#and there's a part in Centuries with a lull

[therealamperssand]

okay but... picture a Percy Jackson thing... Annabeth shows him the song Tom's Diner... and later in the movie/season/whatever it may be... there's a fight scene to Centuries by Fall Out Boy...

[pellucid-constellations]

Trial and Error (6)

Pairing: Azriel x Reader

Summary: Based on the request: "Azriel with single mom reader? I feel like being a single mom in ACOTAR would be tricky as hell… reader comes from autumn court and flees to night court because she got pregnant out of marriage? 😯 the shame"

Word count: 2.4k

Warnings: Angst, brief mention of an abortion

a/n: guess what everyone here’s another chapter ahhh!!! Love you 🫶

Read part one | part two | part three | part four | part five (part five bonus) | part seven

Main Masterlist ♡

~~

Your breath left you, lungs emptying of every comfort until they felt tight and constrained. You might have made a sound—might have gaped as Azriel’s eyes darted across every square inch of your face to gauge a reaction. 

Mate. 

Had he said—

“What?” you finally choked out. 

Azriel shook his head with a pained furrow of his brow. “I didn’t want to tell you like this.” His hands steadied as they cradled your cheeks—stability in a time of utter confusion. “But I had to, y/n. You… I needed you to understand why I care so much. Why I want you to let me care. Why you…” 

His words trailed off. 

Something compelled you to reach up and wrap your fingers around his wrists. You stared into his eyes with nothing to offer him but the uncertainty and poorly disguised hope edging considerably closer to the surface. 

“Why I what, Azriel?” 

Azriel licked his lips before he spoke, mouth dry at the prospect of the conversation. “Why you can tell me. Everything. You can trust me with everything there is to know about you and Melanie. I wouldn’t—I would protect the both of you. Over anything.” 

You felt a piece of you deflate. Azriel’s fingers slightly spasmed against your skin as your shoulders slumped. 

“You can’t promise me that, Azriel,” you sullenly replied. “You work for the High Lord. You can’t promise me you would keep things from him for my benefit. I can’t trust that—” 

“Y/n, you are my mate,” Azriel emphasized, eyes wide and pleading. “I know you can’t feel it yet within you but it has been carved into my chest from the moment we locked eyes. The way the bond pulls each time I see you—the way it screams at me to keep you safe. I can’t…” 

His words broke off as he spoke them—cracked and fractured and desperate. 

Azriel cleared his throat and started over. 

“There are two things you should know. First, the High Lord and Lady—Rhysand and Feyre—they would never do anything to put you in danger.” You opened your mouth to argue, but Azriel gently spoke over the rebuttal. “They would never. They do not even know you but you are my mate. As an extension, you are their family. Whatever it is you are running from, they would go to lengths to run with you.” 

“You can’t promise—” 

“I can. And I am. Because the second thing you should know is that I have waited for my mate for centuries. I have dreamed of you and wanted you and I don’t know if that scares you but I hope it can be some consolation.” 

The kitchen lulled into a silence punctuated by your heaving breaths, the unsteady sound countering Azriel’s flickering wings as he stood before you. You had no words for him, nothing to rectify the worried way he captured your gaze with his own. 

Your instinct fought against everything he said. 

To put all of your trust into Azriel—all of it. To make him an integral part of Melanie’s life, of yours. 

Could you? Was being his mate enough? You didn’t feel the pull yet, the indescribable ache that caused the desperation on Azriel’s face. 

“—and,” Azriel’s voice was low but startling as his eyes shifted to land on the wall behind your head. “It’s not just the bond. It’s you. I care about you, y/n. I care about Mel. I can’t go back to acting so casual about that. I want to be all in with two of you. My life has�� it’s changed. It’s different now, because of you.” 

He found your eyes again.

Something shifted in your chest, but it didn’t snap. 

You wanted him to be all in, but something still needed to be aligned. 

You had heard stories about mates in the past—about mates that had children before the bond had made itself known. The stories did not end well and they certainly did not match the pleading way Azriel held you or the hopeful pool of hazel that his eyes had dipped into. 

“What about Melanie?” you whispered, squeezing his wrist with your fingers because although he had included her in all of his pinings, you needed to hear him say it. 

Azriel adjusted his stance and blinked at you as if you were speaking another language. “What about Melanie, angel?” 

His soft-spoken endearment was like a punch to the gut. “W-Would you love her the same? Even though she isn’t yours? I’ve heard what can happen with—” 

“I don’t care about that—I’ve never cared. I can’t imagine looking at her and not loving her, y/n. She is so much of you.” 

A loaded breath left you as you leaned forward and rested your forehead on Azriel’s collar. You were still sick, still exhausted, and this overwhelming display of affection and devotion was filling you more than you thought you could handle. You released your hold on his wrists to bunch your fists into the front of his shirt. Azriel acted instantly, one hand coming to the back of your head while the other rested along your back. 

“I want to trust you,” you promised. “I do. It just might take time. I can’t—I don’t think I can tell you yet. I don’t know why, I just—” 

“I know, y/n. You don’t have to tell me. Just… just let me in. Let me be here.” 

~~

The rest of the day moved slowly. 

Azriel stayed. 

When Melanie woke up from her nap, a walk was introduced, Azriel proclaiming that the group had spent entirely too much time inside and fresh air was needed to fight the remaining sickness. That suggestion was met with a raised brow from Melanie who argued that sleep was supposed to be what made us better, Mr. Azriel. Why do you keep changing it?

You had watched the interaction with new eyes; the way she squinted up at him with a skeptical gaze and the way he stared down at her with a smile so wide it looked as if it hurt. Did he smile that broadly all the time? You hardly saw him in any public context, so it was difficult to know. 

You doubted he did. 

He smiled at you the same way when you teased him for Melanie’s benefit. 

The walk was soothing and beautiful and Azriel had wrapped two scarves around Melanie’s neck before he let her get out the door. She had huffed and pointed at his own neck, frustrated that he wasn’t wearing a scarf, but his shadows answered for him as they whisked around Melanie’s eyes and turned her around. 

As she giggled, Azriel shrugged a jacket over your shoulders. 

“It’s not that cold, you know,” you commented later as footsteps echoed along cobblestone. “I don’t know if she needed both scarves.” 

“Can’t be too careful. Wouldn’t want her to get more sick.” 

“We aren’t that kind of sick, Az.” 

“I know.” He tore his gaze from Melanie and directed it towards you. “But I can’t do anything about Autumn fever. I can, however, make sure the two of you don’t catch a cold.” 

You pressed your lips inwards and breathed through the fluttering in your chest as he looked upon you. His gaze was unabashedly admiring and you couldn’t remember if he’d looked at you like that before he’d told you you were mates, or if he had been holding himself back before. 

“I am from the Autumn Court,” you thought to say, if only to quell some of the strange feeling in your chest. “Although, you already knew that. Your healer kind of gave it away.” 

“You don’t have to—” 

“I want to,” you interrupted. You looked out towards Melanie as you skirted along the Sidra, your daughter kneeling by the shore to look in at the fish. “Maybe not all of it at once. But for now, I’m from the Autumn Court. I came to Velaris when I found out I was pregnant.” 

You shoved your hands into the pocket of the jacket Azriel had placed on your shoulders. You realized it wasn’t yours when your knuckles swam in the space. And the scent of night-kissed air delicately wafted up.

Azriel said nothing as you collected your thoughts. He simply watched Melanie giggle and dip her fingers in the water. 

“Um, I came under duress, obviously. The circumstances of my pregnancy weren’t exactly optimal and there were several people that would have been… more than upset that I was pregnant.” 

“What does that mean—upset?” 

“Several things. They could have taken Melanie from me, made me end the pregnancy when I didn’t want to, sent me into hiding for shame. I didn’t stick around to find out which horror-fueled thought would come to fruition.” 

“Is that who you’re running from?” 

You tilted your head to the side as a light breeze swept past your skin. Azriel was already looking at you with an intensity that felt out of place compared to the joyful laughs that flowed from the child by the water. But that was good, you reminded yourself, you were keeping her away from all of these harsh realities for as long as possible. 

“Yes.”

“Can I ask—”

“No.” You were quick to cut him off. Your tone wasn’t mean or harsh; it was exhausted. “You can't ask who or why—not yet. I haven’t actually said any of those names aloud since I left. That part might… take me a while.” 

“That’s okay,” Azriel softly reassured. He took a half step towards you, hesitated, but then fought against that and wrapped an arm around your shoulders, tugging you into his chest. “I just need to know what I’m up against. If you think they know where you are or if they’re still looking for you.” 

Melanie had begun throwing rocks into the Sidra, the sound of the stones plopping into the water mingling with silence and birds chirping. 

“I don’t think they know where I am,” you mumbled into his chest. It was so easy to stay there. “But I think they’re still looking. I don’t think they’ll stop.” 

You felt Azriel’s lips press against the crown of your head. His chin found a home there as you both shifted to watch Melanie. 

“Okay. Okay, that’s fine.” 

“Is it? You didn’t exactly sign up for this.” 

“I signed up for you. Whatever that entails.” 

A calm silence washed over the scene by the Sidra. Azriel brought his other arm around to hold you closer to his chest and you let him, seamlessly sinking into his hold. Melanie was none the wiser to the conversations behind her as she began dropping sticks and leaves into the water. 

Azriel kissed your hair once more. 

“It could be safer—“ Azriel began, words laced with reproach. “—if some of the Inner Circle were involved.” 

You wrenched yourself back as quickly as the words left his mouth. “No,” you shook your head vigorously. It made an ache bloom at the base of your neck. “No, no court involvement. You can’t tell them anything. You can’t, Azriel. I know you said it was safe but you don’t understand. This can’t have anything to do with High Lords or court politics or, or—” 

“Okay, okay—hey, I’m sorry. Come here.” 

The panic had taken hold of your bearings and inched close to your heart. You reached up to place a hand against the pressure there as Azriel tugged you back against his body and glanced toward Melanie to ensure she hadn’t picked up on your stress. 

“I’m sorry, I wasn’t thinking,” he comforted, running his hand down your hair. “Nothing with the court, okay? I won’t tell any of them.” 

“Do you promise?” you all but whimpered. A tinge of embarrassment seeped under your skin at your actualized panic, but the fear took precedence and Azriel showed no repugnance at your reaction. 

For a brief, fleeting moment, you considered that a promise didn’t really mean anything at all—not before. 

But, from Azriel, it felt like something. 

“I promise.” 

A small voice then sounded, facilitating the natural end to the sharing you had offered. “All of the fishies are gone.” 

Azriel didn’t even attempt to move you away from his chest as he spoke, his words creating vibrations along your body. “That’s because you keep throwing things at them, Mel.” 

“I wasn’t throwing things at them. I was trying to offer those things to them.” 

You turned to speak to your daughter, Azriel’s arms unmoving around you. “Why were you offering things to the fish?” 

“Just in case they’re water gods. Ms. Fern tolds us about them in school. If you make them offerings then they protect you.” 

Your laugh was echoed by Azriel. The two of you shared a smile before you slowly unraveled yourself from him and beckoned your daughter forward. “Well, I’m sure they were very grateful for your offering. It was probably just their bedtime. Just like it’s almost yours.” 

Melanie made a face but didn’t argue, instead taking steps past you to stand at Azriel’s feet. “Mr. Azriel, is it my turn to cuddle? I don’t want to walk all the way home.” 

You watched Azriel’s mouth twist into a small smile that was obviously in place of a much larger one. He looked over Melanie’s head to send you a wordless question that you were quick to nod in response to. 

As if you would tell him no. 

Azriel reached down to haul your daughter up, settling her against his hip as if he’d done so a hundred times. Melanie rested her head on his chest almost as quickly as he’d grabbed for her, fiddling with a stick she still held in her grasp. You made to walk alongside them and calm your pattering heart, but certain people had other plans. 

“You too, mommy,” Melanie called, peaking the side of her face out from Azriel’s chest. 

“Me too?” 

“Uh huh. You come too. Mr. Azriel has two arms. And I can hold your hand.”

You sent a knowing glance up to Azriel, but he forwent the snickering and already had his arm open by the time you looked. “In,” he prompted with raised brows. “And you have a hand to hold.”  

[the-faceless-bride]

Some Of my current ideas and obsession Blurbs (if you find any of them interesting, I'm open to hearing ideas 👀👀)

Part 2 ->

Imagine being a demon...

Imagine Part of your power has to do with death, corruption, and seeing who someone was when they were alive... as a demon, the death of Rengoku Kyojuro broke you. He was such a beautiful, loving, caring man. Giving such an unfair and unfortunate death... you just couldn't accept this...

Imagine You bring him back as he springs up after your ritual. His hair was a mess, covered in dirt, his clothes ripped. He gasps for air as if it was the first he's had in centuries... "Poor unfortunate soul, so sad, in need... come allow me to give you a second chance."

Imagine His horror. Him. Now a Demon. Tethered to you. Unable to die again unless you give him permission to do so... he tired. Sat in the sun. But while he felt weak and itchy, he didn't die. He hated it. Hated himself. He hated you. You who, while yes, didn't have malicious intent. Who gave him a second chance at 'life' as you called this... you who brought him back and unlike when he was alive in his final moments felt no pain, no hunger, he hated you.

Imagine slowly helping him come to terms with his eternal life. From Enemies (one sided) to Lovers letting him stay with you in your small hidden village of other demon families that have also been brought back and tethered to you. Still fulfilling his dreams, taking down the demons who "lost their humanity and deserved their eternity to end."

Imagine the conflict you face, when His once friends and found family find him... a demon... still classic Kyojuro but yet so different... what do you do? An angry group of Hashira Pillars cursing you for what you did to their friend. Kyojuro broken and ashamed of what he is once more at the heart break of his friends being scared of him, some of them hating him all together...

Imagine him calling out to you, help him. Make them listen. Please. His Angel... his little firefly... please make them understand. He can't bare the way they look at him... help him... he needs you.

Rengoku Kyojuro × demon Reader Trope: Enemies to lovers

Now also Imagine being a demon...

Imagine being a demon who was so desperately, hopelessly, in love with Gyomei Himejima. Hopelessly devoted to a man who didn't even know you existed. You watched him at night, singing your sweet song and lulling him to a deeper sleep each night. Wishing nothing more than to one day be able to caress and memorize every inch of his mind, body, and soul. Wishing to kiss his soft looking lips...

Imagine desperately trying to deny what you know is true... you've heard it from your fellow demon 'friend' over and over again. And tonight, you were desperately trying to hold on to your dreams... "[name] just face it... he's a Demon slayer. A hashira. And to him, you're a monster... that something no amount of love is going to change. You'd be better off not thinking about him anymore. If you really love him, you'd let him go... besides a pretty human girl will probably catch his attention sooner or later..." You hang your head as tears fill your eyes, it's not true... it's not. He could love you. He could...

Imagine one day, you run into him in the Forest. The Forrest trees are so thick that the completely block out the sun, it's only a small section of the Forest. You liked to come here to lay in the flowers, and apparently Gyomei had thought the same...

Imagine He needed a quiet place, today had been a very hectic day. No peace and quiet today at all. He'd simply sat under a particularly large tree, focusing on his breath. You'd sat so unbelievably still. Not wanting to move and risk ruining this perfect moment. You were so close. You'd never been this close to him before and it made every part of your cold body ache.

Imagine accidently rustling the flowers catching his attention instantly, and he jumps to stand in a defensive position. You quickly kneel head pressing to the ground as you apologize for disturbing him, and not wanting any trouble. But oddly he doesn't attack you and instead he apologizes for startling you. At first you were confused. But then it clicked, you Had not attacked him like a demon would. He's blind. He doesn't yet realize you're a demon... this was it. Your chance. To speak to him. To hear him address you... to hear him say your name...

Imagine Pretending to be human, making it seem like you were a measly human girl who came here to sit in the flowers to relax... and this was how it went for some time... days turn to weeks, and weeks turn into months. You'd been keeping this secret of yours for 3 months, your love for Gyomei stronger and flame of obsession brighter. And he'd become so open to you. Telling you almost eveeything... sure you'd felt guilty lying to him... but you just couldn't let him. Go...

