#hohhh boy

[loonarmuunar]

Might. Might make a sister Sara animatic sweats

[pomefioredove]

may I request headcanons of the overblot boys + Adeuce reaction to a younger yuu that tells them that they’re like a big brother to them? Platonic obviously—

thank you!

awww ofc!

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ brotherly (again!)

type of post: headcanons characters: riddle, ace, deuce, leona, azul, jamil, vil, idia, malleus additional info: platonic, reader is gender neutral, reader is yuu, short

Having been torn from your home, separated from your family and friends, and spit back out in a new place with new people, isn't really as fun as it sounds.

After months at NRC, though, you've managed to make yourself a life here. A new home, new friends, even new family.

Now, sitting close to the person you've become fondest of, you let slip that you seem him as a brother.

His reaction?

I am of the (kind of depressing) opinion that Riddle's life would be much better if he had a sibling. he hasn't really thought about it, per se, but he's always had this feeling...

so, when you tell him as much, he just... 🥺🥺 you know?

he's in protective brother mode from this moment on (for better or worse, lol)

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

the bond you have with Ace and Deuce has gone unspoken, but all of you know what it is. you saying it, though, makes it all the more real

as warm and tender of a moment as it is, Ace still feels the need to make a joke about how sappy you're being (affectionately, of course), and Deuce can only hum with excitement at the acceptance and warmth between the three of you

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

admittedly, Leona is a little... put off. at least, he is at first. he doesn't exactly have a great relationship with his own brother, and with no other examples to go off of, it feels kind of like an insult

he... gets what you mean, though

and, reluctant as he is to be so vulnerable, he'll say you're just as much of an annoying little sibling to him

lovingly, of course

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

Azul had friends before you... kind of... but none as near and dear to him. he could never quite explain what this feeling was until you said it

ah... that's it. family. he almost feels embarrassed, being so vulnerable all of a sudden, and he can barely get out that he feels the same way

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

Jamil has younger siblings already, and he could tell the two of you were forming a similar bond before you said as much. he'd caught himself treating you just how he treats his sister on multiple different occasions (for better or worse, lol), and...

he's glad that you're here with him. that's all he'll say... for now

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

many people would think you'd have to hit your head to say something like that to the Vil Schoenheit

he's untouchable! he's godlike! he's... lol. just kidding. he's quite fond of you, too, and hearing those words come from you is better than any amount of likes, any award or role. you're his favorite person, after all

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

dude, are you trying to make Idia cry??? because he will! and then he'll bubble-wrap you and Ortho so you can never go anywhere or get hurt ever

he... has some things to work through. obviously. but, really, he and Ortho have basically adopted you already, so hearing you say it... in a good way... call him cringe, but he could get a little emotional over that

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

you think of Malleus as your brother? then you must also think of Silver the same way. and Sebek... would you be interested in adoption, because Lilia-

yeah. you get it. welcome to the family, lol. Malleus has already decided you're his best friend forever and ever, and hearing you call him family... hohhh that overblot is going to hit hard when you guys get there

[harveybwabbit92]

80, trying to teach the young Ultras an earth computer class: *struggling to read the script instructions.* Alright, now right-click on menu item "Equate O" and type in "input y".

[the class isn’t even paying attention they’re all playing COD that Akari moded and uploaded to their computers.]

Taiga: Nah, dude. Are you on America's side, Titas? 

Titas: No, I'm on the Japanese side.

Zero: Oh, who just shot me?

[Akari leans back in her chair, looks at Zero, and gives him the finger]

Ribut: Dang it which one of you just fragged me and Sora?

Fuma: eat it noobs!

Ribut: oh-ho it’s on now ninja boy! 

[80 is still oblivious and confused about what he’s reading.]

80: Huhhh, let's see, uh the right-click is the upper-right... [his voice trails off] uhhh, but then what the hell is the...?

[80 closes the book and addresses the class]

80: Okay everyone, I'm gonna need to get some clarification on this. Uh, just keep entering the calculations; I'll be right back, *leaves class*.

*the class doesn't even notice.*

Taiga: Dude, aw! Who's using the flak jacket cheat?!

Z: Not a cheat if you rank up.

Zero: Oh-hohhh, you got pwned, Akari, don't mess with me!

[narsh-potatoes]

Never apologize for rambling abt your OCs on my post. I love y ou (and HOHHH THAT SOUNDS SO INTERSETING I'M LOOKING)

OKAY COOL FUCK YEAH THANKS

im using you as an excuse to talk about my very own home-grown blorbos now

So!!!!!!!!! i literally only have half of a design for the two of these ocs, i've only drawn one of them ONCE and i don't count it cuz i wanna redesign him COMPLETELY (that piece is not even canon, i had to do that for a class so i put stuff in there that doesn't even belong to the type of story it is </3), i've written for the two of them a couple times but im not even sure THAT'S canon anymore

(here's the art in case you don't wanna click on a link)

i think the writing might still be canon tho, i do still kinda like a lot of the stuff it went over with that. N E WAYS.

basically there's this pair of witches (they don't. really have. names. oops. they did but i don't like them anymore) who enlisted and then eventually rose to the top of fighting this war/apocalypse/encroaching disaster that has been ongoing for a LONG time. like, they're at the end of the world but turns out the end of the world is a hell of a lot slower than anyone imagined. they've been fighting it for a long time (and it does involve actual fighting? like i like to think that this apocalypse acts more as like. locust swarm but the bugs are big big buggy boys that hates you hates you hates you and eats the magic out of the world)

and the first (we'll call him A) is the one who rose up in the ranks to be best of the best very quickly, because his kind of magic is very powerful and was critically effective in the fight. and the second guy (we'll call him B) is kind of. worst of the best. SORT OF. he was best of the best because he fought alongside A and B's brand of magic explicitly deals with the bond the two of them shared. (i call it bonds magic cuz i can't think of something better for now) (yes it's power of friendship) (there more to that but whatever) it was IMMENSELY powerful!!! not moreso than A's magic, but still!! very powerful!!! so B rose up because A pulled him up (not entirely true!!! but you get the point. nuance)

BUT THEN. sometime after they had been in the war for a long ass time, A leaves. either from shame, either he's disillusioned, something happened, he won't say. and just kind of. leaves B behind. who still is very much part of the war and won't say anything to sway A's mind because he cares too much about what he thinks

years later, B's still part of the war/doom effort. and magic in the world has kind of deteriorated so much that it's. honestly kind of hard to come across a solid magic user these days. they still teach them and still get people to join the effort, but compared to the older days, it's a lot less. people can learn magic, everyone can, but it's hard to get like. a professional, someone who has unlocked the higher abilities of magic. people like A or B.

speaking of! yeah. B is still part of the war effort. and it's NOW at the period of time where he's the worst of the best, but he's the only one they've got. they still keep him around because who else is there, really, and also he can still utilize the powerful bond magic he made way back when with A, so he's still very powerful but it's just. different. ya know? he's standing in the shadow of just the IDEA of A, and he's not even here anymore. and it's not filled with resentment, never. never resentment. he could never tarnish that. it's only ever love. and looking up to A. it didn't feel like he cast a shadow because to B, to him, he only ever cast light.

but also. A left. left him. alone.

so he's dealing with that in a perfectly reasonable manner (not thinking about it)

meanwhile A has decided to live a pastoral life away from the apocalypse and is totally not repressing his issues either. <3.

and like!!! the council or whatever that's in charge of all the witches is like "hey. B. you know your way cooler friend? you still keep in touch right?" and sends him off to go find A again after all these years to bring him back to the war and there's a whole mess of meeting again and having to meet with all the things you left unsaid, and all the everything and OOUAOUGHFF it's a whole mess.

anyways i want to make this a comic but also i kind of need to. yknow. design and draw the comic if i want to make the comic. so like. rage.

