#and CONSTRUCTIVE criticism

[onemoreattempt]

If elves had texting/social media hcs:

Sophie: Kinda went over this here. horrible about getting back to ppl. Will accidentally leave you on read. Thinks she responded but didn’t. Her social media notifications are through the roof. If you need her urgently, you should probably just call. Very occasional posts. She’s doing her best.

Dex: Usually good at responding to messages, depending on how busy he is and if he’s around the triplets. Fast typist/texter. One of the few helpful ppl on Reddit.

Fitz: fast responder, usually no typos. Rarely uses shortened words or acronyms

Biana: I feel like Biana would cringe internally at misused homonyms/grammar errors, but she’d be nice about it. She types with pretty good grammar, other than the obvious texting things like acronyms, initialisms, and other word shortening things. If the elves typed in English, she’d never use the wrong ‘your’ or ‘there’ and she’s a firm believer in the Oxford comma. She’d also be a Pinterest/Instagram girlie.

Marella: types in all lowercase. knows about everything that’s happening anywhere. has all the social media. Occasionally trolls flat earthers claiming that the earth is actually shaped like a Klein bottle.

Keefe: gif city. Silliest Instagram ever. Fs blurry selfies and pictures of things him with things Sophie brought him from the forbidden cities. Yt haver. Might troll human politicians on twitter without knowing what he’s talking about. Definitely gets in on trolling the flat earthers. Claims the earth is shaped like Schrödinger’s cat (or Uranus, depending on the day).

Maruca: Probably on tiktok. Terrifying to text with if you have any kind of social anxiety and you are not close friends. Very direct texting style. Unnecessarily ends things with periods, and is a slow texter. It reads as pissed off until you get to know her. She’s an absolute riot in friend group chats. Like super funny.

Stina: If a message reads as pissed off it’s bc she is❤️ Absolutely bounces off Maruca in the gc. Stina = a voice memo person?? I also feel like yt and tiktok are her main social media. She doesn’t post on yt, but she does post on TikTok showing the work she does with unicorns. Definitely puts cuter moments on Instagram too. She and Maruca ft while going through their hair care routines.

Linh: I don’t necessarily think she would, but she has the potential to make one of the most aesthetically pleasing Instagram accounts (Linhstagram, if you will). Idk I feel like Linh would be into hiking and posting photos of that, plus her and Tam, or her and Marella. But, honestly, she probably just posts photos of her mercat😭 She also has the vibes of using the little press and hold mini responses a lot (like ❤️👍❓mostly until Tam goes off and Rayni shows up)

Tam: I feel like Tam is a bad or at least scarce texter. Maybe a gc ghost too. Everyone is surprised and excited when he responds in the gc bc he hasn’t done so in 4 months. Dude has no social media. Really only has his phone to communicate with Linh

Jensi: so much love for him, but he definitely has fast typing, lots of typos vibes. Early on in the series, he was very excitable, and the audiobook narrator makes him talk fast, so that makes me think he’d probably speed type his texts and send them without checking for typos first. Gets back to you in a snap🫰. Probably sends a lot of messages in succession when telling a story. May send videos explaining things as well, or voice memos that get off topic very fast.

[posting-my-stories-here]

The Aftermath (Pt. 1)

The pain finally faded away, leaving the two figures numb and exhausted. For a moment no one moved, their muscles burning and cramped. They lay prone on the ground, waiting for the last vestiges of pain to fade away before taking on the exhausting task of getting up.

Groaning, Aahan pushed himself up, grabbing the desk for support. Legs shaking uncontrollably, he collapsed on the bench panting heavily from the exertion. Ajay imitated him, slumping down on the seat beside him. They sat there quietly, perhaps not fully registering the change before Ajay banged his fist on the desk and muttered in a low angry tone, “How could they?”

Aahan didn't respond, not that the other had expected him to. He simply laid his head down, tracing the words carved into the old wood; echoing memories of the now graduated alumni. Ajay was sitting still; too still, his hunched shoulders making him look much smaller than Aahan remembered him being.

Or perhaps that was because… Aahan didn't let his thoughts complete. He couldn't.

The sound of the bench screeching against the tiles prompted Aahan to raise his head slightly. Ajay had stood up, walking around the desk to pack his school bag quietly. Aahan followed suit, stuffing his books in a bag now unfamiliar to him. Glancing at the clock above the blackboard, he swallowed heavily. He didn’t even know what day it was or month or year or how old he was or-

Breath in. Breath out. Following the achingly familiar voice, Aahan’s breath soon leveled out, until he no longer felt the pull of a panic attack.

Sometime in between, Ajay had taken to stalking the narrow rows of benches, his fists clenched and white. Abruptly, he turned on his heel in a perfectly executed about turn. There was a wild look in his eyes; one which Aahan unfortunately recognized. Mentally preparing himself for whatever wild idea had taken root, he-

“We can get back. We just need to find a way. We can return home, Aahan.” Aahan stared at him blankly. “Ajay,” he mumbled, voice heavy with loss, “Even if we somehow do find a functioning portal- or, or build it ourselves, this world lacks magic. We- we wouldn’t be able to… to power it. To activate it. We are stuck.”