Imagine one evening, the sun setting, the fireflies and the colorful flowers surrounding you... you gain the courage to confess... stilling your heart of how much you admire him, you know that he way not feel the same way... but even if he'll never belong to you... that's OK, you are happy to just dream and be his dear friend... but to your shock and joy he accepts your confession. He's gained feelings for you. You could almost cry... but then... in an instant the happiness... your happily ever after was ripped away from you in an unfortunate series of events "Dearest... your hands are so cold..." - "GYOMEI!" A his friend Mitsuri calls out her foot steps quickly approaching, more footsteps following behind. "AWAY DISGUSTING MONSTER!" she cries her sword just barley missing you as your arm is severed clean off. And instantly Gyomei's face goes through so many emotions... worry, Confusion, shock and finally realization... and he let's you go. You dash away vanishing... "Gyomei! Are you ok?! That awful creature tricked you! She must've planned to devower you then and there if I hadn't noticed your absence! Are you OK my friend!?" The sounds of other Confused voices all speaking over each other planning to find you... Gyomei thinks of her question... is he OK?... honestly... he doesn't know...

Gyomei Himejima × Demon Reader Trope: unrequited love/Forbidden love

[rottiens]

How often do you think Neuvillette makes love to reader in his dragon form? And how do they prepare for it all?

⊹ tags . . 18+, neuvillette in his dragon form, monsterfucking, established relationship, female reader.

⊹ wc . . 1.4K

⊹ notes . . didn't expect to write so much for this lol but, as always, I really enjoy the ideas you put in my head and ily.

Neuvillette is very shy at first about his true nature. Very withdrawn and perhaps ashamed of his original form. He has spent so much time among humans, understanding them and being part of them, that being with you, he forgets that this non-human part is still kept inside him.

You know the Chief Justice of Fontaine and the way he presents himself to others, you know how respected he is, how loyal he is; you know your husband and you have no doubts about him. But you don't know the Dragon Hydro. So, it is understandable that he feels shy to show his true nature before you.

Your sweet words gradually encourage him to trust you and what you assure him. You promise him so many times that no matter what you see, nothing will make you turn away from him— you do this by kissing his hand, pampering his neck, adoring his body that eventually, Neuvillette decides it's time.

As expected, his dragon form is as majestic as you had imagined. The imposing Neuvillette appears before your eyes, a being of breathtaking beauty and mystical presence. His winged figure combines the grace of an eagle with the strength of a dragon. His plumage is a symphony of colors that oscillates between deep blue tones and brilliant azure hues, creating a visual effect that evokes the power and serenity of the ocean.

You witness the magnificence of his transformation, a sight that takes your breath away and fills you with awe. As you approach, his eyes, deep and full of centuries of wisdom, look at you with a mixture of vulnerability and trust. You are honored and amazed by the faith he has placed in you, knowing that now, more than ever, you must keep your promise to stand by his side, accepting and loving every part of him, human and non-human.

His wings, broad and ethereal, appear to be sculpted from liquid light, adorned with undulating patterns reminiscent of gentle ocean currents. Each feather is outlined with silvery sparkles, giving the impression that a piece of the starry sky has been caught in its wingspan.

Neuvillette's head is noble and distinguished, with piercing eyes that sparkle with ancient wisdom. His silver mane flows back like a cascade of liquid silver. His words echo throughout the room, and he lovingly rests his forehead on yours, speaking to you through your thoughts. All the energy that fills the room bristles your skin, electric sparks that make your fingers move with a life of their own towards his face. Neuvillette drops into your hands, gazing intently at you with narrowed eyes.

Watching him, you can't help but feel that you are in the presence of an entity that transcends the mundane, a living connection between heaven and earth, the ethereal and the tangible.

"You are so beautiful, Neuvillette," you confess quietly to him. He lets out a sort of purr that fills the cave where you are, his tail visibly vibrating a tender blue, tossing back and forth like the waves of the sea.

The passing years have made him more comfortable at your side in his majestic form. You snuggle next to his body as he curls up next to you, his purrs like whispers on the wind lulling you into a placid slumber. But it is not until mating season that he realizes that opening up more with you has been both a blessing and a danger.

In that period, his desire becomes uncontrollable and his dragon nature intensifies. Neuvillette struggles to maintain control, but your gentle words and the trust you have placed in him give him the security he needs to fully embrace his true nature.

The mating gifts he has brought to you —pearls that glow even in the dark, coral crystals, jewelry created from sapphire— were now accompanied by something else. Something he considers terrible and carnal. Grunting, touching more than usual in public, slightly more possessive grips. It's second nature for you to join together in bed, to merge your bodies as one, to sink into you and make love to you all night long until you're both exhausted. But this season, there's something about Neuvillette that has him all the time with his pants tight, his hands sweating under his leather gloves and his boot clacking against the floor, he needed to be back home soon.

. . . He breathes heavily as he holds you against him. Your forehead rests on his as he recites one of the ancient poems stored on scrolls. His mouth is open, salivating, his majestic body jerking with every touch of your delicate fingers on the scales of his face.

"What's wrong?" your tone is almost pained, as if you are hurt. With a frown. Neuvillette hates himself for making you worry.

His whole body shudders as soon as your fingers tangle in the mane that hides his sharp eyes.

"My body doesn't seem to listen to me. I'm sorry, I'm burning up."

Your countenance softens, a tender smile tugs at your lips and Neuvillette jerks away from you, but you are quick to act and reach out your hands, stopping him in his attempt to escape.

"It's okay," as always, you encourage him. "I love you. In this and all your forms, Neuvillette. You have nothing to hide from me."

You prompt him, urge him to follow and explore his desires. It hurts his chest to see you so beautiful for him, to see you covered by a thin transparent cloth that barely covers your nakedness; your erect nipples are visible in the moonlight streaming through the cave and he pauses to think how firm they would feel under his tongue, your thin cotton panties soaked by a sticky layer of your arousal that provokes him just and only to push them with his claw and watch you squirm beneath him. Neuvillette suffers from not being able to control himself. But seeing you ready for him makes his animalistic senses fill with adrenaline.

Soon, he leaves the comfort of your warmth to push his face against your small body. You are so fragile, and he watches you carefully. His nose sniffs you, his scales tickle you, and you laugh. But Neuvillette is so focused on what he wants that he pays no attention to anything but that smell.

He descends under your body, determined. His face pushes the fabric up while he stands on all four paws so as not to crush you. His teeth tear at the fabric and you groan in surprise, for you have never seen him so desperate. Quickly, his long tongue darts out, cuts through the moonbeam and sinks between your thighs, exploring your slick folds with ferocity.

The dragon growls hungrily, devouring everything he can reach with his insatiable tongue. The split tip of his tongue does a dance on your clit, and you raise your hips in search of that pleasure, clinging to the silken sheets as waves of pleasure lash you. Neuvillette grunts, salivates and devours you as if for the first time. You melt with each lick until the impending end of your orgasm hits you.

Even after, he continues to lick you slowly, still greedy, still hungry.

Adoringly, his nose is wet from every trace of skin he gets, worshipping you like a deity.

After this, shame consumes him, so embarrassed to let this barbaric behavior that he has shown to no one else come to light, those instincts that make him lose his composure. Yet, with you by his side, promising him that everything is fine, that you are fine, Neuvillette allows it to happen a second time and then a third. How often? I think it happens spontaneously, but especially when he is in heat, he can't help but take you in his original form, in fact even if he won't admit it, in this state it is his favorite way to make love to you. Although he may lose control of his thrusts, he always tries to be gentle with you, always leaving a mark or two after the session.

These always start with him first in his human form, stretching you with his fingers, making you cum several times with them, then with his split tongue. Finally, when you're ready, one of his two cocks slides into you smoothly, so deep you don't remember how to breathe. Deep inside, he longs for the day when you can take both at the same time.

[clockwayswrites]

Mx. Minx - Dinner part 2

masterpost this is a first draft, please no editing or concrit <3 cw:mentions of blood and canon typical violence

He heard Danny move the bathroom and the sink running. Danny’s voice was garbled as he asked, “What sort of medical stuff do you need? Anything more than medication and some bruise cream?”

“A few scrapes,” he answered after a moment of assessing. He flexed his fingers. “My knuckles are probably bloody.”

“Bandages and ointment it is,” Danny said.

It was a while longer before the water shut off, long enough for Jason to be down to his pants, shirt, gloves, and mask. The rest of his gear made a small pile on the coffee table—an odd thing with cheap, mid-century modern lines covered in at least one full layer of stickers. It felt odd to have his weapons not only off, but just sitting where anyone could grab them. It made his hands itch.

He focused on carefully taking off his gloves.

Danny padded softly around the apartment, just out of Jason’s line of sight, before he set a haphazard collection of things on the coffee table next to Jason’s pile. There where the bandages, rags, wipes, and tubes but also bottles of sports drink, packets of crackers and those cheap powdered donuts.

Danny snapped on a pair of rubber gloves.

“Okay, let’s see to you. We’ll eat after, but if you need something now feel free. And you’re going to drink one of those bottles,” Danny said, tone matter of fact and oddly authoritative.

Not wanting a fight tonight, even just for the sake of being stubborn, Jason cracked open one of the bottles and took a long sip. Then he opened the other and set it purposefully in front of Danny, who rolled his eyes, but took a sip.

The gloves game off first. Jason hissed as the fabric pulled against the raw skin. The sound was harsh through the modulation of the mask, but Danny just made a soothing little sound in response and slowed down. When the gloves were finally off, battered knuckles revealed, Danny ran his thumbs under the mess.

“Lots of punching tonight, huh?” Danny asked.

Jason shrugged. “Lots of people needed to be punched.”

“I’m sorry that I don’t think there’s anyway for this not to hurt,” Danny said picked up the wet rag and pressed it to the knuckles.

It was surprisingly, soothingly, warm.

“I’m used to pain.”

Danny sighed. “I know. But I also know that really doesn’t make it any better.”

Jason could only shrug again. It didn’t, but that was also his life. It had always had pain in it. Still, it was nice of Danny to try and cause as little as possible. His touch was different than Leslie’s or Alfred. It was less clinical. Less numb to it all. Not that Danny seemed squeamish in the least or reacted poorly to the blood and bruises, but there was a sadness to him.

Not wanting to add to it, Jason tried to stay as quiet and still as possible as Danny cleaned and dressed the wounds and bruises. It was almost peaceful, despite the stings of pain, and Jason found the exhaustion pulling himself down into a lull.

“Any bruises on your torso?” Danny asked. His hands were already under Jason’s shirt, pushing the fabric up.

Jason stilled Danny’s hands, catching them in his own bandaged ones. “Not pretty under there.”

“I won’t mind.”

But would Jason?

Danny would see his scars—all of them. The one wasn’t something he could explain away. Worse, it was distinct. Identifying. People just didn’t have autopsy scars across their chest.

Jason thought about the guns and knives already on the coffee table.

His blood on the rags.

He dropped his hands.

[sorcerous-caress]

Early morning cuddling pt.2

[Fluff, wholesome, nb!reader]

[Halsin, Astarion, Shadowheart, Gale]

Part One

Halsin

You'd think that you married a fairytale princess by the amount of small animals you wake up each morning to, cuddling by your side and nuzzling against Halsin's warmth.

Not that he seems to mind. If anything, he seems the happiest sharing his bed with all those willing. His strong arm keeps a hold over you during the night, keeping you close and secure to his chest while he easily falls into a state of meditation. He prefers keeping the window open and listening to the wind outside, swaying of leaves and chipping of bird in the morning.

You did wonder what exactly does he think about during his meditation, and he confessed he replays his favourite memories. Reminding himself of what's worth fighting for in this life.

His palm cupping your face so gently, rough from centuries of tending to plants and magic practice. You can smell the earth embedded in his skin.

Who is worth fighting for.

If you're the type to sleep in during the morning, he happily indulges you as you cuddle closer to him. Resting your head on the rise and fall of his chest.

Letting the drumming of his heartbeat lull you into the land of dreams, just for a short while, maybe five minutes more.

feeling his hand draw circles on your back soothingly. You catch a glimpse of a whispered prayer to the father of nature, Halsin asking him to protect you, keep your soul and heart pure, keep you by his side for as long as this cycle of life allows.

♡

Astarion

You only realise the worth of love after having experienced solitude.

Astarion came to realise how much it meant to have someone just hold you in bed, nothing more, a simple body laying next to him in blissful sleep.

To have someone relish in your company so much, feel safe around him so much that you'd willingly want him to stay by your side while you were the most vulnerable.

It feels strange in his heart, a twing or guilt, even shame.

What did he do to deserve this?

How are you so peaceful next to a vampire? This isn't a camp on some ditch in the backside of Faerun anymore, this is your home that you've willingly and foolishly invited a vampire into.

But maybe he was the biggest fool, for he kept holding you close, fangs tucked away as the smell of blood was the least of his interests at this moment. The living really has a captivating way to steal one's attention.

what dreams do you have?

Each night is like a trance, and before he realises, it ends so suddenly when glowing lines of light just below the thick curtains peak on the floor.

It's morning already, but it felt like a second, he wants to hold you for a lifetime, hug you for a century, kiss you for a decade and whisper your name as if it was his last breath.

He wants so many things, he has so many conflicting emotions. Astarion doesn't want to get attached, you're fleeting, mortal, alive and so loveable.

And he is none of these things, at least not in his views.

But after so much misery, he deserves to steal one good thing from the living, you. It doesn't matter if he has earned it or not, you willingly chose him, loved him.

Embraced him as you woke up, eyes sleepy as nuzzled into him further with no regard to how cold his skin might be in contrast to your warm blanket.

"Darling, you know I'm supposed to be the nocturnal one in this relationship, right? Or did you grow fangs during the night." He voice was laced with an unusual softness, a stranger to his own ears.

You grumbled as he pulled away, chasing after him with adorable slow speed with your hand as you attempted to bring him back.

He's not a sadist.

Okay maybe he is.

But torturing a sleepy you, is becoming one of the highlights of his days. It makes waiting here all night worth it.

♡

Shadowheart

Her eyebrows scrunch into the most adorable glare when she first wakes up. The children of Shar and Selune have never been morning people, present or past.

The tips of her ears slightly twitch as the cold morning reaches her after you manage to steal the blanket in your sleep, wrapping the soft thing around you and leaving her to the mercy of the chilly weather.

Stirred from her sleep, she has a half mind to acknowledge how endearing you look besides her. Peacefully in your slumber and unaware of the crime you've commited, letting your beloved freeze to death in the early morning.

With a sigh, Shadowheart reaches over to untangle tha blanket edge from your iron fist as she squeezes herself inside the makeshift cocoon you've assembled. Instant warmth and comfort greeting her the more she pressed her body onto yours.

Despite how heavenly you feel, sleep has already evaded her grasps. Once she wakes up, she's the type not to fall asleep afterwards. Doesn't help how much of a light sleeper she can be at times.

So she closes her eyes and basks in the moment, fully enjoying the presence. The quietness of the morning where the people haven't woken up yet, the stillness of the air, the slow rhythmic breathing as your chest rises and falls.

She wants to trace your face with her fingers, she wants to admire your eyes, but she doesn't want to wake you up so instead her arms gently hug your body closer to hers.

Safety, comfort and love, things she was taught were a sin to desire, things assumed to make her weaker.

But being weak has never felt so good before, if what she's doing is wrong in the eyes of any god, then she might as well embrace her spot in the hells with your arms as her grave.

♡

Gale

He's changing you slowly, and you're not sure if it's for the better or worse.

What started as you teasing him over his cotton pyjamas with cat paw prints, turned into you wearing a matching one after he bought you one and sweetly coerced you into it.

You look so silly. You can't even deny it as you watch your reflection in the mirror. Watching in real time as your dignity evaporates into thin air while your lover is searching for his reading glasses under the bed by using magic to lift it in the back of the mirror reflection.

Turning around, you feel your lips tugging into a smile as you notice the pair of reading glasses pushed up on his head while Gale is scratching his said head and mumbling about how he just had it close by.

Where could it have possibly went, you wonder.

Calling him over, you watch as he adorable walks over to you with a hopeful look that you've somehow found his glasses like you usually do. As if you were the wizard in this situation who'd make it appear out of thin air rather than the academically acclaimed professor Dekarios in front of you.

