#fires on every horizon

[thefiresontheheight]

Fire on Every Horizon - Looking for Beta Readers!

Eli Yuen is a witch and an exorcist in the gig economy, which means late nights, bad pay, and a shitty apartment. Between the sea of ghosts that haunt everywhere in America, her teacher and boss's ridiculous rules, and the memories of her dead daddy, she's barely keeping herself out of the darkness lurking in her chest, even with the help of her girlfriend Paladin. But when her teacher disappears and a strangely attractive diner worker offers her a lucrative job exorcising a ghost lurking back in Appalachia, the darkness will no longer be something she can deny. Faced with fallen angels, abyssal gods, the specter of Communism, and her own past, Eli will at last be forced to confront the question that has troubled her for so long. Is this really all there is to life? 84,000 words long, Fires on Every Horizon is a new adult, new weird, rural fantasy, horror-adjacent story about trans, polyamorous witches and the end of the world. And you can read it right now, for free, for the low, low price of commenting and being a beta reader for me! Find the link here, and please make sure to read the content warning before going further: Link In particular I am looking for trans, butch, lesbian, poly, bi, Filipino, Appalachian and formerly cult-affiliated beta readers, and those who exist at the intersection of all those identities. Reblogs are appeciate, and thank you!

[redrocketpanda]

Sometimes you can be struggling so much with general life shit and feeling so sad over your inability to write at such a time, and then next thing you know it's 2am and the words are pouring out of you as a story demands your attention. and you find yourself hunched over your computer in the dark, desperately trying to capture the images and feelings that flicker through your mind like erratic fireflies before they disappear into the night

[grandquest]

I need to be able to actually sort my thoughts aout abt queerness in canon pokemon content so bad like I’ve been meaning to actually say something for a WHILR

[ossifer]

I could be far wrong, but I want you to know I am writing this pathetic wreck of a lesbian for you:

“Hey, are you okay?” The world was spinning. Another drink would fix me, Eigen thought, and downed whatever was left in her hand. “Doing great.” “Hey, let’s get you out to the curb and get you some air?” Eigen thought she winked. And then arms were wrapped around her, huge and stronger than they should have been. Was she getting picked up or just led out of the crowd? Out into the cold autumn air, the quiet hitting her like a shock. Either way she was not looking at the Oakland street, or the spitting snow. She only had eyes for this Khaerothonix. This dragonslayer. God. She was gonna wife this girl up. “Hey,” she said, smoothly, “you’re really hot. You wanna go back to my place?” Then she vomited all over her own chucks and down the front of her grey hoodie, the huge girl deftly avoiding the stream of acidic bile.

I LOVE HER SABLE WHERE DO I READ THIS

[orcelito]

oh i also talked a lot about fire emblem today. specifically whether i was planning to buy Engage or not. verdict is: Probably, considering reviews say the tactics gameplay is really rich & that's like 80% of why i enjoy playing fire emblem. so yes i am not a fan of the character designs. but i will probably buy it. at some point.

i went to gamestop after work to see if i could find it but didnt see it and INSTEAD i saw 2 games for relatively cheap. so i got those instead.

[onrainynights]

JOB ACHIEVED. FINALLY

[kitasuno]

we fly together | kageyama tobio x reader

in which kageyama tobio is born for several things: the court, his team, and you. and he really, really wants to marry you.

wc: 766 | gn reader | little glimpses of your relationship with tobio over the years

There are several givens in Kageyama Tobio’s life. 

There’s volleyball. It’s in his blood. Volleyball is shoes squeaking on floors, the shrill of a whistle, Nikuman after practice, and that sweet, sweet feeling of connection– fingers brushing yellow and blue leather and palms aching after a serve. Kageyama Tobio was born for the court and born to fly. 

His team is one of them. There’s Sugawara, who still treats him to yakitori and an Asahi Dry (or three) whenever he’s back in Miyagi. Daichi sends him assorted nuts from Sendai every once in a while and Nishinoya mass e-mails him slightly blurry pictures of his life abroad on New Years. Ushijima buys electrolytes for him and Kourai. Shouyou is, well, Shouyou, and Kageyama counts him as two givens. 

There’s the small things too: he takes a little too long to read Kanji, he buys a new face wash every month, he will always avoid rush hour. 

And then, he thinks, there’s you. 

It hits him in full force in the middle of the street on a Tuesday evening as he holds a plastic bag of groceries. It also, consequently, renders him immobile for ten minutes, because Tobio had never been one to dwell on the givens. But as he stands on the pavement and his bag carries the burden of hashi for two, yogurt for two, two packs of sandwiches and four bags of gummies,

 ( because you really like those gummies: and Tobio had thought, if you like the grape flavor, then you should also try the strawberry. And if you wanted to try something new, you might crave the fizzy Cola ones. And if you liked the Cola ones, then he had to buy the Ramune flavored ones, too ) 

Tobio gets the urge to buy a ring. And an urge, no, a craving to marry you. 

Tobio remembers study sessions in high school and desperate makeouts in Karasuno’s dusty storage closet. He remembers the firsts: first conversation, first fight, first kiss, first date. Sprinting on beaches before the sun kissed the horizon and laying underneath the stars. He remembers graduation under cherry blossoms and pressing his second button into your palm with red cheeks and shaking hands. 

There were tears, too. Anger as he realized he couldn’t, for once, be selfish and have both you and professional volleyball. Anger as you had cried and cried and cried in his arms because you were getting your degree in Miyagi and he was moving to Tokyo. Anger as you had suggested breaking things off because you knew that Kageyama was born for the court. To fly. 

And you had said, between tears, that Tokyo was his potential. Because you knew him, and you knew that he didn’t like texting and that he wasn’t good at communicating, but you somehow underestimated how much you meant to him. Then: you had stopped crying because Kageyama was crying. And you had never seen Kageyama cry. 

You were there when Kageyama started on the National Team, standing in the bleachers with the biggest smile he had ever seen, jumping as you turned to show him the Kageyama embroidered on the back of your jersey. You were there when he accepted his position on the Adlers, and watched their broadcasted games behind textbooks and journals and pencils from your dorm in Sendai. 

