#bout time i remedy that

[linkedin-offficial]

avian teth

[pellucid-constellations]

Trial and Error (5)

Pairing: Azriel x Reader

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

Word count: 2.5k

Warnings: Illness, angst babyyy <3

a/n: I'm going insane and crazy and every iteration of that. I love writing this fic so much I want it tattooed on my forehead. Thanks, love you all <3

Read part one | part two | part three | part four | (bonus part 5) | part 6

Main Masterlist ♡

~~

You were in and out of sleep for the next few days—much to your displeasure. 

After attempting to down all the herbal remedies Azriel’s healer had left and continuing to care for your daughter without missing a beat, Azriel had made it clear that that would not fly. You told him several times to go home and not burden himself with caring for the two of you, but he was entirely too stubborn to listen to you. 

You even watched as his shadows left and returned with messages for him, sure that his High Lord was calling him home. 

But Azriel still stayed. 

He made food, he served the food, and he fed Melanie, coaxing her delirious eyes open to make sure she took medicine at the right times. You weren’t completely incapacitated, but it didn’t matter; Azriel wouldn’t allow you to lift a finger. 

He answered the door to the apothecary several times, sending away customers after collecting payments and restocking shelves, somehow privy to the knowledge of the store. You weren’t entirely confident that he wasn’t overcharging everyone or putting things in random places.

A few times, when sleep fought for the space in your mind, you felt fingers in your hair, along your face, across your shoulders. Each brush would send you deeper into the void you avoided so adamantly, and you were ignoring the fact that you had never felt safe enough to fall asleep in front of other people until now. 

You caught Azriel holding Melanie on a few occasions.

You would crack an eye open after an unexpected bout of sleep and he’d be rocking her in his arms, bouncing her to sleep as she lay her flushed face on his shoulder. 

Azriel had never told you if he had experience with children. Sure, he mentioned his closeness with Nyx and how much he loved his nephew, but that was… different from this. The ease with which he held Melanie, the instinct he seemed to have towards her—it felt different. Looked different. 

You felt an unexplainable sense of safety as you watched them. 

Melanie would pull back from his shoulder and arrange her fingers on the planes of Azriel’s cheeks and he would smile at her. And you felt safe. 

You found more energy on the third day of the fever. 

You got out of bed and took some semblance of a bath, fumbling around in the bathroom without much coordination. Your head was still fuzzy and an ache still permeated deep within your muscles, but the feeling was lessened. 

It wasn’t until after your bath that you realized you hadn’t checked on Melanie the moment you woke up. 

You hadn’t shot out of bed and raced to her room as you had done almost every morning since she was born. 

You hadn’t feared that she was somehow taken from your home, from your arms—that she was in danger of being ripped from your grasp and sent back to Autumn to live out the same cruel fate you were destined for. 

A small voice in the back of your mind offered a gentle whisper, reminding you that it was because of Azriel that you found that brief moment of peace. 

You pushed it back. 

With a shiver, you made your way down the narrow hallway to your daughter’s bedroom. 

Empty. 

You felt your heart rate tick up in a small bout of panic, but you were calmed by a fluttering in your chest just as quickly. The light pressure led you into the kitchen and then flushed into a warm bloom as the scene in front of you unfolded. 

Melanie was bundled up in a blanket and sat atop the kitchen counter as Azriel whisked the contents of a bowl. She was talking her head off about something that happened at school and Azriel was nodding his head with each exasperated huff she let out. Another glance told you that Melanie had eaten an entire plate of food before you’d entered, a feat in itself as your daughter hardly ate to begin with—let alone when she was sick. 

“Mommy!” Melanie cheered, wrapping her arms around your neck as you entered the quaint kitchen. “I thought you were gonna sleep forever. I wanted to wake you up but Mr. Azriel said you had to sleep to get better so he made me lunch.” 

“Lunch, huh?” you smiled, gathering her into your arms and sliding her off the counter. 

“Uh-huh. You slept through breakfast and lunch. Aren’t you hungry, mommy?” 

“Maybe a little bit.” 

“Well, you should have Mr. Azriel’s pancakes.” Melanie yawned. Her blinks became longer. “They’re so good, mommy. He should live with us and make them all the time.” 

From the stove, you heard Azriel breathe out a laugh. You glanced at him through your lashes as you held Melanie in your arms, the broad expanse of his wings barely contained in the kitchen. The shirt he wore strained against his arms as he shifted a pan on the burner and he didn’t look back as the two of you spoke. 

“I think I need a nap,” Melanie proclaimed, rubbing at her heavy eyes. “I thought I was a big girl at school now and didn’t need to take naps. You told me that, mommy.” 

You tore your gaze from Azriel’s back and offered your daughter a soft smile. “Well, you need rest to get better, too. So it’s okay for you to take naps right now.” 

“I don’t like having hot blood. This is so annoying.” 

You jutted your head back at her statement and made to have her explain, but Melanie shimmied from your arms and scampered off to her room before you could make a sound, her blanket dragging behind her. 

That left you alone with Azriel. 

“Hot blood?” you asked, leaning against the counter and attempting to appear casual in your own home. It was still surreal that he was up here—making pancakes in your kitchen—when just a few days ago, you never would have let him get past the stairs. 

Azriel hummed and flicked the burner off, leaning his back on a nearby counter to face you. “I think she heard what Madja said when she was explaining what was wrong with you both. Mel’s been calling it hot blood. I didn’t—I didn’t think it was my place to correct her.” 

You pressed your lips into a line and rubbed your forearm in some attempt of comfort. “Right.” A long pause. Azriel didn’t press you to speak. You did anyway to fill the dead air. “You really didn’t have to stay for as long as you did. I know this place isn’t what you’re used to and it must have been a handful with Mel—” 

“I wanted to stay,” Azriel interrupted. He stepped forward and placed a hand on your forehead, ignoring the tension you felt weighing on your shoulders. “You’re still warm.” 

“I feel a lot better. Almost completely fine. It would be okay… if you had somewhere to go. If you had to leave, I mean.” 

The hand on your forehead slid down to your chin and tilted your face up. Azriel’s gaze flickered between your eyes—back and forth with a furrowed brow as if trying to parse out a deeper meaning behind your words or solve a puzzle you hadn’t presented. His hand was hot against your chin in a way it wasn’t against your forehead. 

“You should eat,” he settled on. He brushed your still-damp hair back from your face before turning on his heel. “Mel was right. I make great pancakes and you haven’t eaten in a while. Lucky for you she didn’t finish all of them. She was close, but there are a few left.” 

You let him fuss, watched him as he rooted around the cupboards to pull out a plate and a glass, and tried to figure this out now that you were more coherent. 

Azriel had stayed—for almost three days he had stayed at your apartment and cared for you and your daughter as if it was expected. Each time you had woken up he had been there, coaxing water and bone-dry broth into your mouth before helping you see Melanie and then helping you to fall back to sleep. He had held your daughter and made her pancakes and he was still here. 

Could this somehow be nefarious? Some ploy to get close to you just to use you as a bargaining chip and send you back home? Had the High Lord demanded that his Spymaster keep a close eye on you and this was the outcome? 

No. 

No, that couldn’t be the reason Azriel was setting a plate down on the counter beside you. That couldn’t be why he caught your eye with a worried gaze and seemed to pinpoint your inner turmoil almost instantly. 

But why? 

His visits over the past few weeks had been welcomed—confusing at first, but a welcomed break from the mundane, anxiety-fueled life you lived. You had grown comfortable with him and Melanie had begun asking for him when she showed you her art projects or had questions about the walks of life. You had come to expect his presence in your store and found yourself looking forward to the chance to see him outside of Melanie’s school. 

But what could he possibly have to gain from making himself a constant in your life? 

You had asked before, a single question with a simple “Why not?” for a response that you had brushed off. Because it wasn’t too much of a big deal for him to stop by or help you lift the apothecary boxes or let Melanie talk his ear off. 

But this was a big deal. 

It was a big deal when he sat beside you until you fell asleep and it was a big deal that he was still standing here now, inches from you, eyes boring into yours. 

“Why are you doing this, Azriel?” 

Your question seemed to suck all of the air from the room. Azriel winced to such an infinitesimal degree you almost missed it. His fingers twitched as they rested on the counter. The plate of food sat forgotten, its intended distraction wasted. 

“I’ve already said.” 

You shook your head. “‘Why not’ was okay when you were stopping by the apothecary a few times a week and flirting with me for fun. It was okay when you were saving me from nosey teachers and opening doors when my hands were full. It was okay when this—” you jabbed your finger between your chest and his “—didn’t involve you in my apartment holding my daughter until she fell asleep. I need more than why not, Azriel. I need to understand if… if…” 

“What?” he whispered so close the air between you warmed. 

When had he gotten so close?

“I need to know if this isn’t safe. If there’s some other reason for all of this.” 

This time, when Azriel winced, he flinched. His body seemed to stun and his face twisted into a frown etched with such an uncomfortable pain it was difficult to look at. 

He spoke as his head shook. “I’ve told you this isn’t… I want you to feel safe with me. I thought I would have proved that was possible after this.” 

“You have,” you were quick to reply. “I wouldn’t have been able to take care of Mel if you hadn’t been here. But, that’s the thing. I don’t even know how you knew to come here. You walked in asking if I was okay—asking where Melanie was. I know your shadows spy, but why, Azriel? Why take such an interest in me? In us?” 

“Is it not enough to just want to know you?” he asked, his words tight and pained. 

“No. For others, maybe. But not… not after everything I’ve been through. Not when everything I have could be ripped away. I need a reason, Azriel. I can’t let this happen without one. I can’t put Melanie in danger.” 

“I don’t understand,” Azriel pleaded. He got closer, wrenching his head down to find your eyes. “Help me to understand. What danger are you in? I can explain, but I can’t protect you without knowing.” 

You let out an exasperated scoff, tugging at your hair and regretting the action as a headache bloomed. You took a step back until your back met the kitchen wall. 

“You can’t protect me, Azriel. You can’t.” 

“I could if you—” 

“It doesn’t make sense that you want to! You work for the High Lord. You spy for him! Do you have any idea what any of that means in the grand scheme of things? What it could mean if someone found out that the Night Court’s Spymaster was suddenly asking around about someone from Autumn?”

Azriel opened his mouth to respond, confusion marring his features, but you were breathing faster, the fever and the panic combining beneath your skin.

“I have stayed hidden for five years—five. I shouldn’t have sent Melanie to school. I shouldn’t have asked for help from anyone. If… if someone finds me—” 

“No one will find you. Hey—hey.” Azriel invaded your space, your back against the wall and his hands against your face. His eyes softened as they caught yours. “No one is going to find you. You need a reason why I want to be here with you? Why I care about you and Mel?” 

Your jaw quivered under his fingers. You nodded in place of speech, unable to find words that wouldn’t make tears fall down your cheeks. 

Azriel stared back at you with so much torture and conflict in his eyes you almost wanted to take back the request. He took several breaths and seemed unsure of his next words. But he held your face in his hands with such surety, strong fingers unshaken. 

The Shadowsinger brought you forward with the guide of his palms until his lips met your forehead. 

And then he pulled back and said, “You are my mate. I want to keep you safe—to protect you and Melanie—because you are my mate. You are what I’ve been waiting for for hundreds of years and if you want nothing to do with me after this, that’s fine. But if you’ll have me, I will do everything in my power to protect you.”

part 6

[syoddeye]

kinktober - day 24 - free use

gaz x f!reader | 1.1k words cw: established relationship, semi-public sex, consensual somno-ish, birth control, 1 bad joke a/n: i just love him. summary: you're there whenever kyle needs you. banner by @/cafekitsune | kinktober list

The front door shuts. Your boyfriend’s back from his run.

“Hey Kyle, perfect timing. Do you know where the–oof!”

A sweaty pair of arms band around your waist, and the hands attached to them grab whatever and wherever they can. A nose shoves to the crook of your shoulder and huffs, tickling your skin.

You melt backward into the bare chest pressed to your back and swoon just a little before snapping out of it enough to turn off the oven. At least you hadn’t started mixing the wet ingredients.

“Have a good run?”

“Yeah,” he breathes between kisses to your neck, palms sliding to the ties of your apron. He steps back, tugging on them to guide you toward the breakfast nook. “Then I started thinking ‘bout you here, how you were wearing my shirt…Where’s that gone, by the way?”

You bend over the bolted table and cushion your head with your arms. Sighing contentedly at the feel of your shorts and underwear falling down your legs, you smile. “In the wash. It reeked from last night.”

Kyle smooths his hands over your ass and hums appreciatively. “Don’t want to smell like me?”

“Didn’t, oh, Kyle–mm, didn’t say that.” You lift slightly on your toes as he teasingly rocks between your thighs, and relish the friction. You’re not wet enough to take him just yet, but with how his hand snakes under you to find your clit, that problem will be remedied quickly. “I can’t go around, ah, smelling like sex–”

“Really?” His smile bleeds into his voice. He opens you slowly on his cock. “News to me.” 

Whatever’s happened, Kyle’s fuming. Barely said two words since you picked him up. Scarcely more when he made you turn into an empty car park then pulled you into the backseat.

He ruts. No other word for it. Definitely one of the rougher go’s you’ve had in a while, with one of your legs hooked over his shoulder, but fuck if it doesn’t feel good.

“Kyle, K-Kyle, ‘m so close,” you slur a bit, grabbing your tits when they bounce too hard. The fingers on your clit vanish to bat your hands away.

“Don’t.” He grumbles, hips snapping quick and hard in pursuit of his release. His fingers absently dig into where they lay, your extended calf and the thigh of the leg hooked around his hip. 

You whine, grabbing both rear and front headrests to prevent your head from colliding with the car door. The orgasm that’s been building over the last several minutes slips further away with the absence of his attention. “Baby—please, need your hand—“

It takes a minute for him to process what you’re asking. His eyes are dark and unfocused, staring past you, through the car, and far away, possibly across borders. His bag’s in the boot, his trousers only pulled down far enough to allow him to sink into you. He comes back to himself, the light returning to his eyes with a string of whispered apologies, and he drops closer to kiss you.

His fingers return, everything about him gentling until your stomach draws as tight as a drum.

“Need you.” he purrs into your ear, cutting through the fog of sleep. You do nothing but mumble an acknowledgment and lift your hips as he tugs your panties and pajamas down. He parts your legs with his knees, showering praises as he rolls a condom on.

“So good to me. Always so good.”

Consciousness flutters behind your eyelids like a trapped moth, knowing it ought to slip away into the dark but unable to resist the pull of the heat between your legs. You’re dimly aware of his fingers as they delve in to slowly work you open. Of how they cleverly massage you from the inside, curling and stroking the walls of your already soaked pussy. The wide pad of his thumb on your clit keeps you between waking and dreaming.

Your body registers the absence before your mind, squirming and clenching on nothing.

The sound of a muffled laugh furrows your brow.

“Yeah? Greedy.”

You shudder, lips parting in a gasp at the stretch of his cock. Eased with him taking you only hours before during a movie, he manages it in one languid thrust. You rest your arms by your head, which he takes advantage of to ruck your top over your tits.

He mouths at your nipples, his stubbly chin and lip tickling. You smile tiredly, unwilling to concede and open your eyes. His voice is honeyed sweet, and thick as syrup.

“Starting to squeeze me, babe. What’re you hiding your eyes for?” Kyle shifts, chest pressing to yours. His hips shallowly pump and lazily grind. No hurry at all. A thumb brushes over your cheek before he kisses it, and then one of your wrists. “S’alright. Just a little more, and I’ll tuck you back in.”

You nod, moaning as he bumps against your clit just right.

He chuckles quietly, low in his throat, as he pulls up and away. His thumb reappears at your nub, tracing slow and careful designs over it. It wakes you up a bit more. Enough that your eyes briefly crack open and glimpse the look of naked want on his face. He stares down at himself buried inside you, mouth hanging open in muted groans. His teeth sink into his lip at a pulsing clench of your pussy, head rolling with a silent fuck. You grin and close your eyes again, focusing on the colors behind your eyelids and the growing tension in your belly.

When you come, it feels like dipping into a drawn bath that’s the perfect temperature. A frisson of pleasure rolls down every nerve ending, warming every inch of your body. Your quiet moans spur Kyle on. He picks up the pace, more rushed now that you’ve come, and it isn’t long until it fractures. He fills the condom, grinding into your deliciously wet and aching cunt.

After he pulls out, your ears perk at the sound of him tying off the condom, and another smile forms when he kisses your brow. He helps you up, fixes your clothes, and keeps the washroom’s light off while you clean up. You’re grateful your boyfriend’s thoughtful enough to use protection. He got a vasectomy years ago, but he knows you don’t like having to deal with his mess when you’re this sleepy.

Kyle ushers you back to bed as promised, drawing up the bedding as you settle against him. You inhale and sigh deeply, feeling more relaxed than before.

“Kyle…?” You murmur into his chest.

His arm slings over you, skimming up and down your back. “Alright, babe?”

“I feel…” His chest pulls in under your cheek. “Bone-tired.”

You grin at the groan-laugh that gets you, as well as the quick pinch to your ass. 

[strangerstilinski]

𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐥𝐞𝐬 𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐤𝐢 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

summary; stiles lets it slip that he hasn't had his first kiss yet and, as his friend, you're more than happy to remedy that.

warnings; no use of y/n, fluff, established friendship, some pretty intense kissing, one instance of reader being referred to as a girl

word count; +3.5k

a/n; no smut here, but i am currently planning a couple nsfw pieces to work on between bouts of writing my ongoing (long suffering) stiles fic.

please think about leaving a comment/reblogging if you enjoy! it would actually mean the world to me

“-And it was just.. So wet. Way, way too much spit, y’know? And there was entirely too much tongue on his part considering the fact that his hands, like, never even left his pockets-”

You’re not entirely sure how, nor at what point, the conversation devolved into a mostly one-sided and incredibly detailed analysis of Mark Hagan’s kissing technique, or lack thereof, but by the time your eyes fall to the boy sitting in the driver’s seat, you realize that you’ve been rambling for at least a full minute in the patchy darkness of the parked car.

