#ambrosia for the fucking soul

[psalmsofpsychosis]

Hear me

Follow this calling

I know you see me, fear me

But try to believe me

Hid away, your longing will only grow

And you'll only grow older

[aemvnd]

intimacy. ⑊ 8:16𝐩.𝐦.

content warnings. -> mdni. smut. afab. fem!reader. cunnilingus. slight breeding kink. praise kink. aemond is in love.

+. hii, my loves! i’m officially back & posting new writing content after a few months of my hiatus. this is just something short i wrote to get back into writing smut/fluff again. will prob delete later…idk. love u. ♥︎

the night is still young, full of soft caresses and tangled limbs. deep, eager thrusts and sensual kisses. sweet, feminine moans and deep groans of endless pleasure. you’re embraced by your lover, his arms long and lean and possessive, wrapped snuggly around you, never wanting to let you go.

this is how you spend your most recent nights, being fucked roughly, lovingly, with large, calloused hands and sweet nothings whispered into your ear, possessive words spilled by your lover’s kiss-swollen lips— you’re his perfect girl.

his sweet, most beloved girl.

his, his, his.

“mmh, you taste so fucking sweet,” aemond purrs against you, his lips pursing as he suckles your overstimulated clit into his mouth, flicking his skilled, silver tongue over the fleshy nub, his eye flashing darkly as he watches you, silently observing you, watching the way you cry out for him, your mind falling into oblivion.

pure, blissful pleasure beyond comprehension, that is all you feel, all you can taste, all you can touch, needy and wanting more, more, more.

it is almost exhausting, coming so many times on your lover’s wicked tongue, feeling the rough pads of his fingertips dig into the curve of your plush, womanly hips, humming against your sweet cunt as you mewl like the most beautiful creature he has ever seen.

“perfect…so, so perfect, my love.”

shyly, you lock eyes with him— your beloved aemond, the other half of your soul. “ahh, aemond— please, i- i need….” you trail off breathily, so beautiful and innocent, your sweet voice stammering slightly from how needy you were, desperate for aemond and his devoted touch.

and then, you gasp weakly, your heavy-lidded doe eyes widening, seeing the yearning and dark obsessive sparkle that made your husband’s eye glow, his prominent adam’s apple bobbing up and down as he continues slurping at your tiny, drooling cunt, eagerly drinking down the sweetness of your liquid pleasure, making wet, obscene noises with his mouth as he feasted on your exquisite ambrosia.

“my precious girl, my heart— mine,” aemond rasps, his voice deep and hoarse, his jaw throbbing with the way he continued feasting on your dripping cunny, devoted to making you come over and over again on his tongue until he can’t stand it anymore.

aemond needs you, beyond desperate as he slips his leaking cock inside of your tight, gummy walls, his lips now claiming yours, kissing you messily— he is full of his own endless passion and desires, his tongue curling around yours so perfectly, a most perfect match, making the young prince purr deeply as he tastes your innocence on his own tongue.

oh, he wants, he wants you, more than anything.

you were always so alluring, so lovely— you’re like an endless dream that aemond never wished to wake up from, wanting to be lost inside of you forever, never to be parted, two bodies, two halves of one shared soul, intertwined for eternity.

aemond sighs, breathless, overwhelmed by your ethereal beauty, obsessed with the way your weeping cunt squeezes his cock, making him ache and long to fill your womb with his hot, scorching seed— and oh, you would make the most beautiful mother, aemond thinks, yearning to make you the mother of his children, his heirs.

the night is still young, and so, it continues, with sweet promises and declarations of endless love whispered from aemond’s lips, lost in the warmth and love that is simply you, and you’re his, only his— completely and eternally.

and tonight, like every night previous in your shared martial chambers, you’re all that matters to the one-eyed prince.

[hazbinshusk]

part two of what I'm now calling the distraction series. (part one).

overlord!husk x fem!reader. husk thought if he could just taste you, his pretty little pet and personal assistant, he could get you out of his system. instead, he finds himself craving another session between your thighs. this time, he knows it will be enough for him to get over you and get his mind back on track. 2.5k

featuring: smoking, oral sex, dom/sub dynamics, husk calls reader a 'good girl'. reader is afab and fem presenting.

He can’t fucking forget the taste of you.

The gambling Overlord swallows down the familiar, honeyed burn of top shelf whiskey, eyes closing for a moment as he sighs. He though finally burying his face in your sweet little cunt would stop the never-ending thoughts of you and your thighs wrapped up in those sinful little stockings of yours.

But now, instead of the vague watercolors of desire his mind had painted before, he’s haunted by how you tasted, the way your voice had sounded as you’d moaned above him, all throaty and pitched. How your whole body had shuddered as you’d cum against his tongue.

And here you are, the dutiful assistant, working away as though he hadn’t tasted the rich ambrosia that comes from your cunt. And you’re still wearing a tight little skirt and those pretty little stockings. Only now the dark nylon has a cute little seam running down the back of your thighs as though marking a direct path for his mouth. You’re setting up the chips for tonight’s private game, and all he can think of is fucking you with his tongue.

Cigar smoke streams from his nose as he exhales, and he sets the half-gone stogie in the ashtray beside him. His golden eyes follow the curve of your waist, the swell of your breasts when they peek out from your shirt as you set his share of chips in front of him. His eyes catch the hint of black and red lace, and his cock stirs as he wonders if it matches the lace wrapped around your thighs.

“Doll.” his voice comes smooth, and it’s softer than he intended.

Still, you look up immediately, and he takes pleasure in the way you flush when you meet his eye. You’d let the professional façade slip a few times since he’d had you on that armchair in his private quarters, but he didn’t see it as often as he would like.

A sudden pang of what someone else might unwisely call possessiveness tightens through his chest – he needs to know he’s affected you just as much as you have him. He finishes his drink, eyes still holding yours.

“On the table.”

Your eyes widen, heat flooding through you immediately at the cadence of his voice, at what he’s telling you to do. Your master hasn’t once addressed what he’d asked you to do in his penthouse since it happened, and you’d forced yourself to dutifully do the same. You know you’re not the only one of his owned souls that he’s brought to his private rooms, you probably weren’t even the only one that week. But that doesn’t stop your mind from reminding you of the experience every time you look at him. Or every time you slip your hand down between your thighs.

Just as before, Husk doesn’t repeat the instruction; he just watches you with those warm, golden eyes as you swallow back the nerves that suddenly bloom within you. You could say no – you’re somehow sure that even despite him owning your soul that he wouldn’t push you – but a smirk tilts his lips as he watches you and you nod slowly.

“Y-yes, sir.”

He pats the edge of the table in front of him. “Hands and knees.”

You nod again, placing the toe of you shoe on the edge of his seat so you can step up into a kneel on the table. Husk hums his approval as you do, the rolling baritone enough to set a shiver into the middle of your back. His claws just skim over your thigh as you pass him, catching briefly on your stockings before you set yourself on the felt in front of him. You feel exposed and vulnerable, and you exhale a shuddering breath, closing your eyes.

Your Overlord hums his approval but doesn’t move, and butterflies twist and scatter in your belly with anticipation. His chair shifts, he pulls it closer to the table, and you feel rather than see his hand move towards you.

Instead of touching you, however, you realize he picks up his cigar as you feel his breath blow a warm stream over the back of your thighs, the spicy, bitter scent of the smoke teasing at your senses. A whimper slips out of you, unbidden.

“You’ve been teasing me.”

He doesn’t say it as a question or an accusation, doesn’t say it in a way that asks for an explanation or an apology.

“…Sir?”

“You’re still a distraction,” he continues, his voice a rumble of whiskey and promised sin. “And I’m wonderin’, doll, if you’re doin’ it on purpose.”

The felt is rough under your palms and your knees ache against the firm edge of the table. Your instinct is to turn and to meet his eye as you defend yourself, but something… his voice or your willingness, your need to obey? keeps you from doing so. Instead, you train your eyes on the opposite wall, swallow back your nerves.

“I wouldn’t—”

“No?” he asks, and you can picture the disbelieving arch of his brow. “You mean you don’t wear these for me?”

He trails his claws up over your calves and up along the back of your thighs, tracing the pin-up style line of your stockings. They slow, setting a glacial, teasing pace up to the hem of your skirt.

“You don’t wear these hopin’ that I’ll notice?”

“I—”

Husk’s paws curl around the hem of your skirt, tugging it slowly upward. You can’t help but shiver as he lifts it, the tight fabric sliding up towards the curve of your ass, revealing the suspenders you have holding this pair of stockings in place. His breath teases over your thighs, sending goosebumps up over your skin. “You don’t wear this tight little skirt… for me?”

He stops with the fabric bunched so that he can see just the barest sliver of your underwear, and he smirks, pupils blown wide as he finds bright red covering you instead of the expected black. He swallows, the sudden burn of sharper arousal making him ache, and he sets his cigar aside to instead palm his burgeoning erection through his pants.

“I expect an answer, pet.” he tells you firmly, and the rough edge to his voice is such a turn on that you answer automatically, too quickly to consider whether its smart to tell him the truth.

“Yes.”

“Good girl,” he hums approvingly, and those two words make your breath catch. How many times had you thought about the way he said just that since the last time he’d had you like this? “Now, how about these…”

He pushes the skirt up higher, sighing happily as he reveals your underwear fully – scarlet lace covers your cunt, the back of your underwear barely more than a thong, hugging the curves of your ass while leaving most of it exposed to his hungry, possessive gaze. “…sinful fucking panties. D’you wear these for me? D’you wrap yourself up all neat and tidy in these pretty little panties in the hopes I’ll see ‘em?”

“Sir…” you breathe, biting your lip.

He hooks a claw almost idly under the edge of your underwear, sliding it ever so slowly down towards your sex, watching the red lace slide over the sharp edge of it. “Or is my pet wearin’ this for someone else, hm?”

You shake your head hurriedly, breathing growing more and more unsteady with every inch his claw traveled. “Just you, sir. Only you.”

Husk’s smirk widens, using the claw he has hooked in your underwear to tug it down to your thighs. You whine as he slides the dull side of his claw between your legs, the sound making Husk’s ears flick forward. He watches with wide pupils and a switching, predatory tail as he touches your clit and your thighs tremble.

“Already so wet for me, pet.” He murmurs, almost to himself, inhaling the sweet scent of your arousal. It takes more than he’d admit for the Overlord not to just bury his face between your legs… but he wants to savor this. Savor you. “So eager… you’ve been hopin’ daddy would do this again.”

A breathy, quiet moan slips past your lips as you answer. “Yes, sir.”

“So…” he presses a kiss to one of your thighs, above the lace of the band of your stockings, just beside the suspender holding it up. “What do we do…” he kisses your other thigh. “When we want something?”

Fuck, you feel like you’re on fire. Every inch of you is screaming for his touch, and the way he’s ghosting his claw over your clit is barely a whisper against it. You need more.

“Please, sir…”

“Ohh…” Husk breathes appreciatively, sliding his paws up your thighs. He grips your ass, kneading into the muscle firmly enough that his claws prick your flesh. Between that and the rough cadence of his voice, you’re helpless against him. “Don’t you sound so pretty when you say ‘please’…”

You moan throatily as Husk finally brings his mouth to your cunt, spreading your labia with his cold nose and inhaling deeply. Your eyes roll back at the first touch of his tongue to your clit, your teeth digging so hard into your bottom lip that you taste cooper.

Nothing compares to the rough texture of his tongue… the memory of it had been driving you insane, burning through your mind most nights since you’d last felt it between your legs.

Husk feasts on you, high on the taste of your sweet, addictive cunt. He groans into your pussy, the sound melting into a steady, rumbling purr that makes you shiver and whine as it vibrates through you. his paws give your ass another squeeze before he wraps his arms around your thighs, holding you firmly in place as you buck against his mouth.

Fuck, he needed this. Needed you.

And maybe some more sober part of him would remind him sometime soon of the dangers of needing anyone like this beyond the hour or two he spends with him… but he was never particularly good at sober. And right now… right now, he was completely lost on the way you taste and the way you grind back against his tongue.

“Good girl…” he mutters into your soaking flesh, one hand slipping around to tease your clit. He smirks in satisfaction as you buck under his touch, your head falling forward, eyes unfocused on the felt. His mouth moves to press wet, open-mouthed kisses over the insides of your thighs, and you gasp as he nips at the sensitive flesh, leaving possessive marks on your skin. “Look so pretty in red…”

His mouth returns to your cunt and he presses his tongue into you, desperate to taste every drop of the ambrosia you’re dripping onto his muzzle. He fucks you with his tongue roughly, growling into you as he urges you into thrusting back into his face. You moan loud enough that your throat aches with the sound. Any part of you that may worry you’ll be heard by the other staff in the hall is too busy with the feeling of Husk’s mouth between your legs to care.