Ajay shook his head. His voice took on a more regal cadence, the one he had used to deliver speeches of progress and excellence and a bright future. “We can. Magic found us. Magic can exist in this world. We just need to search for it. And then use it to power our portal.” His speech was unadorned, lacking the flowery language he used to employ. But it still made Aahan wonder.

Could they truly find a way back?

Inspired by @charminglyantiquated post about ex magical chosen ones. (Hope you don't mind me writing on it).

[bamsara]

I think that one thing people fail to understand is that unsolicited literary criticism coming from an online stranger who is reading with no knowledge of what the authors intended goal is, is not going to be received the same as say: the authors beta reader or friends who know what the authors intended goal and has the sufficient knowledge and input to help the author reach that desired outcome.

"But I'm only trying to be helpful" How do I know you have the knowledge and literary skill for you to be able to actaully do that when we don't know each other and you are essentially a stranger to me? Are you applying this criticism based out of personal biased experience and desire to see the story or characterization be driven in another direction or tweaked, or do you know the author's intentions for the character? If the story is incomplete, are you basing your criticism of a character on the incomplete narration with only partial information available of them or are you building up a report until the story's completion? Did the author provide you with the information needed to make a fully informed criticism?

Have you discussed with the author what their plans are or are you assuming them based off the narration, especially if the narration is proven or implied to be unreliable or missing key points of the plot? Are you unbiased enough to help them reach their desired outcome for the characters and story regardless of your personal feelings towards the characters/antagonists and setting? Can you handle being told your specific input isn't wanted because you're a reader and/or have no written anything relating to their genre or topic? Do you understand and respect that the author's personal experiences might influence their writing and make it different than how you would have done it personally? Do you understand if an author only wants input from a specific demographic relating to their story?

If it's for fanfiction or other hobby media, are you holding a free hobby to a professional standard? Are you trying to give criticism because you feel like the author has produced 'subpar job performance' of their fic? Are you viewing their work as a personal intimate outlet or something that must conform with mass media? Are you applying rules and guidelines when the fic is shared for simple sharing sake? Is your criticism worded appropriately and focused on the parts where the author has requested input on rather than a general dismissal and or disapproval?

Have you put yourself in a place where you assumed you have the input needed for the story to evolve better, or have you asked what the author needs and what they're having trouble with? Can you handle having your criticism rejected if the author decides their story doesn't need the change and not take it as a personal offense against your character? Are you crossing that boundary because you think you are doing the author a favor? Are you trying to be helpful, or do you just want to be?

I think sometimes when people hear authors go 'please don't give me unsolicited writing advice or criticism' they automatically chalk it up to 'this author doesn't want ANY constructive feedback on their stuff at all' and not "i already have trusted individuals who will help me with my writing goals and- hey i don't know you like that, please stop acting so overly familiar with me'

[thewizardhole]

happy pride u vile sickos

[fishyupmywishy]

A Night Out (Part 1?)

“I can’t believe I’m single! I really thought he was the one,” Chelsea whined, stretching herself over the armrest of the couch.

Amari sighed. “Alright look. Lemme give you some advice.”

Chelsea quickly sat up and nodded eagerly. 

“Men are like refrigerators. It’s not about what they look on the outside, it’s what they got to offer from the inside.”

“Woah.”

“Yeah,” Amari said, taking a sip of whatever it is in her cup.

“Mark had a nice fridge. Are you saying I should get back with him?”

Amari nearly spat out her drink. “No, no. That is not at all what I’m saying.”

“But you just said-“ Chelsea started.

“No, no. Okay, look, you’re missing the point. Mark is the fridge in this scenario,” Amari said, uncrossing her legs.

“Okay, I get that he wasn’t exactly a male model but you don’t have to insult him like that!” Chelsea pouted.

“No, see Mark is a nice, expensive, Kitchenaid fridge with no fingerprints on the outside, got it?”

Not waiting for a response, Amari continued.

“But when you open it,” she motioned, “When you open it, all you see is some expired milk, week old sushi, and baking soda, and vegetables that haven’t been touched since the decade started. You get what I’m saying?”

Chelsea looked as if she was paying attention to every word Amari was saying. 

“I’m pretty sure Mark had a whirlpool fridge.”

Amari pinched the bridge of her nose in exasperation and sat down her cup on the coffee table. “Oh my, no sweetheart. I’m saying that while he may be pretty on the outside, he’s all rot and mold on the inside.”

“Oh!” Chelsea nodded in understanding. “Okay but what if you have company? It’s always good to have a nice fridge on display.”

“Yeah! Until they open it and realize there’s zero substance on the inside!”