Your hand cups his face, and he leans into it without question. Planting a small kiss on his lips, you lower his glasses back onto his face as you pull away. Gale's delighted expression rewards you with a second kiss, calling you his hero.

The two of you fall asleep with a dim light illuminating the room, stray magical star enchantments making the bedroom just bright enough for Gale's midnight reading, or midnight paper grading.

You either learn to tough it out or use that equally silly eyemask that came with your cat pyjamas.

Gale's usually the last one to fall asleep, except on weekends when he's in bed by 9. But since tomorrow, he has to be guiding the future generations of wizards in Faerun, you get his wandering hand playing with your hair or massaging your neck as you drift off to sleep.

By the time morning comes, he's tucked in a blanket by your side. Glasses crooked on his face for he forgot to remove them, again.

Reaching over, you gently take them off of him and set them on the bedside table. Giving his forehead a soft kiss as you check the time and see that you still have a quarter of an hour before he has to get ready to leave for work.

You wrap your arms around him, and he leans into your touch. Even while asleep, his body has complete trust in you, recognising your warmth and letting you cuddle him.

It would've been a very romantic early morning cuddling for the two silly people in embarrassing cat pyjamas, wasn't it for the scratching of paws on the locked door of your bedroom.

The sing-song yelling of Gale's last name following shortly, courtesy to Tara announcing to the whole world how you're a minute late to delivering her morning meal and the carrier pigeons outside are starting to look more and more like grilled chicken wings by the second.

[literaryvein-reblogs]

more words for worldbuilding: time (pt. 4)

attribute of duration: ad infinitum, all-time, annual, brief, chronic, concise, constant, continuous, endless, eternal, evanescent, everlasting, fleeting, for keeps, immortal, indefinitely, interminable, laconic, lifelong, long, long-standing, momentary, never-ending, old, ongoing, perennial, perpetual, running, short, short-lived, steady, through, timeless, transient/transitory, unbroken, undying, unflagging, unrelenting, whirlwind

attribute of time: actual, afterward/afterwards, almost, antediluvian, at, behind the times, colonial, concurrent, dilatory, due, early, ever, extemporaneous or extemporary, felicitous, foremost, for keeps, forward, from scratch, gradually, hence, hurried, initial, instantly, irregular, just about, lastly, later, leisurely, meanwhile, narrowly, next, nocturnal, old-fashioned, once and for all, on the double, overdue, pell-mell, perpetual, posthaste, preceding, precipitous/precipitate, previous, primarily, primary/prime, primitive, pristine, promptly, quickly, rapidly, right, sharp, simultaneous, sudden, summarily, swiftly/swift, temporal, thereafter, ultimate, untimely, up-to-date, while, yet

date: anniversary

day: afternoon, anniversary, date, ephemeral, journal, morning, nightly, noon, time

definite period: date, furlough, instant, midnight, noon, sabbatical, shift

division of: day, second

duration: brevity, continuation, endure, extent, halt, remain

frequency: rapidity, sometimes

hour: afternoon, morning, noon, time

indefinite period: age, anytime, bout, breath, convenience, eon, era, future, hiatus, infinity, interlude, interruption, lapse, leisure, lull, millenium, moment, past, period, recess, respite, round, semester, space, spell, stint, suspension, tour, vacation, while

minute: flash, jiffy, tick, wink

month: almanac, gestation, moon, time

part of a day: afternoon, dawn, daybreak, dusk, gloom, morning, nightfall, sunset, twilight

past or future: following, past, previous, succeeding/successive

proximity: immediate, now, succeeding/successive

relative order: follow, succeed

season: autumn, spring, summer, winter

specific: anniversary, date, daybreak, instance, point, yesterday, zero hour

stage of existence: administration, childhood, day, generation, millenium, phase, stage, tenure

stage of life form: adolescence, babyhood, cradle, landmark, lifetime, maternity, prime, spell, youth

temporal association: anachronism, dispatch, eternity, following, haste, past, precedence, previous, rush, succeeding/successive

temporal object: anytime, time

time relative to present: abaft, after, ahead, amid/amidst, antecedent, back, beforehand, belated, bygone, coincident, current, destined, during, ensuing, eventual, fated, first, fore, former, forthwith, historical, immediately, impending, infant/infantile, just, momentarily, nearing, newly, once, present, previous, prior, recent, shortly, soon, subsequent, succeeding/successive, ultimate, until, yet

unit of time measure: day, minute, wink

within a time period: epoch, interval, semester, spell, stretch, while

year: almanac, annual, time, yearly

NOTE

Excerpted from Roget's 21st Century Thesaurus, Updated and Expanded 3rd Edition, in Dictionary Form, edited by The Princeton Language Institute.

The above are concepts classified according to subject and usage. It not only helps writers and thinkers to organize their ideas but leads them from those very ideas to the words that can best express them.

It was, in part, created to turn an idea into a specific word. By linking together the main entries that share similar concepts, the index makes possible creative semantic connections between words in our language, stimulating thought and broadening vocabulary.

Source ⚜ Writing Basics & Refreshers ⚜ On Vocabulary ⚜ Writing Resources PDFs

[sanctus-ingenium]

Ooo!! What's the dragonriders of pern???

NOT to contest the claim of trekkies everywhere, but Anne McCaffrey of Dragonriders Of Pern fame invented sex pollen and omegaverse in the 60s. Whether or not this is a good thing is up for interpretation

Dragonriders of Pern is a series of sci-fi novels that started in the 60s about human settlers on the planet of Pern who live in a pre-industrial era. Every few hundred years, their planet comes under fire from Thread, an invasive rainfall shed by a nearby dwarf planet that destroys all organic matter it touches. To fight Thread, humans have genetically engineered dragons which breathe fire to burn the Thread before it harms anyone. The series starts during an unusually long lull between Threadfalls, and in the centuries people have neglected their dragon riders and dragons to the point where when Thread does inevitably fall again, they are completely unequipped to fight it. Nearly all common dragon riding genre tropes originate from Pern!! Anne McCaffrey was the blueprint. I adore this series, but my favourite part is how as the series go on, the characters slowly uncover the truth that they are aliens in this world, dig up ancient technology, learn to use it, and progress as a society. The genre shift from fantasy to sci-fi is one of my favourite things to experience and, as the reader, slowly realising the forgotten truths that the characters themselves are unaware of is great. In this regard, a big inspiration for my Siren setting.

The series contains scenes of sexual assault and a weird adult/minor love story so I can't in good conscience recommend it without pointing this out. It should be considered a product of its time and approached with a critical lens. It was also one of the first books I ever read with normalised gay side characters and gay sex (not any of the main characters) so that was cool. For anyone wondering my fave is obviously F'nor.

[twilighttowayvision]

NSFW ALPHABET - VESSEL 💘

HI OKAY SO!!!! let it be known that i do not and cannot write to save my life but the horny parasites within me simply demanded this of me so i had to listen to them

fair warning — i am absolutely feral over this man!!! vessel in my head is GROSS and KINKY so don’t say u haven’t been warned!!! (saying that i am feral for this man is the understatement of the century actually but i just don’t have a better word!)

very nsfw thoughts under the cut 🫡

————————————————————

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

• vessel would be so fucking soft with you after sex i just know it.

• extremely cuddly, pulls you close to him, hands running over your body, stroking your hair, giving you soft little pecks all over your face.

• if you’d had a particularly intense scene he would absolutely check in with you afterwards, seeing what you liked, if there was anything you didn’t like. your favourite parts (he would absolutely tuck this knowledge away for later to drive you crazy in the future).

• would be more than willing to get you anything you needed after so you didn’t need to move a muscle. would wrap you in a soft blankie, get you water/snacks, would hold you and hum sweet tunes to lull you to sleep.

• would be absolutely BURSTING with praise for you afterward (also during and just like, always, but we aren’t talking about that right now!!). “you did so good for me, baby. i’m so proud of you.” “such a good girl for me.” “you took me so well, darling.”

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

• his favourite of his own? has to be his toned chest and stomach (we’ve all seen the way this fucker shows it off — there’s no way it’s not his fave).

• fucking loves when you run your hands all over his torso, will absolutely walk around shirtless and smirk when he catches you ogling him.

• his favourite of yours? your lips/mouth, without a doubt. no one will ever convince me ves does not have an oral fixation.

• is obsessed with kissing you, feeling how soft your lips are against his.

• loves the way your lips feel on his skin as you kiss all over his body.

• just about cums in his pants when you put his fingers in your mouth and suck on them.

• swears when you suck his cock that he’s died and gone to heaven, can’t stop staring at his cock disappearing past your lips, will burn the sight and feeling into his memory for the rest of eternity.

• has to stop himself from pouncing on you when you do something as simple as pouting at him when you don’t get your way, or giving him a particularly sweet smile.

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

• this man cannot get enough of his cum all over/in you i just fucking KNOW it.

• not a wasted drop of cum with this man!! ALWAYS in or on you in some way.

• thinks you look so fucking pretty when he paints your face with his cum, and tells you as much every single time. always wants to take pics of it that he can look at when you’re apart.

• sometimes will use his fingers to scoop up the cum he’s painted your face with, just to feed it to you to make sure it’s not being wasted (i told u he’s gross ok!!!)

• is also OBSESSED with cumming inside you, no matter which hole he’s cumming in. loves feeling his cock twitch and pulse while he’s deep in you.

• absolutely DOES have a breeding kink so his ultimate fave is definitely cumming deep in your pussy. nothing makes him feel closer to you than this.

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

• listen. two words. panty! sniffer!!!

• will pocket your soaked panties and take them on tour with him so he can still smell your pussy when he’s not with you.

• embarrassed as hell when you find out. turned on as HELL when he realises you’re just as gross as he is, intentionally leaving your panties around the house, giving him a little wink if he notices.

• just about loses his fucking mind when you mail him a pair while he’s on tour.

• also a lingerie lover!!! loves to see you dressed up all pretty for him.

• makes him absolutely FERAL!!!! apologises profusely after ripping every piece of lingerie you ever wear in front of him right off of you (but you lowkey love it and start dressing up more and more just because of the reaction you get from him).

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

• oh vessel ABSOLUTELY knows what he’s doing. expert with his fingers, expert with his tongue, expert with his cock.

• regardless of how many people he’s actually slept with, he’s done his research. knows how to do things and knows how to do them properly and safely.

• also experienced with bdsm. knows how to dom the FUCK out of you and will enjoy every second of it.

❥ F = Favorite position (this goes without saying):

• some ppl will say this is cliche but — missionary king!!!!!

• loves it so he can look into your eyes & make you look into his.

• means he can watch your pretty mouth and listen up close to all the noises that come out of it as you unravel.

• means he can kiss you as much as he wants!!! can and WILL kiss/lick/bite anywhere he can reach: your lips, all over your face, your neck, all over your chest.

• means he’s in a perfect spot to whisper absolute filth into your ear as you whimper beneath him.

• he loves that missionary means you can also kiss all over his neck and chest, that your whimpers and moans go straight to his ears, lowkey loves when your nails dig into his back hard enough to leave a mark.

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

• i think it depends on the scenario and the moment, but most of the time hes gonna be very serious about giving you pleasure and seeking out pleasure himself.

• takes making you cum/teasing you incredibly seriously.

• if y’all are in a more lighthearted moment, he’s absolutely not above having a little laugh or a joke with you while in the midst of it.

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

• very well maintained — trimmed short. nothing exciting! wants to make sure you don’t have a face full of bush when he fucks your face.

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

• the MOST intimate man you will ever meet.

• inside and outside of the bedroom, incredibly touchy feely. always wants to be touching you. holding your hand, a hand on your thigh, your thigh against his if you’re sat next to each other. he just wants to feel you physically close to him (you can’t convince me his love language is not physical touch i will never believe u!!!)

• absolute hopeless romantic at heart!!! will send you flowers while he’s away on tours. hand writes and mails you love letters. writes you poetry. writes you songs!!!! will do anything and everything to let you know how much he loves and appreciates you.

❥ J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon):

• if he’s with you: why would he ever need to masturbate when he’s got three perfectly good holes right there with him?!

• only time he’ll jack off when he’s with you is to tease the fuck out of you. he’ll have you restrained and be stood right in front of you, out of your reach, making you whine and beg for his cock in your pretty mouth.

• if he’s on tour: this man is so horny, there’s no way he’s not getting off while he’s away from you. forever wishing he was deep inside you, but he’ll settle for getting off to your pics and videos.

• begs you to send him voice messages and videos of you masturbating and moaning so he can cum to the sound of you.

• absolutely sends you filthy voice messages and pics and videos in return.

• will sniff the aforementioned panties so he can smell you, look at you, hear you, while he cums thinking about you. wants all his senses to just be you, you, you.

❥ K = Kink (one or more of their kinks):

• KINKY MOTHERFUCKER, just try to fight me on this!!!!

• dominant as FUCK. loves the thrill of you being completely under his control. loves that you trust him enough to submit fully to him. makes him feel so close and intimate with you in a whole new way. mostly a bit of a soft dom, but if the mood strikes, he can definitely be a bit of a mean dom too (and yeah, maybe sometimes you’re a bit bratty just to bring out his mean side. you can’t help that he’s so hot when he’s like that!!)

• dirty talk KING! this motherfucker will NOT shut the fuck up in the bedroom. he doesn’t even do it on purpose, it’s just like a stream of consciousness. spilling out all his filthy thoughts and desires. can and WILL also whisper these thoughts in your ear in public just to get you all flustered.

• ownership kink. has multiple collars for you, some with his name, some with his favourite pet names for you. some with a matching leash, some just for the bedroom that look more obviously like collars, cute ones that look more like necklaces with his initials on them so that you can wear them in public and still feel and know that you’re owned. will remind you VERY regularly that “you. are. MINE.”

• along with this, vessel is also lowkey (highkey!!!) possessive as fuck. if he sees someone else getting physically close to you or flirting with you? you better be prepared for the angry “you’re fucking MINE, you belong to me” rough and nasty kind of sex. forever leaving marks anywhere and everywhere on you. hickeys, bite marks, bruises, anything to let everyone else know that you’re spoken for.

• breeding kink!!! forever wanting to fuck his cum as deep into your pussy as he can.

• oral fixation: this goes both ways. he wants your mouth everywhere on him and his mouth everywhere on you. wants his fingers in your mouth, his cock in your mouth. fucking LOVES the way your eyes glaze over as he fucks your face. could spend hours between your legs getting lost in the way you taste.

• primal!! this is a man that would chase you through the woods just to fuck you on the forest floor once he caught you. thinks it’s fucking HOT to think of himself as the predator hunting you, and you his prey — to do as he wishes with once he has you in his grasp.

• you cannot convince me this man isn’t at least a little bit of a sadist and masochist — “let me wrap the chains, addicted to the pain.” “manifest pain at the core of pleasure.” — you get the idea, yeah? i think homeboy is into some pain, both giving and receiving. nothing too crazy but i just know i’m right on this!!!!

• bondage — loves having you restrained and helpless beneath him.

• edging/orgasm denial. like i said earlier.. very possessive man w an ownership kink!!! you belong to him. you’re HIS. that includes your orgasms. he won’t let you cum without his permission, and will rarely let you cum if you’re apart while he’s on tour. will get you on the phone with him, touching yourself and bringing yourself to the edge just so he can hear the sweet noises you make, but will tell you he doesn’t want you to cum unless it’s around his cock/fingers/tongue. when you’re together? will edge you until you’re begging, pleading, crying for release. then he’ll make you cum over and over and over and overrrrr again until you’re begging, pleading, crying for him to stop (and you fucking love him for it all).

(i truly could probably continue this list as its own post for all the boys lmao)

❥ L = Location (favorite places to do the do):

• listen. this fucker is chronically horny and will happily take you anywhere and everywhere you will let him. he can barely keep his hands off you!!! he’s taken you in countless green rooms and random rooms backstage at shows, if you’re snuggled under the same blankie watching a movie with the boys, he is absolutely teasing and touching you. getting you all worked up while you try to stay quiet. just so obsessed with you he wants to be touching you all the fucking time. big fan of teasing you in public!!