You cum suddenly when he pinches your clit, and Husk echoes your moan as you soak his muzzle.

“Fuck, pet…” he laps at your quivering hole, the barbs of his tongue making your arms shake so much they threaten to give out beneath you. “Such a perfect little slut for daddy…”

Your shuddering as his tongue meets your clit again, and Husk wraps his hand around his hard, aching cock, coating the length of it in your cum. The feeling of it conjures thoughts of you in his lap of bent over his bed, that tight furnace of a pussy wrapped around his cock.

He strokes it with a steady hand, forehead bumping against the curve of your ass as he catches his breath. “Tell me, doll… how does it feel?”

“So good, sir…” you whine, body jerking forward as he runs his tongue over your clit again. “Oh… fuck, it feels so good. You feel so good… so nice to me, sir. Thank you.”

Husk moans, and you feel him shudder.

“Thank you,” you repeat breathlessly, body seizing with another orgasm. You fall forward, his claws digging into your hip holding your up on your knees even as your forehead grazes the felt. “Oh, thank you, daddy, thank you…”

“God… shit…” Husk groans pulling away from you. “On your knees for me, pet.”

Your body is still jerking with sensation as you do as he asks on shaking legs. Clambering awkwardly off of the table and almost collapsing onto your knees in front of him. Your hands find his thighs automatically for balance, and Husk growls, low in his throat.

His eyes are glazed and still burning with hunger for release as he looks down at you, his paw quickening around his cock. “Fuckin’… look at you…”

You open your mouth automatically, tongue slipping over your swollen bottom lip, and he curses under his breath. Your fingers smooth over his thighs, and you feel his tail against your ass, still bared with your skirt pushed up around your waist. Hooked on the sound of his heavy breathing, on the way he’s looking at you, you move instinctively, and Husk moans as your tongue touches the head of his cock, eyes rolling back.

He cums on your face and in your mouth, marking your pretty lips and cheeks with his seed. You whimper at the taste of him and Husk continues to pump his cock until it begins to soften in his hand.

He grins lazily, approvingly, as you lick your lips and swallow, his claws coming up to briefly push hair away from your face, better showing off the mess he’s made of you.

Then, he reaches into the inside of his jacket, pulling a fresh cigar out of the inner pocket. He cuts the end with a couple of claws, raising an eyebrow at you expectantly as he sets it between his teeth. You scrabble for your matchbook, and Husk hums his amused approval as you pull it out from where it was tucked into the band of your stockings. He leans down as you rise up on your knees, bringing his face down to yours as you strike a match and hold it to the end of the cigar.

The smoke he exhales makes your eyelashes flutter as it curls around your face, and he watches through heavily-lidded eyes as you tuck the matchbook away again. His claws grip the arm of the chair as you do just as you had last time, tucking his softening cock back into his pants and refastening them.

“That’s my good pet,” he praises, and you smile, feeling his cum against your cheeks as they move. “How long ‘til my guests arrive?”

You glance at the clock behind him and flush. Your voice is hoarse, bedroom-lilted. “They sh-should be here in ten minutes, sir.”

He grins, lascivious. “Best clean yourself up then, pet. Can’t have the other players seein’ just how much of a mess you are, can we?”

[tomriddleslove]

Repent - Pt 2

✩Tom Riddle x F!Reader

Summary: The one where love is too strong a word, but hate and desire toe the same line. The question is, does Tom recognise that?

TAGS: oral (f receiving)

18+ MDNI

Tom Riddle didn’t believe in salvation. The idea of some divine entity having the ability to rid one of their sins no matter how horrific seemed a rather laughable matter.

Tom Riddle didn’t believe in salvation until he kissed you. Gods, it was more than enough to consume his soul with a fervent longing for redemption he never knew existed.

“I’m sorry.” He murmurs, pressing a chaste kiss to your calf. The words feel bitter on his tongue, yet the knowledge of what awaited him afterwards masked the aftertaste.

He goes to move upwards but you apply more pressure with the tip of your heeled shoes, forcing him back down onto his knees as you lean back on the desk.

“Oh come on, Riddle. All those months of being brushed off, snapped at, and lied to. You think a single ‘sorry’ will suffice?” You hum, a sort of venom in your tone that sounds like honey to the ears of the unknowing.

Every word you spoke chipped at his resolve, though he knew he was gone for the second you laid eyes on him in this room. He was going to kill you. He was ready to wrap his hand around that perfect throat of yours that had faint purple marks already beginning to blossom and watch as the life drained out of your eyes.

At least let a man get a taste of heaven before he damns himself to hell.

He presses another kiss to your calf, shifting so your leg is thrown over his shoulder. He wraps his hand around your leg, the sinewy contours of his veins flexing and shifting as he looks up at you through his long eyelashes.

“I’m sorry.” He murmurs, kissing your calf. A whispered confession, an acknowledgement of his wrongs. Something Tom believed he would never dare admit, let alone to someone who held the power to destroy him completely with what they knew.

But merlin, wrong has never felt so right. He moves an inch higher.

“I’m sorry.” He mutters, pressing another chaste kiss to your shin. His lips ghost the expanse of your leg, each breath clouding your judgement further.

“Sorry.” Kiss. “Sorry.” Kiss. “Sorry.” Kiss. He continues this pattern, worshipping your body till he reaches your upper thigh. Your heartbeat quickens though you dare not show it, though your breathing is noticeably heavier as you look down at him. He looks up at you through half-lidded eyes, eyes locking onto yours as he leaves a trail of kisses up your thigh, murmuring apologies with every breath.

A shaky breath escapes your lips as he kisses the flesh of your upper thigh, moving your dress up slightly. His gaze remains tightly locked onto yours, not looking away.

“Fuck.” You murmur, more of a breathy plea as you feel his breath ghost over your cunt, slick with arousal. An imperceptible grin tugs at his lips as his fingers trace over your panties teasingly, a gentle caress to your clit sending shivers down your spine

His fingers deftly hook into the hem of your panties, tugging them down and off you. His eyes darken as he takes in the sight of you completely bare, and you squirm under his watchful gaze.

You swear you hear the word “stunning” escape his lips, though you don’t have any time to react as he teasingly lick a stripe up your slit. A strangled gasp escapes your lips, hands gripping the edge of the desk.

Tom could get drunk off the taste of you. He could happily stay there for days on end, buried between your legs. If ambrosia was a thing he was sure it had to be this because you tasted divine.

“Tom-“ You plead, a small moan escaping your lips as he laps at your centre, eyes fluttering shut.

His hands grip your thighs tightly, holding you in place as he devoured you with a hunger that bordered on primal. His tongue flicked and swirled at your clit, and your hips instinctively bucked up, a hand coming down to tangle in his gelled curls.

“Shit-“ You curse, your head lolling back as he continues his ministrations.

He pulls back for a short second, a smug smile tugging on his lips at your reaction. You tug on his hair a little harder, your chest heaving.

“You’re already on thin ice, Riddle.” You murmur under your breath.

He hums lightly, looking up at you with those illegal eyes as he gently strokes the skin of your upper thigh with his thumb.

Fuck, what a sight it was. Nothing could have prepared you for the image of the Tom Riddle buried between your legs, looking up at you. The Tom Riddle, kneeling before you. Like he was fucking worshipping you.

“Forgive me,” He mutters, if only to amuse you, as he wastes no time spreading your legs wider and burying his face into your cunt until you were seeing stars. He was almost feral, and there was a certain attractiveness to the desperation in his actions. He could happily spend his life nestled between your thighs,

He revels in the sight of your head thrown back, his cock straining against his trousers with every sweet sound that tumbles from your lips.

It’s as though the Riddle boy had been acquainted with your body before, knowing every little action that would drive you mad. From the way his fingers dug into the flesh of your thigh, to the way he sucked on your clit with the right amount of pressure, eliciting a strangled moan.

He didn’t shy away for a single second, ravishing your core with little to no shame. The sound of wet kisses fills the otherwise silent room, such a lewd noise you’d shy away if you went so high on pleasure.

You manage to lift your head slightly, one of the straps from your dress falling off your shoulder as you shakily try to prop yourself up on one arm. It’s no use though, for Tom shifts slightly and your eyes are rolling back in your head once again. Your head faintly thumps against the wall, back arching as you tug lightly at his curls.

“I- I’m gonna cu-” You choke out.

Tom’s lips curl into a predatory smile as he hears your desperate groans. He’s practically drunk on the taste of you, not wanting to waste a single second. No, you were like a drug to him, a dangerous thing that he could very easily see himself getting addicted to. Tom Riddle may have been many things, but he was still human (even if that was to his dismay), and humans were greedy, greedy things.

His movements become more urgent, if that was even possible, determined to witness you unravel beneath him. The coil in your stomach tightens, threatening to snap at any moment. You feel like you're on fire, like a live wire and Tom was only edging you on further and further.

Your moans came like a mantra to him, only fueling him on further until you were coming, crying out his name as your thighs unconsciously tightened around his head.

You had always heard the girls in your dorm discuss topics like sex when the night had come and they had assumed you were fast asleep. They had always described it as some sort of out-of-body experience, and you were sure they had to be exaggerating.

But now? You were ascending, practically seeing stars as your orgasm crashes over you in wave after relentless wave, reducing you down to a shaking mess. It couldn’t have just been the fact that someone was going down on you, it wasn’t your first time. Rather, it had to do with the person himself, who devoured you like you were his last meal, like he savoured every inch of you as a starved man does his first meal. And when he pulls back slightly, looking up at you with blown pupils, his tongue darting out to lick his lips, you knew it wasn’t just a sentiment on your behalf, no.

Tom had never seen a prettier sight. A more depraved part of him would want a picture as a keepsake, because the sight of you as an alluring mess, chest heaving, lips parted with your dress falling off your shoulder made him want to do nothing more than pin you down and fuck you until you couldn’t speak.

Perhaps for once, Tom did have the upper ground, the ache of his neglected cock almost torturous as he moves to rise. But the second he tries to, the tip of your pointed heel rests on the underside of his chin, prodding his head up to look at you.

“Do you really think you get to fuck me, Tom?” You say, voice surprisingly composed from someone who was practically convulsing mere seconds ago.

He can’t help the look of surprise that briefly flashes across his face. You tut, your voice mocking him in a saccharine manner that had him going mad.

“Aw. Poor thing. You really thought you’d have the chance?” You taunt, a devilish grin on your face as you move your heel. You sit up, still on the edge of the table as you cup Tom’s face in your hand. You force him to look up at you once more, and it’s more of a powerplay than anything else. Despite all that, he still goes along with it. He was devout to you, after all.

“You just about managed to make up for everything. But if you want to fuck me? Well, you’ll have to work a lot harder, Riddle.”

In any other situation, with any other girl, Tom would have been furious. Humiliated, even. But he’d never get on his knees for someone. Your words are cruel, yet he savours them like you’re the only person who matters.

Only when you move back slightly, as though a signal of permission, does he stand up. Part of him knows what’s going on, he could tell from the second his lips made contact with your upper thigh. You were all talk, enjoying the feeling of ‘power’. The second you got what you wanted, however, you were nothing but a whimpering, moaning mess. Tom only needed to go along with whatever you wanted until then.

He slowly rises, his eyes trained on yours. The second he does, his form towers over you, all lean muscle. The gods took their time with Tom, that’s for certain. His face was sculpted, all harsh lines and smooth porcelain skin. From the curve of his cheekbones to the sharpness of his jaw, one wouldn’t be surprised if Tom revealed he was sculpted by the hands of the Greeks and brought to life.

“Why did you not attempt to make peace with me earlier?” He questions, his hand coming to rest on your thigh. You do not push him away, and he suppresses the urge to push his luck further.

You scoff, your tone bordering sarcastic as you tilt your head.

“You weren’t exactly the most approachable, Tom. You looked at me as though I had slapped you when we first got selected for Head Boy and Girl.”

That can’t have been it. It couldn’t have, no. Tom had seen you charm older wizards who were too busy peering down your dress to pay attention to what you were saying mere minutes ago, and you weren’t deterred. There had to be something you were hiding, He could tell you weren’t going to give it up, though. Whatever it was, you wanted to keep it hidden. He sighs, raising a brow.

“I don’t bite, you know.” He quips, almost counting as a joke.

“Shame.” You hum.

Just when he thought he couldn’t be surprised by you any further, a low laugh escapes his lips as he shakes his head. He looks back at you, eyes immediately drawn to the way you fix your dress as you stand up.