Kageyama was there when you called him sobbing because the pipes in your dorm leaked. He was there when you got fired from your part time job for slapping a customer. Begrudgingly, he was there when you asked him to have Oikawa Tooru sign twelve jerseys for your friends at university. And then, he was there when you graduated college, diploma in hand and a blush on your cheeks as you pressed your button into his palm even though you really weren’t supposed to do that. 

Now you’re in Tokyo, having accepted his slightly bashful request for you to move in with him– in a nice apartment on the fourteenth floor overlooking the city; because even though he didn’t really like heights, he knew you loved city lights and people-watching. And if he had to cover his face when he saw the nameplate next to your shared apartment that read Kageyama, well. You didn’t have to know that. 

He’s still on the street, and he’s still holding his grocery bag, but his eyes are firm because he really wants to make your last name Kageyama. 

So he makes a phone call. 

“Tanaka-san,” He says before his former upperclassman can react. “Where did you buy Shimizu’s ring?” 

[lola-writes]

Duty Is Sacrifice

Pairing: Cregan Stark x Velaryon/Strong!reader

Word Count: 2,6k

Themes & Warnings: Winterfell, pov. first person, feelings realization, fluff and smut, fingering, orgasm

Summary: Queen Rhaenyra sends you to treat with Lord Cregan Stark for the support of the North. In him you find not only an ally, but something deeper as well…

Song: Skin and Bones (Cinematic) - David Kushner

Masterlist | Add yourself to my taglist

Likes, reblogs and comments are greatly appreciated!

The wilderness beyond the Wall sprawled before me atop the outlook, an uncharted immensity dripping with anathema. A frozen wasteland, it held a cold that seemed to seep into your very soul, promising to turn your bones to ice with a single, lingering glance.

The stories from the seasoned rangers down below had painted a vivid picture, but this, this was a masterpiece beyond mere words. The frigid air, a living entity, tore at my dark hair and the borrowed furs – those very furs my stubborn pride had initially dismissed. Now, the only thing missing from mirroring those same hardened rangers was a permanent furrow etched between my brows, a testament to countless nights spent battling the elements. 

Their Lord was a wall of warmth which prevented the gnawing chill from consuming me. His massive form broadened at my side, his very presence thawing me. Turning to him, I observed the furrow deepening between his brows as he regarded me, though it wasn’t a testament to the cold, but rather something concerned. 

“Winterfell beckons, Princess,” he said, his timber thick with northern accent, “Let us return to warm you.” 

His gloved hand, rough yet surprisingly gentle, reached out for me. Relief washed over me as I grasped it, the worn leather a welcome anchor against the treacherous turret steps.

“Blazing fires. Hot stew. How’s that sound?” His stoic expression nearly cracked to the rumble in my stomach. I noticed I was still supported in his grasp well beyond danger, when I felt his thumb tracing reassuring circles on the back of my hand, sending a delicious shiver snaking down my spine.

Gently, I returned it to my side. “That would be most pleasant, thank you my Lord.”

Days had bled into one another at his side, treating, feasting, drinking, strategizing, and though I had no doubt I had fixed him as an ally to my mother’s claim, some other heat beneath the veneer of alliance had begun to simmer in his gaze, a spark that mirrored the disquiet blooming in my own chest.

The iron cage groaned its descent down to Castle Black, echoing through the black shaft like cries of the damned. From the moment I stepped foot in Winterfell, he’d woven a tapestry of comfort. He recalled every detail I mentioned in passing, and behind his every effort to make me feel at home was a gesture conforming to something I’d previously told him I enjoyed – a steaming mug of my favorite herbal tea, a book on a subject I’d once expressed interest in. He was unlike any man I’d encountered. Each word he uttered was a silken caress, so gentle it felt like he feared his own timber could bruise me. But a heavy weight had settled in my chest. My replies had now become clipped, mere whispers that barely escaped my lips. There was so much more at stake now beyond my desires. Duty loomed heavy on my shoulders. I feared any careless words or lingering glances could brittle the alliance with the Starks to pieces.

We mounted our horses and begun our nigh-on two days ride back to Winterfell. Though not as biting as the Wall’s teeth, the wind on the Kingsroad still carried a relentless edge. The only warmth to be found radiated shyly from the small fires Cregan’s bannermen had built, and the thick fur I wove tightly around myself at night.

As the colossal granite form of Winterfell finally clawed its way up from the horizon, a wave of exhaustion crashed into me, settling heavy in my bones. Dismounting was an ordeal. Every muscle in my body throbbed in protest from the days’ ride. My legs, leaden weights, buckled before I could even consider lowering myself. 

But before I could hit the ground, strong arms, surprisingly gentle, encircled my waist, and lifted me from the saddle before I could even think to react. 

We stood there, my body swaying slightly in his arms, our eyes lingering on each other for a second beyond my comfort. His eyes, normally the clear blue of a summer sky, were now a stormy gray, swirling with unspoken concern. A tremor of something akin to fear danced in my chest, battling the unexpected flutter at his touch. 

“Apologies, my Lord,” I stammered, cheeks flushing with a heat that had naught to do with exertion. “Dragon saddle is one thing, but I fear horseback is another entirely.” I smiled apologetically. 

Cregan’s fingers lingered on my waist, a gentle caress that singed through my leathers and into my very skin, sending a jolt through me. He withdrew them slowly, and my side ached from their absence. 

“Fret not, Princess,” he rumbled, his voice a warm current, “Two days on horseback have felled men twice your size.”

I giggled to his obvious attempt at comforting me. “I wouldn’t bet on that,” I replied, taking trembling steps toward the castle.

Once in my chambers, I collapsed onto the bed; sleep, thick and heavy, stealing the day. When I finally opened my eyes, the only light in the room spilled from the dying embers in the hearth. 

A gnawing hunger, cold and insistent, hollowed my gut. With a deep breath, I rose, and dressed in my house colors, the fabric thick with responsibility. Then, I descended the steps in my hunt for scraps.

The massive oak doors of the Great Hall ground open, revealing a cavernous space bathed in the flickering, golden glow of a roaring fire. Laughter and the murmur of rough voices hung in the air. Fur cloaked figures huddled around the immense hearth at the far end, casting dancing shadows on the towering walls. Lord Stark sat amidst his bannermen; tankards raised in boisterous revelry. 

The merriment dipped as I entered. Heads swiveled my way, some splitting into knowing grins. The bannermen rose in unison, scattering like startled crows, their boisterousness replaced by a respectful chorus of greetings and a flurry of curt bows. 