“-And I’m not saying I wanted to be groped or anything but, I mean, it’s a little awkward when a guy just-”

You falter suddenly, when you notice the awkward slump in Stiles’ posture, and your words taper out without warning. He has one hand white-knuckled on the steering wheel and the other gripped tightly on the back of the seat where he’d turned to face you when he first asked how your date had gone the night before. And- God. That had been minutes ago, now.

“Sorry,” You apologize immediately with a grimace, “Was that, like, way too much information? Sorry.”

“No, I, uh,” He releases the steering wheel and shakes out his hand as if only just realizing how tight his grip had truly been. Your eyes are embarrassingly distracted by the long line of his fingers as he continues, “I guess I just didn’t realize how many things you could do wrong, y’know? I assumed it’d be more straight forward than that. You lean in, press your lips together, kiss, done. Right?”

You laugh softly at his rushed response, “I mean, I guess. I’d like to think there’s a little more skill that goes into it than that.”

“And, uh, Mark..” Stiles has been seemingly overwhelmed with reasons to dislike the other boy since you’d announced your upcoming date the week before, and he nearly spits the name with disdain when he says it now. “No skill, huh? Not quite, uh.. Not up to your standards?” He’s fiddling with the straw from his long-finished milkshake as he speaks, eyes downcast and determinedly focussed on his fingers, “Considering the overabundance of tongue, the lack of groping, and the, uh.. All-around wetness-?”

Another small huff of laugher escapes you as you drop your own empty cup into the greasy paper bag the diner had stuffed your to-go order into a half hour before, your socked feet returning to the Jeep’s dashboard only a moment later.

“Yeah, I guess you could say that.” You fight back a cringe at the mere memory of the drool that coated Mark’s chin when you’d finally decided you’d had enough and pulled away.

“What about you?”

His question catches you off guard and your brows furrow as you meet his gaze, “What about me?”

He twists and folds the straw of his drink with more vigor, nose crinkling before he elaborates, “What would you say your, uh.. Your skill level.. is?”

You pitch forward to grab one of the few remaining curly fries from the container perched by your feet on the dash, falling back into your seat and munching slowly as you genuinely ponder the question.

“I think I’m probably alright,” You shrug after a moment, “I mean, it’s hard to say, right? But I’ve never had any complaints. And considering Lydia is, like, the queen of complaining-”

You’re caught off guard by the entirely inhuman squawk of disbelief and surprise that escapes him. He’s scrambling in his seat with no real purpose before he slowly comes back to a standstill, now sitting just a few inches closer to the passenger side than he was before.

“Lydia? You.. You and Lydia have-?”

You shrug again as you wipe your greasy fingertips on the leg of your jeans, “Yeah, like, twice. Maybe three times?”

“Three-?”

“What about you?” You interrupt.

You tip your head against the backrest to look at him in the dim light of the parking lot as you await his response. The Jeep is barely getting hit with the residual light from the windows of the diner, but the bright neon sign on the roof of the building casts a pretty red hue over Stiles’ face. His mole-dotted skin is flushed with it, the only bits safe from the red-tinted glow are the shadows beneath his brows and the tiny divot in the tip of his nose that extends up from his cupid’s bow. You want to trace the darkness on his skin with the tip of your finger — with your lips.

You find yourself getting lost in just how gorgeous he is, not for the first time.

“Huh?” Stiles asks dumbly.

“Skill level,” You elaborate with a grin, lifting one foot from the dash to poke your toes into his knee, “What about you? Are the girls positively swooning? Melting under your touch? ‘Oh, Stiles. You’re the best kisser on this side of the Rockies-’”

Your teasing is silenced when his hand comes out to cover your mouth, long fingers trapping the words beneath your lips. Your knee is squished awkwardly between you, but he’s so warm you can feel the heat of his body seeping into your own, and the scent of his body wash fills your nose now rather than the lingering smell of grease from your shared dinner. You can hardly focus on his words as the smell of teakwood and pine invades your senses.

“No one in their right mind would ever say something like that after being kissed,” He tells you, face pinched in a cringe, “Like, not even something remotely along those lines. Not even in those weird old-timey romance movies you make me w-”

You grab ahold of his fingers to pull his palm from your lips with a small giggle, “Oh, c’mon, the suspense is killing me! Are you a good kisser or not?” Your mind is reeling a bit as you think about it. You can’t help but wonder what it would be like to kiss Stiles, to feel his lips on your own, his hands on you. “I feel like you probably are. Just the right about of enthusiasm but you’re also a total perfectionist so it’d-”

“I don’t know!”

His exclamation is entirely too loud for the confined space of the car, his voice ricocheting sharply off the metal shell of the vehicle and causing you both to flinch a little. Stiles looks as if he wishes he could stuff the words back into his mouth and try again. You’re simply looking him over with a more critical eye, searching for the reason for his recent outburst as if it might be written plainly on his face, like you might find big emboldened letters of explanation etched across his skin.

“What’d’you mean you don’t know?” You scoff in amusement, “Y’know what? Fine-” You shuffle closer as an idea pops into your head — a brilliant, glorious, heaven-sent idea. His fingertips are still trapped within the palm of your hand and your knee slips over the top of his thigh as you slide closer and move into the center seat, “C’mere. I’ll give you review-”

Your face edges closer and closer to his own until your noses bump and the delicate touch seems to zap Stiles into alertness, sending him jolting back as if he’s been electrocuted.

The sourness that erupts in your belly at his reaction isn’t wholly unexpected, but a small flicker of shame joins it and burns like acid in your chest.

“Well, shit..” You murmur with an awkward chuckle.

It’s difficult to bite back the nagging feeling of embarrassment that swirls through your veins in response to being shot down by your best friend — your best friend that you’ve desperately been wanting to kiss since middle school.

You swallow harshly before continuing with a self-deprecating laugh, “I didn’t realize the thought of kissing me was quite so.. Horrifying. My bad.. I.. I’m sorry. You don’t- I didn’t think and I just- Sorry.” The last bit comes out quieter, the sound of it buried beneath the sudden tightness in your throat.

You find yourself avoiding his eyes, but that only means that your gaze is drawn to the smooth expanse of his neck — and there’s that glow from the diner’s neon sign again. His skin is cast in that red hue, smooth expanses of scarlet broken up by the speckles of dark moles and beauty marks scattered here, there, everywhere. You can almost make out his jumping pulse beneath the hollow of his throat, the dark crimson shadow twitching nearly imperceptibly with each too-quick beat of his heart.

They’re all spots that you’ve only dreamt of having your lips touch.

On rainy days when he shakes his hair out like a dog with the sole purpose of hearing the way you squeal in surprise, the drops of water finding their way down his temple and filling you with the urge to kiss it away.

When you slip into daydreams from the desk behind him during class, your eyes stuck on the exposed curve of his shoulder where his shirt collar is stretched just a little too loose, your lips tingling with the all-too vivid phantom feeling of his skin beneath them.

Trapped in his embrace, his height just enough that your face is smushed into his collarbones, nose crushed against him and pulling in the woodsy scent of his cologne, your mouth pressed limply to the soft cotton over his chest but aching with the desire to pucker and leave behind a gentle peck.

“No! No, it’s not that!” Stiles denies immediately. He’s already reaching out to drag you closer again, hands curling into your waist the moment you attempt to slip backwards into a bubble of shame in the passenger seat. “Kissing you would be the opposite of horrifying! It would be, like, a dream come true or- Or-”

Your eyebrows creep up your forehead at that, the barely there curve of a nervous smile pulling at the corners of your lips as his words seem to tumble out faster, growing increasingly difficult to understand as he rambles in a way that you’re all-too familiar with.

“-Because if I was going to kiss anyone, I’d want it to be you, but if I do kiss you and I’m horrible at it and you’re, like, repulsed-”

You’re still trying to piece things together despite the jumbled bits you seem to have missed. Your lips part in astonishment and his fingers tighten where they’ve begun to anxiously dig into your hips as he continues.

“-What if I’m worse than Mark? What if.. What if I’m so bad that you kiss me once and then you never, ever want to kiss me again because I was so unbelievably-”

“Stiles!”

You cut him off, already scooting closer until your left thigh is practically in his lap. His words cut off, a sharp inhale tearing past his lips as your hands find his shoulders, your thumb dragging over the freckled skin of his neck. You can feel his pulse jumping wildly against the pad of your finger as you finally voice your question.

“Are you telling me you’ve never kissed anyone before?” You ask the question as delicately as you can manage, but he still winces as an embarrassed flush colors his cheeks further.

“Not.. Not technically.” He admits quietly, big brown eyes still tinted beneath the crimson glow from outside the Jeep.

“Not technically?” You repeat slowly.

“I don’t know why I thought saying it like that would make it sound better,” He says weakly, “It didn’t. It was still just as mortifying. And so, so lame.”

Your heart flutters, cracks, and then ticks up in quick succession as your flooded with a wide array of conflicting emotions. You can’t quite believe what it is you’re hearing.

“You haven’t had your first kiss?” The words come out a bit more heartbroken than you intended.

Stiles looks horrified at the bluntness of your statement for a moment before he’s swallowing harshly, eyes dropping from your own for a fleeting second.

“No,” He says in a quiet voice, nearly a whisper as his eyes flick back up to yours, “But, um, if- If you’re still offering.. I mean-”

Your heart is positively hammering in your chest, so hard you worry he might be able to hear it, but then your thumb drags up and brushes over his own racing pulse again and his nerves seem to somehow calm yours. Your lean forward until the tip of your nose catches on the bridge of his again, eyes not leaving his as you move achingly slow, giving him time in case he decides to change his mind.

“You’re sure?” You ask softly, the whispered question little more than a breath of warm air against the bow of his upper lip.

“Uh huh.” He just manages the quiet sound of affirmation, a small nod of his head has your lips brushing lightly and the barely-there touch pulls a sharp breath of anticipation from him.

“Okay,” You say quietly, dragging one hand to the back of his neck so you can guide the angle of his head just a touch to one side.

His grip on your hips readjusts and tightens further, one of his clammy palms slipping beneath the hem of your shirt, and the warmth of skin on skin has you breathing out harshly in the sliver of space between your lips again. Your eyes flick slow between his, wide pools of scarlet-tinted whiskey watching you with rapt attention. Your mouth curves up with the hint of a smile, a soft breath of laughter falling into his parted lips as your fingers dig into the thick muscle of his neck.

“Close your eyes, weirdo.” You whisper fondly.

“Shit, fuck. Sorry, yeah. Eyes closed.” He rambles off quickly, eyes pinching shut immediately and hands squeezing your hips as if silently promising that he’s ready.

Endeared. You’re so fucking endeared your organs feel as if they’ve gone warm and syrupy beneath your skin.

Despite your admonishment of his eyes being open, you find yourself unable to pull your own away from watching every small tick in his features. Your hand on his shoulder tightens as you brush your nose across his and when the tight pinch of his eyes slackens and he takes a small nervous breath of anticipation, you finally press your lips to his.

It starts with just a small peck as your brain whites out for just a second. His lips are soft and chapped and plush against your own. You linger for a brief moment before you’re separating just enough to slot your mouths back together a little better.

His lower lip finds itself between yours and he gravitates toward you when you make like you’re about to draw back a second time, his mouth blindly searching for yours. He applies more pressure as he seems to become more sure of himself, one of his hands sliding to the base of your spine to drag you closer.

Impressed, you guide the angle of his head to tip just a hair further, your lips parting to exhale a hot breath into the gap between his own. A small sound rumbles from his chest as he tries to replicate the heat of your kiss on the next meeting. His lips fall open just enough that his breath mingles with your own and your brain goes a little heady with it, thighs tensing as blood rushes in your ears and heat pools in your gut.

You draw back and you’re forced to tangle your fingers in his hair to hold him in place when he tries to chase your mouth again. His eyes crack open to meet your own when he finds himself unable to catch you in another kiss and his pupils are blown a little wide, black overtaking brown until only a small ring of rich chocolate remains. You’re sure you don’t look much better, with the way our chest is threatening to heave with excitement, your fingers trembling where they’re gripping onto the muscle of his shoulder and woven into his hair.

“That was.. That was good.” You tell him after a moment, voice embarrassingly shaky, “What.. What’d you think?”

“Good.” He returns just as weak, “Great. That- Mhm. Awesome.”

His eyes are on your lips again and he looks downright hungry, but then, so are you.

“You’re a natural,” You praise breathlessly, eyes flicking between his rapidly as your fingers unconsciously tighten in his hair, “I’d never guess that was your first kiss – It was.. You learn fast.”

“We- You should probably show me more,” He insists, already leaning back in until his forehead finds your own, “That way I won’t end up like Mark, y’know? With pretty girls complaining to their friends about how wet and gross and bad it-”

“You think I’m pretty?”

He blinks at you as his lips curve up at the corners, the tip of his nose catching against yours to shoot sparks down your spine when he replies, “I think you’re beautiful.”

“Oh.” Is all you manage to get out as a smile tugs at your own lips.

“You want to maybe show me how to use tongue without, being completely repulsive and, like, drowning you or whatever?”

“Mhm,” You agree easily through a breathless laugh. You can’t quite help the quick press of your lips to his and you feel the relieved exhale that falls from his nose and fans out in a warm puff against your face. “Just for the record, though-” You feel the need to elaborate, “There is a time and a place for wet. When things are really hot and heavy and you’re in the throes of passion or whatever — a little too much tongue is great. It can be really, really hot. But- Like I said, time and place.”

The information leaves Stiles looking mildly overwhelmed and severely aroused, but he’s nodding dutifully, “Uh huh. Got it. Noted. I’ll remember that.”

“Okay.”

“Okay.”

His mouth is claiming yours again before the word is even fully out, the sound of it lost in your lips and what remains is smothered by your gasp of surprise. You let him control the pace for a moment before remembering that you’re supposed to be the one guiding him.

You bring one hand up to his face, thumb catching his chin so you can guide his jaw to drop open a bit further as your tongue teases against the inside of his lip. His groan meets your ears, the sound of it sending a shockwave through your body that you’re still reeling from as he repeats your action with truly startling ease. The warm wetness of his tongue has you feeling hot all over, and when it catches against the tip of your own before retreating, you nearly whimper in protest at the loss.

He effortlessly settles into the pattern of give and take, hot brushes of tongues broken up by soft pecks against slick lips. His fingertips dig into your skin like he’s afraid you might slip away into nothing if he doesn’t hold you tight enough and you find your own fingers scraping at his scalp in response.

You’re both making soft little noises between the quiet smack of lips, the leather seats creaking every time your weight shifts in an attempt to get closer.

The lack of oxygen has your head a little fuzzy at the edges when you finally pull back and each of your exhales mingle warmly in the small sliver of space between your mouths as you both fight to catch your breath.

“I, um. I don’t think you have to worry about your kissing technique.” You tell him breathlessly just to break the silence, “You’re all good. A, uh, a great kisser. Eleven out of ten.”

“Cool. Cool. That’s great, I, um-” He coughs quietly, nervously, as he leans back to put a bit more space between you, “Would you maybe want to do it again sometime?”

He’s looking at you with pretty brown eyes blown wide and bleeding earnestness. The hand around your back has fallen to your upper thigh, the grip of it tightening as if punctuating certain words as he speaks. It’s entirely possible that your brain sort-circuits, because a moment of silence passes before he’s barreling on.

“-because I, for one, would really like to do that again sometime. Maybe.. Maybe after a date? Or during a date — that part doesn’t really matter. I just really like you and I have pretty much since forever and now that I’ve kissed you-”

“You like me?” Is all you manage past the heavy thumping of your heart in your chest, your ears — Shit, you’re pretty sure you can feel every pump of it in each trembling twitch of your fingers.

“So much that’s borderline embarrassing, yeah.” He admits, throat bobbing as he swallows nervously.

A breath whooshes past your lips, filled with relief and surprise and elation.

“I like you too.” You say after a beat too long, “Holy shit. Stiles, are you kidding me? I’ve liked you since the fifth grade.”

“Really?” He looks mildly shocked.

A giddy laugh escapes you as you drag him forward again to bring your lips back together. The kiss is chaste, but filled with so much emotion it makes your head swim a bit.

“Damn,” Stiles mutters suddenly, the frustrated curse puffing out against your cheek, “Does that mean we could’ve been doing this the whole time? Like, years of kissing-?”

His words cut off when your lips find his once more and he gives in easily, his train of thought thoroughly derailed.

“I guess we’ve got a lot of time to make up for then, Stilinski.. You up for the challenge?”

Stiles nods wildly and he’s pulling you back in before you can say anything else.

[thevirtualvalentine]

TAPE ONE : PIZZA DELIVERY !

Starring… PORTGAS D. ACE 📸

SET SCRIPT :

“Hi hi hi!!! For the follower request event, can i get a pizza delivery Ace? Sweet boy, kinda clueless, and a sweet reader as well? 🥹❤️”

MATURE WARNING(S) : unprotected penetrative sex, cheesy porno dialogue, cunnilings (you sit on his face), slight breeding kink if you squint, afab/fem reader, Ace thinks you’re really pretty, thick!dick ace (canon), switchy!ace, & he calls you “sweetheart/pretty girl.”

DIRECTORS CUT : for my love @kingofthe-egirls !!! I loved this prompt so much and have been itching to complete it since I saw it. Thank you for requesting, hope you enjoy. 🖤

A Friday night with nothing to do, a product of boredom. You didn’t feel like doing anything tonight, especially cooking. Sitting in your apartment in shorts too tiny for your ass and a tight tank top, waiting for your pizza delivery.

Getting your usual favorite combo from the local shop guarantees a good comfort meal with some quiet TV before you head to bed. The couch offers you adequate back support after a long week at your desk, sighing and falling into the cushions while ads play in the background as ambiant noise.

Time slips you before there’s a series of knocks at your door, playing a rhythm as you’re pulled from your trance. “Yo, Delivery.”

Checking the peep hole before unlocking the door you’re faced with the cutest delivery boy. He’s in shitty combat boots and cargo shorts matched with a half buttoned uniform shirt. His long wavy black hair kept under a hat as he reads the receipt, “a large pizza for y/n?” You open the door wider as you step into frame. “Ohhh, for miss pretty y/n,” he corrects himself, tipping his hat at you with a smile.

