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evielmostdefinitely · 7 months ago

Note

I know you must be busy, but i just have to share this with you. You can get to it whenever you want to. Can you write about reader and coryo finding out that reader is pregnant? You can do whatever you want with that. Anyway, i love your work so much and please never stop writing. You write for coryo so perfectly ❤️ thank you

sprouting in spring |coriolanus snow x capitol!reader|

prompt: as requested above, you and coryo find out you're pregnant.

also sorry for the delay, i've just been super busy with life. going to try to update more!

contains: pregnancy. female reader. dark/possessive coryo. mentions of struggles getting pregnant/ infertility. duke reader. language. capitol!reader.

“It will only take a moment, Mrs. Snow.” Doctor Crane nodded, sealing the vial of your blood. You pretended not to see the way his hands shook when your assigned Peacekeeper adjusted the gun in his arms. His uniform had been modified, all the Peacekeeper’s had, the newest order your husband had put out.

It felt colder somehow when the doctor left, a Peacekeeper following him closely. The sterile room with its too bright lights that made you squint at the harshness, stomach turning with nerves.

You wished Coriolanus was here. You weren’t sure why this time you were so anxious, why you missed him so. He only came to a handful of your appointments, the ones his schedule would allow for. Since the two of you began trying, Coryo insisted you were to be tested every single day.

“I want to know the moment it happens.” Coriolanus had rasped, eyes dark with a primal need, still buried deep inside you. “I don’t want a single second to pass by without me knowing.”

So everyday at three, precisely, the Capitol’s doctor would usher you into the same frigid room, and draw a small vile of blood to test. Each day, so far, he’d come back with negative results. With each passing day, the both of you began to worry. Doctor Crane had mentioned at the last appointment that there were treatments available, other options, if this problem persisted.

You were glad Coriolnaus wasn’t there for that appointment. You knew he’d be able to sense your upset at the poor choice of words the doctor used- that he’d have his head for insinuating that you were the issue.

The door latched, startling you from your thoughts, your stomach plummeting at the neutrality on Crane’s face- the same as it was every day, always bringing the news you weren’t looking for.

“Mrs. Snow,” Doctor Crane sat, the familiar papers in his hands, only this time- they didn’t shake.

You steeled yourself, a slow inhale to steady your nerves, your emotions, at least until you returned to the sanctuary of your home.

“Congratulations.” The sigh never came, your breath hitching and halting in your throat with surprise.

Crane gave a soft smile, passing the papers towards you. “You’ve tested positive.” If his words weren’t enough, there in bold letters were the results- Pregnant.

“I-I- Really?” You squeaked. You hated how dull you sounded, knowing Coryo would be embarrassed of your lack of composure.

Crane didn’t seem to notice, nodding instead. “Yes, Mrs. Snow.” He stood. “Congratulations. You’re pregnant.”

Your ears rang, the new found reality not yet setting in. Crane’s instructions falling dull against your racing mind, thoughts consumed and rushing with only one thing- Coriolanus.

You couldn’t wait to tell him, nearly running through the halls towards his office, clutching the results neatly in your hand. A shaking hand lifted to knock on the large door of his office.

“Who is it?” Coriolanus snapped, and you could picture his pinched expression, huffing with annoyance at the intrusion.

“It’s me.” You called, looking into the camera above the door, biting back your own grin. “Let me in.”

The mechanical whirr came, unlatching the door before you stepped through, carefully closing it back. Coriolanus stood when you entered, eyes narrowed in a predatory way that left you shivering.

“What is it, my darling?” Coryo hummed, stepping towards you. “Has something happened?”

“No- well, yes, but it’s not bad.” You stammered dumbly, head spinning with excitement. “I just came back from the doctor.”

Coriolanus' face fell. “And?” He rasped, voice dropping to a near whisper.

You swallowed your own gleeful giggles, lips pressed in a tight line to keep yourself from blurting out the good news. Instead, you handed him the papers, watching as he read it carefully. You didn’t miss the moment his expression fell, eyes widening, sending your tummy into flutterings of excitement.

“You’re- It’s true?” Coriolanus whispered. Your heart sunk at his words, ached for him- always skeptical, your husband. So cynical in his trust, even with you, that his first reaction was to ask if the news was valid.

“You’re pregnant?” Coryo’s voice cracked gently, leaving you swooning at the softness.

“Yes,” You nodded, beaming. You looked radiant to him, so happy, so proud. “I-I couldn’t wait to tell you. I made them bring me here so I could share the news.” You grinned, hands closing over his sweetly. “We’re having a baby, Coryo.”

Coriolanus nodded, tongue too thick in his own mouth to speak. He knew it was coming, thought about this day since the moment he’d started trying to impregnate you. Still, hearing it, seeing you in front of him spilling with excitement, it left him faltering. Desperate to regain control, to not give into himself and allow him the softness that inevitably always ruined him.

“That’s wonderful news.” Coryo gave a soft smile. You found it to be forced. “What did the doctor say was to happen now?”

You frowned, your face falling slightly. You’d waited for weeks to be able to tell him this, and now… this was his reaction? So clinical and cold, it made your stomach twist with nerves.

“Well, he said I’d start vitamins to keep the baby healthy, and that’d we’d listen to the heart beat soon.” You muttered, your hands sliding from his. “Coryo, are you not excited?” Your eyes shone with a new wave of emotions, upset. “Is this not what you want?”

Coryo’s heart lurched, pulling his thoughts out of the clouding fog he always found himself into. Spiraling need to have a plan, to be one step ahead of any possible risks at all times.

“Of course, I’m happy, Petal.” Coryo cooed, hands sliding over your cheeks, cupping your face affectionately. “I’m elated, truly, I am.”

Your narrowing gaze told him you weren’t convinced. “Darling, don’t be cross with me.” He sighed. “This is… It’s a lot of news to take in for the both of us. Were you not shocked when they told you?”

You frowned. “Yes.” You muttered, eyes casting down from his gaze. His hands pulled, lifting you back towards him.

“Then allow me the same grace.” Coriolanus said, head dipping towards your own, so close your noses were nearly touching.

As if to seal the deal, his hands slid from your face down to your abdomen, spreading across your stomach. Your body tingled with excited heat, squirming under his touch. “We’re having a baby.” Coryo muttered, eyes boring into where his hand laid, as if he could see the baby in there.

“A baby.” You whispered, hand sliding over his, your wedding ring shining in the low light of his office.

Coriolanus stood there, holding you in his office, hand still cradling your stomach as his new reality set in around him. That he was to be a father, that he finally had done what he always wanted to- sired an heir. Even after the marriage, Coriolanus was wary that you might leave him. That his reign would end, but now, he knew you’d be with him for life. You and the baby.

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nastyc2nt · 14 days ago

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Hanta sero being the biggest fuck boy around, and izuku being sensitive and inexperienced leads to many things

Like izuku begging sero to teach him to fuck you. And trust me he’s writhing. Red faced, maybe teary. He’s so embarrassed. And sero just drinks it up. “Yeah? You want me to teach you to fuck your girl?” Or something slightly condescending.

Of course hanta agrees cause you’re hot. So he’s sitting behind you, against the headboard. While he shows izuku how to make you cum in every way.

First lesson was fingers, second was tongue, third was his dick. And after was toys he lended you both. Fingers started out tricky, but sero was fairly hands on, resulting in four fingers in you rather than two. Izukus personal favourite was the vibrators. Something about being as desperate and pathetic as him, turned him on.

Something about the condescending attitude plus the whiny pathetic behaviour goes crazy. (Side note. If you want it to be even more freaky. Make izuku the fuckboy and bakugo the pathetic one. “I guess you’ll always be second place to me kacchan.’ Or something even more diva-ish.)

🫀

I’m literally going crazy, i wouldn’t have thought of this on my own and i’m so grateful you brought this to my attention—

Sero is a very good choice because he’s so experienced!! Poor Izuku wouldn’t know what to do, he’s never had a girlfriend before!!

She/Her and Born at birth anatomy.

{idk where katsuki came in from, but I literally breath for cocky izuku. Will make a small dabble if you send in something about cocky izuku and katsuki}

{Also saw chubby reader for some reason- BUT EVERYTHINH WORKS}

✦ ──────── ᖭི༏ᖫྀ ──────── ✦

“Don’t just whine,” sero sternly shouted at the green haired man that was too lost in your pussy to think of anything else. Izuku has been trying so hard to learn everything, and has been getting so turned on with how pathetic you looked when you’ve been overstimulated.

“M’sorry,” he opened his eyes and focused on fucking you just right instead of his own needs, he tries to reach deep and use his cock with the tips sero gave him! And he listened to how you like it as well.

Sero rolls his eyes and grabs izukus hand from behind you, his other hand still grabbing your waist and you lean back onto his chest. “Play with her clit like a man! I thought the number one hero could please his girlfriend,” he looks down at you, your eyes half open as you look at your boyfriend. He recalled your defenses against izuku being a bad lover throughout the evening but never once said no, or that what sero did wasn’t right.

You moan and whimper when izuku started to play with your overused clit and started to squirm underneath both their holds, but sero made sure to keep you still. “See? Ain’t that a precious sight,” he hated to admit, if you were to find yourself single — he’d fuck you so good. But he has more respect for izuku then to pull you away from him.

Izuku had enough of the hunger in Seros eyes, he knew it was strange to get jealous when he literally asked for this.

You yelped when izuku pressed your leg up higher and inched his body closer, his legs almost crushing you, “Gonna cum?” Izuku egged on. sero watches him start to pump your guts, and the sound from your lips and pussy is so good it makes him hard. Izuku was rough now to, his hand making a imprint on your leg that he held closer to your head, and his hand still playing with your clit.

Sero smirks, proud of Izuku gaining confidence and fucking like a man. “Damn, fuckin’ her rough? I knew you were like a rabbit.”

¡!Don’t repost my posts on other websites, don’t translate them, theses are for me to publish on my own!!

Taglist: @sparklylanddetective @fvitos

#smut #‧₊˚✧.*ˋ°‧₊ angel writes #izuku midoriya x reader #izuku midoriya x reader smut #hanta sero smut #hanta sero x reader #deku x reader #deku smut #mha smut #dabble

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thatfrailsoul · 3 months ago

Text

– Parts of me that I seek in you

tarot pick a pile reading ( → 1, 2, 3 )

When we strive to connect, to know someone... There are many different reasons for which our heart calls more for one person than the other. The appearance, the ways, their mind or heart, their actions or deepest goals and desires... No matter what it is, there is always that something that makes them shine in the darkness that surrounds us. And, very often, that something is the same as the one that we lost, can't find in ourselves... So we desperately look for it in others. With such perseverance and obsessive need that, sometimes, we allow it to lead us to those that perhaps, at the end, we would've preferred to not meet.

So what is it? What you miss in yourself but so desperately need? Where or when did you lose it? And where and how can you finally find that missing piece?

Slow down for a moment. Breathe. Listen to your heart, to its rhythm. Allow it to speak to you. And choose the image that seems so familiar, so similar to what you feel. Remembering that, whatever the message might be, you are free to listen to it or to let go. Without the need to make it fit. Because your true answer will always find you, the moment you will be really ready and will have the need.

– Pile One,

the star, the ten of cups and the fool.

Your poor and innocent soul... Your tired heart, your consumed mind... The only thing you ever wanted, the one that you wanted back then, was simply to leave it all behind. All that pain, all that fear. All the reasons why you couldn't ever be enough or right for someone, for anyone, that for once you just desired to don't hear... You found the last bits of your strength, patience and courage, all that remained in your shattered heart. And you used them to try to heal. All those numerous wounds, so many that it just feels like a whole and single, draining, torturing, one.

But what did it give you, in exchange of this incredible resilience to try to heal? Only a little relief, a little distraction... That hid that hole that was becoming bigger and bigger, with each time that you worked on - or to be exact forced - the healing of your soul.

And this is the thing. This is what ruined it all, what made it so difficult and challenging. What influenced so many others areas of your life... One little but so important detail about who you are, the way you are. And how much you got used in this life to beat yourself up, blaming for every single disgrace that you experienced... How often you repeated it, demonstrated it to yourself with every step that was supposed to help you heal. You never were gentle, patient, understanding. You never gave yourself credit for how many right things and choices you made. Or how many others mistakes never were really yours, but of somebody else. You did none of this. But only focused on rushing, on becoming better, on healing faster, growing, so you could be sooner worthy and ready to show what a good person you are to this world. You were angry, frustrated, ashamed. You despised yourself for needing healing and learning in the first place. You regretted every single additional day that you needed to get it together. Only noticing how many flows you still have, how many wounds are still bleeding, how many triggers you still can't endure.

Your desire, your intention, was so good... So innocent, genuine and truly right. But so quickly and scarily naturally it became just another cage and punishment that you gave yourself. Changing the whole purpose, the whole meaning, of a journey that is so pure. That was never supposed to be so rushed, give you so quickly those results that now you are so angry to don't see manifesting in your world... And that you decided, unconsciously or perhaps not, to look for in others. The ones that seem so beautiful, so healthy and whole. The ones that seem to go through life so gracefully, no matter the obstacles or challenges on their path. The ones that seem to be able to influence you so positively, if only you stay close to them, showing you the right ways and directions. Supporting you, helping you in doing it correctly, like you seem incapable of doing on your own.

But, no matter how much we adore to think the opposite, we indeed are the only ones responsible for our journey. For our battles, our victories or our loss. No matter how supportive, how close others are, they still can't really help us. Not when we don't allow even our own self to do the needed work. You can't fight through it, not this journey. You can't do it with the only motivation and push being your own meanness, judgment and resentement for the things that you dared to do or not. You can't be there, behind your own back, looking closely at every your step and action, ready to attack if you don't do it right.

But you can allow yourself to take more time. To be slower. To make more mistakes. To feel once again that pain, if it's the one that still overwhelms your heart. You can remember. You can reflect. Learn something from it. Or maybe not. Because it is normal, it is right, to take time to heal, to go through it with all the needed ups and downs.

And you can still do it. You can continue this journey changing your pace and rhythm, or simply starting from scratch. You can and need to do it. Because no-one else can help and guide you, as you can do to your own self. By being gentle and understanding with your heart and mind, that indeed do their best to allow you to feel and experience this life.

P.s. If you would like to receive a more personal message and guidance about your situation - find out all about it here!♡

– Pile Two,

the magician, the fool and the page of swords

You have something so beautiful, so unique, within yourself. Such passion that, if not explored and shared, can consume you inevitably. Consume that power that you sometimes forget to have. So you always took care of it. You always nourished it. In the moments when it felt as natural as breathing, and even in those where it was too similar to a torture, that need to create and do something but without any idea on why, how to start or from where. And even if, thanks to you and your deepest love, this passion and calling did survive... It is starting to fade now. Submerged with all the questions and doubts about whether or not it is worth it, if you are good enough to do it at all, if it is really that important... All because for quite sometime you were the only admirer and supporter of your work.

You are wavering, your steps and actions as you create become more and more unstable, as every inspiration or idea seems not enough to be worthy of the success, even just appreciation that you want. But this something... Is so yours, so made perfectly just for you and to express your soul... That you can't really just leave it. You can't just stop doing it, even if it is becoming hard to be satisfied as you used to, because you so naturally always gravitate back to creating and allowing your mind and heart to speak up through every step of your work. So you keep going, with a non consistent rhythm, many set backs, infinite doubts... Doing it, because you feel this need and desire so much. But not really enjoying it anymore. Because in the eyes of others it never seems good enough, and therefore it doesn't feel enough for your own self. For the one that, in the first place, you were supposedly creating it for.

It is so natural and normal to have the desire to share, to welcome others in your universe in a sense, to show them who you are or how you see this world... But what starts so innocently and genuinely, a way to connect to others and don't feel so different or not understood, an alternative type of motivation and fuel for your creativity even... is so often soon to become exactly what kills it, overwhelming your every idea with the judgment of others, and their way of seeing the world.

It just shifted your perspective, about yourself and your work. It made you feel little, insignificant, too simple or too much, confronted to what others seem to consider deserving and worthy of their attention and love. It made you feel useless, because when your creation was ignored, you felt like what was really being rejected was your soul that spoke through your work.

And time after time, day after day, this calling became so faint, almost non existent. Not because it is really going away... But because you are just the one that tries so desperately to ignore it and to not hear it. Convinced that following it would be useless, without anyone appreciating and admiring what you do. Convinced that doing it for your own self and enjoyment is not really worth it, because it doesn't give you any income, any fame, any support and appreciation from others. Convinced that it is only and simply a waste of time.

