#deity-sized outsider...............

[uncontrol-freak]

>conversation<

[quarterlifekitty]

Cw: cum eating lol

Goddess!Reader as a forgotten deity— a small temple hidden in a cave, completely overgrown with vines and moss. The marble of the flooring is cracked and split with the dripping water and the roots of the overgrowth. There is a statue of you— life sized, not grand or impressive. The skylight of the cave bathes it in sun and moonlight as the days go by.

Warrior!König who finds your little shrine and is enchanted. He has always felt like an outsider— that he has never belonged, and never looked at with familiarity. Maybe it’s his loneliness getting to him, but he feels warmth in the gaze of the statue. You’re a beautiful figure. Despite the state of the place, he feels at home. He doesn’t have much— but he clears some vines and dust off of the offering altar and leaves a fig and a handful of oats.

In his next battle, he finds some uncanny things happening around him. He’ll be dueling an enemy, when a stray beam of light will move in just the right way to blind him for a moment, allowing König to land the killing blow. He’s about to be struck from behind with his assailant’s sword catches in the scabbard for just a moment— long enough for König to turn and fend him off. Could this be his offering at work?

He comes back. This time with an orange, and a gold piece. He gives himself a few moments to admire your form— your breasts perfect, your smile gentle and content. He uses his sword to clear a bit more debris— enough to leave you more clearly visible.

He continues to excel. Not through any supernatural strength, but due to these small strokes of luck finding him at the perfect moment. His sword striking at just the right angle to land in the chip of his enemy’s weapon, cracking it in the fault and rendering it useless. One of his arrows manages to pierce through one target and into another.

He becomes your single worshipper— and the most devoted. He brings fruits, coin, fresh cloth, milk…. And his visits become longer. He lets his hands linger when he touches the cool marble of your statue. He’s taken in a moment of weakness— infatuated with the one figure that seems to care for him— and he touches himself to your image, spilling his seed across your altar— against the red grapes he’d brought for you.

König falls asleep looking at your form. There is no plaque nor writing in your temple— he doesn’t even know your name. When he wakes, the pedestal holding your statue is empty, but he feels a warmth curled into his side, looking down to see you finishing the last of a stem of grapes.

[froggibus]

Sex Rocks! - AMAB! Venture

Pairing: AMAB! Sloan Cameron x fem! Reader (reader uses fem pronouns + has a pussy)

Genre: smut/NSFW

Word Count: 4.6k

Summary: Sloan is in for much more than they bargained for when they find a statue with magical properties—and you might be the only one who can help them out

CW: porn with plot, AMAB! Venture, sex pollen (but it’s a magical sex statue), dubcon, masturbation, showering, dirty thoughts (abt reader), slight voyeurism, blowjob, hair pulling, face fucking, cum swallowing, cock riding, mating press, multiple orgasms, protected AND unprotected sex, doggy style, multiple rounds, overstim, lots of cum, (think that's everything) use of the word shaft (im so sorry i hate this word but there’s only so many synonyms for dick)

yes the title is a pun ^.^ i meant to post this way earlier in the day but i got distracted and didn't end up finishing til tonight and it came out WAY LONGER than i thought. this is fr the longest smut ive ever written. anyway venture whores hope you all enjoy <3

It must’ve been Sloan’s lucky day. After barely an hour of searching, the glittering artifact they’d been looking for seemed to jump right out. Though the dusty gold colour blended in with the shimmering sand of the cavern, the three pink gems of the small statuette seemed to call to them. 

The figure was cold to the touch and buttery, barely bigger than the size of their hand. It was shaped like a beautiful curvy woman, with full breasts accentuated with the pink stones and a thick tummy—the likeness of some old, forgotten deity that Sloan could never remember the name of. 

They took out a soft piece of cut cloth and wrapped the statue before tucking it in their pack and beginning the short trek to the surface. Sloan buzzed the whole way up, that warm tingling washing over them. The kind they always felt when they found a new artifact, or when you laughed at one of their dumb jokes. 

As the surface came into view, the golden sunshine just beginning to dip below the horizon, the warmth grew stronger. It had been a hot day, and it seemed that though the sun was setting, the heat had not yet begun to dissipate. They took a long pause, letting themself rest on the rocks outside of the cave.

Wiping the sweat away from their forehead, they took a big drink from the canteen of water they’d brought along with them. It was a short trek, they weren’t usually this sweaty and parched from something so basic—but with the warmth of the day at its peak, they shrugged it off.

The car they’d taken was only just down the trail, maybe ten minutes away. With one last sip of their cold water, they tucked it into their pack and started the walk back. The sky was turning pink as they set off, but slowly turned to purple and then the rich black of night.

Despite the day’s end, the heat only grew more unbearable with the walk. Their thighs cramped as they made their way down the trail, their heart beginning to race. Whatever, they tried to ignore it and power through to the car.

Sweat coated Sloan’s forehead and chest by the time they made it to their vehicle. Their hair was slicked to the back of their neck, and the t-shirt they’d been wearing was rendered near see-thru. 

“Jeez,” they sighed, tugging off their t-shirt.

They tossed the sweaty fabric into their backseat along with their pack before sliding in the front seat to drive. They kept the AC on full blast the whole trip back home, though it did little to stop the boiling in their blood. 

Sloan was just pulling off the highway when a gasp forced its way out at the sudden tight feeling in their pants. They risked a glance down to their hard cock now straining against the thick fabric of their carharts. They shook it off, turning onto their street and trying to ignore the feeling of the bulge in their pants only growing with each minute.

It was almost painfully hard by the time they made it home. Sloan almost forgot their pack in the back of the car in their race to get inside and free their aching cock from the fabric that confined it. 

A sigh ghosted their lips when their cock sprung free from their boxers and they wrapped their sweaty palm around it. Their core was near sweltering, their cock throbbing in need. 

With a glance at the door to make sure it was locked behind them, Sloan spat in their hand and started to spread it across their aching cock. A shiver crawled its way up their spine, acting as a brief reprieve from the heat that threatened to consume them. They clamped a hand over their mouth and began to slide their hand up their length.

With barely a touch, they were already so sensitive. Pre cum dripped down the tip, pooling across their fingertips and mixing with the saliva already spread over their skin. They squeezed harder, dragging their hand up and down faster. Their muffled moans vibrated against the clammy skin of their palm, their eyes falling shut as their hand fell into a rhythm.

Thoughts of you filled their head. Thoughts of your smile, of your warm skin, of pinning you to the bed and using you however they pleased. Sloan gasped, opening their eyes as they came into their palm.

Fuck. Cum rolled across their fingers, down their still hard cock and collected into the hair at the base of their pubic bone. They smeared the remainder of the cum on their thighs, shaking off the aftershocks of their orgasm and deciding a cold shower would solve both the mess they made, and the throb between their legs.

With their clean hand, they dragged their backpack with them all the way to their bedroom, tossing it in the corner before grabbing a towel and heading into the bathroom. They didn’t wait for the water to warm before stripping and stepping beneath the brisk stream.

The cool water settled the burning beneath their skin—but only just barely. Much to Sloan’s dismay, it also did nothing to soothe the ache between their legs. It was almost embarrassing, having an unrelenting boner for no reason like they were in school again.

They sighed, squeezing some coconut scented body wash into their hand and slicking across their cock. They didn’t bother to change the water back to warm, instead opting to let the frigid stream drip down their back. The nice smelling soap felt much, much better than their own spit—but they could imagine a few things that would feel even better.

Like your pretty lips wrapped around their tip, those kind eyes of yours pleading at them to cum in your mouth and—Sloan moaned, fingers clenching around their hard length. Just the thought of you touching them, or them touching you, was enough to have Sloan gasping and furiously jerking their cock.

Drops of soap flew away from their palm with every stroke, splattering the tile of the shower in front of them. God, wouldn’t they love to do that to you. What they wouldn’t give to do that to you. To have you lay down in front of them, completely at their mercy while they fucked you relentlessly and left you covered in their cum.

Their cock twitched, and then they were cumming. Wave after wave of hot cum burst out, coating the tile in front of them before being washed away by the water. Hard, shaking breaths wracked their chest as their senses returned to them and they could once again feel the cool water against their tanned skin. 

As they looked at the cum mixing with the water down the drain, all they could think was ‘what a waste.’

It only took ten minutes after their shower for the tingling in their cock to become unbearable again. The heat had returned almost immediately—and with a vengeance—but they’d managed to ignore the tenderness between their legs for only ten minutes.

Sloan was glad they didn’t bother putting their clothes back on as they settled into their bed and grasped their shaft once more. Cumming once or twice a day was normal for them, but this was something else entirely. Something had to be wrong.

Sloan pushed away their fears and started once again stroking their dick, leftover water and precum acting as a lubricant for their hand to easily slide around. They closed their eyes, and let themself think of you once more. 

How their cum would look running down your thighs, or splattered on your back. How nice your hands would feel gripping their cock, how you’d just beg them to fuck you.

Sweat dripped down their chest, wetting their tummy and the dark hair at the base of their cock. How long had they been jerking off this time? They risked a teary eyed glance at the screen of their phone—had it really been almost twenty minutes since they laid down in bed?

Twenty minutes and they were no closer to coming, but their dick was growing uncomfortably hard. A sigh passed through their lips. Their hand wasn’t enough, they needed something more, something hotter. 

Their mind went to you, pleasure hazed thoughts wondering if they called you, would you come? Would you help them? Before they could think it through, their fingers were dancing across the screen. Just the sight of the tiny contact picture of you at the top of their screen had them squeezing tighter, thick drips of pre cum rolling down their tip.

Sloan lets themself fall back into bed, their mind dancing away to thoughts of you sinking down on their cock. They roll their head to the side, their eyes catching sight of the bag they’d carelessly tossed in the corner just before their shower. 

Could the statue have done this? There were myths surrounding it, sure, but this? The thought was preposterous a week ago. Now though, with their insatiable lust, the thought doesn’t seem so crazy to Sloan.

Shit. They shouldn’t drag you into this. If it really is the statue, they don’t want to expose you to this. They reach for their phone to ask you not to come, to send you away, but just as their palm reaches the cold metal, the front door clicks open.

“Sloan?” You call, peaking your head in the front door. As soon as you’d gotten their message, you’d left your house. You’re talking more to yourself than them at this point, tiptoeing through the dark of their home. “I used the spare key you gave me to get in…are you here?”

Sloan bit their lip at the sound of your voice, risking a glance to the bag that contained the statue. Maybe inviting you here wasn’t such a bad idea after all. 

“In here!” they call. Their voice is raspy, dripping with the need radiating from their core.

You follow the sound of their voice to the closed door of their bedroom, warm light leaking out from the cracks. It’s Sloan, and they don’t sound like they’re in danger, but something about their voice…

You push open the door. It takes two seconds for you to scan the room, two seconds for your eyes to fall on Sloan—sweaty, writhing and desperately jerking their cock in bed—and two seconds for you to turn away, covering your eyes.

“Shit,” you gasp. “I–I didn’t mean to walk in on you.”

But it’s strange. They called you here to help them, they knew you were going to come into their room—was this what they needed your help with? You couldn’t help but clench your legs at the thought, a heat rushing to your core.

Sloan’s voice cut through the darkness of your hand. “I-it’s okay,” they say. “You can look.”

You slowly peel your hand away from your eyes. Though they covered themself with a blanket, you could still see the glistening skin of their chest, and the up-down motion of their hand beneath the fabric. 

Sloan knows it’s shameless of them to keep stroking their cock while talking to you, while you’re right there watching—but they can’t stop. Now that you’re here in front of them, the pressure’s increased tenfold.

You squint. “What’s going on?”

“I found that statue.” They keep jerking off.

“And?”

“The rumors about it were true.”

“Fuck,” you curse. 

When they’d been telling you about the myths behind the statue, you’d both laughed it off, stealing wanton glances at each other as you did. They’d assured you it wasn’t possible, that there was no scientific reason a statue would bear unto its users an insatiable appetite for sex.

Seeing them now, though, all sweaty and desperate, has you thinking they were wrong. 

“Sloan,” you say calmly, stepping in the room and gently shutting the door behind you, “what can I do to help?”

They bite your lip, and it’s just now that you notice their eyes are almost completely black in lust. A shiver runs up your spine. 

They pull back the blanket. “Touch me,” they swallow. “Please.”

You glance at their thick, throbbing cock dripping in precum. It’s everything you’ve ever wanted, wrapped up in the worst possible way. It wouldn’t be right—they’re clearly not thinking straight. 

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

Sloan’s not sure whether it’s the statue, or their frustration, or some terrible combination of the two that prompts them to say, “oh don’t tell me you haven’t been wanting me to fuck you for months.”

Their brazenness sends another wave of heat to your core, your underwear suddenly feeling wetter than usual. “Sloan,” you say carefully.

“If you’re worried about consent,” they rasp. “I want it. All the time. For months, too. I think about it nonstop.”

Their words ease your nerves, and you find yourself approaching their bedside. Your eyes stayed glued to their cock and the hand furiously stroking it. “What do you think about?”

They watch you, dedicating each pump of their length to you. “I think about you while I fuck myself. I think about—about fucking you, and having you bounce on my cock and—god.”

You sink down on the bed next to them, wrapping your hand around the one rubbing their dick. “Let me.”

They slide their hand away, letting you take over. Already, your hand feels a million times better than theirs ever did, the ache in their core finally beginning to relent. They lay their head back, watching your hand glide across their sticky skin.

They suck in a breath. “Fuck,” they look at you through their lashes. “Use your mouth.”

You’re taken aback by their command. Their cock looks so inviting, dripping wet and throbbing in your palm. It’s bigger than anything you’ve ever had which only makes you want it more.

You look them in the eyes while you lick a bead of precum away from the tip. Sloan shivers, wrapping a hand in your hair and pulling you down. You gasp as you take their cock into your mouth, wrapping your lips around it. It’s salty, a mix of sweat and precum, with a strange undertone of coconut—but it’s just how you imagined it.

Your jaw strains to take them into your mouth, their tip hitting the back of your throat after only a few seconds. You gag slightly, but Sloan only pushes your hand down further, groaning at the warmth of your mouth. This was exactly what they needed.

As soon as you start to see black spots, they pull you off. A strand of drool connects your lips to their length, dripping and coating your chin. They hum at the sight of you, so filthy already.

“Do you like how it tastes?”

You’re so flustered, so bewildered by the situation that you can only nod, clenching the base of their cock. You put your lips back on their tip and eagerly slide down for more. Their calloused fingers still tug at your hair, using the strands like reins to push and pull you how they see fit.

Sloan watches you intently the whole time, admiring the spit that coats your mouth and the way your throat bulges when they pull you a certain way. They’ve dreamt about fucking you for months now, but none of their wildest dreams could ever compare to this.

Despite the way your eyes water, Sloan pulls you down further. You look so fucking cute choking on their thick cock—they can’t help it. When you finally slap a hand against their thigh, they let go of your head and watch you gasp for air.

“Get on your knees,” they command.

You can only nod, not trusting your voice with the way your throat burns. The dominance in them only makes you wetter, a noticeable throbbing rushing through your clit. You’re all too eager to settle on your knees at their bedside.

They cup your chin, swiping their thumb across your lips to smear your drool and their pre across them. “So cute,” they murmur.

