#bloodlust and heart wine

[rainy-day-gracie]

- wedding night -

A Venus & Mars mini series

pairing: General Acacius x virgin!wife!Reader

content warning(s): reader insert, no use of y/n, arranged marriage, implied age gap but nothing specific, oral (f recieving), fingering, loss of virginity, piv sex, innocence kink, self indulgent praise kink, Acacius definitely talks you through it, discussions of consent because consent is sexy mandatory, discussion of future sexual acts, AFTERCARE because aftercare is hot, general acacius is in loooooove but doesn't know it yet haha, romantic and intimate as hell, grievous historical inaccuracy because it's fucking fanfiction, canon divergent because duh

a/n: So guys. I saw Gladiator II and it was awesome and Pedro Pascal is the sexiest man alive (in my heart). However, this character's name is not Marcus. I don't know who lied, but we've all been fooled. So in this sequel, the general's name is just Acacius in order to stay at least a little bit true to the actual canon.

I definitely will be writing for these two again because holy shit I made this romantic and I love them so much.

Read wedding day here!

Read bloodlust here!

---

Acacius saw heaven in your eyes, a piece of salvation he never thought he might be able to grasp with his blood-stained hands.

He glanced down your body, wrapped beautifully in your white wedding gown, gold jewelry shining in warm candlelight. For a moment, he wondered Venus herself were tricking him with her immortal seduction.

But the blush of red in your cheeks, the shine of desire in your eyes, the beat of your heart in your chest....

No immortal possibly could mimic such evidence of true, temporary, and precious life.

Acacius had been with plenty women in his lifetime, had thought he understood what desire was.

I want you, you had said.

Now, he thinks he's only scratched the surface.

---

The general-- Acacius -- peered at you like a starving man at a feast, drinking you in, turning the wheels in his head of what he wanted to do first.

He grasped your hand in both of his, studying the golden band on your ring finger. Evidence of your gods-blessed union.

"I want to see you wearing nothing.... except for this," Acacius breathed, his voice low, and dreamy, like the words were slipping from him with no control.

"I'd like that very much," you said, trying to keep your hand from trembling under his touch.

"May I strip you bare, darling?" He asked, calloused fingertips fiddling with the clasp on your golden bracelet.

"Yes."

Instantly, the bracelet fell, and then the other, and then the other. Acacius' gentle touch drove you wild, methodical and sure. He stopped for a moment, glancing at the purity ring on your pinky, and smirked in a way that nearly made your knees buckle.

Glancing back up to your gaze, he held your stare as he pulled the purity ring off. His lips were a hairsbreadth away from yours, letting you smell the sweet cherry wine on his breath.

"Kiss me," you mumbled.

Acacius' smirk remained. "Patience, darling."

He tucked the purity ring into a pocket of his tunic, and turned you around, so your back pressed against his chest. A sigh caught in your throat, realizing he had turned you both to face the full-length mirror in the corner of the bedroom.

"Answer me honestly," he said, trailing one of his knuckles down the exposed skin of your spine. "Have you ever touched yourself?"

Heat rose to your cheeks, and you shivered at his light touch. "Uh..."

"Don't you lie to me, now. It's a great sin to lie to your husband," he whispered, his teeth nipping lightly at your ear.

"Yes."

"Yes, what?"

"Yes, I- I've touched myself. I've touched... my..."

"Your cunt?" Acacius mused.

You nodded, your chest rising heavily.

"Did you… like it? When you touched yourself?"

"N-no. I've been told it is not ladylike, to... pleasure yourself in that way."

Acacius kissed the back of your neck, making you arch into his touch. "Oh, my poor darling... there's nothing more ladylike in the world. Don't worry... I will show you how."

A full whimper escaped you at that, and Acacius undid the knots of your dress with a chuckle.

The dress fell, leaving you in only your loincloth, tied at your waist. But Acacius was looking at something else.

His eyes were transfixed on your perked breasts, his mouth slightly open as he wrapped one of his hands around the soft flesh. A high-pitched sigh left your throat, and he reached around with his other hand to take hold of the other breast.

"Do you like it when I hold you like this?" Acacius murmured, his mouth at your temple. He twitched his fingertips to pinch your nipples softly, making you close your eyes in pleasure. "Look at me."

Snapping your eyes open again, he stared you down in the mirror with a small devilish grin. He pinched your breasts again, pulling an answer from you. "Yes, Acacius."

"Good girl," he praised, your cunt throbbing at the words. He let go of your breasts, untying the cloth at your hips until you were utterly bare before him, save for your wedding ring. "Lie down on the bed, darling."

He brushed a palm over your plush backside, guiding you towards the beautiful linen bed. Plenty big for two.

You obey with a shy smile, sinking into the blankets and pillows like you were always meant to fit there. Watching from your comfortable bed, Acacius loomed over the foot, undoing buttons on his tunic, and ties on his robes.

Your lips parted slightly as he exposed the tan, scarred skin of his chest, flickering candlelight bathing him in a warm glow. He studied your expressions like a hawk, watching for any sign of discomfort or displeasure.

As he unlaced the toga and loincloth, leaving him as bare as you were, you had to keep yourself from gasping.

His cock hung heavily between his legs, not even fully aroused but still bigger than anything you had anticipated. He wrapped a hand around his manhood, smirking at your expression, but mercifully saying nothing about it.

“I am curious, my wife,” Acacius began, his voice a rumble. He pulled himself onto the marriage bed, caging you in the sheets with his arms and legs straddling. His eyes never left yours. “What did they say about me? When you learned of our union, what whispers crossed your ears?”

You licked your lips, speaking suddenly a challenge. “Um, that you w-were brave…”

Acacius leaned down, pulling one of your legs over his broad shoulders.

“…and strong…”

He mirrored the motion with your other leg, leaving your weeping cunt exposed.

“…a-and…”

Acacius paused, waiting for your answer. “And?”

“General, I shouldn’t speak ill…” you moaned, wondering if one could combust with desire.

“Tell me the truth, darling. Or you won’t get what you so eagerly want.”

“Th-they said you were cruel,” you stammered, desperately, any wall of self preservation coming down. “They said you took anything you desired, washed your hands with blood, and violence was the only language you spoke. Your rage eclipses that of Achilles, and your eyes blacken every time you raise a banner. You are of Mars himself, shedding blood like you were born to it.”

Acacius’ smirk from between your legs was wicked, and he broke your gaze for the first time since lying on the bed.

He studied your open cunt with a glazed expression, like he was lost in the pleasure of staring at your slick desire.

“If I am of Mars then you are of Venus, my darling.”

His words filled you with affection, the way his knees bent on the bed almost like he was worshiping an altar between your legs.

“So pure…” he murmured, as if the words had slipped from his lips.

Your back arched like a bow as he licked a stripe up your soaking slit, sighs escaping from your throat.

Acacius hummed with delight, fucking you on his tongue lazily, drinking your desire like nectar of the gods.

You buried your hands in his hair hesitantly, unsure of what would be pleasing to him. In all the times you eavesdropped on the married women of the court, never once had they mentioned anything like… this. Never once had they mentioned any of the overwhelming pleasure racking every limb of your body. Never once had they mentioned the lightning erupting over your skin with every brush of his calloused palm.

Acacius trailed his hands down your arched torso, cupping your breasts as his mouth traced patterns over your cunt. Your breathy moans made him chuckle into your flesh, the vibrations making you lift your hips with pleasure.

Throbbing built in your pussy, clenching around his tongue as your desire jumped at every brush of his lips.

“A-Acacius, gods…” you cried out, throwing your head back as a pinnacle raced towards you.

“Relax, my darling,” Acacius breathed, bringing one of his hands down to rest at your soft inner thigh. “I’m going to put my hands on you now.”

“Oh, please,” you begged, unsure of what it was you were begging for.

“Tell me if it becomes too much,” Acacius said, and his hand on your thigh moved.

The gentle brush of his rough fingertips on your slick folds had you gasping anew, pulling lightly on the locks of his hair.

“Such a pretty cunt,” Acacius mumbled to himself. “I have half a mind to just keep you like this.”

You whined in protest, your hips chasing his touch.

“So needy for a virgin.”

You threw your head back as his finger pushed past your slick folds, reaching spots inside of yourself that you hadn’t known existed.

“Oh, so tight, my love. You truly are pure.” Acacius curved his finger, brushing against something spongy, and sensitive. A guttural moan escaped your throat, and he laughed softly. “When the pleasure peaks, do not fight it. Let it take you away, somewhere only you and I exist.”

You nodded at his command, closing your eyes as your head sunk into the linen pillows.

Unrestrained cries erupted from you as he pulled his finger out, and in, and out again, hitting that sweet spot with every push inside of your aching cunt.

When he pressed his tongue to the bud at the top of your core, he pushed a second finger deep into your slick, making you wonder if the gods truly did become man. The stretch of his fingers pricked a pain deep within, making you clench tighter around his calloused fingertips. A slight brush of his rough facial hair against your core was your ultimate undoing.

You called out his name as the pleasure rushed down your spine, into your belly, and built in your desperate cunt. He knew it, too, and continued to thrust his fingers deep inside with renewed enthusiasm. His tongue licked against your clit with hunger, tipping you over the edge.

Cries escaped your lips as the pleasure overwhelmed you, every muscle in your body going taut as the desire took over. Your cunt clenched tightly, chasing his fingers, and your spire curved with tension as the wave of lust claimed you.

Acacius watched with a lazy smile as your core squeezed with your orgasm, evidence of your desire dripping off his lips.

“Acacius… Acacius…” you breathed as the climax subsided, your body relaxing into the bed once more.

“How do you feel, darling?” Acacius asked, crawling back up to press his nose against yours. His brown eyes were dark, pupils blown wide with adoration.

In place of an answer, you buried your hands in his curly, soft hair, pressing his lips to yours. He responded instantly, capturing your mouth with the passion of love and war.

His tongue pushed against yours, pure want seeping from every brush of his lips against yours. You gasped as his hands cupped your hips gently, like he was making sure you were a solid thing he could hold in his hands. Like he was worried you might slip through his fingers.

“I want more,” you whispered against his mouth, and he nodded with his eyes closed, like he was dreaming.

“It will hurt for a moment, but I will be gentle with you,” Acacius breathed, trailing light kisses against your throat. “Tell me when there is pain, or if you wish to stop.”

You nodded against his temple, and he pulled his lips back instantly.

“Say you want me, darling. Say you will tell me to stop if you wish.”

The intensity in those brown eyes, the desperation, had you squirming with desire once again.

You held his face in your hands, tracing your thumb against his rough stubble, studying him.

Acacius' nose was utterly Roman, looking like it had possibly been broken once or twice. Every mark on him was evidence of a man that had seen the Underworld and walked away, but not without a few scars to show for it. Though he had been nothing but gentle with you, there was no doubt he could live up to his reputation of bloodletting.

Still, you held him close.

"I want you, Acacius. I will tell you to stop if I wish to." There was no hesitation, no tremor in your voice.

He sighed in relief, reaching down to his hard cock and bringing it between your legs. You whined at the sensitive touch, and he grunted at the slickness of your folds.

"So wet for me, darling, so perfect," he moaned in your ear, guiding the soft flesh of your thighs to wrap around his hips.

Tentatively, he rubbed his cock up and down your core, getting you accustomed to the blunt feeling. You whined breathlessly, near begging for him to fuck you already.

"Patience, darling. I need to go slow to not hurt you," he mumbled.

The blunt head of his cock pushed past your sensitive folds, and you dug your nails into the strong muscles of his back.

Acacius let out a guttural groan into the heated skin of your neck. "So wet, and tight."

You called his name like a prayer, your head tossed back in pain and pleasure. Over and over again, you called his name.

"A little more, easy, easy..." Acacius moaned, pushing further into your virgin cunt.

You cried out in pinching desire. "S-so much, Acacius..."

"I know, darling. We're halfway there."

You held tight to him, his rough hands on your soft skin distracting you from the stretch of your cunt around his cock. "H-halfway?"

Acacius chuckled, holding still inside of you to let you adjust. "You feel... divine. So, so perfect, my sweet wife."

A high pitched moan escaped you as he pulled back slightly, kissing your neck as he pushed farther in. You clenched around him, and his lips on your clammy skin sent a fresh wave of lust panging though you.

But Acacius stopped, and you gasped in pain again, as if he had hit a barrier in your core he couldn't push past. You knew he could bottom out if he so wanted, but not without tearing you deeply.

Instead of pushing forward, he stayed where he was inside of you, tracing his nose along the curve of your jaw.

When he spoke again, his voice was low, almost like he didn't mean for you to hear his words.

"Do you want to know what I want, darling?"

You were too breathless to answer.

Acacius continued. "I want to fuck you so well that all of Rome hears you calling my name. I want to mark you with my mouth so you may look in the mirror and think only of me. I want fall to my knees and thank the gods that gave you to me. But for now, my darling... I want you to come on my cock with your most divine cunt."

Your cunt, as if on command, fluttered, and you moaned as he was able to fill you to the hilt without a pinch of discomfort.

"Oh, yes," Acacius whispered, his tongue darting out along your pulse point. You cried out in pleasure as he shifted inside of you, holding tight to his strong back.

"You... are... perfect, darling," he panted, thrusting slowly, in and out, in and out. "So warm, and tight..."

"Acacius, please..."

"Please... what?" Acacius teased, biting your bottom lip slightly as he pushed back into you.

"More... more," you said, digging your nails into the muscles of his shoulders.

Acacius responded in kind, chuckling at your desperation. "As my lady commands."

His thrusts into your aching cunt deepened, becoming harder as you grew needy for his strength. You tossed your head back with a high-pitched cry when he was able to hit that perfectly sensitive spot inside of you, and the reaction made him even more ravenous for you.

"Oh, you take my cock so well," Acacius praised, the words making your cunt clench around him. "So, so good, my darling."