[yumemiruuuu]

The Happiest of the New Years from me to everyone! I haven’t been in this fandom long, but I am so incredibly glad that I’ve discovered this series when I did. To be honest, when I first found the series as the donghua, I didn’t think I would get far with it because I’ve dropped MDZS so many times (I’m so sorry, I swear I’m trying 😭), but hohhh boy was I wrong.

2 days later and I was already on Season 2, which is when I started to listen to an audiobook version that was posted on Spotify. By the second week of December, I already had my hands on the first 3 volumes, with the 1st volume being completely read through by the 2nd day of being in my possession.

I am so grateful to my friend who got their hands on the volume 8 Special Edition for me for Christmas, which I read over the course of New Year’s Eve and at the crack of dawn on New Year’s Day.

Truly, I did not expect to fall head over heels for this series the way I did since I normally don’t read romance filled reads, but I guess the universe has it’s own ways of proving me wrong.

This series will forever have a special place in both my heart and mind; it has taught me so many different things and have helped me through the processing of so many difficulties that I’ve accumulated over the course of my life.

I remember trying so hard to not get frustrated and upset, and have told myself that I’m in the wrong for having these feelings. I’ve gone back and forth from being overly positive for no reason, to feeling bitter and angry for several days because it felt pointless to force myself to be positive when life just… didn’t seem fair to me. I felt like I didn’t know who I was, who I am, and who I’m meant to be. Why I’m here, what purpose I have, and where I even was.

But this series taught me that sometimes, it’s okay to let go. It’s okay to feel frustrated, and to feel upset. It’s okay to not worry. It’s okay to not dwell. You don’t have to be overly positive and friendly all the time. You don’t have to force yourself to be out there just because you want people to like you, and care for you. Life has its ups and downs but no downs are forever, just the same as how no ups are forever.

And quite frankly, this sounds cheesy, but after starting this series, I’ve felt so much better about myself, my outlook on life, and the way the universe has its own ways. Yeah, life sucks. But life also doesn’t suck all the time. So… as XieLian had said (or at least a reiteration because I don’t have the exact quote on me) why not think about the good food that I’ve had, rather than dwell on the complicated and negative stuff that happened in the past?

Again, happy new year to everyone. And I hope to see you all and interact one way or another somewhere down the line.

(Please enjoy my TGCF shrine that I’ve set up in my room right past the door)

[i-literally-cant-with-this]

Puppy Love

A/N ::: It's not what you think.

C/W ::: Y/n wearing a collar and leash, Oral F->M, pet play kink references -> A little bit <-

Kats is getting so pissed about you shopping so much and spending all of his money on weird shit like collars and leashes, soft beds and toys.

He asks you if you're developing a new kink for pet play and you just laugh at him. But he won't stop pressing the issue. So you give him what you're pretty sure he wants and you click the leash onto the pink leather collar and strip down to nothing but your panties. Kats watches you with a poorly disguised fascination as you fiddle with the collar while you're nearly naked and on your knees. Nipples hard and a smirk on your face.

You take the leash between your teeth and crawl over to him, nuzzling his cock through his pants.

He looks down at you with curiosity as he takes the wide strip of nylon from your mouth.

Kats clears his throat and asks you what this is really all about. His voice is low and sultry.

You shrug your shoulders, but you lean in to whisper something in his ear.

His eyes widen as he looks down at you. But then he smirks and nods his head.

You feel his hand in your hair as he pulls you towards his cock, not saying anything. But you can tell that he likes it, and you're more than happy to let him have it.

You unbuckle his belt and pull his pants and plaid boxers down. His cock slips out, thick and hard. You take him into your mouth, moaning against his velvety skin about how you love the way he tastes and the way he feels against your tongue. He lets out a groan as you start to bob your head up and down, working your mouth around his tip and playing with his balls.

Kats wraps the leash around his hand a few times and tugs on it, forcing you to go faster and deeper. You choke slightly as he hits the back of your throat, but you don't stop. You just look up at him with those beautiful, sparkly tears dancing down your cheeks.

He tugs on the leash again and you can tell that he's close. He grunts your name as he finishes, and you swallow every last drop.

Kats looks down at you and smiles stupidly. You wipe the corners of your mouth with your thumb and stand to get dressed.

He's watching you, looking a little confused that you've moved on so quickly. Seeing you go to the garage, even the fact that you were leaving him sitting in the chair, pants undone, cock still hard, and that you didn't even bother to clean yourself up ... he wasn't used to it.

You come back in with a smile on your face and a small box in your hand.

He shakes it, listening to the metal clink, and scowls about the fact he has no idea what the hell is in there.

Waving your hands at him to hurry up, he opens it and pulls out a little silver circle. Spinning it around in the afternoon light, he sees that there's something engraved in it.

Your address and both of your names next to your cell numbers.

"The fuck, babe. You plannin' on gettin' lost or somethin'? You're so fuckin' weird."

You whistle loudly and in comes plopping along a little German Shepherd puppy.

He stands up, nearly forgetting to tuck himself back into his pants and looks back and forth between you and the puppy.

"Is it ... is she? The one from the other day?"

You smiled and nodded at your boyfriend looking like a little boy on Christmas morning.

He waved you over to him as he sat crouched on the floor, petting her. "I thought you'd lost your fuckin' mind for good today. But now ... hohhh baby, I'm gonna make you feel s'fuckin' good later. After I get her to sleep, of course."

Taglist ::: @millennialmagicalgirl @darkstarlight82 @callm3senpaii

[fromdusks]

can we talk about silver fox franklin clinton because hohhh boy

[becauseplot]

hehehe glad you appreciate the angsty soft. And yeah! Fit is doing amazing. TBH... Ramon probably couldn't handle much softer than this right now anyway? Not like some of the kids can. He needs the soft! But is not yet quite ready for it. They can learn together. Even if Fit is extremely unsure of himself and thinks much worse than he's doing. (Like not-2b fucked him hence why he can't telepathy with Ramon, not anything wrong, and Ramon feels far safer without the telepathy, but that's a much, much later conversation "hey I was psychically connected to spreen and so /felt him die and experienced dying beside him/ so I'm not wanting to have more psychic connections beyond the little I need to live and you are so fucked up you literally cannot form bonds and so we match good") (And, well, eventually Pac will be allowed in too, and allowed to be very soft in a way Fit cannot be, and be able to telepathy with him or at least detect if he's in trouble and where he's in trouble. But Ramon needs to heal some before he can manage that, poor boy.)

Awwww they’re a perfect fit <33 Is that why Ramón gravitated towards Fit in the first place? Because Ramón could tell that Fit wasn’t capable of that psychic connection? Or was it just a happy coincidence that the person he got attached to happened to be that way?

Also forgot to mention but the part where Ramón is initially like “I don’t want you to be my dad” and Fit is kinda heartbroken but is also thinking like “well if that’s what he wants then I gotta honor that, this is about the kid’s happiness and comfort first and foremost” like HOHHH just shoot me in the chest it would ache less /lh.

[kuichihimei]

“I try so hard to be so happy, are you happy too?

Doo, doo, doo, doo”

0:56───•─────── 04:46

             ↻      ◁ II ▷     ↺

It was a nice, Saturday afternoon, Randy was preparing to leave for a date with Theresa, until Miguel (their second oldest and his right-hand man) stops him.

“Aalis ka na ba po?” (Are leaving already?)

“Yes, ano pa ba yung kailangan mo?” (Yes, what else do you need?) Randy said, while putting shoes on.

“Looking like that? Hindi ka pa nga po nag-suklay eh...” (Looking like that? You didn't even comb your hair yet...)

“I don't care, I'm leaving.” Heading towards the door. “Don't let anyone in while I'm out.”

“Wait— Hold on!” Miguel tries to catching up to him.

“Alteast let me comb, it... Please?”