Despite the warning bells ringing in his mind, he finds himself drawn to you like a moth to a flame, aware of the danger you pose yet unable to resist your pull. You are a tempest, a force of nature capable of tearing him apart, yet he remains willingly ensnared in your web, a stupid, stupid thing to do.

You knew too much, Far too much for Tom to just let you walk away. No carnal desire could be worth everything he’s worked for.

He contemplates it for a second, taking a small step forward. Just before he does, you speak and oh- there he goes. He never stood a chance, no, it’s quite sad.

“You’re not going to kill me, Tom.”

He falters. Had you read his mind?

No, he would have felt the legillimens. Besides, he had been occluding since his second year. It was practically second nature to him.

How did you know? And why did you seem so calm?

“What makes you think I’d do such a thing?” He says after a second, taking far too long to regain his composure.

His words seem far too calculated, lacking the usual venom that typically laced his retorts. Your calm demeanour only serves to unsettle him further, as if you hold all the cards in this game.

You simply shrug, not even bothering to look up as you smooth down the front of your dress. “I suppose it’s my intuition," you reply casually, though there's a glint of something more behind your words, something that sets off alarm bells in the back of his mind.

He studies you intently, searching for any hint of deception in your expression, but finds none. It's infuriating how you manage to keep him guessing, how you seem to effortlessly stay one step ahead of him at every turn.

He contemplates making you swear to secrecy, but then that would only confirm your beliefs. It would put him in a vulnerable position, one that allowed you to use him as leverage.

Perhaps he could obliviate you? No, Tom had not mastered the spell yet. He could either make you forget the last three minutes or the last three years, and there was no telling what it would be. It was far too risky, and you were too unpredictable.

"I don't trust you," he finally admits, his voice low and tinged with a mixture of caution and what seemed to be begrudging admiration.

You just smile, the corners of your lips quirking up in amusement. "Good," you say simply, your tone teasing. "Because trust is overrated, don't you think?"

Tom is unsure of what to do for the first time in his life. He looks at you, this threat who’s emerged out of nowhere. Perhaps an hour or so ago, you were simply his fellow Head student whom he hated dearly. Frighteningly clever, excellent all you did, yes, but dangerous? You had never held a conversation for more than 10 minutes, and now you were reading him like an open book.

You take his silence with great pleasure, walking past him as you move to leave the classroom. Your hand rests on the handle, twisting the knob open as you open the door. You turn back, only to find him still rooted to the spot, uncertainty flickering in his eyes. Your gaze lingers on him for a moment, taking in the sight of the formidable Tom Riddle looking so utterly perplexed.

With a knowing smile, you tilt your head slightly, as if silently daring him to make a move.

“See you, Riddle” You quip, your voice laced with a playful menace. You were taking far too much pleasure in riling the boy up, and the fact that he couldn't bring himself to do anything about it only angered him further.

Tom can’t help but wonder what it is about you that draws him in so completely, even as he seethes with anger at the mere thought of you.

And as the door swings shut behind you, he's left alone once more, grappling with the unsettling realization that you've managed to worm your way under his skin, becoming a thorn in his side that he knows he won't soon be able to rid himself of.

[sugurugetofavoritemonkey]

◤✞ 𝖄𝖔𝖚'𝖛𝖊 𝖓𝖔 𝖎𝖉𝖊𝖆

𝖍𝖔𝖜 𝕴 𝖜𝖆𝖓𝖙 𝖙𝖔 𝖇𝖊 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖇𝖑𝖔𝖔𝖉

𝖕𝖚𝖒𝖕𝖎𝖓𝖌 𝖙𝖍𝖗𝖔𝖚𝖌𝖍 𝖞𝖔𝖚𝖗 𝖍𝖊𝖆𝖗𝖙 ✞◥

Alucard x female reader

Synopsis : A moment shared between a human, you, and your vampire lover, Alucard, could not go on without a bite or two during a quiet night in your chamber.

Smut : biting, fingering, vampire, blood drinking, in this universe Alucard don't transform the reader for plot purpose, Alucard could be a warning but he's quite soft in this.

1 400 words

Tonight, your lover Alucard, came as usual to your room, easily getting comfortable on your own bed.

The dark haired vampire was laying on his back with his legs spread lazily, your form on his lap.

And it was an understatement to say that no space could be seen between your warm body and his cold one.

« You know, my dear, over the time of our countless...intercourses, I noticed something fascinating. Aren't you curious? », Alucard deeply laughed at the thought of it.

He found himself touching your pulsating neck with his gloved thumb, pressing lightly on an apparent vein, his eyes turning dreamy at the sight of your quickening pulse due to his intimate actions, a menacing smile appearing on his pale figure.

« Well, it seems that when I'm granting you pleasure, your blood is acquiring such an exquisite taste, akin to ambrosia ».

You struggle to breath properly with the presence of Alucard. His scent was everywhere on you, already marking you as his. All you could do was to let his skilled fingers dance across the side of your neck and his gaze exploring the deepest parts of your soul.

After a short moment, Alucard decided to unbutton your brown shirt, exposing half of your cleavage to his hungry red eyes, allowing you to breathe a little easier.

« Are you scared ?, he laugh when he knows he’s wrong, « I should probably say aroused, am I right ? »

You bite your lips in frustration, Alucard always took pleasure in torturing you this way, like a predator with his prey, not giving you what you want - need - the easy way.

Where was the fun in that ?, he thought.

That’s when the dark haired man decided to remove his white glove with the help of his pointy teeth, his hand soon finding its place between your thighs covered in the short skirt from the Hellsing corporation, your little white cotton panties hiding just below it. His pale hand not wasting any time in tearing off the soft garnement, the last wall between you and him. And his smile grew even bigger at your delectable scent.

"Fuck, I can smell your arousal from here", he breathed deeply while his head rested on the cushions behind him for a second.

« Please Alucard, do something, I need… », you stop yourself from finishing your sentence, not wanting to give in to him. But that’s not like the vampire will let that slip.

« Come on, sweet human, if you say it, maybe I’ll indulge you », he whispered, surprisingly sweet in your ear. Not without a little nip at your earlobe, making you hiss quietly at the sensation of his sharp canines.

« I…need you Alucard, please, please do something », you take his hand in yours to place it just on top of your pussy, « I need you here », you looked at him in the eyes, pleading. That’s all he ever wanted, to know that you needed him.

It doesn’t take long for him to slip inside you two of his fingers, already thrusting them at a decent speed, making you gasp at the sudden entrance and letting your fingers grasp tightly his red ribbon and shoulder.

« You really are a good girl when you want to », you can hear him say directly into your ear.

Alas, patience isn’t a virtue that belonged to Alucard, thus the thrusts of his fingers only grow quicker by the seconds, he’s harsh with his movement, his free hand holding you firmly against his figure, not wanting you to move away from him.

Alucard’s mouth doesn’t take long either to glide across your neck, but he doesn’t bite you just yet. No, Alucard has learned over time to savor his meals, but you’re not just a meal to him, you were more than that. He couldn't explain it nor could he comprehend what that feeling was, but the only thing he knew was that you were different for him.

It’s almost like he was teasing himself with your blood, like a long awaited reward that he could only get when you reached your climax. After all, this said reward only grows in taste with wait. Also because he knew for a fact that even behind the innocent facade that you tried to maintain, you relished in the addicting sensation of his fangs breaking your skin to give him what he oh so crave.

Hence, while Alucard is fingering your sweet cunt in the most passionate way, you can feel him licks at your neck in the first place, letting his tongue tracing random patterns on it or just giving it simple licks to display his never ending hunger for you.

When his fingers begin to apply pressure on your sweet spot, he changes to kiss at your throat, whether it be small innocent pecks or open mouth kisses on your skin, giving you a pretty hickey, colors akin to his vibrant eyes.

It’s when he adds a final third finger into you, increasing your pleasure as well as the volume of your moans, that Alucard begins to nip at your skin, eliciting little whines from your throat when his fangs only graze at your sensitive skin, teasing you for the final act soon to come.

Just as Alucard feels you clamp impossibly tight around his fingers, his thumb circles around your clit to make you reach your peak. Your face hidden in the crook of his neck to cry out his name, warning him that you were oh so close. The signal for him to finally get his present.

His hand that was previously digging into your waist moved to grasp your neck firmly yet tenderly in a way, his cold palm wasn’t forceful but was instead here to hold you still.

His lips found their way once again close to your ear, « I can feel you clenching me incredibly hard right now », he laughed darkly at your whining form, « Stop making me wait and come for me, so I can have my well deserved meal », he finished with a toothy grin.

Alucard doesn't need to wait any longer to feel your release coat his fingers while you whimper in his chest, the vampire quickly digging his fangs into your neck harshly, having waiting so long to taste you, was starting to make him impatient, Alucard could finally enjoy this moment at its finest form.

The bite itself brought you a mix of immense pain and pleasure, extending your climax even longer than it already was.

And Alucard clearly didn't want to hold back.

Your blood was slowly falling between the crease of your chest, while Alucard was drinking from you, audibly moaning at your divine taste, his jaw closing a little harder on your neck to get as much from you as possible, drinking the substance like it was some sort of essence giving him life.

Alucard then wondered what his favorite element was when biting you ? Was it the blood itself ? Your peculiar taste ?

Or maybe all the memories that you’ve shared together that were tied to it ? The ones that were appearing in his head while you offered him a part of your soul. Maybe a bit of everything, he would suggest.

After drinking enough of you, Alucard removed himself from your throat with a content sigh, licking clean all the red substance from your skin, and wiping his mouth and cheeks with the back of his red sleeve.

When he regained his senses, you were still shaking a little in his arms due to your intense orgasm. When Alucard saw this, he took your chin in his grasp to make you look at him, gently capturing your face in his hands, looking at you with gentle eyes and kind smile. You were the only person to see this rare side of Alucard.

« You're the first one where I struggle to stop drinking from, the first one to make my resolves crumbles, and the first one that I care about in this world »

With that, the dark haired vampire put his lips on yours, kissing you with so much force and passion that your trembling form eased into his own while Alucard was holding your body close to his.

And at this moment, you could feel that nothing nor anyone could harm you in any way, when his presence around you was this strong.

Author Note : I'm incredibly happy to write for my favorite husband Alucard, I hope I did him justice ❤️ There will be more to come about him, I know I've made him a bit soft in this but hey even tho he's a beast (and we love him for that) it doesn't mean that he can't chill from time to time ;) It's my first smut in a long time so I hope I did good, tell me if I did a mistake somewhere, I'm accepting all feedbacks, and wish that you enjoyed 🩸

[smokeypeaches-and-honeyplums]

First i just wanna say your headcanons are seriously top notch, excellent work 👌. Ok now onto the actual request, could you do the NSFW alphaber for Macaque like you did for Redson? Don't forget to have a lovely day. 💙

What a way for me to return lmao. Thank you for the compliment, I tend to get self conscious about my writing.

You've heard it all before. Sorry for being inactive, I'm coming back, especially with the new specials coming out. I have more time on my hands. Gonna go through the box until I can start accepting again.

Edit post-s5: all is hell and I just need to cope atp what the FUCK was that season/pos

Reader is Gender-Neutral by default!

// NSFW!! MINORS DNI //

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

I like to imagine Macaque is very cuddly for aftercare. Tapping into his primal side, he's more possessive and protective. So, he holds onto you, petting you as he whispers in your ear, helping you down from subspace if he has to (or domspace if you topped).

Given he has portals, shadow travel and clones, he can get all your needs met without leaving you. So, you get cuddles AND resources provided. The perfect aftercare.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

Macaque honestly doesn't like much about himself. He can talk the talk, looking as if he has a healthy or overbearing ego, but get him alone for long enough? He'll be second guessing how he even blinks

Exaggerating, of course

Point is, there's not much. A lot of it has been marred as well, so it makes it worse. Though, he's come to love his face. With or without the glamour, you've gotten this far with him and loved him through his roughest time. And it's one of the things you seemed to fall for

Besides, he's gotta admit, he does look a bit on the good side.

On you though, if you're Masc leaning, he loves your arms. Shows your strength and capabilities, and their nice to look at. It feels nice to be vulnerable in them

If you're Fem leaning, he'll admit, he's a bit of an ass guy. Ass and thighs, specifically. Their nice to lay on. And they also feel so nice between his fingers, against his hips...