As if he knew what you needed before you did, he pulled his chest away from yours, sitting up on his knees while thrusting into you. He looped his wide arms underneath your spread legs, angling you upwards on his thighs and pulling your hips up off of the bed. Your legs wrapped around his waist, and you arched your back off the sheets with a shriek of delight.

"Acacius, Acacius," you cried out, the new angle sending him deep into your core, hitting spots you hadn't even known existed.

"That's it, say my name," Acacius said with a smirk. "Say my name when I fuck you, tell all of Rome who is making you feel this good."

You couldn't stop, the falling of his name from your lips dripping like sweet honey. All you could feel was the sweat of his skin against yours, the calloused of his hands as they gripped your soft thighs closely, and the depths of your core his cock was able to reach.

"You're going to cum for me," Acacius ordered, his words coming out in pants of breath. "You're going to cum for me, because you're a good girl. You're a good girl, aren't you? Letting me fuck her virgin cunt so nicely, such a good girl..."

At his praise, your cunt tightened around his cock, back arching like a bow. As you came, he pressed a calloused hand into the flesh above your pelvis, the pressure making your high all the more intense. You cried out his name, over and over again, the two of you becoming the only people in the world as the tidal wave of pleasure overwhelmed you.

Acacius' thrusts into your aching core sped, became less focused, and you knew he was losing control himself as you came apart underneath him. Your name fell from his lips as he pressed his hand further into the spot below your belly, where his cock seemed to bulge into his palm as your cunt pulsed around him.

"Such a good girl, such a good wife," he moaned. Only when your core could only twitch in response to his strong thrusts did he slow, leaning back over you and capturing your lips in a searing kiss.

A warmth pooled within you, evidence of his pleasure. You didn't know if you'd ever felt such an intimate connection with anyone as you did with him, his kiss burning a brand into your heart as the heat of passion faded.

Acacius pulled away after a moment, breathing heavily against your throat. "Hold still a moment," he warned. His palms pressed against your hips, his cock sliding from you with a slight sting. You followed his advice, your legs feeling weak and shaky.

You studied him as he crossed the bedchamber to the washroom, his broad back dimpling with the movement. Returning with a clean cloth and a faint smile on his lips, the dimple in his cheek made your heart swell as he saw your sprawled body on his massive bed.

"Feeling comfortable?" Acacius asked, eyebrows raised with amusement.

You nod, watching him as he crossed over to you, pressing a chaste kiss against your lips as he carefully wiped your messy core.

Breaking from your lips for a moment, he pressed his nose against yours, and you cherished the gentle, intimate gesture.

"Shall I call the servants for a hot bath?" Acacius mumbled, tossing the cloth aside.

"A hot bath sounds divine, but only if we may take one together," you reply, slightly giddy.

Acacius furrowed his brows in confusion. "What is making you laugh, my darling?"

You kissed him again, long and slow. Time stood still, and it was as if you could physically feel the bond forging between the two of you, forging in a slow burn of a crackling fire. It was warm, and easy, and comforting.

You broke away, studying him in his eyes. "You are simply... not what I expected."

Acacius smiled, that damn dimple curving in his cheek.

The most feared general on the continent.

Your husband.

Acacius kissed your forehead. "You, my darling, are everything I've been dreaming of."

---

taglist (people that asked to be tagged in part 2): @marianastudiesart @joeldjarin @fallout-girl219 @shantellorraine @lanadelslay69-420 @pedrofan

my request box is open! would love to hear y'all ideas for Joel, Acacius, Javier, or Oberyn :)

[dewdropdinosaur]

Transparent Heart

Human! Alastor x Ghost Reader Summary:Alastor needs a new source of inspiration. Nothing sparks that bloodlust anymore, nothing can satiate the growing desires he has for more and more carnage. One night, while all a party with Mimzy, he meets Y/N. Or does he? The sweet woman seems innocent enough but in reality she is a ghost, a being of chaos gilded by a fasle innocence. His new muse may be undead but it sure sparks some life in him. Warnings: Undead reader, smut, mentions of P in V, Alastor is a warning in and of himself, Demi-sexual Alastor, non-sex repulsed. MNDI, 18+. You are responsible for your own media consumption. Pt 2

Celebrating 500+ followers!! Omg, everyone you cannont imagine my gratitude for this community. I started writing in January and just how much love and support I have recieved is mind-blowing. All of you are freaking amazing and I hope you know I adore you, my lovelies!

Alastor leaned against the dark wall of the burlesque club, his brown eyes scanning the vibrant display of sinful transgression before him, yet feeling none of it. The room pulsed with music, laughter, and the clink of champagne glasses, but none of it stirred him. He should have been thrilled—there were scantily clad dancers twirling and shimmying on stage, Mimzy was in normal form, charming the crowd with her flamboyant flair, and every inch of the room screamed excess. Innocent souls, ripe for the taking. A little southern charm here, a lingering touch there, a knife sliting their throat in a delectable squish that would send shocks of pleasure down his spine. It was a celebration, a riot of decadence that should have made his very soul hum with delight. 

But alas, the radio host. Felt nothing.

Once upon a time, this would have been his kind of night. The heady energy of sin, the delicious tang of chaos, the joy of being surrounded by souls desperate for something—anything—to fill the emptiness inside them. So desperate would they be, to fall into his greedy hands and he would grace them with the gift of death so sweet. It used to fill him with such vigor, such delight, like a fine wine sliding down his throat. But now, it was all just noise. Annoying noise.

The laughter? Grating. The champagne? Flat. The dancers? Nothing more than fleeting distractions. He watched as Mimzy flirted with a particularly tipsy patron, her laughter like tinkling bells, but it was all so... tiresome. 

He tilted his head slightly, and his sharp grin never wavered, but the sparkle in his eyes had dimmed. It was all a game, wasn’t it? A never-ending circus of false joy. No matter how many times he twisted the dance floor or how many souls he swirled into his web, it was all the same. Hollow. 

The feeling had come upon him suddenly a few weeks ago, stuck in a never-ending cycle of ambivalence. Nothing stirred the oh-so-normal bloodlust within his chest anymore. Nothing excited him to enjoy the chase, the screams. 

Alastor’s fingers tapped rhythmically against his glass, his gaze shifting to the stage as the dancers performed their latest number. It was all so… mundane. The bright lights, the glitter, the exaggerated performances—they meant nothing to him anymore. Maybe this is how he died, being a wallflower.

He exhaled softly, his voice barely rising above the cacophony. “Mimzy, darling,” he said, his tone languid, “do you ever get the feeling that all this glorious spectacle is just a bit... tedious?” 

Mimzy, amid her own little charade, paused and shot him a knowing look, her eyes twinkling with a touch of amusement. “Oh, Alastor,” she said, grinning wide. “You sound like you have been alive for centuries? Enjoy a bit of decadence. Pour some whiskey, put on some jazz!”

Alastor’s smile didn’t falter; a shadow passed across his expression. “Maybe that’s the problem, my dear. I’ve danced this dance for far too long.” 

And somewhere, deep in the pit of his chest, a voice whispered: Is there anything left to live for?

In the middle of his mid-but young-life crisis, a soft tap planted itself on his shoulder. His body became rigid, a dangerous flash passing through his eyes at the unwelcome contact. It was not entirely unpleasant, cold and soft. Strange, considering he hated all touch but one could suppose he had too much to drink. 

Alastor turned slowly to face the guilty party, only to find a petite woman standing before him. Pale, no doubt, almost sickly looking if her eyes hadn’t been the faintest shade of amber that brought the only sense of warmth to her face. Her hair was a light blonde, or was it gray? He couldn’t tell. All he knew was that this little pet had imposed themselves—

“If you are done staring, mister, may I continue my question?” 

Alastor blinked, his sharp gaze narrowing slightly. The soft tap had already left a prickling sensation on the back of his neck, and now this woman, audacious and unsettling, dared to speak to him as if he were some mere pedestrian. 

"What question?" His voice was smooth but cold, each syllable wrapped in the chill of his natural cynicism. It wasn’t the first time someone had approached him on a whim, but there was something different about this one. Something off-kilter, like a mismatched note in a song—one that lingered just long enough to be more than a fleeting annoyance.

The woman tilted her head slightly, the pale light accentuating the faint shadows beneath her eyes. There was something about her eyes, too—lifeless but sharp as a hawk’s. She seemed entirely unperturbed by his cold demeanor. 

"I was wondering," she began, her voice soft yet steady, "if you intend to stand like a wallflower all night or become something worth my time?"

Alastor’s eyebrows twitched, and his lips curled into something akin to a grin, though it was closer to a wolf’s smirk than anything resembling warmth. A question like that—drenched in disrespect, a dance with death itself. Was she…playing with him?

“Is that so?” His voice was laced with amusement, yet his eyes remained icy. “And what would a fragile little thing like yourself do with finding me interesting?”

The woman didn’t flinch. Instead, she tilted her head just slightly more, a ghost of a smile appearing at the corner of her lips. “I’ve seen it,” she murmured. “How you find no pleasure in this display around us. It’s no stranger to you and I am not a stranger to it either. I see you come in here and revel every week until recently. Why is that?

For a moment, Alastor was silent. He had heard words like these before, though they usually came from those who lacked any real understanding of the ruthless, visceral nature of existence. But something about her tone, so deliberate, so knowing, stirred something within him. Something deep. Why would someone he had never met, though who apparently watched him, ask such a personal question?

“Well aren’t you a brazen one, my dear. I would suppose, these events have just lost their…usefulness.”

“Oh, because you kill people?” 

He hadn’t expected that at all. How did she know? How could he play this off? A shadow passed over his gaze, darkened as he looked down at the calm woman. She was baffling…but certainly, the most intriguing thing he had interacted with in a while. He hadn’t expected anyone—let alone a delicate little creature like her—to speak with such clarity about the one thing he’d devoted his entire being to understanding: death. But then again, he realized, perhaps this little conversation had more teeth than he’d first assumed. 

Grabbing her wrist discreetly but with a vice hold, he dragged his newfound muse into an empty room on the other end of the club. Throwing her in the room, he assumed her frail stature might cause her to fall, but instead, she simply looked like she floated across the floor. Strange. 

He chuckled, but the sound was dry, devoid of humor. “You’re quite the curious thing,” he said, his eyes glinting as he regarded her more closely. “Now, how does a little thing like you, make such a bold assumption as that?”

“Well, I have seen you,” she replied simply, her gaze meeting his with a directness that was both unnerving and intoxicating. “You are quite clean with it I must say, well, except for the eating part…but then again I guess everyone has their preferences.”

Alastor was taken aback. A brief flicker of something like appreciation passed through his mind, quickly followed by annoyance. Was she toying with him? Was this an act, some mask for her true fragility? 

For a moment, he considered walking away, dismissing her as yet another oddity to forget. But the words she spoke lingered in his thoughts, gnawing at him like a restless hunger.

"What about you, Alastor?" she continued, her voice softening, almost as though she were coaxing him, "Do you fight it? The lack of bloodlust you’re feeling? Or do you surrender to the inevitable?"

Her words hung in the air between them, and the sound of her quiet challenge echoed in Alastor’s mind long after she’d spoken. He exhaled sharply through his nose, irritation flashing across his features. This woman had a way of pushing him in ways he didn’t particularly enjoy. 

And yet…

He growled lowly, stalking up to her with an imposing stance. Just kill her now, kill the witness. All his problems would go away, he could go back to standing on that stupid wall, drinking that flat champagne.

He glanced at her, a flicker of something approaching amusement in his eyes. Or…or he could have the most fun he had in weeks.

 "I suppose I don't have the luxury of surrender," he said, his tone colder now, sharper. "I’ve long since learned that life is more… interesting when you push against its edges. Though, I confess, there’s something rather invigorating about someone who understands the dance with death as well as you do."

She smiled this time a full, knowing grin. “I thought you’d understand,” she said with quiet certainty, leaning closer just enough for him to catch the scent of something oddly familiar—something sharp, like iron or fresh rain. “The world doesn’t stop spinning just because we want to rest. We can’t simply wait for the end to come. Until it gets here. No, Alastor, it’s all about taking it—grabbing hold of that final moment and making it yours.”

At first, Alastor found himself irritated by her relentless inquiries, the audacity with which she wove her words into the space between them. He considered walking away several times, but then, a strange thing happened.

Then, the irritation faded.

The longer they spoke, the more he felt the edges of his personality, drawn out by her words, her very presence. She was no weakling, no frightened soul. No, this woman was a kindred spirit of sorts—a creature of the abyss who spoke the language he had long since mastered.

But he supposed, it had gone on long enough. Even those whom he found mildly amusing had their time to go. And now, this woman had come to hers. Walking over to a desk in the room, he pulled the drawer open with the mask of preparing himself a drink. This was his typical room…to engage in his activities. As the woman faced away from him, staring blankly at the wall with what seemed ignorance, he approached. The blade was hidden deftly behind his back. 

“Well, my dear, as pleasant as this has been, I think it’s time we end this little game of ours.”

Raising the blade to her throat, he made the slice with a quickness that came with practiced ease. 

Only sweet, rich, red blood did not spill from her body for him to lap with reckless abandon. Her head remained intact, the blade leaving no mark. Backing up in mild shock, Alastor’s eyes widened in what he could only call horrific intrigue. How much had he had to drink?!

“Now, that was rather a rude thing to do.” The woman’s head turned…180 degrees, backward facing him. A small smirk painting to face. And then, her body started to float, righting itself to face him fully as he glided in the air to meet him. Her cold and frail fingers came to caress the edge of his cheek with a gentleness that surprised him. 

“Why would you do that to me, Al? I thought we were friends.” The woman….or ghost woman started to shed alligator tears. Her voice was a high-pitched wail that irked him to no end. 

“What…what are you?”

That caused the woman to pause, eyes sharpening as she looked at him with a look so fierce he felt like his own knife had pierced his heart. 

