#dark world eating at its finest

[arthur-lesturs-right-foot]

Can I have a sandwich minimum wage style with a side of fuck you? 😇☺️😊

Ah, yes you may. Would you like an ass burger or a dick Philly cheese? Also would you like that fuck you in the form or fries or tots sprinkled with the fucks I have left?

[holybibly]

Heyy if your dark hours are still open…👀👀 would you mind sharing your thoughts about yandere Ateez concubine harem…? Or perhaps any harem that you can think of because I’m very much into this topic🤭🤭🤭

You know what? Today I wanted to be affectionate with you, damn bunnies, and spoil you with tenderness and sweets, but you just provoked my dark side with all these requests, didn't you?

So change of plan, bunnies; we're going down the dark and rough road. I love yandere's concubines, Ateez. God, can we think of anything more seductive and more dangerous than that? From now on, you should send me such requests more often, bunnies. Feed this demon within me.

You entered the palace as the wife of the new emperor. His fourth wife. His glittering war trophy.

When war came, your world was changed beyond recognition. Flames and ashes consumed the luxury and grandeur of the palaces, and the jewels turned to dust, leaving only you, the Ice Princess of the Northern Mountains.

Your life was made of crystal and your heart was made of ice stronger than diamonds, and it was this cold and lunar beauty that caused you to be forcibly married.

Yes, you may have entered the palace as the Emperor's wife. But you were a nobody within the high walls of the palace, just a sad reflection of past your greatness.

Everyone knew that the Emperor had a large harem, not counting the three older wives, but what really surprised you was that it was not only made up of girls, but of young men as well. There were eight of them. Each one more beautiful than the last, each one unique and unrepeatable.

Until one fateful night, you had never met them or seen them in person. It was a lunar festival, and you were its queen. Dressed in silk and the finest translucent tulle, as if kissed by the moon goddess herself, you sparkled and attracted the attention of everyone around you. Everybody, but not your husband. He didn't even look at you, brushed you aside as if you were an annoying mosquito, and sent you off to talk and smile at the guests while he went off to fuck another beautiful concubine.

And then, for the first time in your life, you had a meeting with the concubines of his other harem. And your world was turned upside down for the second time in your life.

It was love at first sight, a fire that burned through his veins and poisoned his mind. And it was all because of you. It was your fault that Wooyoung couldn't sleep, couldn't eat, couldn't laugh, and couldn't live. All of a sudden, his whole world was reduced to you and your heavenly, icy beauty. He passionately wanted to melt that ice, make you beg, squirm, and moan as he fucked you unconscious and painfully, filling you with his sperm and marking you as his property.

The only thing Wooyoung ever had in his life was his beauty. He grew up in poverty, living on scraps of food and the small amount of money he was able to pick up from the dirt. That is, until the day the current emperor, who was still a prince at the time, came upon him in one of the alleys, on the run from his guards. Wooyoung's dark fox eyes captivated him at once, and as if he had fallen under his spell, the emperor brought him back to the palace to be his concubine.

Wooyoung was a greedy concubine; there was always something that was not enough for him. He wanted to swim in luxury, to drown in gold and silk, to have diamonds, and to own the whole damn world. The best should be his, and so it was; the emperor gave him everything and more that Wooyoung had a desire for. And now you were in his sights. He wanted you so much that it ate him up from within and almost drove him mad, greedily and viciously, in the most horrible way in the world.

Yes, Wooyoung was greedy, and if he had to kill the Emperor to get you, he wasn't going to think twice about doing it.

One look at you could bring him to his knees. He would crawl to you like a pet if you commanded him to, and that desire was stronger than the hatred he felt for the whole of the world. You could tame his wild temper, and Mingi would want nothing more than for you to straddle him and ride his cock day and night, tearing the skin from his back and shoulders, choking him, and biting him until his will was broken. Mingi was uncontrollable and capricious, passion and fire raging in him, burning everything in his path, but your element was ice, burning him harder than hell itself.

Once upon a time, Mingi was a warrior, one of the great generals of his country, until the war came and destroyed his entire life. It took everything from him—his will, his family, his home. Yes, the war had taken everything from him except for the poisonous rage and the dark, vicious passion that was boiling in his veins. He was brought to the palace in chains like a slave, and that very night the Emperor took him by force and made him one of his concubines. This only made him bitterer.

Mingi was venomous and aggressive, biting and scratching until he bled, but you, you did something to him—you forced him into submission by your very presence, without him even knowing it. The wild, unbridled storm inside of him became the icy surface of the lake, soothing and healing. And Mingi wanted peace. He wanted the touch of your icy hands on his heated skin and cold kisses on his lips. He wanted you.

What is passion if not a flame that is a destroyer of all things on its way to its goal? And Mingi was full of fire to burn this damn palace to the ground to take possession of you.

He was sin clothed in a human body, debauchery and lust embodied in an image of heavenly beauty. The whole of Seonghwa's life had been nothing more than a constant stream of sex and an endless series of lovers. He could not get rid of this feeling; it was like frost on his skin. This constant, painful need was scratching him from the inside out. But when he saw you, all his thoughts were focused on you—on your pure, untouched skin that he wanted to lick and bite, on your slim waist that he wanted to squeeze as he fucked you continuously. On those red, seductive lips that would be simply amazing when wrapped around his dick. It was you he wanted, and for the first time in his life, Seonghwa wanted you to be the one. He didn't want anyone else, only you. 

Before he entered the palace, he was one of the most sought-after whores in the brothel, famous for his devilish beauty and his languid, cat-like gaze. There was a line of people waiting for him, and Seonghwa was more than happy to accept them all. He was insatiable, wanting to fuck anywhere and anytime, trying the most sinful and unusual things. He was a real slut. But when the emperor heard about Seonghwa and visited his brothel one day, everything changed. Suddenly, he was no longer just a whore; he became Imeretar's concubine.

Seonghwa's hunger could not be quenched, and one partner would never be able to cope with it. But here you are, pure and radiant like an angel, beckoning him with your immaculate beauty. You were stronger than his dark, insatiable demon of lust. He wanted to corrupt you, to make you like him, and to make you dependent on him, just as he had become dependent on thinking about you.

It is said that whores don't know how to love, but they know how to desire. And there was enough darkness in Seonghwa to consume and destroy the world; to possess your purity and chastity. Then let the world be plunged into darkness until you are alone with him.

Yeosang had never been interested in anything at all. The world was too boring and dangerous for him. He could never care less about it. If he could, he would stay safe and comfortable in his bed for the rest of his life. You were different—distant and cold, but with an inexplicable thirst to live. You wanted to see all the things around you, to experience the cultures and the art. The world was interesting to you, and that was a source of irritation to Yeosang.

Everything about you was fragile and exquisite, and the fact that you didn't see it was what made Yeosang so angry. Don't you see, little butterfly, the world is terrible and dangerous. You would be much better off with him in his bed, far away from anything that could harm you in any way. Perhaps you would finally understand that you shouldn't run away from the safety and comfort of his bed if he were to break you. If that helped, Yeosang would want to destroy you and fuck your little curious brain until you thought only of him. He would spend hours warming you with his dick, days kissing your cold lips, and smothering you with his attention and love.

Yeosang was always aware that one day he would be part of the emperor's household. He had been prepared for this since he was a child, pampered and protected from the whole world, so that there would not be a trace of dirt on his silky, snow-white skin. Always waiting for the Emperor to visit his chambers and warm his soft bed, albeit temporarily. Yeosang almost never left his room, but like all concubines, he had to attend the Moon Festival. And that's when he saw his fragile butterfly. And like everything beautiful in this world, you were too easy to break. Yeosang wanted to protect you, hide you between his sheets, and shower you with care.

Yes, beautiful things broke easily, sometimes too easily—delicate butterfly wings, flower petals, crystal jewelry. But Yeosang wanted to see how the most beautiful thing in the world—human life—broke.

He wanted to eat you alive. Sinking his teeth into you and never letting you go, you awakened in him this wild, all-consuming hunger that he could not satisfy with anything else. You were the most delicious dish of all, and your taste was his only desire. San had always been a little insatiable, wanting more attention, wanting to love more, wanting to more sex, wanting everything this world had to offer him. It was never enough. You walked past him without even looking in his direction, the trail of your perfume settling on his skin and seeping into his body, poisoning him as you went. He wanted you to pay attention to him, to smile at him, to love him, to touch him. Oh, he would never let you go, he would fill you with his cum over and over again, and it wouldn't be enough for his taste. If he could, his dick would be in your pretty pussy all the time, so warm and delicious. He was in desperate need of you, he was hungry for you, and this hunger was all-encompassing.

Ever since he was a child, San had had a voracious appetite, always in need of a bigger and sweeter bite to temporarily fill the emptiness inside him that was growing with him. He had everything he could ever wish for; he had grown up in a loving and wealthy family with titles, but the dark hunger that plagued him was terrible. No matter what it was, he was always in need of more. So one day, when the emperor asked if he wanted to join his harem, San didn't hesitate to accept, but the hunger didn't go away.

You were the most delicious forbidden fruit of them all, and San was desperate to sink his teeth into you. He could almost feel the heavenly sweetness of you on his tongue, and it was driving him wild.

The sky could crash and burn all around him, and he wouldn't care, as long as you could fill him up and satisfy him.

There was no one in this world who could ever be like him. There was no one like Hongjoong. There was no limit to his pride and his greatness, and any praise You never praised him, you never sought his attention, and you were never enchanted by his sharp mind, his sweet voice, or his beauty, which could only be rivalled by the devil himself. And Hongjoong hated it. He hated how much he wanted your attention and your love. He wanted you to worship him, idolise him, and devote your whole life to him. He had to have you in all ways, even if those ways were darker than the night itself.Hongjoong wanted to see you in his golden bed, stretched out on the silk, while he was ravaging your body. He wanted to hear the endless moaning of his name as his cock tore apart the little cunt that was yours. He was in need of it, so much so that his whole body ached.

Hongjoong was a trophy of war, just like you. He was a real prince, who was supposed to be a king one day. His ego knew no bounds, and he was cruel and daring. Of course, the whole of the palace was conquered by the magnificent prince dressed in gold - all of them, except for you.

Yes, Hongjoong was a true prince, and one day he would overthrow the emperor and take his rightful throne, and like every emperor, he had to have his empress. You may not see him now, but the day will come when Hongjoong will be the only sunshine that illuminates your life. And he couldn't wait for it.

Yunho has never been the victim of jealousy. He has always been the recipient of praise and adoration, a constant reminder of how much he is loved. Yunho had no idea how jealousy could be. Or so he thought, at least.

That night, when he saw you in the light of the moon, he had hatred for the whole damn world. How dare he look at what belonged to him? He envied all those who could speak to you so freely; he envied all those who could pronounce your name; he envied his emperor, who did not appreciate your beauty and who humiliated you. Damn it, Yunho was jealous of the very air you were breathing. He desperately wanted to be him—to live inside you and melt into your skin. He wanted to melt into you without a trace.He would have loved to take you to his bed, to kiss every inch of your skin, to fuck you long and slow, and to shower you with compliments and praise. He would like to have you in his arms all the time, writhing and moaning with desire and need. For him, you are the only thing he needs in his life.

Yunho used to be just a servant in the palace. But he caught the Emperor's eye. That very night, he entered the emperor's chambers as his new concubine. Yunho knew about the others; he knew that he was not the only one, but that never bothered him; he was able to share the attention of the emperor. Except you. You were his own, and even the world was not worthy of seeing you.

It would be so easy to have the entire palace blinded, so that no one else but Yunho would have to see your celestial beauty.

Jongho was a man too proud for his own good. In his mind, it was beneath his dignity to pay attention to others and smile sweetly at them. Jongho was the spoiled, arrogant son of one of the most important palace officials, and when his father had the chance to get close to the emperor, he naturally gave him to the harem. But even so, he still considered himself to be better than everyone else, even Hongjoong, who was a prince in his own right.

Jongho was the one who first saw you, quite by chance, when he visited his father on the night you were appointed as the emperor's fourth wife. The Emperor was a real fool not to see how brilliant and magnificent you were—a real crown jewel. You were a symbol of power, strength, and might, an enslaved princess of a once great country, and a black flame of desire flared up in Jongho—he wanted to own you completely.

He wanted you for himself—your thoughts, your will, your body, and your life. He wanted you to sit by his side, to be covered with jewels, and to bear his children. It was easy for him to imagine his hand wrapped around your fragile throat as he fucked you into the mattress, you begging and moaning for him, wanting to be filled with his cum.

Fueled by his selfish desires, his fixation on you became increasingly harmful and dangerous.

Out of all the trophies in the world, there was nothing that was more attractive to Jongho than you. And on the way to what he wanted, murder was never a serious matter for him.

[gabgabwrites]

LESSON LEARNT | Professor!Patrick Zweig

summary ⇝ your insufferable colleague has no sense of time and you’re tired of that, though if there’s one thing Patrick doesn’t like, is a smart mouth, one you so happen to have.

warnings ⇝ allusions of art x reader, language, mentions of cheating, smoking, blasphemy(if you squint) smut! p in v, unprotected sex, choking, oral (M), fingering, cum-eating, collar(?), rough sex, slapping, spanking, spit play, barely aftercare, DEGRADATION TO ITS FINEST, praise, Patrick yaps and yaps about reader being a whore/slut…yolo, mdni

an: I had to touch some grass and myself during this &&& I have another 2 planned challengers fics coming out… one day

based off this request here!

you can read part 2…over here

You're an English professor at Stanford university, you're loved by many students and got along with most of your colleagues.

There was just one problem, majority your students almost always kept arriving late to your lectures because of the Biology professor, Professor Zweig who kept keeping his students overtime.

He irked you, he was cocky and arrogant and always boasted to you when a student got a higher mark in his class instead of yours, even if you taught English.

Even now, you had a few late stragglers enter your class, as you were busy reading to your class; 'I Have No Mouth and I Must Scream'. You had enough, you shut the book and excused yourself, telling your students to continue reading along and write down notes. You marched straight for the dark, thick double doors that led to the biology labs.

Lo and behold, stood Professor Patrick Zweig, packing away his microscope and other various equipment he used for his classes today, until he heard the banging of the double doors. As he turned over, he couldn't help but roll his eyes as he saw you standing at the entrance, a scowl on your face that he had to admit was rather cute.

"Oh no... my worst nightmare." He said sarcastically as he leaned against the table.

Zweig couldn't help but scoff, he watched as you walked over and he almost smirked at how much you were fuming in front of him. "We've had this talk before, let your students out on time."

He leaned against the counter, his arms resting on his hip, "Oh, please, you're being so dramatic, they're a few minutes late to a lesson, you're acting like it's my fault you started too early."

"I start on time, thank you, and I am certainly not being dramatic. Language is far more important than looking at dead insects."

Zweig raised his eyebrow, he had no trouble arguing with you, and with a grin, he pushed himself off the table and leaned forwards a bit, "Oh? Language is more important than biology? Don't make me laugh, the study of biology is much more useful and important than studying Shakespeare and dead poets."

"It's not about poetry," You groaned. "It's a goddamn language that everyone seated in my class speaks at home, unfortunately that is more useful than fucking insects."

Patrick couldn't help but laugh, his grin only widening, he was enjoying this far too much. He crossed his arms, his stance becoming wider, “Please, English is hardly a language, it's mostly made up of stolen words from Latin and Germanic languages. Besides, what is so important about knowing the language when science is what the world functions through?"

You let out a small hum. "What if your students are religious, huh? What if they believe God created all creatures and critters?"

He rolled his eyes, "That's your counter argument? You want to go and talk about religion? Really? If God truly created all these things, then how come we have so much evidence and scientific facts disproving that? It's science over fiction, sweetie."

You scoffed, and muttered under your breath, "Blasphemy." With a frown, you turned around and went back to your lecture hall and picked up the book.

Patrick couldn't help but snicker as he watched your dramatic exit, oh he had to admit he was absolutely enjoying this new routine of riling you up with every encounter. He almost wanted to skip teaching tomorrow just to watch you fume even more.

"Alright, we'll pick up from page 146," You said, flipping to the page. "‘Cornfeld grasped the head of the hammer, and...’" The rest of the class went on with no more interruptions from tardy students, but in a small part of your mind, it still lingered to what Zweig had said.

Sure, you thought he was a cocky and arrogant bastard, but he also annoyed you so much. It was like he almost did it on purpose to rile you up.

The next day, your class was thankfully one of the last, but before Patrick's, and you knew some students had no luck and had to endure Biology back to back with yours. You smiled, today you planned to keep your students— the ones who had Biology next, in a few minutes later.

You weren't sure if he'd do something in retaliation for what you were about to do, but you really didn't care, the look on his face would no doubt be hilarious, especially when some of his students complained about being late for his lesson.

You had to make up some dumb reason, you pretended that those exact students had flunked the short item they wrote about two weeks ago, and had to discuss their mistakes. You knew it was a lame excuse, but it was the first thing that came to mind.

You could just imagine Zweig getting all huffy and impatient with the students as they were stuck in your class having to review their mistake.

The clocked ticked, minutes and minutes well passed the end of class.

You knew for a fact that those students were now late for the biology class, you tried to hide the grin growing on your face as you thought about how Zweig would take the tardiness, he was going to be absolutely fuming.

You sighed, pointing your neat and professional manicured finger at a big, red circle you made on a page. "See, here you got the facts wrong. Launcelot was a clown not a jester."

You heard some of the students groan and complain in the queue, some even looked at their watches and began to realise that they were now late for class. One of them, a male student, raised his hand slowly and peered at you over the shoulders of his classmates.

"Professor... Are you sure you need to go over every mistake?"

You raised a brow. "This topic will come up in your year end paper, so I expect you to get it right that time, and how else will you if you don't get it now?"

The male student groaned once more, he and the others all looked at their watches and then to each other. Another student, a female one, chimed in, "But we're going to be late for Biology."