You lean back in to take their cock once more, but they tsk at you. Just as you tilt your head in confusion, you watch as Sloan grips their cock and rubs the messy, wet tip across your mouth. They smear it all across your face, making a mess all over your cheeks and nose.

A whine slips from your lips before you can stop it, but Sloan only laughs at it and finally lets their cock slap against your mouth. You open wide and take them once more, rolling your tongue over their length.

“So eager,” they tease, their fingers resuming their position in your hair, “if I’d known you’d be such a slut for me, I would’ve fucked you months ago.”

Sloan watches the shame glimmer in your eyes, followed by pure pleasure, and doesn’t miss the way you rock your hips against the floor. 

It only takes a few minutes of you on your knees before they’re coming, pushing your head down so you have no choice but to swallow their cum. Your eyes shoot wide as the hot cum spills in your mouth, pulling back from their cock and opening your mouth so they can see it.

“Good girl,” they purr. “Now swallow.”

You nod and obey without a second thought, licking their cock a few more times after to clean up the excess. “Sloan,” you say quietly, your voice raspy from the way they just fucked your throat.

“Hm?”

“Do you have condoms?”

They tap the nightstand that you’re sitting next to. “You wanna fuck me?”

You pass them the condom, eagerly waiting as they lay back in bed and roll it over their cock. Though they’re slow to put it on, you don’t miss the way their hands shake in anticipation.

Sloan watches you the whole time as you strip, discarding your clothes as quickly as you can. You climb onto the bed and straddle their waist, a knee on either side of their hips. Their hands clench your waist tightly, fingertips digging in hard enough to bruise. 

Usually Sloan would be happy to let you adjust, but with the warmth of your pussy right there, they can’t wait any longer. Using your hips as leverage, they thrust up into you, the tip of their cock bottoming out against your cervix.

You cry out, burying your head against their sticky chest. “Sloan,” you whine.

“Sorry,” they pant, but continue thrusting into you.

You relax into them, slamming your hips into theirs to meet their rhythm. It’s painful at first, both the stretch of their cock and how deep it reaches—but it’s amazing, too.

Sloan barely thinks as they pound in and out of you, using your own body weight as leverage to get their cock deeper and deeper with each thrust. Your whines are like music to their ears, complemented by the rhythm of matching groans they loose every time their cock brushes your cervix.

You cum so hard you swear you go blind for a second. Everything is hot, your vision goes white, and all you can focus on is the way your cunt is gushing around their cock, juices coating their thighs. You go limp on their chest for a minute, letting them fuck you like a toy while you recover.

Sloan’s own orgasm isn’t far behind, their cock twitching as they spill into the condom—though they’d much rather spill into you. They almost draw blood with how tightly their nails dig into your sides, and the only word they seem to remember is your name.

Even though they’re unbearably hot and their cock is so sensitive it hurts, they still need more. 

“Can I keep going? Tell me I can keep going.”

You’re exhausted from the brutal pace they’ve set, but their cock fills you so well and they sound so desperate, you have no choice but to say yes. Upon your agreement, Sloan is flipping you onto the mattress beneath them and bending your legs to your chest. 

They can get deeper like this, and Sloan knows it too. They start their pace off slower this time, trying to give you time to recover before their own need takes over. They hold your hands, pinning them above your head while they fuck you.

Their eyes lock with yours as they increase the pace, the tip of their cock hitting that spot inside of you perfectly every time. There are tears in your eyes from the pleasure, but it only makes them harder. 

“Too deep,” you whine, squeezing their hands with as much strength as you can muster.

“You don’t love having me fill you up?” They mumble into your ear, “if I can’t stuff you with my cum, I’ll fill you with my cock.”

You gasp and squeeze your eyes shut, their dirty words sending you over the edge. You try to clench your knees together but Sloan’s body is in the way. They fuck you through your orgasm, squeezing your hands back with every bit of pressure you squeeze theirs with.

“That’s it,” though their words are soft, they punctuate each one with a thrust, “cum on my cock.”

They slide their hands down your body, resting on your hips once more. Their thrusts start to get sloppy, and you know they can’t last much longer like this. You reach up, desperate for something—anything—to ground yourself, your fingers coming in contact with their hair.

Sloan whines and cums in one sloppy motion, resting their head on your neck while they lazily thrust through their high. Soft groans and whines vibrate against your collarbone.

It takes a minute for them to collect their strength again, pulling their cock out of you. You look at them through tear blurred vision, eyes widening at the cum soaked condom dripping into the wild tangle of hair at the base of their length. There’s a ring of white around their cock from it all, and the only thought crossing your mind is how badly you want to lick it off.

Sloan can’t decide whether to admire the sheer amount of cum filling the condom, or be disappointed that they weren’t able to fuck it into you instead. They pull it off of their cock and toss it onto the floor—it’ll be a pain to clean later, but they don’t care. They reach into their nightstand for another one, but your hand wraps around their wrist first.

“You’re still hard?”

As if in reply, their cock twitches against your leg. Though the searing heat has finally begun to fade, the pure need coursing through their veins has not.

“You’re done already?” They counter.

“N-no,” you say quickly, though your pussy feels unbearably sensitive in the cold room. “But you don’t need to use that.”

They look down at the purple wrapper in their hand, then back up at you. Their eyes practically glitter in anticipation. “Raw?”

You nod shyly, reaching out your arms to beckon them back to you. You’ll never be able to match their insatiable pace—you know that—but you told them you’d help, even if it means letting them use you like a fleshlight.

They plant a kiss to the base of your throat, a devilish twinkle in the dark of their eyes. “Roll onto your knees.”

With their help, you roll onto your stomach and pull your knees up, arching your back to give them access to your dripping cunt. Too tired to keep your chest up, you rest your cheek against the single pillow in their bed and let yourself relax.

Sloan’s hands retrace the marks they left on your lips earlier, positioning you perfectly to line up with their cock. They land a harsh slap to your cunt with the head of their cock and slip it in all at once, relishing in the gasp that leaves your lips.

They rock their hips into yours, reaching up to tangle a hand in your hair. With one hand gripping your hips and another in your hair, they piston into you. You bite your lip to try and cover the onslaught of moans they fuck out of you and pray that Sloan doesn’t have neighbors—although at this point, they’ve probably heard enough.

“Feels even better raw,” they groan, balls slapping against your clit with a particularly brutal thrust. “S’like it was made for me.”

The burning in the pit of your stomach grows at their dirty words, your pussy utterly gushing around their length. Without the condom, you can feel the desperate throbbing of their cock, feel every twitch of their tip when they bottom out inside of you. They reach everywhere inside you, rubbing places you didn’t even know you had.

Waves of pleasure roll over you, each more intense after the last. Your pussy flutters around Sloan’s cock, but their pace doesn’t slow. They keep slamming into you, lewd slapping noises loud enough to cover your desperate moans. They tug your hair hard, pulling you closer, and roll their hips against yours.

Their cockhead brushes your cervix and your eyes roll back in the sharp pleasure that travels through your pussy. Drool leaks from the side of your mouth and your moans transform from fully formed words to stupid sounding babbles.

Sloan releases your hair from their grip and moves their hand to massage your ass. “Sounds so cute when you whine,” they coo breathily.

Your senses all come flooding back to you when you feel the first spurt of their hot cum inside of you. Your tummy flutters with butterflies, your pussy contracts, and you cum with them. Both of you writhe in bed against each other, Sloan’s desperate, near primal pants like music to your ears.

“Fuck,” you groan as you collapse into the bed.

They keep their cock inside of you, shallowly thrusting their cum back in. “Please don’t stop,” they whine. “Please, I-I need more. Please.”

Your whole body burns, your pussy is so sensitive you’re not sure you’d even be able to cum again. “Sloan,” you sigh, looking back at them. 

“Please. Please let me keep using you. Please. You don’t even have to do anything but please let me use this pussy,” they pinch your clit in emphasis. “Please.”

“Well, with begging like that,” you joke.

Sloan wastes no time slamming their cock back inside of you, and though you can hardly feel the harsh slapping motion, you can tell their pace has slowed. You lay there, sweaty and hot and with their cum dripping out and being fucked back in.

Sloan murmurs praises to you while they thrust, their mind half gone from how fucking horny they are. They can see cum dripping down your pussy, down your thighs and it’s so filthy and it’s so hot and all they want is more. They pound into you, chasing that final high they may or may not get, desperately gripping your sensitive skin until there’s marks.

Finally, they cum again, their hot cum gushing until you’re so full it starts to burst from the seams between your pussy and their cock. Sloan watches it leak out in a trance, as if in disbelief that not only did they fuck you, they also just fucked you raw.

The heat has completely faded from their body, and as they pull out from your cunt and watch the cum drip, their cock finally starts to soften. “Are you okay?”

You manage a weak thumbs up from where you lay in the bed.

Just as they go to put on their pants, their cock twitches again, and the heat comes rushing back. Sloan sighs, looking at you guiltily, “think you can do a round 2?”

overwatch masterlist | masterlist

(if you enjoy content like this, interactions go a long way! comments, likes & rbs are always greatly appreciated ^-^ !!)

[demonic0angel]

Jazz has been cursed to be borrower size. Jason’s been doing his best to care for her til the curse can be reversed, getting her a size appropriate doll house with plumbing and a full wardrobe.

(Omg I love the borrower verse)

Part 2

Jazz sighed. She sat on a chair in the doll kitchen that Jason made for her and said sullenly, “I feel like a doll.” She poked at the food on her table, all downsized to fit her.

Jason did not say anything, but his face must’ve reflected it because she glared at him and said, “Don’t look so happy.”

“Sorry, Princess,” he said, smoothing his face over instantly. He handed her half of a cherry tomato and she glowered, before cutting it up and putting it on her little miniature burger. She was too distracted to notice him, but Jason was inwardly screaming and crying and throwing up.

She was so ridiculously cute, surely this should’ve been illegal by now?!

She ate her burger and washed her hands in the dollhouse’s kitchen sink, which Jason had personally installed and then she said with a sigh, “I guess you want me to change my clothes again?”

Jason beamed. “Can you? You don’t have to if you don’t want to.”

She just sighed again and shook her head. “No, I suppose this is payment for taking care of me.” She went into a side room and came out a few moments later with her outfit changed into a pencil skirt and a dress shirt with a garter belt and little boots. She wore a French beret and her hair was clipped up with a tiny pearl.

Jason, on the outside, nodded seriously at her and said, “You look good.” Jason, on the inside, was thanking God and every deity up there for this blessing. There was something incredibly pleasing and wonderful about having the ability to keep Jazz in his pocket all day and have her depend on him.

He reached for her and she stepped into his hands carefully. He stood up from where he was crouched over the dollhouse and then he carried her to his desk. He set her down gingerly and she walked around until she was in front of his reports, looking over them with a critical eye. Jason sat in his own seat and looked at the rest, allowing her to take her time and read the large words.

After a while, they worked together in silence as Jazz would occasionally pick up a large pen (to her, at least), and start writing carefully while Jason organized his things and made plans for the week.

By the next hour, Jazz seemed exhausted.

“When is this curse going to end?” She asked grumpily. She kicked the pen and it rolled once, which only seemed to infuriate her even more.

Jason grinned and used a finger to brush against her cheek. “It won’t take long. Just a few more days, and I can handle everything, alright?” She grabbed onto his finger and climbed on like a perching bird, and he paused before obliging and bringing her close to his chest, where she hopped onto his shoulder.

“I want a cupcake for dinner. An entire one. I don’t want to bake tiny cupcakes, I want a regular sized one all to myself.”

Jason grinned even wider and said, “As you wish.”

Whatever Jazz wanted, he would give to the best of his ability.

[echantedtoon]

Oh, Rats

You find a wounded rodent on a stroll by Big Ben and being the kind lady you were, you take it home and tend to it until it gets better. Little do you know what you've done.

(This was really inspired by @sindysugar and @lilgrimmapple   I really adore their artwork and story involving The Great Mouse Detective and If you get a chance please check out their stuff. Warnings for Ratigan being in bad shape with some broken bones.)

"I don't like that."

"Don't like what?"

A thunderstorm rolled across the sky that night. The sun was just setting over the horizon with the last few rays of daylight disappearing but it was hard to tell when the dark storm clouds took over the sky and claimed them as their own. Thunder shaking the lanes of the windows and lightning sounded off like an angry whip from whatever deity was angrily stomping around the clouded skies, lighting up the sky and city below for nothing but a brief second. 

It would've been absolutely dark if you hadn't lit up a few candles inside the comfy room and placed them on the table to light up the room. The warm light comforting against the scary night sky that just appeared as the last few daylights were chased away. The candlelight lighting up the scowling scrunched up face of the old maid that peered downwards at the rather large vanity in the room. It was large enough to be used as a vanity, work desk, and table so you used it as such. But lately it's had a new purpose. And it's purpose being the temporary home for your temporary new roommate. 

"I swear whatever this...this THING is it's evil!," she spoke pointing out a little but decently sized caged sitting on the vanity. It had been an old bird cage stored in the attic but you'd brought it out again to use it for someone else. "The way it just looks at everyone..." She shivered. "I swear it's almost human like! It's disturbing!"

"Calm down, Olga." Your calm voice usually soothed the older woman of any worries but lately her insistence has been a bother. Soft hands closed the curtains to your window hiding the sights of the gloomy storm outside. "He's just a harmless little mouse, and you don't have to take care of him. So why does his presence in one room of the house where you can just easily avoid him forever bother you so?"

The woman never looked up from where or more accurately WHO and WHAT she was staring at giving a loud huff of disapproval. "Hmph. It's his look that bothers me. I swear that evil smugness he always gives me is unlike a rodent!"

You sighed again as she finally turned up her nose, laundry in her arms. This happened every day since you first brought it home. Brought HIM home. Ignoring her worries, your footsteps echoed in the room making the small journey across the room to the vanity and smiled at the little occupant of the cage. 

"Hello there. Is Olga being a worrier again?" Your voice softly cooed.

Black eyes turned up towards you from the inside, teeth on display but you knew it wasn't malicious. He just seemed to like his teeth showing. Honestly it looked almost like a smirk but that was ridiculous. Mice couldn't have enough thought process to smirk. Olga was just imagining things as usual. 

"I find it disturbing how you treat it?"

"Don't like how I treat him how?," you questioned playfully wagging a finger at the cage like it was a kitten instead of a mouse.

"That! Like THAT!!" A finger released itself from the laundry she held to point at you. "You talk to that creature as if it was a human! It's disturbing and not normal!"

You again sighed tiredly before looking at her. "I talk to them the same as I do everyone else. Is that so wrong?"

"YES! It's not an equal it's a filthy vermin!"

"He's not filthy. He had a bath yesterday and I cleaned the cage this morning."

"That isn't what I meant and you know that."

Another soft sigh left your mouth along with a tired eye roll. This has happened over and over again with Olga. Honestly the older woman didn't like any animals unless it was cooked on a plate for her to eat, so this wasn't an unusual occurrence but it has been the first time she's been so insistent about you getting rid of the animal. She must really not like like mice. 

She hated him the moment you brought the poor thing home with you. It was on a similarly stormy night actually just like this one some weeks ago. You were taking a stroll through the streets of London after a day of shopping but lost track of time. A storm was coming in from the thick fog and made itself known. You decided to take a short cut past the famous Big Ben to get home faster but something else had caught your hurried attention.