“I am Y/N. I…I am the ghost that lives here.” 

Now that would have caused him to howl in laughter had he not seen the spectacle before him. Y/N….the famed ghost story Mimzy would tell to scare customers into scam ghost tours of the club after hours for an extra buck. But here she was…in the flesh?

“I thought you knew me Alastor. I thought you understood me. Understood the darkness–” Y/N brought her hand back to his cheek, trailing it slowly, even seductively down his chest to the buttons of his vest. He felt a strange pull to the being, confusingly enraptured by her now. The transparent but uniquely cold nature of her touch sent shivers down his spine, in a way he almost did not mind. 

Where had this feeling come from? Had…had his interest in the conversation been actual interest in the woman before him? He usually never felt this way about anyone. Alastor’s lips parted in an attempt to refute his thoughts but nothing came out. 

Y/N’s hand lingered on his chest, her fingers brushing against the fabric of his vest with calculated precision. Her touch was cold, yet there was an undeniable warmth to the way it ignited something in him—something he couldn't name. Alastor's usual composure began to slip, the confident, omnipotent mask he wore trembling in the presence of this woman.

"You always talk about control, Alastor," she purred, her voice an intoxicating melody that seemed to bypass his usual defenses. "But perhaps you’ve never been in a position where control slips through your fingers, like sand... or, more aptly, like time."

Her words struck him like a thunderclap, rattling his thoughts. Time? Had he been so blind, so consumed by the world of his own making, that he failed to see what was right in front of him? He wasn't sure how to answer, only aware that something was shifting, like a piece of the universe slowly aligning to something he couldn't yet understand.

The smile she gave him was a little too knowing, and he hated it. But more than that, he couldn't seem to hate her—an emotion he had learned to master long ago. For a fleeting moment, her eyes softened, not in pity, but in a way that unnerved him. She was dangerous, yes, but there was something else there—a depth, a complexity that tugged at him.

“You look so lost, Alastor,” she whispered, leaning in closer, her breath cold against his skin. “Let me guide you..”

Her hand slid down, brushing against his vest, the tips of her fingers brushing the edges of his buttons, slowly popping them open one by one.  Every movement of hers seemed deliberate, calculated. And yet, as if it was just for him. That he was the sole focus of such tender devotions. 

Alastor swallowed, his mind scrambling to form the words to push her away, to reassert his authority. But instead, something inside him relented. He wasn’t sure if it was the warmth of her presence, the pull of her energy, or the simple fact that for the first time in ages, something made him feel alive.

“You think you know me, don’t you?” he said, his voice low, almost... intrigued. “But I assure you, darling, you know nothing.”

“Then let me learn, Alastor,” she whispered, her lips dangerously close to his ear. “Let me see the darkness you keep hidden. Let me understand what makes you... human.”

The word struck him like a jolt of electricity, and for the first time in a long while, Alastor felt something unexplainable deep in his chest. Was it love? Was it obsession? Or was it the terrifying realization that maybe, just maybe, he could understand her too? 

—————————————————————————————————

Clothes lay discarded on the hardwood floor, Alastor’s suit jacket among the heap. His body pressed her bare one flush to the hardwood floor, her lips continuing their long and languid assault on his own.

 All that remained was Alastor in a white button-up and boxers, his clothed member rutting onto her bare cunt. Moaning into the kiss, he tentatively brought his hands up to find themselves settling at the nape of the Y/N’s neck. Experimentally giving the roots a small tug, a growl emitted from Alastor’s lips, enjoying the way she shivered before him. 

It was almost like her form wasn’t there at all, that her body was transparent. Though, at this moment, he did not question the physics of how he could touch a ghost. 

Laid bare before his hungry eyes and desires, his cock came to be inside Y/N with one thrust; cunt wet and ready for him like it was made for this purpose. Like she was gifted to him by the divine to hold him close in the darkness and relish in his desires. How the serial killer, had come to be with a being who could not be killed. The one thing he could never kill. The irony wasn’t lost on him, though not his main idea at the moment. 

Conceptually, rationally, by all means of logic, Alastor knew it would never work. Except, in this very moment, cock pounding into her wet and inviting cunt, he couldn’t help but pray to whatever power was listening that something would come to fruition. 

Her moans were sweet on his ears, like southern sweetwater molasses taffy. The kinda of stuff you just can’t get enough of. With every rut of his hips into hers, those delicious noises would fall from her parted pale lips. Now, those were the kind of noises he would search for in the middle of the night. Screams, still scream, but those he wrought by giving her the utmost pleasure his mortal form could apply. 

All for her. His little ghost. 

[eroticisminmotion]

I also need to know more about what that spot is 👀

Feeling really very quite vamp coded tonight.

…neeed to look into the risks of drinking someone else’s blood.

Just like. shoving them down and sinking my nails into them till they whimper and taking A little knife to cut their thigh and pressing my lips to the pulsing wound and feeling how they plead when I dig into the wound with my tongue

Isn’t saliva antibacterial. I’m helping.

Actually I’m too horny to breathe.Please I need to do this to someone so bad.

[dakusan]

Recently found your account and I'm just loving your writing, and I'm also obsessed with Vamp Chan that I've already read all your posts about this fanfic. I wanted to know more about the two of them, like silly things, like what their routine is like as a couple or if they argue a lot, I also wanted to see what it's like when She's jealous of Chan. If you don't mind, never stop writing ♥️♥️

anon, my darling bat-winged sweetheart — welcome to the bloodstained side of town. at this point? i am accidentally building a vampire cult and you are so, so welcome here. you said you wanted silly things? jealousy? arguments? routine? baby, you're not ready for the cursed domesticity of vamp!Chan x blood doll!reader.

now let’s get into it: rituals, bloodlust, cuddles, and chaos—

· · ──────༺♱༻────── · ·· · ──────༺♱༻────── · ·· · ──────

✦ T H E I R R O U T I N E ✦

(aka: soft monstrosity and his favourite chew toy)

✦ He absolutely sleeps. In fact, he lives for sleep. But only when it’s with you. You’re sprawled on top of him like a weighted blanket and he’s purring like a devilish cat in a sunbeam.

✦ If you nap before him, though? He will sketch you. One hand on the pencil, the other absentmindedly stroking your arm. You wake up to soft humming and see a sketchbook half-covered under his chest. You ask to see it. He says no. So you pout. He caves. (They’re all you. Every one of them. Some naked. Some asleep. Some laughing. One that says “mine” in the corner.)

✦ If you’re brushing your teeth? He’s beside you, bent over the marble sink, polishing his fangs with a sleek little black-handled tool like he’s in a vampire K-beauty commercial.   You: "Are you flossing your fangs right now?"   Him: "They’re a weapon, sweetheart. They need maintenance."

✦ Every feeding is ceremonial. He doesn’t just drink. He lights candles. He puts on music. It's a whole thing!

✦ He pretends not to care about technology… but gets weirdly possessive over your phone wallpaper. "Why am I not your lockscreen? Change it. Now."

✦ You both own like six silk robes, yet somehow end up in his old oversized shirts and underwear every night. He claims he doesn't care. Then sucks a bruise onto your thigh because the shirt rides up too high.

· · ──────༺♱༻────── · ·· · ──────༺♱༻────── · ·· · ──────

✦ D O T H E Y A R G U E ? ✦

(yes. and no. but also yes.)

✦ You can’t really argue with someone who can hear the change in your pulse when you're mad. He’ll just tilt his head and go: “Your heart’s upset. Talk to me.” (And how do you stay mad after that??)

✦ Most “arguments” are over stupid things.   — "Stop glamouring the delivery guy to tip you more.”   — “I wasn’t! …Okay. Maybe a little.”   — “CHAN.”   — smirk “Fine. I’ll glam you instead. Happy now?”

✦ The only real fights come when he goes too long without feeding and starts slipping. You can see it in the way his eyes darken. The way he flinches at loud noises. The way his hands tremble when he touches your face.   And you say, “Stop protecting me. Feed.”   And he says, “I’m scared I’ll hurt you.”   And you say, “Then trust me to stop you.” It ends in tears. And a bite. And a promise. Every time.

· · ──────༺♱༻────── · ·· · ──────༺♱༻────── · ·· · ──────

✦ W H E N Y O U ’ R E J E A L O U S ✦

(she’s soft-possessive. he’s a smug menace.)

✦ you don’t get jealous of feeding. he only feeds from you. that part’s sacred. untouchable. you’re the altar. the addiction. the reason he stays sane. but—

✦ you do get jealous when people flirt with him. when mortals get bold and ask what cologne he’s wearing. when they giggle at his laugh. when someone dares to say, “you look familiar, have we met before?” (yes, bitch. in your nightmares.)

✦ and chan? oh, chan notices. he thrives on the flick of your eye, the shift in your jaw. he’ll drag a finger up the stem of his wine glass and say, “that look on your face…”   “what look?”   “the ‘i’m gonna tear her throat out’ look.”   “should i not?”   “no, you should. i like it when you’re a little… territorial.”

✦ your revenge? brutal. quiet. you bite his neck in the backseat. you leave hickey marks on his hips, visible when his shirt rides up. you make sure his lips are too swollen to flirt with anyone.

· · ──────༺♱༻────── · ·· · ──────༺♱༻────── · ·· · ──────

🩸 anon, my darkling beloved—first of all, welcome to the bloodstained palace. yes. it’s real. yes. we’re growing. i don’t know how we got here either but apparently i’ve started a vampire cult and you just joined by accident (or fate?). thank you for such a sexy little ask. silly, possessive, mildly chaotic vampire domesticity? YES PLEASE. don’t worry—this is just the beginning. you’re so not ready for what’s coming next. fangs out, baby. we’re in bloom 🖤🦇

[yayamemes]

TO QUOTE ASTARION . . .

∗ collected dialogue from baldur's gate 3

thou art saucy as gruel.

don't let fear cloud your judgement. that's what alcohol is for.

it's not you, you understand. it's me. i have standards.

just tell me i'm beautiful and we can call it a day.

there's a time and place for violence. i mean, this place is perfect, but is it the time?

fine, see how you get on without me.

ugh, that is an unfortunately fair point.

do you mind? i'm brooding.

you can't be serious. this is a howling wasteland!

enjoy your night with whatever goblin will have you.

i'd prefer my art to be a little less... shit.

now that's a lock that screams 'pick me'.

this would be perfect if i had wine. but i don't, so it isn't.

never listen to your second thoughts, they always spoil the fun.

tell me you had a plan beyond 'put us in danger'?

that's not normal, is it...?

some day, that soft heart of yours is going to be torn out of your chest.

thank you so much for telling me. now please, piss off.

seems i was wrong about you... about us.

what i've lost... what i've gained... it's all so much.

you're too cute to die.

i would like to see her dead in a ditch, but i can tolerate this.

well, well. look at you.

death doesn't become you.

no sweet hearts, no. i prefer them savoury.

are you working against me? or are you just simple?

hm... let me give it another go.

pity. you're tastier than you know.

how i have a whole new life stretching out in front of me, and you... you won't be able to join me... will you?

oh, don't be so sour. it's a party.

nothing's changed, but gods... everything feels different.

you may be right... that doesn't make it sting any less, though.

oh, you're a rare treat.

you think i'd kill you, just like that? darling, i would never.

i have my reasons, you can be sure of that.

we need a way out. now.

so, he's keeping notes on me? that would have terrified me.. once.

there now, we're all friends again.

now, if we're done, we have more important business to get on with.

we both want to survive, but why merely survive when you can thrive?

i spy with my little eye... nothing of note, really.

a distillery? not my preferred tipple, honestly.

such ambition. you make me look positively humble.

did that count as giving me the side eye?

is that... normal?

well, whatever you're into.

i was just wondering when you'd invite me back for a bite.

this will all be over soon.

it's enough to put you off tentacles for life!

really? and how, specifically, have you misjudged my fine character?

don't you EVER compare me to him.

i like this bloodlust look on you. ooh, very flattering.

hm? oh, i was just pondering that heart of yours.

all i had to do was not fall for you, which is where my nice, simple plan... fell apart.

hold very, very still.

well, some rest is better than none.

i've always wanted a vicious killer for a pet.

looks like the booze got the better of them, they're practically unconscious.

well, i hope there are no bad feelings.

wallowing in filth is for pigs and children, my dear.

now go, before i change my mind about roasting you.

worse than useless.

oh shit... i... did i do something wrong?

don't mind me, i'm just enjoying the show.

i don't know if i'm horrified or jealous.

oh, please. there's no need for such language.

i need you, you need me. it's that simple.

a chained book? oh, that's just begging to be read.

interesting choice, but who am i to judge?

i won't lie, it is tempting...

still alive, i see.

i'll try to restrain myself if you do.

a pile of old, dusty corpses. lovely.

[crguang]

a lover’s goodbye kiss

Are we ever truly done with grief?

angst, gn!reader, ptsd. 6k words of mourning and bitter reunions

A/N: this really got away from me, i also cried while writing it so do with that what you will. not entirely satisfied with it, but it’s okay. hope someone enjoys it regardless

Grief is a part of you. It seeps into your pores, settles in your bloodstream like cancerous chemicals and forces you to live with it, to endure the brunt of it lest memories pull you under permanently. For long-life species, grief is ironically common. The belief that Xianzhou natives are unaccustomed to death is a false one; though it is slow to come, it envelops them regardless, often twice over. The Mara curse is first. Its inevitability leaves an imprint in people’s hearts, a sort of impression they are born with and cannot outgrow. To be a long-life species is to become Mara-struck, a shell of your former self driven by bloodlust and fragmented memories. That, in itself, is death. Your body is no longer your own and neither is your mind, you are a senseless abomination destined to roam the world until someone or something delivers the fatal, long-awaited blow needed to end your misery. Though this heavy subject is not often discussed among the people, accepting that fate is done with bloodied teeth and scorched fingertips, a personal battle with grief from which you come out only somewhat victorious. Knowing that you’ll eventually be stricken by Mara is one thing, accepting that your loved ones will walk the same path is another entirely. No one talks about the worst part. Nobody tells you what you’re supposed to do when the memories fade away, replaced by the acrid smell of sulfur and a chill in your bones that you can never shake.