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

• as previously mentioned, lingerie lover!!! seeing his love all dressed up for him like the absolute GIFT they are will instantly get him rock hard!

• i just fucking KNOW my man is a sucker for neck kisses. you kiss his neck? you better be ready to get absolutely RAVISHED by him.

• he really just loves the way you look when you’re all fucked out. the thought of that alone is enough to motivate him.

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

• he won’t let anyone else cum inside your pussy. that’s for him and him only!!!

• won’t let you not have a safeword. even if you say you won’t need it, absolutely insists on it!!! will put the brakes on absolutely everything if u don’t respond properly when he checks in mid scene.

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

• once again this man has an oral fixation so he is OBSESSED w this both ways! both giving and receiving.

• giving: man will eat you like you’re his last fucking meal. gets absolutely lost in the way you taste, the way you smell, the sounds you make.

• gets off on it so much that if you could focus for like 2 seconds you’d see him rutting and grinding until his pre-cum has leaked a wet spot onto the bed.

• would happily stay between your legs for as long as you’ll let him (and will sometimes insist on staying even longer).

• loves when you lose control of your own body and clamp your thighs together around his head.

• i’ve said it before and i’ll say it again, he’s GROSS so he really just wants to try and make you squirt all over his fucking face. just once!!!

• receiving: fucking loves loves LOVESSSSSS having his cock sucked. will lose his mind over a messy blowjob.

• adores when you take your time to really worship his cock, makes him feel so fucking good and like he’s the only thing that matters in the world…

• but there’s only so long he can handle things being slow and leaving you in control of the pace of things. can and WILL end up fucking your face and throat without fail every single time.

• the noise he makes the first time his cock hits the back of your throat and you take him even further, deepthroating him? absolutely fucking SINFUL.

• ever since, he’s been obsessed with the feeling of his cock deep in your throat and loves throatfucking you until you’re a gagging, drooling mess for him.

• is absolutely the type to pull you straight back up to him after sucking his cock to give you the most violently passionate open mouthed tongue kisses.

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

• he can be either — totally dependant on the vibe/day/his mood/your mood, etc!

• if he’s mad or needs to get out a lot of pent up energy, it’ll be fast and hard and maybe he’ll be a lil mean (all consensually obviously, as w everything else i’ve mentioned in this post).

• if he’s feeling soft and lovey dovey, it’ll be slow and so so fucking passionate, but it doesn’t mean that it won’t also be a little rough sometimes.

• no matter the actual pace, he would always find a way to make it feel sensual as fuck.

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

• maybe a controversial opinion based on what i’ve seen on these nsfw alphabet tumblr posts from others but i think he fucking LOVES a quickie!

• this man is chronically horny and is fucking OBSESSED with you. if you think he’s not pulling you into a green room to make out with you and then fuck you stupid just before or after a show, you’re soooo wrong!!!

• that being said, he fucking LOVES taking his time with you, letting the rest of the world melt away until there’s nothing but your bodies tangled together.

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

• soooo down to experiment!! like i said before he is GROSS. u never know when you’re gonna unlock a new kink!!!

• will absolutely mess around and fuck you in risky places where there’s a chance you could get caught, but he lowkey loves the thrill! (and loves getting to clamp his big hand over your mouth or make you suck on his fingers to stay quiet).

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

• have you seen the way he fuckin moves around like a gremlin at rituals???? man could literally last all night!!!!

• lasts a fairly decent while each time (he’s well practiced!!), but after he cums, he will absolutely continue messing around and keeping you all hot and bothered for him until he’s ready for another round.

• multiple rounds, all night long, i said what i said!! this man cannot get enough of you ever.

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

• he definitely owns handcuffs and ropes and other things to help restrain you.

• blindfolds, gags, y’know — the fun things to heighten any experience you might have together.

• don’t think he himself owns a lot of toys unless they’re ones he’s bought specifically to use on/with you.

• but be will happily make use of any toys you might have, especially if he knows they drive you crazy.

• will MORE than happily use a vibrator to edge you over and over and over and over until you’re drooling from both ends.

❥ U = Unfair (how much they like to tease):

• patron saint of teasing!!!! you will never find another man that will tease you more.

• edging and orgasm denial is like the fucking teasing olympics and he is absolutely going for the gold.

• will whisper absolute filth in your ear when you’re in public.

• will touch and tease you when and where possible in public.

• just thinks you sound so fucking pretty when you beg for him.. so he wants to make you do it ALL the fucking time.

• just wants to keep you turned on, worked up, and needy for him 24/7!!!!

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

• as previously mentioned this motherfucker will not shut the fuck up EVER in the bedroom!!!!

• will absolutely NOT hold back any moans, growls, whimpers, etc.

• will especially not hold back any sounds because he fucking knows how much they turn you on to hear how good you’re making him feel.

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

• will share you but only with the boys!! they are the exception to his rules.

• he will still absolutely be possessive as fuck about you when you’re with them tho don’t get it twisted!!

• while one of the other boys is balls deep in you he’ll still be whispering about how “even though i’m letting someone else fuck you, that pussy still belongs to ME,” or how “you’re making such pretty noises for him, baby. but he doesn’t fuck you like i do, does he? nobody else fucks you like i do. that’s why you’re all MINE.”

• if he sees one of the other boys has left any marks on you? FERAL!!!! sedate this man!!!! he will mark you the fuck UP!! will leave a bigger, more impressive mark right over the one that was left by one of the other boys as if to claim you.

• highkey loves watching you with the other boys though, turns him on so much and makes him swell with pride at how well you take them and how fucking good you make them feel.

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

• we already been knew this man has a MASSIVE cock. it’s not a secret with the way he jumps around on stage in those pants!!!

• a few hidden scars.

• one or two small tattoos that are easy to keep out of sight in his stage fit.

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

• INSATIABLE!! if you haven’t already got the message, this man is almost ALWAYS horny!!!

• highest sex drive you’ve ever seen on anyone.

• will finish, be cuddling with you, and you’ll feel him getting hard again within minutes because of the way you’re pressed up against him or because he’s thinking about how good you took him or how good you looked while you were cumming around his cock, etc. etc.

❥ Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards):

• depends on the day/mood/etc!

• will stay up with you all night if you want.

• always always ALWAYS makes sure you’re okay/taken care of before sleep ever crosses his mind.

• will happily tangle your limbs together under the covers and fall asleep with you after if you’re sleepy!

• lowkey think he would enjoy watching you fall asleep feeling safe in his arms so maybe he waits up, trailing his arm up and down your back, playing with your hair, soothing you to sleep, just so he can stare at your pretty peaceful sleeping face for a little before dozing off himself.

———————————————————

once again i cannot and do not ever write but the brainrot has become too much and i simply had to get this out!!!! i’m only even posting it so like 2 specific people can read it lol SORRY I MADE VESSEL GROSS BUT ALSO !!!! tell me i’m wrong (u can’t i won’t believe u!)

[wosoimagines]

Second Chance

part 2 of rivals

Jo's second camp with the team is nearly over and she gets news of her future.

2,367 words

previous part| |next part

“Hi, kid.”

I grinned at the familiar voice as I closed the door behind me.

“Hey, Becky.”

The woman smiled at me as I threw my bag onto the open bed. I hadn’t exactly expected Jill to room me with Becky again, but it was nice. Becky had helped to make sure that I actually got to bed at a responsible time and that I wasn’t late to any meetings or practices. After all, it had been quite easy for me to get distracted by everything else.

“Did you get to go to the lake?”

“Yeah, we went for a couple of days,” I admitted.

Becky nodded at that before she turned back to the book that she was reading. I tilted my head as I read the title.

“ The Portrait of Dorian Gray ,” I read off the spin. Becky looked up at me with a raised eyebrow. “I’ve never read it.”

“I could read it out loud, if you’d like.”

I smiled at Becky as I nodded. Becky looked back down at the book as I kicked my shoes off. 

“‘I have always been my own master; had at least always been so, till I met Dorian Gray. Then--but I don't know how to explain it to you. Something seemed to tell me that I was on the verge of a terrible crisis in my life. I had a strange feeling that Fate had in store for me exquisite joys and exquisite sorrows. I grew afraid, and turned to quit the room. It was not conscience that made me do so: it was a sort of cowardice. I take no credit to myself for trying to escape.’”

I grinned as Becky read the words on the pages. I knew that we had at least an hour, if not two, until our meeting started since they were still waiting on quite a few players to get into the hotel. I didn’t give Becky time to start the next paragraph as I crawled into her bed before ducking my head under her left arm so I could look at the pages. Becky stayed silent for a moment as I got comfortable.

It wasn’t until I had settled down and stopped moving that Becky continued.

“‘Conscience and cowardice are really the same things, Basil. Conscience is the trade name of the firm. That is all.’

‘I don't believe that, Harry, and I don't believe you do either. However, whatever was my motive--and it may have been pride, for I used to be very proud--I certainly struggled to the door. There, of course, I stumbled against Lady Brandon. 'You are not going to run away so soon, Mr. Hallward?' she screamed out. You know her curiously shrill voice?’”

Becky’s voice was definitely one of the most soothing voices I had ever heard. Maybe she could become a professional audiobook reader or something like that once she retired from playing. Or even just take it up during the off-season. I wouldn’t mind listening to Becky read me more books if her voice was always this soothing.

“‘Yes; she is a peacock in everything but beauty,’ said Lord Henry, pulling the daisy to bits with his long, nervous fingers.

‘I could not get rid of her. She brought me up to Royalties, and people with Stars and Garters, and elderly ladies with gigantic tiaras and parrot noses. She spoke of me as her dearest friend. I had only met her once before, but she took it into her head to lionize me. I believe some picture of mine had made a great success at the time, at least had been chattered about in the penny newspapers, which is the nineteenth-century standard of immortality. Suddenly I found myself face to face with the young man whose personality had so strangely stirred me. We were quite close, almost touching. Our eyes met again. It was reckless of me, but I asked Lady Brandon to introduce me to him. Perhaps it was not so reckless, after all. It was simply inevitable. We would have spoken to each other without any introduction. I am sure of that. Dorian told me so afterwards. He, too, felt that we were destined to know each other.’”

I couldn’t find it in myself to fight off the sleep as Becky’s voice lulled me into darkness.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Hey, pipsqueak.”

I looked at Hope who had sat down across from me. I titled my head at her sudden presence. I knew that she often sat at the table with Carli and Christie during our meals. But they were both seated at a table that was behind Hope.

“Hi, Hope.”

I looked over my shoulder where most of the team was still getting their food. Being small did come with advantages, such as being small enough to get around everyone so I could be one of the first to get my food. I spotted Becky and Alyssa who were just now grabbing their own plates to fill them up. I turned back to look at Hope.

“Look, I just came to say that maybe you aren’t that bad.”

I raised my eyebrows at that. Hope complimenting me had been the last thing I was expecting. After all, we still weren’t getting along that well. It seemed like we both tolerated each other just enough for a fight not to break out during practice, but that didn’t stop the two of us from exchanging words during practice.

“I mean, don’t get me wrong,” Hope said as she kept her eyes trained on her plate as she stabbed some of the food with her fork. “You still aren’t better than I am. But that doesn’t mean you aren’t helping us out.”

I stayed silent, causing Hope to look up at me. She just stared back at me. I was trying to figure out if this was some kind of joke or something.

“Who are you and what have you done with Hope Solo?”

Hope chuckled at that as she nodded.

“That’s cute, pipsqueak.”

“No seriously. Hope Solo would never compliment me. We go at each other’s throats,” I said as I shook my head. I turned my attention back to my plate. Hope had to be seriously sick if she was being nice to me all of a sudden. “Mine and Hope’s relationship does not consist of us being nice to each other. We’re like sweet potatoes and mustard. They don’t go together. I don’t give a shit what Mick says either. He’s a weirdo for eating sweet potatoes and mustard.”

“No, I’m serious, Jo,” Hope said. I paused at that before I looked up at Hope. “Can you just take the compliment?”

I shook my head. I really couldn’t.

At least not from Hope.

This was too weird. Hope wasn’t supposed to be nice to me. She wasn’t supposed to compliment me.

“Is everything okay over here?”

Hope and I both looked at Becky who took a seat next to me. I sent Becky a small smile before I turned back to Hope. I slowly nodded my head as I realized just what this was about.

“You’re being nice 'cause I saved your ass in the goal.”

“Jo! Language!”

I rolled my eyes at that. I already had a mom at home, I didn’t need Becky deciding to mother me while I was at camp too.

“No.”

“You said that way too fast for it to be true! This is about me saving you in the goal.” I grinned as I glanced at Alyssa who sat next to Becky. So it wasn’t because Hope actually wanted to get to know me. “You just feel bad that you tried acting all tough and like you could stop me and then you couldn’t back it up and I had to save the game against France so we didn’t draw again.”

“I don’t need help in the goal, pipsqueak .”

“Sure you don’t.”

It felt good knowing that Hope had felt bad after I saved her skin.

“You could have just said thank you.”

“Jo,” Becky said. I looked over at her as I raised my eyebrows. I wasn’t too sure why she really cared what happened between Hope and me. “Just take the compliment.”

“But she’s only saying it because I made the stop on the goal line.”

“Jo. Take the compliment.”

My jaw slacked a bit at that. I couldn’t believe that Becky was actually taking Hope’s side.

“Thank you for the compliment,” I said once I eventually turned back to Hope. The goalie smirked at me as she stood up. I rolled my eyes as I lowered my voice. “Good thing you’re good at soccer. Cause the porch light’s on, but there ain’t no one home.”

It wasn’t until Hope was well out of earshot that I felt the hand connect with the back of my head.

“Ow!”

“You’re lucky she didn’t hear that comment,” Becky hissed quietly. I slumped back against my chair at that. I really wasn’t in the mood for another lecture. “I get it. You don’t get along with Hope and you might never get along with Hope, but she’s our goalie. You are going to have to stop trying to provoke her.”

“She doesn’t treat me fairly. Why should I be the one to have to extend the olive branch?” I asked as I leaned forward to get closer to Becky. “She’s the adult. I’m only fifteen.”

“Jo-”

“No, it’s bullshit.”

“Langauge.”

“And I don’t need another mom. I already have one.”

Becky sighed as she leaned back in her own chair. I looked away from her. 

“What if I talk to Hope?”

Becky and I both looked over at Alyssa. I had honestly forgotten that she was sitting at the table with us because of how quiet she had been. It was something that Becky told me I would have to get used to though. 

“As if that would make it any better.”

“That would be great. Thank you, Alyssa.”

I huffed as I pushed myself away from the table. I had already finished my plate and if it gave me an excuse to be away from Alyssa and Becky right now, I would take it. I didn’t need everyone else fighting my battles for me. It was part of the problem. If everyone else fought my battles for me then no one would ever take me seriously.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“So, I heard that you and Hope got into it,” Jill said as I was wrapping my hand. I sighed as I looked up at her. “Is there a problem that I, as the coach, need to address between you two?”

“No.”

Jill nodded her head slowly as she still looked down at me as I finished wrapping my hand. I rubbed the bridge of my nose before looking back up at her.

“Is there anything else?”

“I really hoped that you and Hope would have gotten over this by now,” Jill said. I softly groaned as my shoulders slumped forward. “I’ll be honest with you, kid. I want to call you up for the August game and September-”

“I get it,” I assured her. I glanced at where the rest of the team was getting ready. Even though I had been friendly enough with Alyssa and Becky, the rest still seemed hesitant to get close to me. “Who wants a kid on their team when they’re the best in the world?”

“Jolene, that isn’t it.”

“Isn’t it?”

I looked away from Jill and down at my shoes. I knew that it was. It wasn’t the first time I had been left behind because I was the youngest one, and I doubted that it would be the last.

“Jo, you’re gonna be called to the U-20 team in just days,” Jill said as she bent down so that we were equal in height. “I encouraged them to do so. I think it would be a great opportunity.”

I looked back over to the rest of the team. But my eyes zeroed in on Hope. I knew what she would say when she found out that I wouldn’t be called to the team in August or September.

“The U-20 World Cup will be over before August. So what’s the point in keeping me out of the September camp?”

Hope would only boost and brag if I was gone longer than I needed to be. Plus, I didn’t want to lose the pace of play that came with the national team if I was gone for too long.

