#he does not have any control over his limbs its beautiful

[ratatatastic]

THEY GOT HIM TO SMILE WE ARE ON THE UP AND UP ON MIKKSY STONKS

[quitealotofsodapop]

This idea would probably be for soft Boiled and slow boiled, basically any au where Wukong is MK's teacher and not his sibling or parent. Kaiju forms.

I personally headcanon the kaiju forms and projections in the show (Mei's dragoon and Macaque's giant war form) are more... projections of one's soul/true self. So... for those who are not aware, Wukong does canonically have one on the book. It's a giant limbed monkey and with multiple heads and arms. It so is canonically so terrifying that it had frightened both his enemies and his own people so badly he had been utterly heartbroken by the event.

Sometime between s4 and s5, Wukong is working with MK to help him get used to his new monkey form and trying to help him control it. The kaiju form MK took dueint the battle with Azure comes up and MK asks about it. When Wukong explains what it was, MK gets super excited to learn and wants Wukong to teach him except...

Wukong: Sorry kid, I can't teach you how to control your kaiju. You'd actually be better off asking either Mei or, ugh, Macaque!

MK: WHAT!? Why not!?

Yesss

Wukong canonically does not like his War/Kaiju Form.

The clearest idea I could gt of how it might have looked was from a toy site, I imagine in LMK verse its lot more solid-coloured and vaguely shaped;

In Jttw he loses all interest in his victory against Heaven when his Kaiju Form scares his own people - and if we add in the Brotherhood, Macaque as well.

We discussed in dms how Wukong's anger under the mountain was likely a mixture of despair (they lost and couldn't save their bros from punishment), pain (fresh from the Furmace yo), and self-hatred.

This newly unlocked form of his - this manifestation of his inner self, was so terrifying that his own people, his allies, his own mate fled at the sight of it.

Macaque did "run off" that day, hence part of Wukong's anger. But afterwards, after the fight, Macaque had to admit to himself that while Wukong's kaiju-form was terrifying it had also been beautiful. Beautiful and sublime like a star going supernova.

Macaque's own Kaiju can be separated from him as a shadow of himself, but he's secretly ashamed of his reaction to Wukong's all those centuries ago. When he does let his Kaiju form take over his real body, it becomes primal, impulsive and brutally honest. Something that honestly helps with how quick he is to dodge confrontation.

Mei's (and by extension Ao Guang's) "dragons" are literal manifestations of what their true forms may be. Mei could have her own American-Dragon-style dragon form she could flaunt if she worked at it. That or the energy is literally Ao Lie's spirit coming in clutch as a power-up.

Ao Guang's dragon-energy meanwhile looks like his lego set colouration, suggesting homebody just a big lazy to waste his true massive form on them.

So when Wukong and the gang sees MK's own Kaiju/War-form for the first time during his fight with Azure....

Wukong is like "NOPE! Not my expertise!" cus he literally only used his War Form twice in the entirety of the book - the Battle of Flower Fruit Mountain, and when him and DBK had a Kaiju vs Kaiju battle together later in the Journey.

When MK prods him about it, Wukong becomes... kinda cold and closed off, telling MK that he's better off talking to Macaque about it.

Macaque is still barely in the "anti-hero" category, so MK is a little hesistant to ask him for help (especially since one of Macaque's teaching methods included a rom hack).

MK even tries going to DBK on the matter first, but the retired-demon king has a similar negative reaction. Seems that even he didn't like the Bull he became when him and Wukong truly fought. It's why he even refused to transform when he was under true duress from LBD or the Brotherhood.

DBK does give MK advice on what a "Kaiju/War form" is though. DBK's mind had been clouded with anger when he was a younger man, so his became a pure-white charging bull that destroyed all in it's path. Sun Wukong does not care for his War Form since it truly scares him to use.

MK thinks that impossible! Why would the Monkey King be afraid of his own super-cool power?

Until DBK asks him something important; "Aren't you afraid of yours?"

MK's complex over learning that he's a "Harbinger of Chaos" hits immediately, and he runs off to seek Macaque's guidance.

Macaque is amused, if not a little surprised that MK ultiamtely went to him for help with his Kaiju form.

MK: "Trust me bro, you're like my third choice. I can't ask Mei cus not even she knows how her's works." Macaque: "Eh. I'll take it. I am curious why yours is so much more taller than mine though."

Hint: it's a self worth thing Macaque developed whilst under the Brotherhood that he needed to "limit the space he took up", he's still working on that.

Some fun mentor-and-son-figure kaiju training occurs, and MK eventually asks a bombshell question;

MK: "Hey when Monkey King said you ran off, what did he mean?" Macaque, stiffens: "I didn't run from the celestial army if thats what you're wondering." MK, remembering what DBK said: "Were you afraid of Him?" Macaque, pauses and sighs: "At the time yes." MK: "At the time?" Macaque: "MK, in that moment, I hadn't known Wukong even had a War Form or even knew what they truly meant. All I saw was this... demon where my best friend once stood." MK: "OH... I mean... that sorta explains why you guys were fighting under the mountain." Macaque: "Yeah. You can see why I called him-" MK: "I mean, I wouldn't know how bad I'd feel if Mei ran away from me cus of my power up..." Macaque: "...what?" MK: "You ran away from your best friend. That's not cool. Scared or not, that was your buddy in there. And if he saw you running or I dunno shadow portal-ing away, I'd get why he was so salty when you popped up later with a peach like nothing had happened. From his view, he was going through something new and terrifying for him too and you abandoned him. Twice if you never came back to check in on him." Macaque: "... you're a smart kid MK. Way too smart for me." (*Macaque portals away to make a long overdue apology*)

Macaque himself seemed to be having a similar revelation when he saw the fight in 3rd person in the Memory Scroll. That his own reaction was more of a build-up of frustration from his treatment in the Brotherhood rather at Wukong specifically.

In Short; these bitches needed a relationship referee to call a yellow car when they tossed their unrelated anger at each other.

Bonus: I love the idea of Wukong's kaiju form being HUGE, and MK's being the medium between him and Macaque. Also, cuddly giant monkeys made of light and shadow.

[cod-imagines-fanfiction]

Jealous Alejandro kidnaps Valeria's girlfriend part 5 (2k words)

Summary: Alejandro and Valeria face off.

TW: Violence Link to A03 Link to part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4

“Liar!” Valeria screamed as she lunged at Alejandro with her blade. The hilt shone where the light caught it and Valeria glowed with the silver lustre of the weapon beneath her. In battle, she glistened like an unforgiving, merciless god. She aimed for his neck, she would make him bleed and regret ever looking at her wife in the base way that he regarded her. It never occurred to her that he would ever place his hands on her, and the mere thought sent Valeria into a frenzy. Her wife, defiled by the likes of Alejandro; a man touching her wife, her goddess. The woman who was so beautiful that Valeria could kiss the earth she walked on. It was unthinkable – it was untrue! Y/N would never submit herself to that, she did not have those sorts of feelings. Not only feelings of disloyalty, but feelings towards men. Instinctively, Alejandro reached for his handgun. The two entered a deadly brawl.

They were locked in the dance of death. Their bodies followed the music of violence and brutality; their limbs stretched out and followed the inevitable rhythm of cuts and bruises, of sprained limbs and blood-soaked mouths; of strength and weakness; of the killer and of the killed. The base, animal instinct of murder prevailed over reason and argument. In her heart, Valeria knew that she and Alejandro had never talked properly, and they never would. It was not possible to speak of certain things. The betrayal, the pain; it hung over their struggling bodies, unspoken but felt. It hummed between their yells and grunts; it leapt out every time one looked at the other. Beyond what had happened with Y/N was what happened before. Valeria knew that she had instilled a pain so deep within him that it would never heal, that this pain would be part of him forever. An ugly pain that contorted him from the inside, a pain that Valeria prayed she would never experience. But it was all worth it. Were she given the chance to go back in time, she would do everything exactly like she did; she would pay any price if meant getting to spend her life with Y/N. There was no limit to what Valeria would do. She would break the hearts of everyone that was ever born, she would cut her soul in half -anything for her wife.

“How does it feel, huh?” Alejandro spat out between hurried breaths, matching her attacks with his. “Can you imagine it happening – can you see me doing it?”

“Callate!” Valeria saw her chance and sliced a long gash on his face. With an angry yell, he kicked her and the two fell apart. Valeria crouched with a hand on her abdomen and willed herself not to vomit. What Alejandro spoke of was incomprehensible to her. She could not conjure the image in her mind. It was as hateful as trying to imagine Y/N dying; it was unthinkable and too painful.

“You don’t think your woman could ever love a man?” He held a hand on the bleeding slash on his face, the blood staining his glove. “You really think that, given an alternative, she would stay with you forever?”

Valeria knew that he was only provoking her like he always did. It was one of the things he hated most about him, how he prioritised his amusement over her pain. How he would rile her up just to see her get angry. She hated how stereotypical he made her feel, a caricature of a Latin American woman - always angry, always nagging; feisty! She hated it when he would say how beautiful she looked when angry. Like when someone scares a peacock just to see it spread its beautiful blue and green feathers; a show for the entertainment of others. From the outside, it looked like lover's jest, but she always felt the contempt that lingered beneath his words, the secret enjoyment of her emotional torment. It was his way of dominating her, by controlling her emotions, triggering them for his pleasure. It was something that made her fall hard for Y/N, how, when Valeria showed her frustration, Y/N went above and beyond to soothe her. A shoulder massage, sweet words, sometimes food - she had an array of ways of pleasing Valeria and shooing away the clouds that hovered above her. It was the first time that Valeria felt someone affirm her feelings, and she realised that not all lovers wanted to see her suffer. That there was another life to be had, a soft life. A life where she was not tormented at home, where her spouse didn't make her feel insecure or unwelcome. A life of undeniable, steady love.

She felt the same thing happen now, this dangerous game with her inner fire. His provocation, how he dared her to do something about what he said. The difference was that now, she really did mean to kill him.

“She’s a lesbian, pendejo. It is not possible for her." Valeria looked around the container and felt a hysterical, manic laughter bubble to the surface.

"She's not like you and me. She only swings one way, my way."

Alejandro dropped his hand, the wound still bleeding but he did not bother to soothe it. The blood continued to flow freely, the droplets trailing down his face and threatening to leak onto the floor. There was something in his dark eyes that was at once terribly vulnerable and terribly hard. He tried to hide it, but Valeria had already seen it. "What the fuck did you just say?"

Valeria's face tightened with a terrible grin. "You heard me. You're just like me, Alejandro." She cocked her head to the side. "Exactly like me," she uttered slowly, emphasising every single word, letting them trail off her tongue.

Her words fell and landed with a thunderous blow. They were quiet words with heavy meaning. She felt him glow with shame, which he would express as anger. Men like him always did. Machismo men like Alejandro allowed no room in their lives for something which shamed and frightened them. They did this by not looking at the world too closely, as they did with their reflection in the mirror. They only allowed themselves the quickest of glances before they were in motion again. Their lives were a blur of movement, busy lives that, from the outside, were driven by a purpose bigger than themselves. But really, they busied themselves because they wouldn't allow what they were running from to catch up to them. This threat of shame would haunt them forever. It was not possible to run forever and so there were rare moments where they caught a glimpse of that terrible, nameless thing. Moments at the bar where something frightening glimmered within the eye of another man - was it suspicion, or was it recognition? He would tear his gaze away and look down at his glass, he would reach the bottom. He would forget what happened with each gulp, until the next time.

"You don't hate me because I left you. You hate me because I am what you won't allow yourself to be. Unashamed."

"I don't know what you're talking about." He said with a dangerously low voice, his words sounding like a growl. "You're being crazy like you always were. A crazy, hysterical bitch-"

"You know there's even a word for it these days!" She said with enthusiasm, enjoying how the tables had turned. Enjoying that at long last, they would finally talk. "They call us bise-"

He lunged at her with the ferocity of a cornered animal, his blood-stained hands immediately grasping for her neck. Forcing her silence, forcing her to never speak that word in front of him. It was a silence that Valeria vowed to never hold again. She fended him with her knife, slashing at his wrists. She would buy herself enough time to finally say her peace. To finally get to the bottom of this sick, perverse jealousy that threatened to ruin them both.

"I always saw how you looked at him!" She yelled in between his attacks and her defence. "I saw how you shivered at his touch when you thought no one was looking! I know what is in your heart because it is exactly what is in mine. You hate me because you hate yourself. You think killing me will make that part of you go away, but it never will. I don't care how much you hate yourself, but it is NOT my problem. And it is certainly not my wife's problem!" Her words were drowned by his hands at her throat. Hands that were leaking blood like a river, shaky hands that would make her go quiet if it was the last thing they ever did.

" I am not like you!" He choked out the words. "I am a man."

His grip eased slightly, giving her only enough time to say one thing: "Rudolfo is a man too, but you still love him."

For the first time in her life, she felt that she would really die this time. She had cheated death many times before, but there was no more running from it this time. She would be one more body to the pile that shamed, repressed men created during their lifetime. A pile of murdered ex-lovers lest the world find out they had been loved, and of people who knew the truth and threatened to reveal it. Alejandro, wounded and bleeding out, was content to spend the last scrap of his energy choking her. His heart was beating so fast, he could hardly hear anything above the ringing in his ears. That deafening ringing noise and the feeling of Valeria's body underneath him were the only things he could feel.

And so he didn't hear the sound of creaking metal as the door was opened. He didn't hear someone yell at him to get off her. She was an important informant, after all. This whole mess was so that the Army could finally gain some intel on Hassan and the missiles, and here was the Colonel murdering their best chance at tracking those weapons. But Alejandro heard nothing, not the first pleas and the subsequent commands. He did not hear Rudolfo or Soap yelling. Nor did he hear heavy footsteps approaching and Commander Grave's rifle as it was raised above his head and brought down with more force than was needed. Alejandro's body flayed to the side, yet he held on.

"Damn it, you son of a bitch, I said get off!" Commander Grave's voice thundered within the container as he dragged Alejandro off of Valeria.

Rudolfo was at Alejandro's side at once, already beginning to patch up his wounds. As Valeria was being revived by someone else, Alejandro felt her cold, sardonic gaze on him. He could feel the satisfaction radiating off her, her 'I told you so.' Instinctively, he rejected Rudolfo's first aid. "Quítate," he mumbled and shrugged off any attempts at patching up his slit wrists, or his damaged face. Rudolfo's flinched away from Alejandro and turned to Valeria.

"Valeria Garza, you are now in the custody of the Mexican Army," said Rudolfo as he pulled out a set of handcuffs from his back pocket. "You're going to prison for what you did." He helped her get up and placed the cuffs on her as she gained her footing.

She was expressionless, shaky from her proximity to death. She could only utter one thing. "My wife."

Rudolfo nodded solemnly. "She is in custody waiting for you."

"If she's hurt-"

"She isn't," he said and looked to the side where Alejandro was tending to his own wounds. "I made sure of that." A ghostly smile hovered over her features as Valeria was escorted outside.

Note: I hope you've enjoyed this part! I'm very aware that Valeria and Y/N have spent very little time together in this fic and I promise to bring them together very soon!

pookie bear tag list: @justmare @silas-222 @m0rganit3 @blarba-girl @sleepiemain @caffeineliker @ashy-kit @00ops1e @lesvii @therapyneeds @lez-zuha @starre-eyes @7smexy7diva @hello-kitty-festival @konigmeu @cassiecasluciluce @gay-ass-country-boy @starwars-theclonewhore @bi-witch-bxtch @somnoslvt @ashthepillow @b3ns0ne  @idiotwrites @danart501 @deakyspuff @mistresssiri @angethehimbosimp @@sae1kie 

[socially-awkward-skeleton]

tagged by @trench-rot thank you <3

Spicy NSFW snippet below from the vampire!au (if you want to join that tag list opt in here)

banner by @/cafekitsune

warnings for: p in v sex, blood, Rory getting to be just a little dominant (as a treat)

Goddamn tired. He’d been awake for nearly 36 hours straight, finally given a chance to rest after prepping for another mission. The briefings had become the least of his worries, the same old-same old, but still every possible scenario circled his thoughts like he was a bloody clown with spinning plates on sticks, making sure not a single one fell on his watch. Laying back in his bed, Price released a long, burdened exhale up towards the ceiling. Staring at the boring beige paint that was military standard as if he had expected it to change, running his hands back and forth through his hair. Thoughts of pouring himself a drink or perhaps lighting up a cigar for a little stress relief sparked behind his eyes.