“My regrets for missing supper,” I said, drawing Cregan’s heavy gaze. His shadowed form, a giant even in the flickering firelight, rose with a quiet grace that belied his imposing physique. 

“You need not worry,” he said, ladling steaming stew from a small pot over the fire and offered me the bowl with one hand. A grateful smile lit my face as I accepted it. 

“You grow quite comely as a serving girl,” I jested, a flicker of triumph igniting in my chest when his mouth quirked up into a faint smirk, a flicker of warmth dancing in his eyes, a rare concession on his normally stoic face. 

I settled onto the bench beside his chair and began devouring the stew, its meat and vegetables soothing the ache in my belly. As I ate, I stole glances at Cregan, his face bathed in the rich firelight, a mask of unreadable emotions. 

Regret, sharp and unwelcome, tightened in my chest as I observed him. I had a duty fulfilled, but a heart unsatiated. I had come to Winterfell to remind him of the oath his house swore to my mother, and he had not left me wanton. Yet, the journey back to Dragonstone loomed large in my mind. The prospect of leaving him, perhaps for a very long time, cast a long shadow. Unless he too agreed to join us.

“The Queen’s sworn allies are too few to win a war for the throne,” I declared, my voice tight with the weight of responsibility, “She needs your men.”

His jaw clenched, his stoicism returning like a steel mask. “Cursed be the Hightowers,” he growled, venom lacing his voice. “But winter is coming. War of dragons is never a small ordeal. If the Queen is in need of my men to defeat the usurper, you must allow me to wait out the winter.”

Despair clawed at my throat. Memories and tales of past winters surfaced, stretching on for months, even years. Without the full support of the North, we could be crushed before winter even loosened its icy grip. Perhaps reduced to cinders beneath the wrath of the dragons. 

“It will be too late,” I pleaded, the urgency in my voice cracking the carefully constructed façade I had built.

Cregan met my gaze, his eyes a stormy gray. “It’s the best I can do, Princess. I hope you will forgive me.”

A spark of anger ignited within me, battling the tendrils of despair. “You swore an oath, Lord Stark.”

He held my stare, unwavering. “I haven’t forgotten,” he said, “You will have two thousand greybeards that can be ready to march at once.”

“What of you?” My voice trembled, tears welling up before I had the strength to stop them. “What if this is goodbye?” 

Understanding suddenly dawned in his eyes, and his brows furrowed in what I thought was despair. He came to sit beside me, the wood groaning under his weight. His large, calloused thumbs painted the tears across my cheeks. 

“I assure you, Princess,” he said softly, “This is not goodbye.” His hand came up to grasp my chin between his thumb and index finger, tilting it up to meet his intense gaze. “I swear it,” he vowed, steel threading through his words. Hope surged through me; a lifeline cast into the churning sea of anguish. 

Starks do not forget an oath. 

“The Hightowers were doomed the second they put the imposter on that throne,” Cregan rumbled, his voice a low caress. 

The space between us seemed to have dissolved, his calloused hands engulfing mine in a firm, reassuring grasp. Silence stretched, thick with unspoken emotions, tension dripping like honey. I waited for him to say something else, but he remained still, quiet, his fingers slowly and gently exploring mine, each touch sending sparks of lightning up my arms. I met his gaze, my breathing shallowing as I realized his lips were but a whisper away, his dark eyes shimmering with heat, flickering with an unspoken hunger that seethed beneath my skin with each second. 

“Their betrayal…” His voice was barely a whisper, his fingers ceased their dance with mine, and began their path up my arms, “…will not go unpunished,” he said thickly, his hands now grazing my upper arms, up my shoulders, ceasing at the curve of my neck, the movement sending a sizzling sensation through my blood. 

With the cold that had plagued me so these last few days, I began to fever. My lips parted as if I was suddenly short of breath, and I felt a curious pulse that drifted between my thighs. My whole body, like to an unseen force, drew closer to him, and he tensed beneath his leathers. His frame vibrated with desperate restraint, the fire in his eyes warring between duty and sacrifice. 

“I am a man of honor,” he groaned. My stomach tightened as his hands inched up my neck and traced the line of my jaw, his coarse thumb brushing across my lips. 

Something tugged on my stomach from the inside as the fiery heat of his fingers burned through my skin. My breaths came out ragged and shallow while he remained silent, as though he was immersed in concentration. 

Without knowing the full implication of my words, I whispered, “Dishonor me.”

For the storm, only just contained, raged wild in his eyes, a low growl sounded from deep in his chest before he crashed his lips to mine. 

I received them with a low, beckoning gasp. My palms came up to his neck, my nails running the length of it as he explored my lips, the roof of my mouth, my teeth, and under my tongue. Then his lips traced my jaw, finding my ear, breathed his warm air into it, nibbled my lobe, then covered my throat in wet kisses. I tilted my head to grant him access, as low, sensual mewlings poured from my lips, something carnal infiltrating my veins.

His hands came down to my waist, and I gasped in surprise when he lifted me and placed me in his lap, my legs latching around his back. 

He was so big and warm and hard. His eyes were lazy and dark as his fingers began to lightly trace down the side of my neck, then hooking into my dress to bare my shoulder. He kissed it with an open mouth and moving tongue, and I quivered beneath his touch. Then, with a sharp sound of a tear, he had pulled my dress all the way down my abdomen. 

He groaned at the sight of me, his lips slightly parted, his hands delicately cupping my breasts as if he’d found treasure. When the cold made me shiver, he leaned into me to lend me his warmth, while his lips tantalized me, drawing close to my hardened nipple, blowing it with hot air, then backing off, kissing across my breastbone to the other, until I forced his mouth to it.

He hummed with throaty satisfaction, latching onto it and giving it one slow suck, grazing the skin with his teeth. I threw my head back with a gasp. White heat shot like lightning between my thighs, before pulsing into an empty ache. I swayed into him, bucking my hips into his groin, feeling him harden beneath me. He suckled my other breast in warm, slow pulses, circling the areola, drawing panting moans out of me, before he found my lips again. 

Gathering my skirts, he moved his hands underneath them, gripping the fullness of my thighs, kneading them, squeezing them, to the point it pinched me, and I bit his bottom lip in protest. 

Cregan Stark was a gentle giant in all matters but things salacious. 