Giggling slightly you cover your mouth, “yeah, y/n. Thank you so much, let me get my wallet.” You wish you could invite such a cutie inside but you know it’s against better judgement. Turning around you make your way through the apartment looking for your wallet.

Ace, the delivery boy, grins watching your dainty ass sway as you saunter back inside. Tiny shorts riding up between your cheeks as you bend over the counter, but he’s just the delivery boy. A distressed look crosses your face before you walk back to the doorway where he’s leaning. One arm holding your pizza and another flexing as he rests his weight into it.

“Everythin’ ok?” A pretty girl like you should never have such a perturbed look spread across your face like that.

You lean forward, studying his name tag. “I’m sorry Ace, I can’t seem to find my wallet. I must’ve left it at work.” Feeling like an idiot you’re barely able to look at him. The guilt of making him come all the way from across town to deliver your order setting in.

“I can help ya find it,” he offers, ignoring the fact he’s on the clock. It’s not the first time something like this has happened at work, just not to someone so enticing.

“No no,” biting your lip as you try to think of a solution that’ll remedy the situation. You look at him, worried to find an annoyed expression on his face but you heat up finding such a soft handsome gaze thrown your way. A complete stranger so bothered by your troubles. “How bout I pay you back? Whaddya say?”

Confused, he tilts his head; was that not the problem in the first place? “How,” he asks curiously.

Looking into the hallway, you check down both ends before tugging him inside by the collar. “Like this.” Leaning on your tip toes not letting go of his shirt you kiss him softly, taking over his senses with your soft plush lips against his. Ace drops the pizza and doesn’t even bother to catch it as it clatters to the floor. “That ok with you?” Your eyes looking at his lips and then back to the rest of his face.

He’s lit up bright red as he nods dumbly, “more than ok.”

You push him back against your front door chasing his lips once more. He tastes like cinnamon gum as you swipe your tongue against his bottom lip, eager for entry into his mouth. He grants it to you unquestionably, equally craving the feel of your heated tongue sliding against his. Muffled groans escaping him as your hands caress his warm exposed skin beneath his shirt.

“You’re s’good at this,” he says in between each wet smack of your mouthes. His hands wrapping and groping along your waist and backside, kneading the plump flesh like playdough. The cutest part is he’s much taller than you, bending down so you can kiss him how you want.

“You think so? I can get better.” One of your hands leaves his chest, trailing down his toned body as you palm his hardening cock in your hand. “Oh, and you’re so big Ace. Almost like you’re paying me with all this.” Heavy breaths leaving him as you cup his dick tenderly and give such feverish love to his neck all at once. It has him rutting into your hand trying to satiate that itch that’s been bothering him ever since he saw you in the doorway. Little shorts leaving nothing to the imagination.

You unzip his cargos, leaving only his thin boxers between his growing length and your nimble fingers. He rolls his hips harder each time you tease the waist band and lick his lips as you both swap saliva. “Stop teasin, thought I was ‘sposed to get paid.”

“You’ll get compensated, delivery boy,” you grab him by the belt loops as you lead him to your couch. Smiling as you push him back, he plops against the cushion with a soft ‘hmp’. Ace takes off his shirt, throwing it to the side as he man spreads to ease the ache in his balls, bulging erection awaiting your attention. “Want your dick sucked or what?”

While that sounds like a great idea, Ace is more eager to taste the sweetness between your legs. “Sit on my face pretty girl, wanna eat you.” He pulls you by the back of your thighs, edging you closer to his body as he starts to slide down your shorts. His forwardness makes you glow, slotting your hands in his hair, ruffling it slightly while he tends to your clothes. For a delivery boy, he sure knows the art of seduction. You’re practically dripping for him already.

He kisses your hipbone while waiting for you to join him on the couch. Sliding down the cushions, grabbing hold of your legs as you mount and hold the backing. “You sure?” He stares up at you from the valley of your swell breasts and smooth tummy, not having any of your objections. He sits up to swipe his wet muscle from your clit down. A soft ‘oh’ leaving your lips as he gets to work.

“Mhhm,” he moans as he taste you, almost analyzing its components like a savory sauce. He plants his hands on your waist, pulling you down further onto his mouth— it’s as if he’s not afraid of suffocating down there.

He’s eating you out like a man starved, dipping and curving his tongue into your oozing hole before suckling on your clit. He ignores the mixture of spit and slick on his chin as he devours you greedily. “Pussy’s so fuckin’ good, could eat this every day.”

Your soft moans encourage him to give you more, he needs you to fuck his face. He uses those same hands to hook around your ass and thighs, dragging you down on his tongue as he licks your insides. “Oh shit, ah— wait Ace,” you try to sit up, running from all the attention but it’s no use.

His strong arms keep you planted in place, “no runnin’ m not done yet.” Fuck this guy is hot, it’s like he’s straight out of a shitty 80’s porno as he makes you cream against his mouth. He slurps and sucks your hole as you whine loose chants of his name.

Adding his hands into the mix when he slides two fingers knuckle deep inside you. Scissoring your tight walls, you shake feeling those calloused pads massage your g-spot. “Gotta cum for me sweetheart, then I’ll fuck you as a tip.”

It feels even closer cause his tongue does not relent from your throbbing bud. Sliding it back and forth while his fingers give you something to squeeze on. “Yes yes, like that!” You sound so raunchy taking advantage of his face; running your hips in a figure eight along his tongue.

He’s grinding against the air trying to find friction, shallow thrusts up that match the pace of his fingers inside you. So close, you start pinching your nipple trying to tip yourself over the edge of raw pleasure. The pizza delivery boy of course notes this, groaning as he watches you play with yourself. He wants to replace his hand with yours, pinching and tugging at your dark bud. But, he has to keep you in place while he fucks you on his fingers. “Gonna— oh fuck,” here it comes.

Your orgasm crashes hard, washing over you in one big wave as you almost collapse on his face. He drinks whatever you offer as you whine and cry out, it’s too good. “Think you’re stretched? Cause I really wanna fuck you now. Ya look really hot when you cum.”

He’s swiping the culminating wetness from his face into his mouth, sucking the fingers he had inside you like a greedy bastard. Licking and suctioning onto the pads to emphasize how needy he is for you. Oh, he’s good.

“Be my guest, pretty boy.” Ace has never really thought of himself as pretty, so hearing someone as beautiful as you say it, it must be true. He flushes a light shade of pink while removing the rest of his clothes.

“Condom?” Like an idiot, he didn’t bring any and his wallets downstairs in the shitty delivery car where he typically keeps one if he’s lucky.

“Want you inside, I’m on the pill.” Oh.. and he gets to pound you raw? He’ll definitely be coming back here. Shaking your ass back and forth at him as if to invite him over. “Cmon I want the tip already.” He laughs at your two way pun, rubbing your ass in his hands as he marvels the sight of you bent over the side of the couch.

Ace sees his hard work continuing to drip down the insides of your thighs, smirking while lining his fat tip up with your cunt. He spits in his hand before pumping himself to make sure it’ll fit just right. You’re pushed forward till your hips meet the arm of the couch, sandwiched between two immovable forces.

He’s trying his hardest to not just slam into you, your pussy is so warm and wet around his cock and there’s nothing separating the two of you. You’re squirming from the sheer size of his length even after all that work he did to prep you. “Doin’ so good taking all of me sweetheart. Just a lil’ more.” He doesn’t know if he’s saying that for you or himself at this point, the way your bare walls grip his cock makes him double over.

The couch gives before Ace does, each thrust of his strong hips into you makes it creak and slide forward. He starts off with deep punctuated strokes, each one earning a high pitched cry from you. He’s pummeling your cunny, making your hips rub against the arm as your knees begin to buckle.

“Feelin’ good pretty girl?” But when you go to open your mouth any answer is replaced with moans that sound so pornagraphic. “Fuck your cunts so good. Suckin’ me in.” Being drilled by the hunk of a man behind you and the friction of being fucked into the couch is bringing you near your second orgasm of the night, you start to feel it licking at your insides tentatively.

Ace isn’t in much better shape himself, fucking your pussy raw is taking all of him to shoot his load right in you. He needs to get his moneys worth after all. “Can’t cum yet pretty, wanna see you.”

He moves you both to the couch so you’re flat on your back, one leg hooked around his small waist as another dangles off the couch. “Easy baby, remember to breathe,” he says before easing himself back in. That feeling of fullness returns and brings a dopamine rush with it as he flashes a toothy smile your way. Savoring the feeling of sliding his tip through the gummy resistance.

Your body is so warm beneath him as he drives in and out of your soaking cunt. “Cmon’ give it to me baby. Know you were so close…” Ace trails a hand down your abdomen, spreading his palm across your stomach as leverage while he fucks you stupid. Hair shrouding his face as he coos at you. “Please, dont wanna without you.”

The way he pleads for you is what does it, breaking the dam that was holding back another mind shattering orgasm from this sexy delivery boy. “Ahh fuck, cumming— oh! I’m-” you’re gripping onto him for dear life, firm biceps not budging an inch even when you start to dig your nails into his skin.

It all happens so fast he doesn’t even realize he’s also cumming right behind you, too caught up in the way your sultry lips fall into an “O” shape as you scream his name loud enough to be heard by the entire complex. He buries himself to the hilt, mind boiling with the thought of how he’s fucking his cum into you raw. For some reason the idea only pushes him to not pull out, letting you keep all his seed as he mewls. “Take it, take it all,” sweat accumulating at his hairline.

You’re squeezing him like a damn vice while you come undone, face scrunched so pretty. It makes his cock ache inside you, relishing in the soft sighs that come from your parted lips.

You both start to come down from your lust filled highs when he speaks again, “mhhhm, you’re still a few cents short.” He kisses you, leaning forward and almost suffocating you into his large chest.

Oh boy, hopefully he clocked out.

Enjoy? Reblog & click 2 see event masterlist!

[dfortrafalgar]

Withdrawal

Four days off your hormone birth control pill left you with one unexpected side effect.

Law x Fem Reader

Warnings: MATURE 18+, MINORS AND AGELESS BLOGS INTERACTING WITH THIS POST WILL BE BLOCKED, this is all smut like pureee smut, every generic smut tag needed is here, pinv sx, biting, dry humping, creampie, unprotected sex (dont), biting, wet and messy, etc etc bless

Also Posted on AO3

It had been a mere 4 days since you stopped taking a daily hormone pill to control your crippling period cramps.  After all, it was near impossible to get a hold of the same medicines aboard a submarine that spent ninety percent of its time hundreds of meters below the ocean’s surface.  As such, you exhausted the six-month supply of the tiny pills that you had brought with you when you joined the Heart Pirates, slowly counting down the days when you would inevitably run out.

You had discussed your waning pill count with Ikkaku on multiple occasions, and she relayed you with her own experiences in her teenage years.

“When I stopped taking hormone pills, my period lasted for, like, two weeks before it became regular again!” she had said, throwing her hands in the air in an exasperated display as she recounted her memories.  “It sucked.  My cramps were really bad, too, but they got a bit better overtime.”

You had assumed, due to very little knowledge otherwise, that your experience would be largely the same.  It made sense in the few biology books you had studied during your downtime spent on the floor in the crew library.  You would cease taking your daily pill, your hormones would fluctuate as your body adjusted to the lack of a steady balance, and eventually you would go back to living life as you did years before you began your regimen.  You read up on a few additional side effects along with heavier and longer bouts of bleeding and increased amounts of bloating and general discomfort.  Mostly changes in body mass and occasional reports of differing mental symptoms, which you had readied yourself for as your supply turned into a week's worth, and then down to a single pill, and then nothing at all.

You had Law, your sweet, awkward, broomstick of a boyfriend, to pull on his metaphorical physician’s coat and help you out when needed, as well.  He told you, based on his own research (that he didn’t start until after you told him you were down to only two months left of pills), that he could administer remedies if you had bad cramp flare ups or serious, debilitating bleeding.  He followed his reassurance with a tender kiss to your cheek as you smiled at him, thanking him for his generosity and understanding.

You swallowed your last pill 4 days ago.  So far, none of the symptoms you had prepared yourself for had made themselves known.  No bloating, no period (yet), no fluctuating mental state, no change in weight.

Instead, starting 24 hours after your first pill-less day, you were plagued with intense, irreparable horniness, which had now gone on for 3 entire days.

Three days.  72 hours of a persistent wetness between your thighs, a constant warmth fluttering deep within the recesses of your gut that had you clenching around nothing at all hours of the day.  You were able to perform your work just fine, but every time Law would pass by you in the hallway, his fleeting touches would leave electric sparks through your boiler suit, his metal-tinged smell lingering in your nostrils more than usual, his golden irises etching themselves into your eyelids.  You were acutely aware of the sensation of dampness increasing between your legs whenever he made contact with you, which was very, very often.

You and Law had fucked before.  You fucked as often as you could, which, given your respective roles aboard a pirate submarine, was only about once a week, twice if you were lucky (and this was already more often than Law could’ve ever anticipated).  You were no stranger to the primal want that made you salivate, endlessly craving the calloused touch of your boyfriend’s lanky fingers against your hips.

But this, the unabashed depravity that started after you stopped your hormone pills, was on a completely different level.  Each day seemed to get worse, more unbearable.  It was as if your body was screaming at you to pursue your lover and beg him to dick you as deep into his mattress as he possibly could.  The mere thought made your face flush with blood.  During the times where you were left alone in Law’s bed while he was out being a captain, you tried to tend to your needs with your fingers.  You managed once to make yourself cum three times in a row without feeling any sense of relief.  Post-orgasm euphoria would instantly be replaced with more intense lust and longing, leaving you frustrated and bewildered.

Had you told him about this?  No, of course not.  Had he asked you about your condition in the days following your cessation?  Yes, multiple times.  He was constantly pleased with your content, “I feel great!” responses, and didn’t press the issue further, knowing you would come to him if you started to feel discomfort.

But this was a ‘discomfort’ that made your pride as a pirate, as a strong, semi-independent woman, waver ever so slightly.  Simply because you weren’t really keen to beg like a pathetic animal in heat.  (That had only happened once in the bedroom between you and your stone-cold captain-turned-boyfriend, and not only had the words that left your mouth embarrass you to a previously unknown degree, but they left Law feeling unbelievably awkward.  The two of you ended up not having sex and instead simply falling asleep.)

Unbeknownst to you, however, your inner, wet, sweaty turmoil started to be noticed by the crew due to your wavering performance.  You were spacing out far more than usual, keeping your head bowed consistently, contrasting your former upbeat, hardworking, and friendly personality.  Multiple times, fingers had to be snapped in your face to grab your attention from the clutches of daydreams that had your eyes glazed over.

And what the crew picked up on, Law would pick up on, if he didn’t notice it first.

Four days.  Four days of this.

Your watch shift had ended for the day, allowing you to retreat to the captain’s quarters that you shared with Law, shedding your boiler suit for comfortable loungewear, excited to get off your feet and relax in bed with a book you had started in an attempt to distract your mind from your perverted thoughts.  You had just barely opened the page before the heavy steel door opened, revealing your boyfriend to you as he stepped into the room, closing and locking the hatch behind him.

“Are you okay?” he asked, plainly.  His face showed no expression, which was usual, but the aura he radiated sent a nervous chill down your spine.  It was somewhere along the tightrope between concerned and mildly frustrated.

“Yeah, why?” you responded, a fleeting attempt to match his energy.  You tucked your knees to your chest as the taller man approached the bed, flopping onto it and sitting cross-legged before you.

“It seems like you’ve been a lot more spacy these past few days.  Some of the crew told me it appeared that your work has been lacking, and I was wondering if it had something to do with your pill withdrawal.”

You bit the inside of your bottom lip, anxiously digging through your scrambled thoughts for a proper answer.  Before you had a chance to respond, however, Law continued speaking.

“If you’re feeling any signs of negative mental health, I want you to tell me right away.  I’m being serious, any signs of depression, anxiety, intense stress, nightmares–”

“I’m not depressed, Law, I promise,” you reassured.  This wasn’t a lie, you really weren’t depressed.  You were slightly anxious, yes, and definitely stressed due to the constant feeling of a throbbing pulse within your clit every single time you sat down, but you weren’t depressed.

“Something is clearly bothering you, though.  I’m here to help you.”

His affirmations once again made you falter.  Your eyes stayed glued to his, afraid to look anywhere else.

“I…” you began, voice low and wispy.  “I don’t really know how to say it…”

Your response made Law’s eyebrows cock in confusion.  “Say… what?”

You finally discarded your book to the side table, leaving your empty hands to fidget with each other.  “Uhm… what’s been bothering me.”

“Is it something that I can help you with, or is it something that you feel you have to manage on your own?”

Curse Law’s analytical prowess.  Sometimes you wished his rare moments of being a dorky airhead were more common, especially in situations like this.  Swallowing your pride, you replied, “The first one, I hope.”

“You hope?”

“Law…” you grumbled, dropping your head into your curled legs so that your forehead rested on your kneecaps.  It really shouldn’t have been a hard conversation, you knew Law would understand.  But the four consecutive days of nonstop horny fantasy and masturbation sessions that only left you more desperate had officially started to melt your neurons into mush.

“Can you please tell me?  At least so I know that you’re not in pain?”  Law kept his voice low and calm, but his face clearly gave away his profound concern for your sorry state.

You drew in a deep, shaky inhale.  Refusing to lift your head to meet his eyes, you finally swallowed your pride and revealed the truth.  “I’ve been hornier than I’ve ever been in my entire life for the past four days.”

Your confession was not at all what Law was anticipating, judging by his prolonged silence.  You slowly lifted your head, apprehensively searching for his eyes, which, when you found them, were slightly widened.  The tip of his straight nose was flushed a rosy pink color.

“Ohhh,” was all he said in response to your confession.

This didn’t instill much confidence in you.  With a dry chuckle, you quipped back, “That’s all you’re gonna say?”

Law rapidly backpedaled, shaking his head frantically.  “No, of course not.  Your behavior just makes… a lot more sense now.”

