#don't feel like you need to match length at all

[pedroscurls]

We all know Hugh HATES to be late at events/dinner or people who are..but what if his girl is a little needy 🥵 and "nervous" 😩 about what to wear?

late to the party (one-shot)

summary: possibly already late to ryan and blake's party, hugh becomes just slightly annoyed when you can't decide what to wear... and when he realizes that you're doing it on purpose, he only knows one way to make sure you don't do it again. pairing: hugh jackman x fem!reader content warning: smut (18+, mdni), quickie, dom!hugh, light spanking, dirty talk, fingering, doggy style (against the wall), unprotected p in v (be safe folks!), creampie (oopsies!), no use of y/n. word count: 1.8k a/n: once again, this one is really late to post so i'm sorry. i'm slowly catching up with all my requests! to the anon that requested this, i hope you enjoyed it! (btw - i'm gonna try something new with these headers moving forward, it takes so long to pick photos and figured just choosing one hugh pic is better lol). as always, this is purely fictional! i mean no disrespect to hugh jackman.

“Baby, come on. We’re already late,” Hugh calls out, straightening out his tie. He then glances at his watch and when he sees that it’s already past the time that you both needed to be at Ryan and Blake’s house, he grabs his phone to send a text to them. 

You’re standing in the closet, dressed in a matching black lace bra and thong. You bite your lower lip at Hugh’s voice; you know he’s always so punctual and hates it when other people – including himself – are late. 

“I know! I can’t figure out what to wear.” You can hear Hugh’s footsteps approach you, can hear him let out a quiet sigh of frustration. You have your arms crossed over your chest, a thoughtful look on your features by the time he enters the closet with you. He has his hands in his pockets and when you turn to look over at him, his brows are furrowed together and his lips in a straight line. 

“That black one is nice,” he says, nodding his chin to the black dress you’re standing in front of. “Come on, baby. You know I hate being late.” 

“Well, we’re already late and I don’t know what to wear.” 

He sighs again. “Whatever you decide to wear will look good on you, love. Just put on that black one and let’s go.” 

You bite your lower lip and shake your head, turning your back to him as you walk further into the closet to look at the other dresses you have hanging. You can hear the tapping of his foot and you’re trying to hold back the smile on your lips. 

“Baby…” He walks after you and reaches for the dress he pointed out. It’s a black dress with subtle floral print, a ruffled square neckline and sheer short sleeves. It has an empire waist that he knows will fit perfectly to each curve as the bottom of your dress flows out. It looks like the length will stop right at your shins and he walks towards you with the dress in hand. “I’ll pick for you. It’s this one.”

When you turn around to face him, you bite your lower lip and look up at him. You see his eyes deviate to your body, a glimmer of desire flashing through his eyes before he remembers that you’re both already late for the party. 

“I don’t know about that one though…” you say with a sigh, but the corner of your lips turn upwards and Hugh narrows his eyes. 

“Are you–” He hangs the dress back up on the clothesline and then steps closer to you. “Are you doing this on purpose?” 

“What? No!”

Hugh narrows his eyes even further and moves a hand to your hip, pushing you further into the closet until your back gently hits the wall. He reaches out with one hand and places it next to your head, leaning down until his nose is touching yours. 

“Looks to me like you’re doing this on purpose.”

“I just– I just don’t know what to wear!” you lie, biting the inside of your cheek as you feel the hand on your hip tighten. 

“Sounds like you’re lying, baby.” Hugh brushes his lips against yours, hearing your breath catch in your throat as you gasp quietly. “If I reach down here,” he whispers, moving his hand from your hip to between your legs, cupping your sex instantly. “And if I feel that you’re wet…” he continues, moving the strip of your thong to the side as he runs the tip of his finger along the length of your sex. “Oh, you are wet. How long have you been wet, huh?” 

“Hugh…” you whimper, reaching out to rest your hands on his suit jacket but careful not to wrinkle the clothes he’s wearing. After all, you both still need to attend Ryan and Blake’s party. 

“So, let me ask again… Did you intentionally make us late?” 

You shake your head and he clicks his tongue, thrusting two fingers deep inside of you. Your arousal makes it easy for him to push his digits into your tight heat and when he feels you about to grip onto his suit jacket, he uses his free hand and grips your wrists in one hand, gently placing them above your head. 

“Oh baby,” he growls. “Don’t lie to me.” Hugh pushes his fingers in and out of you at a fast pace, knowing that it won’t take long for you to reach your climax, but just as he feels your walls begin to clench, he pulls his hand away. 

“Okay!” you exclaim, trying to squirm against him, hips pushing forward and off the wall to chase his fingers. “I did it on purpose… I saw you in that suit and I just– I need you. I knew that the only way I could get what I need was if I made us late and–” 

Hugh growls and releases your hands to grip your hips, roughly turning you around. He watches you place your hands on the wall in front of you, bracing yourself once he pulls your hips closer to him. You can hear him undo his belt and his zipper. You look over your shoulder to watch him drop his suit pants and boxer briefs down his legs. 

He tugs your thong down your legs and you gasp, feeling his warm and leaking tip press against your opening. 

“Hugh, wait, I–” He pushes his hips forward, filling you to the brim in one thrust. He’s so deep that it literally takes your breath away. You gasp, feeling him pull out to his tip until he thrusts back into you. 

“This what you wanted?” Hugh growls, using one hand to grip your hip tightly as he brings his other hand down to connect with your backside. It leaves a red imprint, the sound of the spank echoing throughout the closet. It catches you off guard and your walls clench at the sensation. 