You chose not to say anything, simply giving her a smile before turning back to the student you were attending to. "Right, where were we?"

They all looked at each other and gave out a collective sigh, but they had no choice but to listen to you review each and every one of their errors and mistakes. Every student glanced at the clock as the time slowly went on and on, they had to bite their tongues and try to pay attention as best as they could.

You could get a warning, or worse, but considering the Dean never took in your complaints, you didn't worry.

As the minutes passed, you were surprised at the amount of mistakes that students had done before in the past. You were about to look at another student's mistake, when you heard the loud sound of the double doors opening behind you.

You looked back over your shoulder and was stunned to see Zweig himself standing in the entrance with an intimidating glare on his face.

You bit your lip, turning in your chair to face away from him and back to your student.

The students all stood back and sunk into their places as they saw Patrick, he let out a huff and walked over to your desk. He stood for a moment in silence before speaking,

"Professor, may I speak with you for a moment?"

You looked over your shoulder, batting your lashes before giving him a sweet smile. "Can you give me ten minutes?"

Zweig raised an eyebrow at your response, he folded his arms and looked over to the students, who had all gone silent as he stared each one of them down. He let out a huff before grabbing your chair and pulling it away from the desk, "Actually, no. I need to talk to you now."

"I'm so sorry, Professor, l'm just a little busy."

You could see the slight twitch of irritation on Patrick's face, he leaned his hand against your desk and gave you a smirk, "Are you trying to play smartass with me?"

"I don't know what you mean. I'm just helping my students get a distinction for their grade." You told him

Zweig let out a scoff, "Cut the crap, I know exactly what you're doing, and you damn well know that you're purposely keeping these students in here to make them late for their next class."

"I'm not."

His jaw visibly clenched, he stepped even closer, leaning down even more so that you were almost face to face at this point, "Then explain to me how your class has ended twenty minutes ago and these students are still stuck in here and now late for my class?"

"I guess I lost track of time, whoops?"

Patrick's nostrils flared as he exhaled from his nose, he was beginning to lose his patience at your petty attitude.

"Right, because losing track of time is totally a good explanation to keep your students twenty minutes over the end of your class..."

Patrick's eyes trailed over to the students, who were all watching in anticipation as the two of you argued, some even looking amused at the scene playing out in front of them.

He sighed and looked back to you, "Why can't you just cut the crap and admit you did it on purpose to annoy me? I know you did."

"And if I did? Am? Then what?"

Patrick couldn't help but be caught a bit off guard by your response, he let out a half scoff and a half amused huff as he smirked down at you, "You're actually admitting to it? Really?"

"'m tired of you doing the same, Zweig."

Patrick rolled his eyes and groaned, he stepped back a bit and ran his hand through his hair, "You're acting like a damn spoiled child, it's not my fault my lectures sometimes go overtime because people in my class are actually interested to learn more."

"It's not about their interest," You snapped. "It's about their needs."

Patrick let out a scoff and rolled his eyes,

"Right, right, because they need to be in your class to sit around and hear you recite your favourite Shakespearean garbage?"

"It's not—," You caught yourself raising your voice, before taking in a deep breath. "You can either wait for me to finish, or move on."

Patrick let out a sharp exhale, he stood silently for a moment, his eyes were trained on you, studying your face as he debated his options. He stepped back over and leaned against the desk, "Fine, I'll wait, but you damn well better finish up before I get impatient."

You gave him a snarky smile, before focusing on the next student. "Okay, let's have a look..."

Patrick stood off to the side and crossed his arms, he was almost impressed with how adamant you were being in keeping him waiting and keeping him irritated.

He almost had to admit that watching you argue with him was oddly attractive, but he would never say it aloud.

"No, no, see they weren't talking about Christians here, they were talking about Hebrews." You groaned, as your pen jabbed the paper.

Zweig watched with slight amusement as you kept the students in your class even longer to correct their work and mistakes. He was starting to grow impatient and irritable by each second that passed. He let out a huff and looked to the clock again and then to you, "Are you ever going to finish?"

"If you let me." You snarled, shooting him a look over your shoulder.

Patrick rolled his eyes, he was beginning to find the whole situation less irritating and more entertaining, he held his hands up in surrender with a sarcastic grin, "By all means, take your time and continue, I have nothing but patience, after all."

"I'm glad." You snickered.

Patrick crossed his arms and let out a huff, he was definitely growing more impatient, he checked his watch before looking to the students that were all staring at the two of you with anticipation and curiosity.

"How much longer until you're done?" He asked, his voice having an underlying irritation in it as he looked back over to you.

"I don't know? Fifteen minutes? How about you go have a seat at one of the desks while you wait?" You asked him.

Patrick rolled his eyes, he could practically hear the sass dripping from your voice as you spoke to him. Nevertheless, he played along and walked over to one of the desks in the furthest row and slumped down into the seat.

A few of the students snickered and giggled as he shot them warning glares before fixing his eyes back to you.

Content enough, you went back to reviewing the mistakes of your peers.

Zweig sat in the seat, legs apart, arms crossed, and looking more than a bit irritated and bored as he sat in the desk.

He let out a frustrated groan and looked at the time again, twenty minutes had now passed and you were still keeping the students in class. He couldn't help but glance at you again, a part of him had to admit that you were very attractive, even when you were being a sassy smartass.

The bell rung a short beat. "Alright, I think you guys are all good for your paper. You may leave." You told the few students.

And Patrick Zweig smirked, his tongue pushing against his cheek to ease his annoyance.

The students quickly went back to their seats and gathered their belongings before rushing out, they were all eager to get out of the classroom and get to their next lesson. A couple of the girls giggled as they glanced over to Zweig on the way out, seeing him slumped in the desk and giving him knowing smirks.

"You really couldn't just let the students go early, huh?" Patrick asked in a mocking tone, he sat up straighter in the chair and stretched his legs, "You're a real pain in the ass, you know that?"

You looked up from your desk, Patrick physically was above you, from how the desks were on giant steps, even though you two were on complete opposite ends of the classroom. "It's what I have to deal with almost every other day."

Patrick let out an amused scoff as he rolled his eyes. "Oh please, don't go act like you're so pitiful and that I'm such a big bother to you. It's not like anyone else is going to complain about it and the students love my lessons."

"I have no doubt." You mumbled, pushing yourself off your seat, straightening the stack of papers on your desk.

Patrick noticed this, and it gave him an idea. He slowly stood up from the desk and took a large strides down the steps, towards you.

He watched as you finished straightening the stack before smirking and knocking them from your loose grip once he reached your desk.

"What the fuck?" You scoffed, stepping out from behind the desk to pick up the papers. To prevent your pencil skirt from rising, you unhappily kneeled down, knees digging into the tiles as you picked up the papers.

Patrick couldn't help but smirk. As you went to pick up one of the last papers, Patrick's boot came into frame, stepping on the paper. Your eyes flickered up in annoyance.

"You've been a real smartass today."

"Do you mind?" You asked bitterly, tugging on the paper lightly, enough for it to not tear.

He chuckled and continued to dig his foot down on the paper, he was now clearly teasing and taunting you.

"I don't mind at all... I think it's quite a good view, actually." He answered, still smirking down at you.

He bent down onto his haunches so that he was somewhat eye level with you. His eyes didn't miss the way yours unconsciously flickered to his crotch, even if it was for half a second.

He watched as a crease formed between your brows and your painted lips fell open to complain.

He continued to smirk as your expression contorted into a look of irritation, but he quickly cut you off once your mouth opened to respond, "Oh no, don't try to make a smart comment now... after all, you're in quite a position, aren't you?"

His thick fingers found loose hair hanging down by your ear, before he tucked it behind the shell of it.

"You know, you're quite pretty when you aren't being a total bitch." He said softly.

You hated how his touch on your skin sent a shiver down your spine, you didn't know whether you wanted to slap him or kiss him, and that only made you angrier.

"And you're even hotter when you aren't being an arrogant bastard." A snarky response escaped from your lips.

His pearly whites peaked from between his lips. "You find me hot? Fucking knew it."

Damn him, you really shouldn't have let that slip. You could feel a slight burn on your cheeks as you realised what you had just said.

"Shut up, I do not." You lied through gritted teeth, you tried desperately not to let your eyes wander to his lips.

"Yeah?"Patrick's gaze was locked onto you, he was very amused by the way your cheeks were blushing, his fingers continued to play with the loose strands of hair behind your ear, his touch was gentle and soft but his voice was mocking and sarcastic. "That's not what your body is saying."

And then, his hand curled around the mass of your hair and yanked, your scalp crying in pain and a strangled sound rumbled from between your lips.

"I bet if I kissed you, you'd kiss back, huh?" You gasped as a rush of pain and a rush of pleasure soarer through you, you let out a strangled moan, hating how it only proved him right.

"In your dreams." You growled through gritted teeth, not denying that you wanted his lips against yours.

"Oh baby, in my dreams we're doing a lot more than kissing."

Your breath hitched in your throat at his words, your mind running wild at the thoughts and images that invaded your mind.

"You're a pig," You said breathlessly, you tried to keep your voice firm and stable but you could feel your resolve breaking. "A fucking pervert."

"Damn straight," He grinned, his face leaning close enough for you to count every freckle and mole on his face. "God would send me to hell if he knew what I think of doing to you."

His breath was hot against your face, you could feel it as he leaned in close, you cursed yourself as you realised you were practically melting towards his touch.

"Well, I guess I'll see you there then." You breathlessly responded, a hint of a smirk beginning to form on your lips.

"Oh? You fucking minx." He purred.

You could feel yourself growing weak at the way he said that, his voice so low and deep, you were almost losing the ability to respond to him.

"What can I say? I've never been a saint," You mumbled, your lips only just millimeters away from his.

He brought his other thumb to your lips, giving you no time as he pushed it past them. "Such a pretty mouth, baby." His thumb traced along your teeth and tongue, making your lips look poutier than normal.

He chuckled as he watched your expression change from irritation to want.

Patrick smirked and leaned his head down so that his lips were next to your ear, his voice low and almost raspy as he spoke, "Do you know what I want to do to it, doll?"

Your lips wrapped around his thick digit in response.

His smirk widened at the feel of your lips wrapped around his thumb, a surge of desire ran through his veins.

"I have so many things I want to do to that mouth, baby. I want to make it do things you've only read about in your little romance books. I want to see those pretty lips all pink and swollen, I want to make them cry my name," His voice was hoarse and ragged and his breath was coming thick and heavy as he spoke. "Fuck..." He groaned, just at the thought of these things. "I pretend my fist is you, y'know. Your lips, your hand, your sweet pussy."

He whined. Like, actually whined. His eyes swept to you.

"Just once, I ask. Let me fuck your throat?" He asked, pulling his thumb from your lips.

You were weak like brittle bone, and crumbled and caved.

You gave him a nod, and it was like a switch flipped. He stood up to his full height and fumbled with his belt, his movements were sloppy, abrupt and jarred, he was almost angry.

Patrick hated how much he hated how much you got under his skin and infuriated him every single damn day, he hated how you were always the first thing on his mind.

But above all, Patrick hated how much he really, really wanted you.

His belt slid from the belt loops, allowing for his pants to sag. He kicked them off with ease, presenting you with the massive tent in his underwear. "You're gonna swallow every inch, like a good slut." He sneered, he grabbed his belt and swung it around your neck, making quick movements as he made a makeshift collar, one that dug into your neck.

"Yeah?" You choked out, your defiant attitude coming back as you continued to look up at him, your gaze trailing down from his face to his chest, down further until it landed on the tent in his underwear.

You swallowed as you felt him tug on the belt around your neck, you could feel the cold leather against your skin, the material digging into your throat as he held the other end of the belt and pulled you towards him.

"Yeah." His lips pursed, before a glob is his saliva landed square on your cheek.

He gave you little room for thought before one of his hands harshly smacked against your skin, before he smeared around his spit.

Half your face was glazed with his saliva as he pushed two of his fingers in your mouth, momentarily.

"Open up." You instinctively opened your mouth, looking up at him with a mixture of hate and a twisted but undeniable desire. You looked utterly shameful and pathetic as you sat on your knees while Zweig stood above you, his fingers in your mouth and the leather of the belt around your throat.

You despised the way you were behaving, but at the same time, it somehow only made the heat between your legs grow

You were in a state of mind that confused you. You hated Zweig with all your might, but in that moment, you wanted him with an intensity you hadn't felt before.

He slipped his fingers away from your lips, using that hand to yank his boxers down while the other remained with a firm grasp around his belt around your neck.

You couldn't help but allow your gaze to slide down his body, your eyes taking in every inch of him as he slowly revealed himself to you.

You had to admit that he was large and thick and it only served to make your heart thump louder in your throat, making you all the more aware of the belt around your neck and Zweig's hand holding the end of it. You felt pathetic and helpless, even more so as you looked up at him through widened eyes, waiting for what he was going to do next.

He used his wet hand to pump his dick, getting it somewhat lubed up before aligning it with your mouth. Patrick gave little care to your natural reflexes and shoved his whole length past your lips, groaning at the warm, wet feeling enveloping his cock.

"Yeah, Professor... you can write all the essays you want, but you still can't hide the fact that you're nothing but a dirty, filthy slut. You're only good for one thing, don't lie." He smirked, watching as your eyes began to well over with tears.

It made him feel smugly confident seeing that he made you cry, knowing that you were the one beneath him. Not just literally either.

You make some sort of strangled sound as you choke around him, feeling spit drool at the corners of your mouth.

"Look at you," He muttered. "All messy and disgusting. Pathetic. And to think you teach at one of the top schools in the country."

His eyes raked over his saliva that still coated your cheek, at your makeup that began to drip down your lashes, as your eyes that began to flutter while you tried your best to take him.

Patrick swore you were a fucking angel that dropped down the very heavens he cursed at as he felt his lower belly stir.

He groaned deeply, his eyes rolling back a little. "What would your students think, seeing you like this, huh? Seeing their 'great' professor, looking so debauched and filthy in her own lecture hall, with her pretty, little mouth stretched around her 'coworkers' cock. I bet your students would all be very disappointed. You think they all look up to you, but they'd be so disgusted if they found out you were just a dirty, little, cock-sucking, lying, whore who'd do anything for a few extra pennies. I bet they'd all be so shocked that the professor of English likes being on her knees just as much any other dumb little girl... and just for a pathetic little biology teacher, of all people."

His hands pulled at the belt end, that's wrapped around your neck, forcing the walls of your throat to strain against his aching cock.

"And you," He added as he gave another firm pull. "You like it too, huh? You're loving this. You're only a pretty, little plaything, and it only took me a few minutes to make you understand that. At least I know what you use that good-for-nothing mouth of yours for when you're not spewing useless knowledge to a bunch of idiots all day."

You didn't know of the tears that ran down your cheeks was from his cock’s head constantly bumping the back of your throat or from his degrading words.

"You have no idea how much I've wanted to do this... ever since we first met. You're not my type though, not really. Far too annoying. But then again, you're useful for this one, specific thing. At least I can appreciate that."

He groaned deeply and let go of the leash, letting you take over what you could.

"Show me what else that tongue can do, Professor..."

Your lips were swollen and your throat cried out in pain. You allowed for his member to slip from your lips, letting your hand wrap around it while your lips moved down, over to his heavy set of balls.

He looked down to watch, his breathing ragged and uneven. "Yeah... just like that. God, just like that. You really were made for this, huh?"

His large hand found the crown of your head, fingers tangling between the strands as he pushed your face deeper into his balls.

He was basically riding your face, while you still pumped his cock.

"That's perfect," he groaned. "Absolutely perfect, I should put you in your place more often, Professor. You're doing a fine job for me. I hope you don't mind if I do this a little more often now, I've always wanted to shut that pretty-face of yours... and, I think l've found a good way to do exactly that."

You mumbled something, though it was incoherent and muffled.

He chuckled breathlessly. "I couldn't quite hear that, Professor. What did you say?"

In complaint, you sucked hard, sucking his balls deeper into your mouth, while your hand squeezed hard around his shaft.

"Fuck," He groaned. "Won't drop the attitude even with my fucking balls in your mouth?"

He shuddered a moment, watching as you continued to suck and work him.

"Yeah, I've definitely been thinking up the right punishment for you when you go around acting like a smartass... all it took was a few minutes to shut you right up."

Your free hand snaked down your torso, where it inched up the tight pull of your skirt, and found haven between your pantyhose. Your fingers reached your achy and throbbing clit.

"You really are that desperate, huh? You can't wait for me to finish, you have to do it yourself? I guess it's just part of your personality, you're a little, impatient brat, always needing to have things done your own way, with no consideration for anyone else."

Your tongue was scratchy as it lapped over his course hairs, you felt his balls grow heavy in your mouth, signalling he was close to release.

"Almost... I'm almost there... just a bit more." He panted

He couldn't look away from the sight of you, on your knees and working him with your mouth while you touched yourself.

"Can't wait to see you walking around the campus with my cum all over your face... so they all know just what you really are: a worthless, little whore desperate for anything I do to you. I should put you through this more, Professor... it suits you... much better than being a teacher, don't you think? You look so good on your knees, where you belong... like a dirty, little cock sucker."

His hips thrust up into your hand a few times, before he was spilling his cum all over your face, and even past your hairline and in your hair.

He groaned deeply, his head thrown back and eyes squeezing shut. "God. That's it... that's good, take it all, let me paint your face with my cum. Fuck!" He gritted out as he rode out his release.

With heavy pants, his soft cock slipped from your grip as his balls from your swollen lips.

He groaned at the sight. He couldn't stop himself, even if he tried, from his palm from making contact with your face and spreading his semen around, adding to the previous layer of tacky saliva.

"Just look at that," He muttered."Beautiful. So much better than that stupid, stuck-up attitude of yours. Bet you'll think twice before trying to act tough with me again."

You swallowed, throat raw, before getting up on shaky feet.

You took in a breath, before your hand whipped out and hit his cheek.