A throaty sigh escaped his lips as his hands found my buttocks, kneading the flesh between his fingers. Hot, slick tingles pooled between my thighs, and my fingers curled in his hair. My body hummed in anticipation as his finger slid downward, a groan pouring out of me as he grazed over my wet opening. 

“Oh, Princess.” The words were like magic on his lips, shooting through my core in throbbing pulses. 

His other arm snaked around my waist, locking me to his body as he explored and moistened my folds, leaving me a bucking, moaning mess in his lap. 

I felt empty and sickly. A fog had infiltrated my vision, my skin, my mind, my inhibitions. I coveted him. I needed him, more than I needed anything else. His eyes alone could touch inside of me, but I could not explain the pulsing, throbbing, delirious effects of his hands, his mouth, his tongue, and I ached for more. I felt unfinished, incomplete. 

Until he slid a finger deep inside me, and I gasped. Hot, sweet pressure filled me, and once I adjusted, he introduced another, threatening to overfill as he fingered me. 

Fast and then lazy. 

Over and over. 

The room filled with wet squelching noises and my moaning squeals. His deeper, throatier moans vibrated through his chest and lit me on fire, burning in my lower stomach, blazing, desperate for feed, or I would disintegrate. 

My nails dug desperately into his shoulders, as any attempts of filling myself up to completion were in vain by the power of his grip around my waist. He trailed every inch of my neck, kissing it as it if were my mouth, with lips, tongue, and teeth. His fingers penetrated deep and curled inside of me, rubbing something within that sent pressure bursting into tingles and flames, my veins burning up like dragon fire, and stars sparkling behind my eyelids. I cried out with the purest ecstasy as my body shuddered and clenched around his fingers, and he groaned against my skin with dark satisfaction as I clung to him desperately.

Once my trembles ceased and I managed to catch my breath, he took my cheeks in his hand and kissed me fiercely, passionately, his fires still boiling for release.

“I am coming with you,” he declared.

Tag list: @koyaa66648 @longlivemyblues @melsunshine @urdadsfavs @the-great-ladyg @barackosteaa @elysyannemimi @80sstradlin @hgyura @telltale-vixen @nyxbranwenn @tortargaryen @naxal-jlt @flowercrownsandherondales @red-hydra @lanadelray1989 @crumbledcastle28 @midnightcrw @prismaudee @nsr-15

[nikoisme]

actually the fact that odysseus knew he'd be gone for 20 years makes the gears in my brain turn. You kiss your son goodbye knowing you will miss every milestone of his. He will be a grown man and will not remember you. You will be a father only by title. Your wife will lay alone in your wedding bed, she will wake and see the side you've slept on is empty. You won't hold each other for a long, long time. Your parents may not even be there to welcome you back. You know you will return, but the war stretches on and on. Your comrades fall. Your ships are on fire. Your best warriors are nothing but ashes in an urn. But it's eventually over, you can go home. But still, there's more time left. First it's a storm. It's winding up in strange lands. It's hunger. It's temptation. Your men grow weary. You have twelve ships and then you have one and then it's only you on a single timber. You know you will return, but everything has gone so horribly wrong that you can't help but wonder if the fates fooled you. Everyone you know is either dead or are living again. You are the only one stuck in between. Neither dead or alive. You sit on a beach staring out to the sea from the moments the birds sing til the sun dips over the horizon. Every day is the same - you sit on the stones and weep, you trek the shores, during the night you're in her bed. Your skin is cracked and sunburnt, your beard long and tangled, your hair etched with more and more silver hairs. Your eyes are dull, sunken. Your bones ache when you walk, your breath is shorter. The sun rises and sets. The waves wash away your footprints. You are growing old but the island is the same. You are left behind. Your home will change and you won't change with it. In fact, everyone will change, but you will not recognize what's different. Some of the lines under your eyes will be the hauntings of war, while your wife's will be from the sleepless nights of buying you time. You flinch when you see each other. You expected to see someone else, and she expected to see no one at all. You could once hold your boy in your arms, but now it feels like he's the one holding you. The trees in your orchard have grown taller. Some of the houses in your kingdom are empty. The children that sat on your knees now have their own children on their own knees - or they lie dead, by your own hand. Who are you? Who is your son, your wife? You will get to know each other, you will change together eventually. But there will still be something off, like a brick not fitting quite right in the foundation. Off like a living man among the dead, someone who wasn't fated to die, but was supposed to die a long time ago. A dead man among the living. You will not belong, even though you are the father of your son, the husband of your wife, the son of your father, the king of your land. There will always be something missing, something aching.

And you are willing to let it all happen when you lift your baby son from the field, away from the plow.

[thefiresontheheight]

Hey I was just thinking about the Distant Dieties, what a perfect metaphor they are for the increasing fractionation of American society. The elegance of how you weave them into your narrative is breath taking. Also I think about Paladin *literally* every single day, gotta be one of my favorite characters in anything I've read in my 32 years on this planet.

Holy shit that is like, legit just the coolest thing thank you. I’m curious what made you think of the Distant Deities and their post god-vacuum slow metaphor for alienation and apocalypse today!

[monstersholygrail]

It was a race against the clock yet you slowly sink down on your Vampire bf’s cock. Drawing this out till the last possible moment. The windows are wide open, letting the light of the blue hour cover the world in its soft hue.

Lately your bf has been teasing you a bit too much. Tempting you with the delicious thrill of sinking his fangs inside you, only to pull away at the last moment. Knowing what it does to you and refusing to give it to you.

He’s not the only one who can tease and you plan to give it right back to him. Planning to tease him with the dangerous heat of the sun. Not giving him your precious fat cunt until it’s rays peak just over the horizon.

It’s finally come and now so will you.

You can only just make out his features and his tortured expression as he releases a ragged moan at the feel of your wet heat enveloping his length. You’re not doing much better as you shake on top of him, his cock filling you up so fucking good you almost can’t take it.

“C’mon. Make me cum,” you demand firmly even as you whimper at how deep he rests inside you.

A flash of determination passes over his features. Knowing he can’t close the curtain until he’s made a mess of you on his cock. His hands eagerly grab at your plush curves, gaining a firm hold on you.

You moan loudly, your head rolling back as he immediately pulls out of you to the tip only to slam himself back inside your gummy walls. He hisses furiously, his fangs glinting in the light before he gives you everything you’ve been wanting.