“Because you’re only fifteen, Jo. You will have to go to school and finish your education,” Jill said. I looked back at her. I didn’t care about that, I just cared about my future in soccer. “If your grades suffer too much, then I can’t call you up. You will be gone until late August if you guys make it to the finals.”

“So why have me go to the U-20 team instead of getting more practice with the senior team?”

“Because the U-20 team is going to a World Cup. It might not be the World Cup you were hoping for, but it will give you a taste of what it will be like next year,” Jill said as she sighed. I wondered if she would ever get tired of me and all my questions. “You’ll be expected to be a leader on the U-20 team as you’ve already been called up to the senior team. That will also be a good experience for you. I don’t expect that you’ll be seen as a leader on this team for years, maybe not until I’m gone even, but it will happen eventually, and leading a team at a World Cup, even a youth one, will be good for you.”

“Yeah, sure.”

Jill sighed as she patted my leg before standing up. If I had to prove myself to Jill at the youth level again, I was going to do it. Nothing would stop me from winning gold in August. Maybe then, the rest of the team would also start to see me as more than just some kid.

[entwinedmoon]

This month is the 40th anniversary of John Torrington’s exhumation and autopsy. I’ve been doing real-time daily updates over on this post to show just how long and drawn out the process was. It took over a week, starting from when Beattie arrived on Beechey to when they first started digging to when they finally got the coffin open. Right now, those updates are in a bit of a lull because, after they dug down to the coffin, they had to wait for permits to move onto the next part, so there won’t be another Daily Torrington Dig update until August 17.

While we’re waiting for Beattie to get his permits to crack open a cold one (Torrington’s coffin) with the boys (his scientific research team), you can check out my Torrington blog posts to keep the spirit of the season going. The posts Sacred to the Memory of and A Star Is Born would be especially applicable right now as they explore Torrington’s death, exhumation, autopsy, and the media’s response to the photographs of his well-preserved body.

But there’s something else I wanted to share here, another type of media response that I’ve known about (and had a copy of) for a while. I shared it years ago on Twitter, thinking it would get a laugh there, but that was, er, not the reaction I received, so I’d held off on sharing it anywhere else because I thought most people would find it inappropriate. However, I was reminded recently by a friend (don’t know if they want to be tagged here or not, so I’ll go with not) about the existence of this particular piece, and I realized that this might be something that would be more appreciated here on Tumblr, where we like to photoshop Torrington’s corpse into memes, ship him with the guy he’s buried next to, and want to see what he would think of Takis and flavored vapes.

The article I’m referring to is the story about Torrington that appeared in the Weekly World News.

If you’re not familiar with the Weekly World News, it was a notorious tabloid that made up absurd stories and pretended it was real news. Some news stories were actually true—so it wasn’t completely like today’s The Onion—but there were also plenty of clearly fictional articles, featuring bizarre, often supernatural stories, such as Elvis sightings, a double-decker bus mysteriously found at the South Pole (“scientists” claimed aliens did it), or Bat Boy, a boy who was part bat, part boy.

Torrington’s level of fame within the cultural consciousness of the time meant that he, too, got to experience the tabloid treatment.

(CW: pictures of Torrington’s mummified body beneath the cut)

Published on March 3, 1992, was this front-page story:

Man buried in 1845 brought back to life!

Sailor’s coffin frozen in arctic ice 147 years!

Hush-hush new drug revives corpse, say doctors!

Yes, according to the Weekly World News, John Torrington was brought back to life in 1992. There’s even a full article all about how it happened.

MAN FROZEN SINCE 1845 BROUGHT BACK TO LIFE!

Scientists revive seaman trapped in ice 147 years!

Sailor back from the dead still thinks James K. Polk is President of the U.S.!

By Cal Sanders, Special Correspondent

The perfectly preserved corpse of a British sailor who was buried in an icy grave after he died on an Arctic expedition in 1845 has been revived by scientists—147 years later!

And while Petty Officer John Torrington’s health is fragile at best, the team of doctors who illegally plucked him from his grave and brought him back to life say he is aware of his surroundings, walking with help and might very well be able to lead a normal life “if this man has the psychological strength to adapt to the 20th century.”

“It’s hard to believe but this man thinks James K. Polk is President of the United States and insists that horses and sailing ships are the best and fastest ways to travel,” Dr. Hermann Richter said in his report on the experiment that brought Torrington back to life.

“Electric lights literally scare the hell out of him and to be perfectly frank about it, he hasn’t quite decided if he’s dead or alive. About the best we can do at this point is take his recovery one day at a time.

“If Torrington survives we will have produced a living piece of history. If he dies, at least we’ll be able to say that we tried to do something that might ultimately have benefited all mankind.”

The decision to steal Torrington’s corpse from its grave in northern Canada couldn’t have come easy for the Richter team, which issued its report to selected European newspapers “from an undisclosed clinic in Germany.”

For starters, the young man’s grave has stood as an unofficial monument to the courage and determination of 128 adventurers led by British explorer Sir John Franklin—adventurers who gave up their lives to chart the last 300-mile-leg of the treacherous Northwest Passage between 1845 and 1848. Torrington’s body was exhumed once before, in 1983, but it was carefully reburied after scientists took a small tissue sample to determine the cause of death. As it turned out, Torrington died from lead poisoning after eating provisions out of tins that were sealed with the dangerous and often lethal metal. Needless to say, news that Richter and his associates secretly exhumed the body a second time, smuggled it into Germany and succeeded in bringing it back to life have infuriated many experts, some of whom consider the theft of the body criminal. Richter himself insisted that Torrington is in good hands and will be free to go when he is strong enough.

The doctor went on the say that he understands why the experiment might sound extreme to some people but he believes that the revival of Torrington “furthered the best interests of medicine and science.” Richter’s report did not include any of the techniques that were used to revive Torrington but it did mention “an exciting new drug” that might one day make such revivals routine.

Because he died of lead poisoning, it is also believed that Richter and his team somehow cleansed Torrington’s tissue of the deadly metal before bringing him back to life. For the record, Torrington was a man of 20 when he died. Now he looks like a man of 80, photos supplied by Richter show.

“A century and a half of death is enough to age anyone,” said Richter.

There’s a lot to unpack here—the morally dubious German doctor with a mysterious, Frankenstein-esque resurrection method; the burial and exhumation dates both being off by one year for some reason; the short, skinny guy in the obvious bald cap that they thought would pass as Torrington; and so much more. Interestingly, a lot of the article seems to focus more on how scandalous it is that Dr. Richter stole Torrington’s body, as if the writer thought that the revival of a long-dead corpse wasn’t enough of a scoop. Also, I’m not sure if Torrington would even have been aware that Polk was president in 1845—was he the sort of guy who paid attention to international politics? Wouldn’t it have made more sense for him to think Victoria was still queen?

Many people might be offended by such an article, but the Weekly World News never cared about who they offended. Unsurprisingly, one of those who did take umbrage with the story was Dr. Owen Beattie.

In a short article in the Times-Colonist Metro about a week after the Weekly World News story ran, we got to hear Owen Beattie’s reaction.

HEE-(T)HAW . . . It was standard checkout rag fare. “Man Buried in 1845 brought back to life” shouted a recent front page of Weekly World News. “Hush-Hush New Drug Revives Corpse,” it continued.

These startling revelations bore some significance for both the wax museum’s Ken Lane and University of Alberta anthropologist Owen Beattie. The man purportedly thawed like last night’s dinner was John Torrington, one of three sailors from the Franklin expedition buried on Beechy [sic] Island. The Franklin expedition—and John Torrington—feature large in the wax museum’s arresting Frozen in Time expedition. Torrington’s body was exhumed from its Arctic grave in ’84 by Dr. Beattie, who determined death was from lead poisoning.

Neither Ken nor the anthropologist felt their respective professional worlds crumbled with the News article. (It ran with a photo of an emaciated looking chap being assisted by doctors and reports that Torrington is terrified of electric lights, still believes Polk is the U.S. president, and horses are the only way to go.) Ken shrugged it off with a what-can-you-expect-from-a-checkout-rag laugh. The anthropologist wasn’t quite so forgiving.

He refused to comment on it at all, insisting that his research speaks for itself. Apparently John Torrington was quite dead when he was exhumed and equally so when buried after the autopsy. But then that’s not the sort of stuff that sells check-out rags.

While it’s perfectly understandable that Beattie would not appreciate something like the Weekly World News’ fake story, what I find most interesting about this snippet is that there was a wax museum with a Franklin Expedition exhibit that included Torrington??? Does that mean there was a Torrington wax figure???? Where is it now????? Can I buy it?????????

These very important questions aside, it’s fascinating to see that Torrington was well known enough to make it into a “checkout rag.” Maybe it’s not the legacy he would have wanted, but at least it’s worth a good laugh.

[literary-motif]

ENOUGH ANGST !!!! AAAGGHHH I HATE ANGST !!!! So after Isis confirmed the bound, Xanthus said that he will now sleep with love in order to keep them safe. After listener gets comfortable and finally falls asleep. Xanthus keeps staring at them, slowly releasing what Isis said and building a deeper connection to love. Just for Xanthus to hug them and rest with love PLSPLSPLS

My Design

Xanthus Claiborne x Reader

There was something very intimate about sleeping together — literally sleeping together. Xanthus was enthralled with the soft rise and fall of your chest, calming him so thoroughly that he feared it might lull him into the land of sweet oblivion himself. Your eyelids were gently closed, hiding the beautiful eyes he had lost himself in quite a few times since meeting you in that alley. 

He could not believe you had agreed to spend the night. Certainly, his lavishly decorated house — nay, mansion — might have something to do with it. It looked rather nice, he supposed. He was proud of the furniture, his collection of little specialties expanding over many centuries until it consisted of the composition of works he decorated his house with. 

There was an original Böcklin in the study, and a letter his old friend Van Gogh had sent him safely tucked away in the cabinet, next to the volumes of now historical pictures a history student might sell their soul for. 

His bed was very comfortable as well. Perhaps that was the reason that got you to stay, or maybe the thunderstorm raging in the night had made the prospect of walking home rather distasteful. Either way, you were here now, and he was glad for it. 

Isis had been gone for two hours, and his mind was still reeling. The bond was as fascinating as it was utterly terrifying. He had spent centuries living alone, not daring to tie himself to another person because they would wither and fade before his eyes, and now he was entangled with someone who was definitely going to die! 

‘Tis a fearful thing to love what death can touch. Yehuda Halevi was right, but instead of the holiness he described at the end of the poem, Xanthus would find insanity when your heart stopped beating. 

How fearful, indeed.

What was this feeling of love he had? How long had he gone without it? Vaguely, he recalled an infatuation at the end of the 19th century — nothing he had ever felt compared to this. 

There was a thread tying you both together, one he could not so easily break no matter how hard he might strain against it. Not that he wanted to, although he supposed part of him did.

Vulnerability never came easy, and now you were his weakness. A weakness. 

You mumbled something in your sleep, and he could not help the fond smile that came across his face. You looked so comfortable with your head buried in the pillows, lying on your side. Unconsciously, you had curled around him, and Xanthus felt the sudden urge to gather you in his arms and make sure nothing mortal or otherwise would ever get the chance to hurt you. 

Something in his chest shifted at seeing your peaceful expression — one that had been missing from his own face for decades. His chest felt warm, and he felt the burning need to protect that had evaded him since he had watched his nephews being lowered into the ground. 

This is love, he realized suddenly, burning, aching, maddening love. What had he become?

What had the bond done to him?

“Xan?” you mumbled, still asleep. His heart could not take it.

“I’m here, love,” he whispered, carefully wrapping his arms around you to pull you against his chest. Your head lay on his chest, and you let out a content sigh, appreciating his affection even from beyond the veil of sleep. “Sleep, I’m here.”

You did not reply, your gentle breathing filling the air again. Distantly, he heard a crack of thunder, lighting striking across the sky in a sudden flash of unloading tension.

Xanthus closed his eyes, listening to your heart instead, hearing it pump the blood through your body. He hoped it would keep beating for a long, long time to come. 

He would make sure of it anyway.

[avxlyse]

Awash In Crimson Wine - Agatha x Succubus!Rio

A/N Hi guys!! You asked and you shall receive! This story takes place in a universe where instead of trapping her in westview, Wanda lets Agatha go with a fraction of the power she once had. Just a silly little fic to sooth my Agathario cravings in between episodes! I’m gonna try and get new chapters out every other day or so.

Title from From Eden by Hozier

***********************************

It started with a flicker, unsuspecting and uninteresting. Agatha was rooting through some old spell books to try and find a glamour enchantment to attract sexual desire. It was a childish whim, made in her desperation to regain some semblance of control. Wanda left her weak, and with so much of her power gone, she felt her grip on those around her loosen significantly.

It was jarring, a loss too odd to articulate, when you go from bending the will of others at your whim to an indifferent force in the world around you. Agatha craved it, that feeling of utter control, more than anything else Wanda took from her. She knew she had to get it back, even if she had to start at the bottom and claw back to the top. She had to start with what she knew to be the easiest, simplest way to attract total devotion‒ through sexual desire.

The spell went, for the most part, just as she had planned. The ingredients were easy enough to find. Roses, honey, salt, red candles, and some kitchen spices you could knick from any grocery store. Simple, easy witchcraft she’s been capable of for centuries. The shift in energy would’ve been imperceptible to most, but to Agatha, the sudden, illogical flicker of each candle in unison made her hairs stand on end.

Still, she chalked it up to Wanda's ever lingering damage and went about the rest of the ritual as she always had. It wasn’t until that night that she understood the true gravity of her error.

The warmth stroked her every muscle with a tender hand, lulling her into an inky black sleep. Each pulse of her heartbeat sent liquid gold to her limbs, bringing her closer and closer to bliss. An orange light surrounded her, and a laugh like honey rang in her ears as a hand reached out to touch her. First her shoulder, trailing up to her cheek, then down to her knee. Through hazy, lidded eyes, she peered up at the golden light. A woman, dark haired and effervescent, peered back at her, smiling through red lips. Her tongue darted out to wet them, and it sent electricity all through Agatha's body. The woman's hand trailed slowly up her leg, past her robe, and grazed her upper thigh with a torturous, feather light touch. Every inch of contact was like fire, warmth blooming in her chest as she gazed at the woman. She felt magnetized to her, like any inch of space between them was an inch too much. Agatha leaned in to press her lips against hers, but before she could get any further, she felt a piercing pain in her thigh. Yelping, she pulled back to see long fingernails emerge from under her robe, dripping with blood. The woman laughed, the sound radiating as she licked her fingers.

Agatha shot awake in bed, body drenched in sweat. She ripped the covers off of her body and peeled back her robes, dreading to see what she already knew was there. Four long claw marks stared back at her, etched into her skin and trickling blood. Worse than that was the ache radiating from her core, needy and clearly present. She shoved her head back into her pillow and groaned at her stupidity, as it slowly dawned on her how utterly fucked she really was. If she knew anything about witchcraft, she knew one thing — She had a Succubus.

Agatha cursed under her breath, clutching the sheets in her fists as the realization sank in. A succubus. She hadn’t summoned a lover, a pawn, or even a mortal with fleeting devotion. No, she had called forth something infinitely more dangerous. 

She sat up, trying to steady her breath, but her body betrayed her. The warmth from the dream—the succubus’s touch—still lingered on her skin, an itch that wouldn’t quite leave. Her thigh throbbed, and the marks from the Succubus’ claws began to feel all too real. Was this just the beginning? How much could she physically harm her? How much would Agatha let her? She glanced at her reflection in the mirror across the room, her eyes dark with need, frustration, and… something else. Was it fear? No, not quite. Anticipation. The thought turned her stomach.

Agatha swung her legs over the side of the bed, wincing as her bare feet hit the cold floor. She cursed again, this time more audibly, as she paced back and forth, trying to shake the lingering sensations. Her mind raced with the implications. Succubi were notorious, not just for their insatiable appetites, but for their ability to manipulate, to control, to twist their victims until they craved them beyond reason. She knew the stories. Hell, she had lived long enough to have seen the aftermath of succubus entanglements. Witches, sorcerers, even powerful beings like herself, brought to their knees by desire.