Hundreds of years of memories— content smiles, sun rays onto sweaty skin, cold hands in pale locks of hair, unspoken devotion— are hidden behind mist requiring immense focus to see through. You are not Mara-struck yet. Your mind is still your own, as much as it can be, and you are still alive. You ask yourself why often. Why it was her, first, and not you. Why you’re stuck living with holes inside of you when maybe you should’ve died along with the hundred Cloud Knights that had the misfortune of crossing her path that night. Loss has made you ashamed, you can’t even speak her name. It’d been erased from history and forbidden after that night, out of social disappointment and shame, but that is not why you can’t bear to utter it. It’s unfair that this is what you remember most of her; the collapsed buildings, the unbearable smell, the frozen corpses… Her beloved blade through your stomach. The way her gaze softened after a few glasses of wine has been replaced by the flash of crimson you caught a glimpse of before her sword buried itself in your guts. You vaguely recall how endearingly tight her muscles always were, how you or Baiheng had to smooth the knots out of her body once in a while. The news of her breaking out of the Shackling Prison, however, along with the screams that followed form a clear image in your treacherous mind. What use are memories if they are so fickle, so easily supplanted by horrors that quicken your heartbeat on thought alone?

If anything, you do not shoulder this immense grief alone. Jing Yuan was a scrawny, eager boy when you first met him, almost half your height and always trailing behind her like the dutiful apprentice he was. His enthusiasm lit up the training yard and his youthful determination quickly earned him a place amongst your most cherished. He would seek you out after hours of conditioning, sweat still clinging to his bushy brows, and request a friendly spar to show you what he’s learned, how fast he was getting, how swift he could slash his sword. Your position as a Lieutenant of the Cloud Knights made him look at you with naked admiration, he’d hang onto your every word with a seriousness unfit of his age and at times offered insight only a boy who had never known war could come up with. You think you remember a figure in the shade of a growing tree standing several feet away from where you and Jing Yuan sparred. Quiet as a golden eagle, diligent gaze making note of every sloppy thrust and slow retreat she would reproach her retainer afterwards, his master only revealed herself when the tip of your blade against his neck announced his defeat.

Jing Yuan was the one to rescue you on the ice. His quick intervention allowed for healers from the Alchemy Commission to reach you in time and tend to your injuries. He was also the one to end her. It had to be him, you know, but you regret your own weakness, your faltering steps and half-hearted parries— it’s a burden you wish he never carried. He bears it with a solemn glint in his eyes and an impeccable posture but he’s not General of the Xianzhou Luofu to you, and so he lets you keep him close whenever he visits your empty home. His appreciation for the comfort goes unsaid, though his shoulders stand inches lower once he sets out the door. After all, he lost her too.

You get déjà vu when Jing Yuan walks across the training yard with a skinny blonde boy in tow and introduces him as his retainer, Yanqing. His apprentice is just as eager and energetic as he was, and it’s easy to fall back into old habits when the boy eventually nags you into sparring with him. He’s talented, determined to achieve his goals, but a little too proud and overconfident. His arrogance reminds you of an old friend who once forged the sword you still wield like an extension of your arm. It’s somewhat endearing, and not entirely unearned. A part of you vaguely recalls the annoyed purse of the Sword Champion’s lips whenever your mutual friend would go on another spiel about mastering the way of the sword. Your fingertips trace the sheath of your blade at the thought.

The Stellaron crisis plunges the Luofu into disarray. It brings destruction and death to the Xianzhou on a scale that reminds you of her, of the illuminated moon in the night sky and the blood on your hands. You can’t allow the memories to paralyze you like they often do, however, so you work with Jing Yuan and the Master Diviner in order to eliminate the internal threat that pose the Disciples of Sanctus Medicus. The Mara-struck fall twice under your steel and the rest of the Abundance’s abominations quickly become light work for someone as experienced as you are. Since the Ambrosial Arbor crisis, they’ve been gathering in Stargazer Navalia the most, forcing an evacuation of all civilians to safer areas of the Luofu.

Though he has plenty of work on his hands, this is where Yanqing likes to disappear for an hour each day— additional training, he says. You trust his abilities, but today he is needed at the Alchemy Commission and is currently unreachable. No one has seen him for a while. You have an idea of his whereabouts, so you offer to look for him and relay the General’s message.

Two Cloud Knights stand guard as you enter Stargazer Navalia. Their posture straightens when they see you and they nod once in greeting.

“Has anyone seen Lieutenant Yanqing come through here, by any chance?”

One of them replies, “He was there an hour ago on an official investigation. Passed through here and went further into the docks.”

You don’t know about any official investigations but you offer a thankful nod anyway before walking past the Knights. The large shipping containers and crates create paths that workers use during the day but you figure it’d be easier to look for Yanqing if you had a better view of the area. You jump on top of a container and carefully skim the place ahead. As expected, abominations and Mara-struck lay on the floor, strewn about like discarded clothing. You follow their trail further inside Stargazer Navalia, between growing starskiffs and through already opened doors. It takes a little over ten minutes to catch up with the freshly cut-down enemies laying about as you hop from container to container. Shards of rock hard ice glimmer in the sun near the bodies, no doubt Yanqing’s doing. Honestly, that boy…

You can see his blonde hair when you advance a little further. He’s turning a corner, so you take a shortcut running above a long, empty container and land on the one behind him with a thud. The sudden noise alerts him and he swirls around with a hand on his sword, ready to attack, but you’re not looking at him. The ghost of a woman long gone stands beside him, her back to you, with a stillness that indicates she’s been aware of you before you made your presence known. The sight of her pale locks burns into your brain. The intricate design of the familiar attire she dons chokes you like firm hands around your throat, and you falter. The blues and whites and reds mix together as you blink to regain your footing.

“Lieutenant!” Yanqing straightens up, sheathing his blade. “What are you doing here?”

You taste ash on the roof of your mouth. Your fingers curl around the handle of your sword. Falling buildings, frozen corpses, sulfur burning your nostrils. Her blade through your stomach. (Hesitant fingertips against your cheeks, implied confessions, oiled palms on tense muscles.) A feeling that has been dormant for centuries stirs in your guts, snakes around your intestines and tightens your stomach. It travels through your ribcage and up your bobbing throat, forcing you to swallow it back down. There’s the slow ascent of the moon behind your eyelids with each blink and the stutter of your chest with each breath— a chill spreads over your limbs and they tense as if frozen in place. It paralyzes you; you feel mocked by the way your feet are glued to the metal under them. You are reminded of your previous weakness, of your blood on the ice and its frigidity seeping into your skin. You grit your teeth.

“Jingliu…” Her name is forced past your lips, evicted after uncomfortably sitting on your tongue for hundreds of years.

She does not move, except for the flicker of recognition that goes through her fingertips. A mirage, she has to be— a nasty trick of your fractured mind because she cannot be here, breathing, when Jing Yuan assured you of her demise.

“Huh? You know her?” Yanqing asks, oblivious to your struggle as he glances back to the woman next to him. His query confirms that she is flesh and blood but leaves no hint as to her state of mind. If she is the same as she was centuries ago, then he and the Luofu are in great danger.

“…Yanqing. The General is looking for you. Alchemy Commission.”

The boy frowns. “Did something happen? There’s something I have to finish up before—“

“Yanqing.”

He stops in his tracks with furrowed brows, displeased at having been interrupted. You finally tear your gaze away from Jingliu’s tense posture to look at him. He sees your hardened eyes and hesitates, turning towards his new acquaintance for a few seconds before clenching his jaw and nodding once. You outrank him, and though it often pains him to do so, Yanqing knows to respect the Cloud Knights hierarchy. He walks away without a word and disappears between the various shipping containers.

You stand above her, a hand on your blade, and breathe in the smell of the docks to loosen the pressure in your guts. It’s the middle of the day, the weather is warm, your skin is uncut. Blurry images of grasping hands sinking into bed sheets and locking lips fill your mind until you can’t see anything but the way her asymmetric bangs frame her face as she hovers over you, breathless. The crimson of her irises are dulled to a lustful cherry and she looks at you like she doesn’t believe you’re real. A fragment of her one-track mind and hateful heart made tangible for one night, to appease the disgusting yearning for closeness that lingers in her bones. She is not a weapon used against the Abundance and you are more than the fellow Cloud Knight that joined the ranks before she was thrusted into them. As her knuckle trails down your cheekbone to the corner of your parted lips, you are a new constant in her future, an immovable force that she cannot plan around, and she is just a woman. Not a survivor, not a fighter, she is a woman who longs for another’s recognition and gentle hands. And as she leans down to graze her bottom lip against your top one, you feel the searing pain of her blade piercing your flesh.

Blood trickles on your tongue and you realize it is from how hard you are biting the inside of your cheek. The visions are gone, replaced by Jingliu turning around to face you, her free hands limp at her sides. Her chin tilts slightly upward. She’s wearing a dark blindfold over her eyes— some part of you is grateful to be hidden from her sight— but you know it wouldn’t alter any of her abilities.

“Lieutenant…” She only says a word, trails off as if it leaves a strange sensation in her mouth. It’s not a question or a tentative statement; she utters your title with an infuriating fondness, like you’re an old friend she hasn’t seen in a while. It makes you sick.

“…You are not dead,” you state blankly.

Jingliu takes a short breath. “Not yet, no.”

There’s a sluggishness to her words and a rasp more prominent than you recall it to be. Her voice is raw and breathy like every sentence comes at a price, and you are reminded of the curse that plagues her. You don’t understand how she’s standing here, seemingly sane, when the Mara had overcome her the last time you laid eyes on her. Still, the hand on your sword tightens its hold. There’s a thousand things you want to ask, a thousand more you wish to convey through touch alone, but you cannot trust her.

You wonder if she remembers almost ending your life. You wonder if she is haunted by regret and grief the same way you are. You wonder if some part of her still clings to that stricken body.

“You can let go of your sword,” Jingliu says, “I mean the Luofu no harm.”

“And me?”

“...You?”

You swallow a lump in your throat. Your toes tingle with sudden restlessness and it thaws the rest of your limbs, allowing you to take a measured step forward. “And me, Jingliu? Will you draw your blade against me once more?”

She is silent for some time, tense, and her fingers slightly curl inward in a momentary loss of composure. You can’t tell if it’s because she doesn’t recall ever doing that or because she does and the thought brings her pain. Finally, she shakes her head.

“You are not my enemy.”

“I wasn’t your enemy back then, was I?”

“…Your trust in me is inconsequential. I came to the Luofu to atone for my sins and surrender myself to the Alliance.”

Your jaw clenches. Past the initial confusion, you feel cheated. Angry. Hundreds of years of broken memories, lasting grief and paralyzing terror have eroded you, flayed you until you are nothing but bones and ligaments. You are walking the earth as less than half a person for no other reason than this is the destiny of all long-life species. Your closest friends have either fallen or withered around you, and that loneliness has debilitated you. How utterly unfair. You have dedicated most of your life to the Xianzhou Alliance and its people, you have been selfless, understanding, devoted, and you are rewarded with injustice. The person who you once called your strength has become the main character in your nightmares, and here she stands, ready to give up the pieces that are left of her to the same people who have ostracized her out of shame for centuries. For all the unbearable pain she caused you, she came back for them. You are the one she has a history with, you are the one whose life is intricately woven with hers. You are who she should be seeking atonement from, not the Ten-Lords Commission and the Arbiter Generals.

You don’t notice how pale your knuckles are from the grip on your weapon or the heaviness of your chest quickening your breath. You stare her down with gritted teeth and Jingliu doesn’t shy away from the growing fury in your gaze.

“Inconsequential,” you repeat in disbelief, your voice a little louder. “Inconsequential, me!”

“This is what I have to do. It is bigger than you, bigger than me.”

You jump down the container to land in front of her. She simply adjusts the inclination of her head.

“Do you remember, Jingliu? What you did to me?”

Her lips form a thin line. Her lack of response angers you further. You unsheath your sword and point the tip to her own weapon resting against her hip, then to her chest.

“Draw it.”

Jingliu makes no move to obey. “I will only unsheath my blade against my enemies, and you are not one of them.”

“You are cursed to forget, but I cannot. It is in every blink, in every pause; the destruction you caused, my—” you swallow, features twisting in a pained grimace, “my blood on your sword.”

Jingliu doesn’t reply, though her fingers twitch with restraint. Her chest rises and falls a beat faster, the only indication that your words are getting to her. You know this is unfair, that you’re only contributing to the injustice you have to face as a long-life species, but anger clouds your judgment and incites this hostile behavior.

“Draw it!” You exclaim in frustration. “Unsheath your blade and face me!”

You lunge forward in an instant, your weapon raised in a practiced arc towards her neck, forcing her to move out of the way. Her body instinctively bends into a defensive stance, but she makes no move to use her sword. You repeat the motion, over and over, and Jingliu evades each strike with an expertise only she possesses. She still refuses to fight you, to revert to the mindless abomination she was that night. You force her into a corner and as your blade descends at an angle to make contact with her bare shoulder, she leaps high over your head and lands gracefully behind you.

“Must we do this?” She sounds mentally exhausted, each word is spoken through pursed lips and a quiver goes through her sword-wielding hand.

You swirl around, molars grinding in anger. “Yes! You have haunted every part of me and replaced every cherished memory in my mind! You are what I see when I lay down at night, standing over me as I choke on my own blood!”

Jingliu brings a clawed hand to her temple and utters, “Enough…”

“You are the face of my nightmares, Jingliu.” Your voice cracks halfway through the sentence. “It ends today.”

