#i feel like the fandom holds him far to high up and since he’s the main favorite and the fandom is mainly queer people

[hiddenlife-manager]

Apollo x Fem Chubby Reader NSFW

cw… orgasmining, no mention of cum but inferred creampie, not edited, public sex, forest sex, slight emotional apollo, loving partner apollo, zeus mention, gentle sex, praise, doggy standing, breast mention, etc...

notepad… NEW FANDOM I LOVE APOLLO AND HERMES!! Not gonna lie this was long, but in a way I needed to use this to get out of writers block. Like I have been struggling mentally for some time and just have been bed rotting all summer due to avoiding stress. I think I plan on coming back though. School is about to start, I am trying to pay for it and the office is PISSING ME OFF LIKE ACCEPT MY MONEY!

You were walking through the forest; it was a dark night, and the moon was high up as you tried to get back to the Polis. You have traveled so far to the Temple of Apollo to meet the oracle. You were advised by your lover to travel from your polis to see the oracle. You were traveling from wagon to wagon, and thankfully, your Polis was down the path, and you were left to walk. You passed trees and looked down to see a lit-up Polis down the large hill. Through the forest trail, you would have to walk for an hour.

“Very well,” you mumbled as you fixed your peplos and began to walk. You were nervous, afraid that an animal would come up from behind you and try to kill you, but the trip to and from has been safe. To some, it would seem like godly intervention. It was as if you were being watched by a god; in a way, it was true. But like all the gods, he had limits on how to keep you safe without interfering. “Just a little more.” 

As you were walking, you could feel eyes on you. Looking up at the sky, you saw a hawk soaring through the sky, landing on a strong branch. You let a smile reach your lips. You raised your hand to your lips and smiled even brighter. You blinked once, and there you saw a tan, muscular man on a tree branch. His long blonde hair was swaying in the night breeze.

“How was the oracle?” He asked you, and there he hopped off the branch and down onto the ground like it was nothing; his cape blew in the breeze alongside his hair as if the winds were favoring him. He walked over to you; he clearly dimmed his own light from the moment he turned into his normal form. He placed his hands on your shoulder, and then one hand removed itself from it and grabbed your chin. “You look dirty, my dearest.”

“What do you expect from me? I have been traveling.” He nodded at your response and noticed that you were close home. He was the one who advised you to go to the oracle. He was the one who said it was best you got your prophecy from them and not him. “The oracle accepted the rabbit pelt you gifted me; she informed me that I will never marry if I stay with my current love.” You looked at him; you always thought maybe he would marry you, but it was clear it was just not possible. “I’m at a fork in the road: leave the one I love and marry another, or stay with the one I love and never be married. But I cannot have both.”

“I am sorry, my dearest; I was too much of a coward to tell you. So I had the oracles speak the truth.” He looked at you as you stared at him. He was confused as to why you were not yelling at him from the moment you saw him. Even on your trip home, you were just calm, no anger. “I would understand if we must part.” He raised his hand, placing it on your chubby cheek.

“I have been unmarried for so long that I have been barred from much of society in my own polis. I see no reason to change it. I have come to terms with the prophecy since the very moment the oracle told me in the temple. I was naive to think I could marry a god. That I will admit.” His hand was still on your chubby cheek; he looked down at you, and his other hand was placed on your waist. He loved the way you were so soft in his hold.

“I am sorry.”

“I chose this life the very moment we met; I will live a life of solitude if I must.” There, his hand shifted down to your neck from your cheek, and he leaned down to you. He was a god, after all; he would clearly be taller than you and the other mortals. He took your lips into a soft kiss; his lips were gentle, almost quivering; in a way, he was fearing you would pick another man. Your lips are slightly parted enough to invite him closer. He pressed you against a wooden tree, his hand still on your soft waist and your neck.

His hand on your waist slowly lowered to your peplos, and he lifted it up. He moved it a bit and lifted it. His hand gripped your ass, his lips still moving against your own. He hated to show his worries; he hated that he fell for a mortal and could not marry them. He knew very well that his father would not agree to it; even if his father fell for a mortal, he knew the risks of being with them and would never approve of you. He sucked at your bottom lip, pulling away.

“I need you.” He whispered into your ear, and you nodded. He turned you around with his hand on your beautiful chub. He loved your rolls; he loved every single thing about you. To him, your beauty rivaled most mortals he has ever met. He fixed his skirt, and there his cock came out. He stroked it with one hand while the other caressed your ass. He played with your fat ass, and there he began to line himself up. “Take a deep breath, dearest.”

You opened your mouth to breathe in, and at that very moment, he shoved his cock into your cunt. You grabbed at the tree bark. Your hands tried to hold it, but all you could do was press against it. You cried out in the forest, causing Apollo to place his hands on your mouth and pull you back.