“This is a simple fix. Just close it, forget about it, order food.” Chelsea looked so proud of herself for saying that, as if she had just solved world hunger.

“You can’t keep ordering food, Chelsea!” Amari slammed her fist into her open hand on each word. 

Chelsea furrowed her eyebrows and bit her lip. “But what if-“

Amari stood up as she realized her dumbass friend wasn’t getting it. 

“Hey, where are you going!”

“You’re clearly not getting it so here is what I’m going to do and you’re gonna listen. Is that understood?”

“Yes ma’am.”

Amari sighed. “Saturday night. You’re going to be dressed all nice in that outfit I picked out for you to wear for Mark which you never wore for some reason even though you were so excited to wear it.”

“Mark didn’t like it,” Chelsea said softly, looking down at the floor.

Amari pretended not to hear that while she plotted that stupid man’s murder in her head. “I am going to take you out on a date,” she said matter of factly.

“A date? Why?” Chelsea was utterly confused.

“I am going to give you some real expectations and standards,” Amari took a step closer to Chelsea.

“I am going to make sure you have the best time of your life.” Another step.

“And I am going to hope that you finally understand that someone taking you out to a shitty diner where all his friends are giving him pats on the back is not a good thing.” Step.

Now directly in front of her best friend, Amari kneeled to be level with Chelsea and placed a hand on her shoulder.

“Is that okay?” Amari softened her voice.

“Y-yeah,” Chelsea said, letting go over her tortured lip. “That’s really okay.”

Amari smiled in satisfaction and stood up. “Good. I’ll see you on Saturday then,” she shouts behind her as she saunters off to the front door.

Chelsea tried to get up from the weird angle she was sitting and ended up tripping.“W-wait! You didn’t tell me where!” She called from the floor.

Amari giggled as she stepped out. “You’ll find out on Saturday!”

And with that she left, leaving a very confused Chelsea on the floor.

[mebssann]

Amity pestered Principal Bump enough times that he finally allowed Hexside to have a student council

[slaviccryptid]

[un-pearable]

ngl one of the most useful things i’ve internalized from doing art online is never tell people what to criticize. don’t preemptively apologize for things or point out where you think you fumbled, it’s just priming people to notice minor issues that might not actually matter and hit you where you’re sensitive and throw you off your game. don’t tell people your weak points. if it’s a genuine problem they’ll point it out

[filibusterfrog]

[esthelle-wanders]

[Image credits to Jojo of course, alignment credits to a special irl]

Did a few of these surprise me? Yes they did.

Do we take constructive criticism? No we do not.

[denkies]

[12neonlit-stage]

Sonic: crystallized AU _ Prologue . page01

[zhellers]

modern au Ash and Chet, they met at work and now they hate eachother (they're besties)

[isawjamfirst]

🐺🐺🐺

[the-kipsabian]

saw a take so fucking rancid on twitter i almost deleted the entire app from my phone jesus fucking christ

first of all ao3 is an archive site. this is like going to the library and saying "oh i dont like this" on every piece of media you find that you dislike and thinking they should be stamped with some sort of a marker just cause you didnt like it

you can always click back and leave. fic writers owe you nothing to explain themselves and their creations. if they have mistagged or miscategorized fics, then i understand, however there are report tools for that instead of yelling at the artist tbh

im not saying free works arent necessarily above criticism. but this is just. fucking wild. its common courtesy to just enjoy stuff (or fucking leave if you dont, the back button is free) and if the artist specifically asks for critiques, then give one - constructive that is, shitting all over someones work is not proper criticism, mind you

i just find it fucking wild people are treating art and archive sites as social media these days like this and everything needs to be policed and ~catered to the algorithm~ like. no. ao3 doesnt have an algorithm. you should be able to fucking tell what you like and what you dont like and steer away from that kind of content and let people fucking be with their art. they dont owe you anything (except trigger warnings i'd argue, but i know some people disagree with that as well for some reason), and imagine how much more energy you'd have if you only engaged with things you liked and spent time looking at instead of going to places where you dont enjoy yourself. let alone spending time telling other people you dont enjoy what they enjoy. what a fucking life

[ravenswritings]

── pretend

> love & deepspace; rafayel x fem reader > smut (explicit sexual content - nsfw) > 5.2k > a slight re-envisioning and expansion of the kindled scene from the gem affection card > content: 2nd person pov, petnames (your highness, princess, good girl), mostly pwp, switch rafayel and switch reader, cowgirl, missionary, creampie > [ ao3 ]

The best way to convince the palace maids to leave you two be is to act like you are lovingly wrapped up in each other. But where’s the fun in just pretending?

“Then I shall wait by the door. I’ll always be ready to tend to you, Your Highness.”

What had initially begun as a way to hide the marked-up map and mask your discussions of escape was gradually devolving into pure indulgence. Words of let’s make it convincing turned into what’s the harm if we continue? Rafayel sits atop the soft velvet covers of the bed - map long forgotten even though it was only moments ago that he threw himself on the bed to hide it - with you perched on his lap and your own self-control quickly waning. You hold a grape between your fingers, the fruit coated in a light, watery syrup, pressing it lightly against your lover’s lips.