Randy stares at his little brother's gimmick for a good moment and just coos at him. “Awww, fiiiine~ Bihira ka lang naman nagiging sweet sa akin, kaya hayaan ko na lang!” (It's not everyday that you're being very sweet, so I'll allow it!)

“Great, so we can finally tame that Pineapple hair of yours for once!”

“Aaaand there goes the sweet moment...”

He still lets Miguel comb his hair though, but it still looked like a Pineapple after combing it...

After Randy left the house, he walks towards the old fast-food joint that was around the corner, where he would wait for Theresa.

The time was 2:07, they initially agreed to meet up at 2:30, but he wanted to be early so he could surprise her this time.

Theresa arrived 10 minutes shortly after, originally expecting him to be late or arrive while fighting a giant robot or monster or something.

Much to her joy and relief however, Randy could be seen sitting at one of the tables, excitedly waving at her to come take a seat.

Even if the place was a little bit crusty, it was really nice!

The air smelt like slightly burnt meat and probably had a few healthcare violations here and there, but that's the charm to it. It was also severely understaffed, but that's not gonna cause a problem right?...

“You're early!”

“I know! Thank cheese I finally got laid off from most of my NKB's today!”

“I'm sorry, but NKB...?”

“Ninja, Kuya and Biffer. The littles suggested it to me and it was a pretty solid acronym so, why not?”

“Neat! Speaking of the littles, how are they?”

“Rowdy as ever, especially since they learned sarcasm from Howard!”

The two hit it off pretty nicely, they talked about an assortment of things, while ordering some burgers and chilli fries.

“And then, she flooded the honking bathroom! Can you believe it⁈” Randy rambles about an incident that happened at Aira's school.

“I can't even— How can someone so small, cause so much chaos and destruction in a matter of minutes⁈” Theresa chuckled in disbelief.

“Oi lovebirds, your order's ready! Come and get it!” The cook yells from the counter. (Did I mention that the joint only has one employee?)

“Theresa stay right here, I'll go get our order.”

“No I'll do it, you stay put!”

“But you're already paying for the burgers! Let me do it!”

“Nuh uh honey, you're already paying for the fries, it's only fair if I get our order.”

“Are we really going to do this cliché where we playfully fight over who's going to get the food?”

“Perhaps... Nah, I'm just kidding, we could just get our order together.”

And that they did.

Everything was going great, they continued their conversation while approaching the counter.

“I'm really happy with how our date is going! Are you happy too?”

“Of course I am, Randy! There's not a single stanked soul in sight!”

Theresa's statement was short-lived however, since the employee who called them earlier got stanked.

The monster destroyed the counter, proceeded to yeet their food away (don't worry they were in paper bags) and busted through the door, going on a rampage towards town.

“Hohhh, boy... Sorry Theresa I—”

“It's Ninja O' Clock, go do your thing...” She disappointedly encourages him to go.

Randy immediately suits up, a blinding red light flashes from behind her.

“I promise it'll be a quick fight, then we could continue with our date!” He says while running off to fight the stanked employee.

Theresa just watched him go without a word... Sighing, she looks for the greasy bag with their order in the rubble, walks outside and sits on the pavement.

‘I wonder if he'll keep his word this time...’

◁Prev || Next▷

Masterlist

[sassyshin]

Hohhh boy

I heard things

[agarakairin]

Hohhh boy.

[yessu]

hohhh boy i am. capital D depressed again this is bad

[random-thot-generator]

Hohhh-ly shit... I'm in love. 😍💕

It's like myth but gritty & bloody swirled with wicked hot smut & set in a modern AU with Ghost & the 141 boys. It reads like LoTR but has the blood & sex of GoT. My inner geek girl is so sated right now. 😌💕

Mermaids

The Paintings masterlist / Simon Riley masterlist

Simon Riley/mermaid!reader 8.2k words - AO3 Warnings-tags: 18+ Minors DNI. Dark themes. Magical beings eating human hearts. Magic. Blood, Violence. Explicit sex. Blood kink. Breeding kink. Creampie. Dubious consent. Possessive Simon Riley. "And with your mermaid hair and your teeth so sharp, you crawled from the sea to break that sailor's heart" - F+TM

It begins early this year.

Earlier than usual, when your hunting ground in the mortal world was just starting to turn green, shaking its frosted and frozen branches free to make room for bright blooms and emerald leaves. Just as the steps of Brighton Pier changed from ice slick ledges to waterlogged, weeping wooden planks, and human clothing shifted from long coverings that protected their fragile membranes from the bitter wind to soft and flowing fabrics that allowed their bodies to breathe.

This time of the year the mortal world was alive. Full of rebirth and growth, strong and vibrant.

Vibrant, like the song that began early this year, the frequency echoing deep below the water’s surface to where you waited for its pull. The siren song of a true treasure, far beyond any other, the melody of your chosen, the ebb and flow of the rhythm that is not unlike the sea. The siren song of a mortal’s heart, the cacophony able to reach you and your sisters far below the swell and crash of the ocean, far beyond where the light ceases, the melody possessing the ability to pull you to the surface once a year.

Once a year, to hunt.

One a year, to dance and drink and fall in love, if only for a night.

Once a year, to sacrifice a human heart.

Your eldest sister holds you tight to her body in an embrace as the sun rises. Elegant fingers fuss with your hair, smoothing and tugging and pulling, a vain attempt at taming something wilder than her own heart. Her face is grim, a black void that reflects no joy or excitement, just dread. It is a mirror of yourself. It is a pain that you know too well.

“What bothers you?”

You are the last two left on the beach. The others have all gone, eager to stretch their legs and seek their own songs, the trill of the blood bubbling up in their veins, their bodies pulled like magnets to the source. One heart, one song, one human male for each sister, poor mortals who have no idea what awaits them today, their ignorance bliss on the last night of their lives. Your sisters, as well as you, all live for this night. The joy of the love, the thrill of the hunt, the taste of the ichor that sustains you. The anticipation of this night fills your dreams with swirls of violent songbird chords and sweet melodies of affection. It is all you talk about for cycles, leading up to the day when you leave the water at sunrise and your tail shifts and shatters to reveal two very human looking legs.

“I am weary.” She tells you plainly, an announcement that does not come as a surprise. You have watched how she fades. Watched her linger in the darkness of the caves, watched her float lifelessly on slow currents, gaze hollow, vigor lost. “My song is faint.” She pushes further, holding your hand tightly as she releases you from her embrace. “I think I may not take a heart this year.” But we must. Must we? It was a question unanswered, but one that plagued you both. How else could you live, if not for these sacrifices?

“You would choose to die.” You surmise and she gives you a curt nod, as if it is obvious. As if her admission does not rattle you down to your very bones. Perhaps you too, one day, would make this choice. Would choose not to hunt. Choose not to love and lose. The notion pains you, fills you with sorrow as it has for many, many years. This was not an unknown feeling, even though you still experienced the joy, the bliss of your hunting, of the harvesting, you still felt the pang of loss every time, stronger and stronger as the years ticked by.

“It aches now, knowing I will fall in love this night, just for it to end as the sun rises.” The sea crashes onto the beach behind the two of you, and her lips part with a smile before she leans in to graze a kiss along your cheek. “Happy hunting, my sister.”

The song encourages you onward, leading you through a maze of streets and buildings while the sun rises and lingers in the sky. You comb the city for your male, following the electric hum of the song through alleys and neighborhoods, stopping to enjoy the day, your one day on land, as often as you can. You relish in the things that are rare for you, the taste of coffee and human food, the smell of flowers in the park, the feel of grass on the bare pads of your feet. The dress you’ve chosen flutters in the breeze, allowing the cool air to caress your skin softly, and the sun beams down on your exposed limbs, warming you under its light as you indulge in mortal world. It is nice, you decide while you bask in its rays, to feel the sun as humans do. Such spoiled creatures, being so close to something that gives so much life.