“We don’t want to attract the animals, dearest.” You nodded. His fingers slowly entered your mouth, and instinctively, you began to suck at his muscular fingers. His other hand is placed around your chubby tummy. He held you close, his thighs tensing as he thrust up into you. He was behind you, his head so close to your back. You could feel his breath against your skin. Each time he thrust into you, he had to fix your peplos, ensuring that your ass was bare so no fabric got in the way of his thrust. “So perfect, my dearest.” He whispered from behind you. He loved the way your mouth sucked at his fingers.

You continued to have him thrust into you from behind. Your back is against his chest. You two were being covered by the three in front of you, and if you shifted a little to the side, you could see the polis that have always hated you down the hill. You wondered if anyone could see you, but you did not care. All you wanted was to feel his cock going in and out of you. You felt so complete, and you loved him so much.

“Haah…. Uugh…” You found your moans to match the rhythm of his thrusts from behind. Each time he pulled out and pushed himself back into your pussy caused you to rip out sounds of pleasure. Your hands were still slightly placed against the tree, but in a way, you didn’t need to have your hands against the tree due to the position. You pressed your thighs together, and he lowered his hand from your chubby tummy to your thighs and spread them.

“You love this, don’t you?” You nodded desperately, drool now pooling from your mouth due to sucking at his fingers. He pushed you against the tree and bent you down harsher. He was no longer holding your ass, and he raised his other hand to your breast. He groped your breast, hidden behind your linen fabrics. He was enjoying the way your gasps and moans left your lips. He did not care that you two could get caught by animals. 

He smirked at the way you were so desperate, without even knowing you were pushing your ass back to him, wanting his cock to go deeper in your pussy. Your peplos were in disarray; your pins were shifted, causing a few to fall to the ground. His hands were now placed on your hip and your lower back.

“Yes, so good.” You cried out in pleasure, pressing your hands against the harsh bark of the tree. His hips continued to thrust, and he began to feel your walls clench against his cock. He groaned as he felt how welcoming you were. Your body was made for him, and his thrust began to get deeper and deeper. He was now becoming vocal; his grunts were louder than before. He loved you so much, and even if you two could never marry, he saw a future with you. He would love you despite the fact that you are going to age, and he will not. “Ah! Close! Ah!”

He smirked at the way you were so breathy; this was all he needed to feel at peace with you. His cock burried into your pussy and he was fucking you wherever he wanted. His thrust was still firm and deep, making you cry out. Your walls clenched even tighter around his cock, and when your breathlessness became incoherent mumbling, he knew you were so close. He himself felt it; his body tensed at the feeling of getting closer to the finish line. He felt his toes curl and thrust so deeply that his back arched and his head was thrown back with a loud groan.

As for you, you felt it hit you like a wagon running at full force toward you; your legs shook at the feeling of yourself orgasming. His cock was pulsing inside you, and as the feeling went through your body, you covered your mouth, trying to muffle the loud moan that ripped through you. Your legs failed, and Apollo made sure to keep your body up with his one arm. Despite your beautiful weight, you were as light as a feather to him.

“Careful dear.”

[redvexillum]

My momma always told me, you either leave the fandom or stay long enough to write a selfcest fanfiction of a character. She was right. All joking aside...I...I'm actually sort of proud of how this one turned out? If ya'll can give this crack request story a chance, I would appreciate it.

TAGS/WARNINGS: selfc♡st, fr♡ttage, mild dub-c♡n, an♡l s♡x, ♡ral s♡x, character study, mild hurt/comfort, m♡sturbation(?)

WORD COUNT: 5K~

Lucifer stared at his reflection – or, well, the figure that was almost his reflection. It was unnerving, seeing himself like that, a perfect replica, standing there as casually as if he belonged. He had been tinkering with one of his many bizarre contraptions – this one, an overly complicated machine designed to spit out custom-dressed rubber ducks because, why not?  

But after one too many turns of doodads and doohickeys, what had emerged wasn’t a novelty toy, but him. A carbon copy. And now, that copy was glaring back at him, looking far less impressed.  

“So...do I kill you, or do you kill me?” the clone drawled, eyes narrowing in irritation. His voice dripped with impatience, as if this situation was nothing more than a tedious inconvenience.  

Lucifer raised his hands, laughing nervously. “Woah, woah! Hold up!” He tugged at the lapels of his jacket, his chin jutting forward proudly. “First off, I am the original,” he declared, head held high. “So, if anyone’s doing the killing here–” 

Suddenly, a sharp, searing pain knifed through his gut. He doubled over, gasping, his hands instinctively clutching his abdomen. “Oh, fuck me!” he rasped, struggling to catch his breath. “Why do I feel like I’m about to both combust and take the world’s biggest shit at the same time?!”  

