts nagging. "Daniel Fenton! You let this boy out of his human sacrifice engagement with you right now!"

"His what with what?!" Danny screams back, only to have Sam walk around a blond woman and stomp on his foot. "Ow!"

"This a dick move, Danny! Tucker, come over here and tell him!"

His best friend appears only to punch him in the gut. "It's mess up, man! Tim didn't even know he was walking into a fae circle when he went to your apartment!"

"Stop hitting me! I don't even know what the hell is going on!" He yells, rubbing his bruised stomach.

Jazz crosses her arms and taps her foot. "Five. Four."

"Why are you counting?"

" Three. Two"

"Jazz, seriously, stop it."

"One. Zer-"

"I, High King Phantom, release Timothy Drake with no conditions!" He screams, cowering away. The runes on Tim's pants snap like broken chains. "Just please don't say zero!"

"That's what I thought." She says, nodding her head and then laughing. "I can't believe that still works on you. I'm sorry we didn't explain, but I wanted to get Tim out of danger as soon as possible. Tim was the first to find you when the Bats raided your house a week ago, looking for non-existing drugs. Phantom took over in a mate craze and tried to keep him along with Damian- er Robin- prisoners. "

"We all had to join forces to free them, but you were too powerful. You ripped a portal into the ghost zone and took them." Sam takes over giving Danny a stink eye. She always does hate when Danny slips away to the zone to avoid them. "Tim struck a deal with Phantom agreeing to be his human sacrifice/ husband in exchange for his brother's freedom while the rest of us tried to get to the zone."

Danny doesn't know what to say but feels his mouth moving. It's Phantom who answers. "Again, from the bottom of my heart. My bad. Really. I just wanted a baby."

Ellie chirps, "Baby fever is a medical condition Phantom. Don't sweat it."

"Maybe sweat it a little." A man shouts from beside the frozen Tim. The teenager is staring at Danny with a kind of worship looking upon a saint. And a lover. Danny blushes slightly. "You stole my baby brothers."

"Richard. I can not have this conversation again with you." Phantom rolls his eyes and fades back into Fenton as he powers down. "All I did to Tim was try to cover him in blankets, feed him and make him sleep. My human side wasn't even aware of things."

"Still not cool, Phantom. I thought Danny was going to retake him after this visit," Richard responds, pressing Tim into his side. "Even if it was just due to your mating season, don't repeat it."

Danny takes over with a raised brow. "Don't go into my lair during my mating season, then. Who had you snooping?"

"We did what we had to." Batman is notably less hostile now that the contract between Tim and Danny is broken. Danny considers his words and then nods. He gets that. He would have done the same if he thought some creep was luring the street kids into something dangerous.

"Danny," Tim says, approaching the halfa "Will you go on a date with me?"

"Drake! No!" A child screams from the crowd, but Danny can only see those gorgeous blue eyes, and something deep within him uncoils. Phantom settles in Danny's soul with a content sigh. It's found its mate, after all.

"Yes, I'll go on a date with you." Danny pauses. "You won't work at the bakery anymore, right? I can't date my employees. That's a power imbalance."

Tim laughs leaning in to press his lips against Danny's. The other human's outraged cries fade away as Danny melts against him. "How could I ever think I could resist you. You're too perfect. "

"Wait- what?" Danny blinks, but Tim shushes him with another kiss. Both ignore how the Bats leap in to pull them apart, or Team Phantom rushes to protect Danny and fight them off.

John Constante watches the two groups with a frown "So...no war?"

"I don't think so?" Zatanna responds, confused, while Raven watches impassively.

Danny was right. Come Monday, Andres is unbearable, but Tim comes over for lunch and a quick make-out session, so it's worth it. Manolo returns later that day to invite Danny to his school band performance. His mother is now on her way to recovery, finally allowing him to learn the flute.

All is well in Phantom Bakes.

(Part 1), (Part 2), (Part 3), (Part 4)

[withoutyouimsaskia]

Sometimes It's Fated (Sandman Short Story Part 1)

Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7

​GIF: Originally posted by @tavners

Pairing: Morpheus/Dream of the Endless x AFAB reader

Summary: Reader Self-Insert. After restoring the Dreaming and locating the missing dreams and nightmares, Morpheus turns his attention to finding you, the human he believes fate has chosen for him. (Title inspired by Placebo's "This Picture".)

Warnings: Minors DNI. Dark!Morpheus. Soulmates. Angst. Obsessive and possessive behaviour. Tension. Home invasion. Voyeurism. Implied masturbation. Dream manipulation.

Word Count: 2.6k

A/N: Wow, this took way longer to finish than I had originally planned. My head's been all over the place with trying (and thus far failing) to find a new job. The themes are very different to what I've written before; I hope it reads okay. Please let me know what you think. All my love, Saskia xx

Sandman Masterlist

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

Fate.

A phenomenon that governed every particle of matter within the known universe and even those beyond.

Some considered it a comforting concept that excused them from the burden of decision making, citing: "I'll leave it up to fate." For others the phrase was a cursory, throw-away comment or a romantic line they heard in the lyrics of a song.