It’s not as if you two could continue discussing your potential escape with the head maid just outside the door. It was too risky, all too likely that she would overhear something that would compromise your chances of getting back home. In the short time that you’ve been stuck in this world, you’ve deduced that the staff here would much prefer to have you stay, to fill the place of the missing princess and act like nothing is amiss.

You refuse to remain here forever, though.

Still… You two are so very close to settling on a concrete plan. It wouldn’t take much more time or effort to decide on your next steps, make the necessary preparations, and set out into the desert to search for the cave that should hopefully allow the two of you to return home. The temptation of indulging in Rafayel’s affections in this moment is simply too good to pass up. There’d be plenty of time later to finish your discussion.

In the meantime, you’ll continue to play the roles of the salacious princess and her favorite haughty beauty, basking in each other's company, plying each other in soft touches and teasing kisses, until the maid standing just outside the door leaves. It seems like a perfectly fine way to spend the time.

“Since Your Highness wants to spice things up, I’ll do my best to satisfy your every need.”

Of course, Rafayel just has to draw things out; he didn’t immediately part his lips and accept the grape that you had tried feeding to him, and now he’s teasing you back, playing. He grasps your wrist, long fingers curled firmly against your skin. Bringing it to his mouth, his warm tongue swipes up towards your palm as he tastes the syrup that had begun dripping down your inner wrist. Your fingers twitch at the jolt of anticipation that runs through your body, suddenly losing their grip on the slick fruit.

Your eyes immediately lock onto the grape as it bounces down Rafayel’s jewelry-adorned chest, leaving a shining, reddish trail as it soon rolls to a stop right at the edge of his waistband.

“Can’t take it anymore?” Rafayel teases, taunting you for your slip up, lifting his gaze to your face before his eyes flick down to where the grape had settled. There’s a ghost of a devious smirk on his lips, so subtle as he feigns innocence, eyebrows lifting to sell the sweet puppy-dog look while he tilts his head. “It’s so far away. I can’t get it. Your Highness, could you…”

You laugh quietly at Rafayel's apparent helplessness, rather enjoying the situation the two of you have found yourselves in and his insistence on playing coy. “I suppose I can get it for you…” you murmur, unable to help the smirk that twitches at the corner of your own lips. He wasn’t the only one who could draw things out, tease, drive the other wild.

You lean forward, pressing into Rafayel’s space, grasping his chin firmly as you tilt his face to the side to allow for easier access to his neck. Your hand cups his jaw briefly before trailing lower leisurely, the pads of your fingers brushing against his throat. If you pressed harder, you knew you’d be able to feel his pulse - but your touch was agonizingly soft and sweet against his skin. He swallows; breathing shallow.

“Did it fall over here?”

The words lilt in the same feigned innocence Rafayel used earlier. Pretending to be oh so clueless about where the grape had gone and thoroughly investigating its potential whereabouts, you allow your nails to graze his collarbone, brushing lightly against the gold adornments he wore.

“I think you need to go… a little lower,” he rasps, clearly trying to appear more unaffected than he truly is at this moment. A soft huff of laughter leaves your lips, but you happily play along with his false ignorance. Your hand runs down his chest almost lazily, the metal and gems of his body jewelry softly clinking as your fingers brush across them, the muscles of his abdomen jumping at the feather-light touch as your search continues lower and lower. Soon enough, your touches halt once they make contact with the fabric of his pants.

“Here?” you ask, head tilted and eyebrows raised, fingers hovering just over the runaway fruit. When you glance back up to your lover’s face, you see that a red flush had already settled across his cheekbones. His smoldering gaze is heavy on you, the gradient of red of his eyes prominent and rich in the subdued, warm candlelight of your bedchambers. You can’t help but notice how well his eyes and blush compliment each other.

Before he can say anything else, you pluck the grape up between your fingers, then pop it into your own mouth. If he wouldn’t eat it, fine; it’s yours, then. Swiping your tongue across your digits to clean the residue off, you make eye contact with him. The mild surprise in his eyes makes you feel giddy, and you want to keep pushing your luck.

So - given he had propped himself up on his elbows to play around and tease you - you firmly press him back down against the bed, in a rather similar manner that echoes the beginning of this little session between you two. But this time your push is much more slow, deliberate. His hands instinctively move to your hips, holding you steady as your positions shift against each other. You can’t help but smile at the way his eyes narrow; he’s trying to figure out your intentions, your next move. With him splayed out beneath you, that dark trail the syrup-coated grape left behind practically begs for your attention. You know what you’ll do.

Despite the intensity in your eager gaze, Rafayel is quick to regain his composure. “You're quite the tease, aren’t you?” His voice is husky, barely above a whisper. He looks amused as he watches you, sitting so pretty and coy on his lap. “I think you enjoyed that more than you let on.”