When your weapon comes down to strike her this time, its steel meets Jingliu’s specially crafted blade. She uses the momentum of her parry and pushes you back with so much force it sends you flying, your back colliding into the side of a shipping container. You rise to your feet with a shaky breath.

The clash of swords rings in the air as you move between incubating starskiffs and metal crates in an emotional dance. Street lamps fall, stationed starskiffs are cut in two, jade wheels are damaged and incubators break. Jets of their liquid explode everywhere Jingliu returns your strikes with stronger ones, and soon you’re crashing into yet another door. Blood trickles down your nose. There’s a nasty cut on your hip that will require medical attention. You stand, unwavering, and pounce towards the other woman once more. Jingliu grits her teeth as her parry brings your face close to hers. The distinct melody of her blade in movement fills her ears and the ground shakes under her feet. All around you structures are falling, narrowly missing you.

Your muscles strain with exertion but with the feeling comes a strange sort of relief that only intensifies when Jingliu has you pinned to the pavement, swords previously discarded some feet away with an experienced flick of her hand. You’re both breathless for a long moment and for the first time since her reappearance in your life, you don’t taste smoke in the back of your throat.

The pink of her parted lips is the same shade it was almost a millennia ago. The world blurs and you see a flash of a moment long passed of the two of you in the same position; Jingliu’s smug smile hides the sun from view and the bustle of the training yard resumes the minute her victory is announced. When you blink your way back to reality, only a few seconds have gone by. You stare up into the blindfold, chest heaving. Your fingers hesitantly lift to graze the apple of her cheek. One of them slides under her veil and her hand wraps around your wrist to stop you from going further.

Her name is a breathy exhale past your lips. Her shoulders suddenly tense and her head tilts away from you. The moment breaks as she separates from you, rises to her feet and takes a couple steps back. Almost immediately, Cloud Knights rush to the scene in formation, followed closely by the General and his retainer. You let out a sigh, gaze raising to the clear sky. You lose yourself in its endless blue, a heaviness in your chest, until Jing Yuan’s outstretched hand appears in your vision. Jingliu is gone when you accept his help and stand with difficulty, along with Yanqing and the squad of Knights. Jing Yuan wraps a strong arm around your shoulders, steadying you, and you make your way back in silence.

He doesn’t leave your side even as you step into your home and make a beeline for the bathroom. His arms are crossed over his chest and he leans on the doorframe as you rummage through your cupboards for bandages and disinfectant. You find what you’re looking for after a couple minutes and sit on the toilet seat, lifting your armor over your head and discarding the bloodied shirt underneath. The cut on your left hip stings when you gently inspect it. It’s deep enough that it won’t be able to close on its own but not life threatening. You softly apply disinfectant so it doesn’t get infected, clenching your jaw at the pain.

“You should let the Dragon Lady take a look,” Jing Yuan finally speaks up, “or the Alchemy Commission have other experienced healers. They’ll treat you in minutes.”

You almost roll your eyes. You’ve been patching up wounds before he could hold a sword.

“Pass me the stitches.”

He complies, tossing you the plastic box on the counter. You catch it with a hand. Another silence settles between you as you sink the needle into your skin and tighten the thread, occasionally sucking in a breath. The space lingers with tension but neither of you acknowledges it until you break the thread of the stitches and apply a large bandage over the wound. You sigh tiredly and raise your head to meet his guarded gaze.

“Why did you lie, Jing Yuan?”

He takes a moment to reply. There’s a hint of guilt in his golden irises. “…I thought it to be the best course of action at the time.”

You don’t blame him. The days following Jingliu’s departure from the Luofu are a blur, hidden behind a smoke screen so thick you might as well have forgotten them. You only recall the sting in your throat, raw from how much you cried, and the darkness of your bedroom. Jing Yuan was there, as much as he was able to, so he must remember those days better than you; how shattered you were, like fractured shards of glass swept under the carpet. You can’t fault him for wanting to bring you closure.

You rise from your seat and put back the supplies in their rightful place. Jing Yuan steps aside as you walk out the door and watches you disappear in the bedroom for a change of clothes. You grab the first top you see and shrug it on. You don’t bother fixing your hair, you just make your way back to the living area to put on your boots and grab your discarded sword near the door. Jingliu should have been brought to the Shackling Prison after her arrest, so this is where you’ll go.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Jing Yuan says from behind you, making you pause. “We don’t know how stable she is.”

“She seemed stable enough.”

“For now.”

You turn to face him. “Then, why are you here? We both know bars can’t hold her.”

“I wanted to check up on you.”

“...I need to do this.”

Jing Yuan only shuts his eyes in defeat and nods once. He doesn’t follow you when you leave the house and shut the door behind you.

You have no issue getting into the Shackling Prison and acquiring Jingliu’s cell number. It’s not a place you visit often despite your position, the memories it holds have a way of consuming you and leaving you clenching your throbbing head. You navigate its somber hallways and silent cell blocks with an uneasy feeling in the pit of your stomach. Your steps are swift, determined. You don’t stop to think about what you’re going to say once you’re face to face with her again. Jingliu is being held in a special containment chamber only used for dangerous criminals, with two Cloud Knights standing guard in front of the reinforced steel door. They look at each other when you plant yourself before them.

“No one gets in, General’s orders,” one of them says.

Your relationship with Jing Yuan is not a secret and often opens a lot of doors for you but encountering soldiers eager to please is a common occurrence. You have a few dozens under your command, they’re usually easy to deal with. However, the day has been long and you’re lacking the required patience to do so.

“Take it up with Jing Yuan, then.”

You push past them and they hesitate to stop you, glancing at each other. They grip their lances tighter when you open the door but don’t move as you enter the cell and close it after you.

The chamber is big enough to hold a single bed and a toilet in the corner, though its grey walls make it seem smaller than it is. The room would be casted in total darkness if not for the dim glow of the singular lightbulb on the ceiling. Jingliu is seated on the untouched mattress, legs crossed and palms flat on her knees. Her back is straight, her blindfold in place even in the low lighting, and you seem to have caught her in the middle of a meditation. She doesn’t speak as you stand awkwardly near the door, a hand curling around the handle of your sword in search of familiarity.

A couple minutes pass in tense silence with only the gentle buzzing of the electricity crackling through the lightbulb. You take that time to observe Jingliu for any sign of Mara. The even movements of her chest indicate her calm state of mind. Apart from the veil, she looks exactly the same as she did centuries ago; there’s no trace of the curse on her, and you are suddenly reminded of the first time you noticed her— you were the previous Lieutenant’s apprentice and she was a thin, pale girl haunted by nightmares of burning planets and suffocating fumes. That day, she crossed the training yard with a limp and cuts over her body, shattered sword held tight in one hand. You hadn’t gone out onto the field yet, your master didn’t think you were ready, but Jingliu had and you remember thinking that despite her poor state, she must be stronger than you. She would walk back at the end of each day with splintered and bruised skin and you would sneak her a glance, wondering what enemy she could have encountered this time. She was forced to survive and grew on the battlefield long before you did.

While you both learned the way of the sword, you did it to protect and she did it to cut down the object of her nightmares. Together, you climbed the ranks of the Cloud Knights and surpassed your masters. The burden of war brought you closer and your relationship transformed over the centuries; from comrades, to friends, to the one she went to whenever she craved peace from the visions plaguing her, to something more. You are deeply embedded in each other, her life story is yours and your mind is hers. The Mara curse might twist your perceived memories of her but it could never erase the affection you hold for her. It’s precisely because she means so much to you that thoughts of her have been tormenting you so.

Jingliu raises her head in acknowledgement and you’re brought back to the present with a blink.

“Sending you to interrogate me,” she says with a short exhale, words slow and raw, “how cruel.”

“That’s not why I’m here.”

She doesn’t reply, waiting for you to continue. You swallow the emotion in your throat.

“I’m here for closure.”

You take your eyes off her and turn away, facing the blank wall with a hand in your hair. You take in a slow breath and exhale through your mouth as fatigue begins to take over your limbs.

“You don’t get to come back,” you start. “After all those years, you don’t get to reappear and trail all those memories along with you. You said you were seeking atonement from the Alliance. So you remember, then.”

Jingliu is silent for a moment. Your back makes contact with the wall as you sit on the floor with your legs limp before you. You don’t look at her, instead staring at your covered toes.

“…I remember the voices,” Jingliu says softly, “so loud I couldn’t hear anything else. I remember people, the ice… you.” She takes a breath and shakes her head. “I am aware of the hurt I’ve caused, of the sins that cannot be erased. They will follow me until the end, but I cannot let them hold me back.”

“From what?”

“From cutting the heart of a star.”

The turn of phrase transports you back to a drunken evening and Baiheng’s contagious laughter, to the sweet aftertones of fruit in red wine and the flush in Jingliu’s cheeks as she stares at the setting sun. Flashes of that day appear in your mind; Baiheng’s ridiculous dares, your shared competitiveness, Jingliu’s tipsy kisses as consolation prizes. The unexpected memory warms you.

“Revenge, then. Even stricken with Mara, this is what you hold on to.”

“I was never satisfied with letting our enemies come to us.”

That much is true. Jingliu only ever plays the offensive.

Your head turns to face her. “Do you remember us? Even I only recall bits and pieces, now.”

Jingliu’s pointer finger taps her knee for some time. Then her chin tilts to the left, towards you.

“Bits and pieces, yes…” she repeats pensively. You wish you could see the pinch of her eyebrows. “You used to hate losing to me in duels.”

“Of course you’d remember that.”

There’s a hint of a smile on Jingliu’s lips. A light silence descends between you. It’s strange, being in a confined space with someone who you thought long dead; even stranger conversing with Jingliu after everything that went down with Yingxing and Imbibitor Lunae, with Baiheng, and the Luofu’s growth that she didn’t get to witness. You never thought you’d have a chance to see her again, let alone hear her voice speak back to you. Your fingertips twitch with the desire to hold her close.

“I forgot to ask, earlier,” you say, “about the blindfold.”

“It keeps me from seeing that which pulls me under the influence of the Mara. I have pushed past the limits of my mind a long time ago, but… the reprieve it gives me is welcomed.”

“Your will is admirable. Always was.” You think for a few seconds, then speak up hesitantly, “Will my touch be a trigger?”

Jingliu is slow to respond. You see her lips part to let out a sharp exhale and notice the new tension in her shoulders. You feel selfish for needing a semblance of the intimacy you once shared when her mind is so fractured and fickle. The feeling tightens your throat.

“…It shouldn’t.”

Your emotions threaten to consume you as you stand and wipe your palms on your thighs. You take some steps forward, hesitating when you reach the bed. Her head tilts backward as if staring at you through the cloth over her eyes. With a gentleness that surprises even herself, Jingliu uncrosses her legs and outstretches her hand. Your fingertips touch hers and with a flick of her wrist, slowly lace with hers. She pulls you into her, your knees on each side of her hips and your nose in her shoulder; her freezing hands travel over the expanse of your back and her head dips to breathe in the smell of your hair. You pinch your trembling lips and squeeze your eyes shut to keep the tears at bay, but it’s no use when you can feel the empty sockets that loss has dug inside of you over the years fill up with tenderness. A quiver runs through you. You feel Jingliu’s shaky breath near your ear as she pulls you tighter into her. Your arms wrap around her with as much emotion and warm tears roll down your cheeks over her frigid skin. Her touch makes you whole again, if only for a moment— she is tangible against you and not a fragment of the darkest recesses of your mind. It would seem unreal if you couldn’t feel the softness of her flesh beneath your fingertips.

“How lonely you must have been,” Jingliu mutters into your hair. You know she relates.

“I mourned you,” you manage to say, voice tight. “I’ve accepted that you’re gone. I won’t grieve any more.”

“Good. Then allow me a proper goodbye.”

You cry into her for a long time. Jingliu simply holds you closer with a hand on your back and fingers buried in your hair. You won’t see her again, she will be tried and judged on the Xuling and will go back to being a ghost of your past years. You only hope that this time the memories will be softer, full of her touch as she cleans your cuts; the curve of her mouth when you whisper good morning into her shoulder; the exhilarating sensation of her lips on yours after an exhausting day of wielding the sword. She remains your strength even as your tears dampen her clothes, with the scent of her around you and her breath in your ears, you feel strong enough to let her go. You lost her to the curse of the Abundance once, but she won’t slip through your fingers now. Regret and shame fade away, replaced by this new warm memory of you in each other’s arms. Her unnatural coldness expands your heart instead of constricting it and you let go of the collapsed buildings and acrid sulfur in the air; there’s only Jingliu’s lingering fondness and her calloused palms on your body. In this confinement cell, you say goodbye to a part of you.

[thatfatbitxch]

Shadowbound

Pairing: Lucius Malfoy x Reader

Summary: Reader works for the Order of the Phoenix and uses their ability to move through shadows to infiltrate Death Eater meetings. Lucius Malfoy discovers their secret.

Note: This fanfic was written as a request for a Lucius Malfoy story where the Reader has the ability to move through shadows.

∴.·:*¨¨*:·. ☙.·:*¨ ¨*:·.♡ .·:*¨ ¨*:·. ❧.·:*¨ ¨*:·.∴

The air in Malfoy Manor was thick with candle smoke and tension. Hooded figures sat in a loose circle, their murmured conversations weaving through the grand drawing room like threads of an unspoken agreement. The Dark Lord was absent tonight, but his followers still gathered—plotting, scheming, waiting.

And watching.

From the darkest corner of the ceiling, unseen and unheard, you lingered. The shadows curled around you like living things, shielding you from sight. The gift—or curse—of shadow-walking had made you an invaluable asset to the Order of the Phoenix. Dumbledore had been hesitant to use you at first, but war demanded sacrifices. Morality bent in the face of necessity.