The real truth of the matter was that Fate was a trio of immortal beings, goddesses, with sight so potent that they knew the past, present and future of every individual to have lived. The mythology of the Greeks, Romans and Norse hadn't been too far off with their stories of the Moirai, Parcae and Norns but of course, no humans really believed there to be any realism in myths. They were just stories. It didn't matter either way; they existed and had influence regardless of what the majority believed.

For beings such as The Endless siblings, the presence of Fate in the cosmos was not only real, but also something that affected even themselves.

For the King of Dreams, an eventuality had been prophesised long ago by The Kindly Ones that spoke of a bond that was to be forged between himself and a mortal.

Lord Morpheus, in his pride, had tried to be above such a foretelling, even questioning its validity because the notion of a mortal accepting his version of the universe seemed wholly implausible.

But he could not truly stop himself from wondering about you, reaching out to see if he could feel your presence in the minds of the dreamers he hosted.

It wasn't something he indulged in with frequency. More of a once-in a-decade interval. Enough to appease his curiosity.

Of course, this was put on hold during his imprisonment at Fawney Rig.

Morpheus had had much to contemplate during this period. The damage his absence caused to the collective subconscious, the decay of his realm, the loss of freedom and dignity. There was also a chance that you had been born and died in the 106 years he spent in captivity.

What if he was too late and had lost the chance of discovering who you were?

It was a nauseating prospect that scraped and scratched a space deep within his being; bleeding him of his remaining stores of hope that were so significantly depleted after the death of beloved Jessamy.

Despite the nasty emotional wound, finding you was a charge that he assigned at the end of his priorities after his escape.

Recovering his scattered tools, restoring the Dreaming, locating his absent creations, unravelling the mystery of Rose Walker and confronting Desire all had needed to come first.

The latter interaction had left Morpheus with a seething rage that was currently propelling him down the boards of the dock that sit above the Ocean of Dreams.

The dense mist in the air is buffeted by his movements and the only sounds are the tread of boots, the creak of wooden slats and the lap of water.

With each step, the liquid becomes choppier as it reacts to its master's mood and by the time he has reached the end of the dock, the surface of the water roils fervorously, completely in line with Morpheus' dangerous temperament.

The words of Desire's final silken-toned taunt echo in his mind with grating persistence.

"Oh, poor Dream. I really got under your skin this time, didn't I?"

He is loathe to admit there is truth in the question.

There are moments where Morpheus ponders the turn that the relationship between them has taken. How Desire went from being his favourite sibling to someone one shade shy of an adversary. Their faultless adeptness at provoking his temper and manipulating the events that encircle him would be impressive if not for the danger posed to humanity.

The agitated water eventually draws focus to how out of control he and his emotions have become. Morpheus knows he must get them in check, and quickly, for he knows the consequences all too well should he ignore it.

He clenches his fist and swallows it all down, pushing it deep inside his belly until the crackling entropy of the anger is fully dispelled.

Morpheus then sweeps his coat out behind him as he sinks lithely into a crouch. Trepidation nips at his heart and tugs his attention to a sobering thought.

This foray into the water may be fruitless.

You may be long gone and there would be no way of ever knowing you.

His nostrils flare as he takes a deep breath; he has run out of excuses to not look, even if he is afraid of the outcome.

Long, delicate fingers dapple the surface of the inky ocean. The waves still at the touch, obedient to him with instancy.

He repositions to full height and reaches into his coat to find the pouch of sand stashed in the pocket. A handful of twinkling grains slip off his palm into the ocean, lighting the water it touches to a luminous green.

"Find my soulmate," Morpheus commands silently.

The intention is set. He steps off the dock into the water.

At first, like every other prior attempt, there is no sign of you. Morpheus floats submerged in the tepid liquid, filtering through the hubbub of countless other dreams and nightmares.

Then there is a pull.

It is faint yet indisputable. Warmth explodes in his chest and he groans inwardly from the delicious sensation of relief.

You are alive, and you are dreaming.

A path of radiance appears in the water, a line that shows your connection, and provides a location for him to hone in on.

Morpheus dives deeper without hesitation.

As he reaches the edge of your subconscious, he rejoices that he got a handle on his emotions. He wouldn't want your first perception of him to be one tinged with rage, however unaware you were of him, with your soulmate being the source.

He hesitates for a moment before entering the dream you are in and is somewhat taken aback by what he finds.

A room comprising of four blank walls, a floor, a ceiling and a door. There is but one other feature; a window, and its view is as non-descript and inoffensive as the internal space.

You stand by said window, head turned from him.

Despite being unable to see your face, he sees your anxiety with immediacy. It is an aura hovering about your body, being sucked into your lungs with every fast-paced breath.

You begin to throw glances towards the door. Morpheus filters through the layers of the dream. No one is scheduled to come across the threshold.

The more he observes, the more questions arise in Morpheus' mind.

What was making you so affected? What were you expecting to happen?

There's nothing in the scene that is intended to be unpleasant yet you are reacting in a way that most observers would characterise as unsettled.