“Maybe,” you respond vaguely with a cheeky smile. And then you’re scooting back slightly, putting a necessary distance between you two so you can enact your next course of action. Leaning down, your lips press against the bare skin of his collarbone, right at the very beginning of the sticky, sweet line of syrup. You hear his breath hitch in anticipation, his chest stilling beneath your lips.

With your hands placed on his biceps as you brace your body against his, you move your face a bit lower, flatten your tongue against his pec, and drag it upwards towards his shoulder, licking the skin clean. Rafayel’s digits noticeably twitch against your hips and you hear him exhale a long, shaky breath just above your head. Pulling your mouth away from his skin, the tip of your tongue swipes across your bottom lip, and you glance up at him briefly while you shift further down his body. But before you can get too far ahead of yourself, one of his hands moves to grasp your chin firmly, stopping you from reaching your next destination.

A swift tug pulls you up, and a moment later your lips lock with Rafayel’s in a firm kiss. Despite the initial surprise you felt, only a heartbeat passes before you’re melting against him, a little sigh leaving your nose as your arms loosely loop around his shoulders. You break the kiss to breathe, to press yourself ever closer to your lover. Rafayel's eyes, hooded as he gazes up at you, flutter shut as you lean in once more, meeting in another searing kiss. His hands depart from your hips and slide upwards to cup your face, leaving tingling trails that cause you to shudder. He lets out a soft moan against your mouth as your own hands roam down his chest in return, fingers tugging at the gold jewelry adorning his torso.

“Mmm, I love it when you take charge,” Rafayel purrs, words mixed into a sigh as he breaks the kiss. His fingers tangle in your hair and tug you back gently, preventing you from pitching forward and stealing another kiss. Who’s really in charge here? Regardless, arousal washes down your spine at his easy confession, at the light but persistent grip he has on your hair. Your eyes are half-lidded as you stare down at him, head tilted back just slightly due to Rafayel’s hold.

His eyes flick to the closed door of your bedchambers at that moment, and your gaze follows his. That’s right, you think to yourself, pulled slightly from the fog of your arousal as if just remembering where you two are and what transpired before you two started getting lost in each other. Is the maid still out there?

Well, it didn’t matter either way, in the end.

A charmingly wicked grin spreads across Rafayel’s face as your eyes meet his again. “Someone might still be out there. But don't hold back, my love. Let them hear every moan, every gasp,” he whispers, his warm breath fanning against your skin. His hands move to your hips again, gripping the flesh tightly as he ruts his hips up against yours, the friction causing your breath to hitch in your throat. His thumbs massage little circles into your hip bones and you squirm at the slightly ticklish sensation. “I want you to ride me, Your Highness. Show me how much you enjoy your favorite concubine.”

His pupils are blown wide with adoration and desire, red flush still so pretty across the apples of his cheeks. The dim candle light casts shadows across his features, but you swear it only accents his already devastating beauty. A smitten sigh escapes your lips. “Well, I can’t say no when you look at me like that,” you coo, lifting a hand to trail your fingertips across his face, brushing strands of his dusky purple waves away from his eyes and lingering along his jaw. You certainly couldn’t deny his demands when they sounded so sweet coming from him, no matter how haughty they come across. And why would the princess deny her favorite’s wishes, anyway, when they are so easy to grant?

“Besides…” you add, voice coming out in a whisper while you tilt his chin up with a single finger, your eyes locked on his. The heady emotion in your eyes reflects your next words: “I want it just as much as you.”

Lifting your hips slightly, you begin to untie the navy blue sash around your waist. A more desperate part of you wants to just bunch your skirt up to your thighs and get on with it to save time, but you know it’s just going to interfere, getting in the way of you enjoying your dear, sweet, beloved Rafayel. While you love to tease him and draw things out, this side of you is warring with the one that wants to dive in and lose yourself in him. His hands grasp and lightly tug at your skirt, pulling the now-loose fabric a few inches down the flare of your hips.

As much as you loathe to separate from him, you shift off his lap, moving to the side and stepping off the bed. Working the skirt the rest of the way off your hips, you let the light, flowing layers drop to the floor along with your panties. After stepping out of the little pile around your ankles, you settle back down on the bed beside him, drawing your legs loosely up beneath you. Your palm brushes across his waistband, a short distance above the tent that had been steadily growing between his legs, your nails lightly teasing the skin right along the edge of his pants. Rafayel’s eyes flutter closed as he exhales shakily.

“You’re pretty like this,” you hum, allowing your eyes to roam his figure from head to toe before returning to his face. He opens his eyes with a soft chuckle and the heat in his gaze sends a buzzing anticipation across your nerves.