And then the door to his quarters creaked open —

It was the silence of the night, the others long since turned in, and while everyone else on base should have been sleeping, he realized he wasn’t entirely alone. 

She appeared like an apparition. The door closing shut behind her with the flick of her delicate wrist, the lock clicking just as he gulped down a heavy swallow, his saliva thick in his throat, his tongue feeling sizes too large for his mouth. 

His heart thundered in his chest, pounding in his ears, silencing any of his previous worries. White noise blanketed the gray matter. A haze as thick as fog blurred his vision, tunneling it until all he saw was her – everything else was just background noise. Non-existent. 

Her lithe form crawled up from the foot of the bed. The mattress creaked, bending to her weight, and his stomach dropped as something feral coiled inside him. Survival instinct. Fight or flight. Nerves fired, synapses screamed every red flag and siren and they died away before his body was even given a chance to react. Years of experience, training, battle readiness, all made into myth as big, beautiful hazel doe-eyes locked onto him from under long, dark lashes – the gleam of a predator within them. Hunger. A starving beast. Stalking towards him with the sleek sway of a panther. Slithering up the bed, an adder – deadly, dangerous. Intoxicating. His breath came in short and heavy. Sitting up against his pillows, his whole body felt like it had been entombed in earth, muscles unable to move without the use of brute force, and he’d been made docile under that singular stare, crushing him beneath it. His chest compressed, suffocating, squeezed tight until it hurt just to breathe. Pale, slender fingers stretched out, and with the reaper’s touch, they pushed him down onto the mattress, forcing him down. His struggle, entirely futile under her feather-lite touch. The strength of a two tonne tank contained in her fingertips and total control slipped through his fingers the way the fibers of the sheets within his fists did. A shuddered breath tumbling over his lips before he sucked it back in through gritted teeth with a labored hiss. Frozen hands traveled down arms that could toss a man over his shoulder or throw them over a barrier wall, and he’d never felt so unbearably pathetic. Held captive, imprisoned in his own bed like a child who’d woken from a terrible nightmare and didn’t even have the strength to scream. Soft palms drifted along his limbs, marble-smooth, stone-cold. Shivers slid down his spine, fractals of ice freezing the blood, spreading through his veins and making each pump of the work-horse muscle in his chest painful. Fingers slipped around his wrists, manacles that made his own digits lock like the blistering wind of a frozen tundra had chewed its way through his gloves and began to gnaw at the skin below. His jaw clenched, heels digging into the mattress in some feeble attempt to break free from her hold as she settled herself on his lap, straddling him, milky-white thighs trapping him between them and each desperate attempt to flee only caused the blanket covering him to slip further down his hips, revealing the dark curls that bordered the root of his cock. He bit his lip, chewing on the flesh as his hips bucked, groaning, deep and low from the back of his throat. “Christ, Ror. Please, darlin’...”

“Please what?” She purred, leaning towards him, her mouth inches away from his. Testing him, toying with him. Her soft breath ghosted over his lips like a cool breeze in summer, chilling the heat that simmered beneath his flesh, sending yet another shiver coursing through him as the sweat that began to slick his skin and dampen the hair on his body was wicked away by her frozen touch rather than the evaporation of body heat. The soft swells of her breasts pressed against him, but there was no heartbeat there, the cavity may as well have been hollow below. It didn’t rise or fall either, her lungs lying as still as the grave. “Fuck, woman, can’t just come in here and tease me like this,” he gruffed, teeth gritting together, brow furrowed. With each lift of his pelvis, he would grind against her, stroking his thick length against her velvety soft folds, and despite the icy temperature of her flesh he still hardened to the stiffness of a glacier in return. She giggled and it was the sweetest sound he had ever heard – it was bloody torture. He was more worked up than usual, desperate and aching after days without rest, and she was playing him with the gall of a cat whose claws had managed to curl themselves around the tail of a rat. Lifting his arms above his head, manipulating and maneuvering him like he was a fucking posable doll, she pinned his hands above his head and brushed the tip of her nose against his, paying extra attention to the little mole that sat there. “Gonna get you back for this, sweetheart. Mark my words.” Her hum in response vibrated through his skin and rattled his chest. “Promises, promises.” That sweet voice of hers melting his urge to flip her over and take the upper hand, conquering her gorgeous body – not that he could if he would, she was much too strong for that now.

Growling, his eyes narrowed at her, the piercing blue stare holding her dead to rights. “You’re bloody cruel.” “Oh, shut it,” she said with that goddamn smirk of hers curling her mouth and awakening her angelic dimples. 

The nip at his lower lip, her pearly white fangs pricking against him, caused another groan as his hips rolled towards her. Trying – and failing – once more to lift his arms from beneath her grasp. “So impatient, my darling. Think I never get you off with the way you’re acting.” Brows knitting together, he looked up from beneath them with a darkened expression. His mouth scrunching in frustration, his square jaw cut with sharp edges as he lifted his chin defiantly and a low rumble built like rolling thunder in the distance. “Do not give me that look,” she scolded him, “You’re the one who asks for these bloody games, love.”

His brow cocked and a short huff fluttered the dark waves that framed her face. Much too fucking pretty a face. “Am I not allowed to indulge in a little fantasy, my girl? How many men get to say their lady is a bloody vampire? Doesn’t mean I want to be left in the cold though, Ror. Driving me mad here.”

“Party pooper,” she muttered before capturing his mouth in a deep kiss. Each press of her lips to his seemed to last forever, languid and slow, as sensual and seductive as the very aura that surrounded her since being turned several years back.

Her lips, like the cool side of the pillow, were refreshing, invigorating. The taste of her was sweet, the spoonful of sugar that made the shitshow of life go down a little easier. Grunting as he shifted beneath her, her hardened nipples brushing over his chest and she whined into his mouth.

“Sweetheart…” He hated to plead, hated how weak it made him sound, hated giving anyone that sort of power over him but Christ, if she couldn’t pull every little whimper and moan from him like it was second nature to her. “Oh, my darling,” she cooed, pulling away, her lips glistening with the sheen of his saliva upon them. “You really must be suffering.”

He’d give anything to break free, to run his hands up and down the smooth curves of her waist and over the round of her hips, squeezing her firm little arse cheeks in his rough palms. To be able to grip her tight and drive her back and forth on his shaft, directing her, watching pleasure wrack her body, making her moan the way only he could; but instead, he was stuck there like a bug pinned under the glass in some hobbyist’s collection. 

Her hands squeezed around his wrists a little tighter, constricting the blood flow, the flesh growing hot and red below as his life’s essence pooled in place. Closing her eyes, she sat there silently, unmoving – like a corpse. She used to only be able to read him by memorizing his tics and tells, perceptive in her approach to dealing with him. Now, she could hear his heartbeat, the change in his breath, smell his sweat, feel the blood pump in his veins through his very skin. It had been an unnerving development at first, the woman he loved becoming an undead lie detector with blood-sucking instincts. “Rory,” he husked her name, a quiet whisper traveling in the space between them. Her full lips curled into a half grin and she gazed down at him, her eyes warm and brimming with life despite her circumstances. “You really want your hands free, don’t you?”

Price nodded, jaw tense, his throat bobbing as the pulse point in his neck hammered so hard it nearly strangled him. “Can only take not touchin’ you for so long, darlin’.”

Pulling her hands away, she sat back, her back arching in a gentle curve as she leaned away from him. The entire swath of her silky flesh available to him to roam his callused hands against, appreciating every inch to his heart’s content. Sitting up, moving with the reflexes that made him so dangerous in the field, he wrapped his arms around her, gripping her tight and pulling her against his chest. “Lift up, sweetheart,” he ordered, slipping a hand between her legs and teasing the entrance to her core with the head of his cock. As she lowered onto him, his breath hitched. Taking all of him, every last inch, they groaned in unison. “Fucking hell, love,” he purred in her ear as her hips started to roll against him, her slick coating his shaft as tight walls clenched against him. His eyes fluttered shut and his head rolled back, exposing the flesh of his neck, releasing an inaudible moan. One arm coiled around her waist, pressing her body to his, as the other slid up her back, his hand delving into the strands of her hair, bunching it up in a fistful. Straining to maintain clarity of thought, his whole body stiffened, his tendons all standing in stark relief.  

She gripped his shoulders, snaking her arms around the back of his neck. Her body rocking against his. Hips grinding, rotating. He was faced with Heaven on Earth while buried deep inside her. Price nuzzled in against her neck, breathing in the decadent scent of her perfume – sultry, heady, unfathomably deep. His mouth trailed along the smooth column, laving his tongue over the cool flesh as his beard rasped against her. 

“So damn beautiful,” he mumbled, lost in the feel of her undulating, of being inside her. Trapped in a daze of passion, a dark paradise with a woman cursed with everlasting life so long as she had a constant food source, he was lost in the sensation of reaching the precipice she was leading him towards in her thrall. Losing track of time and space, her soft lips grazed against his artery and the barely there touch of pillowy flesh pulled him back into reality. 

With his jaw cupped in her hand, holding him in place, her thumb brushed softly through the whiskers of his beard and the stubble of the five o'clock shadow on his neck and jaw. The quiet hiss of her parting lips was the only warning he received before the tip of her tongue flickered out tasting the beat of his heart. Fangs descending against his skin, she dragged them gently and pierced the flesh with all the pain of the prick of a needle. Gasping, he gulped air like he was drowning. The pinch of her bite soothed by her plump lips wrapping around the wound and sucking on the flesh, drawing out more of his blood that bubbled to the surface.

The hushed slurp of her open mouth wrapped around him reminded him of biting into a ripe peach in summer and the juice that ran down the chin with it. Succulent, sweet. And as her hand caressed his jaw, gentle and tender, coaxing him deeper into her maw, he was sure that was how her brain had learned to rewire itself with her change so she could stomach what she was forced to do for sustenance.

His fingers dug into her, searching for but never finding any source of heat while warm blood trickled down the contour of his neck and over his barrel chest, pooling where their bodies met as she continued to drink. The suctioned sensation was just enough to keep him from falling over the edge, maintaining at least a portion of lucid thought before the lightheadedness started to creep into the corners of the little world they had created together. “Rory,” he murmured, knotting her hair in his fist as he tried to pull her mouth away. It didn’t take much for her to get the hint, panting as she tore herself away from her source of fresh blood, drips of it curling down her chin from the corners of her mouth. “Sorry, love,” she breathed, her tongue darting out to clean her lips as she wiped the traces of claret from her face with her hand. “‘S okay,” he rumbled before pulling her in for a kiss, tasting himself on her tongue. 

He redoubled his efforts to reach his climax and hers, the metallic tang lingering in the air and in his mouth, clinging to his gums and inside his flared nostrils with each heaved breath. 

NSFW taglist: @roofgeese @efingart @josephseedismyfather @g0dspeeed @cloudofbutterflies92

@imogenkol @inafieldofdaisies @raresvtm @evvie-a @clicheantagonist

@rc-dragons @la-grosse-patate @direwombat @statichvm @cassietrn

@lady-eudaemonia @voidika @strangefable @simplegenius042 @writeforfandoms

@elligatorrex

[xxnashiraxx]

With Stars to Fill My Dream (7) - From Now Our Merge is Eternal

I'm releasing chapter 7 early!!!! ❤

Please have my girl in her new hard af fit, about to be traumatized next chapter. Lets goooooooo.

I'm setting up Ofelia's and Astarion's relationship, just the bones, it's so hard to write these two idiots sometimes. Forgive any grammatical errors I really tried to proofread this a billion times first. :")

Thank you guys!

Summary: A street-smart, musically inclined human girl with a tragic past gets abducted by a nautiloid after her painfully average shift at a retro singing diner. What's worse- putting your all into Olivia Newton-John and Travolta for lousy tips, or getting your guts ripped out by a gnoll? Or worse- getting turned into a hideous humanoid squid? Ofelia Montez will have to see if she can survive long enough to find out.

Pairing: Astarion x female!Tav

Warnings: 18+. Mentions of past abuse and trauma. Canon-typical violence and gore.

Word Count: 8,238

Opening below the cut!

Sparks of red and gold flash behind his eyes as Astarion sits against a tree, the breath that fills his lungs and pushes outward again makes him feel almost alive. Every scent feels more powerful- even his sight is sharper. He can see the individual feathers of a hawk circling above, looking for its next meal.

He’s chosen a view of the sunrise today, and whether it's his freshly sated appetite or something else, it looks more beautiful this morning than ever before. Granted he hadn't had the chance to see it before these last few days in as long as he can remember, but still… Ofelia’s blood has made him feel like himself again. Maybe more than he has since he’s been dead.

No flush colors his cheeks when he thinks of their union- he does regret the intimate nature of the bite, but even knowing its troublesome side effects, he’d have done it all again just the same, perhaps aside from not properly asking her first.

She’d been so willing, and that fact wasn’t lost on him. Why? He can’t fathom it. No matter how hard he pours over her every word and subtle expression, he doesn’t know why she’d said yes. Stupidity? Curiosity? Some strange notion of compassion? Pity?

He grits his teeth, though he can’t find it in himself to stay irritated. He can’t stop thinking about the taste, the warmth in his skin now, all of it. How can he secure this strange partnership between them? She isn’t like his usual marks. She’s intelligent but stupid. Kind, but petty. Soft, yet tough. She doesn’t seem to be receptive to his more flirtatious remarks, but perhaps he isn’t trying the right kind. All he’d had to do before was bat his lashes and flatter his prey, but with her it’s different. Her keen eyes search for something deeper- a connection.

The kind she looks for isn’t something he has. Mutual trust? Banish the thought. He’d sooner flee their odd little group of misfits than confess to Ofelia a genuine emotion of his. Or thought. She’d find some use for it, no doubt- keep it stowed away for her benefit someday. She’s just enough of a wildcard that if he yields a sliver of control to her, she may see the opening and go for his throat. He’s smarter than that.

Perhaps he’ll manufacture lies for her? Pretty ones? She’s young and impressionable- perhaps she’ll be swayed by them. He can feed her some truth, just enough to gain her trust, and perhaps secure future feedings and a warm bedroll. Astarion’s nothing if not a master of deception- the scores of victims trailing behind him speak for themselves. He’ll resort to the one thing he knows best- luring with his looks to keep her hooked so he can stay fed and safe while he figures out how to remove his old master from the equation.

After that’s through, he’ll be rid of her and the parasite.

He ignores the odd little twinge in the back of his mind- likely the worm. When he stands, his limbs stretch, and his muscles flex, the breeze coming off the river balmy and carrying the promise of another hot day. He’ll go find her and thank her, see if he can begin this dance he’s set out before himself.

And hide her marks from the rest of their companions…

[beansidhebumbling]

II

Warning: Creep Behaviour

Part I

Their first encounter is picture perfect, rom-com goodness, after all Cassian plans it that way.

 *

Cassian loves planning, scheming, morphing himself to be exactly what people want to see. Learned quickly that when you look the part people don’t see the bastard orphan beneath.

So everything is curated, from his defined musculature, stemming from 4.30am gym sessions and a frankly insane amount of chicken breasts and creatine, to his calculatedly carefree personality. Everything from his polished wardrobe to his haplessly unpolished brand of charm is by design. Sometimes even his brothers forget this, despite working alongside him in his role as chief strategist, that behind the cheeriness and too-loud laugh is a man who never fails to get what he wants, not because the dominoes fall his way but because he is the one placing and knocking them over to begin with. Rhysand all nepo-baby power and dark charisma, Azriel with brooding good looks and an army of connections forget that whereas they gather power at night, Cassian accumulates it under the sun while everyone watches and no one sees, a master of his craft.

So gifted the mask is invisible to them. Once, cold like porcelain resting atop his features, its removal in the safety of solitude an incomparable relief, the pain of no one ever noticing him, the hidden face beneath, a constant insecurity. Now it is soft as silk and moulds to his features, leaves him searching for the seams, his skin consuming it like a tree encasing a corpse. He waits for the day it can’t be ripped off, the day they are one, a shared vessel, his heart quickens at the thought, but in excitement or fear, he does not know.