As you hurried down the sidewalks with thunder sounding overhead and the fog clouding the streets, your footsteps echoed throughout the dark streets eerily, something caught your eye. A single black lump laid out upon the middle of said sidewalk making you slow down to a stop until it was but a yard away from you. What was..that? It looked at first like a black blob a little larger than a single one of your hands within the fog but as you slowly approached, it began to form more clearer and take shape. It was a-..

A large mouse? Rat maybe?

Whichever one it was, it laid face down splayed against the concrete covered in some kind of tattered black cloth. ..Poor thing. Many people considered rodents in general a burden and considered it good fortune at seeing one dead but you couldn't help but feel sorry for it. Maybe it was because you loved animals but you did feel sorry for it. It must've been stepped on by someone or maybe run over by a moving carriage the wheels throwing it onto the sidewalk with their momentum. Although you hadn't the faintest idea why it was covered in black fabric. Maybe it crawled out from a dumpster tangled in it? Or had someone tied a bag around it only for the animal to shred it apart? You had no idea. 

But SOMETHING important caught your attention as you took a closer look at it. It's chest slowly and shakily rising and falling in shaking breaths. A wheezing breathing gasping sound exiting it's mouth as it desperately clung onto life. It's body shook lightly with every gasp. It was-

"You're alive."

Olga shrieked when you got home shopping bags around your elbows and a half dead unconscious rodent in your hands wrapped up in your handkerchief. She shrieked at you that it carried diseases and it was dirty and it should die and you should throw it out the door right that second! You ignored her of course because she always reacted this way whenever you brought home an animal and sent for the local veterinarian. 

"He's incredibly lucky to be alive," the doctor had told you after the animal had been properly cleaned up and treated. "Any more time out there, especially in the rain, and he would've died. I don't know where you find these beasts but as my best customer my service is yours."

"Is he going to be alright?"

"Certainly! He has some broken bones specifically some broken ribs and some wounds but with proper treatment he should be back to normal again in no time! I'll write down the care he needs and prescribe some medicine that ought to help."

Your care had been going on for a while now since then and he's been doing so much better! You made sure he was given a good clean space to stay in and comfortable things that seemed to make him feel better. Though it was quite odd for a mouse. He seemed to prefer the water you gave him in a smallish wine glass (small to a human not him), and he seemed to not like the scraps you tried giving himself. You tried giving him fresh food cut from your daily meals, which worked better. It was almost like he preferred to be served actual meals like you were a maid instead of feasting on scraps like mice usually do. But you supposed after spending so much time outside any animal would want fresh food instead of old scraps. His bed was an old cushion that was torn apart by a cat you were also caring for but had managed to sew the scrapped fabric up enough to make him a small pillow to rest on. Which he was doing now.

"You said that about every animal I've cared for," you pointed out to her raising a brow. "Like the dog with the broken leg. You said he was possessed by an evil spirit. Or the carriage horse. You say that he's waiting for you to get in front of him to run you over!"

"I stand by both of those statements still thank you very much! But this thing-" she shuddered hard. "There's something else about him that's borderline evil!"

"He's not evil. He's a mouse-"

"That thing tried to bite me through the cage first week he was here!," he accused.

"That's because you yelled at him and hit his cage which I told you NOT to do!," you countered back with a frown and crossed arms. "He was hurt, irritated, and you scared him being aggressive like that." 

You remembered that day. Olga shrieked and SWORE he was smirking at her and called him a qoute 'disgusting, filthy, disease carrying, germ and flea infested, ugly RAT' before hitting her fist on top of his cage. She almost got bit when the mouse let out a rather loud squeak. A rage fueled squeak that sounded almost like a shriek itself as it lashed out and was almost able  to catch her pinky finger in his teeth. To this day you've never heard any rodent sound like that. You had to physically shove the hysterical screaming woman out of your room and lock the door to prevent her from swinging the broom at the cage and it took nearly an hour and a half for the mouse to calm down enough for you to safely look over himself. Thankfully both were ok but you've banned Olga from going into your room at all unless you were there and made it clear if anything were to happen to him, she'd be fired immediately. You were now tired of her continued antics.

"Just leave him alone!," you ordered firmly. "He's very well behaved and he's not staying here forever. It's just until he gets all better then I'm going to release him back outside."

"Hmph. Well that's the only good thing about him being here! I swear that thing is evil and I won't change my mind. "

"Oh come now. If he was really bad he would've done something to me by now. He's so good even the kitty I'm looking after likes him."

"You mean that obese beast that eats all our good fish and lazes about all day? She's almost as bad as him."

You scowled harder at her making her sigh. The poor kitty had fur torn from her making bald spots and looked like a pack of stray dogs got her. You brought her back home to recover about two weeks before you found the mouse. Both seemed to like each other very much when you accidentally left the door open one day and came back to find both cuddled up with each other. But surprise surprise Olga didn't like her either. 

"She's on a diet so she's not used to not getting so much food. Whoever owned her previously probably just over spoiled her so she's not used to portions." You didn't see it but the mouse gave you an eye roll of slight irritation before you smiled back at him. "He's a little extinguished gentlemen. Here. I'll show you."

Olga looked physically disgusted before you reached out and with a click slide the door wide open. Her face immediately paled as your hands reached in cupped and you cooed at him like you would a kitten to come over to you.

"W-WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!"

You looked up at her shriek not seeing how he stood up on two legs before turning on a heel and flopping onto your palms smugly. "I'm taking him out. He's always so well behaved." Her expression worsened as you pulled your hands out with the mouse in it and smiled brightly holding him up. "See? Isn't he such a cute little guy?"

Instead of answering she squealed out as the mouse stuck it's tongue at her not that you saw and pressed herself Against the doorway in her panic fumbling with the doorknob. Wretching it open a sheet dropped from her arms as her fearful squealing continued down the hall and towards the downstairs. You blinked for a moment as the door slowly creaked closed again and more thunder rolled above you. Eventually sighing as the mouse flipped onto his stomach and regarded you with a smile as you shook your head. 

"I swear that woman just hates any animal she doesn't eat. You're certainly a gentleman no matter what anyone says. Let's get you back to bed now."

Gently your hands pushed him back into the pen and laid him stomach down on the comfy pillow. However his front paws caught onto your pointer finger and a small kiss like motion was felt on your skin. Blinking you pulled your hand away from him to look at it then at him.. before shaking your head and relocking the cage. Kissing your hand. Too many of Olga's fears was getting in your head. He probably just licked you as any animal would do. 

After all he was just a rodent and nothing more.

[paintedonmyteeth]

Pyramid Head thoughts 🩸🔪 △

Catering this to myself and my hornee NEEDS and anybody else’s ig because I’m a dirty boy rn and I have too many thoughts in my head revolving around my man and I need to spill my guts before I lose this precious brain rot. Oh yeah this got some nsfw shit (it’s gonna be like further down so MDNI) so be sure to read at your risk, and don’t mind the occasional out of context shit bc that’s just my comments and me giggling so hard abt this fine mfer— this was pretty fun to make too ngl, I might do more in the future if I ever get anymore ideas from things or from people, Idk we’ll see.

Pyramid Head’s possessive asf over his s/o, when you’re living inside a hellhole of a town full of monsters and a cult run by a bunch of lunatics, who else is gonna protect your ass none other than this 7’0” deity??? Man wouldn’t even hesitate to kill anybody or anything that came way too close to you.

Man’s not even gonna let you out of his sight for a second, wherever the hell you’re going he’s coming with you, you’re a fragile little thing after all. He doesn’t want anything bad happening to you, not on his watch.

The size diff between you and Pyramid Head is endearing as well as arousing just thinking about how he could manhandle you into any positions he wants and watch you struggle to take him in. You’re just so short compared to him, he finds it cute. <3

It’s fun to carry you around everywhere he goes because of how short you are compared to him. Doesn’t matter if you get a say in this or not, he’s gonna carry you whenever the hell he pleases and he’ll never let go.

Pyramid Head would’ve associated you with the colour white and some times gives you white clothing because you’re pure and the only non-sinner in this shit hole of a town.

Who the fuck needs a bed when you have Pyramid Head??? Hell, he’d probably prefer you to sleep on top of him so he could hold you in your sleep and protect you from all the dangers of Silent Hill. Not to mention he’d like the feeling of how squishy you are in his embrace, particularly your thighs, he likes wrapping his hands on them and squishing them gently in your sleep. Might be a form of comfort saying “I’m here, everything’s okay”, or he’s just admiring them. Who would’ve thought a large monster living on violence and inflicting pain on sinners would be so gentle with you? (Unless you wanted him to roughen you up a little of course then by all means, he’ll fuckin’ do it.) >:))

Because Pyramid Head only exists in Silent Hill and doesn’t know a lot about the outside world, it’s rather adorable watching him get all confused with that head tilt of his whenever you explain certain things to him couples do on a regular basis besides sex, but he does show some curiosity on said topic and possibly willing to do those things with you as well.

Pyramid Head enjoys receiving attention from you, be it either hugs from behind or give him kisses on his helmet or the tongue— anywhere else is prolly gonna give him some other ideas of sorts, rnskfbsjfbw.

OH BOY the fucking dirty brain rot persists. If this man ever happened to be feeling horny he honestly wouldn’t hesitate taking your clothes off in one tear the second he has your consent.

Did I mention abt the size diff last time? Making you take in his cock nice and slow isn’t gonna do much, he’d want you to get over with the pain fairly quick so he’ll just push it in without warning lmao, of course once he’s in, he’ll allow you a brief moment to adjust to his size and once you’re all good he’s going to pound the fucking daylights out of you.

AGAIN WITH THE SIZE DIFF it’s just so satisfying and enjoyable to him watching you writhing and moaning underneath him like that, accounting to that just seeing you stuffed full of his come and utterly blissed out is adorable. (Like man I— let him rail me already PLEASEE)

And he’s for sure going to tease the fuck out of you to overstimulation until your mind is nothing but a puddle of mush and you’re begging for him. <33

Aftercare in the end is amazing, he’ll help clean you up by fucking eating you out with his tongue and then he’ll lay there with you in his arms, with a blanket big enough pulled over top to cover the both of you while you snuggle up in the mean time. A possible guarantee you’re gonna have a blast trying to walk in the morning./j

🥩⋆♱✮♱⋆🔪 🩸

[flokali]

Hi i just went through your entire blog and now im having intense sagau zhongli brainrot hafjdjhdjexhsn imagine sagau zhongli worshiping fem readers chest for hours *dies*

(lying) I am so normal about boobs and Zhongli… but Anon I Am Thinking So Hard (TT) His hands are so big, his fingers are so long… with only one hand he’s able to cup your boobs (and if not then he does his best, just completely enthralled with the way some of your fat leaks from between his fingers and outside of the confines of his greedy hands) and just… squeezes while he uses his mouth on the other one, licking and kissing you until you’re sensitive from his textured (and forked) tongue… I am so okay and sane about this.

Pairing: Afab! Reader (heavily implied ; no mentions of anything other than boobs (size not specified)) x Zhongli!

Warning: Yandere, Sagau, God-like reader, cult-like behavior, obsessive and possessive thoughts, n//sft (not explicit), groping & kissing & sucking, chest/boob worship, reader is implied to be bedded by multiple characters, implied murderer (or willingness to commit), cocky Morax makes an appearance, forked tongue and cold blooded Zhongli nation rise; ask to tag!

Word Count: 2k

Zhongli’s hands are, unlike most people would be led to believe, slightly colder than the average being’s. Due to his connection to the Geo element and most natural stone’s cold temperatures, it isn’t surprising that beneath his gloves lay hands that felt smooth and chilly to the touch.

It was one of your initial observations when you first felt his un-gloved hand make contact with your own. It had taken a lot of sugary words of affirmation that he would not hurt nor taint you if he touched you with his bare hands, he’d convinced himself that you were as fragile as the carving made of crystals that’d he’d crafted, Zhongli had always feared that he may be still too much of a brute to handle you without breaking.

The feeling sent shivers up your spine, you wouldn’t quite know how to describe it, his touch was light as a feather but as imposing as the Archon’s presence, it was akin to the feeling of marble beneath bare feet, smooth and pleasant yet chilly.

His hands are also, much to no one’s surprise, slightly calloused, but not as much as you’d expect for a being once known as the God of War. The tip of his fingers were slightly thicker, as was the palm of his hand, probably from the way he gripped his weapon and the amount of times he found himself doing so. After millenia of wielding all manners of tools, it was impossible his hands didn’t tell the story as well.

Even so, his hands still managed to feel soft as they traveled across your skin. They glided across your body, up through your arms and across your collarbone; the ethereal touch leaves your skin tingling with desire and anticipation, eyes transfixed with the enchanting smile that graced Zhongli’s handsome features as he allowed his hands to wander across your bare skin, even though you were the one on the receiving end, it truly seemed as if Zhongli were the one enjoying it the most. His body relaxed, shoulders loosen, he looked at peace. His long hair let loose, his clothes replaced by silken robes that hung from his frame lazily, he was the picture of serenity and earthly bliss.

The first time you’d seen him he had been so terribly nervous, a sight completely unlike the one you’d come to know across your screen, his posture was stiff, his words felt rehearsed, and you were certain you heard a relieved sigh once he finished introducing himself; you’d later come to know it was due to a crumbling feeling of anxiety and fear of upsetting you. He may be one of the oldest of your acolytes but it was perhaps that very fact that weighed heavily on his shoulders, he had to be the best, the most knowledgeable, the most befitting servant of a deity such as yourself.

To be completely honest, had you not experienced the absolute madness that it was to be sent into a world you’d once thought fictitious and later been told you were a deity revered by the Gods of this world themselves, the mere thought of a man like Zhongli, a being who’d witnessed millenia pass him, who’d met Gods of times long since gone, nervously reciting a greeting in the mirror in preparation of meeting the likes of you would have been a comedy like no other.

However, many moon cycles had now passed and you’d learned that not only had you unknowingly become a God in a world you’d once played with but that Zhongli, the man in front of you right now, was perhaps one of your biggest devotees.

And prove his devotion he shall.

It’d become a ritual for certain acolytes, the ones of age and who bore a Vision, to engage in more physical forms of worship now that you resided with them in the same physical plane. Not all of them took part in the process, some believing it to be sacrilegious to even so much as think of you in such a lewd manner, but the ones who did fought tooth and nail to be allowed a fraction of your time and grace.

Tonight, as you lay in one of Liyue Harbor’s most exquisite hotels, it was Zhongli’s turn.

Every “worshiping session” he’d dedicate himself to a new part of your body and tonight’s focus was on your chest.

He’d been so careful in peeling off your garments, making sure not to be too rough – as in his excited state he’d sometimes miscalculate his own strength – or too hasty, wanting to savor the moment your breasts finally revealed themselves to his greedy eyes.

Once they finally are free, he lowers his hands to cup one in each, allowing himself to play with them, all while squeezing and pinching at the fat until the skin turns sensitive, he was never rough, never trying to hurt you, but he couldn’t help the thoughts of simply digging his nails a little deeper to leave a more lasting mark for the next “follower” of yours to find. However, the thought of your pained whines managed to reel him in, for now.

While he uses his hands to massage the general area, his thumbs come and lay above your nipples, making sure to circle the areola, allowing your breasts to process the touch and slowly harden your nipples without him touching them directly. He lets the tip of his fingers trace the spot, teasingly hovering them above your perked nipples before going back to knead your breasts.