“Pretty, huh?” The words are smug, as if he already knows just what you thought of him. He knows he’s pretty, of course. But you nod, readily feeding his ego. Your fingers deftly tuck themselves into his waistband, tugging the sash loose. The sheer coral fabric that draped across his chest, as well as the teal and crimson panels of fabric that hung around his hips, fall slack. Rafayel flicks the coral fabric over his shoulder while you remove the excess fabric from his lower half.

Once he kicks his pants off, nude aside from the gold adornments across his chest and the shimmering teal cloth tied to both biceps that loops behind his back, you waste no time alighting yourself on his lap once more. Rafayel places his hands at your waist, though they only remain there briefly before sliding upwards, drumming along your ribcage. His thumbs brush against the fabric of your top; the body jewelry you wear, identical to your lover’s, softly jingles with the motion. Your hands press against his shoulders to steady yourself, pussy hovering above his hard cock. Lowering your body, the pretty flushed tip catches at your slick entrance briefly before it slips, brushing right past your clit.

You bite down on your lip to stifle the whine that threatens to leave your throat. Rafayel’s breath stutters; a short, shuddering gasp at the sensation of his tip dragging across your folds. Your walls clench at the spark of pleasure stemming from that sensitive bud, and you can’t help yourself; you rock against him again, folds practically gliding against his shaft, leaving your arousal along his length. A groan leaves your partner’s lips, equal parts frustrated and eager.

“Make me yours, princess.”

His demand is strained, desperate; as if he’s barely holding himself back from grabbing your hips and rutting into you. He wants you to indulge, wants you to claim him - and you’re going to grant that wish of his. It’s your wish, too, after all, even though you know very well that he’s already yours… and that he’s been yours for a while now.

Your response to him comes in the form of your hand grasping his length, holding him steady as you tuck the leaking tip against your entrance again. You ease yourself down onto him slowly, taking him into your slick heat inch by inch. The leisurely descent is almost agonizing, but you pride yourself on your self control as you try to draw the act out; you’ve always relished the initial stretch of your walls whenever he first enters you, his girth providing the perfect amount of stretch. Rafayel’s jaw clenches while you take your time, trying to keep his breathing and hips steady as you work your way down. A pleased little sigh escapes you once you’re fully seated on his lap, his member nestled all snug inside you, filling you so deliciously.

With both of your hands braced against his shoulders once more, you lift your hips until just his tip remains inside. A short pause, a deep breath. Then, your tight heat engulfs his length again, quicker this time. You grind against him, back arching as you rock your hips, though you continue to take your sweet time. The languid drag of his cock as you ride him drives you crazy, but it allows the pleasure to swell gradually; the warmth of arousal slowly spreads from your core to the rest of your body.

“Your Highness…” Rafayel gasps out between breathy little moans that you manage to pull from him. Every few thrusts, his hips buck upwards as he ruts into you - a whine escapes your throat each time it happens, and you find yourself shuddering as your head starts to hang between your shoulders. Your hands curl into fists against his chest, leaving pale pink lines as your nails scrape against the skin. “Aren’t you being too much of a tease, now?”

When Rafayel’s grip around your waist tightens and he starts to control the rhythm of your bodies, clearly tired of your mischief, you put more of your weight into your descent and firmly plant yourself on his lap. His brows twitch and his lips curl into a pouty scowl when he’s unable to continue to thrust up into you, the pace coming to a grinding halt. Your knees tightly press around his hips, further restricting you both, though you can’t help but rock your hips in small, torturously languid circles while you try to catch your breath. A strangled groan leaves Rafayel’s lips as he throws his head back, thumbs pressing into the soft flesh of your abdomen, one of his thighs jumping in response to the constrained, regulated pleasure.

A breathless laugh escapes you in a huff and you can’t help but smirk at his crumbling composure.

All movement on his part halting, Rafayel’s eyes narrow, shades of ruby red briefly gleaming in stark contrast against the dark azure surrounding it. His expression is dangerous, and suddenly you realize your mistake. A shudder wracks your body, though you’re not sure if it’s due to uneasiness or anticipation.

He’s going to swallow you whole.

And you’ll let him. You’ll welcome it, even.

There’s a moment of stillness, of bated breaths - then, your vision spins as Rafayel flips your positions. Fingers clutching his shoulders, you cling to him as your world shifts. Your back is pressed into the mattress now, and he’s hovering above you. With the way his bangs frame his face, the flickering candle light is blocked from fully reaching his eyes; the shadows make his gaze even more intoxicating. Given how tightly both your hips had been pressed together before your hubris, his cock easily remains firmly lodged inside you despite the shifting of bodies and power. You suppress the low moan that bubbles up in your chest, arousal spiking as he pins you beneath him, his cockhead pressing right up against your cervix. Fuck, you feel so full like this.