Ahem.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

Leaning into that more primal side, Macaque likes to mark you now and then. He isn't very fond of making messes, borderline germaphobe if you asked me, but there's a part of him that likes to make a mess out of you specifically, in such a way no one else could, in such an intimate setting

It gives him a sense of control and possession of something intimate he's honestly been lacking for... however long its been honestly

However, if you make big messes/are a squirter, he's eating that shit up, figuratively and literally

It's like ambrosia on his tongue

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

Believe it or not? Macaque doesn't really have a dirty secret. None he would consider one, anyways.

But, a secret at ALL would be how Macaque really wants to be cherished. He DOES want to give up control to a degree, he's just scared of getting hurt again. You can only do so much to heal his soul, so when he DOES bottom, CHERISH it. He doesn't do it easy

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

Can I say no? Not really?

Okay, well, not completely, but he's a quick learner

Macaque has been dead for however long it's been. And in that time, he definitely kept to himself A LOT. Hard to make connections when you're supposed to be, ya know, DEAD. So he didn't pick up much. But he did pick up SOMETHING

But, he's a quick learner. So don't worry too much. He does ask that you tell him if he's doing something wrong though, he doesn't wanna hurt you

That's the last thing he wants to do

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

Honestly, in contrast to Redson, Macaque hates any position where you can see his face in turn. Sure, he loves to see yours, but contrary to popular belief, he HATES how he looks.

He knows how to fake it til he makes it, so that confidence is very exaggerated

But hey, at least he still gets to have a good show as he has his way with you

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

He'll pop a joke now and again, don't get me wrong. Macaque isn't AS much of a hardass about it in comparison to how Redson would be about the moment. Though he doesn't want it completely ruined

He won't hesitate to make you laugh though. Especially if it helps ease tension

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

He's a monkey. Hair goes crazy

Macaque never thought to really groom down there. I mean, why would he? He never expected to get to this point with anyone again.

So no, he's not really "well groomed," so I hope you don't mind fur in your mouth if you go to town on him in either regard on either side

He does develop a habit to get better groomed though.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

Macaque is very intimate. He cherishes this, cherishes YOU. You mean so, so much. You've gotten this far with him, so he treasures you and whenever you guys get down and dirty, he does it with the intention of love making.

No primal urges

No biting (unless you want to, that is)

Just pure and utter devotion.

Maybe it's because it's all he's known, but it's how he shows his love to you. Praise and devotion.

uh- where were we again?

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

Macaque only really starts to masturbate proper when he gets in a relationship with you and start to get intimate (or just, getting intimate in general if you're just fwb)

Don't get me wrong! It's not like he HASN'T touched himself before. He's a demon at the end of the day, urges happen

It just increased in frequency when he got tangled up with you

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Honestly? BDSM. Especially Bondage. Bondage specifically on you, though. For... obvious and not so obvious reasons

Roleplay! He's an actor, he's dramatic, he's a theater kid. He's gotta put it somewhere, right?

He's very partial to oral and might even have an Asphyxiation kink, in regard to both of you. Especially you though. And, in moderation so neither of you get hurt

Likes to use his clones on you now and again. It's fun to see

Would you believe me if I said he has a slight Exhibition kink? Listen to my vision-

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

As far away from FFM as possible /hj

Macaque prefers it to be somewhere he can have you to himself. In the future, or some point in time, he could entertain the idea of sharing. Maybe. But until then, no one gets to see the faces you make.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

Macaque is a simple man/demon. Anything on average to get ANYONE going would get him going

Show a bit of skin in the right places, curve a certain way, bend over in front of him

He's a simple man/demon. He's allowed to give in to his vices when he's tempted by the likes of you

If you're Masc leaning, he'll start to get going just from seeing your arms and muscles flex, even if you're doing something simple. He folds easy

If you're Fem leaning, anything that shows off your ass and/or thighs has him weak in the knees and absolutely unable to keep his hands to himself. He folds easy²

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Macaque absolutely REFUSES to be bound. He'll entertain the idea of holding himself back, but he REFUSES to have his legs and arms bound. For, again, obvious and not-so obvious reasons

Macaque REFUSES to hurt you in any way beyond the asphyxiation. He regards you in such a high light, that he refuses to purposefully hurt you. It'd destroy him, no matter how much you would tell him its okay, no matter the context. So no knifeplay, bloodplay, or anything of that sort.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

Macaque's asphyxiation kink purely stems from oral, I am gonna be honest

He'dchokeonthestrap

He prefers to give than to receive, but if offered, he'll DEFINITELY take the chance. You didn't hear that from me though

He also likes the praise he gets from it too, but again, didn't hear that from me

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

If you couldn't tell from how much I say it, Macaque revels in you as a whole, so he likes to take it slow.

He tends to take things slow, no matter what it is, so you better best believe that he is taking his time with you. He'll squeeze in some teasing too to make you feel good

He wants to savour you

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

Just because Macaque wants to savour you, doesn't mean he can't also have appetizers now and again

He'll have a quickie now and again, but don't be surprised if he asks for more. But it's also not impossible for it to be enough for him, so if he needs to get off, he'll settle

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

If you can't tell, the answer is No. For most things

Macaque is still willing to experiment, don't get me wrong, but he has very set boundaries for what area he'll be willing to experiment with and what he won't.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

Look at him. Look at him and tell me you don't think he wouldn't be able to LAST.

Macaque's capable of a lot of things in and out of combat, so he definitely has the Stamina to last. Honestly, I have a general headcanon that demons, especially more powerful ones, have tons of stamina.

Have fun walking if you teased him :D

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

Toys are a possibility. Macaque doesn't own em, so you'd have to bring them into the fray first.

Tease him though, and watch him melt in your hands when you get him to bottom. He makes the sweetest sounds

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

Macaque's only unfair if you're unfair. And he'll always return the favor tenfold, no matter how badly you teased him. It's only fair, right? And besides, it's not like he's the only one that makes such sweet sounds

But trust, if Macaque starts teasing, you're in for a LONG night

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

Macaque has sensitive hearing, if you couldn't tell, but that makes it all the better to him

He loves to growl in your ear if he tops, hear his pants and moans as he makes both of you feel good, hitting that spot you told him felt so good that one time, feeling you cling to him

And when he bottoms? He goes the full fucking MILE

Macaque is LOUD when he bottoms. If he's being this vulnerable, he might as well go all out. So he WHINES, he CRIES and by the great sage, does he MOAN.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

Macaque's a dom-leaning switch, if you couldn't tell by now from what I've been implying, only bottoming once he's comfortable enough to and with his initiation the first go around

Also, whenever he teases, I like to imagine he likes to use his shadow abilities for various ideas (with your approval, of course). This includes Bondage, his clones, transformation. I mean, shit, sky's the limit

I also like to think he's not very good with the usual things at first. Things like dirty talk, foreplay, stuff like that. He will ask for guidance. He doesn't wanna fuck it up with you

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

I can FINALLY talk about it

Macaque's not some "well-endowed" sex master, so he's not gonna be packing some star-seeing dick either. Well, he could, when he knows how to use it

The guy's above average, at 7.1 inches and 5 in. in width lacking in curvature. He's never thought anything of it, since he never needed to use it often

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

Demons have a naturally high libido, and Macaque is no different.

Same as I said with Redson, Macaque isn't some raging, horny demon just because of the type of demon he is. He can be primal, but he has control over it

Entertain it though...

Have mercy on your legs

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

Once Macaque finishes for the night (or, however long,) he can be seen almost passing out. He'll make sure you're fine, hence why he kinda leans on his clones to care for you while he cuddles into you, but he kinda crashes out once he's officially spent. A bad habit of his

[girlboyburger]

tell me your least favorite song and Why

i hate this fucker with every fiber of my soul.

something about the hypnotizing tunes of gummibär is like Divine Ambrosia to kids under the age of 13~ and it can never EVER be played just once. it's a three plays absolute fucking minimum song.

[ghostgoose01]

Sweet Nothings~

18+

Gundham Tanaka x Voice Kink! Fem! Reader

Tw: Oral Fixation (Mouth play ((thumb sucking))), Gropey Gundham, Dominate Gundham, Fingering (ish), vaginal sex, riding, dirty talk, voice kink, devil/angel dynamic, corruption kink, breeding kink, ect.

@leehoonii-i

----_----_----_----

Gundham never thought of his voice as attractive.

Not until today.

He was sitting there, talking to you with a smile on his face, you being one of the few people he was comfortable with, when your conversation was interrupted.

After the interruption, when you guys got back to his dorm he was a bit upset. You both sat down on his bed and were talking again when he brought up the interruption. He had a small bit of a growl to his voice as he complained to you:

"...Stupid mortals. All of them interrupting my conversations with my angel of light."

At first he didn't notice what his voice did to you, but now he does. The way you squirm in your seat at first makes him think you're nervous. Maybe you're scared? Did he get too upset? Are you angry at him?

But as he leans closer and sees the flush on your face and the way your thighs rub together, it hits him.

"Is it my voice angel? Speak up."

He teases, watching you for a reaction.

And sure enough the flush on your face gets darker- but you refuse to answer the question.

"Angel. Speak to me, is it my voice that has you this... unraveled~?"

He adds a soft growl to his words, a commanding tone that made you gasp, his hand now placed precariously under your chin, thumb rubbing your bottom lip.

"I-I-"

You give a flustered squeak, unable to form a single word under his touch. He was gentle, his hand cold, and yet his touch felt like fire on your skin.

"Awhhh... it seems like my little angel likes the overlords tone.. how cute."

He gives a small chuckle, a soft rumble to his voice that would have any woman squirming, including you. His eyes held a sparkle of pride.

"Aren't you just an adorable little thing? Cmon, give the overlord your precious little words, tell him what you want."

The hand not on your lip now slid down your neck and to your thigh. The cold making your skin jump beneath his touch, his hand ever so slightly under the edge of your skirt as he smirks at you, clearly expecting you to speak.

"It is your voice... it's.. attractive.."

A flush fills your face as you admit it and his smirk only gets more clear- the normally shy man now finding his bearings. His hands now adding a bit of pressure to your thigh and chin as he holds your head to his position.

"Attractive? In what way? In the way that makes your thighs quiver under my touch? The way that makes your pretty little head think of the sinful things I could do to you? The way I could treat your body the way a devil would a goddess~?"

"Yes... yes..."

You stumble out quietly, looking up at him from his now looming position. Your height difference between you two never as noticeable as it is in these moments.

"Good girl, my stunning little goddess of heaven... You're such a good fucking girl."

He growls out lightly, definitely using his deep rumble to his advantage, sliding the hand on your thigh up just a bit higher and massaging the skin, causing sparks of fire underneath his hand, eyes trained into yours and the hand on your face now having his thumb prodding at your lips a bit.

"Come on my little goddess, give in to my temptation, part your sweet little lips for a taste of the devils ambrosia.."

You part your lips as if on a command, you suck on his thumb like a whore, and his smirk widens in response.

"That's it my little goddess, fall from heaven, let the urges take over your little head..."

He runs his hand further up your thigh, lightly massaging the point where your panties met your hips, feeling the material on his fingers.

"Such a pretty little goddess, such a shame I'm about to corrupt that little soul of yours.."

Gundham hummed in a teasing tone as he gently snapped the material on your skin, causing you to gasp and squirm, which only made him chuckle.

"Awhhh... I think you might already be ruined... how cute."

He slips his hand down the center of your thighs, his index and pointer finger rubbing along the outside of your panties, the material wet from the building desires he was putting you through.

"Oh-? My goddess truly is loosing her light so easily isn't she~?"

He mused, teasing you with the simple pushing of his fingers onto your aching center above the cursed material that did not let you feel the rough padding of his fingers well enough to be truly pleased. You whined softly at that lack of contact and he tsked lightly at you.

"Tsk tsk tsk... such a needy little one aren't you? So needy for corruption.. so needy for her devil to ruin her.."

He pushes a little harder on the material, letting you feel a little more but not enough.

"Beg."

Your eyes are trained on his, his eyes full of pride and ego as he gently rubs just enough to bring you pleasure, but not enough to truly please you. He wants you to beg, but you put up a fight of silence for a moment.

"I said, beg."

He leans forward, placing his mouth onto your throat and holding your chin a little harder, forcefully tilting your head back to give himself access to your neck. Biting and licking at the skin of your neck like a predator would it's prey.

"Beg. Beg for me to ruin you. Beg for me to take that pretty little body and turn it into a fleshlight for my own personal use. Beg me clip your wings and put you on your knees where you belong. Beg me to ruin you, my goddess."

He bites down between every sentence, making sure he had continuous access to your neck as he demanded what he wanted through his deep and rumbling voice- tone enough to make you whine and whimper on its own, and the biting and rubbing only making you moan and roll your eyes back.