Morpheus, despite not yet knowing you, doesn't like to see you this way. His dominant instinct is to end the dream but he quashes the desire to review the bigger picture.

The empty room dream was symbolic of a beginning.

It clicks into place.

What you were feeling, even if on a purely instinctual level, was the anticipation of meeting your soulmate and starting your new life.

Morpheus steps into the frame, just a couple of paces behind you.

You feel his presence instantly, eyes full to the brim with tears as you whirl around with a soft gasp.

You see him.

The tears spill and patter onto the white floor.

Morpheus reaches out, overcome by his need to provide comfort.

You disappear.

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

Morpheus is sat on his throne. He pores over the book he had located in the Dreaming's library a little over a week ago that contains the details of your life. It is something he has taken to doing when the impatience of waiting for you to fall asleep becomes too keen.

Your subconscious has him enraptured, watching it every night as if it is a stage show. Each dream he delves into is like the tug of fingers on a loose thread, your psyche has begun to unravel before him.

Everything from whims to cravings, hopes to fears. Your temperament, the things that delight and irk you. What drives you and demotivates you. He consumes it all with an insatiable hunger.

Based on the projection of yourself that he sees, there is no doubt that he is attracted to you.

All that prior haughty disregard for the Fates' prophecy has been cast aside like a negative thought in a meditation session. Morpheus is a romantic. A believer. He is ashamed to have even doubted your coming.

He wonders if it would vex Desire to learn of him finding his soulmate and by extension, the prospect of companionship, perhaps even physical intimacy or love.

It is all too easy to imagine the sickly sweet grin they would smile at him, shown to be fake by the almost imperceptible contempt glinting in their golden eyes.

Would his triumph drive them to distraction?

It is this smug sentiment that spurs his next decision. He wants more. The next logical step is to find you in the waking world.

He rises from his throne, a sure hand ready to bring forth his pouch of sand when he falters.

Tears pool in his eyes.

His mind is suddenly marred with the memories of what happened in 1916. The agony, mortification and rage that followed. He couldn't go through that kind of treatment ever again and the waking world expanded the risk of it transpiring.

"No," he says resolutely. His sadness turns to resolve, the hard line of his grimace matching those set in his brows.

He will not let the actions of a group of mortals dissuade him from going to you. And besides, he has researched everything he can about you from within the safety of the Dreaming.

He takes a measure of sand and uses it to materialise within your bedroom.

It is obvious from a quick scan of it that deliberate attempts have been made to ensure the space is cosy and calming.

Two marshmallowy pillows support your head. The cotton sheets have been meticulously tucked to avoid drafts. A lavender reed diffuser fragrances the air with a subtle scent. There are no devices or screens visible.

Everything has its place. A coaster supported glass of water within reaching distance. Touch activated lamp in case of emergency. The diary lined up with the back left corner of the bedside table, pen placed parallel in the spine dent. All clothes are in the wardrobe or stashed in the laundry basket.

Morpheus moves to the curtain-shrouded window and delicately moves the dark, heavy fabric to catch a glimpse of the outside world.

The scene is sepia stained from an old streetlight positioned right outside your home. It explained the choice of curtains.

You stir slightly from the change in environment and Morpheus allows the curtain to fall back in place. He remains stationary until your breathing returns to its previous pace. It is imperative that his presence remains undisclosed. He knows that mortals do not take well to home invasion.

Then, your right hand slips out from the duvet cocoon revealing a cushion cut ruby ring on your middle finger.

He smiles exultantly. The similarity between the jewel and his own now-destroyed dreamstone was undeniable.

The Fates were making it transparent.

You were the one.

Morpheus approaches the side of your bed now. In your momentary discomfort, you had moved your head, making your whole face visible to your uninvited guest.

He bends gracefully so his face is closer to yours and observes you with an intent fascination.

Even in the gloom, Morpheus asserts that your features are even more captivating now that he is able to look upon them in person and is certain that if he could guarantee an absence of fear then he would fall to knees and worship you right there.

Fingers stroke a lock of hair splayed across the pillow and his thoughts turn darker still, imagining what he would do with you if he could get you alone in the Dreaming. How he would seduce you with words, and then pleasure your body with his own until you were senseless.

Getting you there would be so easy, all he needed to do was move his hand up and touch your skin and -

Morpheus stops himself, deciding that now is not the time for an introduction. He will wait until tomorrow. You need to rest. It will be quite the revelation for your sweet mortal heart.

Morpheus whispers a promise, "We will be together soon, my precious soulmate."

He leaves after taking one last look at your peaceful form.

When he returns to the Dreaming, Morpheus discovers that the visit has riled him way beyond what he thought possible.

It was supposed to sate his curiosity and answer some questions.

It has done the opposite.

His craving for you is sublimely intense, opiate-like in its ensnarement.

He needs to possess you. To have you all to himself. Everything would fall into place. Loneliness, disillusionment, jealousy; they would never darken his outlook again. You would heal him, he is certain of it.

He paces restlessly in the low light of his private chambers as heat ripples beneath the surface of his being, charging him with pure sexual lust.

He hungers for the moment when you feel the same about him.