The clone snorted, unimpressed. Rolling his eyes, he lazily rested a hand on the apple-topped staff at his side. “Isn’t it obvious?” he said with a tone of smugness, leaning against the staff like he was lounging on a park bench. “Only one of us can exist on this plane at a time,” 

Lucifer grimaced, his vision blurred by pain, as he glared up at his double. “Oh, that’s fucking helpful!” he barked, breathless. “How the hell was I supposed to know that?!” 

“Well,” the clone continued, ignoring Lucifer’s frustration, “I think we both know what has to happen.” There was a calmness in his voice, a decision made. Slowly, methodically, he began to shrug off his outer coat. “We need to–” 

“Kill,” Lucifer groaned.  

“Fuck,” the clone corrected.  

Lucifer wheezed, his entire body feeling like it was deflating. His mouth twisted into a forced smile, desperate for clarity. “Okay, okay, wait.” He chuckled weakly, rubbing his forehead. “When you say fuck...do you mean like, fuck as in kill, or...?” His voice trailed off as he glanced nervously at his copy.  

The grin that spread across the clone’s face was infuriatingly familiar – the same cocky smirk Lucifer hadn’t seen on his own face in years. It was unsettling how confidently his reflection seemed to own the moment. “No, no,” the clone said, voice dropping to a silky tone. “We are going to have the best sex of our life.” 

Without hesitation, the clone threw his top aside, his bare chest gleaming under the dim lighting as it hit the floor with a soft thud. Lucifer stared, wide-eyed, torn between disbelief and the undeniable, absurd pull of the moment.  

“Y-you don’t find this weird?” Lucifer stammered, stepping back slightly, his spine still curled inward, his stomach churning with a discomfort he hadn’t felt in eons. His heart pounded in his chest, his mind racing to make sense of what was happening. Sexual gratification had been the furthest thing from his mind ever since...ever since Lilith had left. 

Left him.  

Left Charlie.  

The void she left behind still gnawed at him, hollow and aching.  

His clone, though identical in appearance, stood with an unsettling confidence – shoulders back, head high, eyes blazing with the kind of self-assurance Lucifer hadn’t felt in what seemed like a lifetime ago. He looked...powerful. Like the Lucifer of old, the one who once stood in Heaven, who knew without a doubt that the world was his, who believed in his bones that anything he desired was within his grasp. Seeing this version of himself now was both infuriating and intoxicating.  

“Listen,” the clone purred, his red pupils glittering with amusement. “This is basically masturbation.” His voice was silk, laced with cruel teasing. “Which I’m sure we’re very familiar with, considering that’s all you’ve been doing ever since our sweet, lovely wife left us.” 

Heat exploded across Lucifer’s cheeks; a hot, embarrassed flush that made him grit his teeth. “Hey!” he snapped, but his protest died in his throat. He couldn’t deny it. Hell, this was a conversation about himself, after all – his clone knew everything about him, every dark, shameful secret.  

The clone straightened up, his smirk deepening. “Right now, our soul is split in two. It’s warring with itself because this–” he gestured grandly down his body. “–is unnatural. Souls aren’t meant to be divided like this.” 

Lucifer’s shoulders slumped, the weight of his clone’s words pressing down on him. His fingers fidgeted with the smooth surface of his staff, his mind trying to latch onto anything other than the situation before him. “So...you thought the solution was to fuck until our souls...merged?” His voice cracked, half-disbelieving, half-hopeful.  

“Bingo!” The clone chuckled, his grin only growing as he began to undo the button of his pants with casual confidence. “Besides,” he added with a mischievous glint in his eye, “if it doesn’t work, at least we’ll both get to reach the heavens.” His eyebrows waggled suggestively, and his forked tongue flicked out from his lips in a teasing gesture.  

Lucifer grimaced, his stomach tightening with nerves. His eyes darted involuntarily over his clone’s body, and suddenly, he became painfully aware of his own form. It had been centuries since he had looked at himself bare – really looked. The sight of his clone now, so perfectly him and yet not, was jarring in a way that twisted his insides.  

“Ugh, that’s...that’s...,” Lucifer muttered, his gaze shifting awkwardly. His self-consciousness gnawed at him, a raw vulnerability that was difficult to swallow.  

“Hey, don’t act so shy now,” the clone cooed, his voice dripping with a smugness that Lucifer hated to recognize in himself. “That’s the same line we used on Lilith when we first made love to her.” With a single fluid motion, the clone let his pants drop, his cock hanging uncut and unaroused, swaying with a casual confidence that only heightened Lucifer’s unease.  