But is it? Is it really completely useless if you are the only one to whom you dedicate the creations of your soul? Or does it give you a chance to feel and experience this world in your own way, processing those emotions and thoughts, reinventing them? Does it give you back the ability to breathe and feel at ease, once you allow everything that overwhelms you flow out through your work? Does it fill your time with excitement and enjoyment? Does it give you a safe place, that allows you to rest and hide from everything else? Does it make you feel proud of who you are and what you did, what you were able to create with your own mind and hands? Because even if it does only one of these things... Than it is worth it. Because this is what gives you the energy and fuel to live this life, to appreciate it, to go through it. Having something that always protects and expresses your soul.

You can't do only what assures you the interest or appreciation of others. You can't do it for so long as you are planning or trying to do. You can't do it without constantly feeling on autopilot, thrown from one work to another, trying to satisfy every one of them in hopes that in return they will support your work. It is not true to you. It is not what you want or need. It is not even something that you can do, the things that they want. It is only a play, of which you are trying to learn all the phrases and rhythm, but that you can keep up with only for so long.

This life is not unfair, wrong, useless, a constant and neverending annoying and painful cycle. But it is this way for you, who doesn't have anymore that tiny but vital component - the language of your soul. You are suppressing it, you are limiting it and judging. For what? For whom? For what reason? This is not something that needs to be enough or good for others. It is not something that needs to give you incredible success, wealth or recognition. It can, but before any of that it needs only to be something that you enjoy. Truly and simply.

You don't need to find new ideas, ways, hobbies, interests, sports, studies, paths to explore - you just need to comeback to what you already know that you love. And welcome it in your Iife, starting doing it again and more. Just for your own fun and enjoyment, that will overflow from your heart to every other aspect of your life. Connecting everything, and making it free from the torture of unsatisfaction and frustration that you endure.

P.s. If you would like to receive a more personal message and guidance about your situation - find out all about it here!♡

– Pile Three,

the devil, the justice and the star

Sometimes we cross paths with those that perhaps we weren't meant to be with, we weren't meant to create and have the same story as the one we desired and pictured so well. It happens. It hurts. Then, eventually, it goes away. But when it happens again and again, one person after another... One betrayal, lie or misunderstanding after the other... How can one not notice the one element that connects them all - themselves? How can one not think, even in the slightest, that perhaps it is not working out because of who and how they are?

So one dives into it, tries to remember every single moment, analyse their own ways, with the desperate need to find that wrong something and change it, making everything in themselves right again. With the need to demonstrate that it is something that can be changed and that it won't be this way forever. That they can and will be better, more worthy, more right, and for this reason chosen by someone. And perhaps they do find it, that something, they work on it day and night, fight their own demons and who they are, and come out of it brand new. They put themselves out there, open up to people and try genuinely to connect... And then it happens all over again. The same pain, confusion, uncertainty, doubts, betrayal or a broken heart. But they did the work right? They changed, or did they not? And there it goes the fear of not being worthy no matter what, of being destined to loneliness and hurt, or perhaps of not doing enough. And some collapse, they hide, and try with all their forces to make themselves enough, to not need anyone else in their life. While others... Others don't say it out loud. Don't think about it. Hide it deep down. And try to make things work no matter what it means to accept and endure, just to not have yet another person leaving them behind.

And you... You are doing it right now. With them, or with others in your life. Subtly, unconsciously, you force yourself to stay. No matter the words you hear, the actions you see, the promises that you know are already broken and mean nothing to the person by your side. You stay. Because walking away might mean that there never will be someone else, that you will be the only one you will have.

It is difficult and painful to think about being somehow different and wrong, never enough. It is even more difficult to try to work on it and change yourself. It is difficult to face not only the pain but also the loneliness. To feel that fear of living this way forever creeping on you with each day. So staying, trying to be more understanding, patient, docile, considerate, delicate, silent and comfortable for others... Seems indeed less difficult and scary, because in return they too will stay. Even when it is clear that you are torturing and consuming yourself. Even when you so clearly and surely know that the way you are treated is not okay at all. All for that acceptance, that tiny affection, even if not genuine. All for those things that you think you will never be able to find in yourself, and might not find once the people that are now in your life will not be here anymore. A void that, perhaps, won't ever be filled with another person, with another connection or love.

But by convincing yourself to adapt to others and what they look for or don't love... You did exactly that one thing that will not allow people who are genuinely interested in you to come closer. Not when that place in your life is already occupied by another someone. Not when you show so ardently and persistently that the way you are treated is what you want.

A right person - the one that is interested in you exactly the way you are, not less not more - even when so close to you to see you... Will never be able to do something, to help you, to take you out of this play pretend and torture... Because no one can do what should start from you, what you should be ready to finally to do: to protect yourself, t be treated right, to be loved and appreciated for the way you are.

It is safe, please believe me. It is safe for you to be who you are. It is safe for you to don't accept scraps of love and attention from others. It is safe if you walk away from those who can't find that one thing they want in you, who is already perfectly fine and enough. It is safe for you to don't force it. It is safe for you to let them all go. Because the space they will leave behind them is not something so negative as you convince yourself to be. It is not a sign of loss. It is only more space for your own self to grow, to bloom, to be who you are. To shine so proudly and brightly and to be seen by those who will notice and love you. And not the ways you can adapt to someone elses need, desire or mood.

P.s. If you would like to receive a more personal message and guidance about your situation - find out all about it here!♡

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bluemerakis · 1 year ago

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┌──˚*❀*̥˚───˚*̥❀*˚──┐

✐ᝰ bluemerakis

┗━━•❃ ° •° ❀ °• ° ❃•━━┛

❝ white-haired devil ❞

⤷ Word count: 5.6k

!! 18+ ONLY !!

════════════════════════

WARNINGS:

Swearing, smut, power imbalance, mild sexual degradation/sadism, sexual "toy" use, choking, masturbation, fingering, gagging

‼️ DO NOT PROCEED IF YOU ARE NOT COMFORTABLE WITH THE ABOVE-MENTIONED WARNINGS ‼️

SYNOPSIS:

You always knew you'd marry one day—not in the way that every little girl dreams of, but because the knowledge of who you'd be marrying had been held over your head like a dark storm cloud since you were little.

When you'd been invited to dine at Malfoy manor with Abraxas and his son—your groom to be—Lucius, the reality became dauntingly real. But you never would have thought you'd find a euphoria of pleasure in your hatred for the white-haired devil himself.

═══════════════════════

The entire foundation of our existence is built on one concept: an animalistic hierarchy.

The rich and the powerful are the predators. With their gold, status and excessive self-interest, they hunt the down the poor, the powerless and the insignificant. They close in on them until submission is the only acceptable choice. The magic world is no different. You came to understand that the moment you discovered that you had been betrothed to Lucius—pain-in-your-ass—Malfoy.

Arranged marriages were not uncommon, especially within pure-blooded families that wanted to maintain the importance of their self-forged status.

But this time was different.

Your groom-to-be, Lucius—cunt—Malfoy, is the son of a powerful witch and wizard. Your parents are renowned magic-folk, too, but here's where the circumstances differ: where Malfoy is a pure-blooded wizard, you're only a measly squib. That's right—the laughing stock of the magic world.

If it had been up to you, the Malfoys would have only existed in your nightmares. But you had not had much of a say in the final forge of the matter because you had not even been born yet.

You had only just turned six when you had met Lucius—and god did you hate him. Even at the tender age of eleven, Lucius was the biggest pain in the ass you had ever met. You had never wished a day to go by quicker than that very afternoon. When it was finally time for them to leave, you were more than happy to bid farewell. But everything had gone downhill pretty fast when your father and Abraxas Malfoy had herded you and Lucius into the same room to deliver the horrid news. Lucius had immediately objected and for once you found yourself agreeing with him. But neither father would have it. The deal was long done.

Even now—sixteen years later—you grew glum about the matter at least five times a day. You'd often find yourself mimicking a curse on your father for screwing up your life this way. You did it right in this moment as you watched the back of his head swivel to and fro in his attempt to navigate the winding hallways of Malfoy manor.

He ought to appreciate that I'm a squib, you thought defiantly, else he'd have had tentacles for legs right about now.

You balled your hands into miserable fists. You didn't know if they were trembling with anger, or anxiousness, but you weren't going to have your first impression after all these years be comparable to a sheep on death row.

The Malfoys had extended a dinner invitation as a pre-wedding icebreaker, though you hadn't had much of an appetite to begin with. Your stomach turned each time you heard footsteps clatter toward you, anticipating the appearance of a reserved Abraxas Malfoy. But you were only greeted by hasty house-elves determined to bring the manor to order. Though you didn't doubt the extra skip in their step was the result of a Malfoy threat.

You could just imagine Abraxas—if he was anything like his son—towering over the staff and tossing out all manner of condescending insults, threatening to torment the next elf who left a single fingerprint on the fine, black porcelain rim of his plate.

When your father came to a stop, you were dismayed to find yourself staring up at two double doors that stood way taller than necessary. Though you supposed everything needed to be scaled up in a rich person's world—to accommodate their massive egos, of course.

Your father turned to you. "The dining hall is just through there," he said.

"Are you sure those aren't the doors to hell?" You mumbled miserably and folded your arms.

"Don't be like that," he said gently. "Lucius is a perfectly suitable husband."

"But I'm not a suitable wife."

"And why is that?"

"You know why."

His lips pressed into a speechless line.

You turned your head to the side. "A wizard like him has no business marrying a squib. I'm surprised Abraxas even agreed to it."

"That's Mr. Malfoy to you," your father corrected sternly. But after a moment, his eyes regained their gentle touch once more. He called your name softly, "you are more than your magical status."

Not to the Malfoy family, is what you wanted to reply. But your father had been friends with Abraxas since they were in diapers. You were painfully aware of the bond the two of them shared and so you knew every complaint coming from your lips would fall on your father's deaf ears, leaving you trapped in a looped argument.

"Fine," you yielded.

Your father gave an appreciative simper. "Thank you."

You wanted to remain irritable, to make your displeasure obvious, but your father's smile always managed to bring a giggle to light. He always looked ridiculous when he smiled, so much so that you thought he did it on purpose.

"There's that smile of yours!"

"Stop."

"Come on." He offered the top of his hand, which you reluctantly placed your palm over, and with his other hand he knocked on the door.

Are we suddenly too good for handles, you thought bitterly. You still couldn't believe this was happening. For the longest time, you had hoped all this to be some cruel, drawn-out joke. But as the double doors suddenly creaked open, and you found yourself staring up at white-haired devil himself, the notion quickly dissipated within painful acceptance.

"Lucius!" Your father greeted cheerily. Lucius was dressed in an elegant black suit, his hair pulled back into a neat, low ponytail with his signature cane gripped in one hand.

The icy tundra of his eyes disregarded your presence entirely. "Mr Lee," he responded with a curt dip of his chin. "My father awaits you in his study."

"Ah—yes, of course. I do believe Abraxas has some relics he owes me the pleasure of seeing." He slipped his hand from yours and smiled at Lucius. "Will you take good care of her until dinner is ready?"

"I don't need him to take care of me!" you interjected.

Lucius paid no attention to you. It's as though you were nothing more than particles in the air to him. "Of course," he answered, stepping aside to let your father pass.

"I'll be back, dear," he said. "Stay with Lucius." With that, he hurried away into the next room.

You watched his back disappear into the next room before averting your gaze back to Lucius. "I think it's funny that you've got all these attendants, yet you're the one on door duty," you spoke up.

Lucius' head tilted down, and for the first time he glared directly at you. He lifted his sharp jaw, eyes narrowed disdainfully as his slender fingers moved to strangle the serpent head that crowned his cane.

"You're looking particularly sour today," he sneered.

"And you look sallower than usual," you retorted lightly, unable to deny the satisfaction tugging at the corners of your lips.

All the years you'd spent void of magic, you'd learnt to compensate for in your wit, and boy would you seize every opportunity to get under his skin. You brushed past him as you entered the room and you heard the doors click closed behind you. Lucius scowled and uttered your name bitterly. You hated the way it sounded on his lips.

"You're an embarrassment to the wizarding world," he said coolly. "You will do good to remember that before parting those crude lips of yours."

"Firstly," you started, turning to face him, "you'll be marrying this embarrassment, so please, do grow attuned to calling me your embarrassment," you said cheekily, lacing your hands behind your back. "Secondly, I'm rather fond of my lips. I've always found them quite perky." You lifted your face to his. "Don't you think?"

The white-haired devil sneered before lifting his wand from it's sheath and chanting, "Petrificus totalus."

In an instant and with a lack of control, your arms flew to your side, and before your legs could emulate the gesture, he propped his leg into the space so that your thighs straddled his knee. You went as stiff as a board, and panic thumped in your chest as you felt yourself leaning back. Just as you thought you'd hit the floor like a sack of meat, Lucius steadied you with a hand on your collarbone and pushed you flat against the polished wood of the door.

You wanted to wince as the door handle protruded into your spine, and Lucius, keenly aware of your discomfort, sought to worsen it as he gradually applied pressure to your chest.

"Not so gabby now, are we?" He rumbled lowly. His face was mere inches from yours. "Here's how this marriage is going to go," he murmured. "We have an appearance to uphold, so I do hope you know how to behave a proper lady in the presence of esteemed guests. Whatever squib-codswallop you indulge yourself in will happen behind closed doors, but whatever time you spend at my side, you will do it my way."

Heat began to pool at the tip of your ears. You hated the nerve of this man, to demand everything the way he wanted it, and in a way that explicitly stated he always got what he wanted. The knee wedged between your thighs began to trace small, slow circles. Occasionally, it would brush against the hem of your underwear. Your breathing deepened at the sensation, and Lucius extracted a faint smirk from the sight of your flaring nostrils.

Footsteps thrummed closer and closer to where the two of you stood, though Lucius didn't seem too concerned at the possibility of being caught in their position. When the footsteps halted, a dainty head popped up from behind the view of Lucius' shoulder.

"The food is ready, Mr Malfoy," the housemaid offered softly, evidently embarrassed at the sight of their tangled bodies. Lucius waved a dismissive hand, too busy glaring you down to spare the maid so much as a glance. She scampered away, and Lucius brought the tip of his wand up to your body.

"I do hope I have made myself very clear," he murmured. You glared at him bitterly. Go fuck yourself. It would have felt better to say it aloud. "Finite," Lucius chanted, and all control flooded back into your limbs.

You slumped against the door and his hand left your chest, but before you could snap at him, he pressed the nose of his wand into your throat. You glared up at him and he returned your attention with nonchalant eyes.

Slowly, he traced the wand up the expanse of your neck, and when he reached your mouth, he said in a low murmur, "I do rather like your lips."

"Lucius," a deep voice echoed throughout the dining hall.

Abaraxas, you thought horridly. You glanced past Lucius to glimpse your father fondling an expensive-looking object between his gloved fingers, and beside him stood Abraxas, watching the two of you with a cool yet dignified expression. They hovered at the doors to the study, and Lucius tucked away his wand rather tensely before leaving you in a hot flurry to meet with his father.

You cleared your throat and tidied the dress that had creased in various areas. The hem had managed to climb your thighs when Lucius had teased you with his own leg—you quickly pulled it proper before pushing yourself off of the doors. Your back throbbed where the handle had been buried only moments before. You cursed him for it. You cursed yourself for it; you hadn't hated it—the helplessness, his rough handling of you. You'd have let him continue had there not been an interruption, you knew that much to be true. Pathetic.

Your father called your name softly. You glanced up to see that he, Lucius and Abraxas had already gathered at the much-too-long dining table, all three had their eyes trained on you expectantly. Tensely, you made your way over to where your father stood, already reaching out a hand to pull out the chair beside his, but he quickly stopped you. You glanced up at him questioningly.

"Wouldn't you rather sit next to Lucius, dear?" He said gently. It was a demand, not an offer.

"I'd rather squat butt-naked over a wildfire," you replied discourteously, your gaze flickering over to Lucius, who looked enigmatic despite your comment.

Abraxas grew a scowl that almost seemed to speak for itself: why had he ever considered letting this ill-mannered squib marry into such a regal family. You couldn't help but smirk lightly, and your father's fingers tightened around your wrist, followed by the stern sound of your name.

"Do not start," he warned. This was the most serious you'd seen your father. It was quite unsettling, actually.

You snatched your hand from his grip and muttered a simple sorry before pulling out your chair. Your father cleared his throat and you glanced up at him once more. With the slightest flick of his head, he beckoned to where Lucius sat. You bit on your tongue and begrudgingly moved the seat back under the table before making your way over to where Lucius sat.

Upon your arrival, he stood from his seat and took the expected liberty of pulling out the chair for you, to which you dipped your chin in the slightest of thanks and sat down. Lucius propped himself down beside you, and his musky fragrance engulfed you in a gust. It was an enticing smell, and somewhere in the mix you could practically taste a hint of whisky.

If you were to be sentenced to his side for a lifetime, at least you knew you were in for drinks in good taste.