For now, all he can do is stand and touch himself while thinking of your face, an act that has been carried out repeatedly in the days since he found you in the Ocean of Dreams.

An erotic idea enters his mind.

Your subconscious is still in the Dreaming; he knows the feeling of it intimately.

Perhaps he could bring you a dream mirroring his own current fantasy.

To give you a taste of what was to come.

A gift that only he could bestow.

The mere thought of it turns him on even more. His back arches and his eyes roll back as he choses the words through which he would deliver the offering.

"Dream of me," Morpheus murmurs breathlessly. "Dream of me."

He repeats the phrase until he is unable to continue, moans taking over the darkened space around him.

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

It is dusk the next day when Morpheus returns to the waking world.

The instant he touches down on the Earth's surface, he knows exactly where to go. The metaphysical connection between you is as strong as the energy pulsing through a ley line.

The city he is directed to is thrumming with life but the side street he stands in has been spared from the furore.

It is fortuitous that he is permitted to be unobserved for Morpheus is struggling now with the urge to get closer.

Providence is pulling him in and also locking him out.

He walks up to the door and then an invisible force makes him back away.

He doesn't even try to fight it.

The Fates hold all the cards. Morpheus is beholden to their each and every whim.

It is surprisingly liberating.

He is dancing in the cross hairs. Blinkered by the tie the universe has fashioned for you.

All he has to do is wait.

The door to the building is pushed open.

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

Taglist: @herfantasyworldd

"Fate. Up against your will. Through the thick and thin. He will wait until you give yourself to him."

[abibliophobiaa]

fluff and/or smut request based on the prompt “My God, you're fun to kiss.”

Eddie preferred but if Steve inspires you more for this that's okay too!

ily💖

eddie munson x afab!reader. 18+.

-

It starts as friends.

Acquaintances, really. People who pass each other in the hall. Glances as you go, simple pleasantries, a wave if you’re lucky.

But fate steps in. And soon it’s a joint project, it’s trying to care for an egg together, to make sure it doesn’t break, gentleness foreign to both of you. It’s handing off your pretend child at the end of an afternoon—it’s joint custody over an eventual grade.

Soon, it’s gentle brushes of flesh in science class. It’s an accidental touch after almost dropping a pipette, a borrowed pencil, a shared eraser. Awkward encounters become heated glances. They become chemical interactions like the science projects you share with Eddie Munson.

Bright, vibrant, and potent.

You think it’s a joke when you’re paired in English class. Some sort of cosmic arrangement in the stars, a joke from the gods, what have you. Because of all the people you could act out Romeo and Juliet with, Eddie Munson is the last one on your list.

He’s brash and unruly. He’s disorganized and frenetic. He’s…well, he’s charismatic and alluring. Infuriating and compelling. Intriguing and impossible. Handsome and absolutely grotesque. Charming and…

Well. That’s the problem, really. The more the stars align, the more you find you like him. The more you find yourself enraptured by the boy with curly hair and a dimpled smile.

So it’s almost no surprise when you find yourself seated on a bench in the middle of spring, surrounded by dappled light and looming trees, books stretched out in front of you, practicing your lines. Only Eddie’s distracted. Has been for a bit. Since you arrived, really.

“Is there something on my face?” Your words are short. Staccato. Clipped. Brusque, without a real reason for them being so.

“Er—no.”

And that’s that. These weeks, these opportune moments—they mean nothing. Fleeting gazes, jovial banter, and brief looks? Those don’t make up a relationship. You know this. Yet it stings all the same. Sinks deep in your gut.

Or so you think.

The next time you meet in the woods, Eddie’s a live wire. Fingers tapping a pen on his notebook, brushing your cheek, curling around your jaw. He’s staring at you fondly. Like you’re the only girl in the world; like you’re his. And you would be—if he’d only asked you.

It’s on that day, as the sun sets and the sky glows orange, he leans down and kisses you the first time.

A gentle brush of his lips over yours as you sit on top of that wooden table. His knees press to the bench, your backside on the tabletop, his ringed fingers around your hips.

He kisses you like you’re precious—a jewel to be cherished, bright and twinkly, rare and his. And you find you like that; languish in it.

You get a B+ in O’Donnell’s class and the woods become your haven that next week. A place where you can run to him, your fingers in his hair, his arms around your waist. Whispers of hate and love, of frustration and adoration, of ‘will they’ and ‘won’t they.’

There’s a shlick of a zipper lowering. A hiss from the boy before you as you tug him forward by his belt loops, nosing along his throat, sucking purple hickeys into supple flesh.

He’s plush lips over your breast, whispers of, “My god, you’re fun to kiss.”

And you’re pliant. Heart a flutter as he slides your skirt up your thighs, parting you for him, brushing at your slit. He teases at your flesh. One finger, swirling in your slick, mouth swallowing your pitiful moans. And then another, sliding into you. Making you whimper and moan, gasps muffled against the column of his throat.

“Gonna be a good girl for me?” He asks, brushing his mouth over your ear.

Smirks into your skin when you tremble, thighs spreading wider, welcoming the boy as he prods at your center, groans when you whimper into his chest at the brush of his fullness against your hole.