“Woah, woah, hey, now!” Lucifer blurted, stepping back, his eyes flicking between his clone’s cock and the infuriatingly cocky grin on his face. “Again, how exactly is fucking supposed to merge our souls back together?” 

His clone shrugged, taking a step forward, completely unbothered. “I dunno,” he said with an exaggerated nonchalance. “Maybe when we both reach ecstasy, our souls will resonate, vibrate, and then, bam, they’ll fuse back together. After all,” he added with a theatrical sweep of his arms, “God did give us these bodies for a reason. Pleasure, procreation – this is the ultimate gift to humanity! To enjoy and, of course, multiply!” 

The clone’s voice was all show, his arms raised dramatically like some kind of divine preacher. But there was a glimmer in his eyes – something dark, something knowing – that made Lucifer’s skin prickle with an undeniable mix of dread and curiosity.  

Lucifer frowned, his brows knitting together, confused. Something about the situation – about the words his clone had said – felt off. Deep down, a nagging sense of dread tugged at him, though he couldn’t quite place why. Before he could puzzle it out, he jolted at the sudden warmth of his cheek.  

His eyes darted up, meeting his own reflection. But it wasn’t just the unnerving intimacy of having his clone caress his face – it was the startling realization that the twisting pain in his gut had vanished, as if it had never been there at all.  

“Looks like I might be onto something,” his clone murmured, fingers already deftly working at Lucifer’s bow tie, loosening it with ease. Then came the buttons, each one undone with deliberate slowness.  

“W-wait,” Lucifer stammered, a surge of awkwardness and outright discomfort pounding in his chest. This wasn’t right – none of this was right. But when his clone’s fingers brushed against the bare skin of his chest, Lucifer felt a jolt – his nerves sparking with an odd, pleasant warmth that made his breath hitch.  

“Oh, fuck. What the fuck is happening?” Lucifer gasped, his body betraying him. There was a strange sense of completeness now, as though the fractures within him, the things that had felt so wrong and broken, were beginning to knit back together.  

“Told you so,” the clone said, smirking with that insufferably cocky tilt of his brow. His lips curved upward in a grin that made Lucifer’s stomach turned with unease. “Now, let’s get this show started.” 

Lucifer stood there, frozen, watching as his replica continued to undress, each piece of clothing discarded methodically. The pants came off easily, unbuttoned and unzipped in a single fluid motion before being kicked aside.  

Now, they stood face to face, naked and exposed, and for a moment, it was like staring into a mirror. Every inch of his clone’s body was a perfect reflection of his own – yet, it was the confidence, the smugness in the clone’s posture that set them worlds apart.  

“L-listen,” Lucifer mumbled, his shoulders tensing as they rose toward his ears. He swallowed hard, trying to ignore the lump of unease forming in his throat. “C-could you, I don’t know, shape-shift into someone else? Maybe it’d be easier to...ya know,” he trailed off, awkwardly circling his hand as his eyes flicked down to his own limp cock and them back to his clone’s. “And, uh, can I top? Not that I can’t take it, but I just...I prefer–” 

His clone let out a heavy sigh, cocking his head to the side as if he were disappointed by Lucifer’s hesitation.  “You seriously don’t feel it?” he asked, his voice dripping with impatience.  

Lucifer blinked, confusion settling deeper into his mind. Slowly, he reached inward, trying to gather his magic, to summon that familiar surge of power – but nothing happened. His breath hitched in his throat, eyes widening in panic. “Holy fu–” 

“Yep,” the clone interrupted, popping the “p” with a smug satisfaction. “You can’t access your magic. That’s because our soul is still split, dumbass.” 

Lucifer’s heart raced, the weight of the situation settling heavily onto his shoulders. For the first time, he felt the gravity of what was happening. He wasn’t just losing control – he had lost it. The realization made his stomach churn, but there was no turning back now.  

“Now that we’re on the same page about how serious this is,” the clone grinned, his teeth gleaming a pearly white that somehow made him appear even more unsettling. His expression was everything Lucifer wasn’t - confident, boisterous, and utterly sure of himself. It was a mockery of everything Lucifer had once been, and it made his skin crawl with unease. “Let’s fuck.” 

Lucifer swallowed hard, staring into his clone’s eyes, feeling a sick sense of inevitability creeping up on him. He wasn’t sure if he could go through with this – or if he even had a choice anymore.  

Lucifer lay on the bed, his body tense and awkward, his tail coiled tightly around his left leg like a lifeline, a small attempt at self-soothing. He felt exposed – no, worse than that. He felt like a blushing virgin, vulnerable in a way he hadn’t been in millennia. 