That same sun begins to sink lower behind the skyline and you’re still mindlessly gazing at small insects and diving birds when your heart trills, the force of the song slamming between your ribs, a smattering of warning bells going off within you. He’s close, your blood croons, so, so close. The incessant rattle, the insistent pull is enough to bring you to your feet and anxiously smooth the wrinkles of your clothing, eyes darting wildly around while you hunt for the source, feet flying beneath you. So close, so close. 

You come to a stop in front of a pub where a black door is propped open, music and revelry echoing from inside. Here. He’s here. The supersonic vibrato that hums in your own blood draws you into the dimly lit bar, and you hear the song in his veins grow even stronger when you step through across the threshold. He is not hard to find, this close, and your magic strings out before you, weaving and seeking past the bodies that dance closely on the floor, each as desperate for one another as you have grown for your mortal and his song.

 He stands in the back, half covered by shadow, the dark pitch of the room matching his clothes and the mask he wears over most of his face. Everything about him is bigger than the males that have called to you in the past, his height, his arms, the width of his shoulders, even the feeling of him in this place. Everywhere you venture, every spot you position yourself in, you feel his eyes on you. He is unusual, and watches, from his vantage point, his companions, other humans, the bartender.

You perch atop a barstool on the opposite side of the room to study him. His eyes carry a ferocity, a heaviness of emotion that stirs the blood running through your own veins until it is pounding in your ears. The severity of him nearly intimidates you, the level of his awareness, the pools of his amber rich brown eyes occasionally flicking over to where your fingers wrap around a glass of beer, the heat of his gaze searing away at your skin underneath the dress. The mask confuses but does not caution you, and your own heart now beats in time with his due to your proximity. Handsome. You muse to yourself, caught up in tracing the outline of his cheekbones. Beautiful, in a dark way. 

There is something about him. Something ruinous, something different. Something you cannot name.

It is of no consequence. You are the huntress. You will have your prize, your immortality, the taste of his heart on your tongue. His death becomes your life. His love, his heart, becomes yours, for eternity.

But how nice, might it be, to keep this one? It is an impossible thought, a dreamless idea, but one that still crosses your mind. The fantasy of falling in love for eternity, of having more than one night, more than the blood and violence that follows, more than the loss that would sustain you. If it were to be one, you know you’d choose this one. Your thoughts stray to your sister for a moment, imagining her alone beneath the surface, mourning the centuries of life she has lived, the centuries of love she has lost. Did she know this feeling? This hopelessness, this despair. Your lips tug downward as you consider her words. It aches. It aches, knowing I will fall in love this night, only for it to end as the sun rises. Gloom washes through you, your own yearning itching inside your soul, your desperation for your human itching at your skin. It aches. It aches, it ach-

“Hello.” Someone says from behind you, a deep, distinct voice, and you snap upwards, straightening your posture to turn into the body that crowds you. You jerk backwards on the stool when you realize how close he is, the action unsettling you from your seat, and you slip forward, nearly falling free from your wooden perch. Balance on land is difficult, and yours is perpetually off, a skill you've never mastered. A massive hand wraps around your elbow to right you, gently steadying you, and your jaw goes slack when you finally look up.

It's him. 

“Hi.” You smile, trying to recover from your less than graceful impression. Your heart thunders in your chest, and the melody inside him screams for you.

“I’m Ghost.” He motions to your mostly empty beer and raises his completely barren one in return. “Buy you another?”

The indulgent smile that scrawls across your face is practically involuntary as you give your answer.

“Sure.”

His name isn’t Ghost, but he keeps his true name close and won’t give it to you. You give him a nickname, one you usually use on land, and he doesn’t bat an eye, even when you tell him it’s a pet name and not your real one with a wink. The name Ghost doesn’t strike you as odd, after learning what he does, why he keeps it tucked away, and you marvel at him while he tells gives you bits and piece of himself, occasionally peeling his mask up to drink. He’s a solider, a Lieutenant in a special task force, some of which he happens to be out with tonight. He likes bourbon, specifically from a certain region in America, and he smells like the forest. You lean closer, completely unable to stop yourself, inhaling as deeply as you can, breathing in the mossy, earthy, green scent that hovers in the air around him. It was heady, and endless, and wrapped you in a dizzying cocoon of memories that you couldn’t place, but clearly envisioned. Forests, teeming with life and glowing chartreuse from top to bottom, oceans with aquamarine waters, shallow pools for you to bath in under the sun, the water crisp and cold, your skin eagerly soaking it up its potent brine. Sapphire skies, the beaches stretching on and on, their seas fathomless, their bounties endless. You push closer, nosing as near as you can to his skin and take a lungful of the air. Strange. You knew humans wore things to mask or change their scents, but had never encountered one so… affecting.

“Alright, love?” He brushes the lightest contact of his fingers against yours, and you straighten, eyes ducking down in embarrassment.

“Yes, sorry. I- I was… distracted.”

Unusual indeed. 

One drink turns to many, and you carefully note how Ghost’s posture becomes more relaxed, shoulders less tense as the two of you indulge. He continues to surveil the room, observing and cataloguing, and you find it dangerously appealing, how in tune he is to his surroundings. How vigilant. Your hand lays gently on his thigh when you can no longer hold off the desire for physical touch, and he inclines his head to speak above your ear, the warmth of his cheek behind the fabric pressed casually to your head.

“D’ya want to go somewhere else?” Yes. You nod, and he motions to his group before excusing himself, his large body cutting a path through the packed room like he’s parting the sea.

You note the couplings around the bar as Ghost approaches his companions, leaning down to speak to one who is seated, legs spread wide on a faux velvet chair, a mortal female curled within his lap. He has a mohawk, and cerulean blue eyes that trace you from head to toe after Ghost begins to walk back towards where you're seated. You break the eye contact hastily, observing the others, pity pulling on your heart strings over a distraught female who sits in a corner, watching another with longing. The state of her broken heart is written all over face, her body rife with grief. The object of her affection, another stunningly beautiful female, dances with a different mortal, her artfully woven hair spiraling from her shoulders in tune to the way she moves her body. They have it so hard, you think. The song does all the work for us. You never have to woo your mortals, just provide them with the opportunity to find you. The song pushes them to seek you out, drives them to near madness unless they are in your company. They don’t always love you back, as you love them, certainly. But you never have to vie for their attention, never have to posture for their affection.

A large hand takes yours, warm and beating with the pulse of his heart, the rhythm of the song.

“Ready?” You open your mouth to say yes but nothing comes out, and the feeling of dread, the ache swamps you for a passing second. I think I may not take a heart this year. All you can do is nod.

As he leads you through the crowd, you cannot help but reach forward with your free hand and clasp onto the dancing woman. She pauses, eyes lighting wantonly when she sees you, but you push a sprinkle of magic through her, sparking desire in the base of her consciousness for the mournful dove in the chair.

You don’t look back at either of them as you leave, and silently pray to no one that they find happiness in love, that they relish it and keep one another, if only for you.

You bring him to the beach, as is your custom. It was where you felt safest, closest to the ocean, it’s where your power felt most pure should you need it, should something go wrong. You shiver at the thought, shoving down the memories that threaten your balance, and you clutch Ghost’s hand.

“Come down here often?” He inquires and you shrug, a response you know mortals are fond of.

“I like it here.” You offer, and hums in acknowledgement. You tug him towards the overhang of the pier, where the shadows will shield you, where no one dares to venture. The only light comes from the moon, it’s silver glow glittering dimly through worn wooden pier slats, and you watch it catch his eye, his pupil expanding and contracting as you step closer and closer. “I want to kiss you.” you implore. “Will you remove your mask?” The song. You’re depending on the song to help you with this, depending on his desire, the power of the melody in his veins to urge him to comply with your request, and when he tilts his head like he’s considering you, you hold your breath.