“Y-yeah, Eds.”

“What do you want, baby? Need your words.”

Another brush. A nudge. A slight pressure where you want him most, but it has your toes curling, fingers tightening around his leather jacket, gripping fast to curls, teeth clenching around his earlobe.

“Need you to fuck me,” you manage.

“Yeah, baby?” He’s smirking. Dimples and cockiness, fingers curling around his base, pressing his head against your center. Collecting your slick and pushing in slightly. Enough to have you quivering, enough to have you begging for more. “Like this?”

And he’s sliding in. Inch by blessed inch, slowly and painstakingly so, until you’re a gasping, writhing, pleading mess. Tears prick your eyes, fingers in his hair, mouth against his.

“You like me,” he rasps.

Not a question.

Not at all.

A statement. Simple, just like breathing. Just like the way he slides in and out of you—like he’s always done so, like it’s what he’s always been made to, like he’s been doing so all along. 

“I do,” you gasp out, shuddering around him, curling your thighs around him, dragging him closer. You need him closer. “I like you, Eddie Munson.”

“Go out with me.” A brush of his lips over your heart, hips rolling against yours, drawing out your pleasure.

You hate him, you like him, you might even love him.

“I will,” you whimper, pulling him tighter, burning brighter. “I will.”

And it’s one week later you walk down the halls hand in hand with Eddie Munson. Your health partner, lab partner, english partner. Stranger, acquaintance, friend.

Boyfriend.

Yours.

-

-

[librababe99]

Cards on the Table

CW: Ex!Boyfriend Remy, reference to past relationship, sexual content Word Count: 1198 Summary: As old flames ignite, you're reminded that some bonds are impossible to break, no matter the time or distance...

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The night was quiet, save for the soft hum of cicadas outside the window. The old, creaky house in the bayou seemed to breathe with every movement, its wooden frame groaning as if it, too, could feel the tension in the air. You stood in the living room, the light from the old chandelier casting long shadows across the worn floorboards. It had been years since you'd been here, years since you had last seen him.

Remy LeBeau—Gambit to some, but to you, he had simply been Remy, your Remy—was standing in the doorway, a crooked smile tugging at his lips. His eyes, those unmistakable red-on-black irises, gleamed with a mix of mischief and something darker, something more profound. The man had a way of looking at you that made your pulse quicken, made your breath hitch just slightly. He hadn’t changed much—same tousled auburn hair that framed his face, same effortless swagger that made you weak in the knees.

"Been a while, chérie," he drawled, his voice as smooth as ever, dripping with that Cajun charm you could never quite resist.

You nodded, unsure of what to say, your heart beating a wild rhythm in your chest. You'd convinced yourself that you were over him, that you'd moved on. But seeing him again, standing there with that infuriatingly confident smirk, you knew you had been lying to yourself.

"It has," you replied, your voice steadier than you felt.

Remy took a step closer, the space between you shrinking. You could smell the familiar scent of him—cigarettes, leather, and something uniquely his. It was intoxicating, a scent that brought back memories of long nights and stolen moments.

"Didn’t think I’d see you again," he murmured, his voice low, sending shivers down your spine. "You sure you ready for this, chère?"

There was a challenge in his tone, a dare that hung in the air between you. Remy had always been like this—pushing boundaries, testing limits. And you, against your better judgment, had always met him halfway. The pull between you two was magnetic, undeniable.

"Why wouldn’t I be?" you shot back, tilting your chin up in defiance.

He chuckled, the sound deep and rich, vibrating through the quiet room. "Still got that fire, I see. I always liked that about you."

Before you could respond, he was in front of you, his body mere inches from yours. He reached out, his gloved hand tracing the line of your jaw with a feather-light touch. The leather of his gloves was cool against your skin, a stark contrast to the heat of his gaze.

"You look good," he whispered, his thumb brushing across your bottom lip.

You swallowed hard, trying to ignore the way your body responded to his touch, the way your skin tingled where he touched you. "Remy..."

He silenced you with a look, his eyes darkening with something you recognized all too well. Desire, raw and potent, crackled between you like a live wire. He leaned in, his lips ghosting over your ear, his breath hot against your skin.

"I been thinkin' 'bout you," he confessed, his voice a husky whisper that made your knees weak. "Every damn day, chérie."

You closed your eyes, the confession washing over you like a wave. You had tried to forget him, tried to bury the memories deep, but they had always been there, lurking in the shadows of your mind, waiting to resurface.

"I tried to forget," you admitted, your voice trembling with the weight of your emotions. "But I couldn’t."

Remy pulled back just enough to look into your eyes, his expression softening. "Then stop tryin', chère. Let’s stop pretendin' like we ain’t meant to be together."

He captured your lips in a searing kiss, his mouth moving against yours with a hunger that matched your own. It was like no time had passed, like you were back in those moments when nothing else mattered but the two of you. His hands roamed your body, pulling you closer, deepening the kiss until you were both breathless.

You melted into him, your hands tangling in his hair, pulling him even closer. The taste of him was familiar, intoxicating, and you wanted more. Needed more. The years of separation had done nothing to diminish the connection between you; if anything, it had only intensified the longing.