Uncomfortable silence filled the space around the two of you.  You could almost see the gears working in Law’s head as he struggled to figure out how exactly he could best help you with your situation, without outright saying it.  It didn’t matter how many times the two of you connected between his sheets, the simple word ‘sex’ left Law flustered and fidgeting like an innocent schoolboy.

“Is there…” he began, voice low.  “Anything you want me to do?”

“Do you want my honest answer?” you asked back.

The staring contest you were currently partaking in had both of your hearts beating a mile a minute.  He simply gave you a curt nod as a reply to your question.

You lowered your knees from your chest slightly, still keeping your arms wrapped around your legs.  “I want you to fuck me until I can’t stand anymore.”

“Damn.”

“You said you wanted my honest answer!” you cried out.  You loved your boyfriend more than anything in this world, but his awkward, stubborn demeanor would really get on your nerves in the wrong circumstances, such as this very moment.

“I know, I know,” he reassured.  He bowed his head away from yours, hiding his eyes under the brim of his hat.  “I just… didn’t expect that.”

“In my defense, I told you I’ve been painfully horny.”

Law pinched the bridge of his nose, once again repeating an exasperated, “I know.”

You lowered your legs further, keeping your hands on your kneecaps as you hunched your shoulders forward.  “Can you please help me?  Please?”  Your voice was low, airy, almost coming out as a whimper.  “It’s been four days, Law.  Everything I try to make myself feel better makes me more and more uncomfortable.”

Your tone really did sound desperate, and Law’s chest clenched at your demeanor.  He glanced back up at your face, your eyebrows scrunched in an odd agony.  He could almost feel the burning of your face from where he sat.  Out of all the withdrawal symptoms the two of you had discussed before your medication ran out, this was the last one that he would’ve expected, and clearly that was the same for you.

“I’ll see what I can do to help,” he uttered.

“You don’t need to ‘see’ anything, Law, I need your dick in me.  Right now.  You know I don’t like begging, you have no idea how embarrassed I feel, but I’m desperate, Law, I’m desperate!”  You were pleading with him now, officially losing your grip on yourself as you began to crawl towards him, placing your hand on his thigh and pushing yourself forward to bury your face in the junction between his neck and shoulder.  “I would rather be depressed.”

A dry chuckle from his throat broke the awkward, stifling atmosphere.  “Don’t say that, I don’t want you to be depressed.”  He rested his arm around your waist, gently pulling you closer to him.  It almost didn’t register how you were beginning to straddle his waist, your fluttering breaths ghosting over his jugular.  

You let out a pathetic whimper, both of your arms now dangled over his shoulders as your hips slotted against his, an uncomfortable position on the bed for both of you, but you were clearly out of your mind as you searched for any semblance of friction to satiate the red-hot need in your core.  Your muscles gyrated on their own, a weary moan leaving your lips, hoping to use the stiffness of his jeans to stimulate your clit from under your loungewear.

Law truly felt bad for your beaten state, and with your body pressed against his, he could feel just how flustered you really were.  With a tender kiss against the shell of your ear, he pushed you back onto the bed, swiftly removing your pajama bottoms and underwear.  A deep crimson blush spread across his tanned cheeks at the sight of you, a persistent, heavy, glistening moistness coating your labia.

“You weren’t kidding,” was all he muttered.

“You thought I’d make this up?!” you pleaded.

“No, of course not.”  He rubbed a calloused hand across your cheek, smiling sweetly as you turned your face to nestle into his touch.  “I’m just sorry it’s been so bad.”

“Apologize with your body.  Please.  Don’t make me keep begging, Law, I can’t take it anymore.”

Somewhere deep inside the stoic captain’s mind was a perverted beast that quite enjoyed the sight of you practically weeping and writhing under him as your body subconsciously demanded any stimulation as soon as possible.  A sadistic side of him wanted to keep you begging, wanted to break you until you sobbed into his chest, losing your humanity to your instinctual, hormonal urges.

But he loved you too much for that, at least in your current worked-up state.  He didn’t want to prolong your suffering.

Without wasting any more time as you lay completely vulnerable and demanding beneath him, he took his hand and trailed two fingers through your folds, stifling a sharp breath at just how wet you really were.  Sticky yet thin and fluid, your sweet, musky scent traveled to his nose and made his stomach clench.  He bit back any other witty comments that sat on his tongue and instead slipped his middle finger into your cunt, using his thumb to stimulate your clit simultaneously.  Your hands flew to cover your mouth, your eyes clenched shut as you involuntarily bucked into his hand, encouraging him to slip a second finger into you to increase the sensation.

“Law,” you moaned out.  One of your hands grabbed his wrist, stopping his movements.  He gazed at you, waiting for your next move.  “I’ve been doing that to myself and nothing’s worked.  I need you.”

The raven-haired man bit the inside of his cheek at your words.  He pulled his fingers out of your cunt, haphazardly wiping your fluids on his jeans as he reached for his fly and tugged on the zipper, the metal button following suit.  He slipped off the bed to let his pants and boxers fall to the floor before discarding his shirt.  You salivated at the sight of him (you felt truly helpless in your hormonal, sex-crazed state).  You tugged your own t-shirt over your head and threw it to the floor beneath the bed.  Law once again positioned himself above you, an inked hand idly stroking his half-hard penis as he surveyed your pitiful form below him, sprawled out, legs spread, mouth hung open as you took in shallow breaths.  He rubbed the head of his penis along your sopping pussy, rubbing your slick down his length with his hand.

“I’m gonna be honest,” he muttered, reveling in the scorching heat that traveled to his groin as his cock filled with blood.  “I didn’t think it was possible for a woman to be this wet.”

“How do you think I feel?” you quipped back, your mouth curling into a meager grin.  “I’ve been constantly wondering if I pissed my pants without realizing.”

Your words made a bark of laughter exit Law’s mouth, which eased your stress and made your own chest feel lighter.  He continued stroking your fluid over his dick as he responded, “This isn’t going to help you, I don’t think.”

You reached a hand forward and trailed it along his shoulder, tracing his tattoo in the process.  “I can’t even care anymore, really.”

Law supported himself above you with one hand, dipping down to plant a sweet kiss against your lips.  You pushed yourself up on your elbows to deepen the exchange, parting your mouth and brushing your tongue along his lower lip.  Instead of opening for you, he pulled back with a mischievous grin.

“You’re already begging for this, you’re gonna have to wait for whatever sloppy kisses you want.”

“You’re an asshole,” you retorted, but shuddered out a sigh at the feeling of Law’s dick parting your labia and slipping into your opening little by little.  The excess wetness produced by your own body made the ordeal much easier, which also made it much easier for Law to tease you in his own, stubborn way, finally looking past the awkwardness of your hormone-driven desperation.  He removed the tip of his cock from your entrance, making you grumble under your breath.  “You said before you would do anything to make sure I’m okay!”

“Well, you’re not in pain,” he responded, voice low and rough.  The sound made your hair stand on end.  “Since you’re not in pain, I feel a bit better…” he interrupted his sentence with another tease of his tip at your warm pussy, “driving you mad.”

You groaned.  “What do I have to do to convince you to just rail me already?”

Your man smirked above you.  “You’re getting bold with your language, sweetheart.”

Your shaking hands gripped his shoulder blades as you scooted yourself down the mattress in a feeble attempt to get his cock inside you on your own.  Law merely chuckled, dipping his head into the crevice of your neck, leaving sweet kisses over your soft skin before using his hand to aid his dick in entering you completely, biting down on your skin at the same time.  The doubled sensations made you wail involuntarily, one of your own hands slapping over your mouth to muffle your desperate noises as your eyes squeezed shut.  Law sucked on the bite he made, gyrating his hips at just the right spot where his public hair brushed against your aching clit.  The hand that wasn’t covering your mouth raked down his back, making him shudder above you, detaching from your neck and licking his lips devilishly.  

“Feel better?” he asked, voice completely casual as if he wasn’t balls deep inside you.

“I’d feel a lot better if you just–”  He cut you off with a sharp thrust, the sound of wet skin slapping making hot embarrassment rush to your face.

“Just what?”

“What happened to, ‘I’ll see what I can do?’  Or, ‘I’m sorry it’s been so bad?’” you asked with a quivering voice.  “No more sympathy for your suffering girlfriend?”

“Of course I have sympathy for you, dear,” he replied, trailing the hand he had used to gather your slick on his fingers to rub down your cheek and neck, leaving a cold sensation behind.  “But when you use words like ‘rail me’ and ‘fuck me until I can’t stand anymore’ it gets kinda hard to not torture you a little bit.  Makes it more fun that way.”

You couldn’t fight the grin that crawled across your lips.  “You’re a sick, sick man.”

“And you’re a desperate, relentless woman.”

Your conversation finally halted with another deep kiss from Law as his hips began a steady pace, stroking into your cunt with deep, powerful thrusts that were as slow yet impactful and left your toes curling.  Law, despite all his uncoordinated emotions, was very good on the backstroke.  You didn’t quite know if it was simply the way his cock was shaped, or his physique, or perhaps his unintentional movements, but each thrust sent shivers down your spine and caused your back to arch into the growing flames brewing in the pit of your stomach.  His lanky arms allowed him to support himself while angling his thrusts to also brush along your clit, aiding in your euphoria.  The mixture of the head of his penis constantly brushing against your upper wall and his coarse pubic hair and firm torso stimulating your clit was addictive and made your legs quiver.  (If you ever told Law that he was, in your eyes, a ‘Sex God,’ however, he’d avoid making eye contact with you for at least a week out of sheer humiliation.  You had to keep some things to your deranged imagination.)

Amidst Law’s movements above you, you angled your hips upwards and wrapped your legs around his waist, keeping his thrusts deep and deliberate.  Your attempts to keep your sounds to a minimum were futile when Law hooked his hands around the backs of your knees, removing your legs from his body and holding them up in the air.  Your body curled for him and he kneeled above you, still fully inserted.  The new angle was deeper than before and had your eyes glued shut, mouth hung open and lewd sounds escaping your lungs with every shuddering breath.  You held your legs in the air while one of Law’s inked hands traveled downward to your clit, resuming ministrations on your swollen nub that this new position didn’t quite provide.

Law wouldn’t admit it, but the absolutely depraved sounds of your wet pussy sucking in his dick with every thrust had him painfully erect inside of you.  He was sure you could feel the way his cock twitched every now and then with the way your face would contort in immeasurable pleasure.  Half of him was concerned that the soggy noises could be heard from outside the bedroom, either through the heavy steel hatch door or through the walls, but the other half of him was too focused on the electric shocks that sparked through his dick that craved for him to keep chasing his release.

Your own climax was rapidly approaching, Law’s thrusts growing slightly unsteady as his own impending release slowly creeped up on him.  His calloused thumb rubbing counter-clockwise circles against your clit was the perfect stimulation you needed along with his perfect cock, and before you had time to suck in another deep gulp of oxygen, your body was convulsing around him, hips gyrating around him as you desperately moaned, still trying to stifle your noises.  The squelching sound that emanated from between your bodies only seemed to increase after your orgasm, more fluid from your seemingly endless arousal making Law’s dick slip easier and easier through your tight folds.  The feeling of your cunt clenching around him made his throat clench, swallowing tightly as a building pressure formed at the base of his dick.  He felt it as deep as his vertebrae.  

His calculated thumb never ceased its motions against your clit, staying consistent throughout your orgasm.  Your fingers clenched the bed sheets beneath you as you pleaded with the man above you to slow down, that the pleasure from your clit was so good it was almost painful, but right as you began to release another moaning plead, a second orgasm washed over you, causing your muscles to rapidly convulse as your hips shook against his body.

“Fuck,” Law groaned out, his own bubble growing closer and closer to bursting with each of your gyrations.

“Law…” you heaved.  “Please come inside me.  Please, please.  I need you to come inside of me.”

Law swallowed thickly, eyeing your trembling form beneath him.  “Are you sure?”  The implications were slightly more concerning considering this had all started after you stopped a controlled hormone pill.  Getting you pregnant wouldn’t be ideal on a submarine, and there would definitely be a lot of discussion should that consequence happen, but at the same time…

He groaned.  The feeling of your pussy keeping him glued to your body was too addicting to say no to.  Law bit back his inhibitions and nodded his head.  He could already tell his own orgasm was going to be one for the ages, your desperate horniness seeming to affect him as well.  His hips were starting to stutter in their pace as his climax creeped up his spine and through his pelvis.

You covered your mouth as a sob left your throat, climaxing for a third time on the motions against your clit and G-spot.  The involuntary gyrations of your hips finally did Law in.  His hips snapped forward, dropping your legs to the bed and placing his hands on your lower stomach, pressing downward as he desperately rammed into you, moaning your name among a string of breathless curses as he released his cum inside your drenched pussy.  You were in complete bliss, never having heard such noises leave Law’s mouth during any of your other intimate sessions.  You didn’t think you’d be able to get off without his deep, gruff moans anymore.

Law finally stilled both his hand and his hips, leaving you twitching and completely fucked out below him.  His aching cock slipped out of you as soon as he pulled away, leaving you both feeling cold and very aware of the crazy mess the two of you had made on his bed sheets.  

“Shit…” Law groaned as he flopped backwards.  His feet were up by your waist, while yours were still draped across his hips, both pairs of legs parted.  The smell of sex permeated the air and you were positive you’d be able to smell it in the hallway if the door was opened.

You didn’t respond for a while, only heavy breaths entering and exiting your chest as you fought to catch up on air that had been violently forced out of you.

“Are you okay?” Law finally asked, barely having energy to pick up his head to gaze at you.

“Yeah… I’m fine.  You?”

“Completely spent.”

You shared a breathless laugh that lingered in the air, a soft pink cloud above you.

“I feel disgusting now,” you finally said after some more moments of comfortable silence.

“Good disgusting or bad disgusting?” Law asked back.

“Good, I think,” you replied.  “I don’t think I’ll be able to fuck for at least a month now, though.”

“You and me both.”  Law finally mustered up the energy to sit himself up on his elbows.  You did the same, though your arms were much more shaky than his.  “Have I ever made you come three times before?”

“Never.”

Law pondered your response for a few seconds before flashing a roguish grin.  “Damn, I’m good.”

“You can be prideful after you clean me up,” you groaned.

You wearily held your arm into the air, letting your hand flop back and forth as you waved.  Law chuckled, tiredly swinging his legs off of the bed.  He ignored your arm, instead choosing to scoop you up by your knees and shoulders, holding you close to his chest.  Your head plopped onto his shoulder, eyes closed and breaths finally steady.  Law gazed at the substantial wet patch that now tainted his white bed sheets, but kept his mouth shut.  Maybe six months ago he would’ve been disgusted at the mess you two had made, but with you fucked out and blissful in his arms and his own body tingling with a hot pink sensation that he couldn’t get enough of, he didn’t think it was very important.

With a hushed whisper, a blue glow enveloped the two of you and a swift hand motion teleported you to the bathroom.  Where, despite your fatigue, your sex only continued in the shower.

[writersdrug]

Please continue to write literally anything for konig, I’m having the worst work week of my life and your fics always sustain me! I just finished chapter 13 and I almost cried because I realised I’d have to wait for more to come out 😔 this isn’t really a request or question just encouragement!!!

I don't have much queued up for König besides I Don't Need You, but here are some headcannons I have!! Also I'm sorry your work week was bad, let König cheer you up

NSFW at the end

We all know he would love to go on rants bout knives, guns, history, etc. But I also imagine that if you tried to chime in with your own, semi-relatable topic he'd glare at you and say "I wasn't finished," before continuing on his schpeel. He's not trying to be mean, he just has to tell you about Richard the third and how he definitely killed the two princes in the tower.

If you ask if the two of you can get a cat, he comes home the next day with one - but he didn't go to the pet store, or a shelter. He went to the restaraunt you always drag him to and waited by the dumpster with a can of tuna. Caught the scruffy thing and brought it to you, tucked under an arm with a big smile on his face.

He had to help you bathe the spitting kitten, poor baby was covered in fleas.

This man unironically adores the bucket of chicken you can get from KFC. Just a pail of chicken all for himself.

If you're out shopping or really anywhere where you take the lead, people are always asking if you're ok - "That man looks like he's following you," they whisper, "do you need me to get someone to walk you out?"

It's just König, standing behind you in a balaclava, hands in his pockets and dark clothing. Just 👁👁

Goes for an hour-long run at 4 am every morning, comes home to shower, then crawls back in bed with you to sleep until you have to go to work.

His phone screen is probably gross. Lock screen is you, doing your makeup and wearing a stunning dress for date night, unaware of König lurking in the doorway for a photo; background is the poster for Lord of the Rings: Return of the King

This man is known as a terror among door salesmen. They're just trying to get him to buy their services for cleaning gutters and he's dragging them to the backyard to show them how he cleans it himself, talking to them for an hour about how you don't need to hire someone to do "simple work"

He plays D&D with other veterans every Thursday night - you both usually host at your house, and he gives you an appreciative smile/pat when you come through with more drinks.

(Based on a tiktok) he once came in through the back door, standing in the dining room awkwardly as he watched you sort through the mail. He stared at you with a blank expression, until you finally looked back at him. "What's wrong, baby?"

He then slapped a lizard on the table, making you scream and throw a pile of mail at the thing as it scurried across the wood. He laughed for a good thirty minutes.

When he's sick, he tries to get away with downing a shot of Everclear and moving on with his day. "Alcohol kills bacteria, no?" (You'll have none of that nonsense, and he's not complaining when you dote on him and hand-feed him soup.)

If you're in the shower, he's in the shower. Doesn't matter if he had one an hour ago.

If you have a child, he loves to gaslight them (especially in their elementary years). Agrees to play Princess with them, but then proceeds to say that he's the Princess.

"I'm always the Princess!"

"Nein, you said I could be this time!"

"No I didn't!"

"Well I'm the Princess, so I make the rules."

Believes eating your pussy will make you feel better in any situation (sometimes it does). Bad day at work? He's kneeling in front of you and telling you to flip your skirt up. Cramps? Orgasms are the best remedy, schatz. Your tomatoes aren't growing well this year? Ah, shucks. Let him eat you out.