"Beg me to breed you. Beg me to fill you with the children of the underworld. Beg me to ruin the temple of the gods with my demonic release. You know you want it. You know you want to be all mine don't you? Cmon, use your words."

When you finally give in and beg for him to just touch you already, he's quick to tear the material of your panties from your skin, leaving you in your skirt and shirt as he unbuckles his belt and pulls you into his lap, aligning himself with your entrance without a second thought, pulling you down until he's bottomed out.

The feeling causes him to let out a low, primal growl as he breathes heavily. The way you twitch and whine in his lap from the feeling of fullness makes him want to drill you right then and there, but in the back of his mind that moment when his voice caused you to become like this made him reconsider.

"Move."

He commands, using his hand to guide your hips to rotate once or twice before pulling it away. When you start to move on his command he smirks.

"Good... good girl... without your pretty little wings, you'll make a perfect toy.."

His voice reverberates through his chest in a way that has you clenching around him.

"Faster."

Another command leaves him, along with a low chuckle when you comply.

"Good girl. Good girl little one. Ruin yourself on my cock, show me your fall from grace..."

The commands continue on for quite a while, groans and heavy breathing mixed in, you had already finished twice when he suddenly flipped you both other and started to drill into you at a much faster pace than you had been riding him at. Letting out a low growl, he spoke:

"Beg for me again little goddess. Cmon. Beg. Beg for me to breed you. Beg for me to ruin your womb with my seed. Beg for the pleasure. Beg to be mine. Cmon. Beg for me."

He pants as he continues, his grip on your hips enough to leave a mark for a few minutes but gentle enough not to bruise. Despite the rough treatment, he would never truly hurt you.

"By God's you're so fucking tight. So fucking pretty. I'm gonna ruin you. I'm gonna corrupt you. You'll be mine forever. You'll never be the same again. You'll be my little fallen angel. My goddess kicked from Olympus. My little fuckdoll-"

His voice rolls from his tongue like a sinful honey, his pace only getting faster as he reaches his end. As he stills inside the deepest part of you, thick ropes of cum warm inside you, he places his forehead on yours and kisses your lips softly.

"I love you, my fallen goddess.."

As the moments pass and everything slows down, he ensures himself to cleaning you up, and pulls you in for a cuddle, whispering to you..

"You did so well.. such a good goddess you are.. my beautiful one."

[avocado-writing]

notes: i did this instead of anything in my inbox. sorry but it overtook me and became much longer than I thought. also I wrote raphael as the little sub he is teehee.

relationships: raphael x reader; enver gortash & reader (platonic, parent & child); eventual enver gortash x tav

words: 4k

rating: E

summary: a warlock of Raphael's, you visit the House of Hope one day and find a child. he cannot remain there.

Your life, really, is fine. Maybe a bit empty. But fine.

You’ve had Raphael as your Warlock patron for a while now. It’s fine too, he’s fine, there are definitely worse devils to be indebted to - the fact he’s attractive isn’t so bad either. You started fucking a few years ago and he’s basically wrapped around your little finger at this point. He’s still annoying as all hells but he bottoms well enough and the two of you enjoy being on each other’s good side, so it works out. Mostly what he has you do is track down and kill people who’ve pissed him off - and a lot of people have pissed him off, he’s very piss off-able to be fair, so there’s always plenty of jobs and you come to the House of Hope often, in between the mercenary work you do to survive.

This time you just finished hunting down someone who tried to weasel out of their contract. Raphael had you bring him the man’s head as proof of your work, and then you made him give you head after. Par for the course nowadays.

You peel yourself out of Raphael’s embrace as he bathes in the afterglow of getting spoiled in bed by you. You throw on your pants, and go to grab a bite to eat. Your patron always has a feast ready. It’s something to keep his servants distracted with, the constant cooking and replacing of dishes, and it’s nice to never be hungry when you’re here. You saunter into the banquet room and go to pick up a fistful of grapes…

… pausing when you see something utterly fucking shocking.

A little boy. Making himself as small as possible, dark messy hair and darker sunken eyes, all curled up by the fire. He looks at you with terror and you yelp in surprise, grabbing a spare tablecloth to quickly cover yourself with.

“What the fuck?!” you manage, looking around for answers to the unasked question. Nobody is here to give you any. Fucking lost souls, never here when you need them. You turn back to the boy who looks utterly terrified. “Are you meant to be here?”

He visibly swallows, nervous, and nods. Okay, right, great. Kid in the middle of hell. Of course. You're about to find Raphael and give him a grilling, when you hear a little stomach rumble.

You freeze, raise an eyebrow. Almost impossibly he shrinks further into himself.

“Have you eaten, kiddo?”

He shakes his head, unable to meet your eyes. Oh, well, that won’t do.

You grab a plate and begin to load it up with food for him. He looks hopeful though he tries not to show it too much, as if you’ll punish him for the very idea of it. Gods it must have been torture for the child, sitting in front of a banquet with no invitation to gorge. 

When the plate is so full that it threatens to spill over, you squat down and put it in front of him. The boy stares at it for a long moment before looking up at you.

“Go on. Dig in.”

It’s all the permission he needs. He tears into the food you’ve presented as if he’s never eaten before. As if it is ambrosia. You watch him wolf down chicken thighs so fast that he threatens to choke on them, and you feel your heart ache at the wretched sight.

“This really isn’t a place for kids. What’s your name, lad?” you ask, absent-mindedly swiping some greasy hair out of his eyes. You wonder when was the last time he washed, poor kid. He flinches at your touch a little but doesn’t stop eating, somewhat aware you’re probably the first person he’s met here who doesn’t mean him harm. 

“Enver,” he says through mouthfuls of bread. You tell him your name in return, though you aren’t sure if he really listens.

“I didn’t say he could eat.”

Raphael’s voice cuts through the moment, severe, and the boy freezes mid-bite. Terror floods him. He begins to visibly shake.

Oh, no. No. You won’t be having that.

You speak aloud, voice firm.

“Well, I said he could. Ignore him, kiddo.” 

You stand and put yourself between your patron and the child. This little boy has no idea who you are, but he can sense that you have some sort of power over the demon who’s walked into the room. Timidly he continues his meal. When you’re satisfied you turn to your devil, thunderous.

“Raphael? A word.”

Your tone leaves no wiggle room. He harrumphs and follows you far out of the boy’s earshot, where you unleash your fury. 

“Why is there a fucking child here, Raphael?!” He rolls his eyes.

“Oh, his parents sold him to me. Well, to one of my other warlocks, actually, so through the upline he’s mine.”

He speaks as if reading from the paper, not discussing a child’s life. Your blood boils. You want to slap him, but he’d just enjoy it.

“This is no place for… well, fucking anyone, let alone a literal kid. What were you thinking?!”

He shrugs. For a devil meant to be full of cunning, Raphael rarely actually thinks through his short-term impulses into long-term plans. 

“Torture him, I suppose.”

“Don’t you fucking think about it,” you say, hand instinctively summoning your blade. Raphael narrows his eyes. 

“Be careful when you reach for your sword, warlock, lest you forget the person who gifted it to you.”

Fuck. Shit. What an arseache. Okay, you can’t go about this by violence, he’s right. You need to be cunning. You let yourself soften and approach him, laying your hands on his chest. He raises an eyebrow but allows you to caress him. 

“Raphael, come on. You really want a child hanging around here? He’s going to ruin all our fun. I was going to have you on the banquet table later. You don’t want me to ride you while feeding you slices of apple? You enjoyed it last time…”

Your devil huffs but softens under your touch. Gods he really is easy to manipulate when you know which buttons to press. 

“You’re really up in arms about him, aren’t you? Look, they gave him away for a reason. He’s not some sweet innocent. He’s a little bastard, as far as I’ve been told.”

“Please don’t do anything too harsh to him? For me? For your favourite warlock?” you ask, pouting, sliding down Raphael’s body to your knees, ready to nuzzle into his cock in exchange for his agreement. 

He sags, weak for you. Got him.

“Ugh. Fine, you win, kitten. Spoilsport,” he mutters, and you slip him out of his underwear.

The next time you see Enver, it’s been a couple of weeks. You’ve just finished up a hunt and are reporting in - but he’s the first thing you check on. You find him sweeping one of the hallways, eyeing a wailing lost soul warily. 

“Hey, kiddo. How are you doing?”

He jumps a little, however he looks genuinely pleased to see you. Not enough for him to smile but at least some of the tension leaves him. 

“I’m alright,” he says quietly. He still looks sort of greasy. You’ll have to tell Raphael to let him bathe. 

“The boss been treating you okay?”

Enver nods. 

“Doesn’t really talk to me. Just tells me to do chores.”

Well that’s better than torture, you think. You reach into your pocket, root around for a bit, and hand something to him. His eyes go wide and then narrow in suspicion, and you have to reassure him that it’s not some sort of trick.

“Do you know what that is?”

“A sending stone,” he says, confidently, weighing the blue rock in his hand. You grin.

“Look at you! Clever kid. Yeah, that’s exactly what it is. So I take it you know how they work?”

“Each holder can send a message of twenty-five words a day, and the other can reply with twenty-five. Total of fifty each.”

“Precisely! I’m giving this to you for if there’s an emergency, okay? If you’re in trouble, I want you to give me a message and I’ll get here as quickly as I can.”

He eyes the stone. It’s as if he can’t quite bring himself to believe that someone genuinely cares about his wellbeing.

“Why?” he asks, after a while. 

“Because you shouldn’t be down here, and Raphael can be an arsehole. But don’t worry, I can sort him out,” you say with a grin, and for the first time, Enver chuckles. You hear the sound of Raphael calling your name from down the corridor and you roll your eyes.

“Speak of the devil. Take care, Enver, alright? And remember, let me know if there’s a problem.”

He nods, tucking the stone into his pocket before you head off to tie your patron up.

You don’t hear from Enver for a week or so, but one day, when you’re on the road, you get a message coming through.

“Hello. It’s Enver. Are you having a good day?”

You look confused and reply, “Yeah, kiddo, I’m fine. Is there something the matter? Nobody’s hurting you, are they?”

Then, because it is the nature of the stone, you add: “If they are then you just say, I’ll come and set them straight.”

There’s a beat. You can imagine Enver considering his response.

“I’m fine. I just wanted to say hello.”

That’s as much communication as the day will allow but it hits you hard. Oh. He’s lonely.

And from that day on, you have a sort of penpal.

Enver messages you everyday without fail, always excited to see how you’ve been doing. He has very little to report, which you’re thankful for, because you live in fear that he will need to use the stone for its intended purpose. Occasionally he lets you know that Raphael has said something cruel or Haarlep is teasing him, and then it’s just a matter of heading to the hells and setting them straight. Haarlep is like a cat, difficult to make to do anything, but to be honest he’s your friend and will usually acquiesce after some teasing. Raphael is always a bit more difficult to persuade. He still sees the boy as his property, his thing to treat as he’d like, so you have to pull out all of your best tricks in order to convince him.

You always end up coming out on top, though. Funny that.

Your visits to the House of Hope get more regular. Enver greets you with smiles and then with laughs and then with hugs, and you find you’re growing fond of the kid. Every now and then you see a bit of the little bastard Raphael warned you of - you’ll catch him tormenting one of the damned souls down here, or attempting to trap and harass some sort of insect who accidentally crawled through one of the portals. But a soft but firm hand to turn him in the right direction is enough. He’s a boy with a bright future… if he’s nurtured.

And this place has no time for that.

You make the pitch to Raphael one night at the end of a long weekend in hell. You’ve been doing everything he’s asked of you, indulging his every whim, being ever so sweet and obedient for your master - and fucking him within an inch of his life. You relax in his bed, cuddled up to his chest, walking your fingers along the expanse of his pectorals.

“Raphael…” you say, dreamily, and he hums.

“Why do I get the feeling you’re about to push your luck?” he chuckles. You rearrange yourself to look up at him, eyes wide and wanting.

“Me? Push my luck? Never…” you run your tongue over his nipple and he groans.

“Spit it out then, kitten.”

“It’s the boy, Raphael. Can I have him? Please?”

He huffs.

“Why?”

“Why not? What does he do around here apart from take up space and eat your food? Surely you don’t really want him hanging around, do you? I’d like to be able to ride you and scream your name without the fear we’ll be overheard.”

Raphael considers this for a long time, and for a moment, you think he won’t take the bait.

“You’ll extend your pact with me. I want your soul. Forever,” he decides. 

Ah. That’s quite the price. You consider it for a moment.

“...You never get to interfere with Enver’s life again,” you reply, because this is how you deal with devils. Your bargain to gain their respect. He laughs.

“Fine. The boy is off the hook.”