He broke the kiss, his breathing heavy, his forehead resting against yours. "Tell me you want this," he whispered, his voice thick with need. "Tell me you still want me."

Your answer came in the form of another kiss, your lips crushing against his with a desperation that matched his own. You needed him, more than you’d ever let yourself admit. The years apart had been a lie, a futile attempt to deny the truth that had always been there, simmering beneath the surface.

His hands slid down your body, gripping your hips and lifting you effortlessly. Your legs wrapped around his waist as he carried you across the room, his lips never leaving yours. The old house creaked under his weight as he pressed you against the wall, his body hard against yours.

"Remy," you breathed, your voice a mix of plea and command.

He looked at you, his eyes blazing with a fierce intensity. "I got you, chérie. I ain’t lettin’ you go.” 

With that, he captured your lips again, his kiss fierce and possessive. His hands roamed your body, sliding under your shirt to caress your skin. Every touch was a reminder of what you had missed, what you had tried so hard to forget. And as he made his way to your neck, his lips trailing fire along your skin, you knew you were lost. Lost to him, to the past, to the undeniable pull between you.

Clothes were discarded in a frenzied rush, both of you desperate to feel skin against skin. His body was as familiar to you as your own, every curve and muscle etched into your memory. And when he finally sank into you, it was like coming home. The years of separation melted away, leaving only the two of you, tangled together in a dance as old as time.

He moved with a slow, deliberate pace, his hands gripping your hips as he buried his face in the crook of your neck. The heat between you was palpable, your bodies slick with sweat as you clung to each other. Every thrust, every touch was a silent promise, a vow to never let go again.

"Chérie," he groaned, his voice rough with emotion "you feel so damn good."

You could only moan in response, your body arching into his, desperate for more. The pleasure built between you, a slow, torturous burn that threatened to consume you both. When your release finally came, it shattered through you in waves, your cries mingling with his name, whispered in the throes of ecstasy.

He held you through the aftershocks, his body trembling against yours, his breath hot against your skin. Neither of you spoke, the only sound was the heavy breathing that filled the room. But words weren’t necessary. You both knew what this meant, what this moment had done.

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Taglist: @venssu

[wife-of-all-dilfs]

from the flames | b. blake

masterlist

summary: season three — to signify the newly recognised alliance between the sky people and the grounders, a celebration is held within polis’ market square. a bonfire, alcohol, and the bawdy pulsation of drums is a sure-fire recipe for a stimulating night. add a watchful bellamy blake and his dancing muse into the mix, and, well… i’ll show you the consequences of such a potent combination.

pairing: bellamy blake x fem!reader

warnings: alcohol consumption/intoxication, sensual dancing, jealousy, sexual desecration??, mild possessiveness, arguments, bellamy speaking in trigedaslang (giggling and kicking my feet), dialogue-heavy, manhandling, mild angst, smut, unprotected p in v (do not), reader is short because i’m short, deal with it <3

notes: i haven’t recently been watching the 100 so the timeline and characterisation may be a little off. also, ik this took me a long ass time, but i’m gonna try and make sure the next two parts come out a little quicker <3 i love y’all!

word count: 2.5k

“People of Kongeda and Skaikru, tonight we gather as one, united by a common purpose and a shared future of alliance. Before us, this bonfire symbolises more than just a flame; it is a beacon of hope, an opportunity to cleanse old grudges and pain that has divided us for far too long.

“Let this fire signify a new beginning and serve as a reminder that unity is not our weakness, but our strength. Let it be known that from this day, we join not as enemies, but as allies, and anyone set upon spilling the blood of our allies is spilling the blood of us all. Let it be known: Jus drein, jus daun!”

“Jus drein, jus daun!”

As much as Lexa’s words intended to inspire harmony, the crowd massed below the second-floor balcony of the dominating tower she resided on reacted in any way but. Fierce declarations of worship were cried out; large fists were pumped in celebration; and misty clouds of brew and saliva were sprayed into the tepid night air.

All was well, for the first time since we landed on Earth.

“Happy Unity Day,” I murmured to myself, taking a sip from the metal cup in my hand. I was standing on the outer edges of the unruly crowd of dark, rugged figures, who were surrounding an unlit wooden mountain and raving as it abruptly burst into vociferous flames.

The monstrous tepee of sticks was raging at the centre of Polis’ trading square, an open area bordered with stalls and operating food vendors that infused the air with a salivating meaty aroma. Glimmers of light chipped away into the familiar starry night above and an orange ambience was cast throughout the square, seeming to blaze beneath the skin of those who orbited the fire.

It was a somewhat perplexing scene: to be together as one people, celebratingratherthan being at war with one another.

A pensive mechanic stepped in beside me, eyeing the mixed crowd of Grounders and Sky People.

Raven folded her arms over her chest. “Don’t you think the fact that the Ark originally had thirteen stations and the coalition now has thirteen clans is kind of…”

“Unsettling?” I finished for her. “Yeah. Probably best not tell these guys the story of how Polaris got blown out of the sky. Don’t want to give them any ideas.”