"God I needed that," You groaned out, before shifting and limping over to your desk where you managed to clamber on. "Let's see if you can fuck well."

He was honestly a little shocked by your response, not that he let you see that. He merely smirked and crossed his arms over his chest. "You're going to regret that, Professor."

He took one long stride forward before he was between your legs. His hands shot out before he grabbed your nylon tights and ripped them, creating a gaping hole that expose your lacy thongs.

"Look what we have here," He chuckled as he gazed at the destroyed stockings. He looked at your soiled pair of underwear, blotched with your arousal. "Who knew the English Professor had such lewd panties,” He laughed, his thumbs hooking in the fabric of your waistband. "Should I send the biology department a little gift, Professor? Show them just what you look like beneath your clothes?"

You grunted, hating how you had a flicker of pain go through your chest. "Would I be able to find another Professor's cock to suck?"

A scoff left his lips. "I don't think any other faculty member could handle you as I could. I've seen the way the rest of them look at you."

"Oh, and how's that?"

He gave you a wolfish grin and leaned forward a little, putting his hands on your hips. "Like they just want to devour you, every last inch of you. You're one of the youngest professors in the school... and definitely the prettiest. I'd bet all the others would love to have a round with you."

"Maybe I should let them," You said with confidence. "Mm, what about that cute, little History teacher? Professor Donaldson? Think he'd be interested?"

He tensed at that, jaw twitching. "Yeah, he'd love to get his hands on you, I'm sure. That loser couldn't even keep his wife, and now he probably spends his free time staring at your ass..."

"Oh so he's an ass man? Thanks for letting me know." You gave Patrick a sweet smile while his top lip curled in disgust.

"And what of the rest of the staff?" He asked, not liking your smug expression. "What about the psychology teacher, or the business professor... or maybe even the dean?"

"The Dean? How taboo." You grinned.

"Very taboo," He grunted. "Which I'm sure you're into... I'm sure you'd go absolutely wild at the thought of getting bent over the desk of the college dean, huh?"

"I mean, he's just a little too old for me, but I hear older men are more experienced."

He scoffed again, his fingers tracing down to your inner thighs, close to your aching core. "You're really pushing it, you know... what if I had to tell the rest of the staff what a little whore you are?"

"Oh please do. They must know how well I sucked your cock, how good I am with my mouth."

"Yeah?" He said smugly, his hands moved to your underwear and began massaging your aching pussy. "Do you think the rest of the staff would be interested in having their own personal mouth whore? And I'm sure you'd just be aching for it, wouldn't you? You'd just love to be the campus little toy, just be passed around amongst the faculty... probably can't wait for it, in fact."

You whimpered, feeling your mind already fog up from his fingers through the fabric of your thongs. You shifted your hips, giving him more room to move your pencil skirt.

"Yeah, is that what you were thinking about? Sitting at your desk, thighs spread wide open, and just being passed around? Like you're nothing but a toy for the entire faculty to use, as much as we want?"

"S-Shut up."

"Don't get shy, Professor," He said smugly. "We all know you love the idea, probably even think about it while you're alone in your apartment late at night... I bet you're thinking about it right now."

You sighed, your fingers going to unzip your skirt with wobbly movements.

"You know, it'd be perfect, you'd probably never need to teach again, you'd just be a little office slut, going around and helping any single man in the building, you'd be much better suited for that anyways, I'm sure you know that."

"No..." you groaned out, pushing your skirt off.

His fingers dipped beneath the lace of your thongs. "Yes, Professor, you wouldn't get anything done in the day, you'd be too busy servicing every member of the faculty, the principal, the other professors, the TAs, and the other staff members, even the groundskeepers and lunch-men, I bet you'd be the most diligent worker around campus."

You gasped when two of his fingers sunk into your weeping hole.

"Yeah, that's it... that's much better than all that teaching you do, isn't it? At least you'd be really useful now," He snickered, pushing his fingers in to the base. "Although I'm sure you'd end up getting pretty tired pretty fast... and I doubt the rest of the staff would have any sympathy on you for being so tired. I'm sure you'd be the most popular employee by far."

He pulled his fingers out. His two hands landed on your shoulders before he spun you around, basically pulling you off the desk until the edge was cutting into your hips, your face pressed up against the mahogany.

"I bet this is how you always dreamed you'd spend your days here, huh? Bent over the desk instead of writing your pretty little papers." He grunted as he bent down to his discarded pants and fished out a cigarette and his lighter.

"Hey, you can't smoke in here." You told him.

"Oh, now you're going to actually remember your responsibilities?" He said with an amused chuckle, lighting the cigarette. "Too late for that now, Professor... just accept what's happening."

He set the lighter down on the desk before taking a long drag from the cigarette, watching as a stream of smoke left his lips.

"You're a little late to be playing the prim, Professor, after being on your knees in the middle of the lecture hall just a few minutes ago."

The hand that wasn't holding his cigarette went to your underwear, where he began to tug at it, just enough for it to stop midway down your thighs.

"And now you're here, on your desk, about to get bent over like a little toy, I'm sure you never imagined it'd turn out like this," He snickered, the hand on your panties giving a teasing pull. "I don't think you're gonna be wearing these to your next class,Professor."

He let his cigarette hang between his lips while both of his hands landed on your ass cheeks, giving them a spread to expose both holes.

"God, look at you..." He muttered. "So eager, probably been trying to hold out for weeks now, huh? I don't think you've had any action in a long time, Professor, you're just desperate for someone to actually notice you, I bet you'd take anything, wouldn't you? Just as long as it gives you attention."

"Dickhead." You mumbled.

He laughed, stilling taking puffs from his cigarette. "Bet you'd let me take any hole I want. Imagine your tight ass being stuffed with this cock. Probably why you wear those little skirts," He snickered. "You just want someone to be noticing you, to get their eyes on just how provocative you are... desperate for some attention."

You didn't hear any movements, but you sure as hell felt them. His dribbling tip found your opening, before he pushed in, all while he eyes your tighter hole that puckered for attention.

"Mm, look at that, you're so tight, I bet those other professors have no idea how tight you still are, or has someone else been giving you attention?"

Your eyes rolled back as he sheathed himself, pain blossomed between your legs.

"Fuck, baby… you're so tight. It's like you've never had a good, real cock fill you up. I bet the other professors would love to hear that, Professor, that their pretty little English teacher is a needy little whore who just needs a good, hard cock to keep her in her place," He chuckled at he slowly started to buck into you. "You're just so perfect for this, aren't you?

Patrick leaned forward, cigarette still hanging from his lips, as his hand dug into the collar of your blouse, yanking down hard and popping all the buttons before he shoved your head back down onto the desk.

"There you go. I'm not even sure why you wear all these pesky clothes, you look so much better like this, like you're just here for decoration. A pretty little thing, ready for the taking... doesn't your staff profile say you have a boyfriend, Professor? Maybe I should give the poor bastard a call and let him know that you're really not working late, and that you're just getting railed by your colleague... I'm sure he won't even care."

"Shut the f-fuck up." You groaned, feeling the fat of your ass jiggle with his thrusts and arousal drip down your thighs.

Patrick grinned, his fingers dug into the flesh on your hip, when his eyes caught sight of something. An idea popped into his mind as he picked up your personal reader, some book about faeries, before he threw it down in front of you. "Read."

"Read..?" You muttered, still dazed from him fucking into you. "You want me to read?"

"Yeah I do," He said smugly, not slowing his pace. "That's what you're supposed to be good at, Professor... read whatever sentence is on the page, out loud. Let me hear your pretty voice."

You grunted before flipping open the book to a random page. "Mm, Fine, 'He raised a finger to his lips a-and winnowed'—fuck!"

He chuckled at the break in your voice, how the words stuttered from your mouth. "That's better... read again. The next paragraph this time, if you can manage it."

Your lips fell open and a gasp ripped past, "'We free-fell, and I didn't have breath to scream as his wings appeared'— Mm, Patrick..."

"Come on," He said smugly, his movements becoming slightly rough. "Keep reading. If you stop, I'll stop."

The words printed on the page began to swirl together as your vision became hazy. "B-But." You moaned through gritted teeth.

"No buts," He said firmly. "Keep trying. Don't start giving up now, you're supposed to be smart, remember? Keep trying to read, Professor, it's what you're supposed to be good at."

You couldn't help the sob that escaped your lips, there were no tears, you were just too overwhelmed with pleasure that it was hard to focus. "'Spreading wide, and... he curved us into a... steady g-glide.’ " Your nails clawed at the desk as you felt heat burn between your legs.

Even he was impressed with you managing to keep reading through the pleasure, although he would never tell you that. "Good... good, Professor. Keep going. What's the next line?"

"'Right through the open windows of what ha...had to be a war room...' Patrick, I can't." You mewled.

"You must've misunderstood me," he grunted. "I told you tokeep reading, so you keep reading, Professor. Come on, what was the next part of the sentence?"

You shook your head, mind too fogged to think.

He stopped moving altogether and reached out, one hand grabbing you by the hair, and he pulled your head upwards, arching your back. "What did I just say?"

You whined, trying to move your hips back onto his to get friction.

"You're not getting anything if you're not gonna do what I tell you," He said firmly. "Now come on, you're supposed to be smart, Professor, I'm sure you can tell me just one more line."

"'There was a mirror'," You said softly, with a tired voice. "'On the wall behind them'."

"There we go," He breathed, releasing his grip on your hair. "Was that so hard, Professor? Do you think you can keep going?"

"Please, I need to... need to—." You stopped yourself, words stuck in your mouth, as if you were worried about what you might say.

Patrick's hips pulled back before snapping forward, sending you lurching back onto the table. "What was that? I didn't quite hear what you were gonna say, Professor," he grunted, letting his hand caress your lower back. "Come on, you're doing pretty good so far... use that pretty voice of yours and tell me just what you need."

You whimpered, trying to form a response, but it felt like you had cotton in your mouth, like the words were stuck in your mouth. It was like they just needed a little push, just one little word needed to tip you over the edge, to get you to fully submit.

You tried your very best to read again, feeling the fuzzy feeling in your lower tummy start to build. "'There was d-dark—' please Patrick, I really can't." You begged.

"Shh-h-h," He cooed, his hand rubbing your lower back. "You're doing so good... you've read your whole little paragraph. Now you're just missing that one last sentence, Professor. Just one more, I'm sure you can do it."

The cigarette he was smoking had burned down and fell from his lips, the sizzling butt of it lay on your floor.

'''Colossal sense of him—' Fuck!" You screamed, tired and aching for a release that began to creep up on you.

He chuckled as the book slid free of your hand and hit the desk with a thud. "See, I knew you could do it, Professor, I knew all you needed was a little push,"

You mewled out softly, letting your mind fully focus on Patrick penetrating you.

He chuckled as your body relaxed, clearly getting tired of trying to keep up the act. "Is that it, Professor? Is that all it takes to get you behaving?"

You'd usually snap back and say something witty, but you couldn't. Not when you felt this new pressure press against your puffy clit.

"Oh, and now you get nice and quiet... I guess you just needed some attention, huh, Professor?" he chuckled out, his voice ragged. "You look so damn good like this, bent over like a little slut for me, and you don't even have it in you to fight back." He tutted, feeling your walls clamp down and squeeze around him.

"I'm...I'm..."

"What's that?" He asked, still teasing. "You're what, Professor?"

"Cumming! I—!" You saw white before you felt it. Hot and raw through your veins as your orgasm soared through you.

Patrick swore as he felt himself come undone, not giving a flying fuck about pulling out.

"God, you feel so good..." He muttered through gritted teeth. "I knew you just needed a good, hard cock to get you to behave."

His rough hand pulled away from your clit and landed a harsh slap against your ass before he pulled out.

You felt used and abused and honestly didn't mind it, especially not after having your brain fucked out of you (albeit it being from your worst enemy)

He chuckled breathlessly, collapsing in the chair that was usually reserved for you. "Jesus, Professor... I gotta say, I didn't think you'd behave that quickly, I guess a day at the top will do me wonders."

You felt utterly pathetic as you peeled yourself off the table, your face sticky with previous endeavours. Pain burned hot between your legs as you stood up, blouse popped open, pantyhose ripped, and thighs soaked in cum.

Patrick had to pinch himself to make sure he didn't die and go to heaven, though he'd never admit that you looked like a pervert's wet dream. His wet dream.

You shimmied your panties back up your thighs, even though it took you time to get it to move from it being stuck between the nylon and your thigh, and grabbed and slid your skirt back on.

He watched you pull your clothes back on, looking like an absolute mess. "You gonna go tell the rest of the faculty how your supposed work day turned out, Professor?" He sneered with an amused smile.

You shot him a sarcastic smile as you tried your best to fluff out your hair. "I'm sure Professor Donaldson would love to know, y'know?"

Patrick's face fell for a moment before he schooled it with a grin. "Funny."

You made an amused sound, before turning to your drawer and grabbing your lecture hall's keys, tossing them at Patrick. "Lock up, will you?"

He caught the keys and sighed, shaking his head. "God, you're insufferable..."

You gave him a grin before you began on your slightly wobbly walk out the lecture hall.

He grumbled, his eyes not able to resist the urge to watch your hips sway with each step you took.

"See you next week, Professor..." he called out, trying to school his voice back to his usual teasing tone.

And well he did.

Anger and annoyance etched onto his face as he watched you leave Professor Donaldson's lecture hall. The guy looked all bashful as you left, your fingers in your hair, trying your best to fix it.

Oh you did not.

[obliviouscxnt]

Home Azriel x Reader

a/n: forewarning I'm a firm believer in things getting worse before they get better. I hope you enjoy!:)))

synopsis: azriel has to resort to desperate measures in order to ensure your safety

Warnings: SA, depictions of RAPE, angst, violence, minor fluff

5.3k words

pt.1 | pt.2

The feeling was unshakable, those hands grabbing you, forcing you into the darkness. The freezing cold void of absolutely nothing and everything all at once. 

It’d been a day since the incident, the bruises and scratches on your body were already healing, getting better by the second. 

You hadn’t felt anything since then, no presence in the corner of your mind, no eyes on you, just silence. 

You didn’t know why its absence brought you no comfort. Why it made you feel worse. Like your body was trying to warn you about something your mind hadn’t caught up with yet. 

However, that was the last thing you wanted to think about as you lay beside Azriel’s form. Listening to his soft heartbeat. Letting the rhythm soothe you into a state of calm. 

You were so tired, you just needed a little bit of sleep, to rejuvenate your brain.  And if you had any hope of avoiding that nightmare you had to keep it far out of your thoughts. Distract your mind with other things. Conjure a nice dream for yourself. A dream about you and the shadowsinger. 

A dream where the two of you could just exist together. With no worries, no foreboding feelings in your hearts, just you and him, and your family, and happiness. 

Slowly that disturbed twisting feeling of unease faded away, and you closed your eyes. Ready for sleep to take you away.

Then it rushed you. 

Darting out from whatever crevice it had been lurking in. Invading your mind, taking hold of your senses. 

It tore apart your dream, cracked open your fabrication, and sent a shockwave through your system. It felt like the magic under your skin flinched. 

You gasp, eyes snapping open as you sit up. 

You feel Azriel’s hands on your shoulders, then you see his face in front of yours. Hazel eyes darkened with worry. 

It had been hiding from you, waiting for you to let your guard down. Waiting for the perfect opportunity to grab you and pull you into its never-ending darkness. 

It snapped your dream world in half. 

You shiver. 

“I don’t know what to do.” You confess to him. “It’s like it has a mind of its own.” 

Azriel’s hands grip you tighter and pull you into his chest. His wings cocooning you. “We’ll go see the sisters first thing in the morning. You can give it back to Elaine. Let her deal with it.” 

You swallow. Knowing that wasn’t an option. It would destroy her. And in turn, destroy Feyre. 

He reads your face. “You think you need to keep it? That because of your abilities you have some obligation to? You don’t. What if your abilities make it worse? At least, with Elaine it can’t take form.” 

You don’t voice your thoughts, you can’t fight with him. 

You don’t say that it would eat the newly turned Fae alive in her fragile state. Pick away at her mind until there was nothing left. That you at least had a fighting chance against it, even if you hadn’t quite figured that part out yet.

But you don’t need to say anything, not when he could see it all in your eyes. The shadowsinger sighed, so frustrated, so powerless, he wanted to do so much more, wanted to ease your stress, but he didn’t know how other than by being with you. Offering you his support.

It didn’t feel like nearly enough. 

He held you the rest of the night. 

*****

You’d abandoned sleep. Until you could find a way to counter this thing, to keep it caged, you would stay awake. 

You were very experienced in nightmares, probably the most experienced. You could manifest the perfect nightmare for any person, reduce the finest warrior into a sniveling coward at your feet. But you’d never taken somebody's nightmare before. Never had to hide from someone else’s fears.  

Even if you wanted to give it back to Elaine, you wouldn’t know the first thing to do. It was very different than twisting someone’s fears. 

So for the past week, you’d been doing research. Re-reading those books from Helion, scouring the library for anything else that mentioned dreams, nightmares, or the subconscious. When your brain needed a break from words you trained your body. Joining Cassian from time to time. 

The training backfired miserably, making you more tired, body aching with fatigue every hour, minute, and second of the day. 

But you couldn’t sleep, couldn’t go in that cauldron again. Not when it could hold you there. Keep you from waking. And even though Rhys had started sleeping at the House of Wind to ensure that you wouldn’t be trapped, you couldn’t risk it. 

You didn’t know if it would continue to attack you, like normal nightmares did, you had no way of knowing what its next move would be. It didn’t act like anything you’d encountered before. 

It could attack someone else next time, attack Azriel. 

That thought alone was enough to keep you awake for the past week. 

But with each passing day, keeping your eyes open got harder and harder. 

“You can’t let this continue.” 

Azriel hadn’t even noticed his brother’s presence. You’d taken all of his focus, diminished the spymaster to a man who couldn’t even hear Cassian’s footsteps. Which were not at all quiet.