“Y– Yes!” you answer, pushing back against him as he delivers another sharp slap to your ass. He lets out a loud groan, ceasing his movements only to watch you push back against him. He looks down at your bodies, the sight of his glistening manhood appearing and disappearing with each of your movements. 

“Fuck, baby,” he groans. “That’s it, take what you need…” Hugh releases his hold on your hip to hold the bottom of his dress shirt and tie upwards and away from where you’re both connected. He certainly doesn’t want to have to change, especially since you’re both already so late. 

Hugh feels your walls begin to clench around him, your walls sliding along every inch of his throbbing length. He pushes his hips forward, feeling himself delve even deeper within your depths. 

“Hugh! Oh god– I’m close,” you gasp, bracing your hands on the wall as Hugh grips your hip with his free hand and begins to slam into you repeatedly. You can feel each vein on his manhood, can feel him throbbing within your depths and it only urges you closer and closer to reach your high. 

“My naughty girl,” Hugh groans, the sounds of skin slapping against one another mixes in with your continuous moans. He shuts his eyes, your walls continuing to tremble and clench around him. His thrusts become more erratic as he feels the tightness build in the pit of his stomach. 

“Gonna fill you up,” Hugh growls, delivering another slap across your ass. “Gonna have me dripping out of you the entire fucking night.” 

“Hugh!” you push back against him roughly, your walls clenching around him as your walls tremble. You’re so wet, and already so sensitive as you reach your orgasm. 

Hugh groans, picking up the pace with his thrusts until he slams into you with a loud grunt. He paints your walls with his release, hips stuttering. You can feel his come fill you up and when he does pull out slowly, you look down between your legs and see thick drops of his spend trickle down your legs. 

Hugh licks his lower lip and looks down, a broad smirk lining his lips. “You gonna put on that dress now?” 

“Can you give me a minute?” you ask, turning to look over your shoulder with a small smile. 

“Oh, I’ve given you plenty.” 

You let out a quiet giggle and then watch him tuck himself back into his pants as he makes himself presentable again. You watch his eyes deviate between your legs before he leaves the closer only to come back with a wet and warm towel to wipe the release from between your legs. 

Hugh then helps slide your thong back up your body and you bite your lower lip when you turn around to face him. You can feel him so deep inside of you and it makes you smile, almost makes you yearn for another round with him but you know that you should really be getting to Ryan and Blake’s party.

You grab the same dress he had picked out for you and slide it on, turning around so that Hugh can zip you up. Once he does, he places a gentle kiss on the side of your neck and looks at you from top to bottom. 

“Beautiful,” he smiles. 

“I’m gonna be feeling you all night,” you admit. 

“Good, and just so we’re both clear,” Hugh says, gently gripping your chin as he looks into your eyes. “Your punishment isn’t over.”

“Punishment?” you clear your throat, excitement bubbling in your chest. 

“Oh yeah,” he grins. “You’re not going to get away with making us late that easily.” 

“Can we– Can we skip the party and just get straight into it?” 

Hugh narrows his eyes. “Such a naughty girl,” he growls. 

“Is that a yes?” 

“No,” Hugh chuckles. “Now, let’s go. Consider having to wait as part of your punishment.”

“Yes, sir.” you respond, biting your lip. 

Hugh growls and releases his hold on your chin as he takes a step back to look at you from top to bottom. “If we don’t leave now, I’m going to throw you over my knee and–”

“Okay!” you interrupt, squeezing your legs together. “Let’s go before I tie you to the bed.” You don’t give him a chance to respond because you’re already walking out of the closet.

Hugh chuckles and shakes his head, pulling his phone out of his pocket to see a response from Ryan who had replied to tell him that the party wasn’t going to start for another hour. Hugh shakes his head and runs out after you, seeing you with a knowing smirk on your lips.

“Oh, you planned all of this.” Hugh points out.

You nod and then reach out to gently grip the end of his tie. “Do you really think I’d make us late for the party, Hugh?” 

“On the bed. Now.”

“But what if we’re late–”

“We have an hour,” Hugh growls. “And I ain’t done with you yet.”

---

forever taglist: @haytchee @wolverigrl

[signetied]

@lickedtheplate plotted a starter !

it had been a particularly rough session this week, farleigh had been given the floor, his essay was supposed to be the point of review this week. but he'd shown up with nothing instead, having procrastinated too much and partied too hard, leading up to the whole thing finally came crashing down upon him in one big crescendo that even farleigh couldn't control. he, of course, should have expected nothing from the likes of oliver when it came to saving him from what could only be described as sheer humiliation.

farleigh had been on the floor near the professors feet, giving every excuse as to why he didn't have the essay on hand. and the harder professor ware pushed back on him, the more farleigh started to break down because of it. but the worst part about it, at least to farleigh, was the fact that none of his usual tricks worked. the coy looks or the suggestive banter, all had gone unnoticed by the older man. he'd practically been sobbing at the professors feet, yet all ware did was scold him further, tell him how he was wasting everyone's time by showing up empty handed. and oliver, yeah, oliver could've said something. because farleigh knew he already had his essay completed — he always did, he was one of the biggest overachievers farleigh had ever come across. but instead of saying anything, he just sat there, saying nothing ... for once in his life.

but at least, if anything, it's now over. and farleigh's tucking a book ware had given him to read before their next session into his satchel when he feels the eyes of oliver piercing into him like daggers. tears were already beginning to dry on farleigh's cheeks, causing them to itch, and a hand lifts to wipe them from, not wanting anyone to see just how badly he'd broken down. everyone except for oliver, that is.

he's sure he's gloating in it, though he doesn't look over at him to give him the satisfaction of knowing he’s aware of it either. why couldn't he just leave? wasn't watching that whole thing enough material to jerk off to for the next month or so? though, he supposes, he's just trying to milk the last remaining moments of the breakdown he just witnessed — he knows he would if things were reversed. but he also thinks that maybe, just maybe, he would've attempted to rescue oliver from something like that, if only to save himself from having to sit through watching it for over an hour. ❛❛ don't. ❜❜ he says after a moment, snapping the front of his book bag closed. ❛❛ whatever it is you're about to say, i don't want to hear it. ❜❜

[aletheialed]

Right now, wine glass in hand and staring vacantly into the dark corners of the room in which he dwells - Barok can't help but think about his brother. To think about Klint during hard times, the man who he's always admired so much, has always come naturally to him - but it can't bring him any comfort now.