Anyways this is bleh but hope this helps!!

[2-dsimp]

Can I request Yandere siren venti angst (like with a reader whose trying to hunt down mermaids and sirens for their scales ) for the Mytherials event, if you have time

A Sirens scales———————————

Yandere siren! Venti x hunter reader

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【Cw: yandere tendencies, imprisonment, delulu venti, toxic relationship, slight angst】

————————————～—————～——————～———————～

“Oh honey it’s a virtue of mine to value freedom, but where do you think you’re going?”

Venti cooed, his lax feature’s sharpening into a grimacing smile as he noticed his darling chipping at the chain which encased their ankle.

“ The only way to the surface is to swim through this lagoon and I don’t think you have the lung capacity for that”

His head was peeking out from the watery surface of the underground lagoon. And he swam fluidly towards the spot where he held you captive surrounded by a shimmery circle of his blue iridescent scales.

“We had a deal… And this wasn’t part of it. I didn’t sign up to be your damn cave decoration”

You spat, a look of scorn apparent as you couldn’t help but berate yourself for being so dumb as to break monster hunter rule 101: To never trust the words of a siren, lest they drag your soul to depths of hell. But you were desperate for the money since you had a sick friend to take care of.

“Awe sweetheart don’t demean yourself like that. You’re no decoration but my lovely mate after all”

The siren purred as he emerged fully from the body of water to cast a wet hand against your cheek. Admiring you in your entirety, his touch that was gentle soon became all consuming after hearing your adamant rejection.

“What’re you talking about? I never agreed to become your mate. Just let me go home.”

You retorted as you continued to make work of the chain. While actively shying away from his slimy touch. The stark scent of sea salt made you nauseous.

“Don’t say that. You are my mate sweetie. Weren’t you the one to say that you wanted my scales to begin with?”

Venti tried to rationalize with a small chuckle as he started to apply pressure when he cupped both your cheeks. Sharp nails dug into your damp skin while he directed your gaze to his crazed ones.

“So why are you trying so hard to deny it?”

He asked, his voice was hollow as he stared deeply into your eyes with wide blown slits. You had to have known what accepting his scales would entail. So why couldn’t you understand that you guys were meant to be? He gave you his scales did he not? So why, were you trying so hard to constantly reject his advances.

You didn’t need to go back to the surface. Not after all the struggles you’ve told him about with your stay up there. What kind of lover would he be if he were to allow his precious human to be exposed to the dangers beyond his reach.

“Oh I know what’s holding you back! It’s that friend of yours isn’t? What’s his name, Ah it’s şçæřämœćħè right?”

Venti begrudgingly sounded out his name in clear distaste and didn’t know whether to laugh or sneer from how you immediately perked up at the mere mention of another man’s name. He couldn’t help but feel an envious bout of jealousy boiling deep within his gut. Well at least he knew what his priority should be, if the only thing tethering you to the surface was your friend then perhaps he could remedy that.

“Well rest assured your pretty little head darling! I’ll make sure to take extra care of him so sit tight I’ll have to make some trips”

In the end sure he did twist his words a little when he struck a deal with you, who seemed to be down on their luck. Promising you his scales in exchange for your prized company. Since he’s always been enamored watching your daily pathetic attempts at capturing a siren.

But he did uphold his end of the bargain did he not? He made sure to pluck out his scales and pile them around you enshrouding you in their glimmering shine. So it’s only fair that you start acting like a proper mate for him since he’ll be expecting a cave full of his guppies in the future.

[postmodernbeliever]

sick and twisted- fox mulder x female reader (smutsmutsmutsmut)

in a sudden bout of sickness, you are staying with fox, who is yearning to take care of you (...in more ways than one.)

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hope you enjoy this incredibly horny thing... wrote this as i worked through raging period hormones <333 (sometimes i still get a little nervous to post these but yknow what. if im thinking it someone else is too probably. so yolo)

my ao3 | word count: 2,906

content tags: soft dom fox mulder, fox mulder the top of every girl's dreams, domestic fluff, fluff and smut, sickfic, sick reader, cunnilingus, vaginal fingering & sex, plus size reader if you squint, past fox was a little plus size if you ALSO SQUINT!!!!, idiots in love, pet names, smut, pain relief, talking you through it bc he's a nice boy, cross-posted on ao3

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it was twisted, the way fox was turned on by you being sick. it checked every fantasy in his head off the list and you didn't even know.

by the time you got off work last night, you felt the brain fog rolling in, and you came straight to fox’s place instead of your own- and he was more than happy to oblige you. he wanted to set you up in his bed, but you refused, so he made you a little home on his couch, fixed with his good pillows and the blanket you designated as your own months ago. the man had been itching to come home all day. his brain was so out of the loop, in fact, that he handed dana a case report only half completed, with sentences stopping midway through. his partner had to force him out of the office just so he didn’t screw anything else up, but he couldn’t care less, because he was on his way home to his girl. he even went to the store to get you ginger ale and animal crackers, because he knows that’s your favorite remedy. and god, if you weren't everything he’d been dreaming of since he left you last. 

you were splayed out on his couch beneath a blanket, coughing up a storm. your nose was red and irritated from blowing it into so many tissues, lips swollen from all the chapstick and chewing; a glassy, sleepy look glazed over your eyes, and your skin paled everywhere but your cheeks, which were flushed in a pretty little smear across your face. you were in his old academy t-shirt, which left room to breathe- he was a bit bigger back then, lucky for you- and a little pair of boxers that were hiked up your thighs from sitting in them all day. you were the vision he couldn’t have conjured even if he tried. he wished that they could make a calendar of just you, looking like this, for every month until he died. but above all, your voice was the part that truly drove him up the wall. you didn’t think of the raspiness as much more than grating, but to him? gruff, weak, gentle, needy, undeniably brutally irrefutably hot- he had a thesaurus written just to put it to words. every word that fell from your lethargic lips was like music to his ears; he could listen to your stuffy breathing forever.

fox had been taking care of you, despite your protests to leave you be. you didn't want to get him sick, but he didn't care. he insisted on keeping you company and doing mindless work at his living room desk until you felt like getting back into the world. that was another thing. seeing you helpless and dependent on him, needing him to feel better… he loved that. he loved spoiling you, feeding you, treating you like a princess. that's what you were to him. there was so much in his life that was out of his control, that he couldn’t protect, but you were the one constant thing he could keep safe. the one thing he could selfishly keep. there was no chance he was going to give that up so easily, not when you were catering to his urges so wonderfully.

it was getting late, but you'd slept all day, so the exhaustion behind your eyes was keeping you awake. overtired and restless, your head was throbbing, and you couldn't get comfortable. the man heard rustling from the couch and turned in his desk chair, a serene smile on his face. he noticed you shifting awkwardly and came to the rescue.

"what is it, baby?"

you ceased trying to rearrange the contents of the couch and let yourself flop against the pillows, huffing in aggravation. "ugh, nothing. just can't get comfy."

"let me help you," fox urged. he rose from his chair and stalked over, kneeling dutifully at the couch's edge to help you adjust the pillows behind your head and beneath your legs. "better?"

"mhm. thank you."

"of course. how’re you feeling?"

"not good," you pouted, voice thick with strain, "my head is killing me, and my stomach is aching. and my nose and throat, too… i took some medicine not too long ago, but it’s taking forever to kick in… ugh. you know i hate being sick."

that childish pout had his stomach churning. he knew this wasn't about him, and you needed rest, but he also couldn't ignore how enticing you looked, all innocent and sleepy on his couch. how you trailed off between thoughts, working through the sick haze in your head. he leaned over a bit to rest his hands on your lower abdomen, pressing the heels of his palms against your belly softly. you hummed at the touch, and he had to force his eyes not to roll back.

"what can i do to make you feel better?"

"can..." you trailed off. "maybe you could cuddle me?"

"i'd love to."

the man climbed onto the couch without a thought, allowing his body to mold to how yours curved. you felt his strong chest rising and falling against your back, the constancy soothing as he draped his arm over your side, letting his rough hands drift slowly back down to your tummy. fox pressed a few lazy kisses behind your ears, causing the hair on your arms to stand up stiff. his lips were always warm, but with your skin burning up as it was, they felt frigid.

"too cold?"

"mm-mm," you hummed. maybe they were, but you weren’t going to jeopardize him stopping. 

fox was starting to disregard his better judgment as he tucked himself into you, feeling the feverish heat of your back. he was more attuned to the motions you made than his thoughts. the way your hands, so soft, just a touch smaller than his own, laid safely atop his wrists; how when he rubbed slow circles against your aching stomach, you made a little noise that was something heavenly, both hum and sigh; how your left foot ran up and down your right leg, feeling the fuzzy fabric of the blanket wedged between. he was so lost in how good it felt to be wanted that it was crossing over into obsession. he wanted every square inch of you to need his attention. he wanted to touch every spot that felt sick and nurse you back to life- to have it engrained in your head that only he could make it feel better, and no one else. 

so engrossed in his urges, fox kissed a little more, and what started as innocent turned urgent. he sucked softly behind your ear, nipping relentlessly on that sensitive spot you had. you began to pant, feeling the fever chills leave and a different kind of warmth roll over you. you pushed your hips into his hands, trying not to squirm and failing miserably. 

"oh, god," you covered your face with your hands. “fox…”

fox’s low laugh rumbled against your shoulder blades. the man relished in your inability to resist. his fingers began to travel down to your boxers, and he tucked his hand right below the waistband. he put pressure right against your heat and you buried your face as best as possible into the couch cushion, letting out a helpless whine.

"feels good, right, baby?"

"a-ah," you hiccuped.

"m'just gonna touch it, that's all,”

"but-"

"i can make you feel so much better," he kissed your ear, "make all those aches go away so fast, baby. can i?”

"please," you whispered.

he reached down and dragged his fingers along the fabric separating him from what he wanted, feeling the wetness beneath. his touch was feather-light, and as he gently wriggled his fingers beneath the cotton, you squeezed your eyes shut and scratched softly at the knuckles of his hand still on your waist. you were struggling to do anything other than lie there, but he didn’t need a thing from you anyway. eagerly, you felt his steady fingers brush against your entrance, and his lips parted hungrily at how slick you were.

"god, you're so easy, aren’t you?"

fox dipped two fingers inside you, testing the waters. when your hips rocked back into his, he couldn’t bite back the greedy smile that overtook his face. impatient, he pushed them deeper, feeling the familiar pressure of you squeezing around his hand. you licked your chapped lips, feeling a knot tying itself in your tummy where he worked his fingers inside you. he’d been away a lot recently, so much so that this was a reminder of just how long his fingers truly were. 

"mm, now how’s that, sweetheart?"

"it’s… good," you drawled.

"you like it when i touch you like this, don't you? y’like how my fingers feel?"

you turned your head to look down at where his wrist disappeared beneath your boxers, and you keeled back against the pillow, meeting his broad shoulder. you shuddered in pleasure, and he craned his neck over to lock you in a kiss, feeling possessive like never before. he tasted the minty vicks above your lip and moaned right into your mouth.

"my poor, sick girl… just need me, don't you, baby? oh, you just want me to make it feel better, i know."

you practically melted into the couch as he buried his fingers between your hips. skillfully, he maneuvered you onto your back and crawled up and over so you could lay flat; he anchored his arm right over your head so he could stare down and watch the bliss reach your rosy face, all the while never taking his hand away. once you started breathing heavily and clenching around his fingers, he pulled them out, dragging his slick fingertips across your stomach, leaving shiny streaks behind. when you groaned at the loss, he clicked his tongue.

"no whining, angel. i'm not done. i'm gonna take good care of you."

you watched through spinning vision as he pushed down the couch, crawling low until he could lean over your hips. then, with his big palms stationed between your thighs, he spread you wide, ogling your plush pink folds.

"you're so pretty, baby. my pretty girl."

he pressed a few kisses on the mound just above where you ached, sending shocks up to the tips of your hair. then, he dipped his tongue right inside. he was too needy to start with kitten licks, so instead he swirled around, curling his tongue like a hook, big button nose rubbing against your clit as he breathed you like air. you were officially somewhere new, somewhere out of your own mind; his tongue was so long it could've been one of his god-given fingers, so warm inside you, so deep you couldn't see straight. 

"mmm- god- i love you.”

your toes curled as he moaned all kinds of sweet nothings into you, feeling the soundwaves rolling against your walls. just when his tongue had you going, he moved up to your clit and began sucking so hard you started seeing stars. you clamped your thighs around his head and felt his strong, rough hands grip the chub on them hard, fingertips digging enough to leave moon-shaped bruises. you tugged on his hair, unable to do anything but feel him against you and try not to slip away. but there was no stopping the way you floated in limbo, surrounded by the way he made you feel.

"fuck, baby, look at you," he growled between your hips. "c’mon. let me hear that scratchy little voice of yours."

"oh my god," you moaned, "oh, y-you... i... fox,"

"fuck, that's it. is it good, love, am i good?"

"you're so good! so…s-so good…fuck!" you fought not to trail off, but thinking was hard enough as it is.

“that’s my job, sweetheart.”

he kept himself there, getting off on the way you bucked your hips against his jaw. it didn’t take much longer for the burning in your stomach to grow unbearable, and through trembling little spasms confined by his stronghold on your waist, you unraveled right on his tongue. he came up for air with milky lips after working it out of you for a minute, pressing wet kisses all up your stomach and chest. you felt so dirty as you smiled down at the sheen trail of cum prints in the shape of his pretty lips.

“good girl. did that help?"

"mhm," you heaved, head spinning. “need…”

"what? what is it?"

"i- oh..."

"use your words, princess. words."

"c-can you- you..."

he knew what you wanted. he saw it in the pathetic way you glanced from your hips to his, too worked up to get it out. he chuckled in a way that sent chills up your legs and said, "awh, baby. you want me to fuck you now?"

you bit your lip and bucked your hips in the air. he lodged his leg between your thigh with a smirk and you pressed yourself against it, grinding on the worn fabric of his sweatpants. he felt a wet patch soaking through to his skin, and he twitched in anticipation. you batted your eyelashes and let out a raspy little noise, tugging at the hem of his t-shirt while you moved. and when a sniffle interrupted your humming, it drove him right over the edge.

"fuck. you’re so cute, you little tease.”

he shimmied his sweatpants down in an instant and wasted no time, groaning gutterally as he pushed in and bottomed out. you were hot around him, pulsing like a steady heartbeat.

"fuck, baby. never gets old,” he swooned, pressing a gentle kiss to your chin.  

he began to thrust in and out, hips rolling religiously into the curve of your legs. you clung to his shoulders and tugged him down so he was stuck against your neck, breath hot. he began to fuck you faster, pressing starving kisses to your collarbone, and you arched your back, gasping for a solid breath.

"oh my god!"

"god, you’re so tight," he growled, “been saving it all up for me, huh? missed me bad, i can tell,”

"mm… fox!”

"you like it when i fuck you like this? right on the couch, where anybody could see in that window? say it, baby,”

"i love it," you croaked, gathering the little tufts of overgrown hair at the nape of fox’s neck and tugging them in a last-ditch effort to ground yourself. he tipped his head back into your touch and whined, and you gave a dizzy, darling smile.

"god, i love you. i love you, i love you, i fucking love you," he praised, timing every confession with a thrust of his hips.

all you could manage was a distracted, "m-me... too... ah!"

your eyes rolled to the back of your head as he uprighted himself and yanked you by the love handles, dragging you down the couch like a doll. he clawed at your hips, leaving red marks he’d have to soothe later. fox snapped harder and harder, losing control but not caring at all; you let him take you in his hands, surrendering until you couldn't take anymore, and suddenly the knot in your stomach burst. you shivered and writhed all around, whispering his name like a strangled prayer as your hands searched for something to squeeze. he leaned down so you could grab his biceps, and you scratched at them like a cat, a string of lewd things falling from your tired mouth. he came undone as you clenched around him, and his warmth in your tummy was so thick you felt like you could feel it in your throat. 

"so good, baby, jesus christ," fox wheezed. "you sound so pretty when you’re sick. can’t help myself."

you were nearly unresponsive. your head had never spun the way it did now, and your ears felt like they were stuffed with cotton, along with your throat. you couldn't form any words, all you could do was claw at his arms and tremble, face stuck in a permanent state of bliss. 

"feeling any better?" fox pressed little kisses to your chin and neck and eyes, and he traced shapes on your stomach to wake you up. "come on, princess, open your eyes. come back to me.” when you smiled and sighed, letting out an embarrassed giggle, he cooed, "there she is, my pretty girl."

"mhm."

"still feel bad?"

you shook your head sweetly, eyes drooping. "nuh-uh."

his heart swelled and he just wanted to eat you alive, so he did the next best thing. he leaned down and kissed your swollen lips with a softness he abandoned just minutes ago, swiping his tongue against your lips and all over your face. he kissed you with all the maneuvers of love he could muster, and you hummed against his mouth, pulling on his hair to hear those pretty little sounds again.

"you’ve got me so whipped, sweetheart," he purred between kisses, "just wanna take care of you."

"you're so good at it," you blushed.

"i do what i can." 

he kissed and kissed and kissed you into the couch, and all that kissing got heated, and one thing led to another because the two of you simply couldn’t help yourselves. and the next day, he woke up as sick as you. who saw that coming?

[vampiricgf]

KNUCKLE VELVET - LEON KENNEDY

SYNOPSIS... ❛ trapped in a rotting cathedral with a man more beast than human, with all the decayed promises of long ago. there's one rule of the world you're still certain of: pain will always be met with equal reward ❜

WARNINGS... blood, blood consumption, vampires, violence/bodily pain, choking, puncture wounds, kinda dubcon, mutual toxicity (they have a fucked up relationship), creampie, no prep, sacrilegious themes/loss of religion (I know damn well his ass is a lapsed catholic)

WORD COUNT... 2.5k+

˗ˏˋ kinktober masterlist ˎˊ˗

The pain was so sharp that it made me utter several moans; and so excessive was the sweetness caused me by this intense pain that one can never wish to lose it, nor will one’s soul be content with anything less than god. - St. Teresa of Ávila

~

The human spirit possesses a remarkable ability to adapt. 