His hands instinctively covered his chest, as though that would somehow shield him from the surreal reality he was trapped in. His cock hung half-flaccid, a humiliating reminder of his physical reaction to something he desperately wished he didn’t want.  

His clone’s hand drifted up and down Lucifer’s abdomen, knuckles brushing the sensitive skin just below his navel, occasionally grazing the tip of his cock. Each fleeting touch sent shivers up Lucifer’s spine, and despite the disgust and shame swirling inside him, he couldn’t stop his body from responding. His cock hardened, growing with each touch, betraying the war raging in his mind.  

Lucifer squeezed his eyes shut, trying to block it all out. Shame burned through him like acid. How had it come to this? He was fucking his own clone. What kind of pathetic, twisted man had he become? 

What would Lilith say? The thought pierced through him like a dagger, and his heart clenched in pain. He could picture her now, her back turned to him, disgust etched into her face. She had always known his weakness, his flaws, but this – this was something else entirely. What would she think of him now?

What would Charlie think? His little girl – so full of light, so distant now. They barely spoke anymore. When they did, it was stilted, cold, and brief. She had left home centuries ago, and every passing year felt like another knife twisting in his gut. If she knew what he was doing right now, she wouldn’t just turn her back on him – she would hate him. 

A wave of loneliness crashed over him, and Lucifer’s heart sank. If only Lilith were here, none of this would be happening. Maybe he wouldn’t be alone. Maybe he’d still have his family.  

“Hey!” His clone’s voice snapped him out of his thoughts. Lucifer’s eyes flew open, his chest tightening in shock. His clone was holding his limp cock in his hand, its size reduced to something small, shrunken, and powerless. “Seriously?” the clone huffed in annoyance, dropping Lucifer’s cock as if it were nothing. “It’s like you don’t want to fix this.” 

Lucifer blinked, startled by the casual frustration in his own voice. The clone collapsed beside him on the bed, his back hitting the mattress with a lazy thud, folding his hands behind his head. “Well, I guess both of us are just going to cease to exist then. Painfully, I might add.” He paused, glancing at Lucifer with a knowing smirk. “And we’ll be leaving our girl behind.” 

Lucifer’s heart stopped for a moment. Then anger surged through him like a wildfire, scorching the shame and hesitation out of his chest. “Take that back,” he growled, sitting up, his fists clenching at his sides. “I’m going to be with my little girl for the rest of eternity.” He wanted to say that Charlie needed him, but deep down, he knew the truth – he needed her.  

The clone fell silent, his cocky grin faltering for the first time. For a brief moment, something softened in his expression, the sharp edges of his usual bravado dulling. “I know,” he said quietly. And of course, he knew. He washim, after all. He understood that deep, aching loneliness better than anyone.  

Lucifer’s breath caught; the room filled with an uncomfortable silence. He watched, still tense, as his clone snapped his fingers and slipped off the bed. Lucifer furrowed his brows, his eyes narrowing as he watched the bare backside of his clone exit the room. A strange sense of foreboding curled in his gut, but he couldn’t have guessed what was coming next.  

When his clone reappeared, Lucifer’s eyes widened in sheer horror. “Oh, hell no!” he yelled, sitting up straight in the bed, his nose wrinkling in disgust.  

His clone stood before him, draped in one of Lilith’s old purple dresses, the very sight of it sending a wave of nausea rolling through Lucifer. The dress – once regal and commanding on Lilith – was ill-fitting on his clone. It hung awkwardly off his frame, too long and dragging on the floor, with the chest sagging low enough to reveal his nipples. It was a mockery, and Lucifer couldn’t tear his eyes away.  

“What?” his clone asked, dragging the hem of the dress along the ground as he clambered back onto the bed. Lucifer immediately crossed his arms over his chest, looking away, his face twisted in revulsion.  

“Don’t be such a hypocrite,” the clone scoffed, rolling his eyes. “After Lilith left, you literally fucked your hand while smothering your face in her clothes.” 

Lucifer’s breath hitched, his mind reeling. He could feel the humiliation crashing over him like a tidal wave. His clone knew everything. Every shameful, pathetic moment. And now, dressed in Lilith’s gown, his clone was dragging him through the mud, forcing him to confront his deepest shame.  

It was too much, Lucifer clenched his jaw, trying to push back the flood of emotions rising inside him. But he couldn’t - because every word, every mocking gesture, was true.  

Lucifer’s shoulders sagged, the weight of those words pressing down on him like a heavy fog. His eyes stung with the threat of tears, but he quickly blinked them away, unwilling to let them fall. It had been hard enough, those dark nights after Lilith had left without so much as a goodbye.  

The days blurred into week, then months, until centuries have long gone by. Charlie had asked where her mother was, and Lucifer had found himself spinning hollow lies after lies. “She’s off doing important things,” he would say, his voice faltering. He never could come up with something more substantial – just the vague notion of “important” being all he had to offer.  