The truth is, Barok doesn't know what he should feel more betrayed about. The fact that the brother he'd wanted to emulate all his life was nothing but a killer, who's actions resulted in the ending and ruining of so many lives, including Barok's own? Or... is it that, until the very end, Klint was too afraid to share that horrible truth with him, even when that fear allowed him to be controlled into committing the most heinous acts imaginable?

It makes him want to laugh with a bitterness he hasn't felt in years. It makes him feel ill; desperate and angry and like a fraying rope about to snap. Perhaps it's sinful, and a sign of Barok's own weak character, that Klint's lack of trust in him might be what hurts the most. Had he thought Barok would break under the weight of the truth, and sought to protect him from that fate? What's worse is that Barok doesn't know how he would've reacted deep down. What's the scarier thought - that Barok would've turned away in despair and been unable to carry on just as his brother feared, or that he would stand with Klint, perhaps even turning a blind eye to his crimes...?

...There's no point in thinking about it now. But if he doesn't think about Klint, then there's no shortage of other things to take his place at the forefront of his mind. Such as the true identity of the Reaper, and how Barok had been complicit in his crimes for the longest time - allowing himself to be used and manipulated like a puppet on a string, even when he didn't see the full extent of it all.

His whole life, these past ten years in which he thought he'd endured so much, all for the sake of the people of London... what were they all for?

When he hears the knock on the door, it's tempting to ignore it entirely - he barely has the energy to stand, anyway. He doesn't know who it could possibly be, considering everything, but... in the end, he rises like a man possessed, and finds himself walking to open the door as if in a trance. What he sees when the door opens is the last thing he expects.

"Mr... Naruhodo...? You... pray tell, what are you doing here at this hour?"

@tenacquity ( starter! )

[serabellyms]

i hate that feeling when i'm writing w/ a new mutual or a mutual that I haven't written with much and don't know what's too long of a reply that's gonna scare them off

so ig this is my way of saying to the dash: if you're not intimidated by long replies sometimes PLEASE let me know directly bc this vibe literally results in me deleting and rewriting replies to people multiple times when the first few were probably just fine to send and i'm instead overthinking how much content i'm putting in it when that particular mutual would've just gone with the flow--

[exsanguinatc]

plot: The Seelie fae are celebrating their king's birthday with a grand masquerade, and it's the perfect opportunity for someone to try to get close to the princess and heir to the throne for one reason or another. (Bonus points if they're enemies.) open to: anyone 25+ muse: Zofia "Zoe" Fairwick, The Visionary, 27, seelie faerie

These were always Zoe’s favorite times. And the most dangerous. She lived for a good celebration, and they were only made better by the opening of her court to the others in the land. While the other courts had their own leadership within, the Seelie were the fae’s high court now. Celebrating her father’s birthday meant celebrating the king of all of them, celebrating the throne that she would one day take. The great hall of their palace was decorated to excess. The shimmer of magic hung in the air, massive tapestries draped across the walls that showed the story of their rise to power. Zoe’s favorite touch were the bunches of glowing flowers enchanted to burst through the cracks in the stone and unfurling over every possible surface.

It was a show for the enemies who were undoubtedly gathered inside, the ones who they all knew would rather have the crown rest on their heads or within their own courts. They were explicitly telling everyone that they weren’t afraid to open their doors to those who wanted them dead, making it even more clear by turning the party into a masquerade. They didn’t need to know who was who. They could handle any threat. 

The princess was easily recognizable though, even behind her mask of black feathers. With her shock of red curls and the magpie wings she’d inherited from her mother on full display, the heir to the throne could be spotted across the room even with her small stature. There was a certain thrill to being so visible while enemies mingled around. She was in high spirits as she sipped at a glass of sweet faerie wine and giggled with a group of friends. Frowning when she eventually lifted the glass to her lips and was only met with a few drops left, she turned and expected to see an attendant dutifully waiting by her side. “I’ll have another- oh,” the princess paused and blinked up at the stranger there a few times, who was decidedly not someone she recognized from around the palace. Or from around her court. The mask didn’t help that cause though. “You’re not who I thought you were. Be a darling anyway, and get me another drink?”

[charmwisp]

WHERE: DIY pop-up shoppe at rabbit creek; gingerbread house building table WHEN: 17th december, daytime WHO: anyone! ( @anchoragestarters ) CAP: FULLY CAPPED AS OF 14th JANUARY

On paper, this had seemed like the perfect opportunity for Rika. She'd been wanting to reach out more, to try and take part in the living breathing community of Anchorage instead of living as a shadow behind the beaded curtains of her room at the Raven House. The popup had a wonderfully festive atmosphere and the air seemed to Rika as though it hung thick with the excitement and curiosity of its guests and volunteers. As expected, the gingerbread station smelled pleasantly of sugar, spice and (of course) everything nice. This volunteering spot required a few things, of course; a hint of craftiness, a dash of creativity, a generous sprinkling of baking talent and a heaped spoonful of patience. These were standards Rika could meet easily enough, even if the patience required just the smallest stretch of extra effort. She'd known from the start that she would be a little out of her depths, lacking much experience with gingerbread houses due to their lack of a cultural presence during the holiday back home, but she'd gotten the hang of things quickly enough.