“Polaris… Polis…” she continued contemplating. “Think there’s anything equally unsettling about that?”

I looked at Raven. She looked back at me.

I sucked in a sharp breath—“I’m not drunk enough for this conversation”—and tipped the harsh contents of my cup down my throat. The liquid was molten in both its ferocity and colour and was infused with some potent earthly spice; it was a blow to the stomach upon consumption.

“Is that such a good idea?” Raven asked, judging me as my head craned back to capture the last few drops of throat-scorching goodness. “I’m all for pouring a glass when the occasion calls for it, but these people have stomachs lined with steel—what do you think yours is made of?”

I grimaced at the taste. “You tell me. You’re the genius.”

The roll of her eyes was deafening. “I’m just saying, they’ve probably spent decades perfecting their drinks to suit them, to match their tolerances. I mean, even that human fountain over there couldn’t handle it.” She nodded towards a cluster of barrels where a titan of a man wearing armoured shoulder pads and breastplates was hunched over, violently emptying his stomach onto the cobbled ground.

I swallowed my own stomach at the sight.

“I just assumed you wanted to spend the night somewhat differently,” she said, a sweet undertone of provocation twisting her words.

My brows furrowed, and I turned to face her. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Her lips twitched at the corners—never a good sign.

The thing was, I knew exactly what she meant. Her unspoken words had already been circling my mind for days, weeks, months even, increasingly accumulating with both heat and fervour.

As ironic as it was, I think it’s fitting to compare my situation to that of a star’s formation.

There I was, a delinquent sitting stagnant in a cold nebula of misery in the Sky Box, parted from my family and friends, sent hurtling to Earth to die, only then to have my cold, miserable cloud intruded upon by a fiery presence, a head of tousled brown waves and a pair of rich, dark chocolate eyes.

An awakener. An activator.

This intruder began filling my head with his words, his laughter, his brooding stare. The weight of his presence began to grow; thoughts of him consumed me. From the most surprisingly vulnerable conversations to even the tensest arguments, he had a heat inside me swirling and it was sweltering to unfathomable heights. It showed no signs of stopping.

Raven’s malevolent brown eyes were pointing plainly at something far behind me as if to answer my question. I knew what I would see even before turning around to look, but moronic as I was, I looked anyway.

Chin hovering over my shoulder, my eyes wandered through the scattered crowd of Grounders and Sky People alike that loitered the bonfire’s outskirts. There, sandwiched between Lincoln and an unoccupied trading stall, was a face that not only had my stomach contents lodged in my throat, but my heart as well.

Bellamy.

He was standing with his arms crossed, each one concealed beneath his distressed guard jacket. And although his stance screamed ‘Don’t talk to me,’ his face said otherwise. He and Lincoln were engaged in some high-spirited conversation, much unlike themselves (although the supply of drinks may have been to blame). Bellamy was speaking through one of his overconfident half-grins while alternating between gesturing to-and-fro with a single hand and tucking it back under his opposing bicep.

My chest was burning; the bonfire somehow must’ve seeped into my heart.

It should be stated here that when a nebula accumulates enough particles, it turns into a protostar—not a main sequence star like our sun, but something that holds the potential to be. At this point, the formation is at its most precarious. If a sufficient amount of mass is not acquired, the protostar will fail to stabilise and will cool into a brown dwarf, forever existing in the cold, lonely expansion of space as a reminder of what it could have been.

Bellamy’s head gravitated in my direction. Our eyes met through the asteroid belt of rugged figures between us. My breath caught in my throat, and I turned back around.

A reminder of what it could have been.

Sometimes I worry my insufficiency has damned me already.

“Oh, my god.” I squeezed my eyes shut. “Oh my god, Raven, why would you put me through that?”

“In the hopes that you’ll finally grow a pair and do something about it,” she replied, taking a sip of her drink to conceal her smirk.

“About what?” Now I was just being evasive.

She let out a frustrated huff and folded her arms over one another. Her countenance was a reflection of impatience: the raised eyebrows, the slight downward tilt of her head, the pursed lips. I almost laughed at her theatricality; then again, I almost cried because I didn’t want the reason behind it to be true.

I wanted Bellamy Blake.

The confession was boiling inside me; it was burning the tip of my tongue, and I knew I had to let it out to cool. And if the words were never spoken to him, then they at least had to be expressed to someone else, even if I never admitted them in the exactness I felt, for the exact words would be so heinous, so—hedonistic, that if anyone were to hear them, I’d be thrown into lock-up for the rest of my days.

“Fine, I guess I’m… attracted to Bellamy,” I spoke slowly, cringing at my own words. Raven’s face immediately lit up like an overzealous Christmas tree, her smugly curved lips parting to no doubt release an incongruous stew of condemnation and encouragement, which I stopped before it could even start. “Anattraction that I am not going to act on, Raven; our friendship is rocky enough as it is. I mean,” I scoffed, “have I even told how we first met? I held a pocketknife to his neck our second night on the ground because he threatened to pry off my wristband in my sleep. And he actually tried! You know that tiny scar he has on his cheek? That was from me!”