The two Illyrians watch you from the library doorway. You sat with a multitude of books scattered around you, the one you were currently reading almost wider than the length of your hand and you were already halfway through. They watch your eyelids slowly fall, watch you try to fight it by blinking rapidly and shaking your head. 

Azriel was in full agreement with Cassian. This couldn’t go on.

Azriel feels hopeful when your eyes finally close, you’re head falling back against the sofa cushion. He holds his breath as he waits for you to sink deeper into sleep, not daring to make a sound in fear of startling you awake. But you shoot up a moment later.

Eyes flying open as you grab the couch like you had to catch yourself from falling. Head snapping to and fro as you frantically search for something that isn’t there. Harshly rubbing the sleep from your eyes over and over, but it only makes your eyes burn with a fire that could only be sated by letting them shut. 

In a moment of desperation, you grip your wrist, letting the sharp claws dig into your arm. Repressing the sleep in your system with pain.

Your hand is snatched away.

“Stop!” Azriel yells panicked. Watching as blood began to drip down your arm. “Fuck. Cassian can you-“ 

His brother was already handing him a first aid kit.

The sounds of shaky breaths and ruffling bandages fill the room. You don’t look at him as he wraps your arm, so mortified, so embarrassed he had to see you this way. That anyone could see you this way. So weak.

He grabs your jaw, forcing you to look him in the eyes. He’s not rough, but he’s not gentle either. So much emotion filled his face. 

So much worry, and love, and sadness. 

Then his eyes harden. “You need to sleep.” You try to shake your head but can't with his grip on you. “It’s not a suggestion.” 

Tears fill your eyes. No. You can’t. Not when you knew it was salivating at the thought. If it managed to kill you in your sleep, only the Gods knew what could happen. If that horror would be unleashed on the world. 

You couldn’t risk it. You wouldn’t. 

At first, the shadowsinger was torn on what to do. He couldn’t bear the thought of ordering you to suffer. Still can’t. But you were suffering anyway. He couldn’t watch you deteriorate anymore. 

He would sacrifice your trust in him if it meant you were healthy.

 

*****

Dinner was quiet, Rhys and Amren were busy. So that left you, Azriel, Mor, and Cassian. The Acheron sisters ate in their rooms and kept to themselves, though you had seen the older sister a few times. She joined you in the library every once in a while. She never spoke, never looked your way, but she stayed.

“You look like shit.” Mor had said when she saw you, slapping a hand over her mouth as if realizing she spoke aloud. Leave it to Mor to speak the truth.

“Gee, thanks.” You replied, wanting to send her a smile to let her know you didn’t take it to heart but could only find the energy to slide ungracefully into the chair next to her. 

Mor turns to you, forgetting her full plate of food. “Gods, look at you!” You tense as she reaches for your face, fingers brushing the bags under her eyes. Her touch made sleep slowly enter your system again. “Why are you doing this to yourself?” She asks as if she didn’t know the answer to that question. Which she most certainly did. 

You don’t have it in you to say anything so instead you start shoveling the tasteless food in your mouth. Forcing yourself to swallow it even though it felt like you were chewing chalk. 

“You know we’re here for you, don’t you?” She continued, and the food became increasingly hard to swallow with every word she spoke. “You don’t have to fight this alone, it wasn’t even your battle to begin with.” 

Your heart drops at her words. Not your battle? 

That’s right, this all started with your selfish need to feel useful. So you wouldn’t have to lay around like a weakling. All you did was make everything worse. Of course, you did.  

You reach for your water when you feel the food start to rise back up. The water doesn’t help. Your whole body starts to feel clammy, and your head starts to spin. 

So you pause leaning back to take a few slow deep breaths through your nose, swallowing the spit that didn’t stop gathering in your mouth.

“Feyre would hate to see you like this.” 

Those words were the final blow.

You jump from your seat, hand on your mouth as you dash out of the dining room. Running for the nearest bin, the house seemed to hear your inner pleas because a bucket was waiting for you in the hallway. You fell to your knees in front of it. Too busy hurling up all the food you just ate to cry out at the pain of your kneecaps slamming into the stone floor.

You feel his warm gentle hands on you. Softly rubbing your back, and pulling away your hair. Waiting patiently for you to finish heaving. 

When you could breathe without gagging you leaned into him, letting him wipe your face with his sleeve. Ruining the fine shirt he wore. “Can you call Madja? Tell her I need another tonic?” 

The little shots of energy that’d kept you standing the last two days, were all you could think of. You needed them before it was too late. Before a week's worth of sleep could catch up on you. 

Before that thing was free to roam.

Azriel looks to Cassian, expression grim, and he nods. The general was rushing off the next second. You hope he’s getting Madja.

A moment later Cassian was running back over and crouching beside you, pushing a glass of water in your hands.  You wanted to protest, remembering how the water hadn’t helped just moments before, but Azriel takes the cup and puts it to your lips. 

“Drink.” You comply. He tilts the cup up and up and up until you drink the final drop. “There you go.” He whispers, setting the cup aside so both of his hands are free to soothe over your body. “That’s it.” 

The effect was swift. 

That magic that was always writhing under your skin begins to slow.  It’s vibrating energy dying out. Until it wasn't even a tingle.

“I’m sorry.” He whispered, and your heart dropped. What did he do?

Your head becomes foggy, and your body is no longer your own. You can’t fight it as you slump back, can’t do a single thing when your eyes fall shut, can’t even think as your brain powers off. 

All you could do was sleep.

Azriel holds you close to him, lip curling at the smell of your fear permeating through the air. “I’m sorry.” He whispered again, though he knew you couldn’t hear him now. 

“It will work,” Mor said from where she leaned against the wall, watching you with a solemn look on her face. She, along with everyone else in the inner circle, was on board with the idea the moment Madja brought it up earlier in the week.

“It better.” He was reluctant until today, until he watched you hurt yourself. The fact that you couldn’t keep your food down was the cherry topper.

Azriel just hoped the Faebane in your system would last longer than the sleeping tonic.

The drug succeeded in quelling your magic, succeeded in its purpose of ridding your mind of that awful thing. But it also succeeded in other things. 

Without your magic, you were unable to conjure a happy dream for yourself. 

Leaving you trapped in your very own nightmare. 

*****

Your mother smiled with pride as she adjusted your hair. “Every male will want you.” Your whole life had led up to this moment, everything you had been taught was for this night. The night a male would choose you. 

The night you would submit. 

 So why weren’t you excited? 

“Stop that frowning. It’s unsightly.” Your mother leads you to a mirror. A pressure settles on your chest when you look at yourself. 

The sheer white gown did nothing to hide your body. Giving anyone who looked a full view of what was underneath. Your face was painted, your skin shaved and silky—glowing from whatever substance she’d lathered on you—and your wings were spread wide, fluttering at a pace that made every intricate design viewable. 

Your mother looked the happiest you’d ever seen her. The expression uncanny on her. “They won’t be able to keep their hands off you.” 

You felt something inside you twist at the thought. 

“Mother?” You say before you can think better of it. She meets your eyes through the mirror. She looked at you like you were a trophy, an object to be displayed not loved. Not that you ever knew the difference.

I don’t want to do this. 

The words were right there. At the forefront of your mind. All you had to do was give them a voice. 

But it was like your lips were wired shut. Your mouth doesn’t move, your voice doesn’t work. You say nothing. 

It wouldn’t have mattered if you had anyway. You didn’t have a choice, you never did.  “Don’t worry, child, none of the others can compare with your beauty. You will not be left unpicked.” 

Her words brought you no solace. 

You hold your chin high, as she leads you out of the hut and toward the growing horde. You make sure you stand straight, shoulders squared like you had been taught. Make sure your hips swayed just slightly, just enough to keep their attention like your mother had shown you. 

Make sure your teeth don’t grit, and your legs don’t shake. Make sure your wings don’t twitch, and your smile doesn’t fall.

Your mother parades you around for every male to see. Laughing at some of the comments they made, insinuating banter between the rowdy ones, reveling in the way they fought over you. 

With each laugh, each yell, each claim made upon you that pressure in your chest grew. Except it wasn’t just in your chest now, it was in your stomach, and in your head, and under your skin.

Your wings folded subconsciously, making your mother sink her sharp claws into your wrist. Not enough to bleed, she wouldn’t ruin all her work, but enough to hurt. Enough to make your wings snap back open. 

Is this really it?

The feeling gets worse when she leads you toward the other women, and then it doubles when she leaves to sit with the onlookers. Not so much as a goodbye, or even a second glance as she walks away. 

Your heart pounds as you blend yourself in with the sea of white. 

Maneuvering through the women was easy, each and every one of them was silent, tense, and scared. You try not to look at their faces for too long, didn’t want to be able to notice which ones were missing once everything was over. 

It wasn’t uncommon for males to lose themselves to the night, last year seven woman were found dead. Brutalized.

You swallow, heart beating so loud, so fast, it’s all you can hear. It drowns everything out. 

I don’t want to do this. 

You don’t hear the horn blow. You only know it did when everyone around you began heading through the woodline. You almost trip over yourself as you dash forward. You had to run. You had to hide before the second horn blew. You had to make it till dawn. 

Your bare feet don’t feel the sharp rocks and sticks that stab into them. Adrenaline fills your body, pumping through your blood, and muscles. Blocking out the pain.

The shimmering barrier is what makes you come to a stop. You’d never seen them before, the wards that kept your community safe, but there was no denying it. That wall of energy was where your colony ended.  

Beyond it, death was inevitable. 

There was no hope in flying, male wings are much different from females. Stiffer, sharper, stronger, the males would always be superior in the sky. 

So you stay on the ground hiding in a nearby thicket just on the edge of the wards. Arms hugging your knees to your panting chest, making yourself as small as possible. 

 You hoped nobody would search this far. But you knew the males in your community. They stop at nothing and do anything to get what they want.  

When a distant scream echoed through the woods you knew you’d missed the second horn. The males were already hunting. 

You hold yourself tighter, trying to force slow breaths in your nose and out of your mouth. Frantically trying to slow down your palpitating heart. But it felt like you weren’t getting air. Your whole body was shivering from the adrenaline, that pressure still building. 

You would get found by the sound of your breathing if you kept it up.  

“No! Ple-!” Your head snaps in the direction of the scream, much closer than the other one. You try not to think about how it cut off so suddenly, about what could’ve happened to her. What could’ve made her object to a male.

You just need to make it till dawn. Just need to keep hiding. For six more hours. 

It was hopeless, there wasn’t nearly enough ground to give the women a fighting chance. The men greatly outnumber the women, making the former even more desperate, even more competitive.

Where was the fun if everyone had a chance at winning?

No, they had to yearn for it. It was what made the Ritual work. 

Your head falls to your knees. 

You don’t want to end up like your mother.

Three years ago your father had grown tired of her, he participated in that year’s Flowering and never spoke to either of you again. As your mother is far from pure, she can not be used in the ceremonies. Instead, she was made a community whore. 

A female for the pent up males who had no luck on Flowering to fuck as they please. 

Your mother always said it was necessary. That all the things your people did, there were reasons for.  

That Flowering Night was a gift, it provided the magic that grew our blooms. The blooms that supplied our only food source. Nectar. 

Of course, you believed her, you’d never known any reason not to. The Middle wasn’t a resourceful place. It was too dangerous to send hunters beyond the wards, and there weren’t even any animals to hunt. Only other monsters. And even they weren’t worth hunting. Bodies usually emaciated with no meat on their bones if any at all. 

It was necessary, but that didn’t mean you wanted to do it. 

You wouldn’t know until much later that your people were just addicts. That hunting wasn’t an impossible thing, not when they had wings. That they could’ve flown to the Day Court to hunt, or even the Winter Court, but they chose not to. Because nothing could ever compare to their precious Nectar. 

Snap. 

Your blood runs cold as an older male sniffs around. Fifteen feet from you. His hard wings make a low buzz as they vibrate against each other with frustration.

The male was a brute, muscle stacked upon bulging muscle. 

You hold your breath as he slowly gets closer, the buzz becoming louder. If he caught your scent, no amount of shrubbery could keep him from finding you. 

He gets closer, and your heart pounds faster. That pressure you feel under your skin now throbbing. Pulsating.

He’s almost ten feet away, if he got any closer he’d undoubtedly smell the fear that left your body in waves.

White dots started filling your vision. You fight with your body to hold it. 

A blessing came in the form of a scream, this one even closer than the last. Your throat constricts trying to force air into your system. Your teeth ache from how tightly you clench your jaw.

The male started in that direction. Your throat burned, your head pounding. 

Just a second more.

But you couldn’t stop yourself from gasping for air. 

The male stops. Then he looks right at you.

You’d never known terror till that moment. 

*****WARNING: until the next scene change dark themes will be depicted such as rape and violence, if you do not wish to read proceed to the next “*****”

He pounced, dragging you out of the bushes by the base of your wings. Even though you don’t struggle.

He throws you to the ground, not wasting a second before straddling your thighs. Pinning down your legs. His hands grip the fabric of your gown, tearing it off your shoulder. You want to cover your body, but instead you lay still. Let him run his filthy hands over your breasts, let them squirm their way between your legs. 

You let him cause it’s all you’ve ever known. 

Even though your mind was screaming.

He is anything but gentle, forcing his way inside, digging around. You can’t stop the cry of pain that leaves you, the tears that fill your eyes, and he moans. Touch becoming rougher, harsher, trying to force another cry from you. 

The pain becomes worse when he adds more fingers, shoving his way though. 

Like he was trying to rip you open.

 His head buries into your shoulder. Sniffing and groaning in your ear. Rutting against you like a wild animal.

Then he bites down, and you scream. 

Your hands find his head and that pressure, that jerking energy under your skin devours him. 

The male collapses, body twitching on top of you. Teeth still embedded in your shoulder. You're stunned for a moment, but that's quickly replaced with revulsion.

Your arms shake with the effort it takes to roll him off of you. Whimpering when his teeth slowly leave your shoulder. 

His hands don't leave you, even though he was now out of reaching distance you could still feel them. Touching, grabbing, digging.

You feel nothing but disgust as you look at the male, watching him mumble, whine, and mewl in his unconscious state. You don’t even get the time to question it, to think about what happened. The heavy footsteps that head your way get closer by the second. 

I don’t want to do this. 

So you don’t. 

For once in your life you disregard all of your teachings. Every rule beaten into you. Each false instinct that’d burrowed into your body. And you run.  

Right past the wards. 

Because you’d rather die than end up like your mother.

You run and you keep running until your lungs are stabbed with pain, until your legs give out from beneath you, and you crash to the ground.  

Your nails dig into the soil as you lay there. To breathe. To think. To cry. 

Maybe you could just wait here till dawn. Maybe then you could go back. Nobody would have to know you even left. 

But the chill of the crooked woods laugh at you. You hear the sound of old trees creaking in the wind, calling you foolish. 

You couldn’t go back, you’d attacked a male. There was nowhere for you now, just death.

Still, there was a senseless part of your brain that hoped this was all a wretched night terror. That any minute now you would wake up to your mom’s voice. And you would be in bed. And Flowering will have already passed. And you wouldn’t have went because your mom knew you didn’t want to. And she wouldn’t have wanted you to go through it either, because of how ruthless the males were. And your life would go on until the next year came around. And maybe then you would be ready. Maybe then you would have accepted it.

The other part of your brain was ready to be done with it all.

“[name]?” 

Your breath catches, unsteadily lifting yourself from the ground. You look around, searching for that familiar voice. 

 “Mother?” 

“[name], my child…” You see her. She was completely bare, something you were used to, her beauty a stark contrast to the spindly trees around her. She walks toward you crouching before you, you sob when she rests a soft hand on your cheek. So, so different from how she usually held you. Then she spoke in such a soft voice, a tone you’d never heard leave her mouth. “You looked so beautiful when you were screaming.” 

The next moment it felt like you were punched in the shoulder, a heat unlike any other burned your skin. You look down to see a blade sticking out of your chest, a shriveled-up hand attached. Not the smooth skin of your mother.

When you look back into your mother's eyes they were no longer hers. Replaced with a milky white that gleamed in the moonlight. The face no longer female or beautiful. It’s skin was stretched taught over its thin bones.

Then as it spoke again with a smile so wide, teeth so rotted, and breath so pungent you knew what it was. 

“Cry for me, child.” It said, sounding like a million different voices at once. 

A creature that preyed on the weak, found pleasure in the act of killing. It cannot be reasoned with, its only joy is to watch the life leave someone’s eyes. To watch people die a sad miserable death in the form of the ones they loved the most.

The Mymic.  

You scream, and it laughs. You scream louder as it twists the blade inside you and then drags. Ripping each nerve, muscle, and vein as slowly as possible. So you could feel each and every tear.

The creature howled in ecstasy as it tore into you, cutting you open endlessly. 

No one would save you, not this time. 

Nightmares don’t have happy endings. 

“So beautiful…” It sighed pulling the blade out of your chest only to play with the blood that pooled out, finger-painting your white gown red. 

*****

He couldn’t stand it, you were so still that Azriel had to keep making sure you were breathing. He holds you against him, unable to keep his hands from wandering, soothing you. Shadows doing the same. 

You’d been sleeping for two days straight. Madja kept assuring him and everyone else that you were okay. That it was a good thing, that your body was responding well to the tonic and catching up on the sleep it needed. 

The Faebane had cleaned out of your system after the first twenty-four hours. But no Hybern soldiers made any appearance, no evil king, not even a flicker in the fae lights.

His head leans against yours, watching your chest lift up and down. He moves a hand to rest there, watching it rise and fall. Finding comfort in the repetitive motion.

Maybe you weren’t made for him. Maybe the cauldron didn’t deem you mates. Maybe he didn’t care.

Azriel was content to just share something so real with you, so raw. 

A bond didn’t make what the two of you had any less intense. He didn’t need to be tethered to you to know what you were feeling. Didn’t need fate to tell him you were the love of his life. 

He’d always pick you.  