You’re panting ever so slightly, the feeling of your breasts being used in such a way sends small waves of pleasure straight into your clit, it leaves you trying desperately to create some sort of friction between your legs. The man above you notices and chuckles, finally giving in to your soft movements of desperation and allowing himself to play with your nipples properly. He takes the hardening nub in between his thumb and index, slowly pinching and pulling at the skin, rubbing your other breasts as lewdly gropes the fat.

“Mhmm…” You whine, bucking your chest into his hands in an attempt to incite more. You bring your hands to meet his own and start instructing them into squeezing your chest tighter and faster, switching between tugging and pinching, kneading and softly-scratching.

“Mh’m, like that?” He chuckles, allowing himself to be guided, only applying pressure every once in a while, teasing your desperate behavior.

“Do more,” you mumble between soft pants, he’s teasing you - purposefully setting a slow pace that has you wanting more - so you decide that the only logical way to get him to stop is by teasing him back, in such a way that he has no choice but to give in and finally drop his frustrating game, “I know you’re better than this, Morax.”

“… Oh?” His expression turns into one of shock and later amusement, almost taken off guard at your words; but he knows His Idol, he knows how much you enjoy playing with him, riling him up until he loses his restraint and gives into his more primal desires.

His eyes darken, his eyelids fluttering and eyebrows turning in amusement, a grin – no, smirk – more akin to that of his younger self takes over, while his golden eyes seem to take an unnatural glow. He leans forward, fully engulfing your body with his own, until his head meets your breasts and you can feel his hot breath against your skin.

“I wouldn’t have thought your excellency to be so greedy,” he chuckles, the warmth he lets out makes you shiver, his hands trace the sides of your breasts while he begins to plant open kisses into your flesh, “mhm… ‘so needy, my love, have the others not been serving you as well as me?”

You groan as you feel him begin to suck at your tits, his tongue poking out and leaving glistening trails of his drool across your skin, it’s gentle, his forked-tongue barely touches your flesh but the ghost of its presence is enough to give you goosebumps.

Zhongli’s mouth occupied itself with your right breast as his hands worked on your left, while he playfully bit and kissed you he made sure to keep stimulating you as much as possible, his hands molded your skin, squeezing and caressing every bit of flesh his palm made contact with. His open-mouthed kisses slow down as he approaches your nipples, he takes his time - making sure to softly graze you with his sharp teeth, making sure to tease you as much as possible while never quite stopping.

Your eyes never once left his, it was overwhelming, as most things were with Zhongli, the pleasure paired with his intense gaze as he made sure to commit every expression of yours to memory would have made anybody flustered.

He laughs but it’s not mocking, his eyes glaze over while he makes a show of finally getting around to sucking on your perked up nipple, he stares at you - as if daring you to look away - while his lips finally latch onto that place you so desperately had wanted them, his cheeks are clearly flushed as he begins to flick at the nub with his tongue while sucking the spot.

Instinctively you arch your back but he quickly uses his own body to drag you down, he moves around a bit, as if trying to find the best position to latch onto you, desperately wanting to overtake your body and shield you from everything that wasn’t him.

His hand cups your breast even as he pulls away with a lewd “pop”, never letting your chest be without some form of stimulation, he licks at the areola, making sure to make a spectacle as his tongue travels across one breast to the other. He switches movement, kissing and sucking while still kneading and pulling. He’s never rough, never cruel in his touch, he’s always so delicate, making sure to treat you with the utmost care.

The feeling of his cool digits after having his warm breath on you is jarring but nevertheless pleasurable, you whine as your hands shoot up to cradle his hair, fingers finding their way onto his silky hair as you unconsciously pull him closer to your body.

He chokes on a moan, his eyes roll back slightly, if there was one thing Zhongli adored was the feeling of your hands pulling against his hair, it was one of those things he could never get enough of. The truth was that this session was fueled by his own selfish desires of being your most devoted lover, your only lover; if there was one thing in this universe he craved more than you was being the owner of the title of your beloved. He hoped that these special sessions between you two would prove that he truly was the only one worthy of such a title.

For who else could have you breaking so beautifully in their hands from pleasure alone? No one, he was the only being able to lure you into such earthly desires, he was sure of it.

His tongue on your nipple, playing with your beautiful body, his hands desperately gripping at your chest, all while he savored the proximity in which he was able to see you fall apart were blessing given to him and him alone, holy gifts from you to him, your ever so loyal servant, who dedicated his heart, soul, and body to you.

Even if you did not know how deeply the devotion he held for you went, you could tell from his aroused state, his never ending servitude, willing disposition, and obsession with pleasing you that you had, knowingly or not, enthralled a man who was now willing to do anything for you.

Just seeing you fall apart from him playing with your chest was enough to have him coming close to his peak, a ball of pleasure forming as he memorized the look of pleasure and bliss that took over your hazy features.

Your breathing is quick, your body feels hot and bothered, his touch is intoxicating, you want more of it and he wants more of you, you’re not able to even so much as forget who it is you’re with for everything he does is so clearly him; no one devoted themselves to you the same way Zhongli did and if there was such a person, he’d make sure to eliminate them before they became a problem.

[comfortless]

Everything you write leaves me breathless <333

Sorry in advance for my English

I was thinking about König, (maybe in an ancient rome/Greek settling) being so alone and desperate for connection that he turns to religion: one day he's walking in the woods, deep in thought, when he finds an abandoned temple. The inside is small but lavish, with a life sized statue of what must be its goddess. He sees this lovely sculpture, abandoned and alone and sees himself in her. He becomes a dedicated, fanatic and soso lovestruck worshipper. Unknownly to him his goddess, woken by his prayers, has been watching him and listening to him. One day while he's praying in front of her her statue moves and talks and now his deity is in front of him. Looks like he has an opportunity to worship her like she deserves ;)

granting you ten million kissies for this prompt and your sweet words! your English is perfect, little wisp! <3 also… giving me an excuse to write more loner/loner and mutual worship?! you have spoken to my heart…

content/warnings: 18+. minors do not interact. historical/myth au; vague time period, brief mentions of violence, fluff, pining, not very explicit smut, mutual worship.

The spirit of the temple feels disorienting, though the architecture is a still, white marble, the floor riddled with leaves and dirt, creeping up the sides of the building as if river water had washed the entire thing ashore… Something feels very alive here, feathered out on the air, a pulse of thunder, the breeze beneath dove’s wings, enthused and yawning. Hungry.

It only becomes more apparent the closer he steps to the statue.

She is unlike any he has ever seen before, carved with the same skill, but so much smaller than the other statues in their temples, so much more lifelike that he almost thinks to greet her. She’s been painted unlike most, a perfect vision bathed in color where she stands out amidst the sea of white and green surrounding her. The temple has not been stained with blood, no offering strewn before her bare feet, left for the rot or dragged away by the dainty hands of this very goddess. No maidens sit in prayer, no men lower there swords to her…

There’s nothing to tell him just who she is, either.

Despite his better judgment, his hand does find her side, a swift draw up from the vision of her thigh peeking from her robe upward to curl over her hip. Her beauty is unmatched, impossible to describe and the call seems almost tangible, shrieking at him in whispers to bend a knee and let her in. So, he does. He prays to her in the silence, alternating between whispers and his own thoughts.

He tells her of his struggles: a soldier brought in from a small tribe up north, robbed from his parents as a boy, how all he knew now were the Roman ways yet could rarely comprehend their customs and deities. Maybe she could offer him some counsel or solace…? Make the weight of his blade feel less heavy as he struck down men that could very well be his own brothers? Give him something to return to when old wounds reopened and he bled, hurt with no one but himself to tend to his heart or his injuries.

The goddess only blesses him with silence: the wind does not pick up outside, there is no disembodied laughter, no sudden thought of an offering or new words to speak to her. She is void of an answer just as the very temple she waits inside is empty of all else.

This does not dissuade him from returning.

Returning to the city after another battle some months later, his first thought is to return to her, to leave the things he’s taken from dead men at her feet, to paint the temple with the blood lingering on his weapon. There is honey, wine, meat and jewelry made of stones from the sea. There is brittle, dried flakes of blood polished from his blade and left to settle onto the floor like the leaves of late autumn. He presents these things to her with a grin, thinking that assuredly this goddess would call back to him then, grant him with a love so consuming that all of the evasion and emptiness cursed upon him would be untwined.

He kneels before her statue, presses his cheek to her thigh, sighs content at the feel of cold marble against the ever-burning of his flesh, gazes up at her like an adoring dog.

Assuredly, if this temple were built for a being that did exist at all she would know just how she was all that this lonesome soldier had, would know the way that he loved her and waited with bated breath and heartstrings pulled taut for her to love him in turn. A greedy, begging muzzle that utters his prayers, words he’s never spoken to anyone whether deity or mortal, only to her in the quiet of the forest.

It’s not madness that provokes him, but the gentleness of her face and the tender look in her eyes, an expression that no other had ever offered to him, no one but this little forgotten goddess. Whether pitying or loving, he did not know. It was only enough to keep him returning: for many days, his path from the city led straight to her feet, even some nights were spent lying upon her floor, finding peace finally being able to sleep next to something apart from lonely walls.

The sun rises and sets each day where he sits and speaks to her as though she were a living, breathing woman. Occasionally he reads aloud to her in the stillness, cheekily tells her when another goddess’ name is brought up within the lines of poetry that they could never hope to compare.

It’s ridiculous when he does not even know what purpose she serves, but this silent figure is his only companion, the only thing that sets his heart ablaze and mind focused in battle because above all else, he has to return to her. Though she can not share his words, he knows somehow that she shares in his loneliness.

Finally, he thinks to ask her the question that has been burning at the tip of his tongue for weeks and months. One, that he has tried to hold back, display a patience that he lacks. It’s after a night of sleeping on cold marble, an ache in his neck from its hardness and his own refraining from bringing a cushion from his own home in his desperation to return to her.

“Why won’t you speak?,” he asks, somber as he makes his way to leave the temple, only halting in place to cast her a fragile look from over his shoulder. He has read the epics, heard the stories and seen the blessings of other deities… Yet no matter what he does or how often he tethers himself to her leg and dotes upon her, she still meets his devotion with nothing but her silence in return.

König is left with the thought that his gifts are not enough, that he, himself, is not enough, even as her sole devotee. To keep his mind preoccupied, he keeps to the city for a time. The bed is cold, the people still see him as a barbaric outsider, and the horrible coil wound around his heart only seems to tighten its grip further. He feels as though he has left a part of himself out there in the forest within the four chalked walls of her temple.

This loneliness does not feel like one he is forced to swallow down, it feels like a vicious sort of ache, the twisting of a dagger beneath ribs to sink in and steal away what little of a life he does have.

He returns to her the following night, with a furrowed brow and a grave look upon his face. There’s an intent to demand she free him of her, that this longing finally pass, but as his sandals reach the entrance to the temple, those thoughts fall away from his mind like droplets of rain, a cool drizzle that begins to fall outside the very moment he is sheltered.

The statue— the goddess moves.

She tilts her head and inspects him fondly, the perfect mouth he has envisioned speaking to him so many times prior tilts upward in the gentlest smile as her bare feet move to carry her body forward.

“A test,” she explains as though answering his question from only the past day, almost saddened by her own words as her gaze lowers to the space between them.

König’s heart does not roar then, it only melts with the knowledge that someone like her has been left alone for so, so very long that she felt the need to prove to herself that he would return to her side. He would. Time and time again he would. When she raises her head to look him in the eye, her own clouded and misty, he only silently prays that she could see such a vow upon his face.

“I am worthy then?,” he questions, forcing himself to remain rigidly in place despite the call- the urge, to circle her, just once, drop at her feet to then feel her pulse beneath his fingertips. Anything. Even an assurance would be reward enough, but there is always a greed in the hearts of men, one he feels burning a hole through his very being even now.

Her lips press to a line and her gaze seems faraway, lost in her own thoughts that must be as mighty as Olympus itself. After a time, she only answers in a soft whisper, “It is I who am unworthy of you.”

All discordance in his chest pulls to a halt at this, all apprehension and sadness are whisked away when she instead comes to kneel before him. She curls her arms around his leg, presses her cheek to his thigh as he had done so many times before. The goddess gazes up at him with not just affection… but reverence, as though he were the strongest warrior of myth, deserving of even the love of something only as ethereal and sweet as she could provide.

His breath catches for a mere moment before he lowers himself at her side. The stares exchanged from both are full of an unspoken wonderment, all of the things that words alone would fail to speak in truth.

He waits out the rain there, sat beside her with the air surrounding them charged with such a great and unspoken affection that even Venus would taste a bitter envy on her tongue should she pass by to see.

She tells him she can not recall what she was the goddess of… or if she was ever truly any goddess at all. The marble surrounding her was put up for a purpose, but she’s never seen the Elysian Fields or climbed Olympus on her own. Her memories are scattered blurs, and she confesses that she feels tired when she tries to parse things together in a way that he will understand.

He listens while he tends to her by offering the honey and dried meat left in offering for her here, then fetches fresh water from the stream that brooks several yards away and returns to her side with a face both damp and flushed.

König tells her of his life too, how during every battle since stumbling upon this sacred place he has kept her in mind; he has no wife to return to, no other women to bed, that since their meeting his life has become hers. He confesses he had the intention of returning only to force a curse upon this madness that had enveloped him, but… he could never have brought himself to do so, even if she had not appeared to him warm and breathing.

Her laugh then could have prompted waves of flowers to bloom and birds to sing in tune, whimsical and so precious he only begins to feel himself fall, truly. Not out of sheer desperation, but with genuine affection.

When her exhaustion does take her, she does not mind the way his arm curls around her middle to tuck her body closer to his own. The goddess has no fury within her, only mirrors his own feelings with a fluttering of lashes and a soft sigh.

So she sleeps, pulled close to him like a lover rather than a stranger. When dawn breaks, when König knows he’s to be called back to train and fight with the other soldiers, have dull talks about what land to cross and take for their own next, she tells him she will wait there for his return.

He can not concentrate as well on his training this day. The plans for future wars and battles do not send flurries, hot excitement through him. The world is an endless gray, reflected above with darkened clouds threatening further rain. There is only one place he wishes to be, one that yearns for him more than his own home or the women waiting on the street for coins the other men readily supply. When one, a native Roman, does ask him why he does not just venture to the brothel to put himself in better spirits, König only grits his teeth to still his hand from quieting him eternally. These men knew nothing of the love he feels, and certainly they didn’t deserve to.

The temple is no different from how he found it the night prior. The goddess sits with her hands curled in her lap, smiling just as fondly at him as she had before. His heart shatters at the thought that she had sat there waiting for him in such a way all day. He swears to her that he will have a proper bed made for her, bring her the softest of furs and cushions stuffed with downy feathers to lie upon. For now his offering is only fruit and wine, things that she shares with him while she shushes his concerns with quiet words and gratitude that he had returned.

She lowers herself again before him after pulling her robe free and lying it upon the floor. It is no proper bedding at all, but she swears that it is enough, that his own warmth is just enough for her to be sated and comfortable. His head swims when she kisses his thigh, drags her lips up from his knee to rest there with that reverent look in her eye. Mortals coupling with deities was not unheard of, but to think it could happen to him…

She is a goddess. How is he supposed to… How could he ever dirty her with himself? He thinks to refuse her before she tugs away the barrier of fabric between them and takes him into her mouth. Stunned, he only watches her, feels her in a way he has never felt a woman before until he finds his voice again.