“Done. And I get to take him out of here and do what I want with him, no questions asked. He’s free. And I’ll do that thing you like, right now.”

His eyes sparkle.

“Deal.”

The next morning, body aching, you read through your new contract. You make some amendments in blood but sign it. The rest of your existence signed over to this damned devil. Raphael kisses you on the lips, long and languid - and when you walk out of the House of Hope it’s with Enver’s hand in yours.

“Where are we going?” he asks, quietly. He’s scared. You squeeze his fingers in reassurance.

“Well, I’m on the road a lot. We’ll be travelling. Is that okay with you, kiddo?”

He nods, excited, and you can’t help but notice how much he’s grown since you first met. He’s more than a head taller - gods, how long has he been down here? It’s not worth thinking about. He’s still pretty skinny, but you’ll fix that. Now you’re in charge of feeding him, you'll make sure he gets a good meal every night. Make sure he walks with his back straight and chin up.

Make sure he never has to feel small again.

It isn’t a perfect life, but it’s a damn sight better than what he had to put up with in the Hells. He smiles now, every day. Isn’t scared of people. Slowly grows confidence in himself because he knows that you’re in his corner, come hell or high water (literally). One day you see him drawing in a little notebook you got him, some sort of diagram far more complicated than you can understand - he explains the intricacies of the machine, so you get him some spare parts to start tinkering with. Gods the kid is a natural. So intelligent. Far smarter than you, and you’re worried you’re letting him down because you can’t keep up - but every time he shows you a new invention he seems so pleased when you compliment him.

“Look at you, kiddo! You’re amazing! I bet there’s nothing that you can’t do.”

And he looks like for the first time in his life that he believes what you’re saying.

Life isn’t easy, but it is worth living. You’re on the road more often than not. You don’t have a home to call your own, but you make sure your mercenary work is well-paid enough that you can put the two of you up in inns overnight, keep you both fed and entertained. Enver seems happy and that’s what matters.

You go back to the House of Hope as little as you can, now, reporting in when you do a job and fucking Raphael into submission. He asks you about the boy every once in a while and you palm him off with a laugh, acting as if you barely care about Enver rather than the truth: you’ve been actively putting money away towards a fund for his future.

You come back from one of your meetings late one night. You’re exhausted from what your patron has put you through and are looking forward to sleep. The portal opens into the inn you’ve booked for the night. You expect Enver to be dead to the world, but instead he’s wide awake, sitting cross-legged on his bed.

“Hey, kiddo, what are you doing up so late? Is everything okay?” you ask, surprised. Enver fidgets with his fingers.

“Does Raphael hurt you?” he blurts out. You’re shocked.

“What?”

“Do you want to be in a contract with him? Because if you don’t, I promise I’ll find a way to free you, like you freed me! I’ll get strong, really strong, and I’ll kill him for you.” His hands are balled into fists, jaw gritted. His eyes are dark in a way that’s troubling and he drops his gaze to his lap.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa! Where’s all this coming from? Kiddo, nothing is wrong. Everything between me and Raphael is fine. I’m not unhappy or being forced into anything, I promise. What’s the matter, Enver, eh?”

When he looks up at you, there are tears pooling. He launches himself into your arms, holding you so tightly it’s as if you’re his anchor to this plane.

“I don’t want anyone to hurt you. I love you…” and then there it is. He calls you ‘mum’, or ‘dad’, or some other word that settles what you already knew: he’s come to think of you as his parent now. He freezes when he hears himself say it and you think back to when he was that scared little boy, longing for a bit of food by the fireplace.

You hold him back.

“I love you too, son,” you tell him, and the two of you stay like that for a long while.

He asks if his last name can become yours. You introduce him as your child. You are a family. 

You’re right. He’s far smarter than you are, and you can’t keep up with him. It becomes more and more obvious as he gets older. He goes from brilliant teenager to incredible young man, and you’re glad that you have the funds to be able to send him to a good college and nurture his spark. You’re aware that you’re beginning to slow down a bit now. Your joints aren’t quite what they used to be, and though Raphael still covets you, he’s not oblivious to the fact that you’re getting on. His contracts for you become less vigorous. He likes to have you in his bed more than on the field. You don’t mind it, being pampered by your patron. It isn’t a bad life.

Enver doesn’t need to become Gortash. And what use has Bane for this man, this good man, this man who has made something of himself despite all of the odds stacked against him? None whatsoever. He never becomes the chosen of Tyranny. He is safe from the person he might have been.

The day he graduates at the top of his class is the proudest day of your life. You clap and cheer for him until you are hoarse, and he pretends to be embarrassed as you give him a big hug and a kiss on the cheek in front of all of his friends, every inch the glowing parent.

He becomes chancellor because of his own merits, not due to any underhanded trickery. He is a master when it comes to machines. He never invents the Steel Watch because he does not have the warped mind to create them. Instead he focuses on technology to help the city of Baldur’s Gate: cleaning machines, security automatons, things which help with the admin of running to place so those in government can focus on supporting Baldurites. 

He buys you a house in the upper city. You settle down there as you grow older, make friends, get plenty of visits from your son. Everyone knows how loved you are. He eventually hires a young woman named Karlach as a bodyguard who you grow fond of: she makes up in brawn what he lacks, and she always puts a smile on your face when you have the two of them around for tea.

The Absolute comes. Raphael is poking around because of course he is. He’s got some new toys by now but you’re still one of his old favourites, and a couple of his most loved tricks with your tongue mostly keep him out of the way. Plus he promised not to interfere in Enver’s life, and he’s bound by that, the tricky bastard.

Some other person is Bane’s chosen, but it is not your Enver. Instead he fights for the side of good against the Dead Three and the mindflayer invasion, an ally to this Tav, the hero of Baldur’s Gate. Through their trials the two of them end up falling in love and it’s all you could ever want for your son. When the city fights against the Elder Brain you pick up your pact weapon for the last time despite his pleas not to: you’re a Warlock, damn it, and you’re going to defend your home until your last breath.

You don’t die, which is a nice bonus.

Enver and Tav help rebuild the city once the invasion has been stopped. Not too long in the future you have grandchildren, and they are the light of your life, always silly and giggling and joyous to hear the remarkable stories from your mercenary years.

You help out where you can but your age is weighing on you. One day, you take a tumble, and suddenly you’re bedbound; Enver and your family are visiting you every day as you get weaker, and you know that your final days can’t be far off.

He sits at your bedside, your hand clamped in his. Ah, a workman’s hand. The hand of a man who is constantly inventing and working and making himself useful. The hand of a good and decent man.

“The little ones go back to school tomorrow,” he says, fondly, “Tav is relieved. They’ve been rushed off their feet during the holidays– so many years since that Absolute business, yet the legislation is still going. They need a break, really.”

“It’s exhausting being a parent, isn’t it?” you ask with a grin, before being interrupted by a rattling cough which you can’t seem to shake. Enver lifts a glass of water to your lips and you drink, thankful. “Eurgh. Sorry.”

“You have nothing to apologise for. I’ll call the doctor again in the morning, see if she can get you any more of that tincture. Or maybe Halsin might have some ideas…”

“Oh, Enver, don’t go through all that fuss for me. Just sit here with me, kiddo.”

When you call him that, he knows he has no choice. You are still his parent, after all. He shifts to make himself more comfortable in his bedside chair, never letting go of your hand.

“I want you to know,” you say, voice soft, “everything has been worth it, Enver. My whole life was made better because you were my son. You’re the thing that I’m most proud of.”

His eyes go wide and glass over with tears, jaw grits.

“I… don’t say things like that, please,” he says, because he’s scared of what will come after.

“Hey, it’s okay. It’s okay, kiddo. I’m right here.”

He rests his head on the side of the bed, and you can see his shoulder heave as he cries. You bury your hand in his hair, smiling when it’s still a little greasy, and then you close your eyes.

When you open them again you’re in the House of Hope.

Your body feels lighter than it has in decades. You look down to see the wrinkles and liver spots in your hands are gone. You’re wearing what can generously be called an outfit, though it’s more straps of leather criss-crossed over your body.

“Well, did you have fun? Was your deal worth it in the end?” Raphael asks. He’s leaning against the doorframe, swirling wine around in a glass in his hand, another held out to you. You take it and frown.

“Were you… were you just standing here, waiting for me to bloody die?” you ask. He harrumphs.

“You didn’t answer my question, kitten.”

You take the wine, quaff it, then pull him into a kiss. He moans into your mouth in surprise and rapture.

“Yes,” you answer, honestly, because it was worth it. You’d never have made a different choice, “now, are we going to bed, or are you just going to stand here being smug for the rest of eternity?”

Raphael grins and pulls you to the bedroom.

taglist: @ghosti02art @sadandanxiouswtf @yeethaw13 @trappedinlimbo15 @infinitely-kate @dhampling @wereallbrokenangels @tilldeathdonugget

[waltricia]

Finished the first pancake (season 1 rewatch) and have started my millionth rewatch of my dear dear dear season 2. So my next however many posts will be about the iconic Kanthony (Polin, you know I’ll come back to you.) And I really must begin with this:

🤩😍🧎

What a delivery, good LORD. It’s soul-stirring. It’s a shot of adrenaline to the heart. It’s ambrosia. Jonathan Bailey, the absolute fucking KING that you are, how the fuck do you do it? DAMN. I’m always caught between envy and attraction with that one. How Kate didn’t even flinch at that, I’ll never know. But of course the very fact that she does not hesitate for a second to come back at him with a devastating burn is why she is the queen of Anthony’s heart (and mine) and now the Viscountess Bridgerton.

👑🐝🙌

[katsu28]

hello!! could i request ambrosia from the flower prompt list with roy & gn!reader? thank you <3

my first time writing gn!reader, please let me know if i've made any mistakes! <3

ambrosia: a successful love confession, roy kent x gn!reader, 1.2k

Roy Kent was a lot of things. A legendary footballer, a great coach, an even better uncle. 

Being observant? That wasn’t one of his strong suits. For someone so unnervingly wise, you would’ve thought he’d be, but he wasn’t. Case in point, this little back and forth you’d been having with him for the past few months. You were friends, yes, but you wanted to be more. You thought he would’ve picked up what you were putting down by now, but he hadn’t. 

You’d done everything but throw yourself at him, and he still hadn’t gotten the hint. So now, you were on your last resort—telling him flat out that you fancied him. It was the only way to get it through his thick skull. 

You caught him as he was exiting the locker room this time, calling his name as you jogged towards him. 

His eyebrows flew up in surprise when he spotted you and he held a hand up in greeting. “Hey. You alright?” 

“Good. I’m good, everything’s…” 

“Good?” He supplied, arching a dark brow. You nodded stiffly and he suddenly looked amused at whatever was going on with you. “Glad to hear. You, uh—you look really nice today.” 

He did this all the time. Said or did something that made you think that maybe, just maybe, he might have some more than friendship feelings for you—and then he’d avoid you for the rest of the day. Sometimes even two days. And then he’d be right back at it with the compliments. It was a never ending cycle of the same thing, and quite frankly you were getting tired of it. 

You grabbed Roy’s arm, yanking him across the corridor and into the boot room, letting the door slam shut behind you before whirling around to face him. 

“What the fuck?” 

“I’ve had it with you, Roy.” 

Roy opened his mouth to respond but closed it right after, pressing his lips together in thought before speaking. “Is something wrong?” 

“Is something wrong? Are you fucking kidding me?” 

“...No.” You had to hand it to him, he was doing a good job of looking genuinely confused. His brow furrowed even deeper. “Are you okay?” 

“No, I’m not okay.” You huffed. “I’m in love with you, Roy. And I’ve been trying to drop hints and skirt around the topic hoping that you’d pick up on it, but obviously you haven’t.” 

Roy blinked a few times, processing the new information slowly. “You’re fucking joking.” 

“Why would I even joke about something like this?” You asked shakily, pushing down the feeling of shame creeping through you, threatening to crawl up out of your throat in the form of a pitiful cry. 

This was the worst possible way your plan could’ve gone. Roy didn’t feel the same way about you as you did about him, and now things were weird. You’d probably just fucked up your entire friendship with him, all because you couldn’t keep your fucking feelings in check.

Roy’s mildly amused expression immediately morphed into one akin to horror at the realization that you were entirely serious. “Wait, wait, that’s not what I—I didn’t mean it like that. I just—fuck, I don’t even know what to say.” 

“Maybe start with an actual, thoughtful response? S’not like I just bared my soul to you or anything.” 

He was silent for an agonizingly long time before he inhaled a sharp breath. “I just…I never thought someone like you would ever be interested in someone like me.” 