“I’m not one of them,” Agatha muttered, a desperate edge creeping into her voice. “I’m not weak.”

But even as she said it, she could feel the echo of that laugh in her mind—smooth, sultry, dripping with amusement. It was a sound that made her chest tighten with equal parts fury and desire.

She needed to figure this out—now. Agatha stalked over to the grimoire she’d been reading earlier. It still lay open on her desk, the candles from the ritual now melted down to stubs, the faint scent of roses and burnt honey hanging in the air. Flicking through the pages with a practiced hand, she searched for answers. There had to be a way to reverse this, to banish the succubus before things spiraled further out of control.

But as her eyes scanned the old, familiar words, she found nothing. No incantation. No banishing ritual. No easy fix. Of course, there wasn’t. Summoning a succubus wasn’t the kind of mistake one could undo with a flick of the wrist. She knew that.

A low chuckle echoed from the shadows, making Agatha freeze. The temperature in the room seemed to spike, and a sultry voice purred from behind her, "Looking for something, darling?"

Agatha turned sharply, heart pounding as her gaze locked on the succubus, who stood casually in the corner, leaning against the wall as if she had always belonged there. Her dark hair spilled over her shoulders, the same as in Agatha’s dream, but now she was here, in the waking world, every bit as alluring—and dangerous. Agatha stared at her long, tan legs, just peaking out through the slit in her emerald green robe. It was more modest than she had imagines for a succubus, covering all the way up to her collar bones. Still, Agatha could see the lace of a black bra peaking subtly out of the top. Her skin seemed to glow a dull gold as her scent carried across the room— Honey and warm spice. She thought about the skin of her thighs, how soft it looks and how if she could reach just a little further—

"How did you—" Agatha began, cutting herself off before her mind could wander any longer, but the succubus just smirked, pushing herself off the wall and walking towards her with that same predatory grace.

"How did I get here?" her voice was teasing, almost patronizing. "You summoned me, remember? And I must say, you have impeccable taste." She stopped just inches from Agatha, her eyes glinting with mischief. "Though I think we both know this is about more than just a casual attraction spell. You wanted something… deeper."

Agatha clenched her jaw, trying not to flinch as the succubus reached out to trail a finger across the line of her jaw . The touch was electric, sending sparks of heat through her veins despite every instinct telling her to pull away. But the pull was there. Undeniable.

"I didn’t ask for you," Agatha hissed, stepping back, though it took more effort than she wanted to admit.

The succubus smiled, a slow, dangerous smile. "Oh, but you did. Your power called to me, Agatha Harkness. You were searching for control, for dominance, for someone who could bend to your will." She circled Agatha now, her gaze lingering on the claw marks she had left. "But you should know… you can’t summon a succubus without offering something in return. And lucky for you…" Her hand brushed against Agatha’s lower back, making her breath hitch. "I’m very, very good at fulfilling desires."

Agatha spun to face her, eyes blazing. "I don’t need you."

The Succubus' smile widened, a predatory gleam in her eyes. "Oh, darling, we both know that’s a lie." She leaned in close, her breath warm against Agatha’s ear. "The question is… how long can you resist before you admit what you really want?"

Agatha’s breath caught, her pulse racing as she met the demons gaze. There was a challenge in her eyes, one that both enraged and enticed her. Agatha had always been the one in control, always the one with the upper hand. But this—this was different. She wasn’t just a distraction; she was a threat, a temptation that Agatha wasn’t sure she could ignore.

"Where are my manners? I haven’t even introduced myself," the succubus purred, her voice as smooth as silk. She smiled, a sickly sweet smile that sent a shiver down Agatha’s spine, stepping closer with an effortless grace. Her dark eyes glittered with amusement, lips curling into a pout as she batted her lashes. "Well, aren’t you going to ask me my name, Agatha Harkness?"

Agatha's breath quickened. She wanted to ignore her, wanted to maintain her sense of control, but the succubus’s presence was magnetic. The air between them hummed with tension, a pull so strong it felt almost physical, drawing Agatha closer without her consent. Her instincts screamed at her to keep her distance, to push this creature away before things spiraled further out of control. But her curiosity—and the simmering desire beneath it—kept her frozen in place.

She swallowed hard, trying to regain some semblance of composure. "I’m not in the habit of making small talk with demons," Agatha said, her voice steadier than she felt.

The succubus chuckled, a low, throaty sound that made Agatha’s stomach twist with both irritation and something else she didn’t care to name. "Oh, darling, this isn’t small talk," she said, stepping even closer, her gaze fixed on Agatha like a predator toying with its prey. "It’s tradition. You summon a demon, you give them a proper introduction. It's the polite thing to do."

Agatha raised an eyebrow, forcing herself to meet her gaze head-on. "Since when do demons care about tradition?"

The succubus smiled again, but this time there was something darker behind it, something ancient and knowing. "Since we’ve had names worth remembering."

Agatha clenched her jaw, refusing to be drawn into whatever game the succubus was playing. She had been down this road before—manipulation, seduction, promises laced with power. This demon wasn’t the first creature of darkness to try her hand at controlling Agatha, and she certainly wouldn’t be the last.

But there was something different about this time around.

Her heart pounded against her ribcage, and no matter how much she tried to brush off the feeling, Agatha knew this was more than just a game of power. The challenge in the succubus' eyes wasn’t just about control. It was about want. Hunger.

And Agatha, against her better judgment, felt that hunger stirring inside herself too.

The succubus watched her with an amused, expectant expression, like she knew exactly what was going through Agatha’s mind. "Go on," she coaxed, her voice dripping with honey. "You know you’re curious. I can feel it."

Agatha took a slow breath, trying to quiet the heat rising in her chest. Her body was betraying her, reacting to the succubus’s presence in a way she hadn’t felt in… she couldn’t remember how long. She clenched her fists, nails digging into her palms as she fought to keep her cool.

But the words slipped out before she could stop herself.

"Fine," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "What’s your name?"

The succubus’s smile widened, satisfied, as if she had been waiting for this exact moment. She leaned in closer, so close that Agatha could feel the warmth radiating from her skin, the scent of something sweet and intoxicating filling the air between them.

"My name is Rio Vidal," she said softly, her lips brushing against Agatha’s ear as she spoke. "And now that we’ve been properly introduced… things are about to get very interesting."

Agatha’s pulse quickened at the way Rio’s name rolled off her tongue, rich and dark like wine. She hated the way it felt, hated that her body responded with a shiver that ran down her spine, hated that her mind was already racing with possibilities.

But more than anything, she hated that Rio could see it.

"Don’t get too comfortable," Agatha snapped, stepping back, trying to regain some distance, some sense of control. "This isn’t going to be your playground."

Rio didn’t seem fazed by the sudden shift in tone. She merely tilted her head, studying Agatha with that same knowing smile. "Oh, I’m not looking for a playground," she said, voice low, almost a purr. "I’m looking for something much more... satisfying."

Agatha’s stomach churned, a flush creeping up her neck. She turned her back to Rio, pacing to the other side of the room, needing space to think, to breathe. The succubus’s presence was suffocating, overwhelming. Every word, every glance was designed to provoke, to ignite something Agatha wasn’t ready to acknowledge.

"I don’t need your help," Agatha said firmly, her back still turned. "I can handle my own power."

"Really?" Rio’s voice was closer than it should’ve been, and when Agatha turned, the succubus was standing just behind her, their faces inches apart. "Because it seems to me that your power is the one thing you can’t control anymore."

Agatha glared at her, refusing to be intimidated. "I’ve lived for centuries, Rio. You think I don’t know what you’re doing? You want to get inside my head, make me doubt myself. But you won’t succeed."

Rio’s eyes gleamed with amusement, her lips curling into a slow, predatory smile. "Oh, Agatha," she whispered, leaning in until their foreheads almost touched. "I don’t need to make you doubt yourself. You already do."

The words hit Agatha deeper than she wanted to admit. She felt the truth of them, the gnawing uncertainty that had been growing ever since Wanda stripped her of her power. The fear that she wasn’t as strong as she used to be. The creeping doubt that maybe—just maybe—Rio was right.

But she couldn’t let that show. Not now. Not ever.

"I think it’s time you left," Agatha said, her voice cold, pushing the words through clenched teeth.

Rio lingered for a moment, her dark eyes flickering with something unreadable, before she finally stepped back. "As you wish," she said, her tone light, though there was a shadow of something deeper in her gaze. "But don’t think for a second that this is over, darling."

With a casual wave of her hand, Rio vanished, the air in the room suddenly lighter, but the tension still thrumming beneath Agatha’s skin.

Agatha stood alone in the silence, her heart still racing, her thoughts a jumbled mess. She had won this round, but she knew the succubus would be back. And the worst part?

A small, dangerous part of her wanted her to.

[kasagia]

Can't catch me now...

Pairing: Aleksander Morozova/The Darkling x grisha! reader Summary: The Hunger Games in Ravka. 12 districts. 12 tributes. 12 mentors. 11 young people die every year. 1 winner. Aleksander was a mentor to many. But only your face will haunt him for centuries. Inspired by: The Hunger Games. I changed the world of both of them a bit. I was supposed to write something else, but this came to my mind and... Word Count: 4,9k Taglist: @aoi-targaryen @il0vebeingdelulu @chelseyyouraverageluigi Aleksander Morozova's Masterlist ~•♤♤♤•~ Main Masterlist PART 2

"The tribute from District 12! Y/N Y/L/N!"

You doubt you will ever forget this day. Or the terrified faces of Alina and Mal when the Peacekeepers pulled you out of the row and pushed you towards the stage.

An orphan from Kerazmin was sent to the Hunger Games for certain death.

The Hunger Games are held annually to commemorate the Great Battle of Ravka, in which Grisha and the inhabitants of Ravka took part. The House of Lantsov took over the country and strengthened its position by killing the rebels with the help of Grisha, led by the Darkling.

The Darkling helped them in exchange for a promise that no Grisha would ever suffer at the hands of Ravka's rulers again. His successors created the Little Palace, a safe haven for Grisha. The Lanstovs, on the other hand, continued the annual killing of 11 children from the Ravka districts. They put on a show for the people, the snobbish nobility, and the Grisha, who gloated over how the children of their captors were now fighting for their lives in the arena as they used to in the Old Ravka.

If it weren't for the Darkling's help, the world would be different.

Lantsov would not have come to power. The fold would not exist. And the Hunger Games would never have happened.

"12. We are in captial." you smile thankfully and nod to the boy from District 11.

You disembark with the other tybutes, and each of you holds your breath as you see the gates of Os Alta in the distance. Your district was poor, like mainly all of them, and Karemzin was certainly not the most beautiful. But the forest around the city gave you a strange feeling of peace. Home.

"Get in line! You will be checked by medics! We don't want any pandemics in the capital because we brought some rats to play with."

Each of you is bursting with anger at the soldier's words. But with so many Peacekeepers around you, none are brave enough to disobey orders.

You're last in line. You are waiting for a woman to approach you. You know she is Grisha from her clothes—a beautiful red kefta. You feel nauseous as the woman's hands touch your forehead, but you stand still and straight. You definitely won't show them you're scared, especially Grisha.

Grisha frowns. He nods at the peacekeeper. You feel yourself turning pale, your hands clasped behind your back, shaking slightly as you realise something is wrong. You create various scenarios in your head, and when Peacekeeper reaches for something attached to his hip, you already say goodbye to life. You raise your eyebrows in surprise when he pulls out something else instead of a gun.

"I'm not a Grisha." you say firmly, recognising the device the Grisha's use to test if someone has the ability to practice their 'little science'. "I was examined when I was young."

"We shall see." the healer who checked you says.

She nods at the soldiers. You are pushed into carriages. 6 people to one. You're a bit cramped, but it's better than sharing one carriage. You take the opportunity to fall asleep, resting your head against the window, as the quiet conversations and the sound of squeaking wheels hitting the path in the forest lull you to sleep.

You gather in a large room that is too over-decorated for your taste. You were bathed and changed into new clothes, all to appear before the king and the inhabitants of the capital.

You stand tense, playing with the sleeves of your dress. You've watched the Hunger Games once. The tybutits gathered in the great hall before the king and presented their image to Ravka and its inhabitants. The one who sold best gained the most sponsors. And therefore, food, water, medicines, and weapons in the arena.

But apart from the soldiers, there was no one around you.

You shiver slightly when suddenly the door bursts open and several soldiers dressed in black enter. The oprichniki. You swallow as, between them, you see the Darkling himself.

You saw him once in the newspaper at Prince Vasily's funeral.

He was terrifying.

There was an aura of power and composure around him. He dominated a room full of people, and seeing him in person only strengthened your belief that the man in front of you was pure danger and unlimited power.

Rumours spread throughout the country that he would one day depose Lantsovs from the throne. And no one would be surprised if someone from the Darkling's family line finally came to power.

"General Kirigan!" the oprichnik shouts.

The soldiers salute him, and some of the tributes bow. You stand straight, watching him carefully as he slowly walks towards the centre of the room. He stands before you and looks at you all. His dark eyes meet yours in a burning gaze a few moments longer than the rest. He clears his throat, breaking the absolute silence, and begins his speech.

"It is a great honour to take part in the Hunger Games. It is an even greater honour to survive them and become a resident of Os Alta, so do not waste your chance. You will soon go to a meeting with your mentors and then to the throne room, where the king will officially open this year's Hunger Games. You will have two weeks to prepare for entering the arena. But before that, like every year, we will take you through a small test. Don't worry, it will only take a moment." He claps his hands, making some of you tremble. He chuckles, darkly amused, and looks at you one by one again. "Who's first? Maybe District 1?"

Everyone's eyes turn to the little boy. The kid is maybe 12 years old, no more. On shaky legs, he approaches the Darkling. You clench your jaw as you watch the amusement in the peacekeepers' eyes. At least the Darkling and his people had the decency not to scare the boy more or make fun of him.

The Darkling pierces his skin with his ring, creating a small wound. The boy lets out a small squeal of pain but doesn't remove his hand. The Darkling whispers something to him and gives him his black handkerchief. The boy takes it hesitantly, thanks it, presses it to the wound, and returns to his place in line.

And so on. Some come back with a larger wound on their arm, others with a slight bite, like a little boy. Until it's your turn.

You approach the Darkling, staring at the window behind him and the view of the forest from which you came here. You stand in front of him, waiting for him to pierce your skin. But it's not like that. An uncomfortable, disquieting silence descends. You shift your gaze to him and can't help but shiver as you find his dark irises staring intently at you.

"What are you?" he asks, still staring at you, searching for something you can't quite place. You don't know why he does it. He didn't speak to the rest of the tibutes.

"Y/N Y/L/N from district 12." you answer his strange question, proud that your voice isn't hoarse. The last time you drank water was three days ago.

He smirks at your response and at the fact that you keep his gaze on you, unlike the rest of the people who stood in front of him. He is partly disappointed that you're doing it. He decides it would be nice to grab your chin and force you to look into his eyes. But your supposedly brave attitude is a pleasant refreshment for him.

"I asked you… what are you?" he repeats it in a monotone tone of voice.

"This year's tribute, sir." you say, confused, not knowing what exactly he wants to hear from you or what he is asking you about.

"That I can see. Answer the question. WHAT are you?" he insists and you can't find a good answer.

An orphan? Nobody's daughter? A friend?

"I... no one." you say, staring into his dark eyes like hypnotised.

You feel incredibly stupid and tremble as the soldiers' laughter echoes throughout the room.

But the Darkling doesn't join them, there's no trace of amusement in his eyes, now almost black as his shadows, as he watches you carefully.

He's judging you. You don't know why his attention is fully on you or why he needs someone… as worthless as you, but everything changes the moment he raises his hands and summons his shadows.

They surround the soldiers, immediately silencing them, and there is a deafening silence in the room again. You feel like it's just you and him and no one else.

"Interesting... we shall see and find out." he gently brushes his finger against your wrist. "Now, your sleeve, if you allow."

He doesn't wait for your answer or movement and rolls up the sleeve of your dress himself, with a carefulness that amazes you. The Darkling is known for many things, but certainly not for any form of gentleness.