A small sound reaches his ears, he was so worried about you that he’d started having audio hallucinations. But then he heard it again, louder this time, and he knew it wasn’t a figment of his imagination.

Your breathing becomes irregular, another little noise leaving your parted lips. Azriel’s hands rub you soothingly. Waiting patiently for the sleep to fade from your body. Whispering when he could tell you were conscious enough to hear him. “Hey.” He drawls, making sure he's quiet. When you open your gorgeous eyes and look at him his heart stops. “There you are.” 

You blink at him. “You drugged me.” 

Azriel flinches at the words. Actually flinches. Then he nods. 

“My magic… I can feel it now but it was…” 

His hand reaches for yours, feeling relief when you let him take it. He runs his thumb over the smooth skin. “Faebane. We got some when Rhys was captured.” 

You look down at your free hand, willing a small moth to appear there. Checking that everything was working correctly. The moth flies up toward Azriel but it dissipates before it can get far.

You weren’t mad. Quite the opposite. You’d woken up and found yourself relieved. Relieved to see him there next to you. Relieved to be home. 

You weren’t angry because you knew he did it to help not to hurt. Sure, he could’ve gone about it in a different way, maybe presented the idea to you instead of just slipping the drug in your water. But you couldn’t fault him for that either, Azriel was a man of action and few words. 

Still that didn’t stop you from asking. “Why didn’t you just tell me?” 

“I didn’t even want to agree to it at first. So little is known about your kind, your magic, there was no telling if the Faebane would even effect you. I didn’t want to risk you getting stuck in that nightmare without the ability to heal.” 

Your eyes widen at the information. If he’d told you that, nothing would’ve gotten you to agree. But he took that chance? Azriel wasn’t a gambler. 

Your face must’ve shown what you were thinking because he continued. 

“Then you hurt yourself and I couldn’t take it anymore, [name]. You needed to get better.” He squeezes your hand. “If I have to fight off a living nightmare so you can get a night's sleep, I will.”

“Did you?” You ask, wondering if the male had made an appearance or the Mymic. 

Azriel shakes his head. You sigh in relief. Ignoring the way your stomach grumbled with hunger, in no hurry to force down tasteless food. No hurry to leave your male. You lay your head on his chest.

“I’m sorry.” You say, and he shakes his head at you in confused questioning. “For letting it get that far.” For not being strong enough to get a grip. 

The shadowsinger holds your head to his chest. “I’m sorry.” He presses his lips against your head, saying the words into your hair. “I wish I knew other ways to help.” 

Your hands grip him. Nails clinging to his bare skin. “I missed you.” The worst part about reliving that Nightmare, was that you hadn’t known he existed. That someone so amazing was out there, and capable of loving you. 

“I never left.” 

taglist <3: @acourtofbatboydreams @xreaderbooksreads @gorlillaglue25 @anuttellaa @18crazybutcutealsopsycho @mybestfriendmademe

[sanyu-thewitch05]

Kinktober Post

Yandere Vampire x Princess in a tower

Kofi: https://ko-fi.com/cherie47467

TW: Mind control, drugging, blood, dubcon

In a dark tower in the woods, is a girl in a white nightgown. Her hands are bound by chains attached to a wall, and her neck is the same. From the looks of the room, she had been there for ages. Her face is thin, and her hair is as stringy as straw. She has waited for her hero to come, but it seems she may die before it happens. That girl was you. A princess who got put into a tower as a sick way to kill you so he can marry another. You wish your life was like one of those fairytales, but that seems impossible.

"Hello? Is anyone in here?" A voice yells, walking up the steps.

You try to make noise come out of your throat, but it's no use. You shake your arms a bit, rattling your chains. Your savior comes into your room, his eyes full of pity. He's the most beautiful man you've seen alive. His hair is long and black, his brown skin is as clear as glass, and his chiseled chest can't even be contained by his white v-neck blouse. Every part of his body is a work of art—especially those enchanting purple eyes of his.

"Oh, you poor darling. I'll get these chains off of you," The man says, breaking your chains with his bare hands. "Can you get up?"

You shake your head no, and he picks you up.

"Don't worry, I'll bring you to the carriage," He says, carrying your body out of the tower and to the outside world.

The sun blinds you, hurting your eyes as sunlight enters your eyes for the first time in a few months. You bury your head in your savior's shirt, trying to block out the light.

"Aw, darling, I had no idea you liked me so much," He chuckles, putting you in the carriage, drawing the curtains on the windows, and shutting the door. "Now that it's darker, why don't we start with an introduction? My name is Roman Beaudelaire, and I am one of the many dukes of this kingdom. I know your throat is too weak to speak, so I shall not force you to say anything."

You sigh and put your head on the sides of the carriage. Your body has never felt more tired.

"Once you're at my estate, you'll be taken care of. Now, rest. You need it," Roman says, his eyes looking more beautiful by the second.

You fall asleep, and when you wake up, you're in a bed with silky red and black sheets. Your old nightgown is gone, and you're wearing a new one that's pastel pink with bows on the sleeves. Its material is soft and makes you never want to take it off.

"Lunch, my darling?" Roman inquires, bringing in a plate of the finest foods to eat. "I brought some of the smaller crabs from the port, fruits, and some herbal tea. I hope you like it."

You touch a crab on the plate, feeling the texture of its body. It's been so long since you've seen the outside world, you've forgotten what some things are and look like. Roman chuckles, sitting on the bed, grabbing a crab from your plate, and cracks a leg for you. The meat looks so delicious and red you want to gulp it down immediately. You grab his hand, scarfing down the piece of crab meat.

"No need to rush, darling. I won't take the food from you. But please be sure to drink your tea. It'll help you feel better," Roman says, enjoying your reaction to the food.

You drink some of the tea, and your body instantly feels better. Your vocal cords feel like they're coated in honey, ready to speak forever.

"Woah, it really did help me feel better," You say, surprised you heard your own voice.