“Lie down,” he breathes, shaky and tentative as he rests his hand upon her cheek. She complies, giddy and content when she’s splayed out on the white robe beneath her, legs parting immediately and her arms reaching upward to invite him into her hold.

There’s no tact when he lies atop her, feels the warmth of her thighs around him and her arms curled over his neck. His forehead is pressed to her own when togetherness is found, and when she sighs so soft as she envelops him in full, his mouth descends upon her own.

She doesn’t praise him, doesn’t need to in words, because the muffled sounds and cries that leave her lips are more than enough to spear him onward. König, however… he babbles ceaselessly, overwhelmed and overcome by such a profound joy, he can not keep himself from reciting every word that comes to mind, whether vile or pure.

“My goddess,” he whispers into her hair, eyes half-lidded and dazed with each shallow thrust. “We could have had this for a season… you have made me wait so long, hm?”

The way she feels is unmatched, he thinks, when her breathing shudders and she only seems to constrict him further. To think he could bring a goddess to ruin… the grin that crosses his face when he pushes his head against her neck is bordering on both ecstatic and cruel.

“I will give you a demigod,” he hisses against her throat, not at all subtle about just how far he was willing to go to keep her here. With him. More than Olympus, she belonged beneath him, and the tremor that wracks her form then is all of the confirmation he would need.

She sobs his name when the tension becomes too much to bear, fingernails graze the flesh of his shoulders as she shudders, falls into such bliss that her words of praise come incoherent and weak. He follows her to a saccharine abyss with a guttural groan.

The aftermath is softer than any other moment he has shared with her. There are an abundance of kisses pressed between them, littered across her flesh and his own with whispers that leave his mind cloudy. Her worship is subtle by comparison to his own, coming in honeyed stares and such words he would never dare to repeat, no lowly poet deserved to ever hear them, their voices could never compare to her own.

The goddess holds him close, bumps his nose with her own and makes a promise; she tells him for as long as he shall live that this temple was as much his home as it were his own. That even when this body of his does die, she will seek him out in the Elysian Fields, lie at his feet as he had done her own; that no matter what may come, they will never be apart.

[pinkbewwy-milk]

based on starsandskies' prompt list.

Day 4: Stockings ft. Bowser.

warnings: size difference.

“I always wear them”, you argued, crossing your arms.

“So why dontcha wanna wear these?”, Bowser asked, pointing at the socks on the mattress.

“What would be different about them?”, you asked back. You looked at the garment as if it was offensive, and to some extent, you were wary of them. You frowned softly. “They are white. I do not like white”.

“It has nothing to do with Peach”, Bowser explained, understanding what was going through your mind. You had only been together for a short time, and everyone knew of the king’s previous obsession with the princess. It was only natural that you thought it was some kind of… projection.

There was silence as you considered the request. Bowser was quite imaginative in private, and he had complied with and respected all of your wishes up to this point. Although it gave you a bit of a bad feeling, you supposed it was only fair for it to be reciprocated.

Without saying anything, because you didn't want to see his ‘I got it my way’ smile, you grabbed the socks and went to lock yourself in the bathroom to change. Outside, you heard Bowser growl with joy and something snap, probably the bed when the huge turtle jumped on it. You smiled without being able to help it, and peeled off your discreet outfit little by little.

When you were completely naked, you looked at yourself in the mirror for a second. That's how Bowser liked to see you, which is why the request to wear stockings (white ones, also) seemed so strange to you. You shrugged and took them. It was when you stuck your foot in and it went through the fabric that you blushed and understood things.

The color was a coincidence. What mattered was what was in between; or, rather, the lack of something in between.

You hurried, pulling the socks up to your waist. You looked at yourself in the mirror once more, a blush still on your skin as you looked at the lingerie on you. It looked wonderful. You cleared your throat, took a breath, and walked out of the bathroom.

Bowser's jaw practically hit the floor of the room at the sight of you. You were already beautiful, and without clothes you looked exquisite; yet with nothing on but that pair of divine white stockings, you looked like something from another world.

A deity. A goddess of some religion that Bowser was willing to pay tribute to for the rest of his days.

In a second he took you in his claws and sat you on his belly. The size difference was quite a bit, so your legs spread wide when you sat on top of him. Bowser could clearly see your cunt, the soft shine of his beautiful princess already lubricating, ready for what it meant to fuck with someone like him. His claws caressed your soft thighs, his fascination with them increasing at the extra texture that the stockings gave. He smiled, fangs poking out from between his lips.

You smiled too, biting your lip. You put your hands on the king's chest, helping yourself to lift your hips. Bowser raised a red-haired eyebrow, and you winked at him.

“You need to see the other side”, you said, and stood up only to fall back down, this time your back facing him. Bowser didn't need any more to feel his erection fully awake. If he liked your legs, then your ass was what he adored most about you; and the stockings were responsible for framing and highlighting how perfect you looked with them.

When you leaned over him to put your hands around his cock, the king had an even more spectacular view of you: Your already soaked cunt, along with your ass and thighs being pressed by the edge of the stockings, greeted him happily.

All it took was the feel of your tongue meeting your hands to know he was in for an incredible night.

[veebeeboo109]

Cleaning up the Timeline

{The past you have lost.}

Read on ao3. Part One.

Tags: Reader/L&DS Men, Romance, Violence

Chapter 20: The Story Erased

Dimensions are funny. They don’t have distinct shapes. Not spheres or ellipses. Their edges are not so easily defined, and as they float in a vacuous void they sometimes align. Intersect. They mingle. Tickling at each other with the edges of the undefined borders.

On the edge of creation itself, dimensions get funnier. More absurd. The timelines written and fates unfold in ways that don’t make sense. Absurd in every way– the words unreadable even to the author. 

It’s in this peripheral timeline that your past lies. Nestled in an indefinable polygonal universe where myths and stories overlap like the plaited upper crust of an apple pie.

The planet of your birthplace is a scorched, war-torn place. The surface is covered in vast towering forests filled with deep, ancient magic and monstrous creatures. Oceans with gluttonous waves that only the very bravest dare to sail lest they be swallowed up by its wrathful gods. Expanding deserts of scorching sand are broken up by wide rivers, giving birth to lush fertile valleys. 

Kingdoms rise and fall. Settlements and villages claim to be under the protection of kings are flattened and raided by insurgent clans. All vying for control of the planet. Powerful people willing to destroy the land beneath their feet, and then lose the people who would serve them if it means they get to sit on the throne. 

Zayne has been fleeing this war his whole life. Running from the call of the deity he is blood-bound to serve. Only through magic and arcane arts has he found some semblance of sanctuary. Through years of hard work and isolation, he’s carved out a place, safe from the plundering, the fighting, the brutality. 

A large hollow on the inside of a mountain. A cavernous space with only two entrances– one that is shadowed and hidden by an illusion deep within a darkened forest. And the other, only escapable through miles and miles of tunnels that leads out on the other side to a desert.

There are little vents, barely the size of a goat that leads up to the surface, letting beams of light in. Well-placed crystals reflect that light to bounce around and illuminate the vast cavern. 

There are pools along the southern side of the cavern for water, and enough exposed soil to have a garden. Zayne intends to spend the rest of his life hiding here. He uses magic to build himself a house. A single room cottage is just enough for him. That’s all he needs. He has to remind himself at least once a day. This is all he needs. 

But there’s some thread woven in the fabric of his soul that seeks to help others. He’s strong. He’s capable. The power he wields could save lives, and this haven he’s found could keep them safe for generations. 

So, he begins to plan. He carves runes into walls of the cavern, plies them with magic to make this place undetectable. To make it firm. Unmoveable. Unfindable. He uses the gift of foresight that he had thought lost to him to find his first group to save. 

Master of Fate. Foreseer. They call him names of fables and legends. A man who comes at the perfect time and brings them to his sanctuary. His little house is paired with others. His cavern becomes a settlement, and the plain folk work to make this place safe from the world outside. 

You stumble into his sanctuary one cold winter day, wrapped in a thin cloak and shoeless. You are with a small group of refugees, uprooted by a recent series of razes by a group of barbarians. Your village has been destroyed, and any family that you may have had is long gone. 

Zayne greets your group as he does all of them. Informs you of how things work in this place, and how to best put their skills to use. You don’t even look at him, shivering beneath the ochre colored threadbare cloak. He sees your shivering shoulders, your bare nearly frostbitten toes and something twists in his chest. 

He reaches out to you, offers to help you. He wraps your feet in bandages and speaks gently to you. He tells you that he can find you some shoes, and come spring, there will be enough hides to make some new ones. 

When you finally meet his eyes, Zayne feels his fate settle into place. Sealed with hot wax and pressed with the imprint of your fingerprint.

He doesn’t indulge in the desire to be close to you, no matter how much it may nag at home. However, you are not one to deny yourself, and you follow him. You follow him around like a kitten, padding behind him on your misfitting shoes one of the other women gave to you. 

You help him with his chores. You mimic the movements of his hands when he reinforces the magic that protects this place. You ask him what the symbols in the books mean, and he realizes you’re illiterate. 

Zayne resigns himself to his fate. His fate that results with the two of you sitting up late into the night, his little cottage illuminated with a single tallow candle and a small fire in the heart. He shows you the symbols you were so curious about, and gives you passages to practice until you’re reading with ease. 

Next comes the magic. The runes that he writes are an unnameable language, and they’re impossible to understand for someone without the gift of magic. You don’t understand it, but the runes still light up for you. It’s like watching someone pick up an instrument they’ve never touched before and play. It’s sloppy, but it works. The music you play when you write the runes doesn’t have to make sense to you, but the intention remains. And it’s strong. 

Unwittingly, you become secondary to Zayne. When you walk along the paths of the settlement, people associate you with him. They respect you, they adore you. They thank you for helping and offer you things like a deity receiving offerings.You deny them all, happy to help. 

It’s a sign of peace, when children get into mischief. Stories and rumors that spread through little lips to little ears mean they feel safe enough to make up nonsense. 

The story of one of the pools being haunted reaches your ears, and you tell Zayne the outlandish tale some of the children bestowed to you. That a shadow lives in the heart shaped pool at the very edge of the cavern. It pulled one of the teenagers into the depths when they’d started throwing rocks at it, and they have a bite mark on their leg from it!

Zayne gives you a disbelieving look before he turns his attention back to the mortar and pestle. Grinding beetle thoraxes into a mush to add to a poultice he’s been working on. He makes a comment that children can be creative and returns to his work. 

A few weeks later and more stories of the heart shaped pool, and your curiosity finally gets the better of you. You go to the pool, expecting a large fish or even a trapped seal– so you bring some dried fish with you. 

There is indeed a shadow in the pool. Swirling around in its inky depths, barely illuminated by a refracted beam from a crystal nearby. This is one of those that goes unfathomably deep, and you see the long, serpentine shadow spin around the limited space. 

You keep a few feet away from the edge and toss a dried fish onto the water’s surface. The desiccated carcass of the mackerel floats and sends tiny ripples across the crystal surface. You sit down onto your knees and wait, watching it float lazily until thwip! Faster than lightning the fish is snatched and the surface of the water is barely disturbed. 

With glee in your heart, you toss another. And watch as that one is snatched too. When you throw the third, it’s snatched but then tossed back at you. Hitting you squarely in the face with a wet, fishy slap.

Aghast, you stand and go to the edge of the water, and that is where you meet Rafayel. 

He’s an agitated thing. Hissing at you that you and the rest of your lot should be bowing to him. That he is the god of the tides and the swells!

You note that he’s in a little pool, and so he’s not the god of much right now. He splashes you with a wave that nearly knocks you off your feet and disappears beneath the water. 

You return to Zayne soaking wet, and you see the dark haired man laughing at you with his eyes. 

It takes you another month to convince the god of the tides to speak to you again. More mackerel is offered as well as some berries you’d found while out in the forest recently. The summer had made them fat and sweet, and Rafayel devoured them ravenously. 

You go to the pool once a day, in the evenings before bed. And eventually, Rafayel is there to meet you. Resting on the edge of the pool with his head on his crossed arms. He pesters you constantly, teasing you for dressing too plainly and for the lack of berries when you don’t bring any. 

He talks of his kingdom. A wondrous, luminous civilization at the bottom of the ocean untouched by the wars and desolation above for centuries. Only recently as the pollution begun to reach their waters, and Rafayel had set out to find its source. To recon and return. However, he got stuck. A leviathan chased him to these pools and in the battle that hollowed out this cavern decades ago, it sealed him inside. 

You don’t know if you believe his tale, because it would mean Rafayel has been here far longer than Zayne. That this sanctuary was carved by happenstance in a battle of deities. What an outlandish fable!

Late in the summer, when the heat has reached its peak, a band of armed soldiers comes rushing into your sanctuary. Some of the plain folk panic, because they recognize the colors of their cloaks and the sigils on their golden armor. 

Zayne intervenes, and the soldiers fall at his feet to beg for sanctuary. They have defected from their king and seek only peace. Peace, and aid for the one they carry on a rudimentary stretcher.

The man lies unconscious, heavily bleeding and his wounds poorly tended to. The sight of his ashen pallor makes your stomach twist, and you’re promising aid before Zayne can stop you. 

The Prince of Philos. That’s what the people whisper as you lead the knights and their unconscious ward to a tent. The others who usually tend to the wounded refuse to help you. They refuse to help him. The young man who’s the heir to the throne of a kingdom so hell bent on owning this planet that they’d sooner see it destroyed than in someone else’s hands. 

But a man shouldn’t suffer for the sins of his father, that’s what you tell yourself at least. You’re not a healer by any means, but Zayne has books and you’ve seen enough of war to know how to clean a wound. How to sew up separated flesh. How to wrap it tight, but not too tight. You know what infection smells like and how hot a body can get before it dies. 

Xavier is tough, and you learn his name when he wakes up on the third day. It’s a brief moment of clarity and he thinks he’s dead for the majority of it. In whisper-soft tones, he asks if you’re an angel, and you laugh and tell him no. 

It’s five days of tending to Xavier before Rafayel can’t take it anymore, and shows up at your door with a furrowed brow and human legs and demands to know where you’ve been. 

Overcoming the shock of his altered form is one thing, but he’s also very very naked. He scoffs at you when you try to cover him with a blanket, but eventually you're able to get to cover himself with one of your old cloaks. He wraps it around his waist and ties it, like it’s a favor he’s doing for you and not basic modesty. 

Rafayel is not pleased that you’ve been neglecting your daily visits to play sick nurse. He’s very nonchalant about the sorry state of the prince, nudging him with his foot and scoffing at him. He tells you it’s a waste of time, and that you’d have a much better time if you spent it with him. 

You make your disdain for such talk plain. Telling this so-called god that if he has no care in his heart for the wounded then he should return to his pools and stay there. You have no interest in spending time with such callous people. 

Rafayel huffs and leaves your tent, but he’s back in less than an hour. He plops himself down next to you, giving you the silent treatment for the remainder of the afternoon but sighing heavily. 

Eventually he starts to help you, bringing in washbasins of water to clean Xavier’s wounds, and even helping you apply some poultices and bandages. Even though he complains about it, Rafayel’s work is perfect and gentle. He whines about helping clean Xavier’s hair, but still holds the prince’s head with a cradling touch. 