You stopped marking the passage of time long ago, it only served to drive you deeper into despair and slowly it became clear the only choice left was to make the best of being trapped inside the rotting cathedral that has become your “home”. 

So be it.

Things became less horrid between you two once that shift occurred, he was kinder, for one thing. Less bouts of intense fits of rage, although the ones that did occur were not remedied by your obedience which led you to believe it was less about you and more so to do with his continued frustration that there was no cure for what he was. During his melancholy episodes he allowed you more free reign, although only within this decrepit place. 

You suppose it would make sense that he would choose this place as a prison for you both. What you couldn’t understand, however, was his continued devotion to a deity that did not create him nor hold any love for him. 

“Leave,” he greeted you, slate colored eyes never even shifting to acknowledge your presence as your footfalls carried you into the altar area. It made you feel miffed that he couldn’t even properly rebuke your presence. 

“I didn’t know you were here,” you lie. He’s always here. Always in the shadow of this tabernacle when he’s not slipping into your makeshift bedroom, attempting to find a much different form of salvation. 

This place had clearly been quite resplendent once, but years of abandonment and neglect have reduced it largely to rubble. This main area of the cathedral was nothing more than a half cracked maw, sucking in the freezing night air through jagged stone teeth. 

“I can’t sleep.” You murmur, half confessional half excuse. 

You both know it’s another lie, his acknowledgement of your words coming as a bland, dismissive hmph. It was strange, to hate and revile a man so much yet also ache for him in the same breath, especially when he would move with all that silent, predatory grace into your room for the night. After what truly felt like years of isolation, you depended on him as your sole point of contact. No matter how unpleasant it was. 

When those eyes finally train on you, full of venom, it makes you briefly reconsider the act of seeking him out. Coming to him like this may have been a mistake, if you don’t tread carefully-

“You’re just as disgusting as you say I am.” He sneers from a broken, dust layered pew and you gape in response, shame flaring hot as a heated knife slid into your gut. “How many times have you called me a monster? Yet here you are, waltzing around looking for the monster to fuck you.” 

You were caught out, most likely by the superior sense of smell, much to your horror at the realization. But is it even really your fault, when he’s made you this way? He is all you have anymore. It’s blurry, even just trying to retrace the threads from the beginning to now, it feels like all you’ve ever known is these decaying stone walls and the equally decayed man in front of you. 

“That’s not what I want from you-”

“Then leave.” It's worse that there is no snarl in his voice, no passion in the command, he can’t even throw you another glare. You suddenly wish you had the nerve to hit him. He knows perfectly well that you can’t leave, you’ll never be able to leave. 

Your own lips curl up into a sneer, settling on something more effective then just raising a hand to him. “You’re nothing but a pathetic creature, not even a fucking monster. Just a dead man kneeling for a god that can’t hear you.” 

You don’t stop, not even as he rises to stand, every miniscule movement radiating aggression and anger. You don’t stop because it feels good, to hurt him even a fraction of the way he’s hurt you all this time, and the ugliness of it twines together with your arousal, twin snakes squirming in your belly. 

“You’re beyond pathetic, it’s why you do this, isn’t it? Keeping people in cages just to have even one person acknowledge you because you know god never will-”

The words die in your throat, replaced by a garbled sound of surprise as you're pushed back against a half rotted support beam, the hand at your throat feeling more like an iron band being tightened. The position itself was oddly intimate, that didn’t escape you as you caught the familiar smell of him, the absence of body heat and that shameful arousal spiked at the way his fangs became visible from how harsh his breathing was. He even kept the habit of manual breathing, despite not needing to. 

“Like you’re not the dog barking for attention.”

The stone floor suddenly at your back was roughly fractured in sharp contours, horribly uncomfortable but it didn’t matter to you. That needy, greedy part of you he’d nurtured all this time was too busy preening, even as you blinked tears out of your eyes from the breathtaking sensation of being laid out flat. You always forgot about his strength when so much time passed, but any display of violence from him whether great or small was thrilling to you in a peculiar, vile way. So was the pain. 

But despite the haze of lust, a noxious cloud swirling over your brain, a part of you was uncomfortably aware of your surroundings. Namely, what they meant. The look on his face was beyond dark, no longer blase in the face of your deliberate attempt to rile him up, his flaxen hair was haloed by the cracks of moonlight beaming from the crumbling ceiling. For a millisecond you swore he looked like the stained glass depictions of angels. 

“Not here.” You eek out between heaving breaths.

“What? Are you scared god will strike you down for it?” His voice dropped to a half whisper, dripping with mockery. 

You swallow thickly, noting how his eyes tracked the movement and the way his pupils had dilated so much only the thinnest ring of jewel blue was remotely visible. But there was no taking it back, you’d deliberately poked the proverbial bear and there's no way to ask for it’s claws to be retracted. 

In the tense quiet he brushed a stray strand of hair from your face, the act so gentle, nearly loving, it almost worked to make you forget that you were nothing but a glorified meal and a thing to fuck. The faint stench of old blood curled in your nostrils brings you back into reality, knowing what it meant. 

His faux repentance was brought on by yet another killing. The same as it always is. 

It breaks your heart because it wasn’t always this way. In the beginning there was no death nor blood or violence, only an incredibly exciting affair with a strangely secretive yet tactile man that easily worked his way into your life, your heart. You hadn’t known then that this was what he really was. That this was what he was really promising you. 

That blood crusted hand glided down the column of your throat, making you flinch. You could tell by the hardening of his eyes that it was the wrong involuntary action to have, but there was nothing you could do. That same hand dipped below the neckline of your shirt to trace the curve of your breast before stilling just above your heart, wildly pounding like a bird frantically flapping its wings in a cage. 

“You’re always so scared.” His words almost sounded regretful. “You know I don’t mean it, right?”

“I don’t.” You hate the way it comes out, all whimpered, but it is the truth. For all his occasional sweetness, his nicety, it always wound back around to pain. A pain you got used to, tolerated, even sought out like you did tonight, but you could never be secure in the knowledge that he wouldn’t or didn’t mean to harm you. 

He laughed then, a mad sound that ricocheted off the frigid, indifferent stone and made you flinch yet again. 

“You’re just as fucked up as I am, do you know that? Waltzing in, acting on your own desires then pretending you’re not. Pretending you don’t like this,” His words were coming out more rapidly, half crazed. “I could tear you to pieces, leave nothing but some parts, and there's nothing you could do about it.”

It was sick, how delighted he looked as you shrank back against the floor, but despite your own terror and disgust your defiant streak reared its head once more. 

“You won’t.” But you hardly sounded sure.

“Do you want to find out?”

You clenched your jaw, so tightly you could hear the internal sound of your teeth groaning from the pressure. It did very little to stop your trembling.

Too busy focused on trying to control your own body you failed to realize he was rearing back, icy hands moving up and down the contours of your body, subtly lifting the thin fabric of your shirt and pulling up the skirt you wore. A twisted, ugly delight washed over you, infinitely worse than the chill that bit at you from the night air, that your scathing back and forth had given you just what you wanted. 

Frantically you raised your hips, chasing after his hands, yelping as he yanked you down, scraping your back against the stone and lifting your legs up, resting them up on his shoulders as he fumbled with the waist of his own pants. Terror and excitement kept you cemented in place, eyes wide as you saw how erect he was in his own hands, thick and flushed tip beading precum that you felt smearing over your skin as he rubbed the head of his cock against you. You felt the sting, distantly, as you bit your lip in anticipation of fresh pain. 

As he roughly guided himself inside of you, the push much less than gentle, it caused you to struggle a bit, body not yet catching up to your brain and the tangles of pain, fear, arousal, and desire became too twisted to properly make out. You couldn’t help but cry out at the unprepared stretching, the way the girth of him forced your body to accommodate, but the way he fully slots inside calms you slightly, like some sort of soothing object. The familiar weight of him, sitting heavy against your slick walls, made your muscles finally relax, going a bit more limp beneath him as he leaned forward and pushed your knees to your chest. 

His movements started slow, once again the faintest whisper of gentleness leaking through, and you could hear his breaths getting ragged as your cunt immediately clamped down around him. When his movements picked up more vigor the back of your head scraped painfully against the stone, making you yelp as cool tears pooled in the shell of your ears after marking their trail down your cheeks. You hadn’t even been aware you were crying.

It hurt the same way it always did, bringing a pounding pain that flowed throughout your entire body, like your skin was stretched taut over a drum someone was beating relentlessly. It was raw, disgusting, being fucked against the floor like an animal as he bit and sucked at the tender flesh of your throat and chest, decorating you in a necklace of purple and red. A mockery of intimacy, but all the same it sustained you. Feeling his balls rest against your ass with each deep thrust, gasping his name in broken syllables, feeling his fingers slip down to dance over your throbbing clit: it was all a guarantee of survival. 

As you shift to lace your arms around his neck an aggressive sound rips its way past his lips, his pace becoming nonsensical and telling you he was rapidly coming close. All the discomfort made you arch your back, trying to escape the ground while at the same time providing him a deeper reach that brought you a burst of ecstasy, so strong you felt momentarily blind. That familiar jumble of pain and love muddled your mind as your helpless body clung to him, jostled like a ragdoll with every movement.

All this pain would be rewarded, there was solace in that.

With no space between you the scent of old iron returned, pairing with the smell of your own acrid sweat and his strands of golden hair tickling your cheek as he bit the side of your neck with intent this time. 

The wail that rang out against the vacant cathedral was more like a long, echoing scream of indiscernible origin as it bounced back at you, reverberated a thousand times over. It was an animalistic response to the searing, mind numbing pain of the small pinpricks that widened into gaping wounds as he forced his teeth through your flesh. Sobs leave you in spurts as you feel his teeth detach and his mouth latch onto the wound, prodding the sore edges with his tongue to encourage a greater flow of lifeblood. Your nails clawed at his back but to no avail, his pace never broke completely, your struggling only made his fingers circle your clit with even more determination as your cunt spasmed around him. 

It was strangely beautiful, feeling yourself coming completely undone and slipping away as your eyes rolled back, your lids fluttering in a way that only gave you choppy, discombobulated flashes of the world around you. The brief glimpses of the star dusted sky through the shattered ceiling were a comfort. The pain ebbed into the background, as if it had simply always existed and maybe it had. Faintly you could feel the wet, sticky warmth of your own blood sluicing down your neck, he’s always been a sloppy eater. 

It makes you crack a smile, delirious. Fucked out, bloody, grinning up at the sky as the beast devours you, doesn’t stop pumping inside you for even a moment, doesn’t stop groaning against your skin. A barbaric grotesquerie beneath the unsympathetic eye of the moon.

Though there is a kind of happiness in knowing the dance played out the same way it always does. That tomorrow you’ll wake up feeling sore, so sick to your stomach you’ll probably vomit, but alive. 

With that thought your muscles relax fully, feeling a different sort of warmth flooding your abdomen as his hips still, although still grinding against you like he just can’t stop himself from trying to fuck more of it inside you. 

Something shifts, but you’re no longer aware enough to catch it. 

To him, it’s always been a background thought that perhaps the suffering of an eternally damned existence may be less unbearable if you were also eternally present for it. Your body aches, your nervous system all wrung out and strung up, as he keeps drinking past his fill and past the point of no return.

You’ll wake much, much later than you anticipated and as not much more than a lesser fledgling beast but it does thrill him to think of your anguish, your biblical anger once you regain a sense of self and realize what’s become of you. 

What he’s done to you. 

But you have to understand the gift he’s giving you and you will, eventually.

All pain will be rewarded, in the end. Especially if it comes from a place of love.

[phoward89]

Series Masterlist

Chapter 3:

“You can't work here anymore, Y/N. You're fired.” You heard your boss, Doula Ada, tell you as soon as you said goodbye to Coryo (who was on morning patrol duty again) and entered the apothecary shop.

Your face fell. Fired?... “But why? I've been doing everything you've told me to.” You asked Doula Ada as she crushed up some herbs, to make a salve or remedy of some sort, with her mortar and pestle.

“With Belladonna's upcoming marriage to Juris, well, she needs to be working with me. I just don't have the room for two apprentices.”

“But I was the top of my class in the school and you said-” You began to protest, only for the older woman to shush you with a sharp-tongued, “I said I don't got no need for you anymore girl. Now go home or go find yourself a man to take care of ya.”

Taken aback by the herb woman’s brusque behavior, you quickly made your way to the door and exited the apothecary shop. Unknown to you, Coryo was waiting in the wind to swoop in and be your hero. To walk you home and be your shoulder to cry on.

Even though he's the reason you're fired and crying in the first place.

But to him that doesn't matter. It's just a small, minor detail that's not important. One that you'll never find out about, that's for sure.

Just as you were making your way down the cobblestone street, apothecary book tucked under you arm, a looming presence appeared by your side, towering over you. But by the long, lean shadow swallowing up yours, you knew it could only be Coryo. He is, after all, the tallest man you know.

“What's wrong, darling? Why're you leaving the apothecary shop after just arriving?” The platinum blonde peacekeeper asked.

Despite already knowing what was wrong, he wanted to seem like he was concerned about your plight. He was, after all, your man and a good man always takes time out of his busy schedule to check on his girl; to see what's wrong with her. He was just doing what any proper Capitol raised young gentleman would do, inquire about their special lady friend.

Looking up at your new friend, tears brimming your beautiful eyes, you told him, “Doula Ada fired me because she doesn't have room for both me and her daughter, Belladonna, to work at the shop.”

“Oh, my little dove, don't cry. It'll be alright.” Coryo assured you, as your tears began to fall, while pulling you into a hug.

And that embrace sure did make people stop and stare. The folks could understand a peacekeeper taking up with a merchant class girl while serving their 20 years in the district, but what they couldn't wrap their heads around was why a peacekeeper would lower themselves by getting involved with a Seam girl. People from the Seam were poor. So poor that they couldn't afford the second or in the word poor.

The Seam was considered the lowest of the low of District 12, the bottom of the barrel. So, a peacekeeper openly embracing a Seam girl and in the middle of the Merchant's Sector was considered taboo. A district blasphemy of sorts.

He kissed your forehead, causing the baker to nearly have a stroke from where she was peeking out of her shop window. And when he smiled wide and bright at you, the butcher nearly cut a finger off as he spied out his shop’s large front window.

“How ‘bout you help me with my patrol, darling? Walk with me for a bit, yeah?” Coryo suggested, craving a moment with you by his side. You're just so sweet, so kind, and he needs you- needs that around him. He wants to show you off to the entire district, let them see how he can cheer up his girl just by being by your side.

He truly was a bit off his rocker in love with you, but you had no clue about that. All you saw when you looked at him was the prettiest boy you've ever seen in your life, with a brilliant pearly white smile, who seems to go out of his way to befriend you. Something that you thought was sweet.

“I dunno, Coryo. I don't wanna get you in trouble.”

“You won't.” He quickly told you, wanting to chase away any fears you had of strolling around the Merchant Sector with him for a bit.

He really wanted to spend time with you, since he wouldn't be able to see you until he got a day off or his next weekend pass. Coriolanus felt that the more time he spent with you, the more in love the two of you would become. Yea…he was a bit of a clingy, stalkery, obsessive, possessive, delusional romantic. But at least he was a romantic, right?

Coriolanus hasn't seen you in 3 days, 3 damn days, and it's driving him crazy. The last time he saw you, you walked with him for a little bit while he was on patrol and it was heaven. You two talked and laughed about nothing and everything. But the best thing about that stroll was everyone in the Merchant's Sector saw the two of you together.

Something that made Coriolanus' possessive and obsessive tendencies towards you soar happily. He was proud to show you off as his girl; his future wife. He couldn't wait to dote on you; take care of you.

Coriolanus was raised that proper Capitol gentlemen take care of their women, support them and love them. That a good Capitol man spoils his girl; doesn't let her lift a finger. That a gentleman will keep his woman in the lap of luxury; will do all the work so that she doesn't have too. That all she does is have to worry about looking pretty, attending social events, and pleasing her man.

Of course, there's women in the Capitol that choose to have careers, but more women are socialites and housewives. And that's what Coriolanus plans to mold you into. His loving, kind, housewife; his little socialite that he'll spoil til the day he dies.

Only problem is that he's a peacekeeper grunt. His pay’s acceptable for a comfortable life in the backwater district of 12, but it's nothing to write home about. He knew that to properly take care of you; support you, that he needed to rise in the Peacekeeper ranks. That he needed to become an officer.

So, that's why he signed up to take the upcoming officers aptitude test. Coriolanus wanted to better himself not just for his need to get back to the Capitol, but also for his need to take care of you. He needed to be successful and have a good paycheck to take care of you the way you deserved. He wanted to spoil you, buy you your heart’s desires, and the only way to do that was with money.

Coriolanus was excited to tell you about his upcoming officers exam. He was hoping that the news would impress you; assure you that he's worthy of supporting you.

Talk about impressions, Coriolanus was currently buttoning up the jacket of his dress uniform as he stood in front of the small communal mirror in the barracks. Sejanus, his bunkmate and, for a lack of a better word, friend, just stared at him like he'd just lost his marbles.

Opening up his footlocker and grabbing a few bucks, Sejanus looked at Coryo, and asked, “Why're you wearing that for, Coryo? We're about to go off base with weekend passes, shouldn't you be in your fatigues?”

Coriolanus walked over to his bunk, only to grab his hat and pick up a small sack. “I'm wearing my dress uniform, Sejanus, because I'm spending the weekend with my girl and I want to make a good first impression on her family.”

“Uh…I don't think Lucy Gray and the Covey care about that.” The District 2 born peacekeeper told his friend, watching as the man slung his sack over his shoulder.

“That songbird 's not my girl. My girl's a sweet little dove.” The platinum blonde remarked while placing his dress hat on his head, completing the dashing look his dress uniform gave off.

“Oh…but I thought you liked Lucy Gray?” Sejanus pried, holding his weekend pass in his hand while crossing the room with his friend.

“But I love Y/N; I'm going to make her my darling wife.”