“How could I not? You care about others even if you don’t show it, you’re passionate about what you do, you’re annoyingly fit.” That last part made Roy straighten up a little bit, dark eyes crinkling at the edges in the tiniest of smiles. “I think I’ve loved you since the day I met you.” 

He just blinked at you some more, like he couldn’t bring himself to believe what was happening right now. That was also something you’d learned about him in the time that you’d known him—the time it had taken you to fall in love with him. 

Roy Kent was a rock. Stagnant. Unwavering. He was the team’s rock, and it helped them to become a top tier Premier League team while also providing a supportive environment for these people he called his friends—his family. 

But being a rock wasn’t always a good thing. Sometimes being a rock meant he was only in his own way of change. He was the reason he believed he didn’t deserve anything good in life. 

You were here to prove him wrong, to prove that he deserved happiness. And maybe it was a little presumptuous of you to assume that you could be a source of that happiness, but neither of you would know if you didn’t at least take that chance. 

Roy was never one for many words, so he did the only thing he could think of that would show you his feelings better than his words ever could. 

He kissed you. 

He kissed you like you’d slip from his grasp at any moment, like if he didn’t hold onto you this all might be a dream and he’d wake up wishing it was real. 

“Fucking hell. Didn’t think I’d ever get to do that.” 

“I wish you’d done it sooner.” 

Roy stifled a snort of laughter, giving you a playful squeeze around the waist. “Me too.” 

“So what now?” 

“We’ll figure it out. Together.” He replied, eyes flicking around your face, taking in each and every one of your features like he was trying to commit you to memory. “And don’t you say a fucking word to anyone, Will. You hear me? Nobody.” He growled, not even looking away from you whilst he spoke. 

Your face grew warm with embarrassment even though you couldn’t see where Will was. You hadn’t even known he was in the room in the first place. Guess the talk about Will the kit man knowing everyone’s secrets had some truth to it after all. 

“No, ‘course I won’t.” The poor boy squeaked from somewhere behind Roy, clutching a pair of boots to his chest with wide eyes. “I’ll take it to my grave.” 

“Good.”

“Thank you, Will,” You offered meekly, peeking over Roy’s shoulder with what you hoped was a reassuring smile. 

“No problem. Happy for you two!” With that, Will practically scurried out of the room, leaving the two of you to finally be alone with each other.  

You smacked Roy’s firm chest halfheartedly, squinting up at him. “You’re so mean to him!” 

“Well I can’t have everyone knowing I’m capable of such a successful love confession, now can I?” 

“Successful? This whole thing was a train wreck, Kent.” 

“Kinda sums us up though, doesn’t it? Wasting the past few months we could’ve had with each other because neither of us wanted to fucking do anything about it?” 

“I guess it does. Not anymore though, right? We’re both on the same page about things? About us?” 

“About offing Will if he tells anyone about what he just witnessed?” You smacked his chest a second time. “Yes, we’re on the same page. Now are you gonna let me take you out to dinner tonight or are we gonna waste even more time?”

follow @katsu-library to be notified when i post new fics :)

[carleighalpha]

Little Wolf Pt 1

While being accused of the Beacon Hill murders, Derek decides to visit his favorite girl.

Rating: M

Word Count: 1k

Imagine: Smut

Warning: None I can think of.

Waiting for him felt like hours for {Y/N} Stilinski, Stiles' older sister. Her little brother made him one of the most wanted people in the states for the murders, she knew it couldn't be true. The 20-year-old could picture him now. His piercing green eyes bore into her soul, that deep stubble on his chin, and his black hair spiked up in that dangerous way that lured her. She bit her plump lip as she heard the window open. She turned to see Derek Hale stepping into her room.

" Thought you were gonna lay low till this blows over, Wolf?" {Y/N} said as she twirled one of her {H/C} locks in her fingers as she got up. All Derek saw was her wearing a band top and {F/C} panties. Her {H/C} hair was out of its confines. He took his jacket off and placed it on the chair. He liked the fact she knew of his world before they met.

" Why wait when I can have you all to myself?" Derek asked as he walked over to her and could practically smell her from where he entered. He smiled at her with a grin that made her feel all the wetter as he turned her around. Moved a lock of her hair to leave a ghosting kiss on her neck.

" God's, that fucking hot." {Y/N} gasped with heated breath as one of his hands trailed down her side and the other pulled her hip to him so she was flush against his body. His muscle and strength were making it all the harder for her as she bit her lip. He turned her around before lifting her chin as she smirked.

" My little mouse." He growled in her ear before using one of his hands to pull her to him and kiss her. {Y/N} moaned allowing Derek to plunge his tongue into her mouth as her hands gripped his hair.

" Patience." He growled low as he sat on the bed as {Y/N} got on his lap without hesitation. Her lips press hard upon his as he grips her hips to hold her in place, but fails as he pulls the bottom of her shirt up. {Y/N} pulls away so he can take it off of her. He looked at her as the flush of her cheeks grew. He caresses her breasts in his hands before rubbing her nipples in slow circles that make her moan before biting her lip.

" Fuck." She moaned as her back slightly arched. The sensation was making her brain go into a haze. She smirked at him before she removed his shirt. She threw the garment to the side before pressing herself to him as their lips connected. Derek laid back as {Y/N} began to kiss his pecs with want. His low growls let her know this was turning him on.

" {Y/N}, fuck." Derek groaned before sitting up and helping her remove her panties. He got her to lie down before parting her legs, licking two fingers, and then pushing them inside her. {Y/N} moaned as he began to finger her sweet core. Her moans and squeals made his cock begin to harden. 

" Such a needy girl." Derek growled as the noises were making his wolf react. He pulled his fingers out and licked them clean. He smirked before going to her wet pussy and began to feast with heavy motions of his tongue. {Y/N} gripped his hair as he kept giving her long strips with his tongue. 

" Derek, fuck. God!" {Y/N} gasped as the coil in her stomach snapped. The spasms were immaculate as she came all over his tongue. Derek lapped at every drop she gave. She tasted so sweet to him that it was almost a drug. He loved eating her, smelling her, giving a part of himself to her. It was all perfect.

" Jesus." {Y/N} gasped as Derek got up from the bed and unbuckled his pants before discarding them. {Y/N} smirked at his cock. She got close and engulfed her mouth upon it.

" Holy...." Derek growled as he placed one hand on her head as she hollowed her cheeks. She began to bob her head as he guided her. His shaft was her drug, to feel it either in her mouth or pussy was like drinking ambrosia. Derek growled as he stopped her from finishing her. He pushed her off before getting on top.

" I love this feeling." {Y/N} moaned as Derek slid deep into her core before engulfing her lips with a hard kiss. He proceeded to thrust hard into her and she instinctively wrapped her leg around his waist. His mouth moved to her neck and left ghosting bites as he thrust harder. {Y/N}'s fingers dragged long scratches down his back as the coil snapped again. Derek growls as he grips deep within his hips slapping into hers. The harsh feeling makes him plunge deep and not give way.

" Derek please." {Y/N} moans in his ear. Derek growls as he releases deep with her core. {Y/N} cries out in pleasure as the orgasm hits her like a truck. Derek holds her close as his body shakes heavily as his body flows with his release. 

" That was..." {Y/N} said with a heavy breath as he pulled out and lay beside her.

" Different, but good." He replied as he felt tired. She curled up next to him as he held her tight. He didn't want to lose her, and he would make sure he didn't. This human made him feel something he hadn't felt in a long time. Protective over someone. He wanted to keep her safe, happy and cared for. He laid his head on the pillow as her heartbeat lulled him to sleep.

Pt 2

[patrochillesvibes]

O and I have an other question how do you think Achilles will react once he finds out about the fact that Patroclus had slept Deidameia. Because I do believe Patroclus haven’t to Achilles about it .

<3 <3 <3

Ah, the single plot point in TSoA I disagree with.

🎵How do you solve a problem like Pyrrhus🎶

So if we’re all gonna suck Homer’s dick, then let’s all get on the same page that Deidamia isn’t in the Iliad. Or the Odyssey. You also gotta be careful with any source material mentioning Deidamia as most of this content was part of a smear campaign by the Italians coughDantecough.

Pyrrhus is such a random character if you think about it. Achilles was not married, otherwise Agamemnon wouldn’t keep trying to get him to marry his seemingly endless supply of daughters. Pyrrhus isn’t labeled as a bastard, but what else could he be? Achilles would’ve had to have knocked up some chick.

And isn’t it strange that Achilles would do this? I don’t want to say it’s not in character, but it seems strange compared to his prophecy-focused life. (Also, Patroclus and Achilles don’t have little bastards running around the camp, so do we really believe they’re fucking the slaves? If they’re fucking the slaves, where are the babies? Birth control and abortions were not that good in 1250 BCE. But I’m getting super off topic now.)

This is why I personally believe Achilles found a random baby, adopted it, and had Mother feed him ambrosia.

I’m very passionate about ^this headcanon of mine.

Now back to TSoA…

First off, remember that Patroclus is a LIAR. He is not just full of bologna, he’s made out of bologna. He wants us to believe he’s a feminist? Anti-war? A doctor? Achilles is perfect? Patroclus PLEASE!

But you have to respect the lies because TSoA is essentially an autobiography and lying is like the first law of autobiography writing.

I’d also like to point out the clever literary trick at the end of TSoA. The book ends with Patroclus and Thetis chatting about Achilles. She says “Speak, then” to get Patroclus to share his memories. Thus, the book is not so much an account of his life, but essentially all the memories he had to share with her. He wants to show her how glorious her son was, the side she never got to see, the human nature she shunned, Achilles’ mortality. So of course he’s going to highlight the good, even enhance it as well as downplay or even lie about the bad.

But back to your question…

What happened at Skyros? Patroclus wants us to believe a lot of non-con was going on. I low-key have a very messed up theory about what actually happened and why it happened, but I don’t want to get into it rn a blogger on here might be unhappy bcs of a related ask I coincidentally just sent them. So for simplicity's sake, let’s assume that the non-con did indeed happen. I think he told Achilles a half-truth. Something to the effect of mentioning having comforted Deidamia and given her an official farewell (of the husbandly kind) on his behalf. He used a lot of double-meaning words to allow Achilles to interpret as he pleased.

And how did he interpret what Patroclus told him? First he was relieved that he would not have to deal with her again. Then he was his usual dumb blonde self (Patroclus calls this 'trusting', Pat pls) and took the words at face value. And I wouldn't blame him for it. When traumatic things happen to you, you do what you can to cope.

And please don’t take this as victim blaming or non-con denial, but the last lines of Chapter 13 never sat quite right with me.

Sorry to keep harping on the lying. Part of me thinks the scene with Deidamia was either a hallucination-false memory sequence to reinforce that patrochilles is 2-bodies-1-soul -what happens to Achilles happens to Pat; and part of me thinks this was Pat’s sly way of showing Thetis how she hurt Achilles by enabling the non-con. Sadly, we'll never know the truth, so it's up to you what you want to believe.

I hope this rambling rant answered your question. Thank you for the ask! I LOVE LOVE LOVE The Song of Achilles and am capable of ranting and raving about it for hours at a time 😘

[sweetmapple]

One single in-the-works Elden Ring comic is holding back an entire flood of Viktor Arcane posting and I’m afraid of the person I’ll become once I finish it. Just got done with the final line art so coloring is all that’s left

(Mind you my rendering process is an absolute bitch so it’s not even 50% done)

But like not to disrespect any of my other obsessions (Vergil DMC, Astarion BG3, Gabriel Ultrakill, Varre Elden Ring; hallowed be their names) no other fictional man has me shrieking like a fucking Nazgûl just by thinking of their character arc

Every molecule in my body goes nuclear when I think about the soon to be machine herald arc holy hell. I’ve rotating this man in a 3d space in my head since the first season 2 trailer came out

Like Viktors just a nice lil guy, frail no one pays attention to him, he’s sick but trying to fix it for himself and anyone else that was also afflicted

AND IM JUST SUPPOSED TO KNOW HE BECOMES *THAT*???? My brain is going supernova. If you follow my account and also take into account the aforementioned characters I love, I LOVE love antagonists, villains and mortally gray characters. To know my boy is gonna make himself a problem, if not a true and proper opp for the rest of the arcane cast, I could cry tears of joy. I will sell my soul to Fortiche if they actually go the villain route with him, nothing would be sweeter, the ambrosia of the gods couldn’t rival it. I want him to go WILD. I need the Jayce Viktor divorce arc in my veins NOW

Like if they make him out to be the twist villain of the entire plot and or the big bad I will never ever ever stop yapping about it

Also expect a full breakdown why Viktor means so much to me soon, I just need to collect my scattered thoughts

[iravaid]

1 for Biker, 4 for Lunchbox, 10 for Mr Kinsey, 7 for Ambrosia the dragon bird Thang 🥰

Hiiii womby!! The oc pick n mix... a decadent choice ❤️

1. How many living parents does your OC have? If they're alive, where are they now and what's your OC's relationship with them? If they're dead, how did they die?