You shifted, a silent movement in the rafters. A whispered incantation from your lips merged your body with the darkness again, allowing you to slide along the walls like smoke.

Tonight, you were here for information.

The voices of the Death Eaters drifted up to you.

“The Ministry is weakening,” a deep voice murmured—Macnair. “With our influence inside the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, we can begin preparing for the next stage.”

“If the fools in the Ministry were ever competent, they’d have seen this coming years ago,” sneered another—Lestrange. “They’re so desperate to maintain their fragile peace, they won’t dare to act until it’s too late.”

Your fingers itched. If you had your dagger, you could slit their throats before they even saw you. But that wasn’t your mission tonight. You weren’t here to kill—only to listen.

Then, a voice cut through the murmur. Lucius Malfoy.

“And what of the Order?” His voice was smooth, unhurried, but edged with something sharp beneath the surface. “They are not as blind as the Ministry. If we underestimate them, it will be our undoing.”

You hated to admit it, but he was right.

Lucius was a man of strategy, not reckless bloodlust like some of the others. That made him more dangerous. He was one of the few Death Eaters whose moves couldn’t be easily predicted, which made infiltrating his home all the more risky.

But risk was your specialty.

You shifted again, preparing to slide toward the far wall where the door stood ajar—an escape route ready if needed. But then—

A cold prickle ran down your spine.

Someone was watching.

Your breath caught, and you turned just enough to glimpse him. Lucius Malfoy stood at the far end of the room, his gaze tilted upward. Not searching, not guessing—knowing.

His grey eyes locked onto the space where you hid in the shadows.

Impossible.

No one had ever sensed you before. Even the best Aurors couldn’t detect your presence unless you willed it. And yet, Lucius was staring directly at you, the corners of his lips curving just slightly—amused, intrigued.

He knew.

Panic surged through you, but you forced it down. If you moved too quickly, you’d give yourself away. You needed to think.

Lucius didn’t speak. He didn’t warn the others. He simply raised a hand, swirling the wine in his glass, his expression unreadable.

A warning? A challenge? A game?

Your heart pounded. You had no choice now.

It was time to disappear.

You whispered the incantation under your breath, slipping fully into the shadows. The world blurred around you, and within seconds, you were gone—fading into the walls, slipping through the cracks, reemerging outside in the cold night air.

As you sprinted toward the edge of the wards, your mind raced. Lucius Malfoy had seen you. Not just seen—recognized what you were. And yet, he had done nothing.

That meant one thing.

This wasn’t over.

༺༻

The following night, you stayed away from Malfoy Manor. It was the only logical choice. Any other Death Eater would have raised the alarm the moment they saw an intruder. Lucius Malfoy hadn’t. That unsettled you more than you cared to admit.

And yet, despite the danger, you couldn’t ignore the way he had looked at you—like a man who had just uncovered a secret he had no intention of sharing.

You should have reported it to the Order. You should have told Moody or Kingsley that Lucius Malfoy might have seen you. But something held you back. A gut feeling.

Or maybe, something more dangerous than that.

So instead of returning to the manor, you waited. Watched. Lucius was a creature of habit, and you knew where to find him when he wasn’t playing loyal servant to Voldemort.

Borgin and Burkes.

He arrived at the shop just past midnight, stepping out of a black carriage drawn by thestrals. He moved with his usual measured grace, his long coat sweeping behind him, silver hair gleaming under the dim streetlamps of Knockturn Alley.

You melted into the shadows, slipping into the alley beside the shop. You could listen, wait—see if he would mention you to anyone.

But then, as if he had expected you, Lucius turned his head slightly.

“I was beginning to think you wouldn’t come.”

Your breath hitched. He was speaking to you.

Slowly, you emerged from the darkness, stepping into the alley’s entrance. The space between you was small, but it felt charged, like a wire pulled too tight.

Lucius tilted his head, the ghost of a smirk playing at his lips. “You’re very talented. I doubt even the Dark Lord himself has noticed you slipping in and out of our meetings.”

Your fingers twitched at your side, ready to summon your wand. “And yet, you did.”

“You intrigue me.” He said it like a confession and a challenge all at once. His voice was low, smooth as silk, but with an edge that sent a shiver down your spine.

You hated how your pulse quickened. He was dangerous—too dangerous.

“What do you want, Malfoy?”

Lucius stepped closer. Not too close—just enough for you to catch the scent of expensive cologne, the faintest trace of firewhiskey.

“A proposition.”

You narrowed your eyes. “And why would I ever trust a Death Eater’s proposition?”

Lucius chuckled, soft and amused. “Oh, I don’t expect you to trust me, my dear. But I suspect you will listen.”

He reached into his coat, moving slow enough not to startle you, and withdrew a small silver ring. He turned it between his fingers before offering it to you.

“Wear this, and you will know when I wish to speak with you. No one else will recognize its magic.”

You didn’t take it. Not yet. “Why?”

Lucius smiled. “Because you intrigue me. Because I think we both know you don’t belong entirely to the Order, just as I do not belong entirely to the Dark Lord.”

You frowned. “You serve Voldemort.”

His jaw tensed at the name. “I serve many things.”

There was something unreadable in his expression—something calculating, something undeniably interested.

And damn you, you were interested, too.

Finally, you reached out and took the ring, your fingers brushing his for the briefest moment. The contact sent something sharp and electric through you.

Lucius watched you closely, his gaze flickering to your lips before returning to your eyes.

“I will be in touch.”

Then, with a slow, deliberate movement, he turned and disappeared into Borgin and Burkes, leaving you standing in the cold night air—wondering what you had just gotten yourself into.

༺༻

The ring burned cold against your skin. It had been days since you’d taken Lucius Malfoy’s offer—since you had let him walk away without reporting him to the Order. You knew you should have thrown the ring into the fire, rid yourself of whatever twisted game he was playing.

And yet, when the metal warmed against your finger tonight, its magic pulsing in silent summons, you didn’t hesitate.

You followed the pull to a secluded manor outside of London. Not Malfoy Manor—he was too careful for that. Instead, he had chosen a forgotten estate, shrouded in mist and moonlight, its gardens overgrown and untamed.

You stepped through the gates, the night air humming with magic. He was waiting.

Lucius stood near the fountain, its stone cracked with age. His silver-blond hair gleamed in the dim light, his long coat hanging open over a dark waistcoat. He looked every bit the aristocrat, composed and elegant, yet there was something in his stance tonight—something looser, more indulgent.

“You came,” he murmured, as if pleased.

You crossed your arms. “You knew I would.”

Lucius smirked. “Yes. I did.”

You wanted to hate the way his voice wrapped around you, soft and rich like velvet. Instead, you ignored the shiver trailing down your spine.

“Why are we here, Malfoy?” you asked.

“Because I wanted to see you.”

His answer was simple. Unapologetic.

Your heart stuttered, but you kept your expression cool. “You’ve seen me. Now say what you have to say.”

Lucius stepped closer. “Must everything be business with you?” His voice was lower now, softer. “You slip into my home like a ghost. You walk unseen through war, through blood and secrets. And yet, you let me see you.”

You swallowed hard. “I didn’t—”

“Oh, but you did.” He reached up, gloved fingers trailing just above your wrist, not quite touching. “And I wonder why.”

Your breath hitched. You should step back. You should pull away.

But you didn’t.

Lucius tilted his head, his gaze heavy on yours. “You intrigue me.”

You had heard those words before, but tonight, they carried something else—something raw, unguarded.

Slowly, carefully, you reached for his wrist, your fingers curling over the fabric of his sleeve. “And if I said the same?”

Lucius exhaled, the sound almost a laugh. “Then I would say we are both in more danger than I thought.”

You had spent years slipping through the shadows, hiding behind duty, behind war. But here, now, with Lucius Malfoy looking at you like you were something more than an enemy, more than an ally—something he wanted—the war outside didn’t seem to matter.

His hand ghosted up your arm, slow and deliberate, as if memorizing the shape of you.

“This is foolish,” you murmured.

“Undoubtedly.”

And yet neither of you moved away.

Lucius reached for your chin, tilting it up ever so slightly. His fingers were cold, the leather soft against your skin.

Your pulse thundered as his lips hovered just over yours—so close, too close—until finally, he closed the distance.

The kiss was slow at first, careful, like testing the weight of something fragile. Then it deepened, a clash of heat and restraint unraveling all at once. His hand slid to your waist, pulling you closer, as if he had already decided he would not let you go.

You weren’t sure you wanted him to.

When you finally pulled apart, breathless, his lips lingered just near your jaw.

“You should leave,” he whispered, though his grip said otherwise.

“And if I don’t?”

Lucius smirked against your skin. “Then, my dear, you are playing a very dangerous game.”

But as his lips found yours again, you realized something.

You had already lost.

[eroticisminmotion]

I should be riding a pretty elf boy with a thick cock and biting his throat as he cums, not whatever the fuck this shit is. I want a refund.

[marbled-magician]

Truth or Dare

(Truth: tell us how you feel about the members of the LoV)

(Dare: randomly marble any member(s) of your choosing and release them in the middle of the night)

I’ll pick truth, hm..

Shigaraki- We all had different reasons behind our goals, Shigaraki was determined to make sure those goals, including his, were attainable. I would say he was the best leader anyone has to offer. I will never forget him purchasing us a whole platter of sushi after fighting the meta liberation army’s numbers!

Toga- Oh little miss Toga, she’s quite the character! She definitely freaks me out a little when she’s swinging her knives around with bloodlust, but who am I to judge? She always talked about her two crushes on those UA students, which was quite amusing.. Young love, am I right?

Dabi- Quiet, mysterious, and stubborn as all hell! I would say he’s on the same level as Toga, showing no sign of sympathy for the victims of his fiery flames. He’s also quite annoying when he bothers me with his nonsense, always teasing me that I keep my marbles up my ass.. WHICH IS NOT TRUE, DABI

Twice- He has a special place in my heart, I’m still processing that he’s actually gone.. Out of all the members of the league, Twice was the most open and enthusiastic one. I felt Toga’s rage after our last moments with Twice’s clone, and me and I’m sure the others understood. There’s nothing bad I could say about Twice.

Magne- Ah, another fallen member of our group.. She was another enthusiastic one along with Twice. I enjoyed watching her bond with Toga, them being the only female leads in the league. We were actually getting along pretty well during those times. I wonder if she would’ve still been here now if Overhaul didn’t do what he did..

Spinner- He does not get the recognition he deserves, despite his costume being a ripoff to Stain’s.. The costume grew on me though! I’m glad he was able to escape the heroes with Shigaraki and the boss, I wonder what he’s up to as of now.

Kurogiri- He made really good drinks back at our old hideout! I thought it was amusing watching him tell Toga she couldn’t have any alcohol while she kept pestering him to let her at least try a few things. He would always know what kind of wine I like, and what glass to pour it in! Good ol’ times of the league..

- Mr. コンプレス

[waitingforsecretsouls]

Much as I theoretically understand why fandom glomped onto the possibility of the tragic Daeron and Addam romance, it genuinely doesn't seem like the closest explanation the text itself offers. One of the biggest implications people see for this is the paragraph wondering about Tessarion's motivations for intervening in the Vermithor vs Seasmoke fight:

Vermithor’s size and weight were too much for Seasmoke to contend with, Lord Blackwood told Grand Maester Munkun many years later, and he would surely have torn the silver-grey dragon to pieces…if Tessarion had not fallen from the sky at that very moment to join the fight. Who can know the heart of a dragon? Was it simple bloodlust that drove the Blue Queen to attack? Did the she-dragon come to help one of the combatants? If so, which? Some will claim that the bond between a dragon and dragonrider runs so deep that the beast shares his master’s loves and hates. But who was the ally here, and who the enemy? Fire & Blood Chapter 17: The Dying of the Dragons — Rhaenyra Overthrown

People tend to focus a lot on the love aspect and basically ignore the alternate possibility offered up, which is hate as a motivating force.

As happy as I am for people enjoying the concept of Daeron/Addam, let's acknowledge that they have neither actual on page interactions nor as much as implied aquaintanceship, and GRRM is the opposite of subtle when it comes to "hinting" at these things for implied same sex entanglements. One line about Addam, who canonically served on his mothers trading cogs, having previously traveled as far as Oldtown, or Daeron enjoying spending his off - time at Oldtown's or prior to his fostering King's Landings harbour or shipyards would have been sufficient, but instead there's absolutely nothing.

Whereas Daeron and Hugh Hammer, dragonseed and rider of Vermithor, do have canonical interactions, both on page involving dialogue and implied by their close proximity, that develops into a plot relevant enmity, culminating in Hugh stating he'll claim Daeron's birthright for himself, as rider of the largest surviving dragon, and Daeron approving the Caltrops assassination of Hugh in turn.

With his brother Aemond slain as well, the greens found themselves kingless and leaderless. Prince Daeron stood next in the line of succession. Lord Peake declared that the boy should be proclaimed as Prince of Dragonstone at once; others, believing Aegon II dead, wished to crown him king. The Two Betrayers felt the need of a king as well…but Daeron Targaryen was not the king they wanted. “We need a strong man to lead us, not a boy,” declared Hard Hugh Hammer. “The throne should be mine.” When Bold Jon Roxton demanded to know by what right he presumed to name himself a king, Lord Hammer answered, “The same right as the Conqueror. A dragon.” And truly, with Vhagar dead at last, the oldest and largest living dragon in all Westeros was Vermithor, once the mount of the Old King, now that of Hard Hugh the bastard. Vermithor was thrice the size of Prince Daeron’s she-dragon Tessarion. No man who glimpsed them together could fail to see that Vermithor was a far more fearsome beast. [...] The lords and knights of Oldtown and the Reach were offended by the arrogance of the Betrayer’s claim, however, and none more so than Prince Daeron Targaryen himself, who grew so wroth that he threw a cup of wine into Hard Hugh’s face. (...) Lord Hammer said, “Little boys should be more mannerly when men are speaking. I think your father did not beat you often enough. Take care I do not make up for his lack.” The Two Betrayers took their leave together, and began to make plans for Hammer’s coronation. When seen the next day, Hard Hugh was wearing a crown of black iron, to the fury of Prince Daeron and his trueborn lords and knights.