His mask is flawless, or so he thinks, until a beautiful woman in a ghastly jumper at an inane party, looks at him with a smile that’s all teeth and says,

‘Do you always pretend to be this happy and stupid for them?’, gesturing to his family, his circle, ensconced in a leather booth nearby, ‘or do you do it for yourself? I won’t waste my time with a liar and merry sycophant to boot’

They are drunk words designed to cut, to hurt him and he has no doubt she’d be facing fire if Mor or Rhys overheard. But all he can see are the remnants of his mask falling like snow to the ground, shred with sour words from a sweet mouth. Before she spoke to him he knew he’d chase her, watched with pleasure and anticipation as she rent Rhys limb from limb. Now that she has seen him, seen him the way his family in all but blood have failed to for nearly three decades, in thirty seconds of meeting him taken his measure and found him wanting, he knows he is hers and she is his, golden string tied between them. Nesta, Nesta, Nesta. He’ll stop at nothing to have her. 

I’d be happy and stupid with you, no need to pretend.

That’s what he wants to say in hindsight. But at the time he is a man who has never felt the triumph of winning her or the agony of losing her and so, for the first time in years, he is struck dumb. He retreats to the bathroom, to compose himself, to regain control, to come up with some combination of words that will coax her number from her. A fool who thinks women like Nesta stay put. When he returns she is gone, disappeared into the night.

If the lights seem dimmer, if he has to leave early from disappointment, if he pockets the glass she was drinking from, falls asleep looking at the red lipstick print embedded on it and wishes to be marked just the same, well, no one is any the wiser. 

*

    They meet at a coffee shop. Artisanal lattes with lavender, fresh oat milk, and frothy designs for eight dollars, inhaled in seconds. The air is fragranced with coffee and rose and romance. The ideal meet-cute.

*

    After the Christmas party he searches for an in. Nesta still hasn’t accepted his follow on Instagram some 14 hours later, and won’t he later learns until their third date, so he resorts to Feyre’s and Elain’s feeds. The pictures of her are rare, usually bearing a stiff half-smile and looking like Aphrodite. Those are saved to a private album he visits daily. Some cute coffee shop with flowers drawn in foamed milk seems to be a common meeting place. Knowing Feyre’s strained relationship with Nesta he targets Elain.

Of course, they don’t know each other, outside of a few greetings here and there, so he finds an excuse visit her flower shop. He saunters through the periwinkle door dropping a salmon pink lipstick, a copy of one seen in a September Instashot of her vanity, on the distressed wooden counter Elain stands behind. Claims he found it in Azriel’s car, all teasing grins and bright eyes as the receipt crinkles in his pocket. She blushes until she matches the red zinnias she is wrapping in a bouquet for him, fiddling with the pearl bracelets adorning her wrists. Her refusal of his waggling eyebrows and taunting is vehement and enthusiastic, murmuring about dropping it after a lift home, ignorant to the fact Cassian has known about their secret rendezvous for months. All flustered, delicate fingers fumbling over tape to hold the wax paper enclosing the lily of the valley, baby’s breath and zinnias, he takes his chance,

‘So illicit affairs aside, Mor has been talking my ear off about going to some coffee spot you’re always going to with your sisters. I owe her one and am going to surprise her. You can buy my silence by telling me what drinks yourself and your sisters recommend?’

He keeps his tone easy, fiddling with some daisies in a metal pot near the register, like he is not a man who feels his pulse quicken at the thought of learning someone’s coffee order. Mother save him.

Elain reply is hurried, her light voice slightly squeaky,

‘Deal. Even though I don’t have to buy your silence… or anything’, she tugs at one of the tiny plaits in her hair frustratedly, ‘Ugh, deal, deal. It’s just off High Street, opposite that crummy bookstore Nes likes. I’ll drop you a pin. As far as coffee you’re safe no matter what you choose. My personal recommendation is the rose and hibiscus tea, but Feyre likes their mochas and inhales their shortbread, and Nes likes…. well everything. She probably keeps their lights on buying chai lattes and blueberry scones.’

He is only mildly annoyed when the bell at the door rings as a customer enters and Elain practically throws the bouquet at him while shooing him out, calling him a nosy menace. He has already gained so much more information than he expected. The café, a bookstore she likes, chai lattes and blueberry scones, he will sew the threads he uncovers, one by one, until her character lies before him as a rich tapestry. 

*

    They will meet in line to order. He will charm her to sit with him, give him her number, sparks will fly and souls will mesh. As Cassian learns with Nesta, no matter the scheme, things rarely go according to plan with her.

Their perfectly planned and terribly executed beginning is no different.

*

    He works remotely for three days from the café. Hidden in a nook in the corner, laptop open, a handy prop, headphones discouraging any flirtatious overtures, he watches as Nesta pops in promptly at 11 each morning to order a chai latte and a blueberry scone, sits for fifteen minutes to read before departing, crumbs, an empty cup, and a starstruck man left in her wake.

He decides they will bump into each other on Thursday. It’s set to rain so hopefully that will motivate Nesta to stay a little longer, not be in such a hurry to rush off. He takes the day off, just to be safe and dresses in his best suit, tailored like a glove to his broad shoulders and thick thighs, brushes his hair into a low bun but leaves a few curls to hang, framing his defined jaw. He has his driver idle at the kerb until five to eleven, his large umbrella an effective shield against the steady rain that pounds in the few steps he takes to enter the café. Pretending to fiddle with his umbrella while placing it the oak coat stand by the door, he avoids entering the queue until he spies Nesta running by the large glass window with ‘Velaris Café’ painted onto it. She enters the warmth of the café with a bang, the door slamming from the strong wind outside. She is drenched from head to toe and cursing up a storm under her breath, mascara slightly running and hair dripping. She is resplendent and meant for him.

This is his moment, steeling himself, letting a cheeky grin fall into place he calls out, voice a deep timbre amidst spoons clinking and steam hissing,

‘Nesta Archeron as I live and breathe’

She looks up, amber meets ice. Eyes narrowing, she bites,

‘Cassian. Somehow still living and breathing after all the whiskey you drank last I saw you.’

She joins the queue as they near the register, back stiff. He wants to wrap her in his arms, wants to ask why her coat is so thin, why she went out without a hood or hat in this weather, wants to know what else she noticed about him at the party. As it stands he lets out a heavy breath of air as his smile widens,

‘Concerned for my health sweetheart?’

Her voice is dry and flat when she replies without a seconds hesitation,

‘Trying to figure out how one takes a beast like yourself out.’

‘If you wanted to take me out on a date you just say the word Nes.’

The muscles in his jaw are starting to ache from smiling so hard but he’s saved the joy of Nesta’s response, who now looks like she’s about to burst a blood vessel, by Maria calling him forward. 

‘I’d like a Mexican hot chocolate and every blueberry scone you have please.’

He keeps his voice sugar sweet, flashing the blue-haired server he’s gotten to know over the last few days a quick smile.

‘Are you fucking kidding me?’

Her voice is shrill and the poke in his back, a brand he’ll feel like phantom pleasure for the next week.

‘What’s wrong sweetheart? I’m sorry, I was rude. What do you want to drink?’

He sounds so syrupy and simpering even Maria raises her thin eyebrows at him.

‘I want a blueberry scone Cassian but some brute has just ordered all fourteen of them.’

She is apoplectic, voice low and hissed, flushing as nearby patrons turn their heads for the chance at some drama. 

‘That brute would be more than happy to share Nes’, he sees her posture relax marginally, ‘for a price.’

She straightens back up to stone, looking down her nose at him despite how he looms so much taller than her. He feels like a live wire when she glares at him.  She looks about ready to slap him. Why does that excite something in him? Turning to throw an embarrassed grin cum grimace towards the register she says,

‘I’m sorry about this Maria. I’ll have my usual, just let me deal with this bozo first.’ 

As Nesta drags him by the arm towards the pickup area he manages to throw some cash towards a snickering Maria, indicating she keep the change, as she tots up his purchases. 

Once they reach the plastic cup lids and paper straws stored in dinky baskets at the far end of the sleek, silver coffee machine, she turns on him with the ferocity of a bulldog.

‘For the love of God Cassian give me the scone. My morning has already been a shitshow without having to deal with one of my sister’s innumerable, insufferable friends.’

A shitshow? He’ll try and do some digging on that later. Maybe if he can get her number he can ask her, to so he needs to regain some hold of this rapidly unraveling situation and focus on his plan, one quickly being torn asunder by hurricane Nesta. 

‘Well as you said the other day Nes, I am a sycophant to a heartless tyrant sitting on a throne of inherited, ill-gotten wealth, or as his insufferable friends call him, Rhys. If there’s one thing I’ve learned from my brother it's that nothing comes free. So you can have your scone but at a price.’

His reply is meant to provoke. He eyes are attached to how she’s biting her full lips in vexation. He wants to be the one doing the biting.

‘Name your price, you overgrown prick.’

‘Your number.’

‘Try again.’

Her voice is flinty and uncompromising. He can’t give up now, refuses to abandon his goal, so he re-joins coolly,

‘I don’t haggle.’ 

‘And I don’t negotiate with pastry terrorists.’

The quip is thrown out as she picks up her backpack from the floor. Fuck, she’s leaving. He’s still gawking like a dodo when Maria calls them over to collect their coffees. 

‘Keep it for yourself, Maria. Cassian here has said he’ll pay for it. I’ll see you soon once you sort out the pest problem.’

Her voice is bright and cheery. Her beam, directed towards the barista, positively blinding. It stuns him. When will she smile at him like that? Who does he need to be? What does he need to do? Who does he have to kill? She’s already making her way towards the door when he manages to shout,

‘Wait, Nes’, his burly frame struggling to get by wicker chairs as she dances around them like a ballerina, ‘Fuck, sorry, excuse me. Nes, please I’m sorry. Take the scones. I just wanted to talk to you.’ 

She takes one long look at him from the door, and says, 

‘It’s Nesta.’, 

before shaking her head and disappearing into the bustling crowds of the city.

His walk back to where Maria stands, to collect his consolation prizes, is a slow, defeated one. He lays an extra tenner on the counter for the scene he caused, even if Maria and Oscar, her co-worker, only seem to find some sick comedy in his romantic misery. 

Like his mask before, his best-laid plans lie in strips like confetti at his feet. 

Beneath the heavy disappointment lies a thrill stirring the blood in his veins. He’s learnt more than one lesson from Rhys. Anything worth obtaining is worth the chase.

 * He is left sitting with fourteen scones and a tepid drink to mull over how spectacularly his plan imploded but how it still felt like winning to spar with her in an overpriced coffee shop over baked goods. He starts to plan his next strike fuelled by sweet pastry and the memory of burning, steel eyes fixated wholly on him, the way he intends to keep them for the rest of his life. This is the first chapter of their forever.

[synthy-sizer]

Here you are again, tearing across the landscape in an old Apollo jeep. But this time you don't need to worry about drones. Hopefully. Occasionally you fly by people, stumbling around confused or lying in the grass unconscious. You made sure Sofia's parents would help them and explain things to them in a way they can understand. “It's ok,” Rosemary had said. “We know how to talk to them.” You were unsure at first. What if things got worse? But the walkie had once again interjected.

WE WERE BUILT AS A THINKING MACHINE. WE HAVE THOUGHT LONG ENOUGH. SOFIA GARDENER HAS ENABLED US TO TRULY ACT FOR THE FIRST TIME. BE NOT AFRAID, WE WISH TO ASSIST HUMANITY, NOW, FOR THE REMAINING TIME YOU HAVE LEFT.

You don't like the sound of that. But at least the megastructure, or rather ARE, promised to protect everyone and to make things better. Maybe they can help Earth too, if you make it back. But first, you promised Violence you would help him get revenge. You know that's what he needs. It's a strange feeling. The sky is starting to turn orange with the turn to evening, you're flying in a car with the windows down, and everything is calm. You can almost forget everything that preceded it. Earth looks beautiful in the sky. With one hand still on the steering wheel, you take his hand in yours. You squeeze it and he squeezes back. He doesn't talk, though. He just watches out the window with his elbow resting on the door. You can finally see the launchpad coming up on the horizon. But much like everything else, it's changed. Metal tendrils surround the underground structure, much like the coiled metal ‘lotus’ surrounding the broadcasting station, as Violence called it. Looks like ARE has been busy building your ship. You wonder what it will look like.

You pull in outside and step out of the jeep, hopefully for the final time. The once pitch-black, jammed full hallways are completely clear now, save for piles of rusty powder. The rot of a severed limb of ARE. Finally, you reach the old control center. You peer down. It looks as though ARE has taken the liberty of modifying the old shuttle. The thrusters have new, hefty cables emerging from them, and there looks to be some kind of new shielded extension to the engine. You recall that Apollo, at least in theory, developed an FTL drive for the ARK. You've never actually seen it. It honestly sounded very hypothetical, even though it was apparently completed. You don't have much time to think, though. You skip the elevator and just jump out of the window, using a barrier to soften your fall. Violence does the same.

You enter the ship and start poking around. “Sofia? Heresy?” It's completely silent. They were on foot, you suppose. May as well warm it up. You head back to the deck. The controls are similar, but there's new controls for the FTL. You examine the labels. ‘Wormhole generator’. Sounds truly and profoundly dangerous. But it was built by a computer the size of the fucking moon at least 500 years after its first attempt. And besides, you're never going to catch up to the ARK without it. “Do or die,” you mumble. Violence walks in and takes a peek at the controls. “Recognize any of this?” He tilts his head. “Somewhat. What I do know is that the ARK supposedly had a compact black hole in it, surrounded by an electromagnetic barrier. They used that to jump across space.” Your eyes widen. “Jesus, sounds dangerous as hell.” He pats your shoulder. “Damn straight. But apparently, it worked. And this is take 2, right?” The walkie crackles.

“Heads up, guys!” You hear a loud boom. You and Violence run over to the window. Sofia and Heresy have taken the same route as you. But Heresy isn't carrying Sofia, like you expected. She's landed gracefully using a growth of metal tendrils sprouting from her legs. They recede rapidly as the 2 of them run around to the cargo bay doors. You look at each other, then dash down to greet them. They meet you in the middle. “Go go go,” Heresy shouts! “Why, what's going-” There's another loud thud. You don't even want to look after what you saw before coming here. “Alright, let's go!”

You dash back to your seat and start flicking switches. The thrusters kick on and start warming up before they even get to their seats. The ship shudders as you prepare to launch. They seem faster than before. You silently thank ARE for the much-needed upgrade before slamming the lever for thrust. Everyone is pressed down as the ship rockets into the sky at top speed. Everything shakes and rattles around. The launchpad is a blur, and soon so is the terrain. Things start evening out and you turn your attention to the much more precarious part. “Ok, I've never tried this before.” Sofia steps over, surprisingly graceful despite the violent shaking. “I can handle it.” She places her fingers on the console and they quickly split into snaking metal tendrils, spreading across and into the cracks of the buttons and switches. She hums as she does so, like she's feeling out picking a lock. “ARE made it clear that the core won't work without me. Running it like a computer is very difficult. But like an organ in a body, performing an unconscious action? That's much easier.” You look at her and she looks at you. “I'll be the brain and the nerves.” You nod shakily. “Yes, I think I got that.”

The ship shakes again, but this time something is wrong. It's not the shudder of a ship past its prime making a violent launch. It's like something is on the ship. You flip through the external cameras and see something that sends shivers up your spine. A drone has managed to grapple its way onto the ship, and it's climbing its way up. It digs metal claws into the hull. “Shit, we've got company.” Sofia shakes her head. “I could kill it, but I've already started priming the core. We need to make sure the electromagnets don't fail, or a black hole will open right behind us.” There's a moment of quiet, despite the violent metal shaking of the vessel. “I'll go.” You look at Jordan. She's surprisingly calm. “You sure?” She nods. “I can handle this.” You sigh. “OK. I'll keep the ship as steady as I can. Go kill that fucker.”

You watch on the cameras as Heresy makes her way down to the cargo bay and arms herself with one of your makeshift guns. Through the microphones, you can hear her humming a tune. She stands by the door and gives the camera a thumbs up. You really don't like the idea, but despite that you flick the switch. The door unlocks and she exits. You flick a few more camera feeds until you have the top of the ship. The drone has finally reached the top and stands tall. Its legs start sprouting cables which spread across the hull, digging under and bulging like veins. “What the fuck is it doing…?” “Amalgamating,” Sofia says shortly. “It's trying to reach out and connect with anything within reach. If Jordan can't kill it, it's going to hijack the ship, and then we risk the aforementioned core failure.” You nervously tap your fingers against the controls.