That wasn't exactly a good thing. Rika was good at getting carried away, at getting far too invested in the house she was putting together, and she may have gotten distracted from her role of guiding others through their own gingerbread creations. It was only her view of her work was darkened by the shadow of another person that she finally broke free from her spiced reverie. "I'll be with you in just a moment," she said by way of apology, whipping her head up with such abrupt speed that several locks of hair broke free from their loose ponytail binding. "I'm just trying to turn this...hmph, sugar glass into a window for my church." She grunted a little as she spoke. It was tricky work. Still, just as Rika said, there sat on the table before her an overly complicated little gingerbread chapel, still half-built. "Did you need any help? After all, that's what I'm here for!" A pause, and she tucked her hair back behind her ear. "Sorry, I guess I haven't made that very obvious so far, have I?"

[wickedlvst]

closed for @hurtrite for this starter call // based on (x)

platinum hair shone brightly in warm candlelight, leaving the resemblance of a halo, as she took a few tentative steps towards the blonde giant of a man. with the eyes of both their clans upon her and her older brother’s gaze glaring daggers into her back to keep her moving, knowing all too well how she’d fought this alliance tooth and nail, it was impossible not to feel like the sacrificial lamb led to its slaughter. not that she couldn’t understand why her older brother had been pushing this marriage, all too determined to end the war that had already cost both of them their father in a brutal battle, leaving most of the men of their village incapacitated if not a mutilated corpse on a field drowning in blood. if it meant offering her up as a sacrificial offering to a merciless barbarian to avoid further bloodshed, not to mention the eradication of their people, he probably would have let them all fuck her one after the other right there on the battlefield. freya couldn’t even really blame him for this decision, instilled with an overwhelming sense of duty and loyalty for her people - even if she hadn’t been allowed to fight with them as so many other women of their village had. the jarl’s daughter was too precious a cargo to risk her getting hurt, too valuable of a bargaining ship. it hadn’t mattered to either her father or brother that she could fight as least half as well as some of their men, that she’d have rather faced the possibility of a brutal death out there with them as opposed to being left behind to imagine the worst, without being able to do anything to help.

but freya supposed it didn’t matter anymore. all she could do now was to hold her head high and make the best of an impossible situation. if it meant sleeping with a knife in her bed to keep her future husband from killing her in her sleep, so be it. only a fool would trust him to not try anything so cruel and she might be many things but a fool she was most certainly not, mind almost as cunning as that of the trickster god. she came to a stop only a few feet away from him, keeping her body with all her might from trembling at his intimidating presence. she was not going show any sign of weakness, refusing to act like the prey her family apparently considered her to be. forcing a smile onto her lips, she squared her shoulders, trying her best to make for her lack of height and overall fragility with a good posture. "i look forward to bringing our people together and setting an end to this war that's already cost too many lives", she opened the conversation, tone polite yet an attentive listener would easily notice the hint of an accusation behind them, obviously putting all of the blame for the bloodshed on him, "may the gods bless our connection."

[oculusxcaro]

@pains-illusions is up to NO GOOD...

It's a good thing she's strapped down in her seat otherwise Khare would be thrashing around like a fish on the end of a hook. She'd never liked the dentist but at least they knew what they were doing. Dr. Green on the other hand... her eyes narrow in dislike as the good doctor busies himself with his tools and despite her anger at him hushing her as though she were a fussy child, it quickly fizzles out against the cold knot of dread coiling up in her belly. "Loosen these straps a little and I'll fucking show you hush." Khare hisses in response. It's a bad idea to provoke him, she knows but her biting words are the only source of comfort she's got. Her pupils are dilated with fear, blue eyes almost looking black in the intensity of her emotions despite the brightness emitted by the overhead florescent ring. It's too hot, too bright and only makes him look scarier, hovering close by with a dental probe in hand. Talk about out of the frying pan and into the fire. Her time with Prometheus had been bad but at least she'd been locked up the majority of the time, taken out only for injections before throwing her back into her cell. Dr. Green was more... hands on in his approach, endlessly inquisitive about his new test subject and ruthlessly determined to extract every iota of information about her he possibly could. In the short time she'd been in his so-called care, he'd learned more about her biology than those who'd mutated her, the good doctor having the irritatingly good foresight not only to restrain her heavily but to adorn himself in protective gear on the off-chance she did manage to free a limb somehow. Maybe she was wrong to hate dentists. Clearly it was doctors who deserved her ire more. She flinches at the feel of his hand on her chin, expecting pain for her insolence or at the very least for him to dig his fingers into her flesh as a warning. Pain would come soon enough anyway considering the reason she was here, Khare's eyes darting back and forth as she looks from his ones of icy blue to the weapon glinting wickedly in his hand. "Wouldn't you like to know?" Khare mutters, her lips curled in a mocking sneer. Again, it's a bad idea to taunt him but it's all the power she has, holding onto this crumb of information he wants. Of course he wants to know about the teeth growing next to her eye, budding incisors dangerously close to touching the organ. The skin and flesh surrounding such areas were so delicate, making it easy for a bored and unhappy test subject to scratch away at healthy tissue until it became a habit of self-harm. A sudden smirk crosses her features as she coyly looks up at him from her restraints. "I'll tell you though, but it's a secret. Lean over a little closer and let me whisper into your ear..." Khare says, her voice trailing off into a whisper. She doubts he'd actually do it but figures it's worth a try, if she can get William close enough to bite - anything to get back at his smug face whatever way she can.