Sejanus forced a smile, one that didn't quite reach his eyes, as he patted Coryo on the shoulder. “That's good, Coryo.” In fact, the broad man didn't think it was good at all. He thought it was a bit concerning that his friend had waved off any and all feelings he had for a girl he risked everything to save, only to take up with an entirely different girl- declare intentions of love and marriage too.

Maybe Capitol born and bred people were just wired differently than different folks. Who knows. But Sejanus did know that all of his efforts looking for Lucy Gray were for nothing. At least he made some rebel contacts, some friends that supported a cause he believes in.

Bringing down Panem and the Games; having unity, justice, fair treatment, and human decency for all no matter if they're District or Capitol.

“I'd be honored to be your best man, when the time comes.” Sejanus told Coriolanus as they exited the barracks.

Like hell Coriolanus was going to have Sejanus stand up next to him as his first man. He didn't plan on having a lowly wedding in the districts, but a grand affair in the Capitol. His delusional Grandma’am would have a stroke if he had Sejanus Plinth as his best man. He supposed he can ask Festus Creed to be his best man, or maybe not even have one at all. Nothing says that he has to have one.

Coriolanus knows that you most likely won't have a maid of honor, unless he charms Clemmie into doing it. Eh, he'll worry about that whenever he's back in the Capitol, planning the wedding with you. At least he knows that Tigris will be more than happy to design your wedding dress.

But now's not the time to worry about that. First, he needs to meet your family and pass that officer's test.

The poor residents of the Seam were staring at Coriolanus with fearful and strange looks. It wasn't common to see a peacekeeper decked out in their dress uniform walking the streets of the Seam. No, the only time peacekeepers came to the Seam was to topple houses doing random checks to look for contraband and rebel literature, also to round up residents and cart them off to the prison on the base- never to be seen again until it was time to send them swinging on the hanging tree.

So…

Safe to say, residents of the Seam were both leery and mind blown at the sight of Coriolanus in their section, walking down the street as if he owned it. Both young and old alike silently prayed that the peacekeeper wouldn’t bother anyone.

If only they knew the real reason Coriolanus was in the Seam. Oh wait a minute, everybody in the Seam’s about to find out soon enough…

When Coriolanus reached your house, a large smile spread across his face. He couldn't wait to see you. He's gone too long without seeing your beautiful face, your kind smile.

Yea…

Three days is such an eternity…

Walking up the creaky wood rot porch and over to your front door, Coryo missed the neighbor girl, a songbird, exiting her house and seeing him. She saw his profile and instantly recognized him; was ready to call out to him, but stopped herself whenever you answered your door, causing the finely dressed peacekeeper to scoop you up into a hug and press a peck to your lips.

The little songbird shook her head, only to take off towards the meadow with her guitar in hand- she couldn't bear to watch the happy exchange between her neighbor and the Capitol boy turned peacekeeper- who she once thought was a good man.

Ashlie was making dough for a simple fry bread (all that your family could afford to make with the sorry excuse of grain that you're able to acquire) and you had just pulled a wildberry pie out of the oven, setting it on the windowsill to cool, whenever a loud knock sounded at the front door.

“Y/N, go get the door!” Your brother called out from his armchair, where he was already a jar and a half in of moonshine during his only day off.

You quickly went to the door and opened it, only to smile as you saw Coryo standing in front of you. He was dressed up in his formal uniform, sack slung over his shoulder and hand full of flowers (a small bouquet made up of a couple roses and some wildflowers native to District 12). Before you could even say hi or invite him in, Coryo pecked you on the lips (stunning you a bit) and wrapped you in a tight, but warm hug.

Resting his chin on top of your head, he confessed, “I missed you, my sweet darling girl.”

“You missed me? But it's only been 3 days since we saw each other.” You told him, finding it a bit odd that your new friend misses you so much after such a short period of time. Was that normal, or was that a Capitol thing? Or was it because he wanted more?

But you didn't want to give your hopes up. You just met; became friends the other day. Besides, a boy like Coryo Snow- pretty with his chiseled jaw, platinum blonde hair, and crystal blue eyes- always fancied themselves sweet on girls like Lucy Grey or Belladonna (the exotic Covey beauty and a flaxen haired merchant girl). Boys like him never gave girls like you, girls from the Seam, a second glance.

“Yea, 3 days too long.” He retorted, burying his nose into your hair to breathe in your scent. A scent that seemed to smell like fresh blooms and vanilla. Reluctantly pulling away from you, he offered you the small bouquet. “If we were in the Capitol, I would've made you a bouquet from the roses my Grandma’am grows in her rooftop garden.”

“These are nice, tho, Coryo.” You assured him with a kind smile while taking the offered flowers.

Coryo fell even more in love with you, watching you take the bouquet (which he felt was a pathetic thing compared to what he'd be able to give you in the Capitol) with a smile. His heart swelled as he watched you smell the flowers, your nose lingering at the couple of roses he demanded the florist stick into the bunch of wildflowers.

Yes, you'd flourish and grow in the Capitol. With his love and tender care, he'll turn you into a prized rose. His darling rose that everyone will envy, but only he has. A rose that he'll love; who'll love him in return.

Coryo knows that, sooner rather than later, he's going to gift you his mother's shawl and her compact. As a way to show his love and commitment to you. But also to mold you into what he knows you're meant to be.

His perfect, sweet, kind, darling rose. His wife who'll comfort him and love him during good times and bad. The mother of his children who'll sing to them and nurture them.

“I'm glad that you like them, darling, but you do deserve better flowers and, once I pass my officers exam, I'll be able to afford them for you.”

“You're taking an officer's exam? When, Coryo?”

“Next week.” Coriolanus proudly said, his baby blues shining with joy.

Before you could say another word or invite Coryo in, your older brother, Rein, appeared behind you with his half-empty jar of moonshine in his hand. Tipping his jar towards your ‘friend’ he asked in a deep grumble, “This officer bothering you, sis?”

“No, Rein.” You shook your head. Looking between your older brother and the blonde peacekeeper, you announced, “This is Coryo, a new friend of mine.”

Your brother's Seam grey eyes grew into the size of saucers. He looked between you, the flowers you were holding, Coryo, and the sack slung over his shoulder.

Coryo, wanting to make a good impression with his future brother-in-law, stuck his hand out for a handshake and politely said, “Sir, I'm Private Coriolanus Snow, of the esteemed Capitol Snow family. I'm scheduled to take the officer's aptitude test next week and, I assure you, my intentions with your sister are nothing, but honorable.”

Of course his intentions are honorable, the man wants to marry you. Take you back to the Capitol with him and fill you up with his babies. Oh, and not exactly in that order either. But, nevertheless, Coriolanus wants to make you Mrs. Snow; one day First Lady Snow.

Your brother looked at Coryo's large, calloused, outstretched hand and then turned his eyes up to his face. Rein had a mask of indifference painted on his dark, stubble coated face as he pointed his mason jar at Coryo and gruffly said, “Fuck you.”, before pivoting on his heel and storming back to his chair- all the while shouting, “My stupid fucking sister’s taking up with that dead General Crassus Snow’s fuckbag son, Ashie!”

You heard something break in the house and your heart dropped into the pit of your stomach. Your sister-in-law (well, she was your brother's girlfriend, but same thing at this point since they've been together for so long) was so startled by your brother's outburst that she broke something the family can't afford to break. And your brother's reaction to your new friend was horrible.

The things he said…

Oh no, how embarrassing and cruel.

Frantically you apologized, afraid that Coryo would up and leave over your brother's nasty greeting, “Coryo, I'm so sorry for what Rein said. He shouldn't have said that, any of it.”

“Well, I admit, Y/N, that I was hoping to make a better impression on your brother, but I'm not going to let his little outburst chase me away from my darling girl.” Coriolanus told you, his attitude unwavering, as he placed his hands on your shoulders- gently rubbing them in a soothing manner.

Picking up on the phrase ‘my darling girl's, your brain suddenly put two and two together. Coryo wanted more than friendship, it seems. “Your girl, but I thought you just wanted to be friends?” You asked, just to make sure that your sudden revelation was right.

“I'm going to be a peacekeeper here for the next 20 years, Y/N. Of course, you're my girl. I don't want to be alone here, plus once I become an officer-” Coryo began to say, only for Ashlie to pop up and interrupt him with, “Um, can you two not discuss any future plans right now? Rein's upset enough as it is and, Y/N, I need you to help me with the dry bread.”

“Okay.” You sighed while at the same time Coriolanus said, “Like it or not, Ma’am, I'm not going anywhere. In fact, I'm staying here, in your home, with my darling rose for my weekend leave.”

“On the other hand, why don't you two talk a walk; go to the nearby meadow or something? Then you can meet up with me and Rein at the hob tonight.” Ashlie suggested, yanking the flowers out of your hand and ushering you out the door and slamming it shut behind you before either you or Coryo could say a word.

Well, looks like his plan to impress your family failed. But at least he impressed you, and really that's all the truly matters. As long as his lover's impressed then he couldn't give a flying fuck about the Halvir family. They could fuck off; go take a walk to the hanging tree for all he cared.

Coryo impressed you, made you smile with love and pride when you saw him in his uniform and, truly, that's the only thing that's important to him right now. That you view him as a hero.

Even tho in reality he's the anti-hero and your family knows it.

Tags: @kuroosbby001 @purriteen @poppyflower-22 @meetmeatyourworst @whipwhoops @bxtchopolis @readingthingsonhere @savagenctzen @ryswritingrecord @erikasurfer @tulips2715 @universal-s1ut @thesmutconnoisseur @squidscottjeans @sudek4l @wearemadeofstardust0 @mashiromochi @gracieroxzy @belcalis9503 @shari-berri @aoi-targaryen @whiteoakoak @spear-bearing-bi-witch @gisellesprettylies @loverandqueenofdragons @qoopeeya @mfnqueen1 @permanentlyexhaustedpigeon88 @v-love @swiftieblyth @joyfulyouthlover @nowitsmissing @edb954 @astarborntowrite @diannnnsss @devils-blackrose @gentle-aesthetic-bby @elizabeth-nobennet @harvey-malfoy

[crowandmousewritingco]

The Correspondence of the Contagious

Pairing: Oberyn Martell x gn!reader x Ellaria Sand

Words: 1.4 k

Rating: G

Summary: Oberyn is away for a few days and illness comes to Dorne.

Author: Mod Mouse

Notes: This is one of my entries in @burntheedges Roll-A-Trope Challenge! This was so fun to write (and thanks to Mod Crow for the help!) Hopefully I'll have the other fic out next week.

My Dearest Viper, 

I hope the Northern kingdoms aren’t dimming your fiery spirit. I know you were hesitant to adventure so far away from your paramores, but I assure you we aren’t going anywhere. Soon you’ll return to the warm embrace of your land and your lovers. On your return we shall keep you in your room drinking and enjoying the company, filling us with as much pleasure as we could handle. 

Dorne is still quite warm despite the seasons changing. Ellaria and I have been spending our days basking in the sun while we still can. We even made up a nice lunch that we enjoyed under the lemon trees in the grove that you adore so much. Once we were full of delicacies (and a taste of each other) we followed the path through the Water Gardens. We look like pies straight from the oven with the amount of sun on our skins. But it was much needed for the both of us. 

Although something must have kicked up some retched pollen because Ellaria has been stuffed up since then. She insists she is okay (you know how stubborn she gets with this sort of affair), but after some well placed cuddles, she allowed herself some rest. That’s where she is right now. Snuggled up beside me as I write this to you. She’s as beautiful as always with her dark hair spread out like crow feathers on our shared pillows. I wish I could illustrate how beautiful she is. You would delight in the sight of her my dear as I am in this moment of time.

With plenty of rest and your herbal tea mix, she should be right as rain in a day or so. No need to worry your little Prince head about. I can handle our lover’s moods while you handle your duties. We shall see you in a fortnight. I shall pray to the Seven for your safety on your journey. 

Your Dove. 

My Dearest Viper,

I know politics have kept you busy so I hope this letter finds you well. At least in a better condition than our paramore. I fear that whatever illness has graced her body has stayed longer than the foreseen time. Her sniffling has turned into a cold. Poor thing has been coughing bouts that last several minutes. Diluted wine helps in the end but only after acquiring a sore throat. 

That wasn't the only thing she received from this illness. She has acquired a bit of a fever over the last few hours and her energy has lessened. But the Maester believes it’s just the bug that has been spreading throughout the castle. He has given her more herbal remedies and plenty of rest as her medication. 

I will continue to watch her with a careful eye. Once again she is resting beside me. Even in sickness she has my deepest love and adoration. I thank the gods every day that I get to be simply in her presence. 

When she wakes I shall see if she wants to spend some time on our balcony. The Maester said that sunlight would be a nice addition to her healing. Oh and I’ll have those berries brought from the kitchen for her to snack on. She was delighted when we went for our walk. They shall lift her spirit and body. 

I’m afraid my time with you is cut short my dear. Our lover stirs beside us. I will write to you once she finds slumber again. I hope the North is treating you as well as they can. 

Your Dove.

My Dearest Viper 

I pray to the Seven that you receive this letter. I’m afraid the sickness was much worse than anyone could have expected. Her fever is at an ultimate and she hasn’t eaten for a few days. The Maester claims that she will arrive on the other side of this pestilence mountain and I am hopeful too. But it’s hard to have reassurance when your lover shakes like the leaves in the wind. Pelts have been placed on her body but they do nothing to keep her from shivering. She sleeps like a princess with a spell placed on her. I rouse her only to eat and drink. 

I pray your journey will end soon so that your presence can heal her as much as mine. I didn’t want to raise your worry while you were away, but I’m scared. Less severe sickness has taken loved ones, and my soul is in an unrest. I wish for your strength my dear. You have an aptitude for these sorts of situations. 

I wish to keep writing to you, for I feel your presence in these words, but I fear I’ve run out of subjects to discuss. Please return soon my dearest Oberyn. 

Your Dove

What you didn’t tell Oberyn was that you were suffering the same ailments Ellaria was currently experiencing. Your fever was just as high as Ellaria’s and you clung together in sickness, bodies shaking in unison. The need for food seemed like a distant afterthought, and your stomach cramp every time you coughed. 

Ellaria whimpered and your head peaked up. You had tuned your senses to anything she might need during this time even if it meant ignoring your own needs. “My love, let me get you something to drink.” You weakly kissed your head as it took all of your energy to even sit up but you had to do this for her. 

You swung your legs over the sides. The wind felt cold against your bare skin despite the warm summer heat still lingering. Your breath seemed to struggle to enter your lungs, but you pushed yourself up. Ellaria needed you; your body be damned. Carefully your hands braced themselves on the wall. Using the rough texture as your guide, you shuffled your feet in slow deliberate steps. 

But the pestilence in your body had made you weak, for your legs could no longer hold your weight. As you felt yourself pitch forward a strong pair of arms was the only thing stopping you from hitting the ground. The sudden stoppage of momentum threw you off and you couldn’t make heads or tails of what just occurred.

A familiar voice filled the room. “My dove what are you doing out of bed?” You glanced up despite the pounding in your head. Oberyn looked down at your body with worry. Gently he situated you so you were sitting on the edge of the bed. 

“I thought…you’re here,” You said and the weight of the last days finally made themselves known. You teared up and Oberyn guided your weak head to his shoulder, letting your body rest against his chest. 

“I’m here dove,” He soothed your anxieties. Up and down your back his hands soothed your anxieties. He could feel the exhaustion in the way you held your body. You went to speak, but a coughing fit seized you instead. 

“Easy love,” Oberyn soothed, sitting you up slightly, holding your weakened body up. You whimpered as the coughs turned into labored breathing before calming down completely. 

“I-I thought you would never return,” You whispered as tears formed in your tired eyes. 

“My dove. I left the Northern kingdoms as soon as I heard of Ellaria’s ailment,” He reassured you gently brushing your hair from your sweaty forehead. “Those clever ravens still found me. Why didn’t you tell me you were ill too?” 

Tears streamed down your hot cheeks, and with a gentle swipe of his thumb, Oberyn rid of them. “I-I…I was so worried about Ellaria.” 

“Shhh none of that now. I know you were so brave my dearest, but now let me care for my paramores,” Oberyn kissed your forehead before gently laying you back alongside Ellaria. 

Just like you had done for the last several days, you curled up beside her touching your fevered heads together. Oberyn arranged the blankets back into place. He turned around and grabbed the washcloths from the nearby water basin, wringing the excess water. With a gentleness unusual to such a warrior, he placed the cloths, one on Ellaria’s forehead and then one on yours. 

You sighed at the cooling relief of the water, and you felt your eyes drooping the weight of handling this alone dissipating. A gentle hand caressed your cheek. “Rest now my dove. I’m here now,” Oberyn whispered, leaning down to kiss your chapped lips. With your safety net here, you finally let yourself relax as a much needed sleep consumes your consciousness.

All Works Taglist

@for-a-longlongtime @romanarose

Pedro Character Taglist

@littlemisspascal @burntheedges

@carusolikey @thebeldroramscal

@morallyinept @lady-bess

@pedrostories @rivnedell

@pascalsanctuary @readingiskeepingmegoing

Thanks to the lovely @saradika-graphics for the dividers!

[undeadcannibal]

141 team +könig with reader that scratches at their arms and neck till they bleed please:]

Summary: How Task Force 141 and  would react to a Reader that scratches at their arms or neck.

Genre: Headcanons, request(s) Characters featured: Price, Soap, Gaz, Ghost, and König

Warnings: mentions of scratching, etc.

A/N:  I got you, Anon. Spent my adolescent years struggling with that T-T Hopefully you enjoy! And as always, thank you for the request! <3 I tried giving everyone a bit of a different reason as to why just for a bit of variation. I hope that is alright. c:  ( Gif credit: xxx )

Gaz―

He catches you in the middle of relieving the itchiness of your forearms, taking a moment to realize what's going on before he tries to encourage you to stop in a calm and soft manner. 

He won't freak out, he'll just ask what's up, really just wants to ensure you're okay overall. 

Much like John, he won't pry for an answer if you truly don't want to give one, buuuut that doesn't mean he'd stop worrying about you. 

You mention that it's nothing too serious, it's unfortunately something you resort to in times of major stress. 