It happens quickly. He removes the mask in a fluid motion, and then his lips are upon yours, hot and seeking, tongue exploring your mouth while yours opens for him, your body clenching with dizzying desire at the feel of his touch against your skin. 

“I knew it.” You gasp when you pull away and trace the fine point of a fingernail down his jaw. “I knew you were breathtaking under there.” He chuckles.

“Happy you think so.”

Your mouths melt together as he holds you around the waist, your bodies getting closer and closer until you can feel the hardness of his cock in his jeans, feel the scorching heat of him through his clothes. You are desperate for this mortal, your desire to feel him moving inside of you nearly as strong as the lust you feel to taste his heart. You sink to the sand together, a dance of limbs and movements that have you panting astride him when he settles, propped up on his elbows.

“Simon.” He says mid breath. “That’s my name. Want ya to have it.” Simon. 

“Simon.” You whisper it, and he nods before pulling you back to him, two large palms cradling your face like you’re a delicate creature. It makes you feel special, makes you feel cherished, like you’re something gentle to be treasured, and not a monster out for his life. You kiss him tenderly, one more time, as softly as you can manage, your heart trembling inside your chest, before your teeth bite into his lip, the ferocious intensity of the act returned by him, his mouth meeting yours full force. You bite again, and this time his flesh gives way, bright, mineral rich blood bubbling from the tiny cut and you eagerly lap at it, the ichor coating your tongue and exploding across your senses. He laughs, the echo of it rumbling deep in his chest, and you place your hand against his heart greedily, the vigor of its beating nearly making your eyes roll back into your head. The length of his cock throbs between your legs, where only the fabric of his jeans separates you, and you rut against him helplessly. Sparks ignite between you, your body shuddering when his hands hook into your hip, strong grip guiding your movements against him. Your magic swells inside of you, and your head spins.

Take him, take him. Take his heart, take his song. Have him, his love, his heart, for eternity, forever. 

You push him onto his back, dress rucked up around your hips, fabric pooling around the two of you.

“I want you.” you tell him, fingers fussing with his clothes, encouraging him to strip his shirt free and then unbutton his jeans. It’s messy, uncoordinated, and sloppy but you can’t find a care. You’re too filled with want, overflowing with desire for your mortal, your desperation mounting as he stills you, tracing a finger over your ribs and then down your pubic bone to where your slick, silken folds wait to be touched.

“Simon.” you whisper his name again, the word close to begging, and he shushes you, swirling a finger down where you’re leaking, circling the swollen bud of your clit with agonizing strokes that fill your senses with electricity.

“Shhh. I know what you need.” He soothes, and deftly pushes a finger inside of you, stroking along your walls. You shiver, face dropping into the crook his neck, and he turns his head so that the soft puff of his breath wafts over your skin as you whimper. “Does that feel good?” He asks, pressing another inside, his thumb flicking over your clit in lackadaisical patterns. You moan, body welcoming his touch, and you nip at the skin of his shoulder, eager to tear it apart, to taste his blood again. His other hand pushes at the back of your head, until your teeth are flush with his skin. “Go on.” He urges, and your eyes slip closed with bliss while you break the thin membrane, blood pooling to the surface as he lets out a small grunt. Your tongue swirls in it, painting his skin ruby, and you drag your lips downward, over where his heart pounds wildly in his chest. For you. It pounds for you. It sings for you. 

“I need you inside me.” He pulls at the straps of the dress, divesting you of the top, exposing your breasts to the cool air and silver light of the moon. His thumb rolls one of your nipples and you feel for him, already free from his under garment, the things humans wear under their outside clothes, and you swallow when you feel the size in your fingers.

You sink down onto him with a hiss, body stretching for the intrusion, cunt spasming around the width and length as it fights to make room. He pets your hip soothingly, and you sit straight up, letting out a cry when you feel the true length of his cock inside you, the absolute fullness of it nearly seated in your belly. When you look back down, your eyes trace the smear of blood from his lips and shoulder, and your tongue darts out against your own skin, seeking the flavor of ichor that waits on the corner of your mouth.

Something glitters in his eyes, something shifting as if he finally recognizes the danger he’s in. Even here, with you astride him, split open his cock, hips stuttering in slow circles, wariness flexes across his face as if he knows, finally, that he is the prey and you the predator.

“It’s okay, do not be afraid.” You reassure him, stroking a fingernail over his breastbone, to where his heart flutters beneath your touch. He blinks, eyes blissfully blank, the firm grip of his hand on your hip relaxing before he says:

“Will you not tell me your name?” A long sigh slips between your teeth. Mortals. So hung up on familiarity. But how could you refuse a dying man his last request? Your lips kiss the shell of his ear as you give it to him, the point of your fingernail pressing into his delicate flesh, desperate to seek the strong muscle beneath, the song in his blood echoing through your own bones with supersonic vibration. The sounds and colors of the mortal realm all increase, too bright, too loud, everything shaking like the earth is suddenly trembling and then-

Something snaps inside of you. Magic, raw and powerful, a force unlike anything you’ve ever felt spills into you, your body being washed over with the rush of floodwaters, your heart and blood now singing for him, yearning for him, desperate to be consumed by him. 

Yours. Yours. Yours. 

The claim burns beneath your skin, your magic twisting away into something completely new, something more powerful as your mind grapples with the changing reality.

In the next moment, you’re spinning, tumbling through the air until you’re on your back, splayed beneath him, hands trapped at your sides. Your legs are folded underneath the width of his torso, your body opened for him just so, the head of his cock pressing against your cervix, stretching the slick walls of your cunt with each punishing thrust.

“I-“ the words are cut off sharply when he seals his mouth to yours, teeth gnashing and gnawing down from your lips to your jaw and then up to you ear.

“You,” He punctuates the word with a sharp thrust, and you gasp. “are mine, little huntress.” It is a vow, snarled through clenched teeth, and your own body betrays you by tightening around him, eager and willing to be claimed. The air is hot, humid and electric with magic, the burning effects of your error travelling through your every vein, every cell of skin. The utterance of your name, the act of your own foolishness strings heavily between you, while your body tenses underneath him.

“Simon.” You breathe and he only nods, holding your cheek in a gentle palm, stroking a loving touch across your face.

“Sweet little Nereid...” He names your kind with a growl, and your heart slams in your chest, his cock thrusting into your cunt wildly, desperately. “More beautiful than the sea herself.” The laugh is crooned, like the satisfying scratch of a needle against a record, and his fingers stroke your clit while he presses himself to you, your hips pinned beneath his weight, your body immobile. “Did you truly believe me to be a mortal?” He smiles darkly, lips curling with sinister satisfaction, and you feel the cold hand of fate reaching into your own chest cavity, rooting around in your soul until magic is searing across your skin, a bending and scraping feeling digging underneath your ribs, your own magic twisting and clawing until it burns away into something new, something changed, something imbued with him.

No. It’s not possible. 

“You… you’re-“

“Yes.” 

Simon cares little for the mortal realm. It’s pace and its noise and its scents are all cloying to him, obnoxious and foreign, the general rush of its inhabitants and their lack of care for their world offensive to him and his kind. They do not care for their realm, and do not take care of it ether, instead choosing to let it rot and fester beneath their feet, their drive and determination to outdo one another single handedly responsible for the destruction of most of their world. They call it something here, 'capitalism', like naming it will excuse it, while Simon just calls it murder, and greed.

Mortals and their extreme indifference do allow him certain things, however. Their love of violence and obsession with wealth put even the most well-off of his kind to shame at times. His kind loved things that shone, certainly. But mortals? They loved things that bled. It was this lust for power, this ravenous streak of greed that gave him the opportunity to position himself as he has.

As a hunter. A killer. A ghost.

Simon had been hunting for the thing he loved for a very, very long time.

And tonight, he was finally going to bring you home.