Zayne visits often, and has to, on multiple occasions bring you to bed to prevent you from sleeping on the floor of the healing tent. He carries you some nights, and other nights Rafayel does. 

It’s not clear when Zayne’s house because your house too, and foggier still when it became Rafayels. The sea god returns to his pool often, but many nights he can be found next to you– claiming a necessity for body heat even in the midst of summer. 

It’s a full month before Xavier is lucid, and you’re not sure how to interact with him when he’s awake. He’s a quiet man. Soft-spoken but not docile in the slightest. He takes what you’ve done for him very seriously, and when he’s able to get out of bed, the first thing he does is kneel before you. 

There’s sweat on his brow from the pain of such movement, but determination set in his cerulean eyes. Then and there he swears his life to yours. Your sword. Your shield. His life is your, for you have spared him and brought him back from the brink of oblivion. 

It’s a lot to absorb. Being at the central point of such dedication makes you a little dizzy, and you try to deny him at first, but what’s done is done. The oath has been made. The exchange signed in blood. He is yours– now, and forever. 

The armored soldiers that had brought Xavier into the sanctuary have incorporated into the settlement well. They have joined in hunts for meat and game, and take turns in shifts guarding the entrance.When they hear Xavier has risen, they rush to his side. 

Xavier promptly informs them that their fealty now lies with you. You are their master, and it is up to you to decide what to do with them. Xavier is no longer a prince. No longer their liege. He is just a man– and he smiles softly like a man with sudden airy freedom when he says those words. 

After talking with Zayne, he appoints them to the rotation of guard and hunters. Letting them decide where they are most comfortable. This is a sanctuary– people should be free to do as they wish. Though, when Zayne tries to suggest Xavier join the watch or the patrols, the fair haired man informs the Foreseer that he will remain at your side. The others can protect the sanctuary, and he will protect you. 

Zayne consents to your new sworn shield, a part of his heart soothed by the idea that you have protection when he’s not there. For so long, it had just been the two of you. From dawn til dusk you were by his side, but it is as he feared. You are radiant. And all who come into contact cannot help but be drawn to your light. He was bound to have to share eventually. 

But you always return to him. At the end of the day it is his house you come back to. New rooms have been added on, and there is more space than there once was, but you always find him. Share meals with him. Share stories of the friends you’ve made and the antics the sea god and prince get into. 

Xavier and Rafayel pose issues for the sanctuary, in Zayne’s mind. They are powerful, and their loyalty is to you. There is nothing to guarantee that they would come to the sanctuary’s aid if it came under attack. This unsettles him slightly, wondering if– should the sanctuary somehow pose a risk to your life, what actions would your new companions take? 

It takes almost a year before Zayne opens up to the others. Before he offers to break bread with them and offers them more than a few words of conversation. Xavier is strikingly intelligent, and they share an affinity for the written word. Xavier’s knowledge of politics aids in Zayne’s management of the sanctuary, and, eventually, Zayne calls Xavier his friend– and not just your guard. 

Rafayel takes offense at the rudimentary way the sanctuary has been set up. No thought at all to the aesthetic or design of it all. When Zayne informs him of its utilitarian nature, the sea deity scoffs and says that it is fine. He is here now and can make this place as lovely as it deserves to be. 

Time and care is put into this place by all of them. Altered in ways like a signature, molded around their overlapping desire to keep this place hidden, safe, and self-sufficient. 

Men of great power seem incapable of leaving no trace. Something indelible in the way they walk. Footsteps branded into the earth leaving behind folklore and fable. Tales of heroism and danger to both teach and delight the young and the old. 

It is another story. A rumor. That brings the fourth of your lovers to your side. Like the whispers of Rafayel’s pool that drew you to him in the first place, another round of hushed stories told by the youth is spread. 

This time, the children whisper of the tunnel– the gully, as the plain folk name it. Carved once by a long winding river that cut through this place but has long since dried. It runs for miles and miles beneath this mountain and beyond, leading to the desert.

They say that there is a beast in there. Lying in wait in the darkness, waiting for the unfortunate day that the sanctuary is breached and the people try to escape. Maw opened and waiting for the people to run inside and swallow them whole. 

When you hear one of the older teenagers spooking the young ones with this far off tale, you interrupt them. Telling them no such beast exists, and that there is nothing in the gully. Nothing but darkness. They should be ashamed of scaring the children like that, and you promptly send them to the shallow pools to do laundry as punishment. 

Though, you hear it again. The group who tends to the gardens speak of rumblings. Vibrations beneath their very feet when they grow close to the gulley’s entrance. Could it be? The hydra come back once more? Waiting until it is strong enough to devour the lot of them?

You ask Rafayel, and he laughs at you. That hydra is long dead. Each and every head severed and rotted beneath the soil, giving nutrition to the very food you eat now.

Curiosity gets the better of you once again, and you venture to the mouth of the gully. It’s hard to find a time when you’re not being followed by Xavier or Rafayel– or both, but the very wee hours of the morning you have some time. 

Standing at the mouth of the gulley, you feel the vibrations beneath your feet. Not large, barely discernible, but there. The softest of rumblings and it’s rhythmic– like breathing. 

You come back the next morning, and it’s still there. Though sometimes, it gets stronger. Like something taking in a large inhale and exhaling. Snoring, maybe. Whatever it is, it’s large. Large enough to make the very earth around you tremble with its sleepy breath. 

You voice your concerns to Zayne. Something is in the gully, you tell him. Something big. Zayne gives you a look and laughs softly, telling you not to believe the excited tales of children. 

It’s nearly autumn, and there are herds of animals that traverse the forest. Grand hunts are planned with every capable hand being forced to attend. The sanctuary cannot waste this opportunity for a feast of game. The meat alone is undeniably precious, but the pelts. The bones. Every part of the animal is needed to get through another winter comfortably. 

So, you wait until the men have gone. They’ve brandished their bows and their arrows and set out. Xavier leaves you with his blade, and Rafayel with a scale. Telling you not to be foolish and that they will be gone for only a week. Zayne goes too, relying on you to keep the magic in place in his stead. A large honor and a show of his respect and trust in your abilities. 

The gulley is pitch black. There is no light reflected past the first ten feet, and so you wield an orb of starlight in your palm. A simple spell that Zayne taught you and Xavier helped you perfect. But it’s like the gulley swallows it, the light only emanating barely past your body. 

You call out softly, Hello? You whisper to the darkness and the darkness replies. A low, rumbling growl of warning. It rattles the walls around you, pebbles from disrupted earth falling from the ceiling. 

You press on, because you must. And you come up on a fiend. A beast of ebony and crimson. Resting curled like a cat, with its tail around its armored back. Thick as a soldier’s shield and sharper than any steel. A dragon lifts its head and bares its teeth at you, and the heat of its breath hits you like a flame. 

In your utter terror, the light in your palm vanishes, sending you both into the darkness.

By the time you scramble to conjure another, there is a man in place of the best. No longer sitting curled as wide as the gulley can hold, but mountainous tall. His claws reach out and grab your face and dig into your face, he demands to know why you intrude on his domain.

Foolishly, you reply that you didn’t. That this place is part of the sanctuary where you live. The dragon is amused by your terror and lets you go, telling you to turn away and to not come back. He disappears into the darkness, and you run for your life back the way you came. 

There’s a week until Zayne and the others return, a dragon could decimate this place. Rain fire and destruction like rain from above and leave nothing but rubble for them to return to. You have to do something. Appease the dragon and beg for him to spare your sanctuary. 

So, you steal the remaining dried meat from Zayne’s stores and pack it into a bag. You recall stories of dragons liking shiny things, and you pack another bag of crystals from the collection you’ve created over the years. The prettiest and most colorful born from the cracks of the cavern. 

When you return to the dragon, his laugh is dark and deadly. He asks you whether you long for death or simply too stupid to know when it stands before you. 

You throw the bags at his feet and fall to your knees, begging him to spare your sanctuary. You didn’t mean to disturb his sleep, and you’ll do anything for him to leave the sanctuary alone. 

The dragon seems neither impressed nor moved by your display of groveling. He calls you pathetic, but takes your offerings anyway. He tells you that a fiend is not satisfied by one meager sacrifice. To satiate a beast, you must feed it often and plenty. 

You ask what he wants, beg him to name a price. He laughs at you, and tells you to try again tomorrow. He wants to see what you come up with. 

The rest of that week, you go everyday to the dragon’s lair. Bringing him trinkets and things you can scrounge up that he might like. You bring him more food– fresh berries and baked tarts. You bring him a blanket you stitched, embroidered using thread Zayne had given to you. You bring him more crystals that you fashion into a bracelet for him, the way Rafayel taught you to keep the gems from falling.

The day before the others are set to return, you’re shaking with anxiety. Zayne could possibly reason with the dragon, but Rafayel will certainly try to fight him. Xavier too, if need be. 

Only blood and death awaits if you do nothing. So you do something you haven’t done since coming to the sanctuary, you arm yourself. You tae Xavier’s lightblade and some dusty armor and haphazardly tie it your chest. 

When the dragon sees you again, you look like a doll put together by child’s hands. The blade in your hands is too heavy, and the armor hanging off your body. But the fire in your eyes burns him the same as it would from any warrior. This display– gazing upon a woman with the determination to protect what she loves– is the best offering you’ve brought him yet. 

Amused, he asks what you intend to do with that sword, and you reply you will do what you must. The protectors of the sanctuary are to return within a day, and you will protect them. If the dragon desires destruction, he will have to kill you first. 

The dragon informs you that it is you that assumed he desired to destroy anything. You who begged on hands and knees for him to be merciful when he had done nothing but sleep too close to your home. Though he admires your effort, the sanctuary was never in danger from him.

He laughs at the shocked look on your face, and tells you that he has finally decided on his price. He shall have you. For the remainder of your mortal years, he shall have you at his beck and his call. Whenever he wishes to see you, you will come. For that is what he desires. 

You ask him if he plans to leave, and he says not far. This sanctuary is home to his pet now, and so it should be protected. He shall find a place higher up on the mountain, and the mere sight of him will ward off even the most bold of raiders. 

He leaves you feeling foolish, and you sit and wait for the others to return. 

When Zayne, Rafayel, and Xavier return, they’re in a hurry. Shedding filthy clothes from their hunt and searching for armor. For weapons. A dragon is circling over their mountain, and they must prepare. 

Sheepishly, you tell them what happened. That you met the dragon and he is here to stay. He won’t bother the sanctuary so long as you visit when he calls. There is quite the uproar– each one having their denials. It’s a night of yelling, from all of you. You argue that it’s the least you can do. If the dragon had wanted to kill you, he would have. You think he might just be lonely. 

The dragon doesn’t call for you until a month later, and it comes in the form of a raven. Flying into the sanctuary and finding you helping tan some of the many hides the hunters had brought. 

You follow the red eyed raven out of the sanctuary and into the forest, up a winding path and to a high up ledge. The wind is strong and the cave the dragon lives in is shallow. It’s cold and hardly a home, but you don’t comment. Not this time at least. 

This visit, you bring him a bag full of more crystals and some fresh meat this time. And in return, he gives you his name. It’s not pronounceable in your tongue and so you call him the closest name you can. Sylus. 

He preens when you name him, and you’re starting to think your assumption was right. He’s lonely. This fearsome beast did not make this wager for want of cruelty or sadism, but because he likes to be around you. 

Autumn brings with it harvests. Wild gourds to find, and nuts to gather. The leaves begin to change and the wind gets a little sharper. There are days when you venture out without Xavier, and you’re not sure how Sylus knows but he always seems to because he will find you. Sitting high up in the trees and watching you pick at fallen acorns.

Weeks go by and eventually you comment of Sylus’ living conditions. His bed is nothing but a couple furs, and he has nothing to protect him from rain coming in. Winter is approaching, and his little cave is hardly shelter from it. 

You form a plan, and it takes a while to get everything in order. Getting a reclusive dragon down from the mountain and into your sanctuary isn’t as simple as it sounds. This isn’t a puppy you found while wandering the forests, it’s a fiend. One that the people will fear if they aren’t properly prepared. 

So you start in a similar way to how you found him, with rumors. You use Rafayel and his way with words to weave stories of the dragon that protects your mountain. The sea god finds the dragon interesting, and desires to meet this other creature from legend. So, he helps you with this plan to bring the dragon down into the cavern below. 

Xavier is reluctant, he does not trust a dragon on principle alone. It takes him longer to warm up to the idea of him living in the sanctuary with you all, and you only convince him it’s to better protect everyone. If Sylus feels welcomed by the settlement, he’ll feel more inclined to protect it. 

Zayne is, oddly, the hardest to convince. He is so cautious and worries what adding yet another large personality will do to the mix. It’s bad enough having Rafayel here, who could level this place if his whim willed it. Having another man who could end everything they’ve worked so hard to build? No. 

You decide better to ask forgiveness than permission when it comes to Zayne. So, the very last thing to do before Sylus moves in, is tell Sylus that its happening. 

You wait until he calls on you again. Its the day after a heavy rain, and you nearly slip on the damp rock and the way up to his nest. The raven that accompanies him caws at you in aggravation when you slip again, and you’re clinging to the cliffside by the time you reach the top. 

Sylus never touches you. He avoids it as much as he can, but he grabs you the moment you’re close enough, and laughs at the way your knees tremble from the dangerous climb. You spy his cave, and it’s exactly as you feared. His nest is soaked, the little fire he’d built nothing but wet kindling, and you can see the way the rain poured in, pooling at the back. 

He notices you’ve come empty handed this time, and you tell him its because you have an offer for him. 

When you tell him to come back with you. That you have made room for him in the sanctuary he laughs at you the loudest yet. A fiend? Walking into your idyllic little cavern? The people will riot. They’ll flee, thinking it better to risk raiders than the maw of a dragon. 

It takes some convincing, and you have to hold his hand when you come down the mountain together. You can feel his hesitation, even if it doesn’t show on his face. He fears how the people will react when they see him. He cannot hide his horns, his tail, his claws, but you assure him he doesn’t need to. 

With you leading him, the people recognize the dragon. The stories you’ve spread have integrated themselves among the settlement that they people are overjoyed. They’re nervous, as Sylus is a tall and imposing figure, but they welcome him.

Zayne is not pleased when Sylus comes into his house, knocking his horns on the entryway. But you stand fast, saying that if he sends Sylus away, you will go with him. This only makes Zayne frown harder, and for a few days, he doesn’t speak to you. 

Things feel precarious, and winter sets in. Zayne feels distant, and Sylus is tense. Xavier is steadfast is his guard and his counsel. He offers you some advice that maybe, maybe they feel like you might be choosing one over the other. Declaring your intent to follow Sylus would have wounded Zayne, who values you highly.

You realize you’ve hurt Xavier too, when he tells you this. So you make efforts to make amends. You assure Xavier that you have no intention to leave the sanctuary, or him. Not for anything. 

Rafayel and Sylus form a tenuous friendship, The sea god is intrigued by the dragon, but Sylus, you learn, was not raised among his kin. He doesn’t know much about dragons beyond which he’s discovered himself. This intrigues Rafayel more and so they spend time comparing their…less human qualities. 