"I'll come back later to collect your dishes," Roman responds, kissing your cheek.

~~~~~~~~~~

For the past few days, you've been eating Roman's food and tea, and eventually, you've gained the strength to explore his estate. You've wandered through the gardens and walked through the library, touching every soft and dusty book. You've even managed to accidentally discover Roman's bedroom when you were exploring the hidden passageways. Admittedly, he escorted you out, before you could question the lack of light in his room, but you'll just ask him about it later when he visits for his nightly chat with you. Hours pass by while you wait in your bed for Roman. Eventually, the clock strikes twelve, and you fall asleep thinking you'll wake up with him on the other side of the mattress.

But you're sleep doesn't last long, as you hear a heavy creak above you. You open your eyes and find a pale creature with long fangs in Roman's clothes holding onto the ceiling. You make eye contact and scream, getting out of bed. You run for the door, but the creature appears before you.

"Please don't hurt me," You beg, back up to the bed.

"Don't you think you should pay me back for nursing you back to health from your disastrous condition? I put my own blood in the tea so your body could heal faster," Roman says, pushing you onto the bed. "Admittedly, the gradual blood loss made me look like a pale corpse, but it's all worth it. I get to have my own princess and soulmate to myself."

"How do you want me to pay you back?" You ask, watching Roman's finger go down your cheek.

"I want you. I want your body and blood," Roman answers, his dry lips kissing your neck. "Whichever one comes first is up to you."

"Blood."

Roman looks at you with his purple eyes, and you feel weak and aroused.

"That's it, relax and let your savior pleasure you," Roman says, slipping your night dress down.

He kisses your shoulder, then penetrates it with his teeth. You moan a little, and Roman plays with your breast. As he sucks the blood out, his dick begins to rise.

"Darling, can you do me a favor and unbuckle my pants?" He asks, chuckling at your horny state.

You do as he says, undressing his lower half and revealing his unnaturally veiny cock. By the time he's done feeding from you, he's returned to his youthful state, ready to get the second part of his deal. He pulls down the rest of your nightgown, letting it fall to the floor, your pussy clothed by white panties. He lays you on your pillow, lining his head with your entrance. He bites your inner thigh, making you moan like crazy.

"That's it, darling. You like having your skin bitten," Roman coos, looking at your damp underwear. "You look ready, do you think so, darling?"

When he looks up at you, your hand is in your panties, getting off to him biting you to the point you don't even notice he stopped.

"Ah, ah, naughty girl. I'm supposed to be the one giving you pleasure," Roman scolds, pulling the hand out of your underwear.

You whine for more pleasure, and he sticks his hand into your panties. He rubs his middle finger against your clit, making you spread your legs.

"Oh, you're ready, darling," Roman teases, rubbing his hand faster so you cum.

He uses his sharp nails to shred your underwear, and you lift your legs up to your head for him. Roman lines his cock with your entrance and doesn't wait to start slamming the entire thing inside. You scream with delight, gripping your legs. His rhythm is fast and steady as if he's been waiting for you for centuries. He holds your waist, his nails pressing into your skin and drawing blood.

"Ah, please! Make me cum again!" You beg, tears in your eyes, feeling the pleasure high build again.

Roman's pace gets faster, and he leans down to your neck. He bites your neck, pushing venom out of his fangs and into your bloodstream. Your eyes roll to the back of your head, and you cum all over Roman's dick. In an unexpected move of pleasure, you bite Roman's shoulder, and he shivers in ecstasy. His cock shoots ropes of semen into you, coating your walls white.

"Didn't know you could bite that hard?" Roman teases, licking the blood off your neck puncture holes. "Once the venom is throughout your body we'll have days like this forever."

Your eyes focus on Roman, and you see those purple eyes that enchanted you at first sight. You hug his body, snuggling your head on his shoulders.

"That's right, darling. Relax, I'll be taking care of you. No need to explore beyond my estate's walls," He says, rubbing your head. "You only need to focus on me and how we'll be making some changes to your kingdom."

He kisses you, his tongue exploring your teeth and feeling your canines become fangs. He pulls out of you, cum spilling out of your hole, and pulls the bedsheets on you. He lies next to you on the bed, opening his arms so you can snuggle with him. You gladly move into his arms, and enjoy the feeling of his sweaty skin. You place your hands on his massive pecks, and he laughs.

"And you say I like your boobs," He laughs, his free hand going to your ass. "But, I must say I like this better."

He gladly fondles and gropes your body as you drift off to sleep in pleasure.

[leahnardo-da-veggie]

An Ode to Tofu 

Tofu, glorious tofu. Splendorous, scrumptious, saliva-inducing tofu. It is the filler of my stomach, gracer of my tongue, love of my life. To spend a life without it is to not live at all.

It has a silken texture, so smooth on my tongue, like the finest satin on the body of the world's most beautiful woman. And its flavour! A baby deer's first steps, frail and wondrous and with just the slightest hint of eternity behind it.

Oh, to eat tofu. To gulp down its slippery flesh and taste its skin on my teeth. To caress its soy surface like a lover and sink my teeth into it in the throes of passion. To consume is to love, and by every deity I have ever sworn to, I love tofu.

When my lips first graced tau kwa, I thought I was in heaven. Dark as teak in braised sauce, juicy and firm and holy, it brought a tear to my eye. Fried, with its moist innards and salty, crispy exterior, I would have fallen to my knees for it. Even plain, in nothing but soup, it was majestic. 

Oh, but its dignity could not compare to tau pok's charm. Soaking up whatever it was offered, taking and taking and taking flavour from everything around it, greedy to the core. And yet, and it enters my gaping maw, it spills its guts in a waterfall of giving, filling me up with its juices.

More seductive still is tau kee. Pliant and gentle, like a virgin on her wedding day. It is silk bedsheets stained dark with lust, a noose of the finest rope. I could spend my entire life in its folds, and still yearn for more. 

And yet- There it is: Egg tofu. Love of my life, the one to whom I return to each and every time. The one who will welcome me despite my unfaithfulness. Golden brown on a hotplate, surrounded by lush salad, even with nothing to adorn it, I crave its taste. It will forever treasure me, and I it. We are two matching halves of the same whole.

That is not to say I do not love the classics, of course. Silken tofu, the renowned temptation it is, has carved out its claim to my heart with merciless delight. It is timeless, majestic in its old age, powerful and cruel in equal measure. Cladded in the red spice of mapo tofu, it holds more vitality than a thousand armies. Floating amidst miso soup, it brings out the true power of soy. It is the greatest of the tofus, and I will award it the reverence it deserves.

But then… then there is the new. The strange. The QQ tofu. Fishy and bouncy and vibrant, so different from its pureblood cousins. It's distinction is a peacock's feathers, flauntings its uniqueness in the sheer knowledge that it can out-tofu all others. I am brought to my knees before it, tasting that which neither regular tofu nor regular fishcakes could compare. 

And then there is the final mountain for me to climb: Stinky tofu. Shrouded in mystery, enveloped by its hostile scent. It awes me and frightens me in equal measure. The durian of tofus, proud and loud about its smell. The tales I have heard of it make it out to be the greatest of legends, and someday I shall feast upon it.

And when that day comes, my life will be complete. I will die happy, with the taste of tofu on my tongue. I will dream the long dream, full of fresh, plump tofu.

Tofu, glorious tofu.

[diejager]

My deep dark desire for a distillery au wherein each force is a competing distillery and you yeet an expert taster reader in there who is in charge of judging each whisky and ranking them. Either they are pulling out all the stops on your tour and treating you like a princess or doing the opposite and threatening you to rank them the highest :')

Mhairi, I am the worse person to ask about whiskey, my parents have delicious smelling ones, fruity and spicy ones, but taste wise? I gag like there’s no tomorrow, especially gin!! I hate gin. The only thing I can stomach so far is sweet, coffee and cream flavoured Baileys Irish Cream. (I know there’s Irish whiskey in it, but it’s only 17% compared to the 40% of any other whiskeys)

Eau De Vie Cw: Alcohol drinking, whiskey taste, tell me if I missed any.

Whisky had always been your favourite, your little secret that you shared with your closest friends alone —your penchent for judging whiskeys and bourbons alone, managing to include rum and brandy in rare occasions. So when you were approached by a known figure in the Whiskey industry that acted as the face for many distilleries across the world, you couldn’t turn down the offer when you were given so much in a simple deal.

You were responsible to drink and rank many popular brands by taste and smell alone, the only person delegated to become the judge. You were given the privilege of taking home a bottle of each brand after this competition, another reason to accept it. So you signed the contract without a second of hesitation, shaking her hand to conclude the deal before she left you squirming with excitement in your office home.

You were flown from your city to a calm part of the Scottish countryside, a chalet overlooking the Scottish highlands and its green beauty. This was the quaint house you would temporarily live in with the rest of the team orchestrating this friendly competition, leaving the connecting house up the cliff side to the different distilleries. From what you’ve heard, Kate Laswell - Kate you called her after a few meetings that had fully bloomed into a friendship of alcohol connoissoir - the participating teams were the British company 141 - who in coalition to Chimera and the ULF - would represent their alliance, the American Shadows, the multi-national KorTac and the Russian brewery Konni. They were all popular brands distilling whiskey and brandy in their own countries, creating a plethora of tastes and sensations that would explode on your tongue after a few sips.

You were ecstatic, your mouth salivating at the simple thought of tasting the finest whiskeys from around the world, but you had a few days to rest and tour the side of Scotland you were shipped to. What you expected to be calm and mild-mannered men and women from their side of the world to meet and eat with refined etiquette, was shattered the second you peered through the door after walking down the connecting path from your chalet to their house.

They were loud, rambunctious in the very sense of it, loud and jovial, hurling insults and hissing out jeers at one another. It was a dogfight between brewers, like cats and dogs. You felt like a stranger, gawking at the group hurling words at one another until it all stopped, the open living room falling in silence when they heard you drop your bag on the polished wood. You’ve never seen humans move so fast until the second after the silence, scrambling to clean the room up and wooing you with their compliments and sweet pleasantries to appease you.

They gave you a tour of the house, the rich wine cellar that was open to you whenever you wanted a drink, the wooden patio that had it’s own lounge and bar, and the various rooms in the mansion-like chalet. They all vied for your attention, ripping one another’s throat to have a second of your attention, kissing up to you with sweet compliments and even sweeter praises.

The Brits - well, three English and one Scott - were a good mix of mature and zealousness, low voices and near-overwhelming figures with their broad shoulders and stocky mass. They came with other people to represent their company: Farah and her devoted Alex from ULF, and the crude Nikolai and Krueger from Chimera.

The Shadows were American, the most American you’ve ever seen, energetic and determined to win you over, and the CEO, a man with a southern accent and a seductive smirk, swiping you off your feet with pet names that made you fluster.

KorTac had as many accents as they had people of different countries, both men and women skilled in multiple languages and conversing so fluently that you started to question if you were on the same planet.

Konni was rough on the edges, their leading figure as scheming as he was gentlemanly, his thin lips letting out the most vicious praises to have you squirming under his dark gaze and unmoving determination for the win.

Days later, you met them at the compound farther down the road, away from the beauty of the coast and cliff, a long table exposing their finest to you. Poured in a cups, one with ice and another without, they were left for you to decide which would win the prize for both straight and on the rocks. Today was the day you would nominate one as the best, standing higher than everyone else without bias despite the times they rendered you a flustered mess and made you unendingly grateful for their help.

Your pallet exploded with flavour every time you sipped on a different brand, eyes rolling to the back of your head with the deliciousness of every bottle. 141 brought three bottles of their aged whiskey: a smoky Scotch Whisky made in the same Highlands you were tasting it, the bitter spiciness of rye whiskey from the American branch of the ULF - credits to Alex for introducing it - and the woody and fruity aroma of Chimera’s whiskey. Shadows had brought - unsurprisingly - their most popular types of whiskey to the table: Bourbon made in their own distillery in Kentucky, a sweet and mellow sub-type of their first one and the smooth flavour of their wheat whiskey. KorTac had a large variety to it’s collection: a floral tasting whiskey that outmatched Hibiki Harmony, a nutty sensation of a bottle made in Ireland and the rich and peaty on of a danish-made bottle. And finally, three Russian bottles from the biggest distillery in Russia: a sweet and smoky bottle, a second one with rich malt and honey, and a third focusing on aroma with it’s spicy odour and fruity taste.

They were all so delicious, if you had these bottles when you working at the bar, mixing concoctions for paying clients, you would’ve been overjoyed, but those days were long gone, your priority standing elsewhere than fulfilling your dream. Truthfully, you didn’t know who to give the medal, the flavours so vast and unique. Perhaps they wouldn’t mind if you took a second or third sip just to be sure.

Part 2

Taglist: @sae1kie @yeoldedumbslut @bvxygriimes @distracteddragoness @konigsblog @havoc973 @im-making-an-effort @daisychainsinknots @0alk0msan @danielle143 @dont-mind-me-just-existing-sadly @tuttifuckinfruttifriday @kaelysia @notspiders @velvetsoulweaver @petwifed @aldis-nuts @randominstake

[unicyclehippo]

New Year's prompt: glitter!

eat and be eaten is the way of the world. laudna knows that better than most. there is nothing that escapes it; if there is something that she believes in, it is that.

every person, every creature, good and bad, is meat sinew blood bone. death will lick her way into sweet marrow and she, giantess, will grind bone to bonemeal, to dust, to the finest vanishing filaments in the blowing wind. she will do that for everyone—pauper and puppet and queen. she kills moles in their molehills and boulders dreams of mountaindom. drags her pale hands through the farmlands and rots seeds in their bed, then farmers, then towns. she drapes a dark cloak across all faces, her shroud, takes their breath and leaves only memory behind, that small and tarnished token. hers is the dominion of death everlasting and it is steady and voracious in its generosity.

when the last of the aliens have landed in the desert, the bridge brightens to a burning red. it pierces into the rubble moon until it finds glass, crystal, that throws the red in a hundred thousand beams, each line a knife to the net, the cage.

glass melts, rock melts. the prison door cracks—and death sighs. she is free. she unhinges her jaw and opens wide her hands and reaches for the gods. it is the easiest thing to pass through the weave; she grabs the magic by the fistful and gorges herself on it, finally, licks every shred of magic from the chains and swallows it down link after link and when she is done with it she takes the first domain, the closest, and sinks her teeth into it rotsoft and sweet, an overripe plum, the frantic beating of a heart. it bursts in her mouth. holy! red! she drinks it down, licks her lips clean, licks her hands, until there is no trace left of the paltry god and its domain its stagnant cup. she is so hungry still. she reaches for the next.

far below, light spills like blood across the sky of exandria. divinity flares, fights, dies and is devoured; it glitters as it goes, explosions like all the rest of the far and distant stars, dead and dying.

the feast—the sky full of fire—lasts a year. there are no gods remaining when it is done; death has eaten them all, and herself too, in a great slow writhe, a snake and its tail, death and its endless end.

//

bells hells waits a year. stationed at the edge of the world, a red column of light drifting up into the distance of the astral sea. there is no ruidus anymore. only a line of red dust and rock smeared across the sky.

laudna has taken to travelling between the towers. there are twenty-five of them, so far, in groups of two or three. each new cluster rises up a little further from the bridge as the builders grow more daring, more hopeful. the red-stone roads creep between each settlement like a network of roots or splintering canyons. a reminder of ruidus, she thinks.

there is something to it that makes her heart ache—their world and city had been so full of dreams of exandria and, now that they were here, it was dreams of ruidus that guided their hands.

‘copper for your thoughts?’ miraani asks, sharp teeth grinding over the words.

laudna is resting, which is still strange to her. the sun is high and blisteringly hot and her caravan has stopped at one of the nexus; everywhere where the splintering roads met, the builders had fashioned great domes. way points of water and shade in the desert, wind tunnels whistling as the heat is dragged up and out, flags and awnings stirring in a lazy breeze. she is searching the interior—carved and painted with directions (and some amusing graffiti) for the way to the seventeenth cluster. stood in the archway, laudna eyes the next waypoint—a little lump in the distance—and the cluster beyond it. the twenty-sixth tower nearly complete.

‘do you miss kreveris, miraani?’

they step up beside her. tall, the sloping crest of their head nearly brushing the seven-foot curve of the arch. for a time, they are silent.

‘it was a place of great misery for many.’ miraani touched two fingers to the spot at the base of their neck where the flesh was warped, lumpy with a long-healed scar. a pink membrane closed over their black eyes—a sign, laudna had come to learn, of discomfort. emotional or physical. no one liked getting sand in their eyes. ‘we were corralled and leashed, our will lashed to that of the weave mind. there was never enough and it spurred cruelty in all. our city was a hollow thing built in honour of your world.’ miraani tilted their head upwards. beneath the membrane, their eyes swivelled. searching for that red trail across the sky. ‘and even so… yes, my guide. my mind overflows with thoughts of it.’

‘i am sorry. that we could not save it.’

miraani shook her head. ‘you saved us. and soon, i will be your guide through new kreveris.’

‘is that what has been settled on?’

‘i do not know what the Chorus intends but yes, many among us are calling it this.’

laudna nods. rubs at the line of her sternum. ‘i look forward to seeing it,’ she murmurs.

miraani waits. when laudna says nothing else, they clear their throat. ‘if we leave now, my guide, we will make it to the cluster before night.’

‘what? oh, yes. yes, of course.’

the caravan is ready to move, wuukor watered and drivers back from a road-rough lunch and stretching their legs. miraani swings up into the first caravan and pulls laudna up with them; together, they lead the six-cart caravan forward into the desert.

‘why are you thinking of kreveris?’ miraani asks later, voice lifting over the creak of wood and leather, the clatter of hooves and wheels on the road.

laudna shakes her head. ‘i was not. i was thinking of…death, i suppose. and what it leaves behind.‘

‘bodies,’ miraani nods.

it is not what laudna had in mind but she nods. thinks of her own body. creaking joints. scars. hollow burned out rooms in her mind that she cannot tread, cannot recall what they once held.

there was once a city on the moon; now, pieces of a city and pieces of a moon. it will take decades to rebuild and the work is at hand but it is painful and slow and sand fills every pair of boots she has.

there was once a woman in her mind; now, no woman and, it feels, only pieces of a mind. it is frightening and terribly lonely to hear only herself; it is more frightening, when she hears her thoughts echo, that old remembered whisper a sigh through the corridors of her mind. but the emptiness, the splintered roads and canyons, make it so very easy to tell when the red weight of a beloved mind brushes into hers and sinks deep.

hello, my love, laudna sings, and hears the redoubled echo. my love, my love, my love.

they are in range of the cluster and laudna lifts her eyes to the glinting cap of the twenty-sixth tower. it takes a moment, and a teasing brush of a mind to coax her close, but finally she spots a figure floating near the peak. massive bricks of stone rising effortlessly into place around her as teams of builders set them into beds of beam and mortar.

you are incandescent, my love, laudna whispers to her.

you are still too far away, imogen says. her mind bristles—irritation and exhaustion and that needling anxiety. you’re not allowed to sweet talk me until i can kiss you about it.

then come and kiss me, laudna tells her simply. her love, her wife, her life wavers in the air. the blocks shiver and, one by one, lower to the ground. then like a comet, imogen burns across the sky, closing the distance until she is here. with laudna once more. she hovers by the side of the caravan. it has been a year since she had to touch the ground and she rarely does; her eyes crackle with lightning, forks of red and purple leaping from her hands, her feet, the frizzing ends of her hair. she is the most beautiful creature laudna has ever seen.

she is frowning.

‘you’re two days late.’

‘hello,’ laudna says, pointedly. ‘there was a sandstorm.’

imogen scowls—up at the sky, as if in reprimand for keeping them apart—and then darts forward. ducks her head beneath the top of the caravan to alight within. purple lights flare and fill the space; purple paints the distance between them, and laudna’s hands and skin and when imogen kisses her, she closes her eyes and sees no black, no green, only purple.

[cakerybakery]

Once upon a time there was a couple who wanted for nothing, which was good, for they had nothing.

Her family was poor and his was so broke they didn’t qualify for even being poor.

When they were expecting a baby their parents turned their backs on them.

Neither family could afford another mouth and they were sent away to make their own way.

Into the witch woods they travelled, deeper and deeper into the dark thick woods until at least their baby was born. A daughter. They had so little to wear they could only dress her in a scraps of their clothing. They had so little to eat there was no milk for her to drink. She was small and sick.

As the walked they desired more for their wee babe without a name, as they knew they would only mourn her more if she had one.

As they desired they stumbled into a clearing.

In the clearing was a cottage and stable with a small garden full of ripe fresh food and a woman that could be no older than their mothers back home.

“Hello!” Called out the man that was barely not a boy, he hoped she was kind and perhaps that she had a goat.

The woman’s eyes widened and she let out a startled, “oh!” Before her kind face softened and she let out a sad, “oh.”

They hurried as quickly as their tired legs could carry them. But before they could ask the sad woman shook her head.

“I’m sorry, dears. I’m a witch.”

Their hearts sank for they both knew the truth about witches. They could only deal in trades with non-witches. You had to have something of equal value to the witch before she could trade or what was traded would just return to her. One could never steal from a witch.

They had nothing.

They had nothing but a sickly newborn baby who was not long for this world.

The woman who was barely not a girl held up the baby. “Does she have value to you? She is sickly and I have no milk for her to drink so she has not had a drop. Could you save her if she was yours in trade?”

Tears filled the woman’s eyes. She had always longed for a baby of her own. And if she could not trade then the woods would have three more corpses to fertilize it.

The woods had enough fertilizer, she decided.

“She is very valuable indeed. I offer in trade all the vegetables from my garden, they are magical and will stay fresh for as long as they are in your possession, my finest cart to carry the load and my finest horse to pull the cart.” She whirled her hand and snapped her fingers.