The first time Simon saw you; over a century ago, it was beneath Brighton Pier. You had a human male panting after you as you walked beneath the wooden overhang, your hand cupping his cheek softly, eyes full of tenderness and love. Simon, and the man, were both entranced by your beauty, the way your body moved under the night sky, how your skin seemed to glitter against the sand. Simon watched as you led him to where the moon couldn’t reach, beneath the shield of the slats, the dark of the evening hiding you from all prying, curious eyes, except for his.

He watched you take the male inside your body, watched you lavish your tongue across his neck and chest, watched your lips form sweet words of reassurance and honey while you tasted his blood. He watched the nails of your fingers gleam in the low light, watched them sharpen and then dig, scratching and clawing beneath the threads of the male’s skin, until you held an ichor rich organ in your palm, a complex system of vessels and ventricles, it’s sinew glowing red beneath your touch. He stood in awe as you devoured it, your feeding turning into a frenzy as you consumed it piece by piece, the male bleeding out and dying slowly, all while still buried inside your cunt.

After your feast, you dragged the male’s lifeless body down the sand to the water with you, where you pulled it beneath the waves, never to be seen again. Surprised, and intrigued, he stood at the water’s edge, watching the tide that was tinged red lap calmly at the shore. He knew humans had a taste for blood, but this was another desire onto itself. What were you? 

The following year, Simon couldn’t help but return to the same area in hopes of spotting you again, the creature unknown to him, a mystery begging to be unraveled. You appeared at dawn on the same day, with a horde of others, who then dispersed into the city and surrounding areas, following the sound of a song he could not hear. He became a creature obsessed, tracking your every movement, watching your every hunt and sacrifice. He stood in the dark while you made love to the mortals whose lives you would take, watched you hunt with wild abandon, watched you enjoy the small, tiny things in your eternal life that others often overlook. He began to know you, began to learn what you liked and didn't, began to learn what made you smile. 

You became the brightest spot in his own too long existence, the yearly reminder of love, of vitality, of life. He loved you, desperately, recklessly so. His dreams were filled with soft, sweet visions of you, bloody moments of passion and adoring, lingering kisses that he swore he could still feel when he woke.

It took time, too long of a time, before he discovered who, or what, you were. He spent a century trying to learn how to lure you to the surface. Simon tore apart libraries, bargained favors across dimensions, granted wishes and wove powerful spells just to trade for information on you and your sisters, the Nereids, the lasting remnant of a forgotten power, reclusive magic lurking inside the deepest depths, a realm inside a realm, never to be discovered unless you wished it so. And even then, the additional answers he sought were scarce.

Every year, he returned to the human realm to see you, tucking himself away in cloaks of magic and darkness so that he could creep as close as possible to you. Every year, he watched you hunt, watched you capture your prey effortlessly and consume their heart. He watched you shed a tear for them. Watched your drag their corpses down the beach to the sea, where you carried them into the water with you before disappearing all together.

Eventually, time began to change you. He watched you regard your lovers, your mortals with callousness, and cruelty. He watched you treat them with tenderness, and adoration, caring for them, making their ends sweet and soothing their fears. He watched you stand on the beach for hours at dawn and try to fight the urge to hunt. He burned to take you away from this world, to sever you from your ocean, bring you home to him, but your kind did not live in his realm. He was unsure how to sustain your life, and the search for answers was slow. Years went by, and the soft dreams that he had always welcomed turned to nightmares, fueled by the fear he’d lose you before he even had the chance to try to bring you home. 

A decade ago, he watched you falter. Your body trembled as you took your sacrifice, your cries so hysterical he was certain you’d draw the entire block to where you hid in the shadow of someone’s gaff. His own body was rigid with tense, untethered magic that sought to lash out, and he was rife with worry that you’d give yourself away, you’d be caught by some mortal force and unable to return to the sea when the sun rose. The fear he felt was unreasonable, uncontainable. He'd level the city to protect you, to keep you safe, and he nearly did. He almost took you, that night. Was quite close, so close that he was crossing the street in front of vehicles and preparing to pull you into his realm when you composed yourself and completed your harvest, the glowing organ in your hands proof of your will to live, to love.

He rarely left the mortal realm after that. Only to seek his final answer and solidify his plan, his masquerade as the masked Ghost allowing him to exist in the realm indefinitely, giving him the availability to be close for when the time was right, for when you would be ready.  

A year ago, you were the last to return to the water, your steps slow and clumsy, your eyes tired and weepy. You appeared satisfied, but as you looked back on the city from the shoreline, he saw the hint of desolation in your eyes, the shadow of dejection haunting your face.

It was more than enough, to spring him into action. More than enough, to find your promised mortal for next year and steal his song, bringing it into himself by a small piece of blood magic, something so simple and obvious Simon cursed himself for not realizing sooner.  

This morning, as he observed you and your sister on the beach, he knew he had been right. He could see it in your face. The pain of sadness, of loss twisting your elegance into an ache, those feelings compounded by the admission of your eldest sibling. This could be your last hunt.

It was time to bring you home. Forever. 

“That her then?” Johnny nods, indicating he’s looking the same direction as Simon, watching you walk down the curb, paper coffee cup clutched in your hands, face smiling at the sun.

“Yes.” Simon answers, shifting uncomfortably. The bloody song has been heating his flesh for weeks, boiling in his veins and driving him practically mad. Nymph magic. Its incessant hum has been battling his own power, jockeying for position as it worked to pull you to the surface. Combined with his own, he wasn’t surprised it possessed the ability to bring you up earlier than normal, encouraging you and your sisters through the depths and to the shore. If his blood was singing, then so was every other poor sod’s in this city. 

You cross the street into the park, dress swaying around your hips, and he indulgently stares at the form of your body, the set of your shoulders, the texture of your hair. He closes his eyes to breathe, reaching into himself to get a handle on the battle of will going on in his blood, the warring magic factions pushing and pulling beneath his skin, begging to be let out, trying to lash out. Soon. He reassures himself. She will be with him soon. 

He can smell you from here. You’re ripe. Overflowing, your scent is like a flickering ocean breeze, briny and cold but full of life, of promise. You’re ready, ready to be taken from this awful realm, ready to be bent underneath his body, ready to be crying on his cock as you come while he floods your womb with himself and his power, tying you to him for all eternity.

That is, if he can get you to relinquish your name.

It is a key piece of his plan, and the one that worries him the most. 

He knows you do not give it freely; knows you keep it guarded. It’s like you’re already aware that he waits in the shadows for you, watching, keeping track of every step you take, every year, from sunup to the next, until you slink beneath the water where he cannot follow.

The pressure inside his body is nearly unbearable by the time you step into the pub. Dozens of heads turn towards you, mortals’ eyes roving all over your body like you’re a treat for them, like you’re something delicious they’ll have an opportunity to taste. Foolish, greedy mortals, too busy staring dreamily at you to recognize the predator that you are, or the predator he is, oblivious to the two hunters in the room with them right now. He wonders, if you'd bathe in their blood, given an opportunity. The image makes him smile. 

Johnny clears his throat expectantly, and Simon nods, casting a glance over to where he sits with a pretty female on his lap, her attentions focused solely on him, her eyes heavily lidded with lust. Johnny gives him a nod.

“Good luck.” He offers and Simon waves him off. He’s no need for luck. His blood sings your song.

“Ready?” He nearly loses control when he watches your face fill with despair for a moment after his question, his aching need to soothe and comfort you almost forcing his hands out to touch you. I'm here, little huntress. You are not alone anymore. He cannot tell you this, not yet. So instead, he applies pressure to your hand gently and waits. When you nod, he breathes just a tiny bit easier. 