Making amends with Zayne is….tedious. It takes time for him to forgive you for threatening to leave, and for going against his command of ‘no dragons’. You dedicate more time to studying with him, learning the runes and getting up earlier than him to go through the rounds of reimplementing magic so he doesn’t have to. Even then, it’s a month before he speaks to you again with any length.

You keenly feel the loss of his companionship, and it frays you. So, one night you do something you haven’t in years. You silently enter his bedroom, and crawl into bed beside him. It’s cold, you mumble. And you and Zayne both know he’s a poor source of warmth. He doesn’t push you away, and holds you like he’s missed you. 

Winter is a time of huddling together. Forging bonds over fires and finding the way the pieces fit together. Sylus and Xavier have a competitive spirit with one another. They find themselves at odds. The five of you grow closer. And Zayne’s one room cottage becomes a proper house. With two floors, multiple rooms, and even little study filled with books. 

Their combined magic makes the sanctuary nearly impenetrable. No one, not even the strongest of sorcerers could detect the magic hiding the entrance in the forest. No one, not even the fiercest warrior, would dare tread upon a mountain circled by a dragon. And no one, not even the boldest of gods, would interfere upon the sea god’s new claim. 

The love between you is fragile. As fragile as the seedling sprouting in the spring. The winter passes by in a fever of feather-light affection and tentative kisses. You aren’t sure how to navigate this, and neither are they. It goes unspoken and unnamed, but there is a loyalty forged between the five of you that burns as hot as a dying star. Steadfast as steel, and hard as adamantium.

It’s summer again when the dream breaks. Nearly five years after Sylus had joined, he came rushing into the sanctuary after having patrolled the expanse of his domain. It startles the people he sprints by in his rush to reach your home. 

An army. He cries. An army approaches from the west with banners of white and silver. At least a thousand strong. They did not stop in their march when Sylus approached, and did not cow when he roared at them in warning. His draconic form was not frightening because they’d expected it. 

They’d been found. The sanctuary was in danger. Plans had been made for this occasion, but to actually have to use them? Your stomach turns with nausea as Zayne jumps into action. He and Xavier are the leaders in this, and they set to work immediately. 

They send scouts down through the gully, the people must be evacuated, and it’s the only way. A pair of their fastest runners are sent, but they return too soon. Barely a mile down, the gully hase caved in. There is no way out. 

When Rafayel goes to scout himself, he detects the remnants of magic. Stinking of destruction and sulfur. Someone caved it in on purpose, and made sure to do so with the rest of the tunnel too– there would be no digging out. 

The five of you try to avoid a panic in the people. They look to you and your group. With wide, fearful eyes they seek to find answers– for which you have few. 

Do you fight? Even with the strongest of warrior you have too few. Too many would be lost, and the sanctuary would be rubble. Fleeing is the only choice, but how? How to exapce with hundreds of people into the woods? They would be not only at the mercy of the elements, but the creatures that roam as well. 

An envoy arrives ahead of the army. A man clad in black armor with a silvery banner. His presence broaches the protective wards outside. There is much debate on who will meet him, and it’s eventually decided that Zayne and Xavier will. 

You, Rafayel, and Sylus stand at the very edge of the entrance out of sight. You hear the envoy hand Zayne a rolled parchment with demands. This settlement has not declared allegiance to any kingdom or god, and must do so to remain. 

Bend the knee to Astra, god of stars and stories. The envoy declares, Declare your allegiance to his service and his worship, and declare Astra the rightful ruler of Philos and the cosmos. Only then, will your settlement be spared. 

Zayne does not reply. The sound of parchment being unfolded could be heard and the terrible silence of it being read makes your heart pound. 

The scroll is crumpled and tossed to the grassy forest floor, Your message demands sacrifice. Payment for time unserved. Zayne’s voice is a deadly blade, and it’s a wonder it doesn’t kill the messenger. 

Astra demands your priestess. The one your people worship instead of him. The envoy informs, like he was going to go through this whole meeting without mentioning that tidbit of information. 

Zayne informs the messenger that no deal will be struck today, and to return to his master with a request for better terms. 

The three of you are caught eavesdropping when Zayne and Xavier return back to the shadows of the cavern, but no one speaks. 

Astra. One of the gods in this endless war. God of stories, he calls himself. Formless but with a handful of powerful priests as his agents to command his army. He seeks to control Philos and its kingdoms. To erect temples to his worship throughout the land– at least, that’s the story. 

He could just be a man. A man claiming godhood and enough people believed it to make it true. Rafayel is offended by the claim and says as much as you return home. 

You’re barely in the door before you say what they’re all fearing. That you’ll go. If it’s you that Astra’s demanding, then it’s what you have to do. 

Zayne’s sanity is on a knife’s edge, and he– along with the others– vehemently denies this. You won’t sacrifice yourself. They won’t allow it. 

What other choice is there? You say. The sanctuary. Everything you’ve built here. All the lives– the families that have been made here. The children born and raised in this safe haven. They are worth protecting. If your sacrifice keeps this place safe then it’s an easy bargain to make. 

Arguments ensue. Debates of morality and the worth of a single life. The option between giving allegiance to an evil god or attempting to flee is heavy. There isn’t a right answer, and there are too many wrong ones. A horrible game of rolling the dice and there’s no winners. Everyone is going to walk away from this table bloody and penniless if they don’t come up with something. 

Of course, it’s Zayne that comes up with an answer. After you’ve gone to bed, Zayne stays up through the night tearing through the tomes and texts he’s collected through the years. The book he stole from his birthplace– a city in service to Astra– that he’s refused to open all these years. 

He’ll use the god’s power against him. The god of stories will find his story rewritten. It’s a spell written only in theory, because in practice it cannot be done. Shouldn’t be done. It uses the user’s own life force to unravel the timeline they are in, to become nothing but an author to rewrite the word to their desire. A powerful, heinous spell. 

Sylus finds Zayne pouring over the texts and brings it to the attention of the others. While Zayne intended to do it alone, the others won’t let him. To truly unravel a thing like Astra, he will need more than his own mortality can provide. 

Sylus offers his own. Use his unnatural life. Use his soul. Undo this fate of almost love. Keep you safe. Keep the others safe. The sanctuary could burn for all he cares, but you….you have to live. 

Rafayel inserts himself saying that it would take the life of a god to kill another. That only Rafayel’s life force will be enough. Use him, and rewrite a world without this war entirely. Write a story where the world is peaceful and lovely. Where no one has to die. 

There is no agreement when it comes to these things. Whose life is worth losing? Who’s soul is worth sacrificing? It is an unanswerable question, and it is clever Xavier that finds an answer they can agree to.

Zayne must be the one to enact the spell. Only he, as a former agent of Astra can work the runes and weave the magic needed to do this dastardly thing. He puts you, Sylus, Rafayel, and Xavier into an unnatural sleep before he sets to work. He doesn’t say goodbye, none of you do– because if it works, then you’ll meet again. 

It is no simple trick, unweaving the tapestry of a universe. And more than a simple life is cost by the caster. The very threads of the universe they exist in are untied. They are stripped down to the barest of silk with the power of Zayne’s magic. 

Rewrite this story. Zayne sets the intention, and the runes he writes burn away the molecules of his flesh. Reality around him shifts, matter comes undone, Time stopped and rewound.

A new story is written. One without war. Without Philos and its greedy king. A timeline cleaned up of the filth this one was filled with. No Astra. No raiders. Not even a sanctuary, because it never had to be. The people that filled it are free to live lives full of choice and sunlight. No caverns and scrounging for food. 

A better life. A better story. 

Zayne signed his name and sealed his fate. Relinquishing the last of his memory to the demands of the spell. He was able to preserve the minds of those he loves, but he won’t remember any of it. In this new universe, he will be just as unaware as the rest of them. 

However, just before the supernova. Before the final page. Another line is written. Another hand writing in lines unintended by Zayne and the others. Another name was signed, and the story….changed. 

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[plooto]

⋆˙✧⋆｡ kinkmas day 3 — lingerie + stockings ｡⋆✧˙⋆

warnings ❆. inter-species ! established ! relationship , reader is scientist , pet names ( doll , little colonel , princess , darlin’ , pumpkin ) , cursing , using the ‘lord’s name in vain’ , daddy kink , marking , size kink , lingerie , stockings , fingering , p i v , soft quaritch , pwp .

now playing : baby it’s cold outside ; idina menzel ft michael dublé

1:23 ────|───── 1:23

volume : ▮▮▮▮▮▮▮▮▮▯

you couldn’t ignore how frustrated your nine-foot tall boyfriend has been these past few weeks..his shoulders were more tense than normal and you were sure his boss was doing her favorite thing - talking his ear off. you had the night off tonight, working real hard around the freezing bridgehead city, to give your boyfriend some much needed tlc.

except, that was the last thing on your mind - tender loving care. you wanted to make his troubles wash away, and not with deep muscle back rubs.

you’d been hiding a pretty white lace outfit, one you managed to get your hands on after miles mentioned something about seeing you in something different.

“ y’always talkin’ ‘bout lookin’ pretty, right doll? ” you sat up on his stomach, palms pressing against his chest as you looked at him with his favorite pair of eyes - doe like and sinfully innocent. nodding your head, you waited for his response.

“ o‘course, i prefer you with nothing at all, ” he gives you a smirk, tilting his head as big golden eyes raked down your form, drinking in the sight of you. he taps your thigh gently, “ but, somethin’ sheer, the lacey one that cover yer body, what- what’s that called again- ” you look up to the ceiling, eyebrows pulling together as you thought.

“ lingerie? ” you asked with a tilt of your head. he sucked his teeth, flashing you a devious smile as his mind filled with possibilities.

“ that’s the thing..lingerie. ”

and tonight was the night that you would use it - to make his mind numb. you were nervous as you walked from your room to his, praying to the deity the na’vi believed in that no one would look in your direction to notice your legs donned a prettier set of stockings. with pounding heart and shaky hands, you tugged the lab coat tighter as you tried not to listen to how loud your little mary janes were tapping against the grippy floor tile. as you got closer to his room, you moved a bit faster.

“ hey, little colonel. ” your blood went cold as you froze, you were so close. you slowly turned to see corporal lyle.

“ oh, hi lyle. ” your voice cracked, praying he ignored it and the riding heat to your face. he places his hands on his hips and didn’t bother to kneel down to your height,

“ the colonel isn’t in there yet, ” your eyebrows raised to feign surprise. you knew he wasn’t back yet, you were supposed to be the surprise. pulling your head out of the clouds you shuffled uncomfortably on your feet, partially from friction of the lab coat through the lace, partially from the freezing temperatures of the building. lyle took a heavy breath through his respirator, waiting for your response as if fell against his chest.

“ oh! um.. could you tell him i’ll be in here? i- i need to talk to him..about something.. ” the recom before you nodded, eyebrow raising as he committed your request to memory,

“ sure, i’ll pass along the message. ” you thanked him, waiting for him to leave before pressing your thumb to the keypad, tip toeing to reach it. the hiss from the door mimicked the sigh that left your lips. you slipped inside immediately and waited for the door to close. your shoulders dropped with relief as you looked around the room, walking around to decide where you should wait for him. you looked around, your brain moving thousands of miles an hour trying to come up with a plan that would have him weak at the knees. you didn’t hear the door open, but you did hear the thud of his boots against the ground as they got louder and louder.

“ darlin’? lyle said you wanted to talk t’me. ” you turned your head to him, but not turning fully.

“ w- wait! ” you fumbled out, hearing his footsteps halt immediately, you chewed on your bottom lip, deepening it’s color as you thought. cursing under your breath, you removed the lab coat, letting it fall to the ground. you heard his breath hitch, not knowing what to expect, you screwed your eyes shut.

“ y- fuck, turn around f’me. ” swallowing the rising lump in your throat, you did as you were told, not lifting your head from the imaginary dot on the ground.

“ look at me, princess. ” the masses of butterflies in your stomach took flight, yet you couldn’t bring yourself to look up at him. you heard the taps of his boots on the ground, the next moment, you saw his dark camo of his pants bend in front of you, a warm hand cupping under your chin. miles turned your face to force your eyes to look at his,

“ y’did all this f’me? ” you nod shyly. his ears pin back, a gentle smile, one that was exclusively for your eyes only, spreading across his face. “ turn around, lemme take a look at ya. ” when your eyes widen ever so slightly miles places a kiss to your lips, calming your nerves as if he could smell them. your hands went to his wrists, an attempt to keep him there, the need for him to drink away all your frets in the front of your mind.

as miles pulls away from the kiss, his hands move to your waist, giving you a gentle push backwards so he can take a proper look at you. one hand down at his side, the other rests on his knee as he watches you turn with dilated eyes.

“ slower. ” he stretched the o sound, drawing his bottom lip between his teeth - admiring how the hem and how it sunk into the supple flesh of your ass nicely. he resisted giving your plump cheeks a pinch, but he couldn’t help wrapping his fingers around your waist, pulling you to sit on his raised knee. you yelped, not expecting your feet to leave the ground. miles was excited, eyes burning with lust - a feeling he hasn’t felt since his teen years. a feeling only you could provoke.

“ y’don’t know what y’re doin’ to me darlin- ” the hardness in his pants throbbed as you squirmed in his lap, your arousal seeping through the lacy material and the aroma reaching his nose.

“ do y’like it? ” using his speech pattern you inquired. his smirk grew, miles pulled your wrist in his hand, leading you to feel the bulge in his pants - the problem you created. he watched as your face warmed when you felt how hard he was, how hard you made him.

propping you on his bicep, he slipped out of his shoes, sauntering over to the bed before unceremoniously dropping you on it.

“ oomph! mil- ” he silenced you with a hard kiss to your lips. miles quaritch wasn’t a patient man thoroughly displayed when he tore the bottom half of the pretty lace.

“ i’ll find you new ones. ” he reasoned as he sucked harsh kisses into your neck, textured tongue dancing over the dark splotches. large fingers found their way between your thighs, teasing your slicked entrance. you cursed, fingers finding the elastic of the stocking to pull them off.

“ ah-ah.. ” in a swift motion, your hands were pinned above your head, miles sitting up higher to peer at your pouted lips.

“ so pretty. ” he murmured to himself. your lips parted, dead set on scolding him for teasing you, instead a moan tumbled from them.

he pushed a finger into you, groaning as he felt your warmth invite him. his finger was big, you felt full, yet not nearly as full as you should be.

“ ah! mi- ” you started, whimpering when you felt his finger leave leave your core,

“ y’know better than that w’did i teach you? ” you whined, hips grinding against nothing,

“ daddy please~ ” you pleaded, with a smirk he tugged the lace down off your chest, exposing your chest, nipples growing taut from the cold air. you gasped - you should have known this wasn’t going to make it past this night.

“ good girl. ” he growled, head dipping to latch onto your nipple, two fingers plunging inside you to curl at the spongy spot inside your velvety walls.

“ fuck me- ” you cried, head falling back against the pillow as your back arched into his chest. you clenched around him, the stretch being just enough to force your eyes shut with pleasure. you couldn’t contain the moans that fell from your pretty lips as he thrusts his fingers uncoordinatedly inside you, tongue swirling around your nipple.

miles pushed another finger inside you, lips departing from your nipple to watch your eyes screw shut. fuck his hands were so large- you held familiar heat flood your stomach, not giving you a heads up as you made a mess of his hand.

“ fuck- d- daddy ‘m sorry! ” you tried to reason, feeling his fingers leave you immediately.