[starcchild]

to swallow the sun

closed with @medjaichieftain

"Let- let me get this stra-straight," Carter said, and with a quick teek-teek, she got her camel to catch up to one of the treasure hunters. "You- you think there's a- a tomb that had been- been used by- by an ancient cult? You- you said you found a- a tomb for Seti's fav-favorite priest!"

Arthur chuckled, and flashed her a crooked grin. "Ah, that was just a little white lie, sweetheart-"

She scowled at that.

"-but I meant no harm to your pops. It's easier to get funding when you don't mention cults. Don't take it personally."

With an irritated tsk, Carter shook her head. "That's not- not what I'm- I'm upset about," she snapped, "if- if you get us lost in- in the desert--"

"Which won't happen," he interrupted. "You'll get to look at your precious stars all you want, we'll get our treasure, and I'll be famous for such a discovery."

She inhaled slowly to try and reign in her temper. "I- I can't believe you- you honestly thi-think that ancient Egyp-Egyptians would worship A-Apophis of all--"

"Every religion has some twits who worship an evil deity," Arthur waved a hand dismissively, "and this tomb will prove to those Bembridge bastards that Apophis was no different. If you have a problem with this, you're free to go straight back to Cairo." He flashed another grin, and smacked the side of his camel to get ahead.

Carter scowled again as her camel began to slow, but was distracted by the sound of... distant whinnying? She pulled the lead to stop her camel despite it's frustrated groans, and gazed at the surrounding dunes with a frown - ignoring the other two hunters as they rode by. Was she hallucinating? Or was--

She froze, and blinked rapidly as she caught sight of a group of people in the distance. She couldn't make out details in the harsh glare, but... her skin prickled uneasily, and she quickly hurried her camel to catch up. Tomb or no tomb, they were being watched, and she couldn't help but wonder if she should've stayed in Cairo after all.

----

It felt like pure luck that Arthur managed to find the tomb he swore existed. The entryway was built into the side of a plateau - not called out by crumbling ruins, and hidden away as best as possible. Perhaps by time, or perhaps by people, but... Carter knew they should not have been there, as the trio began to work on getting it open. She couldn't explain it, but... the air surrounding the doorway itself felt oppressive, and she couldn't shake the thought of the group she had seen earlier. The treasure hunters dismissed it as a mirage, but she knew they had been watched.

And when they got the tomb open...

The trio had been eager to get inside - already talking about the treasure they would find and the fame that would come with their discovery, but she refused to follow. She insisted she remain above ground to set up camp, though they didn't seem to care what she did the moment she refused. She was certain they only cared about the fact it meant more treasure for them, and as she got the camp set up, a part of her was tempted to collect her things and leave. Something was going to go wrong, she just knew it, but... at the same time, she didn't want to leave. She knew she'd never have an opportunity like this again, and even if she just stayed for a night studying and mapping the stars... it would be worth it.

She just couldn't convince herself it was just her mind playing tricks on her the longer she stayed.

The trio came in and out of the tomb throughout the evening, with two of them grumbling about not finding anything of worth, while Arthur seemed ever more excited. He kept talking about the hieroglyphs engraved in the walls of the tomb, proving him correct that the cult was there, but she paid little mind. Though... was worried about the amount of rubbings he was collecting. He insisted it was important for him to get further funding and a full team to explore the tomb, but... it just made her all the more nervous. It felt wrong, and even as the sun began to set and the trio disappeared into the tomb once more, she couldn't shake a feeling of impending doom.

Still, she stayed, and did her best to distract herself as the stars came out. She kept close to the fire, as far away from the tomb as she could, and began to map out the stars. The sight of such a clear sky stretched overhead for miles was breathtaking, but hard to enjoy with her nerves still crawling. No matter how much she continued to try and tell herself it was nothing, and that curses and demons didn't exist. But the feeling only grew worse the longer the trio remained inside the tomb, and--

Carter froze mid-sketch as she heard the camels grunting, and quickly turned to look at them - lowering her pencil into her journal. Something was causing them to react, but...

The hair on the back of her neck rose, and she looked around, but... she couldn't see anything that would disturb them. They didn't seem scared, more annoyed than anything, but... She couldn't help but feel uneasy. Something, or someone, was out there - she just knew she wasn't the only one on the surface. Was it the group from earlier? But why would they follow them? Was there something more to this tomb that Arthur let on? Was the cult more modern than he realized?

Her heart began to pound, and she scrambled to her feet - snapping her journal shut before it she clutched it tightly to her chest. "Who-who's there?" she demanded - doing her best to hide how frightened she felt. Silently pleading for the trio to finally come out of the tomb and call it a night so she wasn't stuck there alone. "Show- show yourself!"

[xtinyslip]

“WOAH! HEY, COME ON BUDDY! that’s no way to treat our visitor, is it?” his words were aimed at the dog that was trying to jump at the poor person who approached. all friendly, of course but they didn’t know that. well, maybe they did. ryan often did this outside of work hours, took some of the dogs struggling to find homes and got them out into the town to promote them a little harder. he couldn’t take any more home without becoming that guy. this might very well be a completely different career to the one he had within the FBI but the change was needed. he was beginning to like who he was here, he couldn’t remember the last time he thought that about himself. it had been long before everything with joe had happened. “sorry about that. he’s worth every second but he can be quite the handful. I’M RYAN and this guy is chance.” referring to the dog that needed rehoming, his bright bandanda that said so would make it obvious but hey, he could make small talk for the sake of the animals. right? he told himself that’s all it was, it wasn’t that he was lonely which... of course, he was. @glitchstarters​

[vicit-vim-virtus]