He leans down and nuzzles his nose against your cheek; it feels almost cool against your warm skin. One of his palms rests on your hip, while the other is planted against the bed. A shiver runs down your spine as his breath fans over your ear, and you squeeze your eyes shut, trying to calm your heart pounding with anticipation. Quietly, he chuckles; you almost feel it more than you hear it. When he pulls his face away slightly, you open your eyes and they flit up to meet his gaze. With a smug smirk, not unlike the one you gave him moments ago, he speaks. “Forgive me, but I’m getting impatient tonight. I need you, princess.”

“Rafayel–?”

As if to prove his words, he pulls out just slightly before rutting back into you again sharply. You’re left breathless as your back arches upwards, and your thighs twitch against his hips. Rafayel pushes himself into a more upright position, moving both palms to your waist, using your hips as an anchor and holding you tight as he starts to steadily roll his hips against yours. A keening whine leaves your throat as your head lolls to the side, overwhelmed with pleasure even as your walls greedily suck him in.

“You’re - hah - so gorgeous like this… Gonna make you feel so good…” Rafayel groans, heavily affected by the exquisite sensation of your walls clenching around him, your arousal drenching his length and making a mess where your bodies meet. Though subtle, you can feel your own pulse in your walls that are stretched tightly around his girth whenever he presses his cock in as deep as it can go.

Your body begins to adjust - somewhat - to his unrelenting thrusts, becoming used to the waves of pleasure that flush through your core. You focus your gaze on him; his cheeks are flushed with desire and exertion, a sheen of sweat glistening at his temples and along his delicate neck, lips parted as a result of his panting breaths and husky groans that accentuate the cadence of his hips. Eyes fixated on his mouth, his pretty lips that you want on yours so badly, your fingers twitch against his shoulders before they move.

Hooking your fingers through the gold metal dangling inches away from his sternum, you yank him down; he yelps and frantically catches himself with his palms against the mattress, pulled off balance by the sharp movement. His rhythm falters, hips stilling at the sudden change in position. You then loop your arms around the back of his neck, keeping him close and not allowing him to escape. Most of his weight rests on you, though his forearms dig into the bed on either side of your ribcage, propping him up just enough so that he isn’t crushing you. Capturing his lips with yours, you muffle the gratified groan that crawls up your throat.

The kiss is messy, sloppy as your open mouths press against each other. Teeth graze plush lips, slightly too abrasive, though neither of you can bring yourselves to care. Tongues meet, brush past one another, depart. Rafayel coaxes a moan from you as the tip of his tongue curls up against the roof of your mouth, and you retaliate by sucking his bottom lip in, biting down; a breathy whimper escapes him. He breaks the kiss momentarily to inhale deeply, rocking his hips against yours as his lust-hazed mind remembers that his length is buried deep in you, hard and throbbing.

With the current angle of his hips, each time he moves against you, friction greets your clit. Your legs, hooked around his waist to keep him close, help corral his body in towards yours each time he rolls against you. “Nn, Rafayel…”

“Hm?” His answering hum rumbles against the crook of your neck, where his lips are leaving soft kisses along with light, pinching nips from his teeth. A swipe of his tongue and a loving peck soothes the skin, and his hand - one now roaming your body, nails dragging lightly across the side of your plump breast and down the curve of your ribs - provides a sweet, tantalizing distraction. Your eyes flutter shut and you tighten your hold on him, fingers clutching at the string of body jewelry that rests against his spine.

Each time he drives his length into your sopping wet pussy, a short little moan bubbles out of your mouth. You’re too far gone at this point; any thoughts of banter and teasing nonexistent in your mind. All that matters right now is Rafayel, how he’s making you feel, and how he’s indulging in you as he chases his own pleasure. “Please, Raf… I need…” your begging drops off into a whine. The muscles in your lower abdomen are tense, a manifestation of your desperation because you need to cum soon, or you’re going to lose your mind.

“You’re taking my cock so well,” Rafayel praises, statement husky and ending in a low moan. “Nngh–! Such a good girl, such a perfect little princess for me.” He’s just as close to falling apart as you are, his breathing heavy as he pants against your skin. His fingers press into your skin in a halfhearted attempt to ground himself.

Your eyes roll back into your head when he calls you a good girl, his perfect little princess - his voice sends a white-hot flash of arousal straight to your core, and your pussy practically drools around him in response, body shuddering as your orgasm edges ever closer. When Rafayel’s fingers start moving in tight, quick circles on your clit, you bite down sharply on your bottom lip, subduing the high-pitched cry torn from your throat.

“Raf - ah - Rafayel…” you babble, and your fingers clutch at his back, tugging at the jewelry as if it’s your lifeline. His tip brushes against that spongy spot repeatedly with each pass of his hips, and you vaguely notice the barely perceptible tremble of your limbs in the midst of your lust. “I’m–I’m close–”

And with a well-timed, sharp thrust while his fingers press down on your clit, you come undone. Your back arches and you cry out, walls clamping down tightly around his cock before fluttering, subsequently coaxing his orgasm from him. Your breath hitches when you feel the subtle, telltale warmth pooling deep in your canal, right up against your cervix. The sensation is accompanied by a sultry mix between a groan and a whine coming from Rafayel, forehead pressing against your collarbone.