“Yeah, sometimes I forget how much of a self-righteous dick he was for a while there,” Raven mused. Her face then screwed with confusion. “Wait, how did you two even become friends? Because when I came down, you were at each other’s throats every single day over one thing or another, and then out of nowhere, it was as if the slate had been wiped clean.”

Ah.

The day the slate had been wiped clean.

A thick blurriness blanketed my vision as my mind withdrew from the present. You know when you get run down with some kind of sickness and your mind gets all scrambled and foggy? Like a fever dream? That’s what that day seemed like to me. Too many unimaginable things had happened, too many emotions and losses were felt, and I’d only shared them with one person before.

“You still there?”

My gaze flickered to Raven momentarily. She was staring at me, half with impatience, half with concern. “Just—” I raised my hand slightly in front of me “—give me a second.”

I inhaled. One, two, three. And I exhaled. Three, two, one.

A vulnerable creature of some sort nestled in my brain, softening the tone of my voice as I hesitantly began, “It was the, uh, the day the Exodus Ship crashed. My dad was on it,” I said, my last words barely audible. “Knowing that he was gone was one thing, but watching the ship crash? That messed me up for a good while.”

Raven, taken aback, muttered her apologies. I just shook my head in return. I sucked in a sharp breath, forcing the memory into the cobwebbed corners of my mind, and then continued, “Bellamy had found me in the woods that night. It wasn’t exactly a pretty sight. I think that seeing me in such a vulnerable state forced him to set aside his asshole-ry for a while because he actually managed to… comfort me.”

I remembered the tone of his voice, so shockingly gentle yet hardened in his trademarked sort of way as he reassured me endlessly that I would be okay. I remembered the warmth of his body as I lay crumpled and sobbing in his lap on the forest floor, clinging onto his arm as if it kept me from plummeting into a bottomless pit. I remembered his hands, swiping away the thousands of tears that streaked my face, the hair from my eyes.

I remembered our brief conversation as we walked back to camp: “I won’t tell anyone. I promise,” he had said, to which I whispered, “Thank you,” and after a short pause, he spoke again, “We all need someone sometimes. I know we don’t have the best history together but… I can be that someone if you ever need,” and then, once more, with an unwelcome flutter in my stomach, I whispered, “Thank you.”

A small, bittersweet smile lifted my lips. My voice sounded distant to my ears as I continued speaking. “We still nicked at each other here and there after that—that tension between us has never really disappeared—but there was also this new mutual understanding. And somewhere from mutual understanding came a rough-around-the-edges friendship, and then friendship turned into something else.” I paused to recollect my thoughts. “Well, for me, at least.”

Between the moment I started speaking to the moment I stopped, my gaze had wandered sheepishly to the toes of my boots. I felt so exposed, like the outer layers of my being had been cracked open to reveal a part of my soul to a girl I hadn’t even known existed until two months ago. Suddenly I remembered why I didn’t drink often.

I stood awkwardly, waiting. The weight of my confession and vulnerability were looming above us.

Raven was quiet; she made no witty remark or tease. Her eyes had only softened with understanding, shifting back and forth as my words were mulled over in her brain. And it was only from her foreign silence that I realised what her next question could be: why don’t you just tell him?

I began, “I don’t want to ruin—"

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” she finally interrupted, shaking her head as if to dismiss my unspoken sentiment. “The age-old ‘I don’t want to ruin what we have right now’. But what exactly is that?” Her eyes once again interrogated mine. “Because I’ll make it clear to you right now and say that what you two have is not just friendship. Come on. You and Bellamy?” She shifted her head to catch my drifting gaze. “Anyone with eyes can see something is there, but clearly, neither of you have a pair.”

Talk about tough love.

A harsh outflow of air exited my nose, and I pushed my hair back out of my face. Everything was much more complicated than I thought it was. Was I really as blind as Raven said? I would have already seen what she does if it were true, right? Did Bellamy really feel the same?

Am I drunk?

I glanced behind me once more, catching a glimpse of Bellamy tilting his head back to finish his drink, exposing the sculptured column of his neck. Heat flushed through my cheeks.

Christ. I couldn’t let this one go. There wasn’t a chance.

“What am I supposed to do?” I asked, still watching him.

An uproar of hoots and howls exploded throughout the square as the sound of drums and horns began to play, bringing my attention to the second-floor balcony of the Commander’s Tower where the noise floated down from. Drums pulsed with bawdy rhythm; horns bellowed with lewd backbone; a woman purred tribal vocalisations.

Bodies began swaying in disharmonious synchronisation around the bonfire, in pairs, in groups, individually. What tethered them was the raunchiness of their movements and the subtle carnality of their interactions with one another. I’d never seen anything like it; as I looked over at Raven and saw her similar intrigue, I knew she hadn’t either.

That was my mistake—to even acknowledge her in such a moment, especially after speaking about our previous topic. Her lips began stretching and stretching into a particularly wicked grin, and she turned to me. The devil was burning in her dark eyes.

Her answer to my question: “Give his eyes something to look at.”

part two