He fucks into your cunt like he’s a man starved and gone feral. Acting as if your cunt is the only thing he needs to survive and you’ve been keeping it from him. He uses his rough hold to move you up and down on his length, his force driving his cock as deep inside you as possible.

Glancing out the window he curses under his breath, the sun climb higher and higher into the sky. Panic grips at his chest, but it only serves to heighten his desire as he picks up pace, his hips snapping up to meet yours.

Both your moans ring throughout the air, the tension rising and turning you both on even more. You desperately try and move with him and your jaw drops in a silent scream as he starts hitting that soft spot inside you with every thrust.

As the first specks of light shine through your windows, your bf groans at the delicious pain that spreads across his chest and shoots down his spine. Your hands push into his chest, riding him harder and your bf hisses at you.

Before you realize what’s happening your bf pulls your plush form on top of his and sinks his fangs into your throat. You cry out, both of you know shaking from the mix of pain and pleasure that rock through your bodies.

Placing his feet on the bed, he gives you everything he has left. His dick relentlessly plowing into you. He growls into your neck, the heat of the sun making his body feel though it’s on fire as it buzzes through him.

“Fucking cum for me. My love, my love, please,” he rasps, voice slurred with his fangs still inside you.

A heat of its own courses through you as well. Your eyes roll back as it mixes with his thick cock brushing along your walls. The intensity of the pain only driving you both toward a higher release.

As soon as you explode around his length, your scream loud and unrestrained, your bf roars with his own release. He slams himself all the way to the hilt before releasing his heavy load in your spasming pussy.

He moans raggedly as the sun continues to rise, increasing the pain on his skin and he pleasure in his body. His orgasm seems never ending as he shoots spurt after spurt into your willing cunt.

It’s only when he’s finally spent that with a wave of his hand the curtains fall over the window. You immediately sag on top of your bf and he cries out, his dick twitching inside of you. Both of you panting and beyond exhausted.

“That will teach you to tease me,” you mumble breathlessly. Your bf merely chuckles like dick he is.

“Yeah, teach me to do it again,” he replies, giving his typical smart-ass response.

You try to retaliate with a smack on his chest but you yelp as he immediately shoots back with a firm slap on your ass.

[yandere-wishes]

What would Capitano do if reader gets a very bad cold after they try to escape him?

⋆⁺₊❅. This reminds me of the scene where Belle tries to escape from the Beast in the snowstorm.

⋆꙳•❅• •❆ ₊⋆⋆꙳•❅• •❆ ₊⋆⋆꙳•❅• •❆ ₊⋆⋆꙳•❅• •❆ ₊⋆⋆꙳•❅• •❆ ₊⋆⋆꙳•❅•

✧ He drags you back indignantly, armor-clad fingers digging fervently into your forearm. He longs to sink his metal hands into your silky hair, to weave and pull and make you feel a fraction of his pain.

✧ He's slow to notice your sniffling and paling face. Too busy swallowing down his rage, snuffing out fires in favor of earning your love once more. It's only when you faint, falling tenderly into his arms like the first snowflake of winter. That he notices your condition. The deadly shade of rose blushing your swollen cheeks, the sheen of sweat glistening along your sweet face. He pulls you to his chest cradling your body all so gently fearing the worst. Pricking his tongue with patronymic orison to the Tsaritsa.

✧ He's quick to rush you to his chambers, laying you tentatively upon his velvety bed and tracing his icy gauntlet upon your temples in hopes of decelerating the pyrexia. The syllables of each word cut his throat as he barks out orders to the maids. Call upon Dottore, call upon aide...

✧ He blames himself, letting the guilt gnaw at his heart as he stares outside at the blizzard. He should have been more careful, should have kept you closer. His mission had ended early and upon his return he'd found you running through the snow. His castle a distant silhouette upon the dark horizon. He'd been so angry in the moment. So heartbroken that you would do such a treacherous thing in his absence that he'd pointed his sword at your neck and forced you to mount onto his horse. Looking back he should have noticed the dazed look in your eyes, noticed the way your body slumped against his during the ride home.

✧ Capitano loves you, utterly, wholly. But his heart shatters every time you do not reincorporate his desperate feelings.

✧ Why must love sting, greater than any cut from any weapon?

✧ When Dottore arrives and tends to you. Capitano stands in the background like a shroud. Eyes never once leave your fragile frame. He longs to reach out and touch you. To lay beside you and have you rest your weary head upon his chest. He wants you to hear his heartbeat, have it haunt your dreams in hopes you'll follow the rhyme back to him.

✧ Dottore instructs Capitano to feed you plenty of liquids and soups upon your awakening. You keep ice clothes at hand and make sure you don't strain yourself. Once the doctor leaves Capitano removes his helmet, slowly crawling next to you. Peppering your face with tender kisses.

✧ "Forgive me, my love"

✧ You revive during the ungodly hours, eyes parting to see the moon rays adorning your capturer's scared face. Perhaps it's the delirium. But you have to admit that he looks so gorgeous with this particular shade of desperation painted across his face. Your lips gently brush his lips as you cuddle closer to the man who stole your life away.

[bogleech]

It bugs me so much the way they decided every character published by the same comic book brand should always share the same universe when so many of them were conceived of as their own unique thing in a bubble. Like why are vampires the single biggest threat on earth in THIS guy's life and he almost never sees killer robots, which are an everyday problem to this woman who has never heard of real vampires, and neither of them normally encounter or even talk about the thousands of goofy ass superheroes and supervillains evidently having widely televised destructive battles in every major city on earth every few days. If all this shit in the DCU or the marvel one was really actually happening in the same timeline of the same earth it'd be unreadable chaos every time you stepped outside, a nonsense circus from loony land all the way to the godforsaken horizon, neon underwear guys flying around everywhere bouncing off the fucking walls, mutant kaiju battles and biblical Armageddons and noir gangster wizard demon shootouts with cyborg werewolf bikini ninjas holding up traffic and shit, how the hell would anybody even find five minutes of goddamn peace to have a coffee and a bagel without being interrupted by gods from three different religions wrestling a big centipede that eats time, or whatever happened on your block this morning, let alone hold down an honest 9 to 5 self contained single genre adventure in that kinda batshit clown fire?!

[gracexthoughts]

Māzigon arlī naejot issa.