From the stable rode out a fine horse of pure white, surely worth its weight in gold in the market. Out from behind the stable a cart zipped to the garden and attached itself to the horse. It was a good sturdy cart, the colours rich and the seating padded. Worth perhaps half as much as the horse. The vegetables rolled and bounced themselves into the cart. More food than either had seen in their lives filled the wooden frame.

The couple handed the child over and the witch asked her name. They had no name to give.

“Rapunzel then.” The witch said. “A good witch name. She will want for nothing except, perhaps, a second helping of dessert.”

The couple made their solemn goodbyes and with directions from the witch were able to leave the woods.

They ate their fill of the food and once they found a market sold the rest, they sold the cart, the sold the horse.

They were a couple that wanted for nothing because all they wanted was left behind in the woods that day.

[allureasdiary]

My Strange Addiction

(Pov: your the man I can't stop thinking about but too scared to get close to because im obsessed so im writing a letter in my diary at a finest hour of night when the moon js at its most luminent. Also was a little inspired by men in loa community yall are like 4 leafed clovers in a garden filled with magnolias..very very rare but still very very beautiful)

Dear y/n

Well would you look at this? Me..a siren, the princess, the tempting seductress, known to have a face of an angel with the bodt of a pornstar, a dark goddess trapped in a angelic seductress body, the one they call the forbidden fruit for being so beautiful that its terrifying, the very infamous woman who has caused a generation upon generations of men to bow at my pretty little pink dior heels at the feeling of my prescence even from afar; even with all that, here i am..the one everyone likes but has never been loved..sitting here under this pale full moon, scarily..tenderly in love..with you; Oh to leave my cherry colored lip marks stained and bruised along your neck; my deep sharp nails scarred into your back and sides spelling my name like a bloody horror film in your skin; and imprint my bite marks in a heart shaped love dedicated to every delicate, intricate, sweet like honey tasting, drug addicting, psycho obsessed over, delicacy that the world calls your body and the lord calls man, as a final signature to the wrenchingly heart-aching letter the darkest depths of my soul composed just for you so that even in your nightmares, sinister demise and darkest hour not even the devil could be able to take away the thought of every atom of existence of me from your mind; everything you'd touch, smell, eat, hear it all rages in your mind swirled with thoughts of me that it's deadly causing a tender, bloodied bite at the lips and a sharp cut at your tongue for only the lord knows those dark abyss thoughts your heart cries out and mourns towards begging for your mind to forget me but your soul dragging you to the depths of hell just to feel my touch once more; and if it comes down to it, you'd burn the heavens and the earth to feel my warm touch once more.

Xoxo, Allurea

[lepus-littlebear]

Deer, Flower and Her ( ArTw Fic )

 ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ ❀*Sirius x Lee Dam ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ ❀*

' Deer, Flower and Her '

Sirius X Lee Dam 이담 ("Default" Summoner)

✧༝┉┉┉┉┉˚❋ ❋ ❋˚┉┉┉┉┉༝✧

Disclaimer: I don't write fanfics so this is my first attempt at writing one hence I apologize for any mistakes. [Italic text means change in P.O.V from 1st person to 3rd person at the end]

❋

“Pretty, isn’t it?”

A sudden familiar voice breaks me out of my trance. I look back at the man standing by me, his hands behind his back as his never-changing impassive smile is directed at me. My gaze lingers on his face for a second before I nod my head.

“Seeing how long you stared at it….should I say that you want it?”

“Not necessarily. I just think it’s beautifully crafted.”

I look back at the glass flower put in display infront of this arts shop we are at. It reflects the sunlight, making it almost blindingly bright. The single delicate flower stood a bit curved but strongly nonetheless as if it was trying its best to stand against the overwhelming light.

“Indeed. Looks like a lot of time and effort went into it”, Sirius’ gaze also turns to the flower. Beside the small sculpture was a thin piece of paper revealing that it was handmade and crafted out of finest glass by the hands of the famous artist himself. Just under it is written the price….looking at the number of 0s, I sigh internally. Of course.

A light chuckle enters my ear and I look at him again, “Are you sure you don’t want it? Because your expression says otherwise.” Sirius’ eyes twinkle in sparkles of gold and his smile is wider than before. 

I avoid his gaze feeling seen as I blurt out my thoughts, “Well, even if I did get it, I don’t think I’m capable enough to protect a glass flower. I’d probably accidentally have it shattered and I don’t want that. It would be upsetting.” 

I mean one of the reasons is that I don’t have enough money but he doesn’t need to know that.

“Is that so? But I think summoner could do a pretty good job, at least better than me. If you really want it, I can buy it for you.”

I almost want to accept the offer but then refuse after a moment of thought.

“I can’t make you do that. It’s too expensive.”

“Nothing’s too expensive if it’s for our summoner-”

I cut him off before he can continue, “How about you get it then?”

“Now, now, that defeats the purpose, doesn’t it?”

“Just have it in your room, I’ll drop by every now and then to check on it.” My smile is uncontrollable as my eyes settles on his face waiting for how he’ll reply to such a silly suggestion. Obviously it was a joke but Sirius seems a bit surprised at my words. And then his infamous mocking laugh returns again, “Summoner, you really do say interesting things sometimes.” 

He seems genuinely amused but takes a deep breathe and looks at the flower as his eyes turn into a dark shade of purple, “I won’t deny that it’s beautiful but at the same time….it’s weak.”

“Weak?”

“Sure, I actually do want to place it somewhere in my room, seems tempting but it will require a lot of care and precision. One wrong move and it’ll fall to the floor, shattering into many pieces.”

His looming expression vanishes again and the annoying smirk returns, “So, you have to be careful summoner. Beautiful innocent things are pretty and alluring to look at but they are weak. They need to be protected or the world around them will eat them and their purity up.”

“So, that’s what you think about it, huh….” I look down, seemingly in thought about his ‘strange’ mindset.

But why did he tell me to be careful? Was it directed towards being careful around the flower or….

“It looks like you find my thinking weird, summoner. But am I really wrong?”

I stay quiet for a moment despite his taunting and decide to enter the store. Sirius seems perplexed before following me silently with a smile that meant to say ‘I won’.

As my feet take me around the small but bright shop slowly, I state my half, “Not exactly. I can’t argue with you saying you’re completely wrong. Like what you said, beautiful things should indeed be protected. Pretty roses for instance, when someone sees a pretty rose, they’ll pluck it and keep it for themselves not caring that it would wilt and die later on. But I want to say that it isn’t the same in every case.”

I stop to gaze at another glass handicraft in front of me and Sirius follows my line of sight. It was a deer this time. A magical deer to be exact. It was from a play that has gained popularity from the locals since the past month.

I point at the deer, my index fingertip coming in contact with the warm transparent display case’s surface, “Do you remember this?”

Sirius looks closely at the craft and hums in agreement, “Light in the woods, right? We went to see this play together last week.”

I nod lightly, “In the play, we follow the life of a poor abandoned man who was disowned by his family. He wandered the village aimlessly in search for shelter and food. Days went by with him surviving off of shades under trees, inside caves and fruits that nature could offer until…he encountered the magical deer.”

Sirius gaze shifts towards me but I refuse to meet his eyes and continue looking at the deer shining magnificently in the light, “It was the deer of life, every villager wanted to hunt it for it had the power to grant any wish one could desire. The man was ecstatic and aimed his weapon made out of wood and sharp stone but he couldn’t. Because it was too beautiful to be killed. So he just stared at the beautiful being from a distance not being able to hurt it and watched as it disappeared before his eyes and deep into the woods.”

I look back at Sirius with a smile to find that his smirk has wiped off and his eyes are now a pool of gold, “What I want to say is that beautiful things may be vulnerable but they have the power to make home inside of people’s soul and melt their frozen heart.”

He stays silent possibly tracing my features with his eyes that lacked any emotion as of current but in opposition, my smile only grew bigger as I recall his words, “See, like what you said earlier, you wanted keep that flower but you were afraid it would break if something went wrong. Didn’t that flower despite being fragile and weak change your heart? You were uninterested before but it made you want to protect it, care for it.”

A stunned expression I had never seen before appears on Sirius’ face, his eyes change into the color of the clear sky that loomed over this pretty little shop right now. He was at loss of words before scoffing and looking away, “I….I only said that because cleaning the broken shards of glasses would be too much work.”

I chuckle to myself and make my way to exit the store light on my feet, “Sure whatever makes you sleep at night~”

But not before pausing and looking back him, “I just want you to remember that strength does not only come from physical capabilities. Things that may be physically weak may have the ability to create the strongest impact on people, who knows?”

Then, I walk out of the store, my expression a complete contrast as to when I had entered.

What the girl didn’t know was that the man who had agreed to accompany her today stayed rooted on his feet and blankly stared at her small back walking away. His expression as void as a night sky without any stars but then a small chuckle broke out from his mouth, “You…”

He followed her outside curious to what their next stop would be at and what surprises she would bring him again. However, his feet halted again when he was about pass by the same glass flower that started this entire exchange of their views. His stare so heavy it almost threatened to break the flower into pieces.

Days later, if someone walked into Sirius' room, they could be able to spot a certain new furniture. A singular display shelf that was not there at the start and inside the expensive shelf was another craft made of delicate glass.

The flower was meticulously placed inside along with real flower petals spread around it. The craft looked like it was cleaned daily and the shelf was placed isolated from all the other things in the room signaling that the flower inside was possibly of a great importance.

Another day when the long dark haired man gently took out the art to wipe it clean like he did every other day, he smiled almost mockingly at his own feeble actions and soft touches.

“Ability to change people’s hearts despite being weak…hah, maybe you were right.”

✧༝┉┉┉┉┉˚❋ ❋ ❋˚┉┉┉┉┉༝✧

I got this idea after remembering how Lee Dam’s strength mainly relies on her mental strength and also bit of summoning power instead of physical fighting ability. ‘Beautiful things can be weak physically but have great power to make homes inside people’s heart and make them soft.’

[safely-in-vhagars-belly]

SandStorm (DarkAemond x Oc/Reader!)

(Cool devider credits!!:) @) dingusfreakhxrrington

🔷Summary: You are Elna/Reader Martell and before you marry you go on a vacation to the land that always held a close space to your heart: The Six Kingdoms. You become the captive of Aemond Targaryen.

WORDCOUNT: 3275

🔷Author's note: This was a request, this is my first time writing any Dornish oc, I tried making her a bit as Oberyn (Curious to the world, bold) but also still her own character. I hope the anon who requested her liked her, I tried making her not a total push-over as in some of my fics.

🔷Warnings: Arranged marriages, Dead, gore, bodies, slight dub-con, no smut, kidnapping, hostage taking, and slight judgement against Dornish characters (One innkeeper thinks shes a thief) oh and eating rat-meat.

Your whole life has been about living in Sunspear, the castle in Dorne. Living a sheltered life, away from the dangers of the six Kingdoms, away from the doom, the dragons and the death that Targaryens inflicted upon their subjects. 

You were a spectator from afar, unbothered with the politics of any kind, both from Dorne and outside.

Until your father, Prince Quoren Martell, planned to marry you off. And that is where your story starts.

—--

Your fingers absently play with the sigil ring of your house, as you pull the cloak a bit further over your dark, dornish locks, covering up as a shiver runs down your spine. 

Your sworn shield, Oryn, walks a few paces behind you, keeping a close eye on both you and the market stalls you pass. 

You run from stall to stall, taking in the wares of the sellers, throwing golden coins at their tables before whisking away necklaces, rings, to you foreign foods and other souvenirs that will hopefully fill the hole left in your soul. A hole caused by the one you loved so dearly, your father.

You never disrespected his wishes, never tried anything too dangerous, but now he is planning to sell you to a Spice lord or someone in Essos, in return for a fleet. According to your mother, it is the fate of any woman to eventually be sold to the highest bidder. You spit on that idea, and on the men.

You put a new gold with orange necklace in your pocket, eagerly looking for your next target when Oryn approaches you. He too, is disguised but certainly still armed with his trusty sword. ‘’My lady, surely you have purchased enough? Most of these necklaces are too overpriced for their value. The gemstones are coloured glass.’’ It is true, any fool would tell you the same. The gold is painted iron, if not copper, and the gemstones are glass and fragile. You have been dressing in the finest silks and jewelry for years by now. You would recognize a fraud if it was in front of you.

Your lips slowly creep into a smile.‘’I quite like the way the glass shimmers, pretending to be a gemstone. I have experience with that.’’ You tell him, with a wink.

You walk to another stand, taking a piece of meat on a stick from a vendor, before paying them. You scrape it loose from the stick with your teeth, and it's the best meat you ever tasted. ‘’Oryn, you have to try this.’’ You tell your shield as he does his best to hide his clear disgust, staring at his feet. 

You put the stick on the table and leave the vendor, looking for your next target.

Oryn stutters, a bit distraught. ‘’That is rat, my lady.’’ 

You pretend to not care about that one bit. 

‘’Really? We have been missing out, then.’’ A cry from above makes both your heads turn, and a gigantic monstrous creature with wings as tall as trees flies over the town, casting a shadow over the vendors, blocking out the sun for a mere moment. 

Your heart stops beating for just one brief moment as you take in the majestic creature, soaring high above the skies, not a care in the world.

A dragon.

Your eyes widen at the sight. Oryn tackles you to the ground, protecting you with his body, from the dangerous dragon. ‘’My lady!’’ The dragon does not even notice you both, nor does its rider. The only ones who do notice you are the confused vendors and civilians. They already were suspicious of your strange golden coins, but now they are even more hostile. You get up from the dirty floors, feeling your scraped knees. Oryn mutters an apology as the dragon makes its way to the castle, without attacking anyone or anything. 

‘’A thousand apologies, my lady. I thought for sure…’’ You curse, certain that most of the glass jars and trinkets you bought are now just useless shards in your bag. You throw the glass shards out of your bag. 

Yet you understand why Oryn took the risk that he took. ‘’I understand. It does seem we made ourselves even more suspicious. My legs are tired, I think it is best we try to find a place to sit and to have a quick drink.’’

—-

Moments later, you are sitting in a strange but cozy room, with stone walls decorated with wood, paintings and tables that are still dirty from previous customers. The owner of the inn paid no attention to you, scowling the entire time as he took in your Dornish features, but accepted your money anyway. He is now polishing the same glass a dozen times over, when keeping a close eye on you and on Oryn. 

Oryn comes back to your shared table with a large plate filled with potatoes, chicken and something that smells familiar. ‘’Rat!’’ You grin from ear to ear, when taking his plate. Oryn watches in disgust as you devour the meat on your plate, before beginning to eat your vegetables as well. Oryn has a plate of his own filled with mostly meat as well, which he devours too.

There is something about King’s Landing that you  enjoy. Perhaps the simplicity of it all. You never felt more at home, so far away from home. The people of King’s Landing are interesting, unique folks with each a story to tell. You would pay a good coin to live here forever.

But your sworn shield has a bit more trouble adjusting himself. ‘’This is the capital. What do you think, Oryn?’’ You ask.

He thinks for a moment.‘’It smells.’’ He grumpily comments.

You roll your eyes, impaling another potato with your fork. ‘’Yes, but aside from that?’’

He sighs, deeply, looking around him in paranoia, failing to see the beauty you see. ‘’I don’t know, my lady. My gut tells me it was a bad idea to come here. My gut is never wrong.’’

‘’You’re just hungry.’’ You tell him with a smirk. You bring your cup of ale to his, cheering. ‘’We should celebrate our last trip together, before I become some lord’s property.’’

Yet Oryn has always been very protective of you. ‘’I still think this is a horrible idea. These people are at war with one another. They spill their own blood for a throne.’’He makes his voice soft.

You did hear about the civil war. There was a vendor at the square who sells silver-haired pillows and dolls to set on fire, pillows who are supposed to resemble ‘’Rhaenyra the cruel’’.

‘’Does that not intrigue you? Come on, where is your sense for adventure?’’ Part of you is joking. Another part is deadly serious.

‘’I lost that sense around the same time you were born.’’ He is jesting you can tell. He grabs your arms. ‘’Stay here. Don’t go with anyone, don’t tell anyone your real name. I need to piss.’’ He lets go of your arms, leaving you in the tavern. 

When you are alone, you can’t shake the fears that quickly take a hold of you. Fears about your future in Essos. Fears of bedding a strange much older man, having his children and never seeing Sunspear or Dorne again. Never playing with your siblings in the watergardens, never running from palace guards or feeling sand under your feet. A single tear rolls down your left cheek, reminding you of a simple truth: You are homesick, and soon you won’t even be welcome there anymore.

Before you briefly sigh, lost in wonder. What you wouldn’t give to be a dragon, flying far away from this place and to nest somewhere warm, close to home, protecting your loved ones. A man turns around, smiling at you. He speaks, exposing his rotten teeth. ‘’Excuse me, Miss. You seem not from here. I was wondering if you liked for me to show you around the city a bit?’’ You force yourself to smile. The man has dark hair and grins. ‘’I can bring you to a dragon. For a price.’’ You raise an eyebrow at him, not sure. You sigh, moving tables and show him your well stuffed wallet. He nods before opening his mouth.

The man takes you with him to the streets of King’s landing, far away from the tavern and the inn you were staying in. You see many dangerous cloaked types of all sorts of work, assassins and brothelworkers alike. The man chuckles at your discomfort. ‘’This way, my lady. I’ll bring you to a dragon.’’ The man tells you, keeping his voice steady when you begin to question if it wasn’t a bad idea to follow a strange man claiming to have a dragon. 

You stand still in front of an abandoned building somewhere close to what seems to be an orphanage. You regret not asking Oryn with you, he must be worried sick.

He gestures to the brown, wooden worn down door.  ‘’The dragon is in there.’’ He tells you.

You toss him a golden coin before nodding to the building. ‘’You go first, then.’’

The man laughs at you, before nodding and entering the building. You follow after, curiously looking around for any dragons. The building is too small to host the big one that flew over, but surely they got a dragon somewhere? You hope so. 

After looking around and the minutes and the rats pass you by, you begin to understand you made a grave mistake by trusting this stranger. Who knows what he wants from you? There are no dragons, for certain.

You run back to the door, but the man is faster. He grabs you by your arm, dragging you with him when you scream for help.

The man becomes annoyed with you, even hitting you to silence you across your face. ‘’Shut it, Dornish slut.’’ He warns you.

Chains are brought out and put around your hands, chaining you as some sort of animal. A door opens and a person makes themselves known by simply speaking. ‘’Gentle with her.’’ He speaks firm and clear, commanding the man. You chuckle in your head. Of course, this man was a ratcatcher. And you were his rat.

You briefly struggle in the chains as you are brought to the man, who remains where he is, not moving a inch as you are dragged over the moldy wood.‘’Who are you?’’ You demand, your voice unbowed, unbent, and unbroken.

He ignores you. He wears what seems to be castle forged armor, the pretty kind with golden details. But from where you stand you can’t see any of it. ‘’Put her on her knees.’’ He tells his pet.

The peasant obeys, forcing you to kneel before the man. You glare, infuriated by his treatment of you. Your scoff in disgust, refusing to beg or to cry for this pathetic man that would chain you up, instead of facing you with courage. The man nods to the peasant, hinting he may go now. The peasant leaves instantly. The man steps a bit closer, yet you can’t still make out his face, only hear his hypnotic voice. ‘’That is much better, now we can speak properly.’’ He says, as if you are long lost friends.

You take insult to that, and spit at his feet. He chuckles, not even slightly offended. ‘’O, Dornish temperament. I like it. I had a horse from Dorne, you know? I never liked the animal.’’ You don’t know why he is telling you of this, or why you are even here.

You grit your teeth. ‘’You would hate animals. Who are you?’’ He kicks against something, and you notice someone else laying face down next to you.

 You see a familiar sword, drenched in blood followed by a familiar head, cut from his body. Fresh tears burn in your eyes as you can’t believe what you are seeing right in front of you. 

‘’Oryn!’’ You cry out, trying to reach him. To your surprise, your attacker does not stop you, only watches as you shake the body of your sworn shield, and your friend. ‘’How is that possible? Oryn, wake up!’’ You beg, in tears as a little girl.

His scars and injuries betray he was severely tortured before, likely until he died. He died, protecting you. ‘’He is as dead as a doornail.’’ The man comments, not giving a fuck.

Whatever grief there is, is turned into rage before you can blink your eyes. ‘’You animal!’’ You vow revenge on him, in that very moment.

He chuckles, pulling the chain so you can’t move an inch. ‘’A-ah, Princess. I would most certainly advise against hurting me.’’ You are thankful for the lack of candles and daylight, because you are certain if he saw your face he would get suspicious. You tell yourself he doesn’t know. But he tortured Oryn. There is a chance he knows who you are.

He steps closer to you and you can finally make out the sharp long face that stares back at you, covered by a single eyepatch. But his hair is what terrifies you even more. Long, silver locks. ‘’You’re a Targaryen.’’ You stutter, as a foolish girl.

He grits his teeth, insulted. ‘’I’m insulted you don’t know who I am.’’ You huff at his boldness and rashness. How are you supposed to know who he is? Their names are as complicated as their lovely messed up family tree.

You raise a brow in rebellion, challenging him. ‘’Should I?’’

He makes a low, scoffing bow.

‘’Prince Aemond Targaryen.’’ You try to remember who that is, but you can’t really recall. He must not be a very famous or important Targaryen.

You blink, unfazed and unimpressed. ‘’Who?’’

Aemond scowls, offended once more and even deeper than the other time. ‘’Never even mind. I’m the brother of King Aegon.’’ You do know of Aegon. He sits on the throne. Well, one half of it. The other half is ruled by his sister, Rhaenyra.

You were interested in the war before but now that you are so close to it, you want to run. The Targaryen has other plans.

‘’You are far from home, little Dornish butterfly.’’ He murmurs, lifting your chin with his fingers. You notice there is blood on his fingers. ‘’Your daddy must miss you so dearly.’’ His voice is full of mockery and condescension. ‘’Little Princess.’’ He adds with a whisper in your ear, sending shivers down your spine when his hot breath runs down as fire on your collarbone. 

You gulp, as it becomes clear he certainly knows who you are. ‘’You have me mistaken for another.’’ You lie, smoothly. You lie dozens of times. "I'm a poor orphan, nothing special about me."