The dinner carried out rather uneventfully, and you spent half of that time praying for the hasty end of it. Lucius had gone back to dismissing your presence, he hadn't even spared you so much as a glance. Not that you cared. Because you didn't. Of course you didn't. Once everyone had finished eating, your meal had hardly been touched, yet you seemed the most prepared to take your leave.

Abraxas had stood and beckoned for the house-elves to tidy up the space while he and your father exchanged a few words. You glanced at Lucius, who had been watching the older men, though his attention shifted toward you as he became aware of your gawking.

"I'm bored," you said simply.

"Hardly my concern," he replied blankly.

"I could do with a drink."

"By all means, help yourself to the kitchen."

"I'm thinking stronger," you said with a dramatic finger to your chin, tapping away as though musing the subject. "Your father's sure to have some whisky in that study of his."

Lucius' eyes grew scathingly narrow. "Don't be foolish," he spat. "The only thing my father adores more than his wealth is his whisky. He'd notice if even a drop had left the decanter. And in any case, I hardly think you of all people could properly appreciate the sweet expense of the beverage."

Your composure collapsed fully at his words. Nothing more than a raging ball of impulse, you grabbed at his tie and yanked it harshly so that Lucius was leaned into you. "Come again?"

"I should have you thrown into the dungeons for your unbecomingness," he growled. His face was so close to yours that your lips could've brushed within the next breath.

You frowned cheekily. "I'd like to see just how daring you are, Mr Malfoy—"

"Don't call me that."

"Perhaps the rumours of your audaciousness are true," you continued with a glance at his lips. "And perhaps they are nothing more than rumours."

Your words sparked his interest. His bitter eyes thawed with a momentary look of curiosity, so faint but evidently present. "And just what are you insinuating?" He moved his cane to prop up your chin.

You winced as the steel python burrowed beneath your chin. It felt unpleasantly cold against your skin. A groan rumbled in the back of your throat and sent Lucius' conservativeness toppling over the edge.

"So fragile," he hummed, eyes gliding over your features. He was infatuated with your non-witchy delicacy. It meant you were powerless to him. You knew that. He knew that—and he loved it.

You practically held your breath as you glared up at him. His gaze flickered away from you and simultaneously, his hand moved to pry your fingers from his tie. He stood from his chair and you felt his cold fingers furl around your arm as he hauled you out of yours. You followed his searching eyes and came to realise that your father had disappeared, along with Abraxas. You had no idea where to, but you could hardly be arsed in this moment. Lucius hadn't given you a split second to speak before he began dragging you toward Abraxas' study.

You smirked as you stumbled after him. "Does this mean I'm getting that drink after all?"

Lucius tossed a swift glare over his shoulder, though he remained silent. When they reached the doors to the study, he extended his free hand to knock and waited for a response. When none came, he pushed the doors open and pushed you ahead of him.

You entered with an annoyed click of your tongue, but the rustic theme of the study stole your attention. A polished, deep-red wood—the entire room. One of the walls was lined with shelves topped with questionable collectibles and the room was furnished with red, velvety sofas. It definitely wasn't a taste you'd ever personally acquire, but you'd have to be blind to admit that it didn't hold some sort of charm. Straight ahead of you, an elegant, bricked fireplace was still bustling with a shy flame that burnt the room just the right shade of cosy.

Lucius released your arm and closed the doors behind him. You ventured a little way from his presence.

"Who knew Lucius had it in him to enter his daddy's study without permission?" You teased absentmindedly as you reached the fireplace and spotted a crystal decanter of whiskey. "Bingo," you murmured, picking it up.

"Put that down." A hand grabbed ahold of your wrist and yanked it roughly, causing you to drop the crystal container.

The whiskey toppled into the fireplace with a sickening slosh, and at the moment of contact, the fireplace burst into a hissing, spitting tornado. You narrowly avoided being nipped by the heat as Lucius pulled you toward him, though your dress was not as lucky. The fabric had caught aflame below your backside, but Lucius was quicker in acting. His hand snaked around your back and tugged at the zip. The straps of your dress fell past your shoulders and he slipped it down the curves of your body until it laid at your black heels and released grey squiggles of smoke.

You glared up at him. "Hey, asshole!" You spat, shoving at his chest. "I liked that dress—a lot!”

Lucius cocked an eyebrow at you and pressed the tip of his cane into your cleavage. Your breath caught in your throat like a lump of dry food. He said your name softly. You liked the way it sounded on his tongue.

"You've made a mess," he said, eyes observing the spill of alcohol that mottled the polished floor before glancing at you. He gradually began to press harder and harder into your skin until you had no choice but to back up to relieve the pain.

"Since when don't you like taking credit?" You shot back sarcastically. A dull coldness hit your back as you bumped into the fireplace, though Lucius continued closing in on the space between your bodies.

He said nothing, only glared at you with annoyingly incoherent eyes. You grew flustered now, grasping the situation. You were half naked and cornered by a wizard, and you had no magical means of defending yourself. You felt the heat of the fireplace begin to lap at your exposed skin. Your jaw clenched, and Lucius' gaze trailed down your neck attentively.

"The fire bothering you?" He asked lowly. You scowled. "Am I mistaken? Had you not mentioned earlier that you'd be more than happy to squat butt-naked over an open flame?"

"You're hilarious," you retorted before moving to shove him away, but his free hand moved to clutch your neck.

His other hand dragged the cane downward, slowly—first over the clasp of your bra, then across the soft skin of your stomach, before stopping short of your now-heated core. The fireplace couldn't take credit for that. You were completely and utterly overwhelmed now. Every sensation had become too much.

Lucius' grip on your neck tightened until your ability to breathe was at his mercy. With painfully exaggerated slowness, he brought his lips to your ear. "I must confess that the mere thought of ravishing a squib is unusually. . . exciting," he said in a gruff whisper.

You felt your expression twist at his words, and much to his satisfaction, too. He leaned away from you, his slender fingers leaving the flushed rim of your neck. His eyes swept over your posture, seemingly pleased with the way you had fallen tense under his control. Power. That's all it was about with him. He bathed in the power that came with any opportunity to completely and utterly dominate the lesser. You saw it in the way every action that earned compliance on the receiving end caused his lips to tug into a smirk. You saw it now as he glared at you.

Lucius' attention moved down to his cane. Slowly, he angled it into your skin and slid it under the waistband of your underwear. You sucked air at the cool sensation of the serpent head gliding down your skin and slipping between your wet folds.

"Lucius," you breathed through gritted teeth.

"Hm?" He hummed busily, his attention fixed on his cane that was now angled toward your entrance. He glanced up at you momentarily. "If you'd like me to stop, simply say so." He paused his movements and gazed at you impassively.

You glared at him in silence for many moments, only bouts of air whistled from your nostrils. Your breathing had grown shallow and quick at his touch. "I hate you," you said softly.

Lucius's lips stretched into a faint smirk before he roughly pressed his lips to yours. You instinctively wrapped your arms around his shoulders to steady yourself, moving one hand to mercilessly tug at his ponytail until it came undone in messy strands. He grunted against your lips and pulled the serpent head from between your folds. You hissed at his lack of caution. He lifted you into his arms and moved to his father's desk, where he set you down onto the fine wood—unpleasantly cold against your exposed skin. He leaned in and curled his fingers around the back of your neck to bring you into another series of rough kisses.

Your hands explored every inch of Lucius's suit. When you felt the hems of his black blazer, you lifted it up and over his shoulders, to which he aided the removal by rolling his shoulders back so that the blazer would fall to the floor. His tongue explored your insides roughly, you savoured the way he tasted. He still possessed a tint of red wine from earlier's dinner.

Lucius broke off the kiss rather suddenly, and you found yourself devastatingly disappointed at the abundance of space between your lips. You leaned back onto your palms, watching as he took a step back and lifted his cane.

"Do you ever not have that thing in clutch?" You asked pointedly.

"Be quiet," he demanded, reaching for your arm and yanking you from the desk. Before you had a moment to protest, he spun you around and bent you over the expanse of the table. Your entire backside was exposed to him, and you felt your face burn self-consciously.

"What are you doing?" You asked angrily, attempting to prop yourself upward, but Lucius held you down with a steady hand on the small of your back. You frowned. "If you think I'm going to let you fuck me like a common whore, you're wrong!" You felt the fabric of Lucius's shirt brush your back tenderly as he leaned over you and brought his lips to your ear.

"Whores don't usually talk this much," he said lowly before bringing his free hand toward your lips. "Spit," he demanded.

"I'm not spitting on your hand, Lucius," you objected. "You've got some weird kinks, you know—" you were cut off as Lucius pried your lips harshly with his middle and index finger.

You felt him push for the back of your throat, and even as you tried to yank your head away as a protest, he kept on reaching for your depths until you gagged around him. He removed his hand, and past your teary lashes, you saw his slender fingers painted in a slimy sheen.

Your back felt cold once more as Lucius straightened up. You felt the tip of his cane scrape your lower back as he hooked it onto your underwear and pulled it down your thighs, exposing your wet core to him. The fingers, coated in your saliva, traced a line down your back until it reached your arse and traced gentle circles around the entrance. A moan escaped your lips as he inserted a finger inside without the courtesy of a warning, and it was quickly followed by another.

You clenched around him at the unfamiliar, slightly painful sensation, but as Lucius proceeded to tease your folds once more with the serpent-crowned head of his cane, you began to melt into his rough fondling. It wasn't long until you felt beads of your arousal escape your main entrance and slither down the insides of your soft thighs.

Lucius noted this image, glorified it, even. "If this is what hate looks likes, I'd love to see what else your cunt would do for me once we're better acquainted," he commented in a low and sultry tone.

You laid with your cheek pressed against the table, your lips slightly parted and your eyes screwed shut at the feelings of ecstasy that now coursed through your veins, brought on at the sites where Lucius teased steadily. You were too far gone to retaliate as you usually did—no one had ever touched you this way. It felt like pure bliss, and now you didn't ever want to leave this manor.

A deep chuckle rumbled from Lucius. "Your asshole is tightening around me. Tell me, did you want something else from me?" He jeered. When you didn't answer him, he paused the movements of his cane and removed his hand from your hole. "Then I suppose we're finished here," he said, passing his wet fingers over the soft skin of your ass.

"No," you complained softly. Disgracefully. You didn't want this to be the end of it. You pushed yourself upwards, your underwear falling further down your legs until it lay a wet bundle at your feet. You turned to face him, your expression hardened. "You don't get to tease me like that and then leave."

Lucius tilted his head mockingly. "But a whore is merely a toy. It is hardly their place to complain when their master has finished playing, hm?"

You perked your chin defiantly. "I'm not a whore," you said scathingly.

Lucius took a step forward, his clothed leg pressed between your legs and forcing you back against the desk. "Then why do you leak like one?" He said softly, his eyes fixated on yours. You glanced down to see the dark fabric of his pants had grown even darker with your arousal. When you glanced back up at him, his eyes seemed to glint hungrily, and a satisfied smirk widened his lips.

He pressed a hungry kiss onto your lips, and you returned it without hesitation. He removed the knee straddled between your thighs and replaced it with his cane, which he slid against your clitoris and through your folds before pushing it inside of you. You gasped against his lips and swung your head back as you felt the steel teeth of the python lightly graze your insides.

"Lucius!" You said in barely more than a breathy moan. It hurt to have the item inside of you, but when he began thrusting it to and fro with slow, rhythmic motions, coupled with the wet kisses he littered upon your neck, it began to feel disgustingly right.

You fastened your hands around his neck for support, and he carefully hauled you onto the desk. His free hand made its way into your hair, and he tugged it harshly so that your neck was perfectly arched for him to exploit with aggressive love-bites. You felt the pit of your stomach grow tight in an embarrassingly short amount of time, and Lucius seemed to deduce this as well from your heightened breathing, so he pulled the cane from your entrance.

He tutted disappointedly. "I've barely had my fun," he said. "Don't finish until I say so." You lifted your head to him tiredly, barely able to discern his face. "Am I understood?" He prompted, his grip on your head tightening as he shook you lightly. You nodded, and he inserted his cane once more. Oh, Godric, you didn't want this to end.

It felt like hours had passed by as Lucius teased you with his painfully slow thrusts. He spent most of the time gazing at your face, gauging your every reaction at his movements, savouring the little mewls of pleasure you let slip every now and then. Encouraged by the sweet music you made just for him, he gave you permission to finish.

When he had finished having his way with you, he removed the cane from between your thighs, pulling with it a stream of your arousal. You felt the warm wetness pool around your bottom and leak into every crevice left between parts of your body in contact with the surface of the desk.

His eyes moved between your exposed lower half and your face. He lifted the cane to your lips. "Clean it," he demanded impassively.

You gave a chuckle. "Funny," you responded and pushed his hand back, shifting your weight to get up, but Lucius sat you down with a rough hand. You glanced at him in alarm. "You're serious?"

"Very."

You searched his eyes, waiting to find a glimmer of amusement, but anything he felt at this moment was incoherent to you. "I'm not doing that," you objected.

Lucius didn't seemed pleased with your answer. His hand moved down your body rather quickly. He moved between your thighs and inserted a harsh finger, which earned a shocked gasp from you. He seized that opportunity to slide the serpent head into your mouth.

"The decision is not up to you," he paused and wriggled the cane between your lips. "Wider." You shook your head and in response, he added every finger until his hand was fully submerged within you.

Tears brimmed in your eyes. The sensation was painfully pleasurable. There was no fine line between the two, you only knew that his touch was undeniably desirable. Obediently, you swirled your tongue over every intricate groove of the serpent head. The taste was unusual, but not unpleasant. You glared him down as you sucked on the cane suggestively, though Lucius' composure didn't seem to falter.

Once no slimy coating remained, you patted his arm and he removed the cane from your mouth, along with his hand from your entrance. You were mildly ashamed to see the sheathe of your pleasure around his slender fingers, but Lucius seemed satisfied in contrast.

"Proud of yourself?" You muttered.

Lucius leaned past you and when he withdrew, you saw a fancy handkerchief in clutch. He first wiped his hand before passing the fabric over his cane.

"Generally, yes," he replied busily. He tossed the handkerchief onto your lap and leaned past you once more to pull out one of the draws. "Watch your tone," he said before lifting a bottle of whiskey to his lips and taking a gulp.

"Excuse me—" Lucius silenced you by pressing the nozzle of the bottle between your lips, and he began tilting the bottle upwards so that you had no choice but to gulp down the drink.

His slender fingers reached for your bra, which he violently tugged on until the fabric surrendered and tore at the clasps. The bra fell from your shoulders and left you fully exposed. He moved the bottle away from your lips and began pouring it between your cleavage, over your breasts and into your lap.

"What the fuck, Lucius!" You snapped.

"Language," he warned, setting the bottle aside and planting a kiss on your exposed collar bone. He turned for the door and paused with a hand on the handle. "Oh, and you best make yourself presentable," he said, pointedly glancing you up and down. "I do believe I heard the chatter of my father and Mr Lee beyond the study. Wouldn't want either of them to find you this way, no?"

You face went cold with horror. You fucking bastard!

"Tidy up the office while you're at it, won't you, whore? And make sure to lap up every last drop of that whiskey. It's rather expensive." You saw a hint of a smirk wind his perfect lips before he exited the study.

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affectionate-team · 1 year ago

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Another day, another log-in. The doors of Ramshackle open up once more to welcome their dear resident - their Yuu, their player.

Representatives from all dorms wait with bated breath, wondering who's going to get lucky and be allowed to give their welcoming speech this time. Some are confident, head held high and proud, words sitting at the tip of their tongue, ready to be spilled; others are anxious, fidgeting with parts of their uniform and checking themselves in a mirror - such an occasion requires one to look their best, all to make a good impression on you! And, after a few torturous seconds of waiting, spotlight lands on one of the many. Their face gleams under jealous stares of their disappointed schoolmates, a single bead of sweat rolling down the nape and bringing cool air to their skin. Everything has to be perfect for the player, and perfect it is - the words that have been rehearsed hundreds of time in the privacy of their room, the face expressions, the gestures - as they voice out wishes for another productive day and offer the log-in rewards.

To be chosen as a class partner is both a blessing and a curse. Rejoice those who have skills and smarts to demonstrate and brag about, poor are those who fall behind in studies. Leona suddenly finds a reason to skip out on a midday nap in favor of sitting out a history lesson, surprising both his classmates and Professor Trein. From time to time he even bothers to speak out, interrupting some poor kid - not like they'll do anything about it, a Kingscholar is not a force to be reckoned with; Azul and Riddle stare each other down, lifting hands at every question at the speed of light, completing tasks flawlessly, outshining everybody else with their vast knowledge to the point where teachers have to ignore them on purpose - after all, other students need their marks too... Though it doesn't stop the two from flaunting their exams results after finals roll around.