He cannot stay in this place any longer. The eyes, the mortals, their inane thirst for alcohol and violence starting to scratch underneath his skin. He needed you, needed your name, needed to take you home to his realm, and all this noise and smoke and foul-smelling liquor stood in his way. The feeling of your hand in his soothes him, calms the anxious explosion that’s building in his chest, but it’s not enough. Nothing will be enough, until he has what he wants.

On the way out, he does not miss your little spell. He is, and has been, the most powerful creature in this room. He has felt every ounce of magic used, by you, by Johnny, by Kyle, all night long. It makes his heart swell when he feels your effort to push the dancing female into the arms of her scorned lover, makes his heart soar when he realizes perhaps, you have not given up on love, on life. Perhaps, you just need something else, something other than the hunt, to live for.

He allows you to take your time beneath the Pier. He cannot rush you, cannot allow you the feeling of anything being amiss, being off. You are so close to the sea, so close to the edge of the water that if he spooks you, it will be too easy for you to slip away. Too easy for you to be lost beneath the surface, again, just as you have been for hundreds of years.

When your teeth tear into his flesh he nearly moans, almost loses control again, but tamps down the urge to spring forward and toss you into the sand beneath him. He needs your name, needs your name so bloody badly it has his head spinning, his entire being desperately urging him to act, to claim, to take you. Your cunt is searing hot around his cock, your body shivering in his arms as you rock your hips delicately, eyes watching him half addled, crazed with the lust for his blood, for his heart.

“Will you not tell me your name?” He thrusts slowly up into you, and pity flashes across your features as you bend forward to brush your mouth against your ear. He feels your lips part, hears the intake of your breath and then-

You’re his. The magic begins immediately, bonding you to him, searing you into his soul and vice versa, the song in his blood slipping away until all he feels is the combined force of your power and his, the melding of souls and magic that will guarantee your existence in his realm, by his side, guaranteeing your survival, your ability to thrive. He takes advantage of your confusion, of the chaos that rises in your heart and flips you on your back, spreading your thighs wide beneath him and plunging his cock as deep as he can. So close. So, so close, and then you will be truly his, for as long as you both shall live. 

“I-“

“You,” he thrusts harder, desperate to claim you. “are mine, little huntress.” He hisses it, pushing the words forward with the brunt of his power, and you gasp before whispering his name.

“Sweet little Nereid…more beautiful than the sea herself.” He kisses your throat, stroking your clit at a torturous pace while your confused gaze tracks his every movement. “Did you truly believe me to be a mortal?” The magic pushes through your blood and bones, continuing to stitch and sear you to him, and he can’t help the feelings of possession that come over him.

His. His. His. 

His magic cuts and gnaws at your own, ripping and shredding it to bits until it’s infected with him, the strength of your name, your free admission to him, turning you inside out, changing the very chemistry of your body. He watches with dark satisfactions as your face shifts, your lips parting with understanding, eyes widening with your knowledge of the truth.

“You… You’re-“ Clever little huntress.

“Yes.” He purrs, and punches his cock back up inside of you, pressing close to your cervix, your body wet and needy, just for him. You shudder and blink hazily, confusion flickering across your features while his magic roots around inside of you and binds you to him, cell by cell. He can still smell you, smell the cool salt air of the sea that comes from your skin, smell the ripeness of your body, your willingness spilling forward in the air, the scent of sweet honeysuckle and sea holly. Your thighs tighten around his hips, your body rocking swiftly in time with him while your brow furrows, like you’re not sure what you should be doing. He licks at the stain of his blood on your lips, his tongue pushing into your mouth, and you let out a sharp whine, small hands flexing against his chest.

“No.” you admonish, face stricken. “No. No, you t-tricked me.”

“I did.” He agrees, reaching between the two of you to rub your clit in a swift circle, your breath hitching. Your face twists into something sour, but your cunt clenches around him, and his lips curl into a crescent moon smirk. “Are you going to come on my cock, sweet one?”

“Unnf.” You moan nonsense, turning your face away from him but he does not stop, hips snapping against yours, his body working to bring yours closer and closer to its climax.

“I think you are.” He hisses and grips your jaw to turn your eyes back to him. They’re wet with tears, but he doesn’t see fear in them, doesn’t see the despair. Only flares of rage, and the heat of desire, the electricity of the magic that is now shared between the two of you. He smiles triumphantly. “I think,” he relaxes his pace, dragging his cock out of you painstakingly slowly, gaze never leaving your lovely face. “you’re going to come for me, and then I’m going to breed you, little huntress.” You tense around him, squeezing his cock, the words pulling a delicious, physical reaction from you that shakes his focus for a moment. His palm lays flat over your lower belly, low enough that his thumb can feel the hardness of your clit, can stroke around it’s hood while you gasp and convulse in his arms. You shake your head stubbornly, chest heaving for breath, and he slams himself back into you, your spine curling forward into his chest.

“Gods.” You cry out, fingers scrambling for something to hold onto, finding his shoulders and sinking deep, deep enough that he knows you're drawing blood. It oozes from the tiny wounds, tracing down his skin and when you pull away, your fingers have been darkened with it.

He watches with small wonder as you slip them into your mouth, face going slack with bliss, cunt spasming around him while he strokes deep. His skin prickles, mouth finding yours again, and you moan into him, uninhibited, full of abandon.

“I have watched you for over a century, my sweet Nereid. Watched you hunt, watched you love, watched you lose.” He slows to look down at you, caressing your face with a gentle touch. “I have watched the light fade from your eyes, watched despair take over your existence.” Your gaze widens, mouth dropping open in surprise, and then closing abruptly, eyes softening around the corners.

“Simon.” You murmur, pressing your finger to the weeping wound from your teeth.

“My huntress. You will never be alone again.” He noses your jaw, licking and sucking against your skin, cold brine exploding against his tongue. Your scent crests, peaking with the honey flower and salt, your body yearning beneath him, cunt milking his cock. “Come for me.” He encourages when he knows it’s time, when he sees the glossy want all over your face. It doesn’t take much urging, another stroke of your clit and you’re coming, body locking up around him, muscles straining as you cry out, face full of bliss and legs tense around his hips. You clamp down around him, holding him deep inside your body like a vice but he works you through it, thrusting slowly inside your scorching cunt, your walls desperately trying to keep him inside. “There you go.” He soothes, fucking you through the aftershocks, your face still twisted up. “That’s just what I needed.” The orgasm makes your more pliable, more soft and less angry, and he sees in your eyes what he knows to be true. You want this. Perhaps this is not what you would have chosen at first, perhaps the magic was too strong in your veins in the beginning, but your body knows what your mind works to accept. You are choosing this, choosing him, over the hunt. Over the sacrifice. Over the immortal life of loss.

So, so close.

He folds your legs towards your chest, opening you deeper and you mewl, lips parted in dazed, post orgasm glow. He can’t help but kiss you again and again, his painfully slow thrusts forcing irritated breaths to puff from your nose.

“Something you want?” He teases, and you nod, pressing your face into his shoulder and groaning into his skin.

“Simon. Please.” You voice breaks, and he feels your cunt pool around him, liquid heat forcing him to grit his teeth in an effort to stave off his own orgasm.

Ask me for it, little huntress. 

“Please, what?” He mocks, thumb pressing down on your clit hard, causing you to keen. He doesn’t move, just stays steady inside of you, your cunt working pull him deeper.

“Please, please. I want-“ you gasp when he bites the skin of your neck, and he smiles wickedly. Your cunt practically strangles him now, body working to drag his orgasm from him, magic singing in both of your hearts.

His. His. His. 

Yours. Yours. Yours. 

Your scent overpowers him, the swell of the ocean behind him combined with the salt of your essence pulling him harder into your gravity.

“What do you want?”

“I want your come.” You beg and he snarls, finally losing control, fucking into your eager body with abandon, hard and punishing while you moan and cry beneath him. He takes your earlobe in his teeth before whispering a vow:

“Then you shall have it.” He plays with your clit, the intensity of his strokes matching the pace of his thrusts and you pant eagerly. “You shall have it every day until you are full of me, full with my child.”