“ ‘nd you were doing so good pumpkin. so good. ” he tasked, his left hands holding your wrists releasing you before manhandling you onto your stomach. you couldn’t see what he was doing, but you when you heard the clink of his belt and weight shifting behind you. you turned your head to the side, desperate to catch a glimpse of the pretty appendage he donned.

“ ah fuck- m- daddy! ” you cried as the thick head of his cock breached your entrance, miles’ hips working in inch by thick inch. a growl left him as he watched your lips spread around his cock, eyes narrowing at he white ring you left as he pulled his hips back, the head teasing departure. you wanted to whine, to wiggle - to disobey, but a large hand pushed your shoulders, relishing in the feel of the lace beneath his fingers as he pushed you deeper into the sheets. he sunk inside you fully, your belly bulging with nothing but him.

“ christ fuck yer drippin’. ” your eyes rolled back in your head as a choked moan left our lips, bruised from your feeble attempts to muffle your cries. he set a brutal pace, not giving you a second longer to adjust to his size, not like you wanted to. you fisted at the sheets beneath you, desperate to hold onto something as you tried to form coherent sentences, thoughts.

he knew your brain was fried, your pussy told him so. the way you were sucking him in told it all. so he gave you what you wanted, unhindered, unrestrained, his hips snapped with rough thrusts. you wailed, taping against the bed uncoordinatedly.

“ y’gonna cum princess? ” you nodded - tried to. “ use yer words. ” he slowed his hips only a fraction to allow you room to think, to ask for permission just the way he liked it.

“ close- da- fuck! daddy please! can i? ” you pleaded with him, you weren’t near coherent, he wouldn’t be fucking you right if you were. his other hand gripped your hip, imprinting his hand into your skin.

“ hold it. ” he growled, pulling your hips down to meet his with unwavering force, hips stuttering as he felt his balls grow tight.

“ fuck- now princess. c’mon give it t’me. ” he snarled as your body responded immediately, shaking with white hot pleasure as you reached your peak, pulling your dreamwalker boyfriend down with you. a string of curses left his lips as he emptied himself inside you, his stomach tensing with the force of his orgasm.

“ christ. look at the mess y’made. ” he panted, pulling out slowly as he watched his seed slip out of your abused hole. you shivered as you were filled with emptiness, knees sliding out from under you as your hips flattened against the bed. you didn’t notice miles leave the bed, the memories replaying in your mind as your ass throbbed. he kneeled beside you, lips brushing against your ear as he whispered.

“ now y’can take tha stockings off. ”

tags -> @luvv4j4ybe11

[serpentface]

The two populations of native Wardi lions, a wild male and captive semi-domesticated (maned) lioness

Lions are one of the last extant true felids in this setting. The native Wardi lion population is low in density and could be considered endangered, (though relatively stable and not in active decline), having survived the continental interchange, changing climate, and sophont expansion that wiped out most other felids. They are most common in areas outside of the range of king hyenas (notably the deserts, edges of the salt pans, hills, and oak forests). The Wardi population is characterized by relatively light coloration and dark, scruffy 'mohawk' like manes. The only other known surviving lion population in the world is in the forested region east of Imperial Wardin, genetically isolated by the Blackmane mountain range and spared competition with hyaenadontoid 'cats'.

These animals had great significance in ancient 'heathen' Wardi culture (prior to colonization by two former Burri empires and development of the contemporary monotheistic faith). The exact details of these traditions have been lost to time, though they were clearly venerated, either as gods themselves or as sacred animals of a key deity (known from relics depicting a deified maned lioness)

Two distinct strands of this tradition survive into the contemporary. One is in the folklore of the Wogan people (an ethnoreligious minority in contemporary Imperial Wardin with common cultural ancestry with ethnic Wardi, displaced from their original homeland during the time of the last Burri empire). Wogan folklore casts maned lionesses specifically as minor deities who can shapeshift into human form, often to mate with men (with the resulting children being demigods). The Wogan culture hero Ianobi (semi-mythological founder of the ancient city that was sacked and rebuilt as Erubinnos) is claimed to have a lioness as a mother.

The other remaining branch of this tradition is Odomache (the 'lion face' of God in the imperial Wardi faith) and Its Odonii order of priestesses. Though their contemporary role is primarily interlinked with the military and as physical embodiments of imperial soverignty, they are also ceremonial keepers of a captive, semi-domesticated population of sacred white lions, raised primarily for roles in routine animal sacrifice (both as a conduit for God in consuming offerings, and as sacrifices themselves)

These white lions compose a solid third of the remaining Wardi lion population. The captive population is characterized by very light fur (which is not albinism but a result of selective breeding) and extremely small size. Maned lionesses occur with a higher frequency than in wild populations, and will be intentionally selected for breeding, seen as the most perfect representations of/ideal sacrifices to Odomache. They can be considered semi-domesticated, well accommodated to human handling, entering estrus more frequently, and showing phenotypical signs of domestication (especially spotted skin, some coat variations). While aesthetically pleasing, this captive population is heavily inbred and commonly overfed, and most animals have an unusually short lifespan.

[thepastisalreadywritten]

Hadrian's Wall

Hadrian's Wall is an impressive masterpiece of military engineering built along steep ups and downs that cross space and history between England and Scotland.

The old wall, sculpted for almost 2000 years by wind and rain, climbs over hills, immerses itself in a moor to suddenly resurface among the blades of light of a wood, a karst presence that seems to absorb the energy of landscape to challenge its gravity and logic in a rollercoaster of harsh ups and downs that cross space and history.

Hadrian's Wall is no longer England but it is not yet Scotland, even if the land to the north seems wilder.

But perhaps it is just a state of mind of those who look at it, subtly altered by the emotion of treading the same stones on which the Roman legionaries walked.

In reality, unlike what many believe, the Wall is within English territory, even if it has helped define the borders of the two countries since the emperor from whom it takes its name ordered its construction in 122 AD to "separate the Romans from the barbarians," the hostile tribes of the Picts who populated today's Scotland, a tough nut to crack even for the Roman legions.

To build it in just six years, about fifteen thousand men were employed, three legions that faced the challenges of a terrain carefully chosen to exploit its advantages.

The result is an impressive masterpiece of military engineering, a UNESCO World Heritage Site since 1987, stretching from one coast of England to the other for eighty Roman miles, about one hundred and seventeen kilometers from Solway Firth to the west and Wallsend to the east.

It is one of the many place names linked to its existence and then extending southwards with ports and coastal fortifications.

For nearly three centuries, Hadrian's Wall was northernmost and most fortified boundary of the Roman limes, a gigantic defensive system that stretched for over five thousand kilometres — from the Atlantic coast of Great Britain to the Black Sea across Europe — then continuing through present-day Middle East to Red Sea and from there cutting across North Africa to the Atlantic.

The 117km long (80 Roman miles) Hadrian's Wall was punctuated by 14 main forts, 80 minor ones and 2 watchtowers every third of a mile.

In addition to the actual wall, mainly made of stone, about 5m high and up to 3m thick, becoming six metres thick in the earthen sections, the Wall was reinforced by a ditch bristling with pointed stakes, a military road that connected the forts and allowed any point to be reached quickly and by a deep embankment, the Vallum.

The forts, rectangular in plan, varied in size according to the importance of the garrison, a pattern repeated with slight differences along the entire limes that protected the borders of the empire.

A moat and a wall punctuated by towers protected the perimeter and each side had a gate protected by two massive towers.

Inside were the headquarters — the praetorium where the praefectus castrorum reside; barracks; a hospital; warehouses and latrines, generally under the walls, while the bathrooms were outside the fortifications.

In granary, food supplies were stored to face the harsh winters or possible sieges.

In the Vicus, the civilian settlement, lived the families of the soldiers, often auxiliaries who officially could not marry.

In these villages that grew spontaneously around the forts, merchants, artisans and prostitutes also lived, attracted by the soldiers' wages.

There were also temples dedicated to Roman, local and even oriental deities that reflected the different religions of soldiers from all over the empire because Romans were very tolerant as long as the social order and the emperor were not questioned.

🎥: © pindropandhop via IG

[bicokun]

Kinda surprised that I can’t find much Slay the Princess fanfic that actually deals with what happens outside The Construct whether you choose to go as deities or as mortals. I especially think the latter would be interesting to see as TLQ and Shifty could experience this world that, according to The Narrator, was close to the final conclusion of entropy.

It seems that the world outside is still supposed to be filled with people and has a society, and must also be very advanced given both that it would be far older than our current universe and that The Narrator could split the cycle of order and chaos in two and trap them, which I think could only have been accomplished if he already lived in a Sufficiently Advanced society.

I can sort of imagine a very futuristic sci-fi space-faring setting. Perhaps the universe has spread so thin that normal FTL travel just ain’t what it used to be, and there are resource shortages so it’s very much a Used Future. I think it’d be cool if The Creator and TLQ both looked like one of the alien species (or perhaps a species long descended from Earth crows on some terraformed planet who became more humanoid) of the setting, while of course there are others who look pretty human. This way TLQ and Shifty might just look like some interspecies couple when they settle down at the End of Time.

Of course, it’d be cool if they retained some aspects of their divine abilities. After all, they would still probably be part of their larger selves, just outside The Construct instead of in a cabin in the woods. TLQ probably wouldn’t still have the voices, per se, but he’d still have a lot of their abilities which would make him super durable, able to stay alive far past normal limits, and perhaps even regenerate to a certain extent. The power of his belief may even still have slight reality warping power if he uses the Power of Love or Skepticism or whatnot. Shifty could probably more subtly shift between her different aspects depending on how she’s being perceived by others at the time. Perhaps not as drastic as, say, growing several feet, but she may get taller and take on some Tower features, or her horns might start to come out if she’s looking competitive. She might even gain a cat tail every so often. This might not be noticed at first since humans are probably able to do plenty of bod mod, but it might be noticed after awhile, and there could be extreme cases that cause her to transform more drastically. It’d also be fun if she found herself getting traits not necessarily seen in the game, like if TLQ is feeling frisky and suddenly she’s a few cup sizes bigger and her dress has inexplicably shortened.

Those are just a few random thoughts on it. I think there could be a lot of different directions people could go with that kind of story.

[phightingheadcanons]

SFOTH Headcanons bc why not

Windforce - Will just kind of appear around(mostly behind) banhammer sometimes. if he's talking to another inphernal when this happens he'll notice their reaction and just casually turn around and go, "hi mom" - She may have taken playground into the air, but she is surprisingly not there very often (you'd think that a deity that pulled an entire faction out of the ground and into the air would hang around, but nope) - Despite being very rambunctious and kind of impulsive (also just kind of crazy to the point where even the other SFOTH don't stop her from doing what she wants to do), she's actually a really caring person and would do just about anything to protect the other SFOTH and Banhammer. - It usually gets a bit breezy or windy when Windforce is nearby, so if the wind suddenly picks up out of pretty much nowhere, she's probably nearby. Also probably behind her son lol

Firebrand - He feels really bad about what happened to Dom and about his and Valk's parents not being present so he tries to take care of them the best he can, but often had to rely on Umbrella to take care of them (you can only do so much with hands that hot -- literally) - Before he just kind of disappeared he would actually try and see the inphernals as much as he could (mostly when Valk and Dom were around though bc grandsons) and was always kind, which is why he is(was?) the most beloved deity. - The air gets warmer smells kind of like campfire smoke smell when he's nearby, but really really faintly. Even when you're right next to him the campfire smell isnt very prominent. Its there, but not very strong at all

Venomshank - constantly has to break up petty fights between Sword and Sisyphus because they act like siblings in a lot of ways - ^ Venomshank has gone into a "small" panic because of these a few times before, but mostly only when Sword begins to pull out his gear or Sisyphus goes big bird. or both at the same time (the two never actually aim to hurt each other, they just basically do sibling things in fights and whatnot) - You can usually tell Venomshank nearby because the area will smell a little off. Like less fresh if that makes any sense-

Ghostwalker - Revives people even though he sometimes doesn't think they're worth reviving. Study purposes, lets say - Since Ghostwalker doesn't really feel emotions, he didn't really teach Ghostdeeri how to respond in certain situations, she both learned on her own and through Traffic - Ghostwalker is probably one of the most feared or at least like suspicious deities to the inphernal ( other than Windforce and maybe Darkheart) - When Ghostwalker is nearby the air just gets kinda dry. Like desert air, but without the heat. just dry (this is coming from someone who lives in a desert area)

Ice Dagger - Just a little little guy (but actually kinda scary) - Generally liked by the inphernals because he is mostly chill, but can and will sometimes just attack random people that are alone. why? great question, moving on (aka I have no idea) - its usually recognizable if Ice Dagger is nearby because the air will get a little bit chillier in that one area, but perfectly fine everywhere else, just around him. - ^ the size of the area can change depending on his mood or even the current weather of that time of year (if its more chilly outside it'll feel colder in a wider area than if it was warmer outside, that kind of thing)

Darkheart - Can and will use inphernals as fishing bait because why not - They refer to themselves plurally because they have this little voice in the back of their head that they think isn't them, but is really just their internal dialogue - The air will get a lot more humid when Darkheart is nearby, like, *really* humid. almost 100% humidity humid type humid. (which sounds like actual hell to someone who has only ever lived in desert air)

Illumina - tends to scare inphernals a lot. Sometimes intentional, sometimes not, but most of the time at least a little bit intentional - He'll kind of just appear sometimes just to scare ppl - ^ or he'll appear behind someone that's talking shit about either himself or another SFOTH (yes even if its shit talking Darkheart) and will just be like "You talking shit about ___?" and scare the shit out of them then disappear again - ^^ also sometimes he'll say more after asking. like if the person is shit talking Darkheart he'll just continue with something like "keep up the good work" or something stupid like that. just because he hates them - is mostly silent and doesn't appear often in the slightest. only appears to inphernals like, once every blue moon and he's fucking gone again, they don't even really know what happened and cant process it its so fast - The air actually doesnt really change much when Illumina is nearby. like, something feels off all of a sudden, but you cant really place what feels off. it just feels off.

- 🌌✨️ anon (I'm trying not to spam headcanons into the inbox, sorry if I am- I'm trying to space them out slower than my brain is making them but its making them too fast-)

oh nono anon its okay (i know im really late) but um. spamming inbox is okay!!

[askcombatking]

[ Knock knock. Knock. Knock knock knock. ]

[ ... ]

[ BANGBANGBANGBANGBANG ]

[ There's someone at your door! Or... balcony.. door. Window? Doesn't matter the descriptor. There is an eldritch deity outside that wants in. ]

" ...Can I c ome in. Wak ey wakey. "

[ Does this guy know what he's doing rn vro. What time it is. ]

*The king rolls around in his bed. His eyes flickering awake as he looks at the doors. He knows it's a creature of the night, but it had to be so late in onto the night to appear? Either way, the king kicks off the blankets, using his gauntlet to light around the room.*

". . .Ugghhh."

*The king groans like a zombie as he rises from his bed, going towards the balcony's door. He opens it, staring at the entity. He is currently in standard Uncertified Combat Dummy clothing, only difference other than size being his gauntlet and the stubs of the cut-off horns in his head.*

". . .Hello."

*The king tiredly replies, his voice sounding like a sloth talking.*

". . .Had to come in so late? The sun is going to rise in a few hours. . ."