What do you mean "Twisted wonderland is not a romance visual novel"? Do they look like they care? Even the heaviest of Disney censor will not stop these boys from sneaking in a couple of flirty remarks. They WILL go against code if they have to. And if main story cannot be messed with, events are still a fair game, are they not? Watch Ace throw in bold pick-up lines and inquire about your type; it's the fifth time you're inviting him in the guest room, do you have a crush on him or something?? don't get shy now, of course he's just teasing! It's a shame that your choice of answers is so limited, the game brushes off his words way too easily...

And don't get me started at the Magic Mirror summons. To be selected as a member of the player's team is an honor like no other - that means their strength was recognized. Though some card combinations can be pretty... questionable. Placing, say, Leona and Malleus or Floyd and Riddle in one team would most likely result in a mess; be careful with your choice!

#twisted wonderland #twst #twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #yuurei's fics #self aware twst #just a mindless ramble #I was bored and decided to write this #:p #WHY DID TUMBLR FUCK MY EDITING UP SO HARD?????#I'm raging it looked so ridiculous

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thir10th · 7 months ago

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2x20- Honor among thieves

Summary: Emily is scared to tell her mother about her relationship. This is a one-shot inspired by 2x20 because I love this kind of dynamic. It's a whole episode insert. TW: some suggestive content, fluff, coming out, I really can't think of anything else but let me know if I'm missing something A/N: I love making these, and I've realized there's almost no episode inserts for Emily in a one-shot format and why is that??? i love these sm please people write more like this. English it's not my first language and it's 4am so sorry for any mistakes. Enjoy, any feedback is appreciated, please like and reblog if you like it.

“Excuse me, agent. I need to speak to agent Prentiss and one of her superiors” a commanding voice can be heard from outside the room. You don’t recognize it, so you look at Emily, sitting next to you, her almost horrified face tells you she does know who the woman speaking is. She shoots up from her seat, and looking down you can hear her asking “Mother?” You had never meet Emily’s mom, but you had heard some conversations with her daughter over the phone. You could always tell she wasn’t in a good mood because her mom had called. In a way it reminded you of your own relationship with your mom. Emily and you were open about your relationship, everyone on the team knew and they supported you. Once you had promised to limit the PDA, even Hotch had let you share hotel rooms during cases, and change desks with Spencer so you could be next to each other. However, families were always a different area. You knew how strict Emily’s mom had been with her, and still was. She hadn’t told her about you yet, so to her mother’s eyes, Emily was still single, and hadn’t been in a relationship for a long time now. You didn’t mind it, Emily wasn’t close to her family, or any other relatives. The BAU was like your family, it was her choice after all.

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Whatever happened inside Hotch’s office convinced him to take the case. You kept an eye on Emily the whole time you were discussing the case. She stays by the poor woman’s side who can’t stop crying over her husband’s chopped off finger, Emily keeps trying to calm her talking to her in Russian. Hotch divides the team, sends Reid, Morgan and Gideon were sent to Baltimore, and you stayed there along with Emily and Hotch.

You knew your girlfriend and her mom weren’t exactly close, what you weren’t expecting was how her presence would affect Emily. You want to comfort her but you can’t do it in front of her mom, so you just keep sneaking to rest your hand on her thigh behind the table, maybe to caress her shoulder when no one is looking, she leans on your touch accepting it. Emily and you both walk up to Hotch when he gets out of his office “Your mother’s got feelers out. She’s confident she can get results” he tells Emily “Well, if anybody can, it’s Ambassador Prentiss” she answers “How is she doing?” Hotch asks referring to the victim’s wife, who is still crying in the chair Emily just left her “How would you be?” She answers JJ finally arrives accompanied by the translator, who she has already briefed, and takes her to talk with the family. “Thank god. I’m really not very good at Russian” Emily tells us, and even Hotch smiles “If it would be all right, I would like to go help my mother” Hotch accepts, but she just stands there, looking at you, almost as if trying to say something she doesn’t dare to say. You know she wants you to come with her, but doesn’t know if you’re ok with it, and won’t ask the question. “Hotch, may I-“ “Yes, go” you don’t even have to finish asking, he accepts and you see Emily’s expression change and relax “Thank you, sir” you say, but he has already turned around and you follow Emily

•´¨•.¸¸.•´¨•.¸¸.•´¨`•.¸¸.•*

“Hey you” you say with a soft voice, entering the rest room, you were dying for some alone time with your girlfriend and it seemed like that was the only place you would find it “how are you coping?” You ask, as you stepped closer to her. She was standing in the mirror, looking at her reflection grabbing her hair with her hands “I’m great!” She says sarcastically, and made you chuckle, you wrap your arm around her waits, pulling her close to you, leaving a soft kiss on her cheek, she smiles weakly in approval.

"I know this is being hard for you Em" you tell her, running your hand through her back soothingly.

"It´s just... when I'm with my mom... It doesn't matter if it's at work, or at home, I could be anywhere and still feel like I'm 16 again" she lets out, resting her head on your shoulder and pulling you closer. "I can't be who i really am... i mean, we have to hide in the bathroom to even touch" she says referring to the current situation

"Wait, -be who you really are?- Em, you haven't come out?" you ask, feeling a mix of surprise and sadness, telling her mother about her relationship is one thing, but not telling her she was gay at all, it's a completely different business.

"No, I'm sorry.... it never felt like the right time to do it, and you saw her, I mean how am I even supposed to do it? Does this...change anything?" You would obviously never pressure Emily into comin out, you knew very well yourself how hard it could be, and everyone's case is different, even tho this only confirmed your previous worry on not being able to have a relationship of any kind with Emily's mother, you could also feel how frustrating everything was for her, how much she needed this.

"Hey, no, of course it doesn't, how could it? mph?" you tighten your grip around her waist to avoid her letting go, resting your other hand on her cheek, caressing her face with your thumb, she closes her eyes relying on the touch, moving her lips to kiss the palm of your hand, you bring her face close to kiss her. Her lips grazing yours softly, you caress her face with your hand, she touches your face with her hand, pulling you closer, deeper.

The sudden noise of the door opening surprises you, you quickly pull away from each other, you turn around to see her mom just entered the restroom. She mutters a soft "hello" mostly for Emily, more than for you. You try to play it cool as well as you can, finish washing your hands as fast as you can and leave, praying that she hasn't seen anything.

•´¨•.¸¸.•´¨•.¸¸.•´¨`•.¸¸.•*

You try to keep quiet as you overhear a conversation between Emily and her mom on the other room. Emily seems upset at how her mom is -turning the conversation into an interrogation- as she just said, and you casually walk in which shuts them up suddenly. A call comes in for Ambassador Prentiss and she picks up right after the first tone.

"Gregor! My daughter Em's in the room with me" she greets the man on the other line "Ah! little Emily" he says. you can't contain the smile that forms on your lips, looking at Emily and mouthing the nickname to mess with her, she smiles back, mouthing you to keep it down, but she can't contain the smile that forms on her lips as well. Unfortunately, the man can't give us any new information, so he says goodbye to Emily, and she hangs up the phone in defeat.

"We should head back to the office and let them know" Emily says, and you rush to go with her, her mom makes you stay, she insists she needs to ask you a few questions about the list of names you had called Garcia to run earlier, and you tell Emily you'll meet her outside.

Your whole body tenses as you see the d¡way Emily's mom is looking at you, you can tell she's trying to decipher you, maybe she saw something when she entered the restroom earlier, maybe she'll tell you she wants wyou away from her daughter.

"Agent y/l/n, are you by any chance close to my daughter?" she asks, you can tell she's genuinely curious, it's not a rethorical question, so you try to answer with as much sincerity as you can.

"well, yes, almost since the first time we met, I mean, you could tell we are pretty close" it's the most honest you can be without saying -actually, we spend a lot of time together, mostly in bed-

"and would you say she's happy?" this one takes you by surprise, you can hear the concern in her voice, she's just a worried mother.

"from what i know Emily, and i believe i can say it's a lot, i would say she is very happy, but with all due respect, if you really wanna know maybe you should ask her yourself, just like that" she takes a couple of seconds to look at you, analysing what your answer and yourself, then, dismissing you with a "Thank you" you leave.

"what did she want from you?" she asked, you could read the worry in her eyes

"she wanted to know if we were close, and if you were happy" you tell her straight away. "and what did you tell her?" she asks, confused. "i said we were quite close, and from what i could tell, you were pretty content" she nods, accepting your answer. "She seemed pretty defeated, maybe she isn't infallible after all"

•´¨•.¸¸.•´¨•.¸¸.•´¨`•.¸¸.•*

It didn't take much longer to solve this case. The victim's daughter being involved in the kidnapping came as a surprise to all of you, but as always, you let it go, and finished for the day.

You and Emily went back to her apartment, there were very few nights you spent apart, and this was no other. You were specially happy tonight to have some alone time to spend with one another.

Emily was quick to flop on the couch as soon as you entered the apartment, it made you happy to see her as her usual self in the confort of her apartment.

"I'm so glad this one's over" she breathes out as she struggles to take her shoes off. You headed towards the kitchen to grab something to drink for the both of you, looking at Emily and chuckling at her efforts. "Need a hand with that?" you said suggestively as you grab two wine glasses of the counter.

She gets up the couch and heads your direction "Here you go" you say offering her a glass of red wine. She takes a sip and smiles, turning her head to look at you.

"I'm sorry if i was a bit frisky today" she says "It's ok, you had a rough one, we all do, you were also under a lot of pressure" you added, trying to take it off her mind, and taking another sip of your glass. "Well, I think i know how to make it up for you" she smirks and rises her eyebrows, taking your glass and leaving it along with hers on the counter again, she grabs you by the waist, pulling you closer and kissing you deeply.

You breath out in release, thankful to finally be this close after the stressful day. She grabs you with both her hands, leaving you on the countertop, moving to your neck, leaving wet, soft kisses all over the sensitive skin there, you wrap your arms around her neck and hers find their way underneath your shirt.

You pull your head back, allowing your girlfriend a better access to your neck, which she uses to cover all your neck in kisses, nipping at your skin there which would for sure leave purple marks by tomorrow. You moan when she finds your pulse-point, and run your hands through her body, getting rid of her shirt as fast as you can, going back to kissing her lips.

She starts unbuttoning your shirt, not wanting to waste any second. She pushes you further onto the countertop where she has a better access to your body, you wrap your legs around her waist, running your hands over her back, trying to reach every square inch of skin you can get to.

She's right about to start unbuttoning your pants when a knock on the door surprises the both of you

"Did you order dinner?" You ask her, she shooks her head. She grabs her shirt and rushes to get it on, when you hear the knock again, you start buttoning yours too.

"I'll go check it out" You say, as you get to the door and open it in a hurry. You were ready to make go away whoever was trying to interrupt your night, but instead your mouth just flew open as you saw who was knocking on your girlfriend's door. "Ambasador Prentiss?"

"Hello? Agent y/l/n I thought this was my daughter's adress" she says in confusion, you can't even respond, you've siemply freezed.

"Mom?!" Emily chokes out behind you "What are you even doing here?" she rushes towalk next to you, when you look at her you notice how she hasn't placed her shirt right yet.

"Well, i thought now that I'm here, i could pay my daughter a visit, but I didn't think you had guests, what is she doing here?" she asks, almost ignoring the fact that you're also there, and asking her daughter directly. However, and considering Emily's shocked face, you take it upon yourself to answer.

"I came in because i needed to return a blender i borrowed form Emily last week, i was almost in my way out tho, so don't worry" you say trying to save the situation.

"No, y/n, wait" Emily started, as she took a step closer to you

"Wait, Em, you don't have to" you say, trying to stop her from making a mistake

"I actually do" she says looking at you, her eyes full of fear and excitment reflecting on yours

"Mom, Y/n is, well, she is my grilfriend, we've been daiting over a year now, I'm gay" she grabs your hand, and you hold her tight, trying to clam her down, and showing her your support.

"And I am telling you because I don't want to hide, not anymore" she adds, and you can feel how her hand tights around yours.

"well... i don't know what to say" you both wait for an answer, but it takes a long time for it to come. "I mean, I can't say I'm surprised" she finally says, and Emily can't contain her impatience "how- i mean- what do you mean?"

"Well you really thought you could wonder around all these years without your mother knowing a thing?" nether of you could hide your surprise. "I don't care that your gay, Emily, could i please come in now? I could really use a glass of wine, I hope I'm interrupting something now, of course".

Your girlfriend and you look at each other in awe "No, not at all" you both say at unison, and you can feel yourself blushing when you realize your shirt was still open this whole time.

You let the woman in, and Emily and her move to sit on the couch as you go to the kitchen to serve her another glass of wine, and grab yours.

"Here, Ambassador" you say, offering her a glass

"Oh please, call me Elisabeth" she says to your surprise, accepting the wine. You and Emily smile at each other as you move to sit next to her.

You knew you were in for a long night, just not the kind you had expected.

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆ ｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆ ｡･:*:

#wlw #lesbian #lesbian pride #wlw fanfic #wlw smut #emily prentiss #emily prentiss x reader #emily prentiss x reader fluff #emily prentiss lesbian #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds 2x20 #emily prentiss imagine #bisexual reader

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autistichalsin · 6 days ago

Text

I also think a lot of you are failing to comprehend just how long the right, particularly the religious right, have been planning this. It hasn't been since Trump. Hasn't been since Dubya. Hasn't even been since Reagan.

It's been since desegregation.

The right, livid at being told they couldn't stick black children in crumbling shacks with a single teacher anymore, coalesced together. Evangelicals used to be pro-choice; they viewed the idea of life beginning at conception as a distinctly Catholic viewpoint, and fundies HATE Catholics. But they got in bed with each other, agreeing to use the issue of abortion to rally each other to roll back protections for Americans of color.

They weren't very subtle about it, either, and that's the frustrating thing. One of Nixon's staff had a cartoon villain monologue talking about how obviously the war on drugs was a war against liberals, the poor, and people of color, going after only drugs they used, and renaming the ones both used to create more stigma against those groups while making the "right people's" usage seem harmless.

People are now better at tracing our woes back to Reagan, but even that is an oversimplification. Reagan was a middle domino, not the first and not the last. Still, he accelerated the toppling, and so did Dubya.

By the time Bush v Gore happened, it was too late, but people didn't realize because 9/11 happened soon after, and Americans jumped at the chance to sign their civil rights away in return for security theater. The Patriot Act was a Trojan Horse, plain and simple. It was only years later that people would realize just how much fell apart because of Bush v Gore (And by the way? Bush's legal team for that case are SCOTUS judges now). Counting would later reveal Gore won Florida, and therefore the Electoral College; SCOTUS just ruled to stop counting, just because. It was "stop the count" before Trump.

Everything after that has been a rapid escalation that for reasons I can't comprehend, Democrats denied at every turn. They weren't doing that, of course, and if they were, we had safeguards in place to prevent them, they were just a fringe lunatic group of fundies that no one would pay attention to.

Now the idea that women shouldn't vote is mainstream in the Republican party. We could have stopped this, if Democrats had acted when there was still a chance in the aftermath of the stolen 2000 election, but instead they happily hopped into the lion's mouth because they were convinced the Taliban's lion was scarier.

And now that abortion is gone and the 19th amendment is in mortal peril, evangelicals are so close to ending desegregation too that they're salivating.

A decades-long lesson in "when they show you who they are, believe them the first time" being ignored to disastrous results.

Next time a religious fringe group signals their intention to conquer their own country by force from within, including terroristic attacks on healthcare providers like Dr. Tiller, listen to them. That warning isn't for Americans, by the way- it's too late for us. It's for Canadians, for our friends across the pond, and everyone else who still has a chance. We learned the hard way, but you don't have to.

#election tag

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readychilledwine · 9 months ago

Text

Cuckold

✨️Kink Education with Elizabeth✨️

Quick authors note- It feels a little ironic to be using Rhys and Feyre for this kink since one of my favorite Eris lines comes from when he's chasing Feyre and Lucien.

“Right. Rumor has it you two have run off together, cuckolding Tamlin.” His grin widened. “I didn’t think you had it in you, little brother.”

Anyways! Traditionally, a cuckold is a husband or boyfriend of a person who has sex with other people (be it cheating, sex work, separated). In modern kink terms, cuckold, or a cuck for short, is when a man gets sexual arousal through watching his partner have sex with someone else. There is a female equivalent, cuckquean, but I made the choice to focus on poor Rhysie being left out.

This type of play falls into the voyeurism and exhibitionist category but has become a type of play that is having an increase in popularity (and hurt feelings from insecure partners). Part of the appeal of cucking is mental degradation and humiliation, another is competitive drive.