You wait for the pain that will come from his ring piercing your skin. But the wound he gives you is not that terrible compared to others he made for the rest of the tributes. And the strangest thing about it all is that not a single drop of blood leaks from it.

You feel a strange warmth spread throughout your body where he touches you. He tightens his grip on your shoulder more, as if he's searching for something. The warmth is spreading deeper within you until suddenly you feel it piercing right through your heart.

You close your eyes at the intense feeling that washes over you. You stop breathing as suddenly the room fills with blue light emitting from you. The wind picks up, the ground shakes under your feet, and the small pieces of plaster begin to fall off the ceiling. You're not sure, but you think you hear someone screaming echoing through the room.

You meet the Darkling's gaze. He stares at you with some kind of pride and satisfaction. Like a predator when he finally catches his great prey. You pull away your hand from his grip, still holding defiantly his gaze. You probably wouldn't have been so brave under different circumstances, but after all, you were a participant in the Hunger Games. You were already dead anyway.

"Wed'ma." whispers spread throughout the room as everything returned to normal. The other Grisha help one of them, the one closest to you, get up from his lap. He's breathing quickly, he's pale, and you see a trickle of blood coming from his mouth. You realize that you are not bleeding like the tributes before you did from the wound inflicted by the Darkling.

"She is not a witch. Show a little respect. The Merzost Holder is standing in front of you." he announces. Grisha falls silent, staring at you in shock and awe as the others give him confused looks. Including you.

"What the blody hell?" you whisper, but he either doesn't hear you or ignores you, sending everyone else out of the room. Only you and his oprichniki remain.

When the door closes with a loud bang, you somehow regain the ability to speak. You straighten up, looking up to meet the Darkling's dark eyes still fixed on you. You shiver, swallowing, as you gather the courage to ask him a question.

"What the fuck is going on here?" he grimaces at your aggressive tone and crude swearing but decides to ignore it and answer your question. He decides he still has plenty of time to train you once your emotions fade away.

"You wield the merzost. Power from the borderline of little science. Its layers… are within you. The saints have marked you as the living source of this. A little science prevents us from creating new things, and trying to use Merzost is mostly deadly, if not disastrous, for those who try to use it, but you… you can manipulate it to your heart's content. You hold the magic that is hidden at the heart of the world—the power of creation, of life over death."

"I am not a Grisha." he laughs loudly and mockingly at your words, making you shiver.

"Wasn't this little show enough to convince you? It was definitely for me. I've seen many Grisha, but you're one of a kind for now. Your power may have been unheard of, but you exist in our literature. As a myth. A legend, a bedtime story for children. Our ancestors believed that one day a Grisha would appear so powerful that they would be able to move the sea, destroy continents, and restore lives. That there will appear a saviour who will give us eternal greatness and make us receive the respect we deserve. We have been waiting a long time for you, miss Y/L/N."

"Well, then you'll have to wait a little longer. I'm a tribute. I'll probably die in the games."

"You don't think I'm going to let my Grisha be part of this, do you?" he asks you mockingly. Before you can answer, the door opens again, and two heartrenders walk in. "Excellent timing. Ivan, Fedyor, you will escort Miss Y/L/N to the Little Palace. Make sure our Merzost Holder gets all the amenities she needs after the traumatic time she endured in the district and on the way here."

Your first thought is to resist him and run away from there as far as possible, but there is nothing you can do. It's either follow them or go back to the Hunger Games, which you don't want.

So you hide your pride in your pocket and walk between the two men, guided by the Darkling's watchful, careful gaze that makes you shiver. You sigh in relief as soon as the door closes behind you and you're free from his dark eyes.

But something tells you that you won't be free from this dangerous man's company for long.

Especially when, after he touched you, you felt some strange connection to him that you couldn't explain. Something that made you more terrified than your untamed, wild and new power.

The chamber they take you to is ridiculously luxurious. The amount of gold and decorations in it alone could feed your entire orphanage for years.

As a poor orphan, you learned to measure the value of things like food and warm clothes. Probably like other residents of the districts. Only in the capital and larger cities did people have higher values than survival.

Your thoughts returned to Mal and Alina. You hoped that the two of them could handle it until you figured out how to get out of the mess you were in.

You look at your hands, reflecting on everything that has happened in these few days. From a poor orphan, you became a tribute in the Hunger Games and then the holder of some strange Grisha's power that you had no idea about.

And the worst part of it all was that you were still so damn hungry.

Suddenly, someone knocks on your door. Before you can answer, the Darkling himself enters, followed by a red-haired woman in a white kefta and two maids. They both hold the trays, put them on the table, and leave silently, closing the door behind them, leaving you with a woman and a shadow summoner.

The redhead walks up to you and holds your chin, watching you closely and tugging on your hair, tilting your head back. You aggressively push her hands away from you and step back.

"Ouch. I thought districts taught some culture, right?"

"Sorry, I don't feel very cultured when a strange woman comes up to me and plays with me like with some rag doll."

The Darkling chuckles softly as he sits down in one of the plush armchairs. His posture seems a little more relaxed than when he entered the room earlier. There is no longer anger or desire for committing murder on his face.

"Calm down, little wellspring. Genya is here to… gently improve your appearance." he says, pointing at your outfit. You blush slightly at his remark, but you realise that anyone in your situation would look... like they took it out of a dog's throat.

"What for?" you ask suspiciously, crossing your arms, which somehow makes him more amused. He's slowly starting to irritate you.

"And here I thought you'd be grateful that we wanted to get you to… a more human state." he says, revealing the first tray. The black gloves he wore contrasted with the gold tray lid, catching your attention. You wondered why he needed them on such a warm day...

The smell of food hits your nostrils, making saliva pool in your mouth and making you forget about anything else. Your stomach screams at you to eat the food given to you as quickly as possible, but your willpower and common sense win.

"What do you want?" you ask firmly and look at him defiantly.

"The king, despite my numerous persuasions, did not agree to... remove you from the Hunger Games. It probably has something to do with... the type of power you have. The old fool is probably afraid that we will start a rebellion that you will lead. He hopes that you will die in the games, and this will take care of itself for him."

"He is right. We know I have no chance of surviving." the calmness with which you say this surprises him. His mocking, confident demeanour crumbles for a moment as he looks at you carefully, analysing this new side of you he didn't see yet.

However, by the smirk that forms on his lips, you realise that he isn't losing interest in you at all. Your mysteriousness only further ignites the fire of curiosity within him. And being close to him is the last thing you want right now.

"Maybe not alone, but with me as your mentor? We shall see..." he says thoughtfully, his eyes piercing right through you. You lose this little staring contest, feeling too uncomfortable under his scrutinising gaze. "Now eat. You must have strength. And Genya will improve your appearance in the meantime. Don't make this already... demanding task more difficult for her."

You sit on the chair that is furthest from him and take some food from the tray. You chew in silence, watching the two of them. When you're full enough that your stomach won't growl, you decide to put the food aside to share something with him that he probably won't like.

"I won't win. You better get ready for it." You say with great confidence and he raises his eyebrows.

"And why is that, if I may ask?" he asks mockingly, as if he already knew that your victory was a foregone conclusion.

"I am not going to kill anybody during the games." you state, and Genya, who was combing your hair, freezes.

You both look at the Darkling, waiting for his reaction, who for now stares at you in surprise. He clenches his jaw and fists as he realises the meaning of your words. You see anger in his dark eyes.

"Are you mad?" he asks surprisingly calmly, probably surprising both of you. However, you see shadows begin to flow from his hands, circling around the feet of the chair he was sitting in as he gave you a look that could kill and certainly scare many.

"Probably."

"Listen to me carefully. We didn't wait hundreds of years for you to come here with your bratty, saintly attitude, willing to martyr yourself in the name of nothing at the stupid Hunger Games. You're going to win it, and you're going to do everything I tell you to do with a damn smile on your pretty face that will charm sponsors enough to invest money in you. Do you understand, underdog from 12?"

His angry speech and growl through his teeth do not intimidate you. He needs you alive so he won't hurt you, and you'll die soon anyway, so what difference does it make if you show him respect? You lean towards him slowly, bravely enduring his angry glare and returning it with your own.

"You can kiss my ass, shadow man." you speak slowly, loudly, and clearly.

You hear Genya sigh softly behind you, and you see him frown in anger. He throws the tray (which was still full of food and on the table) at you. He leaves your rooms without looking at you and slams the door hard as he takes his shadows with him.

"That… that was really stupid and brave." Genya says that once she has recovered from his small outburst of anger.

She saw people who, for less, were cut in half with the cut form from his shadows. But there you were, coming out of the verbal fight with him without a scratch because you managed to jump away from the tray he threw at you.

"I am dead anyway." you say, shrugging. There was no way you were getting out of this alive.

Genya smiles at you sadly, comfortingly in a twisted way, and gently caresses your cheek with her hand.

"Come. We'll make you look breathtaking before the presentation." she says, sitting you in another chair as she begins to prepare you to perform in front of Ravka's nobility.

The way she talked to you afterwards made you feel calmer and more comfortable. But you couldn't help but feel remorse when the maids came to clean up the food and immediately threw it in the trash like it was nothing. So many people could feed off this...

You came back tired from the presentation. You had to say a few words about yourself, which was extremely difficult for you, and after that, the host mentioned that you were Grisha.

The first Grisha in the Hunger Games.

You know from Genya that this information made some sponsors, curious about your unusual case, invest some money in you. Enough to cover the cost of creating your kefta and providing you with other outfits for future Hunger Games promotional events.

You think you have a few weeks before going to the arena. Before that stupid game for the royalty and nobilities.

You were preparing to go to bed when they allowed you to stay in a Little Palace as a sign of respecting the rules between the Lantsov dynasty and Darkling, when suddenly someone knocked on your door.

Whoever it was, they didn't wait for an answer.

The Darkling walked into your chamber, closing the door behind him. He looked at you and then sat on one of the armchairs, not taking his eyes from you even for a while.

"Normal people wait to be invited before entering." you say, crossing your arms as you stare at him expectantly as he sits back and takes the grapes in his gloved hands.

"Normal people don't want to die, but here you are." he replies sarcastically, at which you roll your eyes. A little more confident, you take a step towards him, giving him a defiant look as he raises his curious gaze at you.

"What do you want?"

"To discuss tomorrow's tactics with you." he replies calmly, eating a grape. Your gaze lingers on his lips for a moment before you meet his piercing, dark eyes again.

"Do you think that after your behaviour, I will cooperate with you in any way?"

"I shouldn't have reacted like that. Not many people surprise me, Miss Y/L/N. Let's just say… I'm not used to having someone who rebels against me in such a brazen way." he says, looking you up and down appraisingly. You somehow stop yourself from trembling under his gaze and calm yourself down enough to answer without an ounce of trembling in your voice.

"You haven't seen my true impudence yet, General."

"I guess… Why are you so eager to die?" the sudden change of topic causes you to frown in confusion.

He's the last person you want to talk to about why you don't want to kill. You won't open up. Certainly not in front of him—the man who killed thousands without blinking his eye.

"I don't want to die." you decide to give him that simple answer before you also reach for the grapes he's eating and take some for yourself.

You don't gorge yourself in front of him, even though your stomach is growling. You won't give him any more reasons to treat you like an animal. The people of Os'Alta had enough of them anyway.

"But you say you won't kill anyone. That you are going to die." he reminds you, gently pushing the bowl of fruit towards you, which you miss as you think about what answer to give him.

"Because I know that will happen. I won't survive long without killing another, but it doesn't mean that I want to die. I just have humanity in me. Not like the others."

"It will be only a matter of time. Your behaviour will change in the arena. The will to survive is greater in crisis situations than any morality. I assure you. I've seen many good men turn into pure animals after they went to the arena." the faraway look in his eyes as he stares at the fireplace behind you tells you he's not telling you the whole truth. Maybe he saw it, but definitely not in the arena. You wonder what he could mean.

"I would rather die than lose who I am." you answer with all the confidence you can muster.

"You have no choice. I will drag you out of this arena by myself if I have to. You are too important for Grisha to just die." his words make you angry.

You know that some plans for you appeared in his head the moment he somehow activated the merzost within you. You could have seen it in his eyes then. Their strange source of ancient magic was inside you, and he wanted to use it for his plans. But you don't want to be some mythical fairy tale creature for Grisha.

"I am not a hero or any other saint!" you growl through your teeth in anger and clench your fists at your sides.

Unbeknownst to you, shadows begin to thicken around you, and the room plunges into darkness. You only realise what's happening to you when the Darkling stares at you in silent admiration and curiosity, a small smile tugging at his lips as he rubs his chin and his rough, short beard in pure, growing interest.

"You will be whoever I want you to be. Do you understand me?" he asks, ignoring for now this little show of your power.

You have no idea how you managed to amplify his shadows and make them more visible to you. Apparently, you had to learn to control this strange thing before you did something terrible. Again.

You shiver, pushing away the unwanted memory and instead focusing on your anger at him. You decide to respond very eloquently to his threat/order.

"Fuck you."

He just laughs at you as he stands up. Only a small coffee table separated you, and you again realised how powerful and intimidating he was as he towered over you while you still sat on the couch. You feel a chill against your ankle as his shadows gather at his and your feet before disappearing.

You stand up as he walks around the coffee table and walks over to you. He lifts your chin with his gloved hand, forcing you to look into his eyes. You don't feel that strange electricity like before when his skin touched yours, but the tension between us is still palpable. At least for you. Your fingers tingle to touch him, to run your hand over his shadows. You know that the moment you do this, darkness will fill the room again.

You have no idea why, but the thought suddenly seems exciting. You have a strange desire to create something from its shadows. Model them at your discretion. And you're more confused than the intensity with which his eyes stare into yours.

"I give you two days. You'll change your mind, little wellspring. Your power is too great to simply let it waste in the grave. Think about it." he says this and walks past you, gently hitting your shoulder with his. You turn and watch as he leaves and closes the door behind him, leaving you alone in the empty room.

And when you are finally alone, you allow yourself to pounce on the food that has been left for you. Once you've eaten your fill, you start to realise what kind of crazy sh*t you've gotten yourself into.

You look at your hands and close your eyes, pressing them together. You focus on the strange tingling feeling on the inside. You open one eye and gasp as you see the black mass—the thread connecting both of your arms—that is cool to the touch.

A silent scream escapes your lips as you shake your hands hysterically, trying to get rid of it. The black mass disappears the moment you lose your focus. You put your hand to your mouth, letting yourself kneel on the floor as you sob as quietly as possible. You can't hold back your tears as the memories of blood, screaming, metal, and the feeling of shortness of breath come back to you. You rock back and forth, taking shaky breaths. You only wake up from your trance when the first rays of sunlight hit your eyes.

And so goes your first night in the Little Palace.

[xxnaiad-s]

fallen glory — ushijima wakatoshi x reader

wc: 3.2k words

cw: god! wakatoshi x nymph! reader; unprotected sex; breeding kink; size kink; wakatoshi is a big boi; reader is described as a black woman; degradation; manhandling; ; creampie; not proof read; if i’m forgetting anything please let me know!

notes from author: please, if you’re under 18, do NOT interact with or read this post. i will block you.

there are legends among mortal towns, the tellings of stories passed on by flesh and bone. a god, mankind will utter through shrouds of smoke, beneath fire-lit nights of centuries old, where the stars would even hold their breath to hear the words of divine destruction. a god so mighty and fearsome that wields power in his breath alone, that the earth would tear herself apart and offer her burning heart, that she would so desperately beseech her master that this mere sacrifice would be enough to please him. mankind would sing those sorrow-filled ballads of flaming rivers that sputtered brilliant embers, so brilliant in their dying glory that venus herself would weep and beg for mercy.

and this god, oh, this righteous and almighty god, his heart would mirror the depths of darkness. how cruel, this god, that he would beckon the tempests and the floods to destroy and ruin the earth, that he would paint wars and famine across endless seas and planes until there would be nothing left of man. when he bestows his wrath on bellowing thunders and rips the heavens asunder with magnificent lightning, he holds no mercy for the weak and unfaithful. his eyes behold, and his left hand cast their judgement, and the earth can do nothing but wait with bated breath as the universe stands still around her, powerless, and without charge of the pestilence that would next consume her and wipe her filthy soul clean once more.

oh, but who could imagine the divine’s demise at the hands of a damsel?

let these words not travel far, lest they spread across continents and reveal him for what he is. let the world not know of his mortality, of a heart that quivers before summer-touched evenings and sings wretched hymns of manly lust and desire. of his visits to the holy garden, they must not learn, even less should they know of the soul that resides there — the very same that would tame the tempest, and incite a hunger so ravenous and feral only to quench it all the same.

he’s here; you know without even looking, and your intuition tells you that he knows that you know. you don’t need to look behind you to know that wakatoshi’s watching you, eyes of gold and olive that stalk you like a hunter. he takes in every part of your image as a devotee does with visions. the droplets of water that glisten across dark brown skin, the sheer white fabric that clings to your full mounds and ass, barely doing anything to conceal your perked nipples, or the dip between your plush thighs. by the heavens, you truly are a vision of sin and desire — one that held the key to destruction between two-toned lips and written like scriptures among dark coils of hair akin to sacred vines.