(Come back to me)

jacaerys velaryon x betrothed!reader

warnings; talk of injuries and blood, canon divergence, angst ending with comfort summary; reader was sent to rook’s rest and when she returns injured, jace nearly looses his mind  a/n; reader is targaryen and in my head she is maybe rhaenyra’s cousin but i didn’t feel like fleshing out a whole family for her so you can use your imagination. 

Jacaerys has been going mad. The Lady Y/N has been gone for hours, and every second more that the Prince was ignorant of her fate was a second closer to him flying off in search of her. She’d volunteered to fly to Rook’s Rest and face Cole’s army herself. Her dragon, Silverwing, is the largest dragon with a rider second only to Vhagar, but she’s been gone too long for the prince’s liking. He’d begged her not to go, begged his mother to send him instead, and neither had listened. He couldn’t deny the logic of the choice, but the longer she stayed at battle, the more images of her broken and bloody flooded her betrothed’s mind. 

The Prince and the Queen stand on the balcony off his chambers. Queen Rhaenyra has tried calming her son, but to no avail. The sun nears the horizon, setting the sky on fire in shades of gold and red, but Jacaerys only watches for signs of his betrothed. 

“I’m going after her,” Jacaerys blurts out, unable to contain himself any longer, pushing off the stone half wall. 

“No,” the queen says firmly, moving to block her son’s path. Ever since the death of Prince Lucerys, the queen has kept her eldest son close, refusing to send him out on dragon back. 

“She should have been back by now! I will not just sit here and await news of her fate,” the prince argues, his voice strained and fraught. The Queen’s heart aches at the panic in her son’s eyes. 

“Y/N is a fierce dragon rider. I am confident she will return soon,” she says placatingly, reaching up to cup his cheek, but Jacaerys pushes her away. 

“No, I can’t just sit here. She’s to be my wife; I’m meant to protect her, not sit safely by in a castle while she risks her life protecting my birthright!” The prince exclaims and pushes through the doors to his chambers, but a dragon’s shriek stops him in his path. He whips around, his eyes scanning the skies for the sight of his betrothed. And then he sees her. 

Jacaerys sprints through the halls of Dragonstone, his steps echoing against the stone as he makes his way out of the castle. He should feel relieved, but the prince cannot shake the fear clutching at his heart. 

As Jacaeryrs reaches the mouth of the Dragonmount, all his fears come to the forefront. Y/N isn’t in the saddle; instead, she’s clutched in the silver claws of her dragon, her arm hanging limply down. Silverwing sets her down gently before landing herself, and Jacaerys swears he can see the sadness in her massive silver eyes. “No, no, no,” Jacaerys mutters, dropping to his knees next to her body, tears blurring his vision as he pulls her body to him. Her clothes are covered in blood and singed, an arrow lodged in her shoulder, and a gash on her side. Her silver hair is dark with ash and crimson, but breath still moves through her lips shallowly, a small beacon of hope. Without any thought but her care, he scoops her into his arms, cradling the body of his betrothed to his chest and running as fast as he can back to the castle. 

“Call the master!” He bellows to the first guard he sees, his voice fraught and cracking, the princely tone he maintains forgotten in his panic. “Hold on, my love.”

As he pushes his way through the doors of the castle, the Grand Maester and the queen, followed by Ser Lorrent, rush towards the pair. “Help her!” The prince shrieks at the maester, all manners forgotten, and his expression is wild with fear. Used to such behavior, Grand Maester Gerardys simply nods and inspects the body in the prince’s arms. 

“We’ll take her to her chambers. I’ll meet you there,” he says and turns, hurrying off to gather supplies. Ser Lorrent steps forward, his arms outstretched, to take the girl from the prince, but Jacaerys pushes past him, following after the maester up to the stairs and hurries to her apartments. 

As they reach her chambers, the prince lays her down gently on her bed, not caring for the state of her bedclothes. He stays close to her side as the maester gathers his things, watching her closely to make sure she stays breathing. Soon, Geradys comes to her side. “Excuse me, my prince,” he says softly to the young prince, but he doesn’t seem to hear. Rhaenyra steps forward, her hand wrapping around her son’s shoulder. 

“Darling, let the Grand Maester work,” she says softly, pulling Jacaerys back a few steps. Rhaenyra tries to coax him away to wash and change, as he is now covered in his betrothed’s blood, but he refuses. 

“No, I won’t leave her,” he says, pulling against his mother. 

“We won’t; just give him space, my darling,” she coos, pulling him to her and wrapping her arms around her darling son, whose body is shaking. He relents to his mother’s pull, allowing him to be held like a child as he watches the maester struggle to keep the love of his life in the world of the living. 

Nearly an hour later, the maester turns to the prince and queen, blood staining his front and hands and his eyes weary. “I’ve done all I can, your Grace, my Prince. It is up to her spirit and the gods now. But she is a fighter, if ever there was one,” the Geradys says, his eyes soft for the Prince of Dragonstone. The Queen thanks him, but Jacaerys isn’t listening, moving forward numbly. He kneels next to the bed, his shaking hands reaching for hers, the ash and blood washed clean by the maester. He presses a gentle kiss on her skin, gripping her hand tightly between his own. 

“Y/N, my love,” the Crown Prince whispers, reaching up to brush a strand of silver hair from her brow. “You have to fight. Please, you can’t... I can’t lose you as well, please. Kostilus, māzigon arlī naejot issa. Ko-Kostilus,” he begs, his throat closed tightly as tears slip down his cheeks. Please, come back to me. 

***

It’s a full day before Y/N wakes, and Jacaerys has refused to leave her side. Late afternoon light shines into the room, beams of light cutting the air and washing it in an amber glow. Amethyst eyes flutter open, blinking in the brightness of the room. 

“Jace?” She mutters; her voice is rough and her throat is burning. 

“Y/N!” Jace gasps, jumping up from his seat in the center of the room to kneel at her side, gingerly taking her hand in his. “You’re awake!” he laughs in relief, his vision blurring with tears of joy. He drinks her in, her weary smile, and the lilac swirls in her eyes he thought he’d never see again. 

“How long-?” She begins groggily, attempting to sit up by the wound in her abdomen, causing her to grimace. Jacaerys gently pushes her back down to the pillows.