This type of play requires security on both ends and understanding from the third party involved. This typically isn't a type of play you'd want to engage in with a stranger you do not trust, nor someone who is too close to the couple. While all parties are consenting, the first time around this kink can be interesting and cause some potentially bad results if not handled with tack. Open communication and safe words are a must in this type of play regardless of if restraints or anything else gets brought in. The last thing anyone would ever want is a relationship ending over something that was supposed to be fun 💜

💕Peep the Valentines Day List Here💕

💙 Peep Bound by Fate if you haven't since Kaylee makes a brief appearance 💙

As always, NSFW below the cut

Feysand x Helion

Warnings - voyeurism, dirty talk, unprotected sex, surprise third party, Helion's thighs mentioned, post pregnancy body insecurities, restraints

A/N - There's a brief Kaylee appearance. Nesta would have been too jealous, Elain would have gotten shy, Kaylee is just confused on why she's getting to see Helion's thighs on a random Tuesday.

“I would have never taken you for this kind of male, Rhysand.” Helion glanced out the window, overlooking the beautiful snow capped valley Rhysand had hidden for years.

Rhys sighed. “She needs it and I am not against it. She has not felt as confident as she once was in her body, and having not one but two high lords worshiping her may be the answer.”

A single perfect brow went up as Helion shot Rhysand a questioning look. “Did the little heir?”

“Stretch mark scarring, she's a little less toned. I think she looks twice as delicious as before, but she does not believe me.”

Helion nodded, eyes sympathetic and soft. “Motherhood is hard. She's exhausted, she's losing her sense of self, her hands probably do not even feel like her own anymore. It is understandable she feels less appealing to you lately.”

A soft knock on the door had Rhys standing, moving to it with a smile. “Hi, honeybee.”

“Rhysie!” Kaylee paused, eyes locked on Helion. “What are Helion and his thighs doing here?” Helion snorted, looking to the youngest sister with a smirk as she crossed the room.

“Mother above, Kaylee.” Azriel entered behind her. Kaylee had already gone to the bassinet, picking up her cooing nephew. “How long are we taking him for?”

Rhys and Helion shrugged, causing Azriel to pause before grabbing Kaylee. “What's wrong, shadowsinger? Don't want her to get ideas?”

“From you? Absolutely not. Let's go, baby.” Azriel took her and Nyx away before Kaylee could question the impromptu date night and the appearance of the Day Lord. “She's still adorably innocent,” Helion looked to Rhys. “You must convince her to play next.”

Rhys shook his head, eyes wide in fear. “Not Kaylee you'd have to convince.”

Surprising Feyre had been easy. She arrived home to Helion sitting in Rhysand's spot at the table. “Hello beautiful.”

The smile that graced her face was capable of moving mountains. “Helion! What are you doing here?”

He motioned towards the table. “Your mate got a little tied up, asked me to come have dinner with you.”

“Let me go grab Nyx-”

“No need to do that, Feyre. He's with that sweet little sister and her brooding mate.”

Feyre paused, “What is Rhys tied up with then?”

“Currently?” Helion set down his glass of wine, shifting in his seat and uncrossing his legs. “Spidersilk based ropes. We can change that if you would like, though.” It was then that soft tug came, calming her and letting her know that everything was okay. “He's quite pretty when he's bound up. Would you like to see?”

The answer she gave was breathless, eyes fluttered shut. “Yes.”

He stood, taking her hand in his and leading her to her own bedroom. Rhysand glared at Helion from the chair he was tied down to before smirking at his wife. “Hello, Feyre Darling.” He tried to pull at the ropes again before rolling his eyes. “When you told me to ask Azriel to tie me down, I had imagined other places, Helion.”

The lord of day shrugged, hands lingering on Feyre's upper arms as he stood behind her. “You said you watched to watch me fuck your wife,” those hands slid down bringing one of her own to his lips. “You also said you did not know if you could handle it. Restraints seemed to be the perfect solution.”

Rhys leaned his head back, smiling towards the ceiling. “Go ahead then,” he motioned between them the best he could. “Fuck her if she'll have you.”

Soft lips came to Feyre's ear as she stared at Rhys with a questioning look. “You have control, beautiful. If you want me to leave, I will leave. If you want me in your bed, I will be in your bed.”

Feyre released a breath, all thoughts leaving her mind. “My body-”

“Is wonderful, magic, and stunning,” Helion kissed the tip of her pointed ear, relishing in the way she shivered. “You created life, selflessly for the male sitting in that chair.”

Rhysand's eyes had darkened, the scent of his arousal already filling the air as he watched Helion's hands move to the bed of Feyre's dress and soft kisses continued on her ear. “I know you want to, darling.”

“My body-” Helion looked to Rhys and put a hand to Feyre's mouth silencing her before forcing her to walk to the mirror in their room.

“Look at you. Look at every beautiful blessed inch of you.” The command went straight through her, settling in her core as it did. His hands found the ties of her dress. He searched her face for any sign of true resistance and hesitation before pulling and watching the fabric fall. “You are sensational, Feyre. Your new curves fit so beautifully.” Her eyes fluttered shut, body leaning against his for the heat. “Let me show you, exactly how beautiful I find you?”

She nodded, turning in his arms. The first kiss was testing, slow and gentle to see if there'd be more than a soft groan coming from her mate. She pulled apart in time for Helion to lift her, carrying her to the bed and laying her down so her head would hang over the edge, staring directly at Rhysand as he squirmed against the restraints.

He wasted no time, kissing down her neck, smirking at the soft noises he so easily was pulling from her. “So sensitive,” he nipped gently at her pulse point, eyes looking to where Rhys was already struggling. “I'd love to worship you, Feyre, but your mate is already struggling from how badly he'd like to join.”

“Fuck him,” she whispered softly.

Helion couldn't help the feline like smirk gracing his face as Rhys glared. “We will. Later.” He flipped her below him, fingers going to the waist of her panties before bringing them down her muscled legs.

His skilled fingers found her core, running up and down before pushing in. Feyre whined loudly, eyes rolling before snuggling into the bed and pushing her hips back. Helion set a rhythm, pumping those digits into her to open her up , curling them as he needed to and saw fit to turn her into a mess.

He heard Rhys whimper, eyes rolling as his head went back and he knew. He knew Feyre was sending every drop of pleasure she felt down the bond, ensuring Rhysand felt it to. Her own moans began to increase as her hips met every movement of his fingers. “Look at your mate,” Helion commanded. “Look at your mate as you cum on my fingers.”

She fell apart easily, body and mind so ready and wanting for attention. She screamed his name, whimpering softly as she rode a wave of bliss. He worked her through the high through every second of her walls clenching around those fingers. When he finally pulled them out, he brought them to her lips, cock twitching as he got the smallest preview of what the High Lady could do.

Rhysand hadn't taken his eyes off of them. His cock was aching and leaking as he watched Helion remove his pleaded clothing before forcing Feyre onto her hands and knees. She sent him every single second of pleasure as Helion's cock pushed into her, stretching her wider than his did. “Fuck,” Rhys muttered under his breath, pulling and moving to try to free himself and at least work his cock.

She looked so pretty, mouth hung open as she moaned loudly, eyes squeezed shut in bliss. Helion's eyes met his and Rhys nodded, hoping the desperation of needing to watch Feyre be fucked and cum for another male wasn't etched into his beautiful features.

Helion gave her a teasing thrust, cock twitching at the whine that came back from it. “How do you want it?”

“Hard.” The need in her tone made his hands grip the plush skin of her hips tighter.

“As the High lady commands.”

Lightning shot through Feyre and Rhys as soon as Helion began that punishing pace. He was hitting every single one of her nerves, heavy cock stretching her wider than she'd ever been. She looked down, lost in enjoying her pleasure only to have him tangle a large hand into her hair, pulling her head back up. “Look at him. Look at how much power you have over him, at how damn desperate he is.”

Rhys was moving constantly in the chair now, growling occasionally with Feyre's moans of Helion's name. He longed to be under her, licking and sucking her clit as Helion rode her, fucking her into a mindless state of bliss.

As if sensing what Rhysand wanted, Heliha's free hand moved to her core, circling her bundle of nerves with gentle fingers. “Oh gods, yes!” Feyre was so close already all three of them could taste it. Her orgasm was humming in the air, crackling like electricity and fire. “Fuck! Keep going, please!”

Helion looked to Rhys again, seeing the male squirm, back arching off the chair as his jaw arched. A damp spot stained his dark slacks, growing by the second as he watched, as he felt. He began pounding into Feyre harder, feeling her walls begin twitching more and more.

It was as if time slowed when they both came. Mountains shaking, the sky switching from a sunset to full blown night. She was screaming his name while Rhys roared hers.

Helion fell over the ledge seconds later, pulling Feyre close to him as he did so Rhys had to watch as he made a mess of her. He allowed Feyre to lower down to the bed as his high closed.

He allowed her a few moments to breathe before pulling both arms behind her back and forcing her up. He walked her to Rhys before putting her on her knees. “Take his pants off and clean your mate. It's time we cash in on that threesome he said we could have.”

General Taglist:

@hnyclover @glitterypirateduck @slytherinindisguise @mischiefmanager @bloodicka @starsinyourseyes @the-sweet-psycho

@mariahoedt @rinalouu @sarawritestories @starryhiraeth @starswholistenanddreamsanswered @cumuluscranium @loneliestluvr

Valentines Day Taglist:

@sfhsgrad-blog @amara-moonlight @eternallyelvish @novaksangel @teenageeggscissorslawyer @thisblogisaboutabook @amygdtjhddzvb

@justasillylittlegoofyguy @avajustreads

@littlestw01f @azriels-shadowsinger @acourtofladydeath

Rhys taglist:

@tothestarsandwhateverend @cheshire-salvatore-mikaelson @avajustreads

Feysand:

@avajustreads

#acotar #rhys acotar #rhysand acotar #feysand #feyre acotar #high lord helion #helion spell cleaver #feysand x helion #poly!acotar

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threepandas · 4 months ago

Text

The Vod's List: Yandere Clones

The Galaxy changes, thanks to spit.

It's not even the first time it's happened, in my peoples history. But it's... kinda weird it happend? Twice? The FIRST time we actually PLANNED for it to happen. It was biological warfare. But this? This was just an accident. One that could have KILLED somebody.

Cause, see, the Techganic people? Are... well to put it lightly, we are the result of centuries of an ideological and spiritual holy war, that nearly tore our plant apart. The two sides don't really "talk" to each other any more. Or... you know... ACKNOWLEDGE the other.

They are waiting for the other to "inevitably die off, due to their own hubris".

Yeeeeeah. Fun times. You can see why I wanted OFF that dirtball.

At least on other planets? The politics aren't PERSONAL... is what I naively thought. Forgot about empathy! You know, like an idiot! Kark. Where was I? Right! Galaxy, changed, spit. Okay, sooo... here's the thing? My family was part of the bloody bone-sucking Holy Naturalist Empire. (Translated to Basic, the word "Naturalist" has more of a specific to the body? Meaning? Not so much "nature of the world" as "nature of the Self" you know? And in THIS case, the word they are using for "holy" in ancient means less strictly "divine" and more "pure like the divine"? It's Complicated.)

And the Progress Collective was ORIGINALLY this whole project, supposedly, that got WAY out of hand, became a cult, then a religion, and tore the planet apart? It was a technological hive mind that want to "perfect" the planet to a "higher state of being". And then extend its reachs to the stars.

We held the karking LINE. Died in legions. Refusing to give our bodies to be made machines. Droids and puppets. Refused to give our freedoms, our homes, our planet. Any of it. But it was at the cost of our original bodies. The only way to truely fight BACK? Was to become... poison.

The Jedi who eventually came, some how FEELING our distress, dispite the blockade the Collective created on the interplanetary transmitters? Our planet's holonet connection? Said that the creator of Our Salvation was guided by the Force. None of us could really argue. The Salvation treatment was madness. A machine so ahead of it's time, we STILL aren't sure how it works, just that it DOES.

We had a choice.

It was no choice at all.

And now? NOW? Kriffing CENTURIES later? I am STILL a biological weapon! Not do much to non-human adjacent races, but anyone human or human modified? Human descended? Kriff, even a few humanoids! If they're CLOSE enough!

I have to take neutralizers if I plan to be swapping any sort of bodily fluids with ANY race that isn't on the "verified Safe" list. For MONTHS. So it can build up in my system properly. And the side effects? Ugh. Stars and Bone, is it AWFUL! Like I GET why people do it. You love who you love. But the nausea! All those meds just to counter the side effects of other side effects!

It made me kinda glad to be single. Stars, poor cousin Tango.

Of course, I AM responsible. I always carry a FULL kit of emergency neutralizers with me. Just in case, Bones and Blood forbid it, the worst should occur. I have some for accidental blood mixing, some for plasma, a couple for bile, and the majority of the rest? Saliva. The most common accident reported. My kit even has an emergency medical guide on a lil piece of flimsy, on the inside lid!

...I feel like I'm getting distracted agai- OH! Right!!

I work in the senate building, now! Astral, right?! Center of the GALAXY! First step to making a DIFFERENCE! Granted, I am basicly the assistant nobody of no one... but STILL! It's a start! I'm ON Coruscant! That's more then most people can say! I go to work passing THE jedi temple each day! You can see them coming and going from your airspeeder!

Unfortunately? Rent is BRUTAL. I live in a glorified closet with barely a bunk and a sonic shower to my name. Not even a proper 'fresher! It's not like we're traveling. Or my species needs to avoid water! No, I literally just CAN'T AFFORD IT! And if you saw the prices? Droids be carting you off to the medcenter before you know it! Where do they GET their water? The outer rim?! Do they deliver it by HAND?!

.....I haven't had my Caf. Ignore me. I just miss feeling proper CLEAN. Sonic showers just... I know it's a psychological thing, but it doesn't FEEL as clean, you know? I am pouting. Pouty me. Unhappy.

Wait... what time is i- OH KARK!!!

See, on Coruscant there is no real "beating" the traffic. But there ARE certain steps you can take to cut travel time. Like making sure you're on the Senatorial speeder. It has right of way and is pretty comfy. And? If I get ON it early enough? Blend in with the walls? I not only can't get kicked off by some plasbone slimeball of a "I think I'm better then you" senator's aid... but they'll run their mouths!

I have learned SO MUCH that way~!

Unfortunately for me? The Caf merchant was REALLY popular today. So dignified I am NOT.

"Hold the 'LIFT!"

It more a desperate plea then an order, but two seperate armored hands immediately reach out and stop the turbolift's doors from closing. Out of breath behind my Goverments mandated mouth gaurd, I struggle to catch my breath as I finally make it. The kriffing thing makes running almost impossible. It makes most things karking near impossible.

"Tha... thank! You!" I manage to pant, trying not to double over. I am a bit light headed. It's hard to remember what I'm supposed to do when I'm like this. "Kriff! I hate running. Can.. never breathe! Afterwards!"

The lift is full of Coruscant gaurds, their mysterious gazes presumably locked onto me. I could only assume, given how their helmets were turned towards me, but ultimately it was impossible to tell. The gaurd standing next to me was more heavily painted then the others. I still couldn't for the life of me figure out what the marks MEANT. Rank maybe?

"Should we be requesting a medical droid?" Came the mechanized voice of... I was fairly sure the one to my left? I turned to address the one I was preeeeetty sure had spoken. It was a small, echo-y lift.

"No, no. It's just the mask. Makes it kinda hard to breathe. Gover-"

I never got to finish explaining. Just as we reach the Speeder platform. As the doors began to open. An explosion ripped the world apart. The very mask I disliked so much, likely saving my lower jaw from being ripped completely off. The turbolift slammed back, crashing, durasteel screeching as supports ripped apart and gave way.

Rapid fire, more explosions. The Gaurd next to me grabbed me, tucked me tight as they braced. Away from the exit. As.. the world... slowly LEANED.

All I could do was stare, terrified, down at the sheer drop of the now frantic Coruscant traffic below. Commuters desperately trying to avoid falling debris. I could hear alarms. The transparasteel below my face cracked.

Wait.

Below?

The 'lift had leaned. MORE then leaned. It was half unmoored. Hanging out into open air. I clung to the gaurd that held me, my caf dropped long ago, now seeping like dark blood through the cracks to drip... drip... drip... out into that terrible drop.

I.. I couldn't breath. My heart was pounding. Too fast. Too hard. Oh Stars that take us in the End, oh Bones and Blood, that we are! C-can't BREATHE! I managed to make a hand unseize. Rip the glorified muzzle from my face, so I could suck in air. I was drooling. Like a mad hunt beast. A panic response, I remembered distantly.

So far down. Oh Stars. We were going to fall so far down!

A creak. A snap. We jerked and swung downwards. I think... I think I sobbed. Pressed as tight as I could make myself to the red heavy gaurd. He was sturdy. Hold strong. I could hear the other gaurds working quickly and in tandem behind me. But... but I was frozen. Useless. N..nothing but dead weight.

I must have started babbling. Apologizing. Because the helmet near my head turned slightly, the arm around my waist tightened just a bit.