“well?” you sigh, sinking further into the pond. the cool water kisses your skin with a tenderness that washes away the day’s searing heat. goosebumps rise across your body and you lull your head to the side, and that’s when you see him, your god come here to visit the garden of eden. “will you just stand there or are you gonna join me?”

how brazen, you must’ve sounded, irreverent as if you knew not the god who’d walked into your sanctuary. yet you knew all too well who he was, and you knew what he’d come for. you knew that, just with the sight of your body drenched in water, you could unravel this benevolent god and reduce him to nothing but a man lost in desire. since the first day he found you here on a lonely spring’s afternoon so many years ago, you’d somehow wrapped his tongue between your teeth and poisoned him with pleasure untold so that he would return time and time again. he reminds you of a lunatic, seeking the taste of your nectar like a man who knows nothing else, and you’d become his drug and his achilles heel, the very thing that could unwind this god and render him to nothingness.

the waters part to make way, welcoming wakatoshi into the pool as he comes close to you. his body presses against yours and he leaves no room between, so greedy in the way his fingers dip into your waist and burying his face into the crook of your neck to take in your scent. you reach up one hand to wrap into his long, jade green locks, and you pull him closer to you, eager to feel his lips leaving soft kisses across your skin.

“i can’t stop thinking about you…” he grumbles into your jawline, hungry and impatient. his fingers wrap into the thin fabric of your gown, nails digging into your flesh as he pulls you closer, pressing his hard cock into your ass as if he wants it to disappear between it. “fuck, what are you doing to me?”

you can’t help the soft moan that escapes your lips, though you know there’d be no sense trying to. coyly, you reach for one of his hands and bring it down to your pussy, pressing his palm flat against it and pushing yourself further against his length. “nothing, darling.” the words that leave you are teasing, almost to test him — accentuated by your sugary laugh when his fingers begin to peel your dress against your skin without you needing to tell him. “it’s you who keeps coming back here on your own accord.”

his fingers dip between your thighs and your knees buckle a bit when they brush against your pussy. you’re wet, wakatoshi discovers your slick already pooling into his hands despite him hardly even touching you. tauntingly, he caresses you, pools your slick along his fingers as he so barely slides them between your swollen cunt to hear the hiss that slips out of your mouth.

“look at you,” he chuckles, condescending. “so needy already, hm? do you want a god’s cock to defile you that badly?”

he’s baiting you, drawing on your words like a puppeteer, you know it. only touching you ever so slightly, giving you the smallest taste of what he knows you want, yet he wants you to beg for it. he wants you to throw yourself unto desperate abandon and give yourself up to him. and it’s working too damn well. greedily, you try to sink yourself down on his fingers, but he quickly stops you with a hand around your throat. frustrated, you whimper. “wakatoshi…” you keen. “for god’s sake, stop toying with me already!”

his teeth sink into your neck suddenly, the sensation of his lips sucking on your flesh causing your pussy to flutter. “nngh…” overcome with weakness, your head falls back against his chest, and your eyes are forced to behold the behemoth of a man behind you; the glistening droplets that slide down olive skin and the furrowed lines atop his expression. his lips part on breaths heavy and weighted as he squeezes his fingers tighter around your throat, and your own breath catches beneath his grip. you’re left wanting, needing the very air he robs you of, needing him inside your core, needing him and everything he’d give to you.

ah, you think bitterly, i’ll lose this war again today.

“you know what i want to hear from you, little one.” wakatoshi’s words ghost against the shell of your ear, causing you to shiver, heat coursing through each pulse despite the chill of the water. he takes his hand from your soiled thighs and brings his fingers to his mouth, and you watch with eyes glazed by lust as he sucks your juices from them and groans. “hurry…” he huffs. his cock twitches against your ass impatiently, his balls almost ready to burst and bury themselves inside your tight little cunt. “you know i don’t like waiting…”

those words so heavy and fogged over by hunger, you know he’s teetering on the very edge of snapping, letting you know that you’re not the only one who wants the other. he makes slow, intentional work of licking his fingers clean and he sees the way your inhibitions snap behind your eyes, revels in the whimper that leaves your lips as your hands fly to remove your dress all on your own. your breasts fall freely for him to see them glistening under filtered sunlight and of sight of your pursed nipples causes his length to twitch hungrily against your ass.

“please…!” inhibitions abandon you, your pride lost on the incessant pulsing between your legs. you need him to fill you, to ravish and demolish you — you’re aching now, impatient, craving him, “please, toshi, i need you inside me… now!”

you see the very moment wakatoshi reaches his limits and he snaps.

a yelp escapes you as he hoists you up, spinning you around to lock your legs around his hip. his lips crash into yours, mercilessly pushing his tongue into your wet cavern like a beast as he drinks you in. he feels your moans rumbling through his chest and he responds in kind, the space between you non-existent and your body flushed against him.

“that’s a good girl.” whimpering, you claw your fingers into his back as if holding on for dear life. “that wasn’t so hard, was it?” you want to curse him for toying with you, want to shut that filthy, irreverent mouth of his but your mind is too cloudy to give anything but sweet pleas of his name. drool pools from between your lips as he draws his tongue along your neck, suckling and biting every inch of skin. you’ll bruise blue and purple, you know it, but you can’t bring yourself to care. you want him to mark you, want him to possess your body and soul.

your fingers tangle into his tresses of green hair and you pull, causing him to hiss against your neck. “enough already, wakatoshi..!” despite your harsh words, you know they sound like nothing but muddled pleas to him. he’s so much bigger than you, it’s hard to forget he still has control over you — the way his large palms squeeze your ass, the way your body has to sit just above his hip, it’s hard to forget that fact.

“just fuck me already! you act like you don’t know the things you do to me, haah, like you don’t know how much you make me want you even— nngh, even when… you’re not here…”

ah, but how unfair of you, isn’t it? how can you accuse him of such things when really, you’re the one who does this to him? how could you not know that your visage haunts him day and night? that he dreams of taking you over and over, of pumping your hole full of his seed until your tummy would swell? that even then, he’d keep filling you up, keening to hear those sweet, filthy cries of his name over and over? you must know what you do to him; he growls against your skin, sinking his teeth into your collar and causing you to cry out and pull against his hair. “then tell me what you want, darling…”

frustration bubbles within you like an erotic poison as you glare down into emerald orbs. have you not been clear enough for him? what prayers would it take to satisfy this insatiable god? for him to finally give himself to you and abandon all else? you’re already powerless here in his hands, your dress reduced to a soaking bundle that wraps around your waist where his hands palm your bare skin. the tip of his cock only barely touching your core, and you can do nothing but wait until he sinks you down unto it. struggle as you might, your need couldn’t be fulfilled until he wills it, until he finally lets in and use you like you want to be used.

“i want you to take responsibility…” pettily, you huff, eyes narrowing further at the coy grin that sits on his mouth. even with his flushed cheeks and your spit coating his skin, he looks up at you, waiting for you to finish. “i want you to destroy me and fuck me senseless. i want you to force me to take every drop of seed and use me until your fat cock empties out everything inside me.”

wakatoshi hums, pleased, it seems, by your words, though he knows he wouldn’t have been able to hold off any longer even if he hadn’t wrung them out of you. oh, the things you do to him without even knowing that turn him into a wild beast. he all but eagerly lines up the head of his throbbing dick to your entrance, and the warmth of it is already so welcoming as he parts your pussy lips, teasingly rubbing your clit.

“take responsibility, hm?” he purrs against your skin as you whimper, soon forcing out the loveliest scream of his name as he brings you down in one swift motion. he watched your eyes roll into the back of your head, drinks in the way your lips fly open as his length spreads you apart. his own eyes narrow and he clenches his teeth — your tight walls squeeze around him so deliciously, so small and delicate as they clamp around the intrusion. “such a pretty, fragile little doll, aren’t you? fuck…!”

god, he hadn’t even fully sunken into you yet, and already he felt himself hitting the tip of your cervix, pressing deeper and deeper and causing your entire body to convulse as drool pours from your lips, fat tears pooling on your waterline. your orgasm wrecks your body in waves and you tremble, already fucked too weak to even support yourself. helplessly, you fall limp into wakatoshi’s arms, neck lulling back so that you’re forced to look up at the god above you, forced to watch his face contort in mortal pleasure as your hole continues to needily suck him in.

“aww…” he coos at your pathetic form. he brings one hand to cup your messy cheek while the other continues to support your weight, pushing a thumb into your open lips. almost mindlessly, you latch unto it and begin sucking. “already? kitten, i’ve hardly done anything to you yet.” even then, wakatoshi wants more from you. he wants to fuck you senseless, break you to nothingness until you couldn’t think of anything but him inside you. so he pushes, deep past your walls until he fully buries himself inside you, his tip so deliciously hitting your womb. you squeal and tighten your legs at the sensation of him bottoming out of you, dig your nails deep into his arms as if to ground yourself from slipping further.

“w-wait…! please, toshi—!” you cry, though your words are lost on him, drowned by his heavy breaths as he presses his lips against yours, pleas swallowed up while your body shakes. “i only just came, i’m— nngaah! ‘m too sensitive, slow down— fuck! ahh!”

despite your begging, wakatoshi doesn’t give you a moment to recover. he sets a relentless pace of pounding into you, pushing deeper and deeper, the sound of his balls clapping so filthily against your slick not yet enough to hide each honey-coated wail he forces out of you. “you said to… hnngn— take responsibility, didn’t you?” roughly, he wraps his hand around your throat and forces you to look up at him, all so he can take in that beautifully fucked expression you wear, teardrops lining your lashes and your mouth wantonly gasping for air. “that’s exactly what i’m doing, darling. isn’t this what you wanted?”

“yes..!” you can’t deny it. lying to him would be no use, it’s too late to try. your body’s already betrayed you for the pleasure he gives you, your battered hole pulsing around him with each thrust as he stretched you impossibly wide. “yes, wakatoshi..! fuck! i wanted you to fuck me n use me just like this!”

he chuckles, sinful and ungodly, as he releases his hold on your throat to place it around your waist and pulls you down, over and over, repeatedly until your body can do naught but fall to his mercy. “haah..! nngh….! fuck, fuck, fuuuck!”

“that’s it, kitten, just like that.” oh, heavens help him, he already feels himself beginning to waver, his hips staggering as he drives into you. he’s so close, his cock twitching viciously inside your beaten pussy, so close to exploding and filling you up. “take everything, you hear me? i’m gonna cum deep inside your filthy little cunt, and you better take all of it. gonna breed you again and again.”

“mhn! mhn! mhhn!” you’re far too gone to even understand the words he growls at you, far too gone to care for much else other than the sensation of him breaking you apart, or for the prayer you let escape your corrupted heart. “do it..! do it, waka…! let everything out and cum inside me, please, please, please!”

oh, how good did it feel to be at his mercy, to let him ruin you time and time again, at his beck and call. beneath his hold, you release all senseless moral and surrender to the wicked hunger of a being far greater than you. without warning, your body convulses beneath your pleasure as your second orgasm crashes over you. it rips through every vein in your body and releases itself from your core and you scream, your mind gone blank as you cream and squirt all over him. the very coil wound so tightly within your gut breaks like a tidal wave and pushes you off the edge, and after a few more harsh thrusts, you’re granted your reward.

wakatoshi grunts and gasps as his cock bursts his cum inside you, near panting as he pulls you flush against his hip and forces every drop into your delicate womb. his fingers dig deep into your doughy flesh, moans falling from him like a man needing air. he’d spent every last drop inside of you, his chest heaves on the aftershocks of pleasure, but gods be damned, he isn’t through with you yet. you, crumbled against his chest and fucked positively dumb, he hadn’t yet had his fill of you.

“h-hey, wakatoshi, what’re you—!” your startled shout goes unheard by the god as he forces you off his cock, only to bend you over rear up against the edge of the pool. shivers involuntary wreck your body, your whole clenching and your form already weakened by him. “please, i can’t take anymore, lemme rest a little— gaah!”

he silences you quickly by pushing his fingers into your stretched hole, pushing his cum back inside you as your walls object, already far too sensitive. “didn’t you hear me?” he grins, though you can’t see his expression from behind you. so, he pulls you up by your neck, grinning as he towers over your small frame. oh, how feeble and defenseless you stood before him, your legs couldn’t even support your frame, and it was all because of him.

“i said i’d make sure to fill up this tight little cunt. i’m not just done with you yet.”

© mambalae-s — rb’s+feedback are greatly appreciated!!

[echo-of-damnation]

Blind Devotion

Tags: Konrad CurzexJago Sevatarion, blowjob, light nsfw, light smut

Summary: There was only one thing Konrad craved more than anything in the galaxy and Jago is more than happy to give it to him.

Echo’s echo: Sorry for any weird formatting, I wrote this on my iPad. I really like this short piece but I might make it longer in the future when I have my laptop back. I just had to get this little worm out of my head for now before I went insane.

The Pile: @thisuserislilsilly

Word Count: 544

Konrad didn’t know “love”. It was a useless chemical imbalance that was bred out of him, something only baselines were unfortunate to experience. Honor, loyalty, obedience-those were the things that mattered to him, those were the emotions he bled out of those around him. What was the point of being made into a god among mortal men if those simple things could not be achieved?

A bead of sweat languidly made its way down his temple, the air cooling the thin strip caused a shiver to run up his spine.

He took his position at the top of the food chain with pride, much more than his brothers. He was their father’s weapon of fear after all. A surgical blade of violence forged in brimstone and blood. Those emotions were just as much a part of his arsenal as his claws.

A sweet tightness coiled in his belly as he continued to lose himself in his thoughts as he was lovingly tended to.

There was only one other emotion, no he corrected himself, state of mind, he sought after. Something only few ever showed over the centuries. Something that Konrad craved deep down inside of him, a primal need that clawed at his insides.

A sinfully warm and wet pressure pulled a low moan from deep within him. The arms he had draped over the back of the sectional he kept in his quarters strained to keep themselves still. His head lulled back; his dark eyes closed.

Konrad was pulled out of his thoughts and forced to be present in the moment. It felt like his body would explode and implode at the same time. Every fiber of muscle felt electrified with each ministration to his member. He was in a losing battle with the base need to reach out, to touch, feel, taste.

Konrad lifted his head to look down at the beautiful creature between his legs. He wanted to savor this moment just like all the times before this one and just like all the times that will come. He lazily opened his eyes and made sure to focus first on the rough patch of hair at the base of his cock. He could see the slick shine of spit contrasting against his deep black hair. A little higher and Konrad could see the large rough hand gentle caressing his length. It was scarred from year of brutal wars; each silvery line was a sign of victory. Pride swelled in Konrad’s guts at the thought of all the death and chaos those hands created caused his cock to twitch in the beautiful mouth that held him.

Ah, the mouth. One of his favorite parts. Dragging his eyes further up he could see the swollen lips that encircled him, a thick scar splitting one side of the mouth and up the pale cheeks of his perfect soldier. He loved to lick and kiss the length of that particular scar in the quieter more tender moments in his dark room.

Finally meeting the cock drunk eyes of his first captain, the word of the final emotion he craved shot through his mind at the same time as his climax flooded the mouth and filled the belly of his beautiful Jago Sevatarion, his Prince of Crows.

Blind devotion.