“Don’t move, my love. Silverwing brought you back one evening past. You were,” the prince swallows, his throat constricting at the memory, “badly wounded. Gods, I feared you’d not wake.” He reaches for her, his calloused hand cradling her head. 

“I’m afraid you’re stuck with me, my prince,” she smiles. Even wounded and weak, her humor remains. Jacaerys laughs through his tears, moving to sit on the bed and covering her face in kisses, making her giggle until it causes too much pain in her stomach. 

“What happened?” Jace asks, sitting back and holding her hand tightly. 

“Aemond was there, and Aegon. It was a trap,” she sighs, grimacing. “We were engaged with Sunfyre when Vhagar appeared... I had to fly close to the ground to get out from between the pair, and their archers took advantage.” 

“Gods, I will kill both of them for laying a hand on you,” the prince says, his voice crackling with anger.

“I’m alright, Jace,” she coos, reaching up to cradle his beautiful face in her hands. His anger subsides at her touch, her gentleness soothing the fires raging inside him. 

“You’re wounded; you nearly died. If you’d arrived minutes later, you would have been passed by the time you returned to me. My love, Icouldn’t bear it if you-”

“Jace-”

“Promise me. Please just promise me you’ll be more careful,” the prince implores, his amber eyes fierce and wide. 

“I promise, Jace. I do, and I will,” she says earnestly, their eyes locked for a long moment. “Come here,” she whispers, pulling on his hands to bring him closer. “Lay with me?” 

“I don’t want to hurt you.” 

“You could never. Please?” Y/N’s eyes plead with the prince, and he forgets any notion of courtly manners or what is proper for two betrotheds as he comes to lay in her bed. Careful of her injuries, he wraps his arms around her, pulling her frame into his, and she rests her head against his chest, sighing in relief at returning home to him. There they lay, the future king and queen of the Seven Kingdoms, basking in each other’s warmth and thanking the gods for another day of safety in this war.

[cherryl4na]

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ `"your pleasure, his gain"

abstract || you and lando enjoying some quality time in his apartment but there's just one little detail. you're wearing his shirt.

fem!reader || fluff. smut. cute moments. wearing his shirt. 1.5k words.

The sun was beginning to dip below the horizon, casting a warm orange glow over Monaco's picturesque coastline as you lay comfortably, intertwined on the plush bed in his Monaco apartment, the soft hum of the city below creating a serene background to your quiet evening together. Lando's arm was draped around your waist, pulling you closer as you leaned against his chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. His fingers absentmindedly traced small circles on your soft, plush skin, a comforting gesture that sent gentle shivers down your spine.

"You know," Lando murmured softly, his breath warm against your ear, his accent thicker around this time of day with a hint of raspiness, "this is my favorite way to spend an evening. You tilted your head up to meet his piercing gaze, the tenderness in his eyes making your heart skip a beat. "Mine too," you admitted with a contented smile.

He brushed a lock of hair away from your face, his touch feather-light. "I'm glad you're here," he confessed, his voice tinged with sincerity. "There’s nowhere else I’d rather be," you replied, your voice barely above a whisper.

Lando's lips curved into a smile, his thumb tracing along your jawline before leaning in to capture your lips in a tender kiss. It was soft and slow, filled with unspoken emotions and a deep affection that had grown between you over time.

As the kiss deepened, you melted into each other, the world outside their apartment fading away until there was only the two of you. His fingers threaded through your hair, holding you close as if he never wanted to let you go.

When you finally pulled back, your foreheads resting against each other, you could feel Lando's warm breath mingling with yours. His eyes searched for yours, a silent question lingering between you. You answered it with a smile, reaching up to brush your lips against his once more, savoring the taste of him. This time, the kiss was filled with a promise of more to come, a silent vow of the connection you shared.

As your lips lingered against Lando's, you could feel his smile growing against your mouth. His hands gently caressed your back, tracing patterns along your spine with a tenderness that made your heart flutter. Breaking the kiss, he rested his forehead against yours, his breath warm against your cheek.

"You know," he murmured, his voice low and filled with affection, "you look absolutely stunning in my shirt."

You chuckled softly, the warmth of his compliment spreading through you. "Your shirts are definitely more comfortable than mine," you teased lightly, fingers tracing the collar of the shirt you had slipped into earlier.

Lando's gaze softened as he cupped your face in his hands, his thumb brushing against your soft bottom lip. "I mean it," he insisted, his voice earnest. "There's something about seeing you like this, relaxed and wearing something of mine..."

You felt a blush creeping onto your cheeks at his admiring gaze, realizing how much he cherished these intimate moments. "I like being close to you," you confessed quietly, leaning into his touch.

His smile widened, eyes sparkling with tenderness. "I like it too," he admitted, leaning in to press a soft kiss against your forehead. "More than words can say."

You gazed up at him, feeling the weight of his words mingling with the warmth of his touch. The air between you was thick with unspoken desires and a longing that only deepened with each passing moment.

Lando's fingers trailed down from your lips to your collarbone, skimming lightly over the fabric of his shirt. His touch sent a shiver of anticipation through you, igniting a fire that burned hotter with every heartbeat. With a gentle yet firm touch, Lando guided you to lie back on the bed, his eyes never leaving yours. You willingly surrendered to the sensation of being wanted, desired by him in a way that was both overwhelming and exhilarating.

He hovered over you, his body aligning perfectly with yours as he supported himself on his forearms. The weight of his presence above you was both comforting and electrifying, grounding you in the intensity of the moment.

"Lando," you whispered his name, the plea for more escaping your lips without conscious thought.

His response was a deep, passionate kiss that stole your breath away. It was a kiss filled with longing and hunger, a silent declaration of his desire for you. His hands cradled your face gently, thumbs brushing along your jawline as if memorizing every contour.

Lost in the sensation of his lips against yours, you tangled your fingers in his hair, pulling him closer. The kiss deepened, becoming a dance of tongues and a shared rhythm that spoke volumes of the connection between you.

Time seemed to stand still as you melted into each other, the world outside their apartment fading away until there was only the two of you. Lando's touch ignited a fire within you, a blaze of passion that burned brighter with each caress, each whispered endearment.

When you finally broke apart, breathless and flushed with desire, Lando rested his forehead against yours, his chest rising and falling with each deep breath. His eyes held an intensity that mirrored your own, a silent promise of more to come, of a love that knew no bounds.