He doesn't pretend to understand what you deal with, but he's there to help regardless. 

Personally, he likes helping you take care of yourself. He won't hold it against you if you can't help but give in to scratching. 

Let him patch you up so he can tell you jokes or stories to distract you from thinking about everything, even if only for a little while. 

Soft but calloused hands drifting up your forearms carefully, making sure not to hurt you too much as he helps clean and patch you up. 

Do well and he says he'll give you a kiss as a reward for good behavior~ 

Ghost―

He notices something's up quickly. Whether you prefer to hide the marks of not, he wastes little time in asking you about it. 

He'll bring it up when the two of you are alone, or are at least out of earshot of anyone else. He won't want to embarrass you, but he'll be curious. 

I think Simon would ask a lot of questions at first: "What happened?" "Why do you have the impulse?" and "…Does it hurt?" or "Does it bother you much?" because he'd want to know why before helping. 

You mention that you struggle with allergies a lot, and in turn, sometimes don't realize just how bad it's gotten until it's too late. 

Unfortunately, the entire insides of your forearms suffer the most and as a result, are covered in large patches of scabs from previous bouts of itchiness. 

He wouldn't have noticed it had you not needed to pull up the sleeves of your shirt, revealing them to him. 

After you give him your answer, he won't say much, but I can see him silently telling you to stay put. He disappears only to return with a first-aid kit. 

While he might not fully understand what you're dealing with, he does help care for your wounds and patches you up. Even reminding you to change the bandages daily just in case you need a reminder. 

He might not be the best at helping heal others, but he does try to be there for you in his own ways. 

Price―

The first time he notices the marks on your neck, his eyes are widening and his jaw is clenching, numerous conflicting emotions rushing through him all at once. 

At first, he's unsure of the best approach for you, but eventually decides to just calmly ask you the next time the two of you are alone. 

Price doesn't want to pry -- he won't force an answer out of you if you haven't told him on your own time. So, he simply asks if he can help. 

If you choose to let him, he'll sweetly - and silently - tend to your neck and recommend some personal remedies since he's had many types of wounds over the years. He likes to joke that at his age, he's got an answer for everything. 

If you do decide to let him in, he's all ears: listening to you without adding in any unnecessary comments. Waiting until you explain that you struggle with a skin condition - have since you were born - and when the weather changes, that can be the worst for it at times. Sending you into a fit of resisting and giving in when you can no longer bear it. 

Like Soap, after he hears this, he does his best to try and help you. Whether that's gently reminding you to resist scratching as much as possible, or helping you care for it afterward. It doesn't matter. 

John just wants to help. 

Ooh, also asks if you'd like to borrow one of his scarves, just in case you'd like to cover up. If not, he doesn't take it personally. 

Soap―

At first, I can see him thinking the marks are possibly hickeys from afar. Once he realizes that its actually marks from you scratching at your neck, he's quick to apologize for his assumption. 

Afterwards, he'll soften his approach. Speaking quietly to you, bringing you somewhere where the two of you can have a private conversation over things. 

Like Simon, he's a curious man. He just wants to understand why. Though, he'll also understand if it's something you're not comfortable discussing. 

You mention it's a horrible habit you've struggled to break throughout the years, but even so, you're working on it. 

Either way, he just wants to make sure you're okay.

He helps patch you up if you allow him to. 

After he makes sure you're taken care of and tended to, I can see him wanting to help distract you if he can as well. 

He'll make sure the two of you do something that will help you keep your hands occupied with tasks. 

When he can, he helps keep you too busy to scratch, if he can help it, and if you're willing to put up with him. 

Please do, he just wants to be a sweet and helpful man~ 

König―

His eyes widen when he catches sight of the marks on your neck. At first, he's worried someone else hurt you and frankly, is out. For. Blood. Until you explain otherwise. 

If you choose to let him in as to why you scratch, he'll nod silently, letting you know he understands. 

If you let him know that the marks on your neck are from you scratching - for numerous reasons you don't delve into - König is silent for a while. Taking in everything you mentioned before nodding quietly. 

He doesn't get upset or hold it against you. 

Similar to Ghost, I personally see him as the strong and silent type during moments like this. 

His anxiety makes him worry and overthink any response that comes to mind, so he ends up not saying anything. Afraid that he'll say the wrong thing and accidentally offend you. 

Still, despite the silence, you can tell he means well. 

His large hands are a bit rough from years of warfare but even so, he touches you so gently that you barely even notice. Or care for that matter. 

Allowing him to tend to your wounds helps the both of you; it reassures you that he cares about you in his own ways. And, he likes being able to care for you, even if he can't really help stop you from scratching at your own skin. 

Really, he just likes to be as helpful as he can possibly be.

[lychgate]

Echo brain comic?? My beloved?

this one's pretty new and id like to in the least get some segments drawn up if i can

i went balls deep in depth about my personal ideas of Echo's structure and how it works, it has much more writing rn then art lemme get some snippets:

tech and echo begin digging around in his wiring as echo's health has lately began to decline rapidly. Blood transfusions are becoming daily, exhaustion occurs much quicker, and newest to the issues are these seemingly random seizures. They've attempted many outside options at remedying the problem but it was becoming urgently clear that the only way to get answers would be to open up his system and understand exactly how his body operates from the inside out. Echo is mostly on edge because he fears finding the answer that is he's just doomed to die soon, and that his body was in no way sustainable outside of that fridge. He fears the idea of dying so much that he has manic considerations of being put back in some sort of stasis chamber. Death, which he never feared prior to the citadel, but now he's come to be you know uhhh quite traumatized from it. But he also hates the idea of that fridge!! caught between two terrible options, wowie here ill add some more breakdown of that in a read more if anyone is interested in paragraphs of bullshit:

as for a brief descriptor on the shit on his head and body, from this paragraph:

Tech: these rivets across your skull are not simple ports one can just plug into. They're a very unique structure, containing an extremely delicate, but long system of thin metallic fibers wiring throughout your brain. These 'rivets' then act as anchors to those metal fibers, which then respond to very specific electric signals that we can access at the nodes on the surface here. If the signals sent are not exact. Well. Echo: yeah I get it I get it.

and some write up on how Tech begins to diagnose the problem:

Eventually Tech will find his way into deeper functions of the brain, finding shortcuts that were already developed by the Techno Union scientists for the sake of their own equipment likely. Categorized sections for monitoring all sorts of chemicals and levels within Echo's body, most of which were left on an automatic function to regulate.

Tech begins to understand that the key issue is that this program, and these automatic functions, were fitted for exactly the stasis chamber Echo had been put in, and if they want to begin fixing Echos phsyical body, he would have to start going in and coding line for line, functions that pertain to the body on a sustainability outside that fridge. Some functions were completely turned off, being that Echo was getting fed certain synthesized chemicals thru the machine, his brain had to be telling itself NOT to produce said things naturally.

But it's all very finicky work that requires continuous maintenance and updates, not much unlike a patch update to any other computer program, except this is Echo's life. It's an impossible amount of code to do in any short time frame, and so Tech will begin splicing lines of code from similar organic droids with systems of similar complexity.

They handle these sessions once per week, giving time for Echo's body to catch up and adjust. At first he begins feeling some nausea, his heart rate starts rising, but he insists something feels good about it and urges Tech to keep going. Echo begins to feel warmth back in his body, his mood increases, after about a month hair begins to grow again, muscle mass fills in what once was skeletal limbs, nail beds regain a lively shine. Besides a few errors in updates like over producing a chemical or small bouts of insomnia, everything seems On Course.

and then:

So now we get into the meat of the drama, which is a lot of Echo mania and identity issues:

By this point Tech has outfitted much easier screw on parts so they can go in and out of this program faster (the set up previously was hours of work) so pulling that up he theorizes that he will have to do more then just reverse programs that the Techno Union set up. Tech now believes he'll have to create NEW systems, as the old program appears to be getting corrupted from all of Tech's editing. The seizures are, at this point to their best guess, coming from this. That parts of his brain are literally crashing, and soon he's going to start having more serious issues like bro is gonna just have a massive stroke at some point. Tech points that out all regular voice and Echo is just 'great im back in the mental swamp' Now that Echo's learned that he has corrupted files eating away at his brain, and that the chance of having a massive stroke is like inevitable, he's back to feeling like anxious shit. It doesn't help that this will take Tech a lot of time to figure out. Truthfully he's putting as much effort as he can into it, but this is when Echo begins to get Really mentally unwell. He's both worrying and also trying NOT to worry out of fear that it's going to complicate the program even more. Echo begins to have identity issues, coming to rely more on the mechanics then the organics that make him. He doesn't feel like a human with robot parts anymore, he feels like a robot with human parts.

and it keeps going like there's parts where echo is begging Tech to up programs on dopamine generation and Tech has to turn him down cause that would just be creating an addiction problem, situations where Echo starts trying to mess with his own brain, situations where he tries to kill Tech, its a lot of rambling but im not a writer, like i can't write for shit and I'd like to try and draw it instead

[thebadgerclan]

My Venus

Pairing: King George III x reader

Requested by Anonymous

Summary: You are his Venus...

It was nearly impossible to quell your panic when you received the summons.  If Princess Augusta called for you, it was seldom for a good reason, and you had no reason to believe she was summoning you for anything less than a scolding.  So, you were quite surprised when the Princess invited you into her sitting room, poured you tea, and offered you a scone.

“Lady Y/N,” she began.  “I have heard you are quite adept in the art of herbal remedies.  Is this true?”  You cocked your head.  “Indeed it is, Your Royal Highness.”  “How skilled would you say you are?  Akin to a licensed apothecary?”  You set your teacup down.  “Might I inquire as to why you are asking, ma’am?”  Augusta sighed, waving the servants out of the room.

“Very well, I shall be blunt.  My son, His Majesty, is not….he is not well.  I was hoping that perhaps you could be of assistance.”  You did your best to hide the shock on your face.  “Not well?  How so, ma’am?”  “That is not relevant,” the Princess snapped.  “Can you help him or not?”  The dowager clearly did not want to discuss the issue in depth, but how could you assist if you did not know what the issue was?

“As it stands, no, ma’am, I cannot.”  “Whyever not?”  “I do not know what ails His Majesty,” you explained.  “A sore throat is treated quite differently than a headache.  If I do not know what the problem is, then I cannot help.”  Princess Augusta sighed, pinching her brow.  “I am afraid I do not know how to describe the issue.”  “Then there is little I can do.  Unless I might speak to His Majesty…”  “Out of the question.”  You stood, folding your hands before you.  “Then I am afraid there is nothing I can do.  Good day, Your Highness.”

You were nearly to the door when she called out to you.  “Fine!  I will…speak to Georgie.”  Smiling, you dipped into a curtsey.  “Thank you, Your Royal Highness,” you said.  “I look forward to meeting His Majesty.”

***

A mere two days later, you were seen to King George III’s personal study.  “Presenting the Lady Y/N L/N!”  You dropped into a deep curtsey when you entered, waiting for the King to acknowledge you.  “Please,” the King said.  “Have a seat, my lady.”  You rose and did as you were bade.  “It is an honor, Your Majesty,” you said, folding your hands atop your lap to keep from fidgeting.  “I assume your royal mother has informed you as to why I am here?”

“Indeed she has,” the King said.  “Though I am afraid your time may be wasted.  Doctors from across the continent have tried and failed to cure me.”  You nodded, unused to seeing your sovereign in such a vulnerable state.  “Your Majesty, might you describe your troubles to me?  So I might ascertain how best to help?” Again, the King sighed.  “It is as if my mind separates from my body,” he began.  “I begin to tremble, usually in my hands, my speech becomes disorganized, my neck twitches.  I talk nonsense, you see, and there have been times…”  George paused, taking a few deep breaths.  “There have been times when I have eloped from the palace grounds.  Many times baring myself to the elements in the process.”

You only nodded.  “I see.  Is there anything that appears to precede an…episode?  Something that might trigger these bouts?”  The King nodded.  “Stressors seem to be the common thread.  Frankly, I believe it may be a way for my mind to escape uncomfortable situations.”  “It very well could be,” you agreed.  “I can concoct a syrup of lavender and chamomile that may help to calm you.  And..if I may ask something of Your Majesty?”

George nodded.  “Please, do.”  “If I could observe one of you…episodes, I may be able to see if there is anything further I can do.”  For a moment, the King thought, before nodding again.  “I can have my Man call for you.  Though I must warn you, it will not be pleasant to witness.”  “I care not if it is pleasant,” you replied.  “I care for Your Majesty’s wellness.”

The King had been anticipating this conversation to be a difficult one, something that might trigger a panic as soon as you left the room, but quite the opposite had happened.  George found your presence soothing and calming; the moment you began speaking, the tremor in his hands had ceased.  Perhaps you could aid him in more ways that he had thought.

*** Sure enough, Reynolds called for you when the King had his next episode.  It was jarring, to be sure.  He was nude in the gardens, calling for Venus to speak to him.  You had only heard stories of people acting in such manners, usually insane patients in asylums.  But not the King, never the King.  How was this the same man you had spoken to only a day ago?

Then, the King had turned his attention to you.  His eerie smile grew even wider, and he moved towards you in quick strides.  Reynolds had told you that the King was never violent during his episodes, but you still felt fear building in you.  “Y/N,” he said, reaching out for you.  “It is Y/N!”  Cautiously, you took a step forward.  “Yes, George, it is Y/N.  I am here.”

The King let out a gleeful laugh and threw himself into your arms.  “Y/N!  Oh, the beautiful Y/N!”  You wrapped your arms around him, supporting his weight.  “George, it is quite cool tonight,” you said.  “We ought to return indoors, don’t you think?  We could get you some lavender-chamomile tea to warm up?”

“Would you stay with me?” he asked, and you nodded.  “Of course, George.  Now come.”  To yours and Reynolds’ complete shock, the King followed you inside, letting himself be cleaned up and a cup of tea pressed into his hands.  As you were leaving, Reynolds pulled you aside.  “I have never seen him come out of it so fast,” he said.  “There is something about you.”

***

The following day, you were once more summoned to Princess Augusta.  “I heard what happened last night,” she said, though there was no accusation in her voice.  “What you did for my son has never happened.  Therefore, I want you to be his companion from now on.”  “Wh- Your Highness?”  “You calm him,” she went on.  “I am not suggesting it is a cure, but something about your presence soothes the King.  Therefore, I want you to be at his side.”

“I…it would be my pleasure, Your Royal Highness.”  “Indeed it will be,” she said, and with a wave of her hand, you were dismissed.  George was slightly hesitant about your new relationship, but he adjusted rather quickly.  You did indeed have a calming effect on him, and after a week, he saw you more as a friend than someone meant to keep him in check.

And soon after, the King felt his feelings growing further.  You were a rare beauty, you were kind, funny, demure, well read, and you defended him to those who questioned him.  George realized it late one night as he was pouring over his star charts: he had fallen in love with you.  Little did he know your feelings had blossomed in the same manner.  

The King was devastatingly handsome, but he was shockingly sweet too.  He was quick with a joke when the situation called for one, he was strong; in the physical sense as much as the emotional one.  He cared for his people, he genuinely cared, and he seemed to enjoy your company.  You had quickly become the King’s friend, but now, you knew that your heart was his, completely and irrevocably.

***

One afternoon, King George had asked you to accompany him to his observatory on the grounds of Kew palace.  Again, you were shocked by the King’s intelligence and the passion he had for astrology.  “There is little to see in the daylight,” he said, rummaging through stacks of parchment.  “But this…I wanted you to see this.”  

It was a drawing of a woman, a beautiful woman, and you looked at George quizzically.  “It is Venus,” he elaborated.  “The Roman goddess.  It is after her that the celestial body is named.”  “How lovely,” you said, unsure of what else you could say.  “She is the goddess of love and beauty, did you know that?”  “I did not.”

George reached out and took your hand.  “I must ask your forgiveness if I am too bold, but you are striking, Y/N.  Your beauty knows no bounds, your kindness and compassion is endless.  When I am in my fits, I speak of Venus.  Something about her soothes me, somehow brings me back.  But you, Y/N, you have become my Venus.  And I…I want you to be my Venus.”

His hands had begun to shake, and you took them in yours.  “George,” you said. “Are you asking me…”  “Might I call upon you?” he asked.  “Might I court you?  For I believe I have fallen in love, Y/N.  I need you, I need my Venus.”  You felt a smile take over your face, and you brought his hands to your lips, kissing them sweetly.  “Then you shall have your Venus.”

[usedpidemo]

A sickening update.

Hi everyone. π here.

I feel like I owe you an explanation for my inactivity over the past two months.

First, as of writing, I'm going through a really horrible cough/flu bout. Out of nowhere, my body decided to turn heel against me and shut down over the previous weekend. It was fucking rough. My coughs were absolutely violent, chills all over, I could barely move, let alone actually walk, and it was a nightmare every waking moment. A few rounds of medication and rest later, it's gotten substantially better, but not all of it—a lingering cough remains, no idea when it will go away, but hopefully soon! No amount of water therapy, remedy, and medication can seemingly put it away for good for some stupid reason. I hope this isn't anything serious and I hope you join me in prayer that it isn't either.

Secondly is just the usual—IRL stuff has been happening every week over the summer, usually concerning my family members, and more often than not, I get involved in their petty conflicts when I'd rather not. It sucks; they're not willing to put aside their differences and reconcile.

As you can probably tell, I haven't been able to do much writing, if at all. I did have a few drafts worked on, but apart from one quick one for Summer's prompt series, I have decided the best plan of action is to start everything from scratch. The physical, mental, and spiritual lashings of the world has caught up to me and has manifested in the form of an illness. It's hard when other baggage is being nestled on your back, and as much as I wanna cast those thoughts aside, I simply cannot. With studies picking back up, expect these gaps to get longer and longer. I'm close to graduating too, so I anticipate more obligations to fulfill. I'm not retired, per say, just in a bit of a disarray.

First, I hope I can fully recover soon. Secondly, pray that all these troubles move quickly. All things shall pass. I hope you can wait a bit longer.

And to the people sending me their warm compliments, I sincerely thank you for your invaluable support during these challenging times.

With grace,

Peter / π