Aemond simply walks back to the walls, before bringing forward a portrait. The portrait was commissioned on your latest nameday, and was done extraordinarily well. As if you looked into a mirror. 

’Do I, Princess Elna of house Martell?’’He asks, pouting slightly, victory written in his good eye and a proud smirk on his lips.

You want to punch that man. You open your mouth, ready to tell him one horrible lie after the other.

But he doesn't let you talk. Not anymore. ‘’You can spare us both the energy: My men informed me the moment you were here when you set foot on shore.’’ they knew. All the time they knew you were here. They were likely waiting for an opportunity and took it.

And now, you are the prisoner of a Targaryen. The thing your ancestors fought so hard to avoid. ‘’What do you want with me?’’ You refuse to whimper or to let fear affect your voice. But your heart almost beats so loud he can hear it.

Prince Aemond Targaryen shrugs, putting the portrait away again. ‘’As luck would have it, I happen to be unmarried. I heard you were very unhappy in your arranged match.’’ He knows a lot about you, that information is very fresh.

You blink, smiling. ‘’Did you torture it out of my friend?’’ That must be it. He tortured your friend and shield and that is how he knows.

He sighs, as if he regrets something before shaking his head. ‘’No. He didn’t slip a word, not even when I had his eyeballs squeezed out. My compliments to whoever hired him. He was a lovely loyal man.’’ 

Your left eye twitches and you try once again to attack him. Aemond simply steps out of your reach, laughing when you try to hurt him with tears of rage and frustration rolling down both your cheeks.  ‘’I will kill you for that.’’ You promise him. You vow it to him in the honor of your house.

Aemond scoffs, as if you are a harmless little kitten he found in a gutter somewhere. ‘’Oh, dear. I don’t think you are in the position to make any threats.’’ You hear a clear warning there. There is a line with him and you better not cross it.

He adds with a soft whisper, brushing your cheeks with his mouth when he finds your ear.

‘’In fact, it looks awfully bleak for you." You have the horrible feeling he might do something unspeakable.

‘’I lack a wife.’’ He speaks, taking your breasts in, and smiling as if picturing himself deep inside of you. Your mind forms incorrect and disturbing images.

You feel as if you are naked. You pretend to feel fine. Unbroken. ‘’I imagine that you do.’’ You sweetly smile.

He ignores your jab. ‘’You lack a husband. It is quite the simple sum.’’ To males it always is. 

The answer leaves your mouth before you can think of the true consequences. ‘’I'd rather die. You want a whore, go buy one.’’

Aemond moves his mouth from your ears to your neck slowly nibbling on it when biting harder, just enough to make you whimper. He grins satisfied with the sounds. ‘’Hm. And witty too. I will have my work cut out for me, when I marry you.’’ You huff, confused as to why you liked what he did with you.

You can't believe you are playing this card but you must. ‘’You can’t, I’m betrothed to some spice lord, remember?’’ 

Aemond Targaryen changes from man to monster in front of you and chuckles, scoffing at your stupidity. ‘’You think I give a fuck about  promises?’’ He is right. The pact might as well not exist to Aegon’s kingdom, if anything they would be happy to thwart to avoid giving Dorne more power.

You look away, at a loss for words at the first time in your life. He grabs you by the throat, roughly before smirking deeply and disturbed. His eyes are empty and you see no humanity or kindness or any human emotions. ‘’You are still very naive, for a girl your age. Don’t worry. I’ll teach you soon enough.’’ You feel an unpleasant warmth spread between your legs as your mind begins to think of double meanings of learning how to be less naive.

But your heart bleeds for Oryn. You know you can't become Aemond’s wife for dozens of reasons. It will be a war. 

‘’What do you even hope to accomplish by marrying me?’’ You ask and you are terrified for the answer. You see the bloodlust and greed in his eye, brought out by your question.

Aemond answers, softly pecking you on your left cheek, causing you to blush deeply. He grins when moving his fingers over your face, caressing you gently. ‘’Why, conquering Dorne, of course.’’ 

[celestialsolitude111]

I've grown familiar to the darkness of my own wickedly.

I navigated through its thickness solemnly with ease. Along little creatures I call company.

It's all I've ever known, so my eyes have adjusted millenia ago.

Treading through, I may stub a toe or bump into my own shadow.

It's like running into an old friend now.

I rested in the ivy leaves and mold this dim world served me. The cold is comforting, I call it home.

Then you presented yourself to me, like a beacon of light. Is the sun's beauty not terrifying ?

If you die you're taking me out with you.

A biblical angel in disguise, I witnessed your eyes eat me alive.

Gleaming rays penetrated my pupils. Right through my skull, and burned a hole through the back of my head.

Never again could I recite what I once said.

Like needling a thread, you bound me to you.

All the beliefs I once owned became a puddle beneath my feet.

I was fully enveloped in your light. Then I witnessed the monsters I called friends.

They stared at me like deer before a car, their pupils gleaming back at me like a flare guns spark.

Stout strangers surrounded me like fallen comet fragments, burning alive in the atmosphere.

"Were you my friends, all along ?"

They chanted, "the light will show you, but it burns. They have found you, it will hurt."

Ubruptly veering away from me, in heaps and herds. Walking backwards, time steered reverse.

I don't know what I heard, but I think you said my name.

"Mantra. Shall I say it again ?"

Their numinous voice reminds.

The thing is, I feel less alone in the void of black, I float in the uncertainty of what lurks within.

A man with a mask, or a pair of twins ?

Some have eyes in the palms of their hands.

My imagination led me to believe, that the grim figures once surrounding me, weren't grown from thaumaturgy trees.

But I thought I was hearing bees ?

"A finest nectar originates at the womb."

Again, you answer my thoughts. Is my tongue cut off, by you ?

You tower over my celibate frame, behind my back, why won't you show me your face ?

A droplet welcomed my shoulder like a kiss, but it was not tender, it sent me into a violent flinch.

For it did not nourish me like the sky gifts the flowers. How Icarus loved the Sun, no.

How the Sun loved Icarus.

It burned my skin until I cowered, getting trampled by poison of relentless showers.

They say don't look directly at the sun, but I face your way, painted by acid rain.

The forecast was not one delivered by the clouds. I was met with a crooked scowel, I found you, who stood proud.

You drooled over me, your mouths way of lying ?

My vocal cords knotted, at the words I was prying. A coherent thought coursed into crying.

"Why didn't I love you, when you were dying ?"

They interrupt.

Their chuckle cracked the air through my ears like a chain whip. A vacant space between us, no longer exists.

"I am the light that unbinds the frayed. You were merely a thread of my arrays."

I fell to my knees, where I wept pleas. The words fell in avalanches, out of my teeth. To the ashes below my feet.

No sympathy, I was offered. By the entity, who stood taller.

I perked up through glossy eyes, a jagged hand extended, to my suprise. What resembled a petrified tree branch, as if struck by God's own demand.

"What you once bared, is now eternally mine. Drink this, My dear. For it's only red whine."

They knew I didn't believe them, every thought I had unspoken. As if they peeled my face, clawing wide open.

Like a wilted old book, skipping through every page of my psych. Every deepest darkest secret, was brought into light.

"Did I stutter, My darling ? The love that belonged to you was ephemeral, what I long from you will live sempiternal."

Their patience fell short for what they desired. They sucked the air right out of my lungs, till I fell tired. Sealing away my very own fate, with a corrupted kiss. A lingering taste of decay.

I wanted to cry out your name, when I realized I've never seen your whole face.

"I am only what you portray, call me your very own self portrait."

Collapsing on myself like a damped house of cards.

"For the innocence you possessed, you may now disregard."

Is this line of events becoming of my doom ?

You don't know me, though you've built my tomb.

You skipped away, with a manic flair. Blinking your eyes three times, and twirling your hair.

"I never gazed upon something so divine. However never cared, about your beauty. I craved it being mine."

I listened for the echo trailing behind your voice.

It told me there was no walls accenting my void.

Your shine dimmed to blackess, did God turn off his bedside lamp, then ?

"Yes." I waited, but the words never sent. All my little creatures, running rampant. My nostrils find their familiar scent.

Discovering I stand on an island, with nothing but the backs of my eyelids.

My eyes have adjusted to the light you once engulfed me in.

What I view is nothing, searching, squinting. Space with no stars, no start, no end.

My only friends, were the ones in my head.

Somehow you scared away, even them.

-𝑚𝑎𝑟𝑔𝑎𝑟𝑒𝑡 𝑖𝑣𝑒𝑟𝑠

[lamentingocean]

>Sword Demon X Martial Art Prodigy Reader<

Warning: a bit of NSFW, violence, a bring up of sky and yeri, vent, fighting, and bit of an emotional impact, making out, philosophy shit and wisdom.

(Earn my rotmd degree into being the most diabolical simp, so I'm gonna add a bit of mongrang pervertness mueheh, but this is the final vote. BTW let me know what you guys want next◇)

____________________________________________

The sword demon,the man known to clean his blade to murdering multiple men that choose to be an enemy to him, his glare is indefinite and silently cunning to those that oppose and double cross his existence just by being a powerful martial arts capable of slicing the heads of even the martial arts prodigies. stunning but cold as an Arctic breeze. his sword is furthermore patternized as an art painting. the paint has its finest darkest colors to make a masterpiece enough to shoke even the professional painters of anicent china. and it's made into a canvas not only to be a haven full of strong emotional impact upon the demon's life but as a man with a deep dark pool of black water that is protracted as his soul. That painting is put into a room with nothing but a black ocean wall art just to take its theme into action into what he's really like.

cunningly mysterious, awfully powerful to sent warning signs to even the mad demon's flesh and bones, and strong enough to train a pervert like mongrang to be a highly beautiful man with a reputation of giving away peices of his charisma to women but also a formidable foe. he is such a man that even a person with a superhuman analytical ability can't get through. He's deep enough to find no meaning in life and just take time to bring it, meaning just to train and fight for what is right. His vibrant sorrows is what gets him a balance to earn his name. the sword demon.

a dangerous martial artist and part of the group of the four demons of this murim world.

Pervert Demon

Mad Demon

Sword Demon

And Poison Demon

you were born into a province. rich and wealthy into a heritage that will soon expand and continue under your own hands, eating with a gold fork and a gold spoon along with flakes of gold on your food to lather your own human system into the fabric of gold with your clothes even laced in gold. But it's a problem in this family. they are verbally abusive to their future successors and tried their worst in giving out that abuse to their own children as mental damage influence. they trained you before you can even stand on your own two feet as an infant. teaching you techniques and having to make you redo them over and over until it's perfected to their own satisfaction. It was torture, but practice makes perfect for the praise.

you receive praise, wealth, kindness, and a first time your parents could ever show love to their own children to cut off their own abusive attitude. but your mental state was bleeding from their kindness. but it was fake. The blade of their abuse slit your soul over and over until you are on the verge of tears every time you try to go out in public to be praising for your incredible swordsmanship, weapon proficiency, and reflexes. It sickened you to the core to be this strong but so weak to stand against people who choose to be parents just for the praise.

It's like reaching the aspect of dispair without showing a single emotion. they are the embodiment of dispair even though they are your parents. doesn't feeling like this break you into pieces and make you cry out in pain? No. your mental state is like armor. the more broken it is. the more it can block a hit so profound. it hurts, doesn't it? keeping it in hurts. keeping every strong emotion in your soul just to make people happy hurts.

It fucking hurts to be like this. to suffer under the pressure of your own family, be a controllable puppet to your parents, and fortunately kept into a lifestyle when vulgar words are supposedly normal. no. As a martial art prodigy that can take down 5 skilled fighters in one match is going to be strong for everyone. it's like keeping a bottle of water, and it's unopened just to grab every molecule of mineral and then those minerals are your true emotion. and then by each mineral collected. It becomes filled.

you looked at the legend of the sword demon, trying to know who he was. But you definitely knew who he was when you met him as a 10 year old. only to master the plum blossom technique to impress your parents until you saw him in the side of your eye. right in the wilderness when it's a big space in the wood to go all out into mastering that extravagantly gorgeous technique. glad they made a book about his greatness just enough that you can know him like the back of your hand. someone busted in and dropped a plate full of asian pastries.

It was the butler. and your hand reached a small piece of neatly carved paper. it's written in a female cursive. "Hello, Y/N! This is sky, and I wrote this to inform you that your parents issued an order to go travel across china and find more martial artists able to train you in your next path in life. so I recommend that you pack your bags and head out as soon as possible♡ your mother is a impatient women so she would expect your presence to be gone from here by the time she comes back from her association with the light faction Good luck and have fun with your travels♡

-SkyTsui" your hand flicked the note into the ground. suddenly angry at the news of traveling the world of anicent china just because your parents don't want to train you anymore. what a bunch of wealthy/ lazy fuck ups. but you did as you said as the controlled puppet that you are and packed up a lot of your stuff. even your sword at the bottom of your bed just in case to use for emergencies of factions, clans, or even mercenaries trying to raid the rich from their power and then kill them when the time is right. The weapon's name is called " Yuejue shu" Records of the Precious Swords. sturdy and sharp enough to break a kitchen knife. This can be used for self-defense, even if there are many rarities in the weapons in this world. Pack it up too.

And then boom, you are ready to go travel. Dropping down to the ceiling to mark your departure to leave this place for a while. it's a place that screams this: no matter if you're an emotional person who loves to express themselves in any way or a silent person that's going to keep it to themselves. it's a land full of judgemental/evil human beings that are always going to judge you for who you are. it's humanity. It's reality. people are continually miserable in trying to hurt other people to liven up their own insecurities. Even if you are a friend or you're being used, then you can't escape that. I find no meaning to life other than having a purpose to build within yourself so you can make meaning. we are evil. and if God is all powerful, then why didn't he eradicate the evil upon earth faster than he should. it's because he loves us. as evil. he loves us so much that even a mark upon humanity is going to drive us to the brink of dispair even when he isn't there to help us fix this fucked up world.

It's like letting your own creation die off and decay because of the aspect of humanity fucking up your own creation down into nothing but a capitalistic, dystopian, reality-faking, money hungry, government and supreme court controlled world. you reached down at your sword after that rush of thoughts for the future as in this is the world of anicent china. your wind gushed behind you as you flew like a bird because of your footwork. looking at all the ancient palaces. soon to be abandoned in the next 700 years.

(bro I wasn't able to finish this in time since I'm so damn busy with my online books outside of Tumblr, high school graduate, and college applications/ scholarships, so i can't finish this in time. It might be a part 2 but not right now.)

[deliverred]

✧ craxis: the unease of knowing how quickly your circumstances could change on you.

Becoming used to things invited complacency, and complacency led to lazy mistakes.

Lukas had gotten used to fighting against similarly armed opponents. Soldiers with spears, pirates with axes -- physical threats that he could turn away with his own lance, shirk off with his shield and armor. Even archers, who thought they were safe at a distance, could not bring him down with their arrows before he marched his way up to end them.

Where his armor offered him superior defenses against most of their foes, it didn't give him the benefit of quick movement. He was best utilized at chokepoints, to wear down enemies for the others to sweep in, or to protect their forces from any reinforcements seeking to flank them. He was a sturdy shield, and Lukas held no qualms with operating as such.

His error was not expecting their enemy to make use of witches in this battle.

They were a little understood factor of fighting against Rigel, but there was one thing Lukas recognized about them: the strange, distorted noise that heralded one warping nearby. It was a surprisingly subtle sound, if he were to think about it outside the scope of life and death, but there was something about it that just sounded wrong to the ears.

Foolish, to think that fighting for one's life was something to get used to, to wear like a cloak and not think beyond it.

Lukas takes note of where the main force is, how far away, turns away towards where he'd heard the witch warp in. To an outsider, perhaps it would look like a mismatched fight in his favor; a man in heavy armor against a young woman with no such armaments. Just a mask and glowing pits for eyes. He wonders, briefly, if the mask is required; would their emotions still show on their face despite being a soulless husk?

Does this poor woman see a mask on him, made of flesh that smiles but eyes dark pits all the same?

She moves, and Lukas brings up his shield.

Flames explode around his defenses like a wave crashing into a seaside cliff. And, just as water finds its way into all the cracks and crevices of sturdy rock, magic seeps passed his armor as if it were were nothing more than a slight delay. Armor that could turn away even Rigel's finest weapons did little to guard him against such tortured magics.

Heat builds up quickly, unbearable in its intensity, but Lukas does not feel the burn of it and ducks his head behind his shield as he charges toward his foe.

But he does not connect.

She is there and gone again, wisps of smoke between his fingers -- and then that intense heat erupts across his back again.

He staggers to a knee, gasps against the heat; feels the lick of flames catching on padding and clothing beneath armor, skin beneath that. Smoke and char and heat cling to his throat. He forces himself to breathe, shield digging into the ground with a crack of superheated metal as he leverages it to get himself back onto his feet. Twists to swing out with his lance -- it doesn't hurt, but it feels wrong and tight -- and it catches in the witches side with a warbled cry.

But they both stubbornly cling to their thread of life, and Lukas knows that he will not strike her down before her fire consumes him. He refuses to fall here, to this, even if he has to prop himself up by his lance to accomplish it.

His willpower would make it happen, but his body could not.

His vision was spotty, his legs were buckling, his breath rattled in his chest. Lukas stared down those glowing eyes all the same. Her mouth opened but if she made a sound, he did not hear it; fire bloomed in her open palms. The world warped like heat distortion, and he slipped just as the witch's head jerked forward -- an arrow buried deep before disappearing along with the body, a writhing, screaming thing before it blipped out of existence.

Someone was patting him down desperately, trying to put out the fire that was eating at clothes and skin. Lukas swallowed, dry and ineffective, coughed. Eventually gave up on his voice and physically waved the other away from touching his armor -- it would hurt them just the same as him, it was too late for him but he could at least keep them from suffering injury on his account.

A familiar voice he couldn't quite place in the moment asked what happened, shouted back towards the direction of the main group for a healer.

Lukas forced his eyes open, tried to curl his mouth into a smile.

"I grew complacent..."

[thecatsandthecrone]

Wheel of the year: Mabon.

Photo by freestocks on Unsplash   ☽🔮☾🕯🃏🌕🕸✨🍃🍄🧿🌙✩ 🪄📚

Mabon is the second of the three harvest festivals observed in witchcraft, with the first being Lammas and the third being Samhain.Mabon is commonly celebrated from the 21st to the 23rd of September in the northern hemisphere, from the 21st to the 23rd of Mrch in the southern one.

Mabon comes right after Lammas and right before Samhain. As the second harvest festival, it celebrates wealth, prosperity and abundance.This festival also marks the end of summer and the beginning of autumn, making it a time of preparation for the colder months.This means it is also seen as a time of shifting, changes and renewal.

While this festivity is tied to numerous harvest festivals all over Europe (Oktoberfest in Germany, Dionysus/Bacchus festival in ancient Rome and Greece, Harvest Home in tthe United Kingdom...) and all over the world (Mid-Autumn festival in many countries in Asia, Thanksgiving in the United States) but unlike many other festivals, it has no ties to Celtic folklore at all. That is why wiccan pagans took a lot longer to incorporate this festivity into their lore, and it wasn't observed until the 70s. Because of this, the name of the festival has no Celtic ties either. Actually it comes from the name of a Welsh god that was the son of the Earth Mother Goddess. This deity has close ties to the harvest and its prosperity, so any other deities that do so too are at honour during this festivity: Ceres, Bacchus or Dionysius, Persephone, Pomona...but, as it celebrates the switch from summer to autumn, gods tied to the dark, darkness and winter are also remembered here (Pluto, Hades...) Just like Lammas, this festival celebrates any imagery related to field and harvests, abundance and prosperity. The cornucopia is very present in this festival, usually filled with the first fruits of the havest: wheat, corn, grapes, apples, etc. Feminine or masculine imagery is also relevant (corn dollies, effigies), but so are the fields, water, and wheat as well. There are lots of traditions linked to this festivals, but the most important ones are harvesting, foraging and feasting! Thanking your deities or your neighbours is also important here: we must not forget that our abundance rarely comes from our effort alone, but from those that help us and make allowances for us giving us the opportunity of working hard at our goals.

What rituals you might be able to look forward to depend a lot on where you live, and if you are out of the broom closet. In Germany, you might celebrate Oktoberfest, Thanksgiving in the United States and Harvest Home in the United Kingdom.No matter if you are a solitary practitioner or in a coven, in the broom closet or out of it here are some ways to enjoy yourself. -Feast: It wouldn't be a harvest festival without a feast. Enjoy yourself and partake in the abundance and prosperity of the harvest. Berries, wheat, corn and beer are good options. Bonus points if you can feast on what you foraged (like nuts)! -Decorate: Be it your house or your local festivities, decoration is important to create that festive vibe. Cornucopias, grapes, picnic baskets, apples, nuts, acorns... Anything that brings images of autumn. -Honour abundance: Mabon is no time to spare in preparations. Go all out with it, put together and display abundance. Bring out your best cutlery, dress in your finest garb, and eat that lovely foie gras you have been saving for a special occasion. -Share: Few things show prosperity, abundance and wealth as passing it around and sharing it. Since Mabon celebrates prosperity and abundance, it is a good time to share the fruits of your labour with others (wiccans might remember the law of three here!).

-Honour your deities: Deities love to be honoured and remembered. Prayers and offerings are two excellent ways to show your give back to them, just as they bestowed blessings upon you. -Decorate your altar: Like with any other festival, seasonally decorating your altar is a lovely option. Corns, pinecones and decorations in gold, yellow, red and orange are the best options. Colours associated with Mabon: Red, orange, earth and muted tones Crystals associated with Mabon: Citrine, sapphire, lapis lazuli Food associated with Mabon: Apples, pumpkins, grapes, wheat, corn, berries, nuts

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