"I love you," he murmured against your lips, his voice raw with emotion.

"I love you too," you whispered back, your heart overflowing with a love that felt infinite.  Lando's eyes shimmered with tenderness as he leaned in, pressing his lips gently against yours once more. But then, his touch began to wander, trailing soft kisses along your jawline, down your neck, sending shivers down your spine. Each kiss was filled with passion, each touch deliberate yet tender, igniting a fire within you that burned hotter with each passing moment.

His hands, strong yet gentle, traced patterns over your skin, his fingertips leaving a trail of warmth wherever they touched. You could feel his heartbeat, steady and reassuring against your own, as he held you close, savoring every moment of intimacy.

"Lando," you gasped softly, overwhelmed by the intensity of his affection. He whispered your name against your skin, his breath warm against your ear, sending a thrill through your entire being. His lips found yours again, his kiss deepening as if to express all the emotions he couldn't put into words before pushing you back down against the bed.

The room is quiet, aside from the two of you panting, trying to catch your breath. A smirk slowly rises onto his perfect, handsome face. Slowly, he moves his body down, positioning himself between your plush thighs like it’s where he belongs, looking hot in his boxers, specifically the one with the Monster logo he showed off once at a race.

His big, warm, veiny hands are holding your waist softly as his lips press feather-like kisses against your thighs. Your chest rises and falls as his lips get closer and closer, exactly where you want him, where you crave him. Where you need him. Lando looks up at you and lets out a deep hum, another smirk forming on his perfect lips. Finally, his lips land right where you need him, and you gasp, fingernails gripping the bed sheets tightly. His mouth works its magic for a bit, softly, sensually. But as time goes on, seconds go by then minutes, and emotions are heightened, he begins getting passionate; hungrier for your tastes. 

Lando's tongue finally gets involved, and you can't help but let out a whimper at the feeling, losing yourself in this moment. He begins getting messy, slurping up every single drop of your ecstasy, humming at the taste. Never have you felt something so heavenly like you do now. It feels as if you're floating above the clouds, free from any stress life has to offer. Lando then begins eating you out aggressively, like a mad man; a man who had been starved his entire life and this will be his only meal for years to come. Your chest rises and falls faster as you get closer and closer to your release.

Lando looks up and hums against you, not stopping but getting faster; messier. It only takes a bit more before you finally release all over his tongue and mouth, pants and moans, leaving your soft but plump lips. He doesn't stop his ministrations even after you've come down from your high. Wiggling your hips, feeling overstimulated, you try moving away only for his grip on your hips to get tighter and prevent you from moving. 

Lando growls before speaking against you, "Where do you think you're going, darling? I'm not done with you. I'm still hungry, and I'm not stopping till I'm done." He then goes back, flattening his tongue against you as one of his hands moves up, under the big shirt you're wearing to grip and play with your chest. It was in that moment that you knew he would not stop until he had his fill of you. Your pleasure always has and always will be his gain.

©2024 cherryl4na. - please do not copy, repost or translate any of my works on other platforms without my permission.

an || how's everyone feeling after this one? me personally, i was sweating while writing. anyways, hope you enjoyed. till the next one!

[thewatcher727]

Writing Description Notes: Mental Pain

Updated 3rd June 2024 More description notes

The hallucinations were the same as being tortured for real, all of the emotions, all of the trauma, and none of the empathy that would come with such a real life ordeal.

There was something in that shout, a pain behind it. John watched. He watched Jane’s eyes. Then he knew. The anger was nothing but a shield for pain, like a cornered soldier randomly throwing out grenades, scared for his life, lonely, desperate. He breathed in real slowly. What if nothing blew up? What if there were no consequences? Wouldn't John have to calm down? Wouldn't the shield clatter to the ground and let the pain tumble out?

John sees Jane. He does. He sees pain in her eyes. It has sat there for her lifetime, trapped in the confusion we all carry. He sees love too, the love she would have given were it not for the scars. It's still there, and one day he will set her free. John is not perfect, yet he loves her, and he knows what love means. He asks for a chance to find his feet, to stop his own head from spinning, and he will prove it. There is so much of her life that is a hell for her soul, and she stays there from strength rather than weakness, he knows. So he wants to join her in that pain, walk with her, feel the same torture he knows she bears. And one day, he will find just the right way to bring her home, his love.

Jane's emotional pain seeps out in her words, and it hurts John to hear them, hurts to read them. He senses what is inside that troubles her, yet also there is so much goodness there too—bravery, tenacity. She holds on like a fighter, every morning rising at the ringing of "the bell." All he can offer her is a brighter horizon, a hope that one day she will be free of all this. One day there will be choice, freedom, and security of food, shelter on a healthy Earth. 

Emotional pain leaves invisible scars, yet they can be traced by the most gentle of touch.

Nobody wants to hurt, yet if John's pains can be used to help others, he feels blessed. Anyhow, perhaps his scars are his road-map; maybe he would be lost without them.

He turned towards him, a pained expression plastered across his face, teeth clenched as he tried to steady his breathing.

Gripping the ground as hard as he could to take some of the pain away.

It was as if a thousand needles of doubt and self-loathing were piercing her heart with each passing moment, leaving behind a tapestry of scars that only she could see.

It was as though a veil of sadness had been draped over her eyes, distorting her perception of the world and casting everything in shades of gray.

The weight of sorrow was a constant companion, pressing down on his shoulders until he felt he might collapse under its burden.

Her mind was a battlefield, each thought a landmine ready to explode with memories she wished she could forget.

The storm inside his head raged on, a relentless barrage of thoughts and fears that left him feeling exhausted and defeated.

It was as if a dark cloud had settled over his soul.

Her chest felt hollow, a yawning emptiness where joy and peace once resided, now replaced by a gnawing ache.

His mind was a prison denying him the freedom to live fully.

She felt like she was drowning in an ocean of despair, every attempt to surface met with another wave of hopelessness.

Every laugh felt hollow, every smile forced, as if she were playing a role in a play she didn't want to be in.

She felt like a ghost, wandering through life unnoticed, her pain invisible to everyone but herself.

The nights were the worst, when the darkness outside matched the darkness within, and sleep was a distant dream.

It was like a fire burning within, consuming all that was good and leaving behind nothing but ashes of what used to be.

The pain was a silent scream, a cry for help that no one could hear.