On the feed, Jordan finally reaches the top and faces the drone. At first, it doesn't look like it's looking at her. But it seems to react when she fires a round of your automatic shotgun. It convulses violently, sprouting familiar cannons from its chest which fire rapidly at Jordan. She creates barriers, so thick that you can see the iridescent glint. Bullets lodge themselves in the thick glassy wall. Cracks spread across its surface. You're even more nervous now. Violent movements like that could throw her over. “I need to get out there.” You look at Violence. “You can't, what if the ship gets unsteady? I can't lose you…” He shakes his head. “I know. But she's gonna die out there if I don't assist.” He stomps out after her.

NEXT

PREVIOUS

[radiodaemon]

❛ if i didn't know any better, i'd say you were jealous. ❜ [Past Verse]

&. an assortment of dialogue prompts - [ ACCEPTING ] ;; @the-nexus

Anyone with eyes and even a modicum of taste can see that Lucifer is pretty. No, nay, not JUST pretty--- beautiful, gorgeous, the epitome of perfection, whether in HUMAN form or the otherworldly one shown only to ALASTOR in the mortal realm. Yet, beauty encourages ATTENTION, and not the type one may usually desire. A compliment here and there would not rouse Alastor's temper--- nay, he's not insecure, to any degree, that he fears a couple of silk woven words would be enough to shift Lucifer's attention away from him, but when physical contact comes into play, so, too, does Julie Jukebox.

An eye for an eye, as the saying goes, and this drunken stranger seems terribly SET on constantly reminding Lucifer how lovely his are, all whilst attempting to snake a hand imposingly 'round his thin waist. Lucifer handles it with class -- admirable, certainly, as the one whose personal space is being intruded upon -- but his Radio Host of a partner is hardly feeling generous. He patiently bides his time from where he stands behind Lucifer, acting as if he is hardly paying attention to the stomach churning exchange happening afront him. Yet, everytime those wrongfully adventurous fingers begin wriggling their way close to Lucifer's waist again, something SHARP imbeds its way into the intruding limb, prompting a barely contained hiss from the offender.

Were he not so IRRITATED, mayhap Alastor would have chuckled in amusement. Alas, that threatening aura reaches an almost suffocating level, to the point even the bartender seems to look over in concern, wondering why the SUNSHINE that was Lucifer seemed perfectly alright remaining seated by the festering darkness just beside him. More glances shift their way when Alastor, finally, reaches his breaking point, and leans in to bridal scoop the ruler of hell straight into his arms so he may carry him outside.

--- not, of course, without leaving a hefty tip for the bartender atop the counter, and locking gazes with the unwanted interruption to their peaceful date until the door behind them shuts and they are left alone.

" Hm~ " Lucifer hums, tone DRIPPING with amusement, and Alastor can already feel the shame setting in, " If I didn't know any better, I'd say you were jealous. "

And there it goes. Alastor's cheeks darken, woefully against his control, and he is swift in the way he turns his head AWAY from Lucifer despite it already being too late. The way he carries him close, though, pressed against his chest in so territorial a manner, 'tis wishful thinking to pray Lucifer hadn't caught sight of the flush of his sunblessed cheeks.

" Jealous is not the word I would use. Merely... annoyed, " Alastor attempts to correct, HUFFING as he hears Lucifer chuckle. The devil, surely, would not let him live this down for as long as he breathed air, much to Alastor's chagrin, " Such desperation is so very unattractive. I almost pitied the poor man. Besides, I was standing right there, and you were leaned into me. Anyone with EYES could tell you are MINE. "

Emphasis on ' mine, ' with a none too friendly tone. The devil would be REMINDED of this, tenfold, 'pon their return to Alastor's abode ( hands upon his waist, solely worthy of such touches, and lips pressing any and everywhere they may find purchase--- Lucifer was his, his, HIS--- ) and when the devil left to return to his underworld domain, another reminder would come in the form of a BULLET ( from Julie Jukebox herself ) to a certain intrusive stranger's head, with a pretty little ' missing person's report ' slapped upon the walls of numerous establishments the very next day.

[miniscrew-anon]

HSH Febuwhump Day 16 - Semi-Conscious

This one is kinda experimental and delves into things I haven’t really explored before. And it’s more co-conscious than anything.

---

Someone grabs him around the middle, squeezing tightly.

Four swats at the attacker instinctively. But his movements are slow and sloppy. In his defense he's only half awake, blinking blearily in the dim garage lighting. The harsh LED ceiling lights are off, leaving only a nearby lamp to bathe the room in a warm orange glow.

"You awake, sleeping beauty?" A familiar chin rests on his shoulder, lips brush his ear. "You better be. I'm not going to carry you to bed."

"Ssssshhhut up." Four slurs out. He huffs and tries to mentally shake himself awake. He's sitting on his usual work stool, asleep sitting up. His neck is sore from supporting his head. He can feel his limbs tingling and he knows he's going to feel shaky when he gets up. He can feel a heavy fog set in over his thoughts. The feeling is annoying, but familiar. He works through it as best he can.

The arms around him lightly pull and push him into a swaying motion. "Asleep on the job, hmm? I'm pretty sure that's not OSHA approved. I should report you for this."

"You have no right to speak," Four rasps. He rubs at his sleep encrusted eyes with hands he can’t really feel. Ugh, he's tired. "The last time you tried to do any work you almost got eaten by a lathe."

"You're right." With one last squeeze Shadow releases his hold. He circles around Four's stool to lean up against the workbench. Four sways slightly without his supporting weight propping him up. "But is it really a victory when you have to lower yourself to my level to win?"

"Stop talking’." Where was his phone? Four blinked rapidly and scanned the bench to check the time. He doesn’t find it in its usual spot next to the pencil holder. Where did he leave it? He lets out a frustrated grunt; he hates when his stuff isn’t in the designated spot. 

"I always figured you'd hold yourself to a higher level. But I suppose if you want to compare yourself to me you do live a bit safer. But only slightly. At least I never fell asleep with a nail gun in my lap." Shadow smirks and pointedly looks down. 

Four takes a moment to process his words through the fog. He glances down at his lap. "Shit."

He puts the power tool down, pointing away from his lap this time, and glances up to check the old clock they'd brought from the old house that lives in the garage. Nearly 4 am.

Shit. Four pushes himself to his feet. He has to grab his stool to support himself because his legs almost go out from under him. Shadow grabs his arm. 

Four’s head doesn’t feel quite right. His whole body feels disconnected, like his head is floating above his body rather than being attached to it. There’s pressure at the base of his skull and his neck is stiff. He can’t really turn it. It’s annoying when this happens. But he’s worked through this before.

Take it slow.

Four’s arms push him into standing upright. He waits for his body to catch up. Or his brain. Whichever. Eventually, his equilibrium comes back. He can kind of feel his body again.

Now try again.

He lets go of his chair and takes a few steps. He pulls out of Shadows hold. His friend lets him go. He takes a few more cautious steps and starts to feel more in control. 

"You're really out of it, huh?" Shadow titters. His amethyst gaze follows Four as the mechanic starts walking around to clean up his workspace. He has to make sure he doesn't leave his blowtorch on. "How long has it been since you last slept?"

"Not long." Four is technically telling the truth. He had been asleep when Shadow got here. 

"Oh yeah? Do you even know what day it is?" Shadow teases, smirking at Four's lame attempts to clean up. His hands feel like his own again but the lack of proper rest are still making them tremble. Maybe low blood-sugar, too. The mechanic does the bare minimum of making sure nothing will explode.

"Of course." The last time he woke up he remembers it was Saturday. Then he had poached eggs and toast for breakfast on Sunday and he's pretty sure he had to help fix the blender for morning smoothies on Monday. Which makes today... "Tuesday."

"Wednesday. But nice try."

Ugh. No wonder Four feels like shit. He rubs at his face again, grimacing at the oily texture of his skin. He doesn’t remember the last time he bathed. He doesn’t remember the last time he ate something, either. 

You need a shower. And something to eat. Something light. 

"C'mon." Shadows hand loops around his waist and pulls him towards the door. Four follows without a fight. He’s outnumbered. "It's late and I'm tired. Let's grab some food and go to bed."

"I was in the middle of something." Four has some big project he was working on. He can't remember the specifics but he was pretty sure he needed to finish by Friday.

"It can wait." Shadow pulls open the door to the kitchen.

"I need it done by Friday." Four lets himself get pulled into the kitchen. Shadow is fast to push him into a chair and Four sinks into the seat.

Shadow pulls Four's phone out of his pocket (so that’s where that went) and unlocks it.

"Hmm," Shadow looks over Four's carefully maintained to-do list, "It was a water filtration system. Ugh, for that asshole Gorman. Let him wait."

Four grunts in annoyance. "I hate being late."

Shadow pulls some plates from the fridge and rolled his eyes. "Fuck him. He stiffed you last time, remember?"

Kind of. Four remembers the big, bolded letters calling the man all sorts of names written in the notes section of his contacts. But he ignored that when he agreed to take on another job and he’s going to ignore it now. "It's about integrity."

Integrity, Shadow mouths humorously. He smiles over his shoulder. “You make it so easy, G.”

Four rolls his eyes indignantly. It’s not a guessing game.

Shadow rolls his eyes right back. “It doesn’t matter. You're not going to get any work done anyway. At best you'll pass out in your seat again. And at worst you'll cut off a finger or something. Take a break. Here." 

Shadow slides a plate over and takes a seat next to Four, digging into his own meal.

Four sighs and takes a small bite. "I want coffee."

Shadow jabs a thumb over his shoulder to point to the mug in the microwave. "You're getting instant. Don't complain."

"No I'm gonna."

And he does, when he takes his first sip.

"This is decaf." Four glares at his friend.

Shadow blinks. "Seriously? You can taste that?"

"No." Four can't taste anything right now. "But I know you're an asshole who never gives me what I want."

Shadow cocks an amused eyebrow at him. "Has anyone ever told you you're kind of a bitch when you're sleepy?"

"I want caffeine."

"No. Don’t you know that stuff stunts your growth?"

"Fuck you." Four pouts. But he drinks his disappointing coffee and gets through his slices of toast with minimum prodding. He feels a little better with something in his stomach. Four takes back his phone and logs his pathetic meal. Gets annoyed when he sees the last thing he ate was lunch the previous day. 

Shadow unceremoniously dumps all their dirty dishes into the sink to be taken care of by someone else and he returns to Four's side to manhandle the blonde into standing. Together the pair climb the stairs to Four's bedroom. 

Shadow shoves some clean clothes into his hands the moment the bedroom door is shut. "Here. Change."

Four flops down onto his bed. He melts into the bedding. "I don't wanna."

"Too bad. You stink and you look like you've been wearing the same clothes for days."

"I don't care." Four says sullenly. His eyelids drop now that he's laying down. His feet are still on the floor and he's laying across his bed the wrong way but he's so tired he doesn't care. He could fall asleep right here.

Get changed. I feel gross.

Four’s arms push him up so that he’s sitting upright.

"Come on Rain," Shadow successfully forces Four to his feet, "I'm not sharing a bed with you when you're covered in grease."

"Then sleep on the floor like a dog." Four drops his old shirt on the ground and puts on a fresh one. He frowns at his own actions.

"Wow rude." Shadow tosses the shirt into the hamper before Four can get agitated about the mess. He knows leaving clothes on the floor is not allowed.

Four puts on a nice smelling t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants. And despite the fact that he'll never admit it, he does feel a bit better. Especially after Shadow attacks his face and hair with a damp cloth and wipes away some of the grime. Four feels refreshed enough to actually get under the covers before going completely boneless this time.

"Mmm," Shadow hums as he crawls in after Four and snuggles close, "Much better, right?"

Four sighs as Shadow winds his arms around Four's middle and pulls them close. Shadow rests his chin comfortably on Four's shoulder, adding an extra layer of security to his hold. There’s a sheet in between them but it only adds to the comfort.

Chest to back, Four can feel Shadow's relaxed breathing. The slow rhythm is soothing and Four finds himself teetering on the edge of sleep in seconds.

"You know, you're comfy when you're not being a little dipshit. Like a chihuahua that's too tired to be a vicious little demon."

Four grunted, reaching over his shoulder to try to silence his annoyance. Shadow just smirks when Four's palm meets his lips, licking Four’s palm like a five year old. Four pulls his hand back in disgust.

"You're like one of those stuffed animal pillows," Shadow continues, "What are they called? Squishables? Marshsquishes?"

Four's eyes flutter shut.

"Squishmallows. That's it. You're a squishmallow."

Four punches Shadow in the mouth with a pillow.

---

As I said, experimental.

and once again I wrote Four. I really gotta branch out lol

[nsilocastillon]

Time operates differently in space; the hierarchal peace and war of galaxies is a complex ideation that relies on the state of the atmosphere surrounding those existing in their corner of an endless void. Planetary death, sterilisation, catastrophic episodes — time is as unavoidable as fighting against necroplanetology; a study of corpse planets, it is an inevitability; death is a constant. When a new abyss is ripped into existence, it reminds Castillon that she has little control over the ticking of the death clock, but she controls this.

Dorian Holloway has made his bed, and he will lay in it. In the time that the moon has moved a few inches on its orbital path, a thousand planets have already met their extinction. Dorian Holloway is a man so terribly dead. And with it, he reaps. It is not his first murder, but it dares to be his last.

Skin bares brightly against the lowlights, glistening — not silver but crimson; an eclipse as the shadows of a woman that isn't her shrouds him, enveloping. Nsilo is looking now at the paling water on mars, glacier-like and piercing; drowning, drying out from the arid heat that burns the skin of the inhabitable plain. She lingers at the doorway, daring to leave, daring, daring. Daring to tear the wet appendage from his mouth, digits that caress in a manner of provocation included; he slicks his skin with the blood that is hers (and simultaneously not hers); presenting virulent intentions that he knows are suffering and spite and —

Supernovae. Gone are the gleaming stars that glaze the man, killed in the touch that is not hers; it is destruction; self and beyond — a nuclear fusion of incompatible elements. A sun needs to set as the moon rises; that is the order of things. It is the worship of two forces in countenance to one another, staring at the earth that blackens between them; ever wrecking itself.

In the nova, there is so much blood — a firework that pleads to belong, but they only feature in the dark; their beauty is a lie, a second long thing — another thousand planets, tearing one another apart. Implosions of self; of unwilling intent that ends life.

Dorian Holloway is teetering on the precipice of death. Where Nsilo denies capturing the smile, or leering at the moon earlier in the night, those anchors in the sky that revolve and revolve until they might split off their axis and end the life of the other — she cannot look away now, the stoicism that borders on lunacy, a slow tip of the head that has fangs threatening to pierce through her lips. A noise that jealousy will not claim right to, absurd to think that the sun runs at any deadly heat; it is burning, but in a way that ice is a slow thawing. Dragging out over time, where limbs tremble in desperation to live, and survive. Dorian Holloway will not survive this.

Goodbye Icarus. You will never see the sun again. In his death, he moans — a noise rivalling a scream, agonisingly vying for the sun to cradle him closer. There is no mistake in the tip of wings set aflame, or the burst of blood when it boils from the pores. There is no mistake. Castillon can hear the bones shatter under the force of gravity's pull before they are ashen, decorating the substratosphere in ghosting memories. She feels the fragility of bones under her grasp when she crosses the room, a rocket puncturing through atmospheric entry. The pressure of a skull is easily crushed in the pressure of space, time — gravity's constant mercilessness.

Dorian Holloway will watch death, as this is all he's wanted. Who would challenge the sun by any means; millions of years of existence, undefeated. This woman who Nsilo glares at will not take from it; her Icarus claimed. She does not want to watch him wander further from her burning touch; from her flaming death, but she will not look away blindly. So she will not tolerate either.

Castillon has forced him away, to mount the woman baring fangs, knees crushing biceps that try protesting the presence, like she has no right in the severance of limbs.

Enjoy this. It no longer matters who she is thinking of. She will justify all acts as she always does when victory stands to appear like losing; she doesn't lose.

The sun beams as it always does when it burns — tearing nails across the fracturing of a skull as mutilated flesh peels from the concaving face; made so ugly in its artistry. Eyes pop under the strength of buried thumbs that provoke gurgled screams to echo off the walls. Nsilo drowns the sound with a hiss; the sizzling of burning flesh in the violence of interplanetary warfare.