"You have nothing to apologize for ma'am. We were trained for this. Made for this. Not you. You're going to be just fine, all right? We'll get you out of here. Just stay calm and try not to move."

We are almost out. Almost free. When the next attack hits. The cheap duracrete crumbles and we DROP. Gravity releasing us for a few, brief, and terrifying moments.

I do not face them with dignity. I am terrified. A fractured, strangled, scream trying to rip its way free of me. Fear too great to let it. Some stars blessed 'Lift cord catches, arresting our fall violently. We slam into the side of the building the Senatorial Speeder pad is on. Throwing gaurds around the lift pod. Smashing us all together.

The man holding me has his helmet knocked off in a violent bounce that leaves his jaw sporting a shallow but painful looking scrape from someone's boot. Two panes of the transparensteel are just... GONE. Howling wind a deadly reminder of what waits below, should anyone fall through those holes.

"Hammer, Tricks! Get those doors open NOW! I don't care if you have to BLAST them open! We are running out of time and I'd prefer not to learn what the low levels taste like at SPEED." Growled a commanding voice in my ear. Then the voice turn reassuring. "We got you. You're not dying here. We're getting out, okay? Just hold on."

I managed to nod. Drool had long ago overwhelmed my mouth, now painting my chin, smearing everywhere. A mess. It mixed with my tears and some part of me was screaming. Dangerous, dangerous! But... but all I could see was that DROP. Gonna fall. Oh Stars, gonna fall! Please. Scared. Don't let go!

I pressed closer. Ignorant of the way my drool wet cheek pressed against the still bleeding wound on his his face. Ignorant of how I was doing the ONE THING I had been warned time and time again to NEVER EVER do.

The turbolift door gave a screeching clunk as they were force out of place. Toppling away. The gaurds ignored it, immediately getting into action. There was a patrol speeder clearly waiting to get into position. One by one the jumped into it. Careful not to destabilize the already precarious lift any further.

Finally it was our turn. And? With a gut turning drop as I was carried down? We were safe. The Speeder immediately making room. I cried. Clung. It took me entirely too long to remember that something might be amiss. It was only when the gaurd I was clinging to stumbled. Admitted to a "bit" of a headache. That everything came crashing back.

Like ice water to the soul.

Oh Stars! What have I DONE!?

I scramble for my neutralizers. The full anti-spectrum kit. Oh Stars! It's in his BLOOD! I stared in horror at the damning sheen of my own spit against his cheek, my hands shaking, trying to rip open the pack. A medic takes it from me. Opens it for me and reads the flimsy guide in side. Curses.

There is no way to REALLY know who was exposed to me. So everyone has to go to the medcenter. Immediately. Get emergency shots just in case. Then follow up with medical droids for a couple weeks afterwards. BARE MINIMUM.

Why? Because my spit carries organic nanites. They hunt and DESTROY anything they deem "non-native" to the body... as defined by MY species. They ignore obviously alien races but human adjacent ones? They were DESIGNED to destroy augmented humans. "Purge" them of their enhancements. They can't tell they difference. Alien humanoid? Augmented Techganic? Same thing, right?!

Without the neutralizers? The nanites will RIP PEOPLES BODIES APART. And even WITH them? All it does is soft reset them to whatever current race their in. They still cause massive problems and medical trauma as they go about "fixing" any perceived damaged. Like, you know, medical devices. Or shrapnel.

They are meant to break and cannibalize what they can. Fix indiscriminately. If it causes YOU unimaginable agony? So be it. At least you will be "whole". Die Technoganic. Pure. The pain has KILLED people. The nanites? Dumb enough to attack VITAL STSTEMS they deem "wrong". Killing their hosts before they themselves can FIX anything. They were a WEAPON. And... and I infected an innocent man.

I am a monster.

All I can do, is apologize. Again and again and again. Stare in horror, into the eyes of the man who SAVED me, and know that I returned the favor by poisoning him horribly. If there was room? I would grovel. This is... this is unforgivable.

He grimaced past the building headache. Pats my shoulder.

The worst part is... is no one is blaming me.

T-they SHOULD be...

The hand on my shoulder spasms, grip turning crushing as my savior's body violently seizes. His hands shoot to his head, limbs twitching and lashing. Blood trickles from his nose. Eyes shut tight against some terrible pain. They've GIVEN him the shot! It should be countering the nanites! The only reason he should be in this much pain would be if there was something lodged in his brain!

All at once... like a doll with his string cut... he relaxes. Just in time for us to arrive at the Medcenter. They try to usher me away from the gaurds. Push them off towards some "take care of it yourself" corner of nowhere.

I throw a FIT. Loudly.

I am prepared to sit on the floor and scream and cry like a youngling, and it must SHOW, because they hurriedly rush us along. People GET their kriffing bacta. Their technoganic poisoning shots. Yes, I had to harrass the nurses it digging the shots out of storage. NO it couldn't KARKING WAIT!

I learned my saviors name was "Fox". That he's actually stationed in the same building as where I work. The Senate.

Thankfully? "I got BOMBED" is a valid excuse not to show up to work. I was allowed to head home. Fox even escorted me. Showed me where the Gaurds all get their off duty meals. Pretty spicy! But good! I don't really notice how clear headed Fox seems. Surely he always was, right? I can't have CHANGED anything, right?

I don't notice him bracing for headaches that never come. Having thoughts that don't slip away. Seeing the world and for once... REALLY seeing it. Being about to trace all the changes back to one person. The smiling, laughing, soul who NEEDED him so much.

He...he was MADE to be needed. To serve and protect. But does everyone DESERVE his service?

Huh... a strange new thought, that one.

But THIS one... this one might make The List. He really hopes she does. Nodding to a passing vod, his eyes drift back to her. She was warm. Stands as a rare bit of bright in Coruscant's filthy everything. He'd... He'd really like to keep her. Feels too soon, but it's true.

Everyone else have their generals. What do the Gaurds have?

Maybe this? Might be nice.

He hopes she makes the List.

#threepandas #yandere #yandere x reader #yandere star wars #yandere clone troopers #yandere Coruscant gaurd #alien reader #the Vods list au #the vods list #not openly yandere yet #those chips are stopping the yandere #dont worry #we gonna fix thaaaaat

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lemon-natalia · 4 months ago

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Nona the Ninth Reaction - Chapter 28

‘golden eyes like a dead animal’s’ you are sick and twisted Tamsyn Muir, sick and twisted (affectionate). also that is an interesting description of Kiriona's eyes. of course part of it is that she is quite literally in a dead body, but these are also the eyes that John got after he gained his necromantic powers

ohhhh my god. i don’t think my heart can take Kiriona asking after Harrow. she gave up her life for her, did the best she could to take care of Harrow’s body, and now she doesn’t even know if Harrow’s alive or not

oof both Pyrrha and Nona clearly know that she’s Alecto, but Nona really doesn’t want to remember. i wonder how long exactly Pyrrha knew who Nona was, even if she was hoping she was Gideon, i feel like part of her must have suspected since the beginning

hmm i wonder if there’s something significant about Alecto’s name? not in terms of its Doylist meaning i.e. being named after one of the Furies, but in universe. here Nona doesn’t want Pyrrha to say her name because it will make her remember, John (from what i recall) only ever used nicknames like A.L. and Annabel Lee etc. when talking to Harrow, and both he and the other Lyctors had a remarkably strong reaction to Mercy using it at the end of HtN:

'A ripple of ice over the face. A hardening of the mouth. He said quietly, “Don’t call her-” “Alecto! Alecto! Alecto!” repeated Mercy shrilly. The other Lyctors flinched each time she said it, as though it were an aural stab’

oh wow, Alecto’s consciousness (voice?) rising up to speak from Nona is very disturbing. once again, Alecto doesn’t seem like the nicest person. which makes sense i suppose given she is in actuality a Resurrection Beast herself and seemingly very pissed off about the whole ‘killing humanity and putting her in a human form’ thing

‘astonishingly, Pash, helping an extremely feeble and aged person’ i mean good on Pash for helping the elderly, i guess?

it’s gotta be so strange for Palamedes’ mother and the other people in the Sixth to be dealing with the ‘i’m dead and in Naberius Tern’s also dead body’ thing. it can hardly be what they imagined when he and Camilla went off to the First in GtN. speaking of, i do still wonder how everyone’s family members, the Cohort etc. reacted to the news of basically everyone dying after going off to try and be Lyctors

‘Palamedes was acting as though he were a tiny at show-and-tell’ is that not how Palamedes always acts about everything

Pyrrha Dve queen of ill-advised romantic relationships. poor her, she’s lost basically everyone she cared about before (G1deon, Wake, and now Pal and Cam, Nona is dying) now as a result of Lyctorhood to some degree

oh why does everything they’re saying here feel like a goddamn funeral, i categorically don’t like this

'something white and grey and powdery [...] Camilla [...] - to Nona's horror - ate it' i’m assuming that’s Palamedes’ skull goop making a reappearance. ew

ohhh wow this is a lot worse than i thought it was going to be, they’ve actually just straight up merged themselves into a single person. i suspected the whole Camilla-and-Palamedes thing was going to come back but not like this. it’s not like they had a lot of choices, and i mean i guess it’s better on an emotional level than one of them dying and the other having to live with it, but still, yikes

wdym i am categorically not crying about the fact that Kiriona is apparently totally disinterested in this whole situation, but her first instinct is still to want to hand over her jacket to … Cam/Pal. (Pam?)

listen i get what Palamedes is trying to do here, encouraging Ianthe to accept Lyctorhood as a mutual loss & rebirth rather than a sole sacrifice of the cavalier, but quite frankly i think poor Naberius would like being merged into a single person with Ianthe even less than being murdered

#lemon natalia reads the locked tomb #tlt #the locked tomb #the locked tomb liveblog #nona the ninth

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crazy-grrrl-on-the-computer · 5 months ago

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Here I am back at it again with the Boueibu food analyses //bricked

I’ve been staring at the Melon Monster for years, trying to unpack what “the melon was just playing melon” and “melons are tops” meant because it’s definitely interesting wording, but nothing was coming up… until I came across a collection of articles and videos talking about the Yubari King Melon, a hybrid cantaloupe that has been specifically cultivated for its desired traits and is subsequently considered “the best melon” in Japan.

To be considered a top-grade melon, one must be perfectly round and have an exceptionally smooth rind. Upon harvest, part of the stem is left on top to add to its aesthetic appeal. [x]

Hmmmm don’t you look familiar!

As the Melon Monster alludes to, the Japanese fruit industry is an interesting rabbit hole to fall down, but this video offers a pretty good insight into the Yubari melon specifically.

According to this article, the Prince melon was developed in Japan and first sold in 1961, gaining immediate popularity in average households due to its low price. On the opposite end of the melon spectrum, the Yubari melon (developed in 1951) is exclusively grown in Yubari, Hokkaido and is so expensive it is considered a luxury fruit, which is in no small part due to its limited availability each year and sought after sweetness/aroma. Yubari melons are often given as gifts to show appreciation during the summer gift-giving season Ochugen and there are annual auctions where pairs of these melons regularly sell for millions of yen.

Furthermore, according to another article I found, the history of melons in Japan goes all the way back to the Makuwa (oriental melon), which Uriya gets his name from and which allegedly came to Japan during the Yayoi period (3rd century BC to 3rd century) via China. How prestigious! That certainly explains the choice of costume and no wonder the poor Melon Monster remarks that his existence is anachronistic when told by his peers that melon is just another fruit nowadays!

Here he is, trying his best to be a Yubari melon, cherry-picking what he thinks are his best and most interesting traits in an attempt to meet the expectations of others around him as someone with value, and the Battle Lovers immediately curb stomp every single one of his efforts by not only outsmarting him in the most effortless way possible (using the internet to solve his riddles and surviving his traps as though they were a children's obstacle course) but mistaking him for a common melon. The melon (Makuwa) was only playing melon… playing at something he could never hope to be… pretending that anyone could ever see value in him. But he is only an ordinary melon, so why would anyone go the extra mile for that?

[With this in mind, I feel like this monster must have sprung into existence as a result of a conversation about the popularity of melons similar to the origin of the Chikuwabu Monster (many thanks again to @intra-fiducia for the wonderful translations!! <3). XD]

On a side note, I wrote briefly about the paulownia box being a representation of how Uriya is trapped by his own anxieties and self-consciousness in his attempt to meet everyone’s expectations, but I didn’t realize that sometimes the gift of melon is delivered very cutely in one. So there’s an extra layer to that line about no longer needing to stay in one! Melon can be enjoyed in many forms and varieties, like the Battle Lovers said! He doesn’t have to be the best because the people who like melon pan, melon soda, and shaved ice will like him just the same for what he already is.

#boueibu #binan koukou chikyuu bouei-bu love!#cute high earth defense club love!#boueibu love rambles #random thought #I’m still not entirely sure I cracked the ‘melon was just playing melon’ thing open after all these years #but it makes sense to me! so until proven otherwise I’m rolling with it! ;;3;;

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eldritch-spouse · 1 year ago

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Ima make it my life's goal as the queen of wrath to peg kalymir

[HAH. Fem reader.]

TW: Pegging; Verbal degradation; Abusive use of caps lock as usual.

It must have been months of work.

Honestly, you don't really know how you got here. Attempt after attempt after numberless plans all very easily foiled by the King of Wrath. You had begun to go insane, but your stubbornness knew no bounds- Which is perhaps one of the big reasons Kalymir is ever so fond of you. He knows he can flatten you to the ground like a pancake and you will just get back up spitting and biting.

Some little part of you suspects that maybe he's been slacking on purpose, to give you this little victory. But that's ridiculous, the King doesn't give free wins away!

It was pure luck that you just so happened to coax him into a competition you both knew he wasn't that well-versed in, and it was equally a product of luck that he was blind enough with rage that he was more concerned with getting his hand around your neck than he was with listening to the terms you had set.

Oh, that moment.

That sweet triumph. You've savored it like the finest aged wine there exists.

The raw shock on the King's form as he processes that he lost. That he didn't even listen to what he'd have to do upon being defeated -Because, in his arrogance, he never conceived of the possibility- The subsequent bristling as he all but flips the room upside down and roars loud enough to crack the walls.

" YOU CHEATED! "

He accused, but you were no fool, preparations for this exact outcome had been made, and you forced Roch to watch the entire event. Forced indeed, because he had to be snapped awake from time to time... Still, the imp was awake and aware for the moments that truly held meaning, and he verified that there was no foul play, recited the terms back to his King valiantly, even if it resulted in him getting launched into the next three rooms and having a mild concussion.

That poor imp. Anyway-

You won. Something you've been rubbing all over Kalymir's rugged face for a while now, and you swear he grows a wrinkle every single time you do- Because even if he eventually stated being proud of you, in his own vaguely demeaning and aggressive way, he knows what he's signed up for.

Unfortunately, the King did not want to pick a strap with you. Telling you to eat shit and die when prompted. His sore tantrums are like music to your ears. This means that you have the liberty of picking whatever you'd like, and a short trip to Lust was fruitful for said endeavor. Something black, appropriate to your size difference, barbed and ridged and bumped, something you know he won't forget. Your status meant you had the privilege of trying it on with a proper harness, and you damn near fell into breathless wheezing as the scandalous thing swung between your legs.

You could probably kill a man with the blunt force trauma of a cock slap from this thing.

Which means it's the perfect choice for your self-proclaimed husband.

The cashier said something about King Vesper having a similar model, you weren't really listening, far too giddy about the future to care.

Said future is now.

You wear nothing but your birthday suit, a silk black robe, the harness and the silicone menace attached to it. There are, of course, bottles of lube to be found in the bedroom.

When you stroll in, high on your own power, this shit-eating smirk on your complexion, you find the demonlord already bare. He stands in front of the bed, arms crossed, tail swatting in irritation, expression forever twisted in metaphorical butthurt- Which you're about to make very literal.

" FINALLY GOT THE BALLS TO SHOW UP? " He copes.

You spent less than five minutes getting ready.

Strolling up to him, fearless and unbothered, your hands poise on your hips and you give the big red spite-ball a good view of what he'll be working with.

" What do you think, hm? "

Kalymir snorts like a bull. " PITIFUL. "

" Yeah? " You grin. " That's fine, next time I'll get you something bigger. "

For a second there, his mouth opens and he raises a fist like he intends to drill into you for even daring to suggest there would ever be a second time, but unfortunately, he gathers some wit before that beautiful explosion.

" KEEP FUCKING DREAMING, RUNT. "

" I don't have to. I've already bested you once. You think I can't do it again? "

Dancing in that tempting, dangerous territory. You know a taunt too far could lead to an impromptu amputation or a skull ground to ashes, but you can't stop yourself.

" I'M GOING TO CRUSH YOU. " A threat, for sure. But the way he says it, heated and breathy, immediately betrays his enjoyment of your perhaps overly confident attitude.