And poor Charlie believed him, trusted her father’s words when Lucifer slowly sank into a dark spiral. The pain gnawed at him, and day by day, he closed off his heart to everything that once mattered. He had locked himself away, isolated, while his daughter’s belief in him, in them, lingered like an unbearable weight.  

Lucifer shook his head, physically trying to shove those thoughts back down into the depths of his mind where they belonged. He couldn’t afford to think about that right now. He had to face what was in front of him – himself.“Alright, let’s just get this over with,” he muttered, his voice strained.  

His clone cocked an eyebrow, smirking. “Geez, don’t sound too eager,” he mocked, his tone dripping with sarcasm. “And here I went, dressing up nice and pretty for you.” 

Lucifer rolled his eyes, the familiar sting of frustration bubbling up. “You’re such an ass.” He paused, realizing the irony – that all his insults were essentially directed at himself. His clone’s smirk only widened in response to Lucifer’s damning realization. 

“Relax,” his clone sighed, the weight of the moment shifting as he leaned forward, the bed creaking beneath him. He straddled Lucifer’s hips, the long dress pooling awkwardly around them, one sleeve slipping off his shoulder in a parody of seduction. “Let’s just do what we always do.” 

Lucifer swallowed hard, his throat tightening as he felt the warmth of his clone’s body settle on top of him. It was strange – unnerving – but grounding in a way. The warmth, the weight, it made it all feel too real.  

His clone pressed his hard cock against Lucifer’s, and the contact sent a ripple of heat down his spine. A hand planted itself beside Lucifer’s head as his clone leaned down, his breath brushing his ear. “Close your eyes,” he whispered, and Lucifer listened, squeezing them shut.  

A slow exhalation escaped him as he let his hands rest at his sides, the tension is his body slowly easing. He felt the blood pooling between his legs, rushing to his cock, filling him with a familiar heat he hadn’t felt in so long. His clone’s voice came again, softer this time. “Just focus on feeling good.” 

Lucifer shivered as his clone’s hand wrapped around both their cocks, the sensation of their skin sliding together igniting something deep within him. He let out a shaky moan, his body betraying the shame that still clawed at the edges of his mind. It had been so long since he’d allowed himself to feel like this – to indulge in something that wasn’t soaked in guilt or regret.  

This is just masturbation, he told himself, nothing more than that.  

In the darkness behind his closed eyes, Lucifer focused on the feel of their bodies pressed together. The heat of his clone’s cock, the hard, throbbing shaft rubbing against his own. His clone moved slowly, gliding up and down, the sensitive ridges of their heads catching against each other in a way that made Lucifer’s breath hitch. Every touch, every movement was fire burning on his skin.  

“Oh...” Lucifer moaned, his head falling back into the pillow. “This feels really good,” he whispered, the words slipping out unbidden, soft and full of need.  

His clone stayed silent, his hips rocking steadily, methodically. But then, unexpectedly, he stopped. Lucifer’s eyes fluttered open just as he felt a sharp tug on his tail. Pain and pleasure crashed together, sending a shock through his body. “Oh, fuck!” he gasped, his hips jerking forward as a bead of pre-cum dripped from the tip of his cock.  

His clone shifted lower, settling between Lucifer’s legs. His cock jutted out, red-tipped and aching, and Lucifer’s breath hitched again as his clone lowered his head. The forked tongue slipped from his clone’s lips, teasing the slit of Lucifer’s cock, dipping just slightly into the sensitive opening before swirling around the shaft. The sensation was maddening, the wet heat of his tongue sending Lucifer spiralling further into pleasure.  

Lucifer’s chest heaved, his fingers clenching at the sheets beneath him as the world around him faded away, leaving nothing but the intense, unbearable feeling of his clone’s mouth on him.  

With a soft moan, Lucifer’s clone took him deeper, enveloping the length of his cock in the wet, tight heat of his mouth. The slurping, obscene noises filled the room, echoing the rhythmic sounds of pleasure.  

Lucifer’s hips trembled, the desperate urge to thrust upward nearly overwhelming him as the sensation of his dick being sucked, and his balls gently fondled took him over. It had been so long – too long since he felt anything like this.  

“Oh, fuuuck,” Lucifer groaned, his voice thick with lust, barely able to string the words together. “Oh, fuck, so good...ah, fuck...I could...I could do this forever,” he whimpered, his control slipping away entirely.  

A sharp tug on his tail sent a fresh wave of heat surging through him, driving him closer to the edge. His entire body tensed, hips twitching upward, seeking more.  