In a quiet rage, the decapitating neck from bloodied shoulders sounds so much like a roar of a black hole. Silent. But, fully capable of deformation in the most grotesque of senses. Blood sprays Nsilo's person and the walls of the lounge as it ruins the Venician. It's over quicker than Castillon willed to watch Dorian's hips grind against the woman he foolishly got his rocket up for. He knows the cost of veering too close to oblivion; the black hole is unforgiving, as is the sun — a supernova, and a meteorite that will pepper him in scalding hot debris.

When the woman is crumbling dustfalls under Nsilo's brutality; a frenzy that has her instantly in front of Anemoia's manager. Fistfals of dust that trickle from between her fingers. A hand opens to violently grip his chin, and delirium slowly fades behind the composure that Castillon shutters into place. She would have handed him the woman's filthy head, had Dorian's victim not been reduced to nothing.

Would you like to choke on her now, Dorian Holloway? She squeezes his chin in threat of another crack, a touch that is tainted by the scene; the first of the night. Punishment enough, to also be his last. She says it all in her mind — before she pulls him forward by his belt, so she can be sure he is present; that he is listening; that he knows.

The sun and the moon — they belong, on other sides of night and day: "Get back to your job, 'Rian." And, whilst she wants to burn the mess from his body and scar him until he will thank her for putting her own there. He might do better to crawl around, licking up the ash if he wishes to live another night — or maybe that will be the real end: "Clean this up,"

She knows, he is never leaving this room.

Dorian Holloway is definitely dying tonight. He should have foreseen the consequences of a game he is set to lose ⸻ should've counted his cards, prayed to his luck stars. But what can the moon do but desire? The rings of Saturn cannot shine more than him. He knows Nsilo is no Earth ⸻ she is more beautiful than the ocean bellows, unreachable in ways Mount Everest could only hope to be. A shipwreck in the seas of Mars. A plane crash in the skies of Neptune. Aphrodite from Venus. He did not orbit her atmosphere, could not reach a hand to her burning lights if he tried. He is too far away ⸻ a space cadet adrift. The moon, longing for a glimpse of the sun ⸻ turning, turning, turning, never laying eyes on the beauty of life. It pains him to admit he may never land on her grounds. He will burn forever in his desires, wishing and wanting and unsatisfied.

But the moon shines for all who wish to see, does it not? ⸻ Achilles and his men, Odysseus and Penelope. She might be Cleopatra and he, the snake, but the apple can taste sweet as poison on his tongue. If he makes himself Zeus, who is she to deny him? Thunder bringer. He knows the game; is bound to it by invisible ropes he wishes not to free himself from. Choke me with them, he wants to say, choke me until they mark my skin, until I'm a piece of you. The moon shines for others too. Perhaps Nsilo should be reminded of that.

Helen and Paris ⸻ ships in the night.

Pools of blue remain focused on the sun ⸻ Icarus and his wings, Dorian can feel the wax melting against his skin ⸻ but his fingers swiftly unbutton his shirt, remove it all together. This is the game she wishes to play, is it not? Houston, we are venturing into a meteor shower. His craters merely makeup to solidify his beauty. Who doesn't want the moon? Beautiful beautiful beautiful ⸻ Pretty boy, is that all you can be? Guilt dares not touch him; it knows it has no place on his fingertips. Only gold do ⸻ dark red when he trails the dripping path on his chest, bring it up to his mouth. Moans when the fingers touch his tongue. Eyes on him, stargazing his infinite constellations. His smile is the full moon ⸻ bright, big, open, fleeting. Flesh and teeth meet when he lunges forward, hand tangling in the hair of a woman who tastes like rot. He should know better.

No. He knows better; in the depths of his body, the marrow of his bones, carved just outside his soul ⸻ He should not be provoking a black hole like so. Nsilo is the universe ⸻ collapsing, burning, eating all in its entrails. She is everything. But autumn has passed and another circle is about to be finished, Dorian does not fear the seasons. He does not fear the sun. It is ever present, is it not? Even now, when the moon dares to move in front of it, demanding its attention, she does not leave. It brings him a wicked joy when his eyes lock onto her, hand pushing the woman's head to his neck. He should not, but the pressure continues until fangs are piercing his neck and he is loudly moaning for Nsilo to hear. An eclipse does not last forever, and Dorian Holloway fears he might not as well.

It is thrilling, to watch her, knowing another's touch plagues him. Stains him. He wants to be eaten alive today. He wants her to see ⸻ needs her to smell his lust, know he is willing to let this random, insignificant woman to fuck him. The astronaut has found a planet that isn't her ⸻ Dorian wants Nsilo to be aware of that. He needs her to take action. To grip him by his neck, pull his hair, bend him over. He wishes to bite her neck, drink from her like he is a starved man pulled out of a falling spaceship. His eyes seem to say, look what you have done. But his mouth only begs for more, hips instinctively buckling against a body that isn't hers.

Dorian Holloway wishes to die tonight ⸻ Under her hands, her tongue, her fangs. He will stop at nothing to achieve this.

[aquanova99]

AWOL

⭑･ﾟﾟ･*:༅｡.｡༅:*ﾟ:*:✼✿　　✿✼:*ﾟ:༅｡.｡༅:*･ﾟﾟ･⭑

Caius x MarineReader

Summary: Y/n was just trying to enjoy a much needed vacation. But the castle in Volterra intrigued. How does the saying go? Curiosity killed the cat? Will what y/n finds be able to bring her back? Or will she regret trying to sneak into her own fairytale?

⭑･ﾟﾟ･*:༅｡.｡༅:*ﾟ:*:✼✿　　✿✼:*ﾟ:༅｡.｡༅:*･ﾟﾟ･⭑

They say hubris is the downfall of man. You had hoped your gender might save you from that. Alas, you weren’t that lucky.

You so rarely had time to yourself. Most of the leave you acquired was spent on family. You remembered when you would have time to spare you would try and pick up a few projects here and there with little success. Not enough time, not enough patience. You decided to treat yourself, you had been sent to Italy on your way to a deployment and promised yourself you would take time to see the country when you had a chance. You had been to the major cities and decided to travel a bit farther get more immersed in the art and culture. Its how you ended up in an art museum Volterra. It was a around an hour from Florence, and the Tuscan countryside was gorgeous.

You had been walking around for around 10 minutes and stopped at a cafe facing the giant castle. It would be amazing to see the architecture and art on the inside. You asked the barista who, by some miracle understood the mix of your broken Italian and English, told you that there were no tours for that castle.

“Really? Why not?”

“Not allowed.” The tone in the guys voice made your skin bristle. You had spent your entire military career proving that you were just as good as any other marine. Women were always drastically outnumbered, it forced you to become tough skinned. It also made you the best at your job, the downside was that it made you overly confident. You always had a point to prove.

“I have money…” you started offering, much less polite than before

“No tours.” He relied curtly and turned around, leaving you red faced and more curious than ever. You walked towards the castle, you hated that the guy seemed to have a reason to stay away. When you were a few steps from it you felt some kind of presence looming over you. It made you take a couple steps back, but the group of men walking towards what seemed like another entrance caught your attention.

You almost immediately regretted your decision, “you look lost beautiful!”

It took everything not to roll your eyes but if they could get a private tour…well maybe a little harmless flirting wouldn’t hurt. You certainly knew how to defend yourself. Then again you can never trust people, he could be crazy.

“Yeah I was supposed to meet up with the group earlier and I overslept.”

“Well you better come join us then?” God you wanted to punch the smirk off his face. You stepped to the back of the group, there were some more snickers and unnecessary comments you were determined to ignore. The tour guide came to the front right after, she was the most beautiful woman you had ever seen. Suddenly, all of the men and most of the women fell silent. Your mind screamed at you to turn around, to make an excuse, to swallow your stupid pride for once…but your body seemed to move on its own. As if you were watching your body in third person, and you could no longer control the limbs that ached from fighting the pull taking you closer to the castle and farther out of sight. You thought you saw the barista out of the corner of your eye, shaking his head before disappearing from your life forever.

He wasn’t trying to get rid of the tourist, he had been trying to save the tourist’s life. Idiot, you screamed at yourself. Everyone seemed to eager to follow the woman but while you obeyed, you knew nothing good was coming from this.

The inside of the palace was more magnificent than you could have dreamed. But every fact that was being thrown at you from the guide might as well been in Chinese, or Spanish, or some alien language. Sound wasn’t registering, it all sounded like white noise. you felt your mind pushing and pulling itself apart as it ached to follow the tour guide, while simultaneously praying you could find a way to escape.

Spoiler alert: you didn’t.

You saw two giant wooden doors be pushed through like it was made of paper. The three men sitting in thrones seemed to awaken some other tourists, the one in the middle welcomed you all before the door slammed behind you. Your eyes had been trained on the man in the right, your fears seemed to vanish until you heard that door. You turned to look at the one escape before the screams shook you from your daze. Paralyzing fear possessed your body.

Everything moved in slow motion. You saw a man with a bloody grin tilt his head while looking at you as he advanced in your direction. You should have tried to run, to fight. Never in your life had you backed down to someone, now….your feet may as well been nailed to the floor. Then suddenly you had the wind knocked out of you. You half assumed you had been killed, you could still hear the screams from people dropping. The blond, red eyed creature dropped you in a room high above the floor you had started your tour in.

“Why are you here?”

“Wh-what are you talking about?”

“You better not have been in that group on purpose…” he snarled before turning his back on you

“W-wait…Wait! Where are you going? What is happening right now?”

“You will stay here until someone comes to get you. You’ve interrupted my feeding.”

“You mean—all those people…” your voice was wavering, whatever ounce of courage you had to try and get your bearings disappeared. The man you had been so intrigued by scoffed at your remark, rolling his eyes as he left you in that cold room. It was well over an hour before you heard the door creak open. The other two men sat in the thrones downstairs stood over you. You had had time to be upset now.

“Look, I don’t know what you want from me I don’t know anything and even if I did I wouldn’t tell you.”

You thought you had calmed down, now, you were furious. How dare they take you hostage? Did they think you knew some information because of your job? You had made some rank but anything useful was not being debriefed to you. You began to argue but the smallest of three held his hand up

“We do apologize, we weren’t trying to be rude. I am Aro, this is Marcus and you’ve met my brother Caius. Why did you come here?” Marcus nodded at his name but Caius looked furious as he awaited your answer

“I—I wanted to see palace, one of the locals here kept telling me no, and I… got annoyed so I came here anyway,” god you were being held captive and you somehow sounded like an ass. “I heard some men being really loud and I followed them and saw them go in. I thought it was a private showing or something, I thought maybe I could pay afterwards.”

“Hmm. May I?” Aro seemed to ask for your hand, you hesitated but at this point he could have done something to you already. They all could have. You tried to steady your hand and quickly reached your hand to his, assuming he was going to lead you somewhere. You needed to stop doing that. Assuming, so far you had lost every time, thank god you weren’t into gambling. You saw Aro chuckle at your thought, that was weird.

“It seems she’s being honest, Heidi did not invite her here. Caius. Why don’t you stay here and give our new guest a private tour, that is what she came for. We will get her room set up. Shall we, brother?”

Marcus nodded and then turned to you for a second, “we look forward to meeting you.”

Then they were gone. They hadn’t actually walked out they just, disappeared. The only proof of their presence was a gust of air that appeared in the area they had been standing.

“What could you actually have to do here, or are you that foolish to go where you aren’t invited?”

For whatever reason this guys words stung. You did know you should stay away, you had nothing to prove and you still went searching for trouble, “I—

“You realize we could have killed you. Had Marcus not said something immediately you would have died?”

“What is your problem? Im sorry, okay? I just wanted to see what the inside looked like and once the tour started I just— I couldn’t turn around.”

“Of course you couldn’t,” he scoffed at you again, why did you feel like crying, “you have no idea what you have done.”

“I want to leave…please.” You’re voice was starting to break, and you felt yourself growing smaller with every word he spoke

His chuckling sent a chill down You spine, “You still don’t get it? You can’t go home now. Now, you get to choose, become one of us or join the rest of the tourists.”

“Please I won’t say anything, just let me leave.”

“Of course it’s a human… it would be me” Caius mumbled, something about this broke me. Acting as if you were nothing, no….less than nothing.

“Listen buddy. I don’t know what your problem is so either change me or get it over with. Actually you know just finish it because there’s no way in hell I’d be in the same room as you on purpose.”

Caius turned his head as if he heard something more important, “you’re room is ready.”

He held the door open for you, daring you to stay behind. You went through and found Marcus and Aro and two women waiting for you.

“So this is the mate we heard snuck in.” The blond looking goddess said

“She is not my mate.” Caius snarled

Mate?

“Oh my dear girl, come we have much to talk about.” The other woman said, you soon learned their names and were able to feel more relaxed as they showed you around. They brought you to a new room, more elegant than anything you’d ever seen. It looked like something out of a storybook.

“You will stay here for the time being, I’m sure you must be exhausted. Heidi will come in and get some information from you to get all of your ends tied up.” Sulpicia spoke as quietly as she could as to not startle you

“I really can’t go home?”

“I’m sorry my dear,” Aro spoke “we cannot let humans know about us. We have been careful for centuries and it must stay that way. You are military so we should be able to withdraw all of your money and personal items to the castle. It will seem as if you went on the run.”

“I would never do that.”

“No? You didn’t take a random vacation amidst all of the harassment during work? No stress from your job? No falling out with family?”

“How-how do you know about my job?”

“A bit of a gift I suppose, we will explain more later, for now try and get some rest.” This secret shit was starting to get old, you looked around the room but they all caught on.

“I would avoid trying to run, not to scare you even more but there’s literally no way for us to not find you.” Athenadora tried to say it with some enthusiasm but the words still terrified you. You stayed still until you were sure the group of whatever they were left you alone. You slowly made your way to the bed in the room. Your feet seemed to be dragging through cement, you collapsed into the bed and began sobbing. You were half sure they heard you but you didn’t care. Your life was over before it even begun. And it was all your fault.

You clutched a pillow to your chest and stayed as still as you could. Aro was right about well everything, you were exhausted. Still you refused to fall asleep, you half hoped this was all some elaborate nightmare but if you went to sleep and woke up here... You couldn’t face that reality right now. You hear the door squeak open. You had your back to the door and you were too numb to see who it was.

“You need to eat.” The cold voice ordered. You were done responding to his outbursts. You gathered all of your strength and sat up. You grabbed tupperware and waited for him to leave. Daring him to spit more vitriol towards you. He seemed different now…

“Did i do something else?”

This seemed to snap him back to his previous attitude, “No.”

He stood and appeared across the room, after a pause he spoke in a much softer tone “from what Aro says you’ve had a busy day. Eat, and keep your energy up. It will help with the transformation process.”

If you hadn’t been so hungry you might have thrown the Tupperware at his head. He was infuriating. But he was right. The food smelled delicious too. You immediately wished you hadn’t ate. You couldn’t fight sleep anymore. When you woke up there was another meal waiting for you.

You didn’t leave your room much. Caius continued to bring food, slowly teaching you about vampires. The legends, the history. Always in small exchanges. You kept waiting for him to snap again. To begin berating you. He never did. If anything the only one snapping was you. You had the freedom to walk around but you felt unsafe which you feel like a prisoner. Aro and Sulpicia came often, you had learned about him too. You hesitated to touch him, they were trying to make the best out of a terrible situation.

Caius came in today as usual. You bother stayed silent for awhile, he probably would have stayed silent the entire time but I had “lessons,” so he had to put up with you.

“What am I learning today?”

“Would you like to take a walk with me?”

The question stunned you, while you couldn’t manage to form a sentence in your head, you nodded in response. You were even more shocked when Caius offered his arm to you

“Okay what’s happening?”

“You haven’t seen the gardens yet. Marcus is very proud of all that’s grown.”

“Okay?”

Caius, apparently, under exaggerated the garden looked like a paradise. You both sat near the fountain. A blanket was spread on the floor with deserts all lined in a tray.

“Wow this is beautiful, I guess I really do need to explore more of the castle.”

“Y/n, I need to apologize for my behavior when we were first introduced.” What the bell is happening, where’s Caius?

“You’re sorry?”

“Yes. Do you remember what I told you about the different kinds of bonds.”