" Sure, big guy. " You blink nonchalantly, then tap his side lightly. " Why don't you get on your knees and wet this for me? "

Kalymir snarls so deep from his chest that you fear he might cause a small earthquake. Hellquake? Fuck if you know. You're not given time to think on it either because his hand curls around your hair and tugs hard enough that you tear up immediately.

" THE FUCKING NERVE. " You can almost feel his teeth brushing your neck. One bite. One bite and you will drown in your own blood. " I DEMAND YOUR RESPECT. "

Past the sting, you're able to cackle freely. " Not after you agreed to be my slut tonight. "

That's it. You overdid it. He's going to kill you. Those will be your last words before you're split into two, each half hung outside his mansion's walls to dry and paint it in a fresh coat of crimson.

Curiously, you're actually released, stumbling only a little before shaking your head and stabilizing.

" YOU ARE LEARNING THE WAYS OF THIS RING TOO FAST... " He comments, a hint of a smile on his face.

Well, you are a people pleaser.

Although you attempt to mask it, your eyes nearly bulge out of their sockets when the demonlord does just as you said, falling to his knees, having shrunk a decent amount to facilitate the following acts. Oh, it's really happening, isn't it? It's a wonderful view, something that you will relish forever.

Because, even shrunk, Kalymir needs to bend, nearly flatten himself to the ground to be at level with your toy. Seeing his powerful, corded body all but prostrate itself to your person sends all sort of signals everywhere, a blood vessel nearly bursts.

You're all too quick to lift the fake cock in your grasp and drag it on the side of his face, giggling when he instantly starts growling.

" Play nice, my King... "

The taunt incenses him further, though he doesn't stall, perhaps because it would show weakness. Or maybe he's just not fond of drawing this out. It's actually a little intimidating to see those teeth in such close contact, you're quietly relieved you don't actually have a phallus, otherwise you might have gotten cold feet right about now.

Kalymir is not gentle, not even when he's forced to the ground.

His claws coil around your ass, bringing you forward as he wraps his tongue around the girthy toy and takes it well into his mouth. Although there are no eyes on his face, you know he's gazing right up at you.

And you wave back down at him cheekily. " Oh, and you do look so pretty like this, are you sure you don't want to do it again? "

The demonlord can't exactly retort, but the tight, painful squeeze of your rump is warning enough. A heat settles on your cheeks as you watch him lather the silicone cock, moving back and forth on his own accord. Exactly as instructed, he's drooling on the thing, no shame about being sloppy, the same way he insists you don't be timid when you lavish him.

Your hand comes down to stroke across the side of his face, rewarded with no more than a snarl that nearly vibrates your whole body. God, you felt that in your cunt.

It doesn't escape you that Kalymir isn't taking full advantage of your toy's length. A smarmier look settles on your complexion.

" Tsk, you can do better, can't you? You've hardly taken the first half of it. "

Lies. He got a decent two thirds of it in his throat without gagging, that's a champion's feat in your eyes.

The King responds to your taunting by threatening to damn near rip a chunk out of your ass. He seems to be this close to biting your expensive equipment.

" Ah ah, no teeth! " You scowl, hearing him rumble like some kind of misbehaving dog with a tug-of-war toy.

Patience draining, little human hands grab him by the horns as you buck harshly a couple of times. " I said- No. Teeth. "

Somehow, someway, you manage to catch Kalymir by surprise enough that he swallows your cock to the root, but not without making at least one visceral gag that you're going to think about for a long time. Making the King of Wrath choke is already such an insanely satisfying conquest, and you've barely begun.

The demonlord's face wrinkles further, whether in discomfort or spite you're not too sure, but he allows you to luridly fuck his mouth for a while longer, little hips pumping your length into a powerful maw drooling heavily, his tongue still curling through the black mass of ridges. More shivers of pleasure wrack your body as you wonder if he's enjoying his own degradation, if he's turned on deep down, that his tiny and soft human Queen managed to not only best him but have him suckling around her toys.

It certainly turns you on. He might be smelling it already, judging by the flaring of his nostrils.

" That's enough. " You murmur, reaching to smear some of the drool on his teeth across his cheek.

As if being so low on the ground had stung him beyond measure, Kalymir is very quick to take a stand and wipe his mouth, chuffing at you. You hope his throat is sore, but he'll never show it even if it is.

" Was that so hard? " God help you, because you're intent on becoming a red stain across the wall today.

" GET FUCKED, BITCH. "

Oh he's just like an angry chihuahua right now. Delectable.

" Nah, I'm doing the fucking this time. " Before he can bark another senseless retort, you raise a finger. " Let's get a move on already. On the bed. "

The King doesn't budge, staring you down. Seconds pass. The only reason you're demanding it of him is because you know you couldn't topple him over even if you launched yourself into his front at full speed. It'd be more likely that you break some bones in the process, and he'd laugh about it forever. No, you can't let that happen.

Can't let him feel powerful.

" Now. "

He continues not to budge, scowl turning into a challenging smirk. Make me, it reads.

Without checking, without caring, you step forward and dart one arm directly to Kalymir's slit, jamming your fingers as far into it as you can. You underestimated how wet said sheath already was, because your whole hand almost slips in there with the force of your motion.

You mask your shock with a grunt, and to the demonlord's credit, he makes only the quietest gasp before turning the sound into a roar and bucking his hips at you. He's more than hard already, you can feel him rest -Push- Against your fingertips. Which leads you to believe he'd been intentionally keeping his erection hidden.

For how long had he been ready? Perhaps before anything even started!

Nevertheless, you get a firm grip of his length and mercilessly tug his cock out. Not that it would take much force honestly, given he's already more than full-mast. Kalymir's member twitches between his legs, ever imposing, and you happily note that the toy between yours is basically of the same size.

Noticing this, and perhaps to spite you, he snorts and flares the spikes usually kept flat to his base, forming what one can consider a knot of sorts. Upon said gesture, he gains inches of girth that he otherwise didn't have, thus making him "bigger" than your choice of dildo. Petty little shit. Like a dog reaching for scraps falling off the table, you'll let him have this win.

Eyes rolling, you curl the same hand around his cock and give him the reprieve of generous pumping. The kind of thing he'll have you do when he inevitably proves you wrong at something. Kalymir makes the mistake of getting into it, panting and rumbling while his hips rock into your hand. He can't even stay still for too long, having to fuck your hand sooner or later.

The moment he appears blissed out, you step back and leave him leaning into nothing but thin air. The way he throbs in disappointment is hilarious, even more so when the expected tantrum arrives and he stomps hard on the ground.

" GET BACK HERE AND CONTINUE. " The large monster barks. " TEASING COCKSLUT! "

" Hm? " Playing stupid is one of your favorite things to do. Kalymir hates having to repeat himself, it's like a cherry on top of his already perfect cake.

" TOUCH ME NOW! "

" Get on the bed and I will. "

He looks like he wants to kick said piece of furniture. Instead, he growls something in infernal and throws himself onto the reinforced mattress, front up, legs spread and arms behind his head on the pillows.

You get a pretty nice view, admittedly. His arousal standing, flushed slit leading to a defined ass and thick muscled thighs. He hides nothing, demeanor ever intimidating. Perhaps trying to fluster you out of this by making it seem as if whatever you do won't even register to him.

You know better.

" Nope. Not like that. " You start, finishing before he can retort. " Ass up face down. "

Your patience thins when he starts making a scene again. " Are you going to be a brat about this, my King? Because it's making you look bad. "

" HOW DARE- "

" No, I get it. " You motion to the toy. " You're nervous because it's too big, right? I'd be afraid too, it's fine, I'll get a smaller one. "

He moves faster than you give him credit for, rearranging himself the way you ordered. Fucking Hell, what a view.

" YOU THINK I'M AFRAID OF SILICONE?! "

You think he's afraid of bottoming. " Let's find out. "

When you nearly dash for the lube bottles you hastily stashed in one of the drawers, Kalymir snaps his head towards you. " WHAT ARE YOU DOING? "

" Getting lube? " You shake one of the small bottles in your hand for emphasis.

" PUSSY. "

You flinch.

Alright. If he wants a torn ass, who are you to deny him that pleasure? Raw it is.

In a moment, you're behind him on the bed. The sheer size difference allows you to be standing for this, which is both humorous and extremely arousing to you. Your palms glide up the expanse of his full thighs, noting how very little give there is to them, how tense his muscles are beneath your touch. He exhales, probably in frustration that you're taking your sweet time, though you pay the demonlord no mind as you grab his tail and push it back, manually presenting him.

He looks tight- Is the first thing your brain comes up with at the sight of his pucker. Which you suppose checks out, not many people have probably gotten him in this position. Said greedy hands of yours climb from his inner thighs to his length, teasing him briefly before continuing the trek upwards, spreading him out more for your viewing pleasure. His tail twitches, you realize that if you don't pay attention to it, that very dense tip might collide with you at some point.

One of your hands cracks as hard as you can manage against his left cheek. The flesh beneath you barely shifts, and your entire extremity throbs in mild pain, making you hiss.

" HAHAHA- DID YOU BREAK SOMETHING, RUNT? " He mocks, so very proud of himself. " I DIDN'T EVEN FEEL IT. "

" Oh don't worry, you'll be feeling something alright. "

Because now you're determined to wipe that smirk off his words. Some other time, you'd like to take your time and stretch his ass little by little, but Kalymir is such a pissy, impatient little bitch. You wonder how possible that really could be.

As is, you take one of his hips in hand -As much as you can anyway- And line your cock up with his entrance. Some benevolent part of you wonders if it really is a good idea to give Kaly what he wants. But he can take it, right? He's a big boy.

It takes some effort, actually a great deal, you're glad he's not staring at you because you're gritting your teeth in concentration to push in correctly.

" I DON'T HAVE ALL DAY... "

" Fuck. You. "

On the last forceful pump, you chance putting most of your weight into it, rewarded when Kalymir's hole finally gives way and you drill in, his walls caving to the sudden assault yet hugging the toy like a vise.

" HHRNK-! "

You laugh when his whole body tenses, the King fighting to exhale steadily so he doesn't let out any unflattering noises.

" You're feeling it now, aren't you? "

The demon hisses something in a tongue you can't grasp, you can almost feel him try to relax around the intrusion. " FUCKING BARELY. "

Liar.

Instead of pulling out, you rock yourself experimentally, then slam the remaining inches of your cock into him, burying yourself as deep as possible and marveling at the heat of his skin against yours when the entire thing is properly swallowed.

Kalymir sounds like he's wheezing quietly, his arms flex and tremble minutely, his claws sinking into the sheets, creating holes in them. Your hand ventures beneath him and grabs him by the dick, feeling him throb madly in your grasp. Yeah, he's fooling absolutely no one.

The rush of having him suddenly so still and quiet is maddening, one hand firmly on his hip, the other gripping possessively around his cock as you start pumping in and out of Kalymir's ass. He's like a solid wall, jostling him at any capacity proving itself to be a challenge as you're required to really work up a sweat for it.

Finally, you get his ass to bounce. Giggling your delight inbetween pants of exertion. But God is it worth it- Kalymir grunts regularly, trying to suppress noises you know were meant to be moans, perhaps not expecting you to do as well as you have been until now.

His legs shake for a second when you angle yourself a specific way, leading you to knowingly repeat the motion, aware you've hit the demonlord's sweetspot.

" Hah- What's the matter, my King? Why so quiet? "

Kalymir turns his head, as much as he can with those horns flaring in all directions like a mangled crown. Drool seeps from his teeth and his mouth twitches between a frowning and panting. Finally, finally, he groans- In his desire to answer you, a moan much too soft escapes the Icon and you can see the mortification take him over... Until you fuck into him just right again and he growls low in arousal.

" FUCK ME LIKE A REAL WOMAN Hhhrk- "

You snicker. " Are you begging me to go faster? "

Kalymir roughly pushes his hips back, all but knocking into you, stealing some of the breath from your lungs. " LIKE I'D BEG YOU FOR SHIT. FUCK ME! "

Ah, he's getting into it.

And you do. Well, you try your best. Being human kind of gets in the way. Arms readjust as you seek different handles on him, more leverage, more power to put between your taught pistoning. Whether consciously or not, the demonlord shifts to allow you better access, bending further, arching his back more, spreading his legs further. What a delicious sight he makes, ruined beneath you.

At some point, you get sweaty enough to ditch the robe, putting every ounce of might you can muster into this, knowing you'll be sore when it's over. Kalymir appears to enjoy the way you'll grunt and huff with effort, your blunt nails trying to dig into him at every turn, clawing- You imagine his ass must be burning at the speed you're breeding him, but maybe he loves that pain as much as he does the ramming of his prostate.

" HARDER. HARDER, THIS IS NOTHING- FASTER! "

"Nothing", he says, breathless and dripping, strings of precum pooling on the sheets. Though he commands you, the stress in his tone betrays the King's desperation.

When you can't possibly offer him more intensity, already straining your limits, the Icon is the one who bucks his hip and practically fucks himself onto your strap, relentless as he drops his head to the bed and muffles loud noises that fall somewhere between whimpers and snarls.

You wish you could record him like this. It's beautiful.

" Are you close already? " You joke.

" SHUT UP. " He barks, choking on his own saliva when you start quickly stroking his cock. " SHUT THE FUCK UP! "

" Mm, nope. "

You can tell he's going to come very soon, not just by the telltale tensing of his thighs but the way his abdomen flexes and he jerks against your fingers. The way he practically sucks your cock inside himself is no small hint either. You draw up the last bit of stamina you have in your body to offer a few wild rams into his hole, grinding yourself as deep into Kaly as possible, gripping him harder, then sinking your teeth into his tail as if you intend to sever it.

Kalymir all but fucking brays like a beast.

His whole form quakes and he pants desperately, his hips reflexively fucking forward into nothing at all before he twitches and instantly makes a complete mess of the mattress, offering load after steaming load as you take the care to ride him through it- Just to hear him make the softest little mewl you've ever heard from him.

You wouldn't believe it if someone told you Kalymir could make such a noise.

The King deflates onto the cushioned mattress beneath him with a chuff, and you have no choice but to follow, still buried in him to the hilt.

Soft palms stroke his sweat-slicked back. " Did you have fun? "

He hisses something too muffled to understand.

" Hm? "

" ... I'M GOING TO KILL YOU. "

Someday probably, yeah.

#Kalymir oc #yandere monster #yandere demon #yandere teratophilia #monster x reader #monster x you #monsterfucker #terato tag #monster boyfriend #not sfw #minors dni

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thecousinsdangereux · 2 years ago

Text

if i'm falling wrong [1/1]

notes: over on Twitter, moonyriot has been working on a multi-part journal from Ava's POV covering her time in Switzerland and beyond. She asked me if I wanted to join in on the fun and write a short one-shot to cover some of the events in part 6. (If you haven't seen any of her posts, here's the first one. They are incredible so definitely check them out.)

—

“The integrity of the upright guides them,” Ava reads, taking care to enunciate each word, “but the crookedness of the treacherous destroys them. That’s Proverbs 11:3, Beatrice.”

Beatrice definitely knows, which is — Ava thinks — what makes it so funny. Or. Funny to her, at least. Maybe not so much for Beatrice, whose lips have flattened into a thin line that hides almost all of their pretty pink hue (a color Ava has taken a liking to in a way that definitely relates to how often she finds herself staring at Beatrice’s mouth).

“It is better to promise nothing than to promise something and not be able to do it,” Ava continues, because she’s never been any good at knowing when to stop. “That’s Ecclesiastes. And — ooh, this is a good one — A person who promises a gift but doesn’t give it is like clouds and wind that bring no rain. That’s — ”

“Proverbs again, yes, thank you, Bible.com.”

“It’s actually Biblereasons.com.” She shows off the screen of her phone, the one that she’s definitely supposed to be using sparingly (and never does). “But sure, I can go to your bible website of choice. Whatever you want. Pretty sure I’m still going to find the same answer, though. Honestly, I would’ve thought a nun would know that lying is bad. Not to brag, or anything, but I learned that one when I was like five, or something.”

For reasons unknown, this pries Beatrice’s lips wide, dragging them out into a full smile, pink mouth and small indent at the corner appearing just as quickly as Ava’s pulse picks up, heart slamming up against the poor, battered walls of her chest.

“How odd,” Beatrice begins, in a low drawl that means Ava’s in trouble (in so many ways). “Because I seem to recall you telling Hans, just yesterday morning, that you were allergic to apples. As a result, he traded pastries with you, leaving you with the chocolate eclair you’d been all but salivating over since you first noticed it in the break room. Given that I know that you were perfectly able to consume a slice of apple pie that the neighbors brought up last week, I am forced to conclude that — ”

“Okay, okay! Jesus. Pump the brakes, Miss Marple. I’m allowed to lie; I’m a dirty sinner or whatever. But you hold yourself to a higher standard, right?” (Unfortunately, Ava adds, but only mentally, because yeah.) “So when you said ‘Ava, if you’re able to best me in a mighty trial of combat, I will bequeath to you a single portrait wherein my lips are upturned in joyous felicitations’ or whatever, I took that as an oath, Bea. A serious, serious oath.”