With a shuddering exhale, he relaxes against you, weight bearing down on you, suffocating you just a little. Your fingers untangle themselves from the body jewelry and ghost over his shoulders, his skin sweaty and sticky beneath your touch. After a few moments where you try to catch your breath, you lightly smack his bicep. “You’re crushing me.”

Rafayel grumbles a bit, complaints unintelligible, but pushes himself up onto his forearms, peeling his body off of yours. He shifts back, pulling his softening cock out of your pussy - your walls clenching almost instinctively as if trying to keep him in - then flops over onto the bed beside you. Now with his weight off you, your lungs can get the air they need. Inhaling deeply, your eyelids slide shut as you allow your body to go limp against the gold-embroidered velvet donning the bed. It’s soft, easily holding onto the warmth from your activities.

Moments later, Rafayel’s hands grasp at you and pull you against him. Your face scrunches at the tacky feeling of your sweaty-and-cooling skin against his, but the mild distaste is easily overshadowed by the warmth of your heart as you indulge in a bit of skinship after your little romp. Lying on your side, you press yourself against his front and sling an arm over his waist lazily, letting out a tired but pleased little sigh. A few heartbeats later, you crack your eyes open and look up at him, head resting on his arm - your own personal pillow (until your beloved complains that his arm is going tingly and numb, and then you’re going to have to deal with him rolling away in the other direction, and you’ll delegate yourself as the big spoon).

Rafayel’s eyes meet yours and his eyes light up with the grin that spreads his lips. He nods his head to the side, gesturing vaguely towards the door. “Think she’s still out there?”

Snapped out of your blissful little reverie, you huff, a pout on your lips as you reach up and pinch his cheek softly. The way his skin squishes between your thumb and forefinger is reminiscent of a marshmallow. “I don’t know,” you answer with a sigh and you press your face against his chest again, hiding away from reality. “I guess I don’t really care. It’s not like they don’t already expect this from us.”

“True.” The agreement is punctuated with a quiet laugh from Rafayel, softened as he nuzzles his cheek against the top of your head. “Though I think it’s funny that you took on the role of the promiscuous princess so easily.”

He yelps as you retaliate with a sharp bite to his shoulder.

The candles in your bedchambers continue to burn late into the night.

You’re unsure when exactly the maid beyond the door left - all you knew is that she was gone from her post by the time you and Rafayel had bothered to extract yourselves from each other to go check.

You’re leaning against Rafayel’s side as you two sit up side by side in the bed, cheek pressed into his shoulder. Even though the incense has long been extinguished, the faint smoky fragrance continues to linger in the room, contributing to the ongoing intimacy of these moments.

Plucking a grape from the bowl in your lap, you hold it up to your beauty’s lips. He obediently opens his mouth and you pop the fruit in, fingertips brushing against his lips. His eyes flick from your face to the map that he’s holding up before the two of you. Chewing absentmindedly, his gaze traces over the notes the two of you had scribbled into the parchment earlier.

Popping a grape into your own mouth, you also look over the map. You two have marked the caves that are most likely to hold the mural that should allow your return back to your original world. With a decisive hum, Rafayel folds the map up, setting it off to the side. He then turns his body towards you, and you make a disgruntled noise in the back of your throat as your support - in the form of his shoulder - moves away from you.

His hands grasp the bowl, taking it off your lap as he cradles it in his arms; then he slots himself in your arms, resting his weight comfortably against you. You slump against the propped up pillows and cushions that support your back, allowing him to use you as his own pillow. He noses your collarbone, brushing freely along the skin, your jewelry having been removed some time ago. Rafayel picks up a grape and holds it up to your lips to feed you and pamper you, just as you had done for him. You take the grape into your mouth while giving a teasing nip to the tip of his finger at the same time. He smiles up at you, eyebrows raised in amusement.

“You know, all things considered, I’d say our time here hasn’t been terrible,” Rafayel starts, grabbing another grape to feed you. Once you take it, he licks the watery syrup that lingers on the pad of his thumb.

You shrug and nod your head. “Yeah,” you agree, though your tone is more ambivalent. “I won’t lie, it’s been kind of fun. A vacation in and of itself, almost. But…” You run your fingers through his dusky purple hair, lightly massaging his scalp. Rafayel practically melts against you. “I’m looking forward to being back home.”

“Mm, me too.” Rafayel’s long arms deposit the bowl of grapes - now nearly empty - onto the side table before settling back down into your embrace. His fingers trace languid, abstract images into the bare skin of your torso, his blue-pink eyes drowsy and half-lidded. A yawn escapes his lips and he nuzzles his face against your chest. “Does tomorrow night sound good to you?”

“Yeah, we’ll leave tomorrow.”

In the meantime, you’ll happily luxuriate in these moments with Rafayel as the princess and her sweetheart, certain that you two will find your way back home.