Starter for @deaddoveadventures // Curumë

The city had been torn asunder, as if a gargantuan dragon had ploughed straight through it, pulverising every building, every wall, every single brick and pebble in its endeavour to reach the other end of the city; it had waded through the metropolis as if it had been a mere, knee-high lake. Except that the dragon hadn’t come in the form of an actual dragon, but in that of a legion of goblins and orcs, collaborating to maraud and deplete the city of its wealth and provisions. The devastation was everywhere one turned their head, there was no escaping it. Houses had crumbled and were nothing more but a pile of rubble, streets were buried under mountains of debris, and slowly dying fires, the only living vestiges of the violence that had transpired last night, were, ironically, the only sources of warmth left. The stench of blood and burning wood permeated the air. These last seven days, most denizens had either lost their abodes, lives, or both, and yet their solidarity had united them to tend to the injured and salvage whatever they could find to make their loss slightly more bearable.

The barbaric and monstrous assault had deprived the city of its colour and vigour in a week’s time; everything was etiolated, insipid and reeked of death and decay. Decades ago, when he’d been in the employment of his late father, he’d often traversed to this place, as a merchant to trade. The streets used to be filled with ebullient laughter, boisterous conversation, and the smell of freshly baked bread drifted on the currents of a gentle breeze. Tall trees and exotic plants and flowers, vibrant and sweet, emblazoned the environment, adding to it a touch of nature and tranquility, making one forget that one was, in reality, encompassed by sturdy city walls, a rich assortment of architectural residences, and an enormous crowd of people thronging the roads and alleyways all day long. Now, none of that remained, not even a sliver; those images had been diminished to a mere evocation...

The road meandering up to Luran’s place of destination was impeded by rubble. They’d barely passed the disintegrated city gate when they had been forced to shed the carriage and continue on horseback. But even on their mounts, navigating the ruins proved to be a challenge. The beasts couldn’t find their footing, stumbled, fell, and snorted defiantly when spurs prodded their sides to coerce them over rock and treacherous terrain both rider and animal were cognisant of were unsound. Eventually, Luran dismounted and resumed his laborious journey on foot; the King’s knights, clad in their heavy, shining armour, trailed in his wake. Regardless of happening upon many civilians in need, none approached him — or any of the soldiers — to ask for aid. Presumably because they thought the King’s knights and his emissary weren’t here for them, and therefore, would never assist them. And they were correct. Luran had been sent to discuss financial affairs, among others, with the archbishop who governed the city. The King had no interest in supporting the victims, to alleviate their hardships, their suffering; he was only concerned with the archbishop and how the religious leader would compensate for the loss of gold and other riches.

The cold and desperation, which haunted him outside, were chased from his bones now that he was standing in the archbiship’s warm and luxurious office. Perhaps office wouldn’t do the room justice, atrium would be more apt. Paintings and frescoes adorned the walls and ceiling. Columns and statues were situated on either side of the cavernous hall, and a grand oval table with intricate carvings in its mahogany surface, stood in its centre. Several tall, arched windows, their frames embellished with heavy, gold and burgundy curtains, offered a view over the ravaged city — once a magnificent spectacle to behold, no doubt, but now, just a sad reminder of what was. The cathedral was still surprisingly intact after the bombardment of blazing boulders that had laid waste to the rest of the city. Granted, there were some dents blemishing its walls and a meagre layer of dust veiled its interior, but other than that, the House of the Goddess had remained unscathed. The advisor scribbled a mental note to himself to apprise the King of this particularly odd phenomenon...

While the archbishop rambled on about last week’s events and how tragic and pointless the loss of life was and how it affected him so, Luran stood, composedly, beside a slender window, his countenance averted from the other elf, hands clasped neatly behind his back. He regarded the people below, mere specs from his vantage point. He detested travelling, especially for long periods of time... He preferred the comfort and safety of home, and couldn’t wait to return. Alas, there were pressing matters to attend to.

The conversation that ensued was tedious, and throughout the ordeal, Luran felt an aura of insincerity, dishonesty radiating off of the archbishop. His words of sorrow, grief and loss did not reflect in his eyes. His histrionic comportment, his charade, was rather impertinent, especially when taking all the dead denizens into account. The King had found in this elf a kindred spirit: neither cared about their subjects, both were corrupt, blinded by power, greed and wealth and would go to any extreme to procure it... Repulsive...

Many hours sidled past in this fashion, before they were interrupted by the archbishop’s guards. Half a dozen came marching in, following their captain. Two guards escorted a man, digging the fingers of their iron gauntlets into his upper arms. The captain, herself, held some sort of artifact or statue in her arms — Luran couldn’t quite determine its nature from where he was positioned, but clearly, it did not belong to the... trespasser... thief...

‘What’s the meaning of this?’ the archbishop demanded irritably, gesturing to the scene that was now unfolding before his very eyes.

‘Your Grace. Advisor. My sincere apologies for the intrusion, but we caught this thief red-handed, stealing. The idol of the Goddess was in his possession,’ the captain explained pragmatically, shooting the thief a nasty glare.

Luran’s sapphire blue eyes oscillated between the archbishop and the captain; the archbishop suddenly appeared rather... perturbed. It was remarkable how his people being massacred had a less emotionally detrimental effect on him than some law offender nicking a stone artifact. However, had the advisor been familiar with the power harnessed within the idol, he would’ve understood the apprehension. The deceptively simplistic artifact allowed anyone attuned to it, to enthrall the masses and keep them subservient, obedient, as meek as a flock of gullible lambs raised for slaughter.

‘This man shall be punished for his crimes,’ the archbishop said, hastily taking the idol from the captain. ‘Throw him in the dungeons!’