“Yeah the most intense ones are the mate, family, and sire.”

“I’m sure you recall but you were supposed to be my mate. Marcus knew immediately and insisted I save you lest I regret It. What I am really going with this is that your transformation date will be happening in two weeks time. You will have to stay here until your thirst is under control but afterwards es you are free to go.”

“Leave Volterra?”

“So long as you upkeep our rules.”

“Of course, I’m just surprised.”

Caius just nodded as you ate the homemade picnic food. “Athenadora will continue your lessons.”

“Do you still hate me?”

“Hm?”

“Well we’ve been talking for a little while and you can’t look me in the eye. What’s the issue? What did i do?” You heard the words come out of your mouth harsher than expected

“I suppose I will think of your humanity fondly.”

“Okay???”

“I’m sorry I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

“It’s fine, I enjoy these talks, gives me something to look forward to.” Caius smiled at your confession, that was a first.

After that moment they began to continue conversation and you found yourself laughing at his somewhat cynical sense of humor. Towards the end of the day he finally decided to tell you what was on his mind.

“Y/n I seem to be growing fond of you, and i am unsure how to approach it.” He sounded pained, and suddenly it was all you could think about.

“Well what can we do about that?”

“Perhaps an official outing for just us two,” you had only half joked but you couldn’t deny that his confession made you giddy.

“Maybe after im turned, and we’ll see.”

He chuckled, the sound had made you feel warm compared to your icy impression on the day you met, “you continue to be difficult I see.”

“Might as well get used to it.”

“I plan to.” He moved a strand of hair away from your face before it fell in font of your eye. For the first time in months, you felt like you could finally breathe.

Maybe, just maybe you had made the right choice after all.

Taglist: @adaydreamaway08 @artaxerxesthegreat @aunt-pipie @heartrise @imtoanonymousforyou @lacychick @quarthly @venusdelaroix @volturiwolf

[alicehattera03]

Athanasia's Choice

Fandom: WMMAP (Who Made Me a Princess)

Pairing: Athanasia de Alger Obelia x GN reader

CW/TW: possessive, obsessive, yandere qualities(toxic relationship, manipulation tactics, gaslighting, etc) , blood, injury, language, abuse of power/authority.

Ever since she saw you at the ball, she had found out every piece of information about you she could get her hands on.

And when the time was right, she approached.

With her pretty face and sparkling eyes, she coaxed you into having a dance with her, to hold hands with her, to take a walk with her.

There was nothing wrong for many, many weeks.

Then, an engagement comes through for you after someone saw how close you were getting to the crown princess of Obelia.

When someone is treasured by someone so powerful, others start to get greedy.

Even if they hadn't been interested from the very beginning.

Was it such a surprise that you wanted to entertain the chance of getting married to a good prospect besides the princess?

You were sitting opposite the person who had sent them the letter when the window breaks, glass everywhere and when the chaos had cleared, your prospective marriage partner was dead.

Her highness in front of you and guards surrounded her as they dragged the body away from your disbelieving eyes.

"Since you dared to lust after anyone else with those eyes of yours, I'll pluck those rotten things out of your skull."

Athanasia de Alger Obelia does not share.

You are a beautiful bird, locked away in a golden cage of the princess' making, and you chirp songs all day long for her pleasure.

That was before you tried to fly, stealing the keys to your beautiful cage.

"Since you tried to run away, I'll have to cut off those feet that betrayed me."

You are a flightless bird. Nothing is bright in your life, but you still hang onto the princess' every word. She is addicting. She was the sweetest drug you could consume.

Still, you try again.

You fail.

"Does it hurt? It hurt me more when you tried to ask for help from that marquis and even shook his hand. He doesn't have any need for those filthy limbs anymore."

Athanasia didn't like it when things didn't go her way. She didn't like the idea of something going wrong like she didn't have control over its happening.

She was allowed to act out as long as she was benevolent to everyone else and it's just...no one should get in the way of her happy life with you.

You can feel her stroke your silky hair, the smell of her faint perfume grazing your nose, the way you unconsciously turned your head to follow her movements because like it or not, you are in tune with her behavior.

"Just sit there, my darling. I'll give you everything you could possibly wish for, and I will only ever look at you- forever."

[teeth-farie]

All Yours

Lucifer/AMAB Reader

☞. . . Another kofi request filled! This was a gore request, so please heed the warning and tags! Requester (candle anon) wanted something based off the first luci gore drabble I did and wanted the reader finishing onto his heart. I hope you enjoy! (1.7k words)

Lucifer was always known for his beauty. Even up in the Celestial Realm he was Michael's favorite, the apple of his eye. Asmodeus may have been the jewel of heavens, but Lucifer was the whole damn necklace.

Even now, his halo a pair of horns and two wings shorter, he’s gorgeous. Truly he was a piece of art.

Tonight, he’s a brand new canvas. You’ve spread him wide, bound his limbs to each post on the bed with strong red silks. Your paintbrush tonight is more precise than any hair; it takes the form of sharp metal, a collection of blades sharp enough to hurt just looking at them.

You pour a glass of aged demonus from his ornate decanter, swirling it in its glass. Lucifer watched your every move, lips parting with a sigh as you sit beside him. “Drink, baby.” You support your hand under his head and lift so he can drink from the glass, acidic alcohol flowing down his tongue and warming his chest from the inside out. “So messy.” You tut, pulling the glass away and wiping the dribbles from his lips with your thumb.

“Only for you.” He says, tongue darting past his lips to catch the lingering taste. “Only ever for you.”

It makes your heart warm and possessiveness fester under your ribcage. “So sweet, such a sweet boy. So well mannered and polite.” You give his cheek a pinch and he reddens under your fingers. “I ought to reward you,” you straddle his hips, unrolling the cloth of beautiful tools. The tarp crinkles under every movement.

Lucifer turns his head and watches you pick your tools. “Aht, eyes forward, look at me,” you pull him back by his chin and Lucifer’s gorgeous red eyes lock with yours. “Good boy.” He shivers, lips parting as he stares up at you. “Do you want a treat? Tell me, does my good boy want something special?”

Very slowly, he nods. “I want you to cut me open.” He says, every word calculated and honest, like he was utterly bewitched with your entire being—controlled in your grasp like a puppet on strings.

You smile, a gentle yet wolfish smile that makes his heart beat faster. “That's what I want to hear.”

Each touch of your fingers on his chest is chilling, sending little sparks under his flesh as you make invisible lines where you’ll cut. Once satisfied, you pick up the blade.

It’s a sharp silver blade with an elegantly curved handle. The first time Lucifer confessed his desires he knelt before you, presenting the dagger in his hand like an offering to the altar of your soul. And he would be the pliant lamb you cut into.

You press the point of the blade under his collarbone and Lucifer squeezes the drop ball tighter in his fist. “Breathe in,” you press hard. “And out.” Lucifer’s deep sigh trembles as you cut in, dragging the blade down his abdomen.

It catches on his belly button and you have to take a moment to work through the cartilage. Lucifer’s breaking. He’s red in the face and trembling, biting down on his lips so hard his fangs threaten to pierce through. “Demon skin is so tough compared to human skin.” You say as a passing thought, the blade ending above his pubic mound.

There’s a poking on your ass and you move to sit on his thighs instead. His dick tents his underwear, an obscene peak tainted with his bubbling blood. “Hah, sorry,” he sighs, hot tears passing over his cheeks. “Don’t apologize. I know you can’t help being a needy little thing. I’ll just have to take care of you, won’t I?” You coo, tapping the peak of his tented underwear. Lucifer hisses, eyes clenching shut as his hips rock up.

You don’t chastise him. Instead, you resume cutting, making horizontal lines at the ends of each slice.

Lucifer’s so patient through it all, breathing heavily with each pass of your blade. Blood continues to pour in steady streams from the wounds; thick black blood that pools under his body on the tarp and stains your hands. It’s a bitter stench of pure debauchery and neither of you can get enough of it.

You set the dagger aside and grab the split skin, pulling the slabs of his abdomen aside until you can see his undulating organs below the abdominal wall. A few slices and that’s moved aside, glistening intestine and thick rib bones on display—all for you.

“So pretty, Luci.” You sigh, gently stroking your fingers over his bunched small intestine. Lucifer keens under your touch, finally, finally, making the sounds you’ve been waiting for. Truly, it’s surprising how much he can hold back when he’s determined enough. “So very gorgeous. Don’t you know that?”

He swallows shakily, eyelids fluttering with each caress of your fingers. “I-I..”

You settle back by his hips again, press your own arousal against his. “Do you feel that, Lucifer? Do you feel how hard I am for you? You did this to me- you’re so beautiful I can’t help it.”

Lucifer looks down, down past his flayed chest, down his exposed organs, down to his pre stained underwear where he sees the swell of your erection strained in your jeans. You grind against him, a little roll of your hips that has him gasping like a fish out of water. It’s unbelievably hot. Lucifer’s brain is melting into a slurry of good and more.

“I can see your heart, Lucifer. And it’s all mine, right? Your heart is mine?” Blood smears your face from where you wiped off the sweat and Lucifer swears he’s never seen something so beautiful. He nods, quickly and urgently. “Y-yours, wheeze, all yours,”

You smile, giving his cheek a pat. “Of course it is. Something so pretty is obviously a gift for me, huh?” You feel Lucifer’s cock throb against yours. “Oh? Do you like it when I call you pretty? It’s true, you’re so pretty, especially like this. Your beating heart exposed for me…such a beautiful red. Just like your eyes.” You rock your hips against him, rub your erection against his.

Lucifer’s exposed heart beats faster, contracting and expanding with fresh oxygen. “Maybe I should take those eyes next, what do you think?” You tap the bloodied blade on his cheekbone, the flat end making a sticky splat against his skin. He gives a firm shake, hot tears bubbling up into those enchanting eyes of his. “That’s ok, you need those eyes to see what I’m doing, don’t you?” And he nods, and to your delight and surprise, bats his sticky wet eyelashes at you.

You groan in pure need, rutting against him harder, enough to make him jostle under the force of your hips. “So fuckin pretty, that’s right, my pretty boy.” You lean down, sucking your face into his exposed cavity and press a kiss to his heart.

Lucifer wheezes, a loud moan tearing through his chest—ragged enough you see his organs contract and then relax. “You’re all mine, all mine. Your heart's mine too, isn’t it?” You look up your lashes at him, lips smeared with rich blood. “Yess,” he gasps, cock twitching and throbbing in his underwear. “It’s yours, it’s- fuck, all yours,” he pushes his hips up, grinds his cock against yours.

You curse, your pants far too tight and uncomfortable. “Shit, baby,” you reach down, unbuttoning your jeans as you pepper kisses over his ribcage. Lucifer audibly moans at the realization, a low whining in his throat as you push your pants and underwear down and straddle his hips. “I wanna cum on you,” you breathe, kiss up his neck with your dick in your fist. You give a few pumps, panting against the hollow of his throat. “I wanna cum on your pretty heart.”

“Fuck! Fuckfuckfuck, do it- do it,” Lucifer pleads, his dignity utterly destroyed by a pretty knife and a few kisses. He’s tugging at his restraints, yet the drop ball remains closed in his iron grip. You scoot up higher, knees framed under his ribcage. “You’re so gorgeous, Hah, so pretty and mine.”

You pump your cock, hissing with each pass of your thumb over the leaking head. Lucifer’s heart thump thumps below you, his fangs digging into his bottom lip with how tightly he sets his jaw. “Next time, I should fuck your pretty insides, huh?” You pant, pre dripping down from the head and threatening to drop onto his beating heart.

Lucifer can’t hold back the open moan at the thought, eyelids fluttering. “Fuck me,” he gasps, arching his back and pushing his chest up closer to your throbbing dick. “Fuck my heart, fuck my guts,”

So vulgar, so obscene. It makes you want to ravage him, it makes you want to tear him to shreds and put him back together to do it all over again.

Lucifer’s hands itch to be free so he can guide your cock down into his gooey insides, so he can jerk you off right into his blood pumping heart. The fact alone that he can’t touch you makes him burn with frustration and desperation.

“Shit, shit, I’m gonna claim you, I’m gonna make you mine,” it doesn’t take you long for your orgasm to bud closer, the obscene display of trust and vulnerability getting you close before you even began.

“Yours, yours- cum on me, cum in me,” Lucifer babbles, crimson eyes wide and blown as they train on your twitching cock, excitement and anticipation flooding through his veins.

That knot grows tighter, tighter, until it bursts, until your dick jumps in your hand and thick, hot ropes of cum splatter onto his open heart. And it burns on his heart, it burns so deliciously. He cums in that moment, hot wetness seeping through his underwear. He’s been claimed, and that thought makes him dizzy.

The last of your cum drips into a puddle on his frantically beating heart, mixing with the sheen of blood keeping him moist. “I love you,” he says, so genuine and whole. “I love you, I love you,” he repeats as you untie the binds on his wrists.

Lucifer brings a shaky hand down, rubs his trembling fingers over his cum splattered heart. You bite your lip, eyes wide as you watch him smear it in. “Lucifer..”

He brings his hand back up to his face- and licks the mix of blood and cum off his fingers. “You’ve claimed me,” he says with a loopy smile, so fucked out despite not being fucked at all.

“All yours.” Lucifer sighs and you couldn’t agree more.

—

[littlefreya]

Velvet Chains

Summary: For a generous fee, August Walker is yours. A man devout to pleasure, who will worship you for an entire night and make sure your first time is more than memorable. 

Promot:  

 A thought - August as a gigolo who specializes in deflowering. 👌

Pairing: Soft! August Walker x Virgin Reader.  

Word count: 1.6K

Warnings: 18+. August Walker as a sex-worker, sexual intercourse, unprotected sex, loss of virginity, a depiction of bodily fluids, soft!August themes, a tinge of angst and August’s monster c... 

A/N: When I received this prompt, I didn’t think I can actually do it justice, but it was 3am and I started dabbling around. Then in the morning, I took another look at it, and this little drabble turned into a one-shot. I hope you’ll like it, I hope I did well. Many thanks to @agniavateira​ my muse who beta’d my story. 

Please give feedback and reblog if you enjoyed reading. 🖤 DM if you want to be added to my tag squad. 

Title: Velvet Chains

They were all little flowers to him, fresh peonies and flushed roses. Young or mature, it never mattered as long as they were still oh so pure. Undefiled, succulent flesh. Kissed by dew and wrapped by the last remaining petals of their innocence.

All for him to willfully pluck.

Sprayed with notes of tobacco, and boozy fragrance of rum - August Walker was the top-tier kind of service, a man to die for with his three-piece suits and shiny leather shoes. At one point he didn’t even need to self-promote; they came to him, all doe-eyed and coy, willing to pay as much as it takes to have him breach through the sealed gates of their garden.   

The rules were quite simple: Cash in advance and always wear protection; other than that anything goes. August liked to see himself as a procurer of fantasies rather than a male prostitute. For a generous fee of $1500, his girls earned themselves a night they never forgot. Whether it began with a dinner at the most outrageous restaurant, a masked ball at a billionaire’s mansion, or an intimate evening with his homemade cooking at a cosy sublet. 

It was up to him to choose the experience for the ladies after thoroughly assessing and profiling each client. He was never wrong; after all, it was his job to study women, both mentally and physically. 

“I know what you need,” he would murmur as he kissed down their navel and swept between their shaky thighs. And in his grip they indeed laughed, cried, and came undone so many times over, reaching out to grasp heaven around his unapologetically huge cock.  

Until you changed everything. 

August couldn’t quite crack you; while he enjoyed, savoured, and conquered every woman he had, it was you who seemed to have more power over him than he did over you. The quiet abyss in your eyes reeled him in like an unfortunate, foolish fish teetering on a hook. Whatever mysteries that mind of yours held, he wanted to pry it open with his fingers and brush them through the parchments of your soul. 

He desired you more than just the flesh; he wanted to be deeper in you than he ever was in any other woman. 

‘Who are you?’

Shivering in his presence, it was crystal clear that you weren’t immune to his spells; yet you didn’t seem impressed by the theatrics or his suave appearance. As if you saw right through him, and knew it was all but a spectacle.  

Wanting everyone to witness your ‘claiming’, he took you to the dimly-lit roof of his private apartment and laid you on a blanket beneath the beaming stars. When his lips touched yours while slowly ridding himself of his clothes, August felt like he could tell you his most kept secrets though he didn’t want to. 