“Yes.” You moan, and he feels you moving towards another climax, your muscles spasming and eyes slipping shut.

“I’m going to breed you, give you my baby, sweetling. Make you mine, forever.” Your back arches and you wail, your cunt clamping down on him again, and he thrusts as deep as he can, chasing his release, fueling his burning desire to empty himself inside of you. He lets go completely, untethers his magic, lets it fully fuse with yours as he spills inside of you, the pressure of his orgasm working against your aftershocks, and your own magic that wraps itself wildly around him, clawing at the seat of his power, desperate to attach itself.

Yours. Yours. Yours. 

His. His. His. 

You fall asleep on his chest, body relaxed and sated, mouth open in a small o. He needs to get you up, needs to get you ready to travel to his realm but in this moment, he’s content to sit here, against the old wooden pier, timing the rise and fall of your breathing and planning for the future, for eternity.

“Will you care for her?” A musical voice asks from a short distance, and his head snaps up to see your sister, the one you stood with on the beach this morning, inclining her head towards your peaceful, sated body that sits snugly in his arms.

“Always.” He promises, and she nods, eyes looking down the shoreline.

“I am happy for her.” She looks sad, forlorn, not unlike how you appeared hours ago.

“It is not too late, for you to hunt. There is still plenty of time before the sunrise.” He tries to encourage, and she nods.

“Perhaps.” Simon briefly wonders if Kyle or Johnny are still in town, a sinister idea forming in his mind, taking shape before his very eyes. He pushes, just the gentlest bit of magic, the piece that’s mixed with yours, towards her. A long moment passes, and then, “I think I’ll walk.” She motions up the pier and gives a goodbye nod, as he strokes a hand down your spine when you shiver in his arms.

You do not stir until she is a speck on the horizon, and when you do, you lift your head wearily, like you’ve slept for a thousand years.

“What’s going on?” you murmur, shifting your dress so it covers your thighs. He presses a light kiss to your forehead before giving an answer.

“We’re going home now, little huntress.”

[ectoplasmer]

you guys ever get so desperate for daydreaming ideas that you just start looking at kiss prompts because hohhh boy do i have something to admit

[lampsabout-moved]

hhhh awakening rewrite reboot

info under the cut

Alright so forever ago I had an AU called “Fire Emblem: REAwakening, which was a novelization/rewrite of awakening, to in general let me do whatever i want with the plot, while keeping in the same basic structure, and changing character details, the works. But then I realized my writing was bad and forgot about it, and now I’m revisiting it. fixing the bad shit in Awakening, like Henry, Robin, and Tharja all being plegians (a darker skinned people), but because they join your party and are good guys, they are lighter skinned. Same thing with Olivia being of Feroxian descent. since this is in fic format, the characters would have unique designs, and still use only a few weapons, but be able to branch out more and more. Some characters have changed classes, or are pre-promotes, etc, etc. Lucina never pretends she’s a guy, she introduces herself as Marth, and uses she/her right off the bat. She also never drops her Marth persona until she reveals herself as Chrom’s daughter. because i’m me, i’d prolly write some supports? idk which though.  Emmeryn kind of comes back? Like, not in the weird way it happens in canon. Emmeryn is revived by Naga, but it’s really just Naga’s spirit keeping her alive, so she’s a lot more Naga than Emmeryn.

Tharja! My Girl Tharja was dONE SO CRIMINALLY DIRTY! In this AU, Tharja is actually a bit of an aristocrat in Plegia, being high up in the Grimleal, despite not believing in their teachings at all, really only there to fuel her real passion, Dark Magic. Because of that, she is FASCINATED with Grima, a being made of pure dark magic and despair. Because of that, Tharja can sense Grima slumbering inside Robin, and that’s why she follows him around. She is in no way interested in him in a romantic way, but more of a “hey can I study your heart and maybe like, see if you’re harboring a dark god?” which also gives her more plot relevance!

this is kind of a nitpick, but lore to explain why Falchion looks different in different games? Like, Falchion takes different forms depending on who is wielding it. It takes the classic Awakening look when Chrom wields it, or a spear styled weapon when Lucina has, etc, etc, GRIMA ROBIN SHOULD HAVE FANGS, SIX EYES, HORNS, AND WINGS, ATLUS YOU ARE FUCKING COWARDS-

kids are:

Lucina: The oldest of Chrom and Robin’s kids, and future exalt. Has Chrom’s blue hair, with streaks of Robin’s light pink. Has the Fell Brand and Mark of The Exalt in opposite eyes. (I do what I want)

Marc and Morgan: Chrom and Robin’s other kids, twins! Marc has the Exalted Mark, while Morgan has the Fell Mark. (Marc = Male Morgan, Morgan = Female Morgan). Morgan has blue hair while Marc was Pink with blotches of Blue. Owain: Maribelle and Lissa’s younger kid, wanted to be a dark mage as a kid, and now has dark markings over his face and arms because of botched curses.  His personality is virtually unchanged form canon. Owain’s already perfect.

Brady: Maribelle and Lissa’s older child, pretty similar to canon, except he’s a troubadour, because I headcanon him as GNC! AlsobecausehelooksuptoMaribellealotandwantedtopursueasimilarpathasherbutshhhhh Kjelle: Daughter of Flavia and Sully (because i do what i want). Similar to canon, but some of her supports mention her being technically royalty. She hates it Severa: The rebellious daughter of Sumia and Cordelia. She’s one of the class changed characters, this time being a horseback mage. She specializes in Wind Magic (get it cause wind magic is good against pegasus knights), and dyes her hair a lot to defy Cordelia, even though Cordelia really doesn’t care. She’s also Lucina’s self appointed Retainer. Cynthia: Sumia and Cordelia’s other daughter, pretty similar to canon in personality, but what was i supposed to do? NOT give her a cheesy medieval super-heroine outfit? C’mon! Inigo: Son of Olivia and Panne, and yes, he’s a taguel. Consider for a moment, a taguel dancer unit. He’s a dancer who uses beaststones because not only is that metal as shit, but provides a really interesting class idea! He’s pretty similar to canon in personality. ALSO GeroAzu rights

Yarne: Son of Olivia and Panne, pretty similar to canon because i have, few ideas about our bunny boy Noire: We all know that Future Tharja was a massive dick to her family, and especially to Noire. Basically, Libra divorced F!Tharja, and they lived seperately. F!Tharja’s curses were still deep-seated into Noire, and created a bit of a specter haunting Noire. If you’ve seen BNHA, imagine Dark Shadow, but it looks like Tharja, is Noire’s shadow, and constantly feeds her insecurites. because of this, Noire has taken up being a kick-ass priest/light mage, in order to undo the damage her mother did. Reclaimation and Redemption babeyyyy

Gerome: Son of Anna and Cherche because I do what I want?? Not much but he’s also a big fan of merchanting. get it? cause dragons? he hoards gold? haha? Also he’s apart of the justice cabal fuck you Laurent: Son of Miriel, other parent unknown. I don’t really pair Miriel with anyone that often? So I left her spouse ambiguous. Laurent is still Laurent, and shares all of the child units brain cells with Lucina. Nah: Similarly to Laurent, I left her parentage ambiguous because EW! Nowi does not enter a relationship, because ew, and it’s implied Nah is from another timeline where an older Nowi had her. Maybe Manakete’s produce asexually? THe world may never know! Her hair color is a green-purple gradient, because it’s pretty I’m also considering adding more kids? Specifically for Kellam/Henry, Tiki/Say’ri, and Frederick/Gaius, but we’ll see. --- this got out of hand, so like, hmu if you have questions! i’d be happy to awnser.

[toxooz]

ALSO found these 😳 Ramsuse 2018 and ????