‘The dungeons were obliterated, Your Grace,’ the captain commented resolutely.

A sigh of exasperation brushed past the archbishop’s lips, which elicited a flinch from the captain. Back at the palace, Luran had witnessed similar reactions manifesting in the royal guards whenever they were met with the King’s displeasure. And while the archbishop embarked on a tirade, Luran contemplated how he could be of service. His gaze swept over to the thief, scrutinising him for the first time.

‘We could take him back with us, to the City — he can stand trial there,’ Luran eventually suggested, his euphonious voice calm and collected, yet his eyes were cold and trained, unblinking, on the miscreant. ‘I’m fairly certain they’ve got a cosy prison cell left to temporarily accommodate this malefactor, until his fate has been decided...’

[thedevilsbckbone]

closed starter for @sickuhhh

It'd been ten months since Evelina had found herself in this somewhat, sleepy mountain town. Ten months since she'd moved further up the coast to get away from the demons and trail of blood that she'd left behind. She'd desperately tried to avoid any of that here - hoping to just live out a normal life. But when someone went through the things she had, could they ever really be normal? The first deaths, that of her parents, had been in a mix of self defense and the heat of the moment. She'd been equally devastated by what she'd done as she had been relieved, finally free of the abuse she'd endured for years under their roof. That one she'd been able to claim that anyone else might have done as the same had they been in the teen's shoes.

The second time could have also been claimed as self defense, a poor girl standing up for herself. An accident, that's all it was to those who looked at it from the outside. For the blonde though, she knew the truth. Unlike with her parents, there was no remorse this time; no regret. This time she felt something completely different. It was satisfaction and exhilaration to the extreme. A feeling the blonde had never really known until that point. Ever since then, Evie longed to feel that feeling again.

She'd tried a plethora of things to chase that high once more but time and time again, it all just fell flat. Nothing had ever made her heart race so exquisitely and her skin buzz like a livewire quite like taking a life had felt. Still, Evelina did her best to repress that side of her, to ignore that longing feeling, knowing that what she truly wanted was taboo. She'd tried to stifle those feelings down to her best ability, but as more and more time went on, the blonde found it harder to ignore that ever growing urge.

It was a Tuesday night but Evie had decided to head to one of the local bars for a drink, needing a distraction from those feelings that seemed even more insistent that night. The spot was dead save for the few older regulars and a couple small groupings of tourists obviously stopping in for a bit before they went up to the mountain. There was a lodge up there so it wasn't uncommon to see strangers lingering around these parts often. However, Evelina noticed one guy there that stood out from the rest of the unfamiliar faces. Unlike most tourists, she'd noticed he seemed to be alone. It also didn't go unnoticed by the blonde that he was probably close to around her own age than most of the other people there, and was extremely handsome. More than that though, there was an aura about him that just felt different and the blonde couldn't quite put her finger on what it was. Something about it intrigued her though.

It compelled her to move towards the side of the bar where he sat, taking a seat beside him as she placed her almost empty drink on the counter and gave the bartender a smile. "Can I get another one, Jake?" She asked, in a friendly tone to the bartender, turning her attention back to the stranger, leaning her head in her hand as she took him in, quite the contender to be a good distraction she thought. "Hi-" she offered him in that same, sweet tone. "Just passing through?" She asked curiously, hoping her charm would help strike up a conversation.

[astral-athame]

@ipswitched

Cassia's fingers twitched. She could feel it building in her chest- that same kind of discomfort she'd been feeling off and on for days. She had moved to Ipswich less than a week ago and she was still getting her bearings in her new surroundings. She was used to the noise of New York City, the thrumming pulse of a place that never slept. But Ipswich... Ipswich was much quieter. Maybe it was that simple fact that lent to the feeling of being watched, like there was someone waiting just around the corner.

Or maybe it was simply that, despite being just after 3pm, the sky was filled with dark storm clouds. It almost felt like night, barely a stray beam of sunlight peeking through. It was clearly about to rain and she'd made the mistake of walking into town this morning. She had an umbrella, thankfully, but that would only help her so much if the rain started coming down in buckets, so to speak. Despite the forecasted "light rain", she was certain it was going to be more than that. There was no way she was getting home before the downpour, and she'd have to wait until she was out of town, out of sight of others, before she could use her powers to create a better barrier between herself and the rain.

But Cass liked rain. The soothing sound of it. The way it brought a slight chill to hot, summer, days like this. So she kept walking until the first bit of a sprinkle grew into larger droplets before she stepped into the nearest open shop. As she entered, though, that odd feeling in the pit of her stomach returned. She felt like she was being watched. So much so that she abruptly turned her attention back towards the door as it was falling shut and walked right into the turned back of a stranger.

Thankfully, she'd not been moving too fast- she barely bumped him, honestly, just enough to be slightly startling. "Oh! Sorry!" An immediate apology fell from her lips, embarrassed at herself. She should have been paying more attention to where she was going. But that feeling... it was unsettling. She shot an anxious glance back towards the door only to find it shut. No one else had walked in. And yet she didn't feel any more at ease. She tried to brush it off, though, and, instead, turned her attention back towards the person she'd bumped into, giving another apology. "I'm sorry. I suppose I was distracted. I should have been watching where I was going. Are you alright?"

[normaltothemax]

@parameddic

Staying had never been his intention. He’d rounded up a couple of street kids and brought them into the 24-hour cafe, knowing it was too cold for them to stay outside in weather like this. Hot chocolates and fresh pastries were purchased and doled out amongst the kiddos, the three of them curled up in front of a fake fireplace. The food and drink would help warm them up from the inside out, the building’s heating doing the rest of the work.