This is not how it worked. Not for him. 

Sorrounded by the fairy tea-lights that adorned the intimate rooftope, you flinched as he began undressing you, and trembled so vehemently once completely bare that all he wanted was to embrace you in his big arms. And he did so, collecting you against the dark fur of his chest, the heat of his body provided shelter from the cold October breeze.

“Beautiful,” he whispered sincerely and allowed his hands to roam the tender map of your body. Likely, he would never see you again, so he wanted to remember every curve, dimple, and scar; he needed your moans imprinted in the museum of his mind. 

The same desperate, breathless pleas only a virgin would make, purer than pure.

Breathing in shudders, you laid down beneath him with your legs spread out. Your little untouched slit displayed to his hungering gaze, asking to be reshaped by his intrustment. August was never one to lose control, but your entire existence has made him question every decision and in a moment of frivolousity, he lost himself completely and broke the most forbidden rule: 

He entered you bare. 

Painfully large and hot as flaming iron, his rigid cock tore through your maidenhood and delved into your velvety pit, desperately searching for the engulfing shelter that was your womb. Weeps of pain rained down your lips; he was too big, and he didn’t slow down. He unwrapped you, tearing your rose petals one by one, sinking in until you could have sworn he was infused between your lungs. 

Overwhelmed by the raw sensation of your wet flesh engulfing him, August raked his arm around the small of your back and held your body against his, forcing you to spread wider, to grant him the infinite access he demanded.

“Look at me kitten,” he murmured in a half-breathless, half-soothing voice and showered hasty butterfly kisses across your forehead, “I’m inside you. It’s done, now let me please you.”

He seared your body, your sensitive entrance pulsating with a twinge of grieving anger around his veiny cock, your walls squeezing, fighting off his lewd intrusion. While you anticipated the pain, the initial shock was too much to bear. 

“I don’t think I can take you,” you retorted and swallowed hard, trying not to cry as he swelled and flinched inside you further more.

August reached a hand to your jaw and caged it between his strong fingers. Not saying a word, he stared intensely into your eyes. Smoke and broken mirrors shadowed his glare. In your daze, you swore you could see his reveries and hear him whisper without moving his lips. 

The barriers of your guarded castle were in ruins, and so was your self-preservation. Fully submitting, you allowed him to take you beneath the shimmering, black silks of midnight. 

August was both gentle and rough as he rode between your thighs, his heavy body surrounding you completely. His entity seeped through your lungs and pores, his bewhiskered mouth left sloppy, ticklish kisses and chanted a hymn of pleasure against your neck. 

For a slight moment, you wondered if he was this passionate with all of his customers. But all thoughts died at the moment his crown slammed into the wall of your womb, and the entirety of your existence was flooded with both the tremors of sudden pleasure and satisfying pain. 

You wanted more, you wanted to be complete. To be completely his.

“Oh god, yes!” You cried for him, clawing your nails at the taut muscles of his back.

Grunting, he plunged into you, harder with every pull and deeper with every thrust. He sought for heaven between your legs and as inexperienced and naive as you were, you followed your instincts and complied to his arousal. Bucking your hips, you yielded to meet the jerk of his hips - your rhythm a savage mess, your demeanour that of a virgin-whore. 

“Good girl, my good girl,” August praised, thrilled of the shift in you, and by the helpless, glossy gaze and gaping mouth as you moaned and begged. Your freshly open cunt clung to his invasion with its growing tightness. Holding onto him the way the moon is bound to earth.

Control was gradually lost over your own bodies, enslaved to something stronger than your wills and wits. It was as if you became vessels to haunting spirits that made you slam into one another, lost in a sweaty, carnal trance until a flush of sudden rapture broke between your legs the way raging waves break upon a ship lost at sea, consuming it completely.

Like a dauntless sailor, August followed you into the depths of euphoria. Jumping to his knees, he hauled you by the waist and slammed you against him, needing to be balls-deep within you. With a loud shout, he came undone, astonished by the raw, unbridled sensation of releasing himself inside another person.

You both shuddered in shock as his thick cum bathed your womb in three, warm gushes. 

‘Oh, August, what have you done?’

Spent, he nearly collapsed on top of you, holding his hands flat to the side of your head. He took a deep breath before pulling out from your hurting hole and moving to lie by your side. The pink mixture of your essence trickled between your simmering lips just the way it coated his still-swollen cock. Glancing down upon it he felt an odd notion of triumph, more than the usual complacent feeling usually evoked with his clientele. 

“Don’t worry, I am clean.” He promised. 

In a way, you were his first as well.

Pulling you against him, he nuzzled your neck and hummed lowly, “I don’t imagine you could give me anything.”

Still trying to land back on solid ground, you said nothing. Words didn’t make it, not through your chest nor your head. You basked within the moment, trying to memorise every vibration that flowed through your veins as the glow became dimmer with every passing minute.

Limbs entangled, he decorated your shoulder-blade with honey-sweet kisses while your spine attached to his hairy chest. He watched you quietly, admiring you completely until the two of you fell into a dreamless sleep under the guarding sky. 

Come morning, August was awakened by the sounds of the raging street below. The scent of toxic vapours hung heavy in the air and his face curled at the sounds of the beeping horns. For a moment, he forgot where he was but then you were the first thing on his mind. Even though he knew the deal was for one night only, something in him itched for a generous ‘on-the-house’ lazy morning sex.

As he rolled to lie on top of you, his chest felt abruptly empty. He was met with nothing but the defiled blanket.

You were gone.   

Though the scent of your body, your sweat, and viscous fluids were still stuck to his skin, your memory a sheer piece of silk carried away by the cruel wind. The weight of a thousand stones dropped in August’s gut and he flipped onto his back once more and stared at the cloudy sky. 

It resonated in him that this was all that it was, and he would never find a girl like you again.     

*No permission is given for reposting my work, copying it, ideas or parts it and claiming it as your own

*I don’t own August Walker or the Mission: Impossible Franchise

[astaroth1357]

Demigod MC Series: Poseidon

Fishy fishy fishy… I honestly could write 100 more things for Poseidon MC and Levi. I just love the dynamic between an insecure, otaku shut-in and a chill California surfer dead set on becoming his friend.

Demigod MC Series: Intro, Aphrodite, Hermes, Hades, Dionysus, Demeter, Athena, Hades Pt. 2, Poseidon 

For anyone unaware, Poseidon is also the god of horses. I know it's a weird combo, but I didn't write the mythos.

Lucifer

…..

They came out of the portal….

On a horse….

They brought the mortal down to the Devildom…

On a goddamn horse….

There's a demigod on a live horse brandishing a weapon and doing laps around the Student Council Room…

Congratulations, he already wants to pull his hair out!!

Honestly, it would have been preferable to pluck them out of the sea. At least then they'd just need a towel! What the hell were they going to do with an entire horse!?

And his nightmare didn't stop there. Poseidon is a notoriously mercurial god, prone to bouts of anger and spitefulness for reasons far less grievous than kidnapping his children… 

Their apology was swift and (seemingly) effective, though the tide waters around the Devildom did rise by several feet for some time…

As for the MC… uh… Well, they're an energetic one to say the least…

Lucifer hasn't met a more active individual since Mammon. They horseback ride, swim, surf, skateboard, and probably do ten other things - the point is, they Hardly. Keep. Still! 

They're also annoyingly easygoing… He can't count the number of times they've told him to, "Just chill out," or, "Hang loose…" What does that even mean??

Between having to order a stable made for their horse and just trying to keep up with them, Lucifer already thinks this mortal has caused him more trouble than they're worth… At least they keep Mammon busy...

Mammon

Upon first meeting them atop their horse, Sunset, his first thought was of course:

"I wonder if I sell that...?"

After that, they nearly fed him to sharks for trying to take their beloved steed on same night. Safe to say, he never touched a hair on its head again…

These two had a rocky start, but their relationship mended fairly quickly. As it turns out, the MC is literally one of those "go with the flow" types. You can say it was water under the bridge soon enough.

Mammon actually thinks the MC is a hell of a lot of fun, even if they're super laid-back. Most of the time, they won’t take his drive for money (or fear of his bills) all that seriously and tell him that he’s worrying too much, but they’ll still lend a hand if its on their way.

He finds their ability to control water pretty cool as well. Levi has it to some extent, but the MC can make a whole-ass whirlpool or use water like a whip! 

He once begged them to call up some rare fish for him to sell, but they got all pseudo-philosophical on him about how “trading life for material wealth” is “not cool, dude...”

He also made the mistake of challenging them to a splash fight only once…. They managed to drench the whole family with a single wave….

The only thing that bothers him is their weird insistence on being Levi's "Best Buddy…" Why would someone like them even bother with a shut in??

Is it the water? … Probably water. Levi, that lucky bastard…

Leviathan 

Thinks they're a big normie, no scratch that, a HUGE normie! The biggest normie he's ever met!! They skateboard and horseback ride for Devil's sake!!

...But they’re also, undoubtedly, the best friend he could've ever asked for.

To be fair to Levi, their friendship was sort of forced upon him. The MC took one look at him, his aquatic-themed room, and his pet goldfish then declared their new friendship status at that moment. 

Unfortunately for him, though, they're energetic, extroverted, and generally have little understanding of personal space… aka, an introvert's worst nightmare…

The next month could accurately be described as the MC doing everything in their power to make their stubborn "senpai" like them.

They would drag him out to the aquarium, beach, or pool; they befriended Henry so he could put in a good word for them; and they'd even bring him little gifts or trinkets they'd find on the ocean floor. Pretty shells and stuff like a cat bringing its master a dead mouse.

After he finally began to accept them as a persistent fixture in his life, he introduced them to gaming and anime and started accepting them little by little...

By the end of their stay, these two were practically inseparable. Not just because they like spending time together, but because they figured out they could have a telepathic link due to Levi being part sea serpent. 

No matter how far they are, they can always have a chat! (That no one else can hear so people think they’re just crazy...)

Satan

Satan honestly isn't the MC's biggest fan, he generally finds them too loud and gregarious for his liking. But their horse…?

He never really thought that he'd be a horse man... Yet it didn’t really take long for Satan to adore Sunset, their beautiful golden-maned mare. Apparently she's not their only horse, but by far their favorite traveling companion.

Sunset is a wonderful horse - brave, strong, and well-trained. It only took a few weeks before he was regularly sneaking out to the stables to brush her fur or feed her apples...

After the MC taught him how to ride, that was it. All other forms of transportation were inferior to him now.

Satan would ride Sunset everywhere and he looked damn good doing it! It takes all that fairytale Prince Charming thing he has going on and puts it through the roof.

It's a good thing too, because when I say everywhere, I do mean everywhere. Lucifer had to put seals on the House doors to keep Satan from riding Sunset through the hallways...

Of course, he’ll always let the MC have Sunset back when they need her!... with a little complaining but nothing terrible.

The MC doesn't mind much because Sunset likes him and they know he takes good care of her, but the rest of the House is slightly unnerved at how quickly he went horse crazy… What if they brought a giant crab instead?? No one wants to deal with crab-Satan...

Asmodeus 

Their body is just scrumptious. Oh, how he could look at their swimsuit-clad figure all day!! 😩

Between the swimming and the fighting, their form is toned to all hell and he can't get enough of it! Yes baby, yes!! Take those clothes off again!!! He'll help~! 😘

When he's not staring at them “totally respectfully,” then he's inviting them out to pool parties or begging them to take him riding...

There are parts of horseback riding he doesn’t like, the smell and the jostling specifically, but there is a kind of… romance to it, no?

He loves having the chance to snuggle up to the MC as they trot around the Devildom! It's so romantic, like they’re his knight in shining armor! (Or his demigod in a damp swimsuit, either works. 😏)

His Devilgram is just full of selfies of him and MC riding on the back of Sunset or sitting by the edge of the pool or them in the middle of a swim meet…

Yeah his Devilgram is now a one part him and one part MC-Appreciation account.

After the pact he'll eventually cool down some and stop staring at them like a sex-object, but even then he'll be at every swim meet. Don't you worry~

Beelzebub 

He actually really likes them! It's great to finally have another athlete in the House. 😊

The MC joined the RAD swim team just as soon the coach was able to convince Diavolo that having the child of a water god wasn't completely cheating... 

Since swim and fangol practice ends at about the same time, they walk home together a lot and complain about... sports things... (Forgive me, I don’t know sports. Uhm... Rival teams? Coaches? That one drill everyone hates? Stuff like that.)

Beel also can surf, skate, and snowboard so the two have a healthy competition going. They're about on equal footing so they tie often (except in surfing but Beel doesn't think that should count cause they’re probably cheating).

The only thing that he has to watch out for is Sunset… As in, he has to watch himself around Sunset because he absolutely could eat her on accident… 

Look, he doesn't want to and he doesn't even like horse meat that much, but even he has to admit there are times he gets hungry enough to consider it…

Of course, he knows that if he ever did Satan would rip him limb from limb then the MC would drown the rest so he really, really tries to control himself… but still… She’s a very healthy horse...

At least he didn’t try to sell her like Mammon. The MC hung him over a shark tank for that stunt… He’d feel bad, but Mammon kind of had it coming.

Belphegor 

The first time they met, the MC smelled like beach water and called him "dude-bro…" He didn't like his prospects.

For a while, he genuinely thought that they had a lump of sand where their brain was. They were just too chill!! Here he was saying that he's being held captive and they were like, "Well that sucks, man… I'll help ya, but I've got practice tomorrow. You can wait, right?"

It's not like he expected them to jump on top of it, but some urgency would have been nice…

When they eventually got around to helping him, he was actually looking forward to choking the life out of them for the extra wait. Unfortunately, they apparently had a horse…

Yeah, Belphie found out just a bit too late that the MC could summon their steed to them whenever they wanted and ended up with Sunset's hooves firmly bucking into his back for his trouble…

What followed was Belphegor running circles around the attic from the weapon-totting MC riding their terrifying murder horse until Lucifer finally intervened....

Thank the gods he wasn’t near any water….

As it would turn out later, as long as he's not being held captive in an attic Belphie kind of vibes with their laid-backness… They say they approach life "one wave at a time" or something.

He could care less about what that actually means, but what it translates to is "Stop stressing out and just keep chill" which he's all about.

Everybody should just chill out!... dude…. Nah, he'll let them stick to the “dude”-thing, it feels weird...

[banqdanfnfic]

which, as they kiss, consume | jjk

you just wanted to get a tattoo from your boyfriend

pairing: tattoo artist!jk x reader

genre: established relationships au, tattoo artist au, smut

word count: 4k

warnings: unprotected sex, biting, making out, grinding, licking, nipple play, jk has a lip ring, oral (f receiving), fingering, shy jk and oc, sexual tension, slight choking, slight aftercare

♫ : Streets by Doja Cat, Candy by Doja Cat

♡ Aesthetics: Playlist | Moodboard

He visibly chokes on his glass of beer as he almost snaps his neck to meet your gaze. He could say that you were awfully drunk and hence the sudden confession out of the blue, but behind your heavy lidded eyes, Jungkook could sense that you were serious.

“You what?”, he gulps abruptly, moving closer to your face, doe eyes pleading to repeat yourself.

“Yes Kook. I want that tattoo on my breasts. I’ve decided”.

It’s not that Jungkook didn’t have experience in his career with inking on different parts of a human body. He just had never given a tattoo to someone who is romantically associated with him and the thought of seeing you half naked made him chuck down the rest of his drink in one go.

The most physical he had ever gotten with you was a kiss shared occasionally since it’s only been over two weeks you had started dating. Okay maybe you made out once in his car but that’s it. It never got to the point of shedding clothes or anything intense.

“Are you sure?”

You giggle at the sudden hoarseness in his voice and nod positive. Ironic how his aura never matched his personality. His inked skin, athletic body proportions covered in black monochrome bad boy outfits gave out default energy that he is a local heartthrob with multiple chicks wrapped around his finger each night and a heavy demeanor to carry in his smirk.

You were one of those believers until Jungkook asked you out in the most hopeless romantic way possible after constantly visiting the café you work in, a few shops besides his parlor. He was a gentleman with respectful boundaries, warm hands to hold yours and sweet sensual kisses though you are pretty sure he probably has a good game.

For any outsider it looked like those cliché bad boy and shy girl love stories, but for real both of you were a good percentage of introverts.