Fingers crossed Biker's parents are fucking dead 😭 they were both alive before the zombie apocalypse, and Biker was deeply resentful of them, while their parents mostly just Tolerated Biker's eccentricities (deep in the closet)(regularly stuffed in a leather racing suit)(substance abuse)(yknow the usual)

4. What was your OC's childhood dream? Is that still their dream? If it has changed, why did it change and what's their new dream?

Lil Ms Lunchbox is technically (god what a dodgy thing to say) still a child, but pre-being turned into a vampire, she wanted to become a fireman because that's what her favourite tío was :)

Post-Embrace, Lunchbox dreams of eating rats and having infinite currencies on any given online game such as animal jam and club penguin

10. What's the first significant injury your OC remembers getting? Did it leave any scars?

Lee Got Shot In The Goddamn Head At 17!! Or. It glanced off his forehead. He walked it off like a champ. And by champ i mean left for dead by the gang he was running with, then miraculously waking and stumbling back to camp drenched in blood and muttering questions no one could hear. It left a gnarly scar on his forehead that is only becoming more prominent the more he balds lmao. It may or may not be the reason he can speak with the dead.

7. Where is your OC's family from? Does your OC feel a close connection to that place? Why or why not?

Oh Ms 'Brosia... she is from a convoluted fantasy world that exists in my head and on QGIS!! In this world, there used to be dragons 66 million years ago, but a cataclysm triggered their eventual extinction. A ritual was conducted to try and prolong select species' survival, but it became a pseudo-parasitic relationship with the host mammal (the dragons used to farm these proto-mammals for livestock, and intended for the livestock's life force to be siphoned away in exchange for viable young, but it was found these new artificial young were completely sterile)(flash forwards millions of years, and those proto-mammalian livestock become the dominant lifeforms as. Mammalia. Which includes humans.). Easy.

One would argue she has no family, because she suddenly formed as a gall/egg in the wilderness before hatching, her soul intertwined with a young, newborn human, but this human, a boy named Milo, perhaps also counts as family. He doesn't really like her all that much in the beginning, but slowly, they form a deep bond that either reaches or transcends family.

[kaminocasey]

Gregor on Abafar: A Bonsoir Interlude

Summary: On Abafar, Gregor dreams of Cassia, before he remembers who she is. He wakes up, flustered and frustrated and does something about it.

Warnings: 18+ MINORS DNI; Sex dreams, male masturbation, unprotected p in v (wrap it up, friends), Abafar!Gregor, Angst

WC: 1.8K

A/N: HA okay so thoughts of Abafar!Gregor came up and suddenly horny thoughts took over and I was thinking about Gregor thinking of Cassia and then a little angst came in and BLAM. This lil thing came about lol. Bless @idledreams for inspiring me with our Bonsoir talks.

Bonsoir Masterlist | TAGLIST FORM

“Come home to me… please…” The woman with the red hair and kind brown eyes stares down at Gregor from above him, a soft smile on her beautiful lips. “Gregor… My love. My life…” 

She’s straddling him and he can feel himself nearing his edge way too soon. He wants nothing more than to bring her to hers, though. She’s so goddess-like, he could cry. Does she know the effect she has on him? Does he have the same on her? 

“Absolutely beautiful. Keep going, darling.” He purrs, gripping her hips tightly, keeping her anchored to him.

“Come home.” She moans, grinding her wet warmth over his hardened length. “Come home to me. I need you. Please.” 

She gasps as he slams up into her and he absolutely ascends. The sounds she makes are so out of this galaxy, he’ll never forget them. 

He thinks he’s about to combust from the heat radiating through the both of them, keeping them connected. Not only through sex, but something else.

Something he can’t remember… Why can’t he remember?

The sandstorm raging outside pulls Gregor from his dreams way too soon and he lays there in the dark for a while. Tears prick the corner of his eyes as he stares up at the stained ceiling, listening to the wind whistle and whip the roof and small windows of the apartment.

He’s somehow woken up harder than he thinks he’s ever been. Almost painfully so. This is the third night this week he’s dreamt of the woman with red hair. With dreams of holding her, making love to her, or telling her how much he loves her. She just feels like… home. A far away home.

And yet he doesn’t even know her name… 

Gregor rolls over onto his stomach and buries his face into his pillow, groaning at the contact of his cock against the mattress, his briefs rubbing him just right. Slipping a hand down between himself and the mattress, he rolls his hips against his palm, making another needy groan slip. 

He’s had several offers from the neighboring women offering themselves to him, but he can only think of the woman with the red hair… her sweet, inviting smile and warm brown eyes… Is he crazy to hope that one day he could find her? 

He thinks about her soft moans in his dreams and that only spurs him on. What would she actually feel like? Would her skin be as soft as it is in his dreams? 

He thinks about what she tastes like. Like the sweetest ambrosia the gods themselves wouldn’t dare try to take from him. He’d do anything to keep his mouth on her or buried between those gorgeous thighs. 

“Fuck…” He whispers, slipping his briefs down and then spitting into his hand before wrapping his hand around himself, earning another loud groan. 

“Come home to me… please…” Her pleas echo in his mind. The desperation in her voice. She knows him. She loves him. He can feel it in his soul. 

He thrusts long and hard into his hand, remembering the tight warmth that she gave him and only him. He was hers and hers alone. 

“Gregor…” The way she said his name… like a prayer… a promise. 

“Please…” He whispers to her somewhere in the galaxy. “Please…” 

He doesn’t care if he sounds pathetic. His gasps and moans are meant for her and her alone. He clings to the memory of his dreams as he grinds his hips into his hand, the rough calluses of his overworked hands actually feeling good for once. 

Gregor rolls over on his back, his cock still heavy in his hand as he rubs his free, cooler hand down his warm face, flushed with the thought of how her breasts hung so perfectly in his face. 

“Ah…” He groans, spitting into his hand again before speeding his hand up, flinging his other hand down to grip the sheet. 

Screwing his eyes shut, begging his brain to let the image of her smile come back to him, he thrusts his hips up and down against his firm grip, desperately slamming his fist against his thick length. 

“Shit…” His gasp turns into a long desperate moan. 

Gregor lets go of the sheet and in turn finds his hard nipples, trailing his fingers over them ever so slightly, giving himself the needed stimulation. He can’t help the pathetic whimper that leaves his lips as he thinks about her lush, perfect lips on his pecs, then finding his nipples and giving him the slightest tease with her teeth, which he thinks she knows would be enough to bring him close to his edge. 

What is her name? Who is she… 

He thinks of the beautiful name written in his book with the cute little heart… could it be-

“Oh fuck…” He’s pulled out of his thoughts as he realizes he twisted his nipple and gripped his cock a certain way, well enough that he finishes too soon, spurting warm cum all up his bare chest, making him groan into the stale air of his one bedroom apartment. 

His pants and deep breaths are the only sound in the room, making him realize just how quiet this simple life he lives is. What he’d give to have that beautiful red hair sprawled across his pillow right now with her warm chest against his own, her hand in his. 

But all that he feels now, is alone. 

Always alone.

Cassia wakes with a start, sitting straight up, tears streaming down her flushed cheeks. She’d been having the most incredible dream. Gregor… but a different version of the man she loves. Loved… 

He’s gone, of course, she knows that. She does… But… Thoughts of him still fill her mind. Intimate thoughts. Thoughts she’s afraid she’s going to have for the rest of her life. 

This Gregor in her dream had a beard and long hair, but she’d know him anywhere. Her heart would know him, because he’s home to her. This apartment feels too empty… too alone now… 

When she thinks she’s wiped her last tear, she lays back on her still too empty bed and pulls the blanket up. How is she supposed to just be okay again? How is she supposed to move past Gregor? This loss is so much more different than her parents and grandparents.

The blanket starts too feel just a little too stuffy so she kicks it off of her and lays there, staring up at the ceiling. Her thoughts start to drift back to the dream she was having of Gregor touching himself. 

Maker, she misses touching him. She misses him touching her. She misses the way that he would trail his smooth fingertips down her soft pale skin, making her lean into his touch eagerly. 

What she would give to have him here. 

Without another thought, she runs her own fingers lightly over her chest, her shirt catching against her nipples that are now protruding obviously through her shirt. She gives one a soft tweak, just how Gregor did in her dream, clenching at the feeling with a soft sigh. 

It’s been so long since she’s touched herself… Not since… 

She quickly rolls over to her bedside table, grabbing her silicone pink vibrator that Gregor once teased her about. It now seems like ages ago... She stares at it for a moment, remembering that night, before turning it on. 

It still feels strange to think that he’s not here helping her do this, she realizes right before she takes the buzzing toy to the outside of her underwear so that it rubs right against her clit. Cassia gasps at the feeling, taking the toy away momentarily, a slight pant escaping her lips. 

The moment of panic subsides and she brings it back to her clothed warmth, biting her lip at the eagerness settling low in her stomach already. It really has been too long. 

She slips her underwear down her legs, throwing them to the floor, and brings the vibrator back to her warmth. Unable to help it, she trails her hand back to her chest, squeezing her breast with eagerness, appreciating the fabric catching on her nipple again. 

Thoughts of her dreams flood her mind and instead of panicking this time, she goes with it. She thinks about how he begged for her, the word ‘please’ like a prayer to him, and she knows she would’ve given in had she been in the room with him. Eagerly dropped down on her knees for him, her mouth open and ready to take him. 

Cassia whimpers as she spreads her slick over her clit, the feeling almost too much. So she turns it off and tosses it aside, replacing it with her fingers. Her sharp gasp is a little too loud to her own ears, she realizes and tries to keep it down, not wanting to wake Mara, who’s been sleeping on her couch since they got the news. 

Her soft fingers slip down into her warmth and she instantly clenches around them, grinding the heel of her palm against her sensitive bud. She knows if he was here, his mouth would be latched to her pussy, begging for her to cum for him. The thought alone pulls her to the edge, threatening to throw her over. 

“Gregor…” She whimpers into her empty room. “Please…” 

Her voice breaks and she can feel the tears coming back, but she ignores them, chasing her release. She sits up, pulling an extra pillow she doesn’t use in between her legs and grinds her soaked warmth over it. Back and forth, remembering what it was like to straddle his perfect cock. Desperation is clear in her chase as she fervently humps the firm pillow, gripping the top of it as if it were his perfect hips. 

“Please come for me, cyar’ika.” She can hear him say it so clearly in her mind that she chokes back a cry as she slams a hand over her mouth. Sobbing as her release hits her full force like the Coruscanti bullet train, it nearly knocks the air out of her as she falls forward back into her own pillow, burying her face in it. Tears soak her pillow immediately, but she can’t bring herself to care. 

Chest heaving against the bed, she tries desperately to catch her breath but is met with grief and sadness all over again. Isn’t an orgasm supposed to release endorphins?

Cassia angrily pushes the toy back into the bedside table and pulls the blanket up over herself, trying desperately to will herself back to sleep. Because sleep is better than the realization that she’s alone and will probably decide to be for the rest of her life. Even the thought of another soul in this bed, that isn’t Gregor’s, makes her physically nauseous. 

So for now, to avoid heartache and throwing up, she sleeps. And when she wakes up, the loneliness creeps right back in… 

TAGS:

@twistedstitcher27 @misogirl828 @rebel-finn @rexandechosandwich @madameminor @dumfanting @rain-on-kamino @corona-one @tecker @ladykatakuri @brynhildrmimi @the-sith-in-the-sky-with-diamond @zoeykallus @maulslittlemeowmeow @littlemousedroid @arctrooper69 @rexxdjarin @padawancat97 @hated-by-me @sleepingsun501 @redheadgirl @themcuwriter @ashotofspotchka @sunshinesdaydream @crosshairsimp73 @ariadnes-red-thread @rosmariner @heyitsaloy @starstofillmydream @high-ct5555 @echos-girlfriend @sleepywych @nekotaetae @justanothersadperson93 @aconstructofamind @book-of-baba-fett @chopper-base @palliateclaw @501st-rexster @dead-poolz @nahoney22 @where-is-my-mind-tho @jediknightjana @erishimoon @witching3 @queen-of-many-fandoms @wizardofrozz  @burningfieldof-clover @loverofclones