[...] Though Prince Daeron was not present at the council, the Caltrops (as the conspirators became known) were loath to proceed without his consent and blessing. Owen Fossoway, Lord of Cider Hall, was dispatched under cover of darkness to wake the prince and bring him to the cellar, that the plotters might inform him of their plans. Nor did the once-gentle prince hesitate when Lord Unwin Peake presented him with warrants for the execution of Hard Hugh Hammer and Ulf White, but eagerly affixed his seal. Fire & Blood Chapter 17: The Dying of the Dragons — Rhaenyra Overthrown

Which seams like a far more (meaning: at all) established backdrop for that musing about sharing loves and hates to me.

Tldr; Less "love wins" and more "haterism transcending death" for Daeron the Daring.

[rainy-day-gracie]

- wedding day -

A Venus & Mars mini series

pairing: general marcus acacius x virgin!wife!reader

content warning(s); dual pov, arranged marriage, implied age gap but nothing specific, period typical misogyny (Ancient Rome), mentions of violence/warfare, mention (1) of sexual violence (not against reader), mentions of pregnancy, attempted bedding ceremony, reader has hair that can be pinned back, steamy kisses, crazy amounts of sexual tension, discussions of consent because consent is sexy mandatory, virgin!reader, SOFTTTTT marcus acacius, romantic and intimate as hell, grievous historical inaccuracy because it's fucking fanfiction, canon divergent because duh

a/n: this has been living in my head for weeks now, along with every new photo we get of general marcus acacius because of course. this can be read as a prequel to bloodlust, or read entirely on its own. the reader insert is written as the same character in each fic.

this will be part 1 of the wedding night, and part 2 will include smut :)

---

You considered bolting as the sun rose on the morning of your wedding day. Stealing one of the nobleman's horses, putting as many miles as you could between yourself and the General's country house.

But, from what you've heard about the General, there would not be a corner of the earth that he would not find you in.

Your palms were clammy with sweat as the handmaidens pinned your hair back into a style of a bride. You wondered how they couldn't possibly hear the quick, panicky beating of your heart as each moment brought you closer to what you considered a life sentence.

General Marcus Acacius is venerated like a god in Rome, and anywhere else. Men boast about his wartime accomplishments as if they were their own, and ladies whisper about his scarred face like they would a demon within the walls.

So many rumors swirling around the Emperor's most esteemed general.

His hands were permanently stained red with blood, he burns the heads of his enemies in sacrifice to the gods, he kills men with icy calculation, takes women with fiery passion.

You could only imagine what kind of monster was waiting for you at the altar.

---

Marcus was in no good spirits on the day of his wedding, the marriage forced on him almost as much as it was forced on his...

Gods above, his bride.

The idea of having a bride was almost as foreign as you yourself were, since never once had Marcus even considered marrying anyone. With all the bloodshed and near-death experiences, he never exactly considered himself a man that was meant to be a husband. Or a father, for that matter.

Marcus tried not to shudder at the end of the aisle as the chorus began singing, sounding all to close to a death march.

At the sound of the choir, you entered into the wedding hall, for all gods and men to see.

His bride.

The world seemed to be brighter, the flowers bloomed more beautiful, and Marcus' vision turned clearer as you stepped into his sight.

For a moment, he forgot all about the blood of men on his hands. The shame that burdened him was cast off. Maybe he wasn't completely condemned to the Underworld.

The very possibility of you being his bringing him more relief than any wine or fine lady. The possibility of you being in his life was... redeeming. Redefining. Remaking.

One look, and he made a vow, but not to you. To himself.

If any harm were to come to you, he would unleash the fury of the gods upon them. He would protect you to the end of his days. Honor you, and serve you, however you may wish.

---

Fear coated your every nerve as you beheld your soon-to-be husband.

Nothing could have prepared you for just how mighty General Acacius was. Tan, broad, and mighty, dressed in fine white robes similar to yours. His bare hands were strong, made for swinging axes, throwing punches, and taking what he wanted. At the altar, he seemed to be near brooding, speaking his vows quietly, his voice like a roll of thunder.

You managed to keep your voice steady while you spoke your vows, but there was nothing you could do to keep your hands from shaking as the priest brought out the rings.

The general reached for your hand, and you were unable to keep from trembling.

His touch was warm on your skin, his calloused fingers surprisingly gentle as he slid the gold wedding band onto your finger. You found the nerve to meet his brown eyes, finding something utterly unreadable as he held your gaze. Could it be... fondness?

Gods, he was beautiful.

His touch steadied you, though you still exchanged rings with a thundering heart.

"In the sight of Gods and men, you are now Husband and Wife. You may kiss your bride, General."

The priest's words echoed in your head.

Husband and Wife.

The general leaned forward, an unspoken question in his warm eyes.

Swallowing, you gave a near imperceptible nod.

For such a harsh man, such a dominating man, his kiss was utterly... soft. Tender. Almost coaxing.

After a moment, he pulled away first, and you could've sworn he lingered, cherishing the air between you... before turned to the cheering wedding party.

In an instant, he changed, switching from the gentle kiss of a lover to a commanding force, a man that drinks in praise like fine wine.

A mighty man, indeed.

---

Marcus tried his best to not feel too wounded that his new wife was completely terrified of him.

He felt the thundering pulse in your hand as he slid that ring on, and he wondered if you saw the wedding band as a chain, a set of shackles. It's all too true for other women in Rome.

You barely spoke to him during the wedding feast, only giving small nods and forced smiles in between sips of wine. He had a good feeling you were resisting the urge to swallow it down in one gulp.

Marcus couldn’t help but study you— at first innocently, taking in the curve of your lips, the shine of your eyes, the polite smile you gave when someone offered congratulations.

Damn his dirty mind. As the night went on, and the celebrations continued beyond what he would’ve liked, he tried, and failed, not to eye your body as a means of distraction from the rowdy feast.

It started with your neck. He traced the slope of it with his eyes, marking every freckle and curve. He prayed to all the gods that you would want him to leave his marks on you.

Downward, he peeked slightly at your breasts whilst cursing himself. Of course, they appeared perfect beneath your wedding stola, and he wondered what manner of sounds you would make when he took them into his hands, into his mouth.

And then… Gods, those hips—

“Time for the bedding ceremony!” Emperor Geta jeered, pulling you from your seat with a firm jerk of your elbow. His eyes were greedy, scheming. “Let us see what is underneath that—“

Your face flushed with either embarrassment or fear or both. And that was all Marcus needed to see.

“There will be no bedding ceremony.”

Marcus lowered his voice to a deep warning, the kind that has sent men running for their lives.

Geta scoffed, still holding to your elbow. “It’s a wedding, Acacius, it’s your wedding. Don’t you want to show off the prize of your latest conquest? Distribute the winnings? Strip down that—“

Marcus stood, towering several inches over Geta’s slimy face. “I said… there will be no bedding ceremony.”

Geta kept his hands on you, and Marcus’s vision tinged with red hot fury.

His voice was a rumble, a threat in itself. “It’s my wedding, is it not? And I say there will be no bedding ceremony.”

People were watching now, the feast gone silent at this standoff.

Marcus knew how to pick his battles, cut his losses. But when staring down Geta, the most powerful man in the empire, he realized that for you, he would pick every single one if it meant he kept you safe.

The moments that passed were crackling, the tension between the two men sucking all the air from the celebratory hall.

Geta saw something in Marcus’s unyielding gaze, something that told him he would not win this fight, and decided the bedding ceremony wasn’t worth the scrutiny.

As the Emperor walked away, Marcus took your hand, and led you to your marriage bed.

—

You couldn’t find the words.

The general nearly trembled in rage on the walk to the bedchambers, but still, he maintained that odd gentleness, holding your hand as if it were the most delicate thing in the world.

Servants opened the grand doors as you entered, showing a large room with a massive four poster bed and elegant tapestries lining the walls—

Then the doors shut. And you were left alone with the legendary, bloodletting general.

And you still couldn’t find the damn words.

You knew what came next. The husband will take what is now his.

In this case, you expected your husband to take you in the same way he took lands for the empire— violently, mercilessly, with the intention of forging new legacy, through a son of Rome.

“Before you ask, my General, I wish to assure you that I am untouched,” you blurted, quoting what your mother taught you to say before you were to be… intimate. “I am pure, though I can only hope to be worthy—“

“Darling wife,” the general said quietly, so different from the commanding force from the feast. He held your hands in his, leaning down and kissing your knuckles in reverence.

You went silent, shocked at the soft fondness in his tone.

He peered at you with curiosity, and almost amusement. “The only thing I wish from you is for you to call me by my name, not title. No general, no lord, but my name. I hear it so little nowadays that I will look forward to hearing it from your lips.”

“As you wish… Marcus,” you breathed, eyes locked on his.

Marcus let out a little sigh, like he was relieved. “It’s much prettier when you say it.”

You drop your head in bashfulness, more confused by the moment. The way he spoke so kindly, so fondly.

“You know what is meant to happen tonight?” Marcus asked, almost hesitantly. You nod, undeniable fear curling in your stomach. “I need you to understand something, my darling, so listen very carefully.”

He pulled you toward the bed, sitting you both down on the silken sheets. His eyes on yours were discerning, and intent, like he was searching for something within your stare.

“I will never, ever, force myself upon you. Not in this life, or the next, or the next. I know what you might’ve heard about me, and much of it is true, but never would I take a woman without her permission. You belong to yourself, and if you never should like me in your bed, I will honor that to the end of my days."

You blinked at him in confusion. "So, you do not... you do not want me?"

Marcus exhaled sharply, looking down at your intwined hands. "That... that does not matter."

"Why not? A husband has the right to take what is his--"

"No man has any right to take a woman's body for himself, husband or not. What... what do you think is to happen tonight?"

Heat rises to your face, embarrassed at the question. By the look on his face, he was embarrassed, too.

"I don't... I don't know how it works, but some of the other wives at court say that the consummation of marriage is one of the more... painful duties of a wife. What you are meant to do to me... it's painful," you murmured, and quickly begin stammering. "B-but is it a great honor to serve you, my--"

"May I kiss you, darling?"

Some candles had been left burning, illuminating him in a warm glow. Marcus's eyes were soft, a rich, chocolate brown in the light of your bedroom, and something about them made your core flutter like one of the candles.

"Yes... yes, please."

Marcus smiled softly, and moved his hands to the sides of your neck. They were scarred, and calloused... and so warm.

His lips met yours almost hesitantly, like he was holding himself back. They were tender, tasting of sweet wine. Fingers curled lightly into your pinned hair, pulling you closer as his chest pressed against yours.

You moved your mouth with his, suddenly feeling the need for... more. You didn't know what, but you just knew you needed it.

His tongue slipped against yours, and the groan that left his throat left your pussy throbbing.

"Marcus--" you gasped, losing your breath as his lips traveled down to your neck. You could've sworn he moaned in response, sucking at your pulse point, leaving it a delicious shade of red--

"Do you want me to keep going?" He gruffed, trailing light kisses along your throat.

Oh, gods, how you wanted him to. "Yes, but..."

Marcus withdrew instantly at your seemed hesitation, pulling his mouth away but keeping his hands in your hair.

"I'm fearful," you admitted, holding his tunic to keep your hands from shaking with both desire and nerves. "Not of you, but... the rest of it."

Marcus nodded, swallowing. "We could continue kissing, if you like."

You laughed lightly, the nerves mellowing for a moment. "I'm not sure I'm prepared to have you in that way, but I know that I want to. I know that I... I want you."

Marcus's soft eyes shone with fondness, but had a wicked edge to them, like he was plotting something.

"I know I want you as well, darling. I promise, I will make sure you are prepared to have me... perhaps even over-prepared."

Your brows furrowed with confusion. "What do you mean?"

The general smiled. "I'll show you what I mean."

Part 2 here!

[hawkinsbnbg]

I Just Died In Your Arms Tonight

My October @steddiemicrofic.

Rated: E

Prompt: Suck

Word count: 480

Cw: implied stalking, implied consensual Somnophilia.

[Title from (I Just) Died In Your Arms Tonight by Cutting Crew.]

They had won, Vecna had been defeated for good, and they had gotten out alive.

In Eddie’s case, however, he wasn't so lucky.

He had become something in between with sharp claws, pointed fangs, and a healthy dose of bloodlust.

As days went by, those who were cautious of Eddie eventually grew comfortable with him and forgot that he wasn't their kind anymore.

Nevertheless, Steve knew better than to let himself be deceived like everyone else.

How could he when those hungry eyes always followed him like trackers?

How could he when those cold lips always set his soul aflame without fail?

And how could he when every night, he would be startled into the living world with a fire in his heart and a thunder beneath his skin?

“Eddie,” he gasped, eyes widening in surprise before rolling back as the hot white pleasure incessantly crashed over his body.

Above him, Eddie said nothing and continued abusing his prostate with a scary precision that made Steve nearly black out from the sheer stimulation.

He was rendered a useless mess; clutching onto those broad shoulders for his dear life, burning his throat with strangled screams and choked-off moans, spreading his shaking legs wider to invite the ruthless force deeper, and laying himself open on the altar, begging his monster to take everything.

“You don’t know what you’re asking for, sweet thing,” Eddie whispered, voice raspy and on edge. Those chocolate eyes had transformed into a shade of red, like fine wines that intoxicated their prey.

And Steve was just a man who had become greedy when it came to the incandescent desire in those red eyes. He wanted more, wanted to be claimed by this monster forever.

“Take me,” Steve whimpered and craned his neck aside. He knew Eddie was starving for it if the way those pupils became slit was anything to go by.