Jason even gave each of the three a small stack of cash so they could buy more later. He doubted the manager was going to kick them out any time soon—she looked motherly enough and had plenty of sympathy in her eyes when she looked at them—but having the ability to buy more would help them stay longer, if needed.

Problem was, by the time they were settled in, it was a complete white-out outside. The snow, combined with the dark of night, meant that he could barely see the cars parked on the street in front of the cafe, let alone any buildings or landmarks. The second he walked away from the building, he wouldn’t be able to see anything else, would barely be able to tell which way was up. Going out in that much snow would be stupid. Suicidal.

“Crap.” If he wasn’t wearing his helmet, he’d pinch the bridge of his nose. This was just plain old embarrassing. The big, bad Red Hood, defeated by a little snow. (Okay, a lot of snow, but his point stood.) Not a whole lot he could do about it, until the weather cleared up a bit, unfortunately. So, he did what any normal person would do.

He bought himself a coffee. Politely ignored the the slightly panicked look the barista gave him, and tipped generously. There was a bookshelf against one wall, with several worn paperbacks. He selected one (Pride and Prejudice, one of his favorites) and sat near the kids, like a six-foot guard dog. The coffee was set on a table in front of him (he’d drink when it cooled down a little) and he opened the book to read, leaning back in his chair, seemingly completely at ease. It wasn’t long before he felt eyes on him. Looking up, he met the gaze of a man sitting nearby. “You got something you wanna say?”

[spidrboots]

valentino didn't like asmodeus, & he didn't like his business. while holding some key similarities ( dealing with lust & the dirty desires belonging to the denizens of hell ), ozzie's place & the operation that val ran were vastly different. had angel fallen to hell a smarter man, one less terrified of his new surroundings & a bit less unwilling to accept the hand of any strong man who would offer it, he could see himself ending up in a place like ozzie's instead of being contractually obligated to a first rate prick.

perhaps that's why he walked into the establishment with less confidence than was his usual coat of armor ; his shoulders hugged near the sides of his head and the thought crossed his mind, perhaps for the first time EVER, that he hoped his stilettos didn't clip too loudly across the floor. if val knew he was here, he'd probably be called a traitor. he'd get off lucky if a verbal reprimanding was his only punishment -- but he needed an OUT. away from work, & away from the hotel. the responsibilities and expectations of all the multifaceted ways that being ANGEL DUST entailed were suffocating him. he would drown if he didn't find fresh air soon.

he should've needed a reservation, but after flashing a sultry grin to the front worker, he was admitted entry. he almost felt bad for using his face to get special treatment. almost. his eyes scan his surroundings, falling past workers & patrons. he appreciated the atmosphere much more here than his own work environment. he is actually surprised to see the owner himself, the embodiment & king of lust ( a title that valentino seethed over not belonging to him a time or two ) sitting at the bar, chattering away. sweat clung to his body, like he might have finished a show.

in for a penny, in for a pound. if angel was already going to get in trouble if caught, why not go all in ? he always was one for mischief. he takes up the barstool next to ozzie & does his best show of hiding the apprehension he felt creeping up his spine. would ozzie recognize angel dust, the infamous pornstar, or would he simply remain as another patron to ozzie's restaurant ? in a smooth tone laced with velvet, between flagging down the bartender, angel says, " nice place ya' got here. and i ain't jus' sayin' that, neither. it's nice. classy. i see why it's such a big deal. i see why you're such a big deal. must not be easy, havin' an upstanding place like this in the lust ring. ever get hard to manage ? "

/ @the-delightful-temptation . starter call .

[quietlyblooms]

there is nothing to be scared of. nothing -- nothing at all. the words seem to echo in her mind, repeating over and over. all will be well, her mind even promises her. the logic is sound. ren isn't fragile as a human, so she needn't be so panicked or hesitant. just accept his gift. take it. take it and drink your fill. he wants you to. he---

chiyo has to tug the succubus down to reach the crook of his neck, breathing him in unabashedly. how sweet he smells, like her favorite dessert. her mouth waters. oh, what is she waiting for? impatient fingers pull aside the shirt in her way, and chiyo plunges her fangs into ren's soft skin without another thought.

as sweet as he smelled, nothing compares to the saccharine taste that floods chiyo's mouth. it should be overwhelming, but it's perfect, addicting, like eating one cookie and immediately craving another. it is the feeling in her chest that overwhelms chiyo instead; such warmth grows there, making a bruising grip ease into gentle hands, one of which cards through ren's hair. chiyo hums in satisfaction as her belly grows full before finally releasing his shoulder.

she does not waste the blood that weeps from his wound, though, and licks at it until it's mostly stopped. this would typically be the time when her guilt would set in, stronger than the pleasure of a sated appetite, yet there is only that warm feeling. there is only the desire to remain close, wrapped around ren and face nuzzled against his neck. so that's what she does, softly humming again.

" thank you. " her fingers still comb through his hair, occasionally massaging his scalp. " and i'm sorry, too. i hope it didn't hurt too much. "

❝ i promise. no, ma chère ... don't cry. it'll all be all right soon. i promise. ❞

ren extends himself to her openly, encouraging chiyo to consume. this form is pleasing, isn't it? he seems to say. concentrate on me ... and only him.

in the end, is this not an equal exchange of some sort? her attention — her affection, even if not directly for him, but for the blood of him — is enough to satiate the last bit of him for the night. he will be exhausted, likely drained, and this is good for him — subdue him before the evening ends so that he might tend to the quartered child of his tenderly.

❝ when you're finished, i'll hold you, ❞ he promises. sensitivity is not lost on him. the creature understands affection and the need for it. ❝ and then you'll see ... there is nothing to be scared of. ❞