But then, just as he felt himself teetering near the brink of release, the warm, wet sensation disappeared. Lucifer whimpered as his cock slipped free from his clone’s mouth, slick and throbbing, twitching in the air as he watched through pleasure-hazed eyes.  

His clone spit on him, thick strings of saliva drenching his cock, glistening and dripping as Lucifer’s breath hitched in his throat. The sight of it, the feel of it, was maddening.  

His clone moved with purpose, stripping off Lilith’s old dress in one fluid motion and pressing it against Lucifer’s face. The fabric was worn, the scent long faded, but the texture was enough to flood him with memories of Lilith – moments when they were still a family, still whole.  

His breath hitched again as the tight, hot sensation of his clone’s body enveloped his dick. Both of them moaned in unison, the feeling almost unbearable in its intensity.  

The dress slipped down from Lucifer’s face, and through one half-lidded eye, he watched himself – his clone – riding him, bouncing on his cock with a smooth, fluid motion. Pre-cum dripped from his clone’s own throbbing erection, every downward thrust sending pleasure coursing through Lucifer’s veins. The mix of his own spit and the warm, tight heat made each movement feel decadent, sinful, and utterly overwhelming.  

“Oh, shit, I’m gonna come,” Lucifer gasped, his hands gripping the blanket as he buried his face into the fabric of Lilith’s dress, the scent and feel of it sending his mind spiralling into the past.  

He pretended, if only for a moment, that it was her – her body he was inside, her warmth he was losing himself to. “Lilith, fuck...Lilith,” he moaned, his voice cracking as tears welled up in his eyes. He squeezed them shut, trying to conjure her face, her presence, the way she had once made him feel whole.  

His clone wasn’t stopping, wasn’t slowing. The movements grew more intense, and with another sharp tug on Lucifer’s tail, his body jerked, arching uncontrollably as the sensation ripped through him. The shaft of his tail slipped between his balls, sending sharp electric shocks of pleasure up his spine. “I’m gonna come... oh, honey, I–” His voice broke as he cried out, “I love you; I love you, Lily!” The nickname tumbled from his lips, raw and vulnerable, a name he hadn't dared utter in centuries.  

With a final thrust, Lucifer’s body tensed, his cock throbbing violently as he released inside his clone. Hot, milky seed spilled out, his hips jerking helplessly as the tight walls around him squeezed, milking every drop of his orgasm. The intensity of it left him breathless, his body trembling as waves of pleasure washed over him in relentless bursts.  

When the haze of his climax began to fade, Lucifer opened his eyes, panting heavily. His eyes fell on his clone, now slumped over him, their breaths mingling in the space between them.  

For the first time, in the daze of post-orgasmic bliss, the pain that had clawed at his soul for so long felt muted, distant. His chest still ached, but it was dulled, the sharp edges softened.  

It was only then that Lucifer noticed the sticky warmth coating his torso. His clone had finished too, his seed splattered across Lucifer’s chest and the dress, ruining it with their release. Slowly, his clone leaned forward, their faces close, mirroring each other in a strange, intimate silence.  

In a way, his clone had been right. For just this moment, the jagged, hollow incompleteness inside Lucifer was quieted.  

As the clone began to fade, his form becoming more transparent with every passing second, he spoke with softness that felt like a balm for Lucifer’s aching soul. “It’s okay to miss her,” the clone murmured, his forehead resting gently against Lucifer’s. The words felt like a distant echo, resonating in the deepest part of him. “It’s okay to be sad, to be confused, to be hurt.” 

Lucifer could only stare, his reflection looking back at him – his own voice giving life to the words he long buried, the truths he had tried to ignore. The sound of it, the sincerity, was almost unbearable.  

“It’s okay to have days when you hate yourself and days when you love yourself,” the clone continued, his body growing lighter and lighter, as if slipping away with each breath. His eyes closed, and Lucifer noticed just how fragile his clone had become. “But don’t lose sight of what you have now. You haven’t lost everything, and nothing is ever too late.” 

Lucifer’s lips quivered, his chest tightening with a raw emotion he hadn’t allowed himself to feel in eons. His hands trembled by his sides, frozen in place, as his eyes began to sting, his throat tightening painfully. His voice cracked, barely a whisper. “How do you know I haven’t lost everything?” The floodgates opened, and the vulnerability poured out like a torrent. “My wife left me. Charlie won’t even look at me. I created this awful place because of my foolish dream...so...” he took in a shuddering breath, “h-how could you say that?” 

For the first time in centuries, Lucifer felt his heart split wide open, the weight of the pain he had been carrying for so long threatening to crush him. The depressive cloud that had suffocated him for so long was lifting, revealing the gaping wound beneath. “You don’t know a single thing,” he whispered, his voice trembling, on the edge of breaking entirely.  