“You know what this means, right?” Leaning down until their faces were only a breath away, Eddie bent him in half before hammering into him harder and deeper with a brutal pace. “Because if I start drinking from you from now on, I’ll never let you go, pretty thing.”

“Yesyesyes,” Steve chanted like a madman, all breathless and mindless. “Make me yours,” he didn’t care if he was sucked dry by the end of tonight. “Please.”

“As you wish,” a terrifying smile stretched wide on Eddie’s lips, “My darlin’.”

Before Steve could comprehend what happened, the world around him stopped moving as he convulsed and spurted all over himself when those fangs sank into his flesh and Eddie started feasting on him.

Amidst the pain and ecstasy, hell and heaven, Steve wondered if this was enough to keep them together.

“It's enough, my beautiful,” Eddie reassured him with a fervent kiss that tasted of his blood. “You're mine now.”

“Yes, I'm yours now,” Steve smiled softly.

[i-am-a-bad-influence-writes]

I'm a rabid dirty dog, and I bite

Masterlist Word count: 654 Redemed durge x Halsin, Astarion, Gale, ??? Read on AO3

Summary: You are dirty, gross, disgusting. All those years you've spend torturing innocent souls and now you're suddenly expected to live a normal life while the terrors of your past have only just started flooding back. You are not normal. You are dirty. And you bite.

"It's done..." Your mind feels quiet. Strangely so. "What do I do now?"  The people around you are celebrating while you nurse a goblet filled with wine that you have taken all of two sips of. Supposedly, you're a hero. THE hero of Baldur's Gate, a city you used to haunt. There's no quiet corner that you have not spilled blood in. Every silence feels like it's accusing you of your crimes. Every lull in conversation feels like torture. Every kind smile from strangers feels fake and fearful.  Your companions should've left you in Bhaal's temple, let you become what you were made for. That way, they would've had an easy time killing you without feeling blame instead of having to help you reintegrate into the normal world.  With your bloodlust gone, you just feel empty. You tried to build meaningful relationships with the people you travelled with but you could tell they were only kind to you out of fear. You saw how they talked about you behind your back, saw their judgment when you washed off the blood and grime of the day, saw the slight terror in their eyes when you showed how powerful you are. It's a torturous existence.   But what about Astarion? Astarion has good reason to be the way he is. Tortured for two hundred years, forced to live lower than scum, used for his body. He felt powerless. It's only logical he wanted to take that power back from his abuser, but you're glad he didn't. He is so much better than that.  And Gale? He wanted to take power for himself too. But with good reason. Made to be his goddess’ plaything and cast aside when he wanted to prove to her that he could be enough for her. Wanting to overpower her is only natural. You don't blame him and, as with Astarion, you're glad he didn't follow through.  So what about Shadowheart? Another soul tortured by a goddess. Taken and made to believe a false reality. She was stubborn but you could tell from the start that it wasn't who she was meant to be. She's much kinder than that and you were right.  Lae’zel was prepared to kill you. And you wish she would have, but she's much better off without Vlaakith. She will make it out and make a better world for her people. Nothing had ever made you prouder than seeing her ride off on that dragon. She is a good person.  All these people went through tremendous amounts of torture and abuse from a higher power. With you, it's the other way around. Almost seems you came out of the womb holding a dagger. Blood, guts, they used to be comforting, calming. Gore silenced your mind, but the silence never stayed long. The others were abused by their gods and leaders, you abused for your god and leaders. You were so good at it that you became Bhaal's chosen. Bhaal's chosen. The murder lord's chosen. You did this to yourself. 

You are not, and will never be, like them.  You're not soft, you have ridges, scars, on your skin. They look disgusting, they mark you of a life you're not living anymore. Constant reminders of the pain you've caused to yourself and others. Your canines are filed sharp and have ripped out the hearts of many. When you look into the mirror, you often wonder if you were kind once. Were you actually born with a dagger in your hand or was your hand forced.  When you look close enough, you can see something in your eye. Something strangely comforting. When you look even closer and inspect your face, you notice you don't look all that intimidating when you smile. But don't smile too brightly or they'll see your canines. 

'Tav?' A kind voice. You snap out of it and look to the person that sat down next to you. 

∘₊✧───────────────────────────────────────✧₊∘

Halsin

Astarion [coming soon]

Gale

[imimprisoned]

Ares : God of War, and The Spirit of Battle.

Offerings include:

1. Red wine

2. Black coffee

3. Red meats

4. Incense scents like frankincense or sandalwood

5. Heavy spices and/or spicy food

6. Statues/depictions of Him

7. Depictions/imagery of dogs, horses, vultures, snakes

8. Blood from cut meats

9. Pure water

10. Battle-related items or depictions (armors, weapons, shields)

11. Battle-related artworks

12. Trophies and/or medals

13. Metals like iron or steel

14. Crystals/gemstones like red jasper, garnet, rubies, bloodstone

15. Naturally shed snake skin

16. Strong whiskey

17. Naturally shed feathers from vultures, woodpeckers, barn owls, eagle owls

18. Red/black/silver candles

Prayers to Ares

1. May Ares quench the bloodlust that rushes through your veins

2. Ares, fierce-hearted son of Zeus and noble Hera, full-famed vou are as god of war. To you do soldiers pray when battle is most heated, when mettle is most needed. To you as well do we turn in desperate times, to you do we call for strength, for the spirit to endure. You understand the terror of struggle and strife, you confront it in every way.

Ares, your courage is unquestioned, your might and your prowess unequaled. Ares, friend to those in direst need, I pray to you, grant me the nerve to face what must be faced, grant me the will to do what must be done, grant me the heart to forge ahead.

3. Bright-helmed Ares, strong of arm and stern of visage, firm of stance, unyielding of will, ever ready to face any foe, to hold the line against all who may come, to battle until the end.

Ares, son of noble Zeus and wise Hera, cherished by golden Aphrodite, honored by those who call on you for strength and courage, in the north were you much honored in times of old, in Thrace and Thessaly were you held in esteem by those whose lives were harsh, whose world was stony, whose comforts were hard-won. Ares who answers the prayers of the despairing, I honor you.

4. Great Ares, I praise you, bold one of the flashing eyes,

Son of mighty Zeus and noble Hera, beloved of golden sea-born Aphrodite.

You take joy in battle, the war-cry is your song.

Strength is yours, peerless warrior, and firm resolve,

And the pure, clear drive to defeat the enemy, the battle rage that pushes us beyond our bounds to achieve victory against a greater foe.

To the weak you lend strength; to the fearful, courage;

To those enslaved, the will to break the stoutest bonds.

Fierce Ares, you whose gifts ensure our survival,

O god of warriors, I praise and honor you.

[lightricks]

It’s with lordly indifference that their spar would end with Ren on his back while Dan Heng’s boot arrested the swordsman to the ground, the tension rising like dizzying steam despite the stoniness of the Trailblazer’s countenance. Yet, that tension is betrayed by the blatant drifting of his eyes over the swell of Ren’s chest, the way it heaved for breath. From the navel did Cloud-Piercer hover with exactness at each frog clasp, a careless flick snapping open the first, a second, to gradually exposing the bandaged, ashen skin beneath. Each clasp was cleaved in such a precise, careless fashion until the throat was left, falling open to expose the bob of Ren’s adam’s apple. The faint friction of speartip against exposed skin was its own song that followed the outline of his throat, jawbone, to his chin without breaking skin. 

Yet, as abruptly as it had begun, the weight of his foot lifted and the menace of his spear withdrew without a word, turning to leave with the faint air of victory and a tease left suspended in the air. (For ren kek)

@reversescale.

once, he’d believed each of dan heng’s callous advances had been a habit trickled down from his previous incarnation, but now it had become abundantly clear dan feng was not to blame for the sadistic streak that lay lying in wait behind each of the dragon's strikes. it had been made abundantly clear what the lancer used to torment his mental psyche had always been so much more effective than whatever physical pain he could inflict, ren just didn’t think that the trailblazer would stoop this low. because he had to know by this point, yes ? that the crazed obsession had been born of their sins, the curse connected their souls no matter how hard dan heng tried to sever it. he had softened that desire into something more palpable, but the lingering want would always be there.

i will want you for the rest of my lives.

unlike the brutality with which dan heng lured his bracers away, this torment felt more akin to leaving wine just out of reach. water would suffice, but couldn’t it be better ? could he not strive for things he did not deserve ? it was not fear in ren's eyes when pinned beneath a boot that could smash his sternum. it was awe. flecks of fire bloomed in his expression, bringing life to an otherwise deathly countenance. one arm raised to grip the ankle upon his chest, instinctive, as if he intended to keep dan heng there even if their only point of contact was steeped in violence. no matter, for he rewarded ren further, the trace of the beloved spear parting fabric like sensuous rolling silks. a rare flush marked the parts of ren’s body not already bruised and battered, splotchy blemishes contrast to the smooth even tint of skin flushed with desire.

the dragon feigned fairness, and even something akin to nobility, in front of other people, but ren knew beneath that was some compensation ; to alleviate a guilt that came with being born stifling his own ferocity, his anger, his bloodlust. to dangle their red thread in front of him so blatantly, to keep it out of reach, to play with his unyielding affections like a tiger with viscera shredded his heart again and again. this was a hurt that felt good, an unreciprocration that clouded what was left of his muddled brain, ‘til he could barely register dan heng pulling away, the glorious contact of steel on skin gone. he missed it. he wanted it. he wanted the way dan heng used to carve into his flesh because at least then they had been touching.

when he stood from the altercation on misaligned bones and broken bleeding skin, it wasn’t weariness that made standing difficult. it was the way his fingers trembled with longing, the way he yearned to keep those cold grey-green eyes on him. dan heng had always looked so beautiful seconds from killing him.

“ let’s not be obtuse. ” the shard sword materialised in his hand, but was sent back into the ether. “ are they testaments of your cruelty ? ” a smile then, all challenge and pointed teeth. “ - these frivolous flirtations of yours ? ”

[vibratingskull]

One shot masterlist - 2

Thrawn

☆The red crown 🔞- ThrawnxF!reader - You are a magnificent redhead and Thrawn desires nothing more than his children inheriting it.

☆Love's sacrifice - ThrawnxF!reader - You are an enslaved navigator of the Ascendancy under Thrawn's orders.

☆Thrawn's unique promise - Thrawn&F!reader - Your QPR kneels before you to ask your hand, what got over him?

☆Parental dedication🔞- ThrawnxF!reader - Thrawn intends to feast on you tonight and you have just the surprise for him!

☆The heart has its reasons - ThrawnxDaughter!reader - You come home in fury and your dad tries to calm you done.

☆The Actress - ThrawnxF!reader - You are rising actress, and you have a date with a certain Grand Admiral

☆Ride the tide - Mermaid!ThrawnxMermaid!F!reader - You lazily lay on a rock with Thrawn, enjoying the sun

☆The tenderness of love - ThrawnxF!reader - You wake up in the night to discover Thrawn giving the bottle to your daughter, a gentle smile on his lips and quiet love in his eyes.

☆The trip of revelations - ThrawnxF!reader - You are alone in a confined ship with your superior and crush Grand Admiral Thrawn

☆Halloween special🔞- ThrawnxF!reader - The bloodlust of your husband arises again

☆Where our priorities lay - ThrawnxF!reader - You both love each other, but it is not a reason to give in so easily.

☆The naked finger - ThrawnxF!reader - Thrawn may be your children's father, but he does not have the privilege to call you wife!

☆Cherry wine - ThrawnxF!readerxThurfian - You have a bad tummy ache, but your husbands are here to take care of you

☆NSFW Alphabet🔞 - Thrawn x F!reader - The classico classic NSFW alphabet we all know and love

☆Delicate as roses🔞 - Thrawn x F!reader - Cursed by a great beauty, Thrawn captures you as some sort of pet and slave... Now you must survive him

☆The touch of your hand - Thrawn x GN!reader - Thrawn came back after 20 years, but your nightmare won't disappear that easily...

☆Thorns in the heart - Thrawn x F!reader - You are horrified, could Thrawn really cheat on you with Pryce? Could he?

☆The shape of love - Thrawn x GN!reader - Thrawn got softer after his exile and feels a bit out of his depth next to you

☆Fruits of love🔞 - Thrawn x F!reader - Thrawn discovers new gray strands of hair, making him crave even more heirs

☆The blessing who fall from the sky - Thrawn x F!reader - You and your husband save some skywalkers and your desire to be a mom comes back

☆Secret Letters - Thrawn x F!reader - Kallus discovers a secret conversation between you and Thrawn

☆Scars in the flesh - Thrawn x GN!reader - Thrawn is paralysed from the waist down but the sho must go on to survive on Peridea

☆Your hand just in reach - Thrawn x F!reader - You meet Commodore Thrawn as a cadet and then constantly feel a presence behind you

☆Where two lines meet - Thrawn x F!reader - You hide your red eyes every day, but what if Thrawn notices?

☆Epic AU - Thrawn x F!reader - You rule Ithaca alone since your husband disappeared, and the trial of the axes finally come

☆Game of love🔞 -Thrawn x F!reader - You hide your black eye given by your husband when Thrawn invites you for dinner

☆A moment of elegance -Thrawn x F!reader - You are a Chiss descendant and Thrawn took an interest in you

Sub Thrawn

☆Love lock 🔞- Thrawnxf!reader - You love to look at your Grand Admiral in his collar and leash, but tonight he feels insolent...

☆Late night delights 🔞- ThrawnxF!reader - Thrawn wakes up in rut and incredibly uncomfortable, but will you help him?

☆Those ties bound us🔞 - ThrawnxF!reader - You reminisce about your first time, with your Husband naked and kneeling before you.

☆Anything for my sweet Chiss🔞 - ThrawnxF!reader - You release your husband from his penis cage and decide to torture him a bit.