“One, I don’t sound like that. Two, no English person alive sounds like that. Why do you default to the Regency era when you’re trying to mock my accent?”

By now, Beatrice’s smile has really started to crack open, showing off the slightest sliver of white behind those lips. It’d be unfair to say that this (the moment where Beatrice’s eyes crinkle with a laughter she most likely won’t release) is always Ava’s goal in any conversation she has with Beatrice, but maybe it is always an intended stop along the way, whatever the actual destination might be.

(Other pitstops of note include: the cute scrunch of her nose whenever she’s focused on Ava alone, the half-tilt of her head whenever she’s considering something Ava’s said, the almost absentminded brush of her fingers along Ava’s forearm whenever she wants her to pay especially close attention. There’s a common theme here, but Ava’s well-aware of her own preoccupation, so it’s fine. Probably.)

“Uh, because I’m paying you a huge compliment? Ungrateful much? Mr. Darcy is like… the hottest the British have ever been. Not that that’s hard because otherwise they kind of really suck, but I’m trying here, Bea, and you’re giving me nothing but attitude. And lies.”

Beatrice sighs. It’s cute enough that Ava nearly sighs too, longing bubbling up behind her lips.

“I told you I would smile for one of your pictures if you pinned me during training. It was implied you would do so without cheating.”

With a tsk that doesn’t sound anything like the one Beatrice sometimes uses (a low sound from the back of her throat that always did very little to help Ava concentrate), Ava takes a half-step closer so that she might properly waggle a finger in Beatrice’s face.

“I’m only doing what you taught me, Bea I thought I was supposed to use all the resources at my disposal?”

Beatrice promptly bats the finger away. But that’s sort of the point. (Sometimes, it’s a little pathetic, the lengths Ava will go to make sure Beatrice is touching her at literally every possible opportunity, but Ava’s never really minded being a little pathetic for a good cause. And Beatrice is honestly never hard to bait, at least in this particular way.)

“Ava, you bit me.”

“Which was using all the resources at my disposal! Come on! If I’d been in a real fight, you would’ve called that innovative!”

“Perhaps if you hadn’t used your — ” Delightfully, Beatrice takes a small, steadying breath before her next word, which, to Ava (who’s spent months studying Beatrice with the rigor of a staunch academic) is as much of a giveaway as one of her cute little blushes. “ — tongue.”

“I think the element of surprise would still work just fine,” she insists, but then Beatrice gives her a look, one that she knows won’t allow for any debate over the merits of licking her enemies, and she gives in nearly instantly. (Ava’s really only interested in using any part of her mouth on one person alone, anyway.) “But fine. Okay. Good note, teach.”

Winter has begun to fade from the air and, as they walk back towards their apartment in the meandering pace that has become their custom, Ava is pleased by this for two reasons. One: their neighbors — who bake enough that Ava’s convinced they’re working up to competing on one of those bafflingly polite baking shows — now leave their windows open, filling the air with the most delicious smells, noticeable even a block away from their home. And Two: Beatrice has taken to wearing short-sleeves again, which means that when she nudges Ava now (with a charmed little roll of her eyes), it’s bare skin against bare skin.

In training, this is both a pleasure and a problem, because then it’s Beatrice’s shorts and Ava’s shirt being pushed up as Ava gets pinned to the ground and it’s the skin of Beatrice’s inner thigh against the skin of Ava’s hip and that’s a lot more than the casual brushes she’s gotten used to. Ava had long ago realized that any and all logical thought flies out the fucking window when faced with a muscular thigh, so really, it hadn’t been all that much of a surprise when it’d resulted in Ava doing something completely insane.

Like taking Beatrice’s thumb into her mouth. And biting it. And maybe sucking a little. Honestly, it’s all a bit of a haze, because Beatrice had then made a noise that would most certainly be featured in Ava’s dreams for the next week or month or year, in the most mortifying (and sexy) way possible.

And to be fair, it had worked in getting Ava out of the chokehold she otherwise would’ve probably happily died in.

So there’s that.

“Something with chocolate today,” Beatrice comments, and Ava short-circuits for a second, thinking about chocolate and fingers and skin and the really incredible potential combination of the three, before she remembers the neighbors and the smell and the baking and feels her cheeks burn.

“Uh — yeah. Maybe they’ll have extra to share.” The windows on the first floor apartment are (of course) open as they approach, and Ava raises her voice just enough for it to carry through. She catches the intertwined laughter of the neighbors that results, and shoots Beatrice a wink that dispels some of the heat building within her, an emergency vent that she’s learned to rely on.

“You’re shameless,” Beatrice says, in the exact way she always does whenever she doesn’t mean it (lips quirking at the corners).

“And you’re welcome, when we end up getting brownies, or whatever they’re making.”

The door to their building never unlocks easily, but it’s gotten worse as the temperatures have started to rise; Beatrice shoulders it open, muscles bunching in her back, and Ava does absolutely nothing to help, watching the flex of her shoulder blades under the tight, gray fabric.

“You know me,” Beatrice says lightly, knocking the side of her sneakers against the bottom of the stairs before heading up (and Ava does know her, enough to wait patiently for her to complete this small ritual). “I’m always craving sweets.”

“You are sometimes! Whenever you come home from a night shift, you break into my stash! And since you have a lot of those coming up, on account of you losing our bet…”

Beatrice laughs, a soft huff that turns into an adorable little squeak when Ava shoves past her on the staircase and snatches the keys from her fingers, bursting through their apartment door with far less effort than Beatrice had needed below.

“You’re not letting this one go, are you?”

It’s probably response enough when she snatches her camera off of the kitchen table and points it at Beatrice as soon as she steps across the threshold, but even this (pretty impressive!) sneak attack fails. Beatrice is quick enough to throw a hand up before the snap, lowering it only when Ava does the same with the camera. She continues to eye her warily as she bends down to untie her shoes, only abating to cast a significant look in Ava’s direction, which persists until Ava kicks hers off far less elegantly.

“It’s one photo, Bea!” she grumbles, watching as Beatrice arranges their sneakers in a perfect little line. “Just… one smile. Let’s just get it out of the way, you know? Look up and … ”

Beatrice does look up.

Ava has to give her that.

It’s the only warning she gets before Beatrice is standing and her fingers are wrapping around Ava’s wrist and she’s pressed flush against Ava’s front and well. Sure. That’s one way to get Ava to shut up. Probably the only way. Ava knows this about herself, but really can’t find any regret when it’s led her right here.

“You cheated,” Beatrice murmurs lowly. “Why would I reward that?”

Ava has a lot of thoughts around the concept of Beatrice rewarding her, and absolutely none of them are good. (Or, rather, they’re all extremely good. Very good. Far too good for her to be able to say out loud, those curling, irreverent thoughts that stick her tongue to the roof of her mouth and keep her up at night.) So it’s really out of mercy that she phases then — slipping out of Beatrice’s grip the only way she knows how that doesn’t involve cheap tricks — stepping back and lifting her camera again.

What follows transpires a bit too quickly for Ava to track.

She’s seen Beatrice fight in all sorts of situations — at full speed in back alley brawls and at half-tempo when leading her through a new form — but Ava’s pretty sure she’ll never see enough to lose the surprise that comes from being on the end of one of Beatrice’s first strikes. She’s in front of Ava and then she’s not; it’s really as simple (and terrifying) (and hot) as that. One moment, Ava has her camera ready, and then she’s facing a different direction entirely, her hand twisted behind her back, her camera falling from her grasp. Beatrice is fast here too, swooping down to catch it before it hits the floor, but this allows Ava to throw an elbow backwards, a hit that surely would have broken something in Beatrice’s face had it landed (but which Ava knows by now never will).

“Double or nothing?” Ava pants, stumbling forward and twisting back around to face Beatrice, who’s gently placed the camera on the floor, carefully out of the way.

“Two photos if you win and you take my night shifts for two weeks when you lose?”

“Wait, I don’t like the if/when placement in that senten — ”

She barely ducks out of Beatrice’s grapple, cutting herself off mid-word to manage it, a little breathless already. It occurs to her that she’s definitely made a mistake here, looking up and finding Beatrice serious and focused, strands of her hair slipping out of the low bun that’s already started to loosen. Even in the warm light filtering through their apartment windows, Beatrice’s eyes look dark, and Ava spends a second too long suppressing a shiver at the sight. Which means, of course, she’s unable to avoid the next hit: a full tackle to the floor. Either Beatrice really doesn’t want Ava to take this photo or she really wants to get out of her night shifts, because she’s not going about this in the calm, measured way Ava is used to. (There’s a third option and it’s one Ava likes best; maybe Beatrice just really wants to pin Ava to the floor, to feel Ava underneath her, to feel Ava squirm against her front, fighting to get out of the hold. This is the option Ava relates to best and maybe it’s the one driving her now, putting her at a disadvantage just as significant as all the other ones.)

Ava hits the ground hard, enough to knock air out of her lungs, but she’s saved, partially, by starting on a twist mid-air, mindful of how dangerous it’ll be if Beatrice gets her flat on her back. Not that Ava is opposed to this idea. Not on a normal day. Not even today, if only Beatrice would —

“Good,” Beatrice says, breaking through Ava’s thoughts, though not in a way that is helpful at all. Beatrice most certainly notices the jerk of Ava’s hips the single word causes, but almost equally as certainly dismisses it as part of Ava’s attempts to break free. “But you over-rotated. Just slightly. See how I can use that to put you on your stomach?”

Always the instructor, Beatrice explains precisely how she’s going to best Ava before she actually does it; if Ava were better at this (if Beatrice were worse) this might actually be of some help in countering Beatrice’s efforts. Sadly, she’s not, so it isn’t.

“Fuck,” Ava grunts, face pressed directly into the carpet of their bedroom. It’s honestly painful, the way Beatrice’s knee presses into the center of her back, but it’s a sort of pain that Ava’s come to find — over their months together — that she doesn’t especially mind or maybe even likes and maybe gets a fair amount of pleasure from and maybe thinks about it from time to time whenever she gets a moment alone and — yeah. Fuck is really the only word for it.

“What now, Ava?” Finally, there’s a hint of the breathlessness in Beatrice’s voice: when she locks one of Ava’s arms behind her back, and Ava attempts to land some kind of backwards headbutt, pushing herself up off the floor with her free hand. “What’s your best option?”

Beg you to have your way with me, doesn’t really seem like the response Beatrice is looking for, but Christ a girl can only take so much. And right about then, Ava knows she’s going to cheat (because it’s either cheat or blurt out something that will inevitably be extremely horny) but is it really cheating if there hadn’t been any rules put forth in the first place?

She’s gotten better about controlling the Halo, so it barely gives off any light before she lifts onto one knee and throws herself backwards, phasing neatly through Beatrice’s front. The effort Beatrice had been using to hold her down works against her now, effectively swapping their positions as she falls forward, and Ava’s quick to use that momentum, reaching around to grab the front of Beatrice’s shirt so she’s flipped with the motion. Another (gentle) Halo blast lands Beatrice on her back, Ava straddling her hips and pinning both of her hands on either side of her head.

“You didn’t say no Halo,” Ava says in a rush, as though the victory will be taken away instantly, as though she cares at all about some stupid bet instead of being on top of Beatrice whose eyes are wide and lovely, whose lips are parted and pink, whose chest is — not something Ava is looking at, thank you very much. Because she’s respectful, she can be respectful, she has to try to be respectful.

“I didn’t,” Beatrice says finally and then fucking licks her lips, like God Himself has decided that Ava needs to be punched directly in the face with attractiveness or whatever and holy shit.

Holy shit.

“Then I — that means — uh — ” She releases one of Beatrice’s wrists like it’s burning, very much aware of the intensity of the gaze resting on her, and blindly roots around on the floor behind her until she finds the camera, resting just where Beatrice had left it. “I get to do this.”

Her fumbling with the camera is hardly graceful, but honestly, the fact that she’s able to produce words at all is nothing short of a miracle, so she’ll take it. Her right hand is still wrapped around Beatrice’s left, fingers circling her wrist as she pins it to the floor, and she takes a picture of this first, holding her breath all the while.

“For — uh — proof?” she offers, a little weakly, and Beatrice’s stare finally breaks, intensity replaced by something much softer, something that seeps into the corner of her eyes and mouth in equal measure. Ava’s struck by the sight as much as she is by anything else, and her grip relaxes enough that Beatrice can slip out of the hold, both hands drifting down until they come to rest just alongside either one of Ava’s knees.

“Proof for who?”

“What do you — proof for literally everyone, Bea; Hans, Camila, Lilith, Mother Superion, Jillian, the regulars at the bar, our neighbors, the lady who runs the bakery down the street, any random person I walk past for the next month. Hell, I might take out an ad in The Guardian, or something, are you kidding?”

Beatrice laughs and it’s like a crack in the universe, or something equally and unequivocally earth-shattering. Lungs empty, air knocked fully out, Ava lifts her camera almost instinctively, only to find her view devastatingly obstructed, Beatrice’s arms flung over her face (the grin, still wide with laughter, barely peeking out from underneath).

“Beatrice,” she groans (or maybe pouts).

“I’m sorry!” And she sounds it too, even through the smile, the half-giggles now petering out. “Truly. I’m not used to being photographed. I can’t think of a time it happened before you took up this hobby, not outside of unpleasant family photoshoots and the like.”

Ava’s heart flips painfully in her chest, but Beatrice is quick to soothe, fingers falling back down to brush against the outside of Ava’s leg, as though Ava’s the one in need of comfort.

“I’m not protesting, Ava. Just tell me what to do.”

Photographs are meant to reproduce moments, memories, emotions, but Ava’s not sure the best photographer in the world, with hundreds of thousands of euros in equipment, would ever be able to fully capture Beatrice as she is now, fondness bleeding from the tips of her fingers, affection lighting the brown of her eyes, and love — or something an awful lot like it — bending her mouth, a bow pulled taut with an arrow that might be Ava herself, as inconceivable as the notion is.

“Pretend the camera isn’t here,” Ava rasps, her breath hot (heated by all the things boiling inside of her now). “Just look at me.”

Beatrice looks at her.

Ava stops breathing.

She takes the picture. The camera lowers. And Ava forgets about it entirely, object permanence completely obliterated by a force far stronger than something as trivial as human development.

Underneath her, seemingly content to be straddled, Beatrice looks calm, which isn’t unusual, because she almost always looks calm, so maybe it’s that she feels calm too. Like all the things Ava can always sense running through her at speeds only known to light have slowed down or disappeared entirely. The mission, her duties, her vows, her expectations, these things have washed away (temporarily but completely) until it’s only Beatrice left, staring at her lips. And Ava had thought she’d experienced wanting Beatrice in every way, but this one is new.

(She wants Beatrice like this: exactly herself, without anything else getting in the way.)

“Beatrice,” she says, a hitch in her voice breaking the name into three, distinct syllables. “I’m — ”

Cursed. Saved. Ruined. Blessed. Fucked.

Ava’s not sure which word applies when the smoke alarm goes off downstairs.

It is not especially loud, or piercing, but it goes off and all of the easy calm flees from Beatrice’s eyes as she jerks upwards, back lifting off the floor until she’s close, closer than before, so close and it’s too much, maybe, or maybe Ava’s instincts are working against her (or for her?) because she falls back as soon as Beatrice completes the motion, balance disastrously (helpfully?) disrupted.

Oh well, Ava thinks, as she lets herself fall back. Maybe a bit of brain damage would do her some good.

Except that, of course, Beatrice catches her, a simple slip of her hand around Ava’s back, palm pressing to the middle of the Halo, shocks spreading out from the point of impact.

“You’re what?” Beatrice asks, terribly quiet, as though she feels the air rearranging around them, molecules shifting back and forth between possibilities and outcomes.

And if Beatrice were still calm, if everything else were still pushed away, if Beatrice was just Beatrice in that moment — just as she’d been so briefly before — it would not be a choice, what Ava did next. And maybe it isn’t one now either, but it’s in the opposite direction: pulling away rather than pushing forward (creating space rather than closing it).

“I’m — just — I’m done. With the photos.” Decision made, breath returning, she shrugs, a little bashful now, the steady beep of the alarm and the laughter of their neighbors drifting up from below. “That wasn’t so bad, was it?”

Beatrice’s head tilts, a small crease forming in between her eyebrows. Some people want money or power or peace or the answers to the universe, but Ava thinks she would be content, if only she could know what Beatrice is thinking right now.

“No,” she murmurs. “Not so bad at all.”

#avatrice #warrior nun #ava silva lives on #Ava's Journals #moonyriot #happy new year!#writing

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