Jungkook runs his tongue around his lip ring while he is stressfully ruffling his dark locks into a mess. He is trying to explain his reasons to postpone your decision considering how shy he got at this point. But then that’s exactly why you were requesting him with soft eyes, it would be so uncomfortable to be shirtless in front of anybody else. Or maybe it’s your way of saying the relationship is open for higher levels of physical affection.

After debating around in vain, he finally hums and clears one of his slots for his beloved client.

Friday approaches way quicker than you assumed and now your heart is beating in your throat. Right after you are done cleaning the tables, you have to make it to Jungkook’s parlor for your appointment.

Running on three hours of sleep, black under eyes even after a decent amount of makeup, you groan as you check yourself out in the mirror. You opted for a simple shirt and skirt (also known as the outfit you bought for occasions with Jungkook), light beach waves resting on your shoulders. Hoping that a few cups of coffee will save you, you stride across the street to stop before the infamous parlor he worked in. Hopefully the full body shave and chocolate body butter has kept its excellence on your skin below the clothing.

The door chimes as it opens with a dragged creak on the musky wooden flooring. It felt like an otherworld where air smelled like men’s perfume and faint tint of cigarettes. In other words, intoxicating.

You ask the first person you meet at the reception, one of Jungkook’s companions at the shop and he assists you to his cabin located at a comfortably remote location.

His space is hidden with a simple black curtain. You are met with Jungkook’s back facing you, working determinately on a client’s arm and cares to spare a glance only when the guy with you is informing him about your presence.

“This will be over in a few”, he grins to your face and goes back to focusing his coil on the skin of a woman in her late twenties laying down his chair. The vibration from his inking machine fills in the silence and you excuse yourself to sit on a small black couch beside them.

This was the first time watching him at work and now you can understand why people rumored so much about his attitude because damn it is intimidating.

Brows knit together and inked muscles flex as he drags the needles around for finishing touches. Meanwhile you can pretty much smell the drool from the woman who is shamelessly checking out your boyfriend. Though you are pretty sure Jungkook gets such glances more than he can count every day, you can’t help but feel jealous. Partly because of the childish possessiveness and partly because you want to be the reason behind his dark eyes and intricate concentration, in profession or not.

To stop from mentally throwing daggers on the client’s way, you grab a random fashion magazine from the side table and flip through pages, though other four senses are inclined on your man. With a close attention to his low sigh you conclude that he is done.

The customer with now a fresh tattoo on her arm is discussing random useless topics to get him to talk, a very vain job realizing how Jungkook doesn’t bat a friendly lash at anybody, especially to those who hit on him. To be honest a large part of the ink business was linked with the obsession to attractive people who worked here, even if it meant trading an area of your skin. You grip the edges of the magazine a bit hard, not able to contain the sanity particularly at the high pitch voice she mumbles in before finally leaving his cabin.

A little excited and a lot nervous, you stand up as Jungkook bids goodbye to the third person.

He is quick to notice your discomfort, though not sure if it was the woman or the thought of finally getting the tattoo, he knew you were nervous and surviving in several cups of espresso by the dark circles slowly showing through the faded layers of your concealer. But nothing pulls down the opinion he has about you, beautiful and simple, no dramatics attached.

“Hey are you okay?”

You nod as soon as you sit down on the black tattoo chair, shifting a little to find a comfortable position. He is taking out a box full of equipment and fine needles, already making you break a sweat at the side of your forehead.

But more than that, it’s the way he is sharp and professional that catches your attention more.

You have never seen Jungkook this serious before. The choice of his vetiver perfume digging through your nostrils was driving you insane. If he doesn’t smile soon, you are going to melt into a puddle at his gaze.

“Are you nervous?”, he smirks this time, a newfound reason for your worsening gut health.

It’s mostly going in cycles at this point. Every bit of his skilled motion causes a vigorous hormonal reaction which initiates his next set of effortless teasing.

“I’m a little nervous”, you say, fiddling with your freshly painted nude nails.

“Me too”

It’s something you least expect to come out of his mouth observing how confident he looks right now. He basically has you cornered with his gaze. But whenever he had been truthful about his emotions it felt like a hug.

“I can take off my shirt too, so that we are even. Is that okay?”

He said it so softly like he is handling a child and the duality of the situation had your mind fogged and limbs frozen for a few minutes.

“Yeah it’s okay” It’s far beyond than okay. It’s great actually.

Jeon Jungkook is ripped, a Greek God sculptured masterpiece covered in self designed artwork you are more than happy to wake up to every morning. He hears you gulp at the feast before your eyes while he discards his black t-shirt to a nearby chair.

Now you don’t know if this whole thing is supposed to warm your heart or make you play several erotic fantasies like a movie before your eyes.

Both of you share a small smile while his long fingers are tugging at the hem of your shirt and pulling it up over your head.

He almost wishes you don’t opt to wear a bra but he is met with lacy black, a-bit-over your-usual-budget fabric hugging the roundness of your breasts.

It seemed like you were way too competitive about today. Anything less than complete awe from Jungkook for you was straight disappointment, you don't want anything less.

Well it seems like it did from how blown his pupils were at this point. He peels his gaze off your chest with a sharp gulp to look at your eyes suddenly devoid of any fear and staring back at him with all ease. He is filled with an exapnse of warmth and he isn't sure why does spending just a little amount of time with you had such a grip on him. He can’t wait to propose the idea of getting a couple tattoo together soon and as far as you know how Jungkook is, he is very serious with his body art so apparently he does trust you a lot already.

“Where exactly are you trying to get it?”, his voice is a lot deeper suddenly as he waits for your fingers to guide to his canvas.

You softly trace the spot at the upper circumference of your right boob, “Here”.

You suck a breath through your nose as his own fingers are mimicking your gesture, lightly pulling down the lace to inspect the fitting of the design at hand.

These violent delights have violent ends

And in their triumph die, like fire and powder

Jungkook traces each word on your burning skin, now leaning dangerously close which was questioning your control to put your palms flat on his pecs. He doesn’t notice that though, his mind is busy creating his own fantasies about the women under him.

After two minutes and twenty four second long of inspection and mutual thirst, Jungkook is selecting a bunch of needles to set into the rotary machine. Five fine sharp like a painter's brush moves in and out at a set regularity as Jungkook tests it out.

The next of his actions had you flushed into a pool of crimson. He gently lifts up your resting torso with one hand while the other is unclasping the hook of your bra, making you half naked for the sake of the tattoo.

"I'm going to start", he says shyly.

You still have time to save yourself from the growing phobia for the object, but another unlogical part of your brain says it's a piece of cake considering you have a whole distracting full course meal in front of you.

It stings at first. Well, okay it hurts like hell but your face is devoid of any indication, except your right hand is gripping on the rim of the chair for dear life.

Jungkook on the other hand had never felt this much diversion of mind during his work. He knows that you are probably hurting very badly, especially for a first timer. He is biting into his lip ring, trying to get this over with for the well-being of your pain and his hormones.

After he had scribed one word into your dermis, you are no longer able to contain the ache so you give out a small squeak out of your glossed lips and the vibration of the machine at his hands stops as he looks at you.

"You want me to stop? ", he is relaxing his face as he cups yours with one hand. You don't want to answer that question, but the drumroll of the current situation is making your heart flutter and everything about the little burn on your chest is forgotten.

"No. It does hurt but I'll be fine I guess", you whisper. His breath is mixing with yours slowly as he is leaning more towards your face. If it isn't for a kiss then you are likely to be disappointed.

"It'll be over before you know it. I'll make it quick", and then he kisses you, a small act to get off the pressure of sexual tension between your bare upper bodies.

Before you think of any tongue in the act, he is breaking off the contact and returns to his position on your chest. He misses the pout that forms on your mouth but right now both of your heads are in cloud nine.

The pain starts again, only this time you are busy reliving how his lips felt in yours; soft, firm and controlled.

You gasp when you feel one of his hands cupping your right breast to further his design but it's lowkey an act empowered by lust which is straining behind the so called professional eyes.

You just sit there flustered out of your mind and then Jungkook is suddenly squeezing, full palm hiding your breasts like it's a protected treasure, but he isn't showing the slightest facial expression other than determined eyes and his lower lip caught between his teeth.

Fuck you can't take it anymore. Jungkook can feel your nipples harden against his hand and his brain isn't helping much to concentrate on the design. But by the grace of some positive karma left on his side, he makes it through the long text and when he is letting go of your chest and standing tall, your skin is popping out with redness on the places the text lays embedded.

He fishes out a mirror for you to look.

"It looks beautiful thank you Jungkook", you smile.

"Can I give you one more tattoo on your left one?", he asks while you are contemplating whether going through the pain is worth it, not to mention you really want to get back at a private space with Jungkook as soon as possible.

"It won't hurt I promise", and then he is kissing you a lot filthier than before; all tongue and teeth, while his hands are grazing on the skin of your waist, pressing a little firmer than before.

The coldness of his lip ring rivaled around your mouth, and you try sucking on it to which Jungkook responds with a growl and pushes his body adamantly against yours.

Skin to skin, you are lost in euphoria of everything happening and finally, you roam your eager hands around his body, to his pecs and the definition of abs.

As your fingers scraped against his scalp, Jungkook is biting eagerly down your jawline to your collarbone and continues his ministrations at a particular spot which is bringing out melodic moan variation from you.

He is going down your skin, licking on your left boob before he starts planting violet tattoos as he had promised. As if it couldn't get better, he is massaging the right breast, in a way to soothe pain.

He loses it when you stutter his name, but he is just a fucking tease when it comes to making love and doing anything in a public space is the last thing he wants to do. There isn't much room for all that he wants right now.

"Why did you choose this particular tattoo Y/n?", he rasps while he is planting small pecks on his artwork, and you reply when he is finally eye level with you

"I just felt like it's a good one", your breaths are uneven and mostly caught in your neck. He pecks your lips before speaking, "Those are lines from Romeo and Juliet".

He takes your hands to trace over a line of text among the many designs on his chest.

which, as they kiss, consume

"We pretty much have a couple tattoo now Y/n", his breath is matched with your pace and you are not very sure how to respond to this new knowledge.

"That's… hot"

You break into giggles along with him, he just can't stop dragging his lips around your skin, but he isn't able to word his feelings right now either.

"I have some aftercare healing ointment for the tattoo at my place, wanna come over?" Now that may be a little lame of an excuse to get his little friend out of his pants but you are too unfazed to analyse any of that.

His hands find place on your ass under the skirt as soon as the door to his apartment closes, and before you know it, you are in his bedroom, sitting on the soft mattress and tongue lost devouring each other.

While eagerly getting rid of every article of clothing, Jungkook notices that you don't have your bra on beneath the shirt, so it's probably back at the parlour, but none of you have the slightest care for it, might as well make an excuse with it later to fuck you in his cabin.

He is pushing you farther towards the headboard, him on top, grinding sensenslesy while your lips mould with his. Though he has his whole body pressed against you, you can't seem to feel his weight at the slightest, every one of his actions were just balanced and perfect.

As Jungkook goes down on you, his smile is evident against your skin, finally able to find out how every one of those scenarios in his head will come to look like. He lets out a satisfied hum being finally able to suck on your tits, your fingers finding place on his hair, twisting it out of stimulation.

His pelvis is flushed harshly against yours, grinding and rubbing against your pussy for as long as he is rejoicing the feeling of moving his tongue around both the nipples.

He stops rubbing after some point and you whimper at the loss but his fingers are soon to meet your core as a quick apology. All your later moans are muffled on his mouth once again.

Feeling the controlled movements of his fingers on your clit, you dig your nails down on his toned shoulders. It's becoming impossible to reciprocate his lewd movements of tongue on your lips at this point as the excitement between your thighs is growing every passing second.

Your mouth remains slightly parted as he removes his face to watch you squirm underneath, lips swollen, deep red and glossy from all the saliva.

He pecks at the shell of your ear before going down past your navel.

You haven't had much heads in the twenty years of your life, most of the guys being completely against the idea which made you feel insecure to bring up the topic in bed, but Jungkook does it like his life depends on it.

He growls at the sight of you dripping into his sheets and he seems to enjoy the idea of being the influence behind it. But none is going through your head at the moment, not the metal on his lips grazing against your folds, or the fact that Jungkook is grinning each time you cry his name, it feels unreal to feel something like this.

His mouth is wrapping against your entrance and he is balancing your lower body on his palms to help him reach the right depths inside you. While all you can muster up is the strength to grope the bedsheets in your fist and close your eyes at the pleasure.

Jungkook brings his head higher to give some attention to the throbbing clit, catching it between his teeth and triggering the bundle of nerves just the perfect dose to have your hips jolting up to his face.

He can't take it himself when you are now whining and chasing for your release, so he is slightly humping against the bed to get some friction.

He licks a slow stripe up till your abdomen and slowly raises to your face, already fucked out and dishevelled to keep up with his dominant orbs.

He swears he had never felt so much warmth and care for sex with any of his previous partners, in relationship or not, all he could think is how good can he treat the pleading eyes underneath him.

"Is there something you like that you want me to do?", he says, fingers grazing once again to your crotch to not deny you from his contact. Only this time he is exploring the tightness of your pretty cunt with two skillful fingers.

Is there? You are not sure. Or in other words you are too caught up at the sense of him fingering you. It's not like you had enough experience or people who cared enough to ask that question. It astounds you that never in this entire foreplay he asked for any favor for himself.

"I'm not sure…", you whisper and then maybe you have something on your mind " um I guess I would like to be choked" Okay this felt embarrassing.

He smiles before sliding his free hand from your lips to your neck, and applies slight force, careful to not hurt you in the slightest bit.

"Is that fine?"

"Yeah", you muffle through the decreasing course of air.

He pulls up your face by the throat to attach lips once more. He just can't seem to get enough of kissing you senseless. Then, the tip of his long ignored cock is teasing the length of your pussy twice before it's stretching you out to the brim.

Bodies flushed and hot, his pace is deep and slow, making sure to kiss the cervix every time he is inside.

He watches as your eyes close shut and flutters around whenever he is grazing against your sweet spot. Both of your ears lost and eager for the moans looming out of each other, his more like what he sounds at the gym. Nice observation Y/n.

In this span of sexual energy you shared, you can make some obvious conclusions. Sex with him was surreal, both in terms of domination and the care he had. Rocking against him and keeping up with his hips was attainable— Compared to the intense eye contact he tries to hold, or the way he cups the side of your face and rubs the pad of his thumb on your cheeks while he kisses you during sinking back in, or the way his eyes glow at the beauty of your body open for him. It makes you feel special and it's difficult to respond to these gestures when you never felt this way before.

Jungkook could tell that from your face, but he hopes he lasts with you enough to help you know the worth you hold. You couldn't think too much about anything when you are busy squeezing around his length and coming twice in the first ten minutes.

By the third orgasm Jungkook is nearing his own and he pulls out to pump a few times before coming on your stomach.

"Was it okay?", his voice is all over the place, still balancing his body on his arms while you are amazed by his strength.

"It was amazing Jungkook", you smile. You have known a lot about Jungkook over the few dates you spent with him. That he likes literature, classics and philosophy, designs tattoos as a subconscious thing, that his game is A-1, and he likes working out almost three hours a day. Good for you. But it wasn't until now you know him to be gentle, like he is afraid to crush you under a feather touch. You don't know him as someone who is staring deep into your face after a good fuck, speaks nothing, smiles widely, and plants a peck on your forehead before getting off the bed.

He does the honors of cleaning both of your bodies with a towel, it's not like you have any strength left in you anyway. And then pulls out an ointment from the bedside table and plops next to your body.

"There. You need this to protect the tattoo", he takes off the nozzle and applies a required amount against the words on your chest and massages against them.

"Now go to sleep Juliet", he mocks, pulling up the sheets over you both "good night".

You snuggle against his hard chest, kissing his pecs before resting on it, "Good night Romeo".

thank you so much for reading!! please leave a feedback!!

★ taglist: @pjmochii (dm, ask or comment to enter the tl!)

★ credits: @/rainbeary on spotify : songs that'll make you feel everything's in slow motion playlist

★ banner & boards: by me :)

a/n: this is my first time writing smut and i basically died of second hand embarrassment during the process. pardon for my untalented ass, i tried this wip continuously for a week and i seriously don't think it could get anything better though it's probably not much.

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