The clone’s eyes fluttered open, but now Lucifer could see right through him – his body almost entirely transparent, as if he was a shadow of a memory. “I know that Charlie is still here,” the clone said softly. “I know that I love my daughter very much, that I would do anything for her.” His voice was steady, filled with conviction, as he reached up and placed a fading hand on Lucifer’s shoulder. “And hey, she’s my little girl, my whole world.��So, I would say I still have everything within my reach.” 

That smile – the one Lucifer hadn’t seen on his own face in what felt like a lifetime – flashed across the clone’s face, bright and filled with hope. “I just need to reach for her, and I know she’ll accept me. I know because I’m you, dummy.” His voice was so gentle, and yet it pierced through every barrier Lucifer had built around his heart.  

With those final words, the clone dissipated into nothing, vanishing like smoke, leaving Lucifer alone in the room. But as his mirror image faded, Lucifer felt something begin to mend inside of him – a slow, painful process as his soul tried to stitch itself back together.  

Yet, even as he felt a sense of repair, his chest ached with an unbearable weight, a heaviness that pressed down on him like a physical force.  

A tear slipped down his cheek, and with it came a broken, self-deprecating laugh that echoed through the empty space. He was still draped in Lilith’s old dress, his body bare beneath the fabric, his torso sticky with his own release. The absurdity of it all hit him at once, and he laughed – laughed until the sound turned into a sob.  

He had turned his back on his greatest fear for so long, choosing the safety of solitude over the vulnerability of facing what truly terrified him; his own heartbreak. For centuries, it had been easier to shut himself away, to protect his fragile ego, to numb himself to the pain. But now, in the quiet aftermath of everything, he realized that his heart had been breaking all along.  

Every day he spent alone, every day he pretended that he didn’t care, it shattered just a little more.  

The tears came in waves, and he let them. He cried for all that he had lost, for the family he had once had, for the years of silence that had driven him deeper into his own despair. But he also cried because, for the first time, he understood that he hadn’t lost everything. Not yet.  

There was still time.  

Follow #vexitober 2024 to read my questionable kink/fluff stories!

[demigods-posts]

Hi 👋👋

I dont typically send asks, and especially not without being anon. I am a mostly silent participant on tumblr and I have been for years. But I have to say something

It is so refreshing seeing big pro pjo posters able to criticize Riordan. I am not sure if this is just in my little corner of tumblr and maybe other people can tell me if it is the same for them but as far as I can see, you and lilislegacy are the big pjo posters on here. Is that just my dash? But I feel like mostly everyone in the tumblr fandom knows you guys, though I have known about you for longer. And when the book came out and I saw all the issues I fully expected everyone, especially you guys, throwing your full support behind the book and Riordan. So I cant tell you how happy I am that you are calling him out. The post you made today about not understanding why he is making Percy dumb again is so true! It’s not ok because self deprecation shouldnt be glorified. When he wrote Percy has a powerful hero, nobody was upset about it. Adult readers loved how much he had grown and kid readers looked up to him and found it exciting. In the last PJO book and in all Heroes of Olympus Riordan made Percy strong and heroic in addition to kind and funny, which made people happy. It made kids want to be like that. But now these kids are reading about him being so mean to himself. This is not okay! This should not be the example! Kids should not be reading that it’s ok for your friends and loved ones to treat you like an idiot. Riordan should be continuing to write about Percy growing up and maturing and becoming a good man who is content with who he is, not becoming more immature and more self deprecating and treated worse by his friends.

Sorry, I didnt mean to go off. But I just think its refreshing and brave how you are calling him out, no matter how much you have praised him and his books in the past. This fandom is dangerously loyal to him, and it quickly can become toxic and problematic when no one can criticize the author himself. So thank you for what you are doing. I admire it a lot and I hope you keep it up to some extent because we need it so bad

@lilislegacy if you want to add to this, feel free <3

Thank you so much for reaching out, and for being so kind! I hold the series in such high regard, so critiquing it makes me so nervous, especially since my blog is fairly well-known throughout the fandom. I really do love the series and I stand by the fact that there is so much good to come from the recent books, but with that comes some not-so-good. The consistent mockery of Percy's intelligence, the satirical characterization of Percy and Annabeth, and the seeming erasure of certain character and story arcs in the recent books are disappointing, and I enjoy having the space to express my opinion. While I have such love the series, I am open to having respectful discourse about Rick's recent writing choices, and I will engage in more in due time. Thank you again for your kind words and support!

[joelsbeard]

oh em gee i’ve literally js found ur blog and i’m in loveeeeeeee

would you be willing to give us your hcs about young!joel and readers first time?? i’m such a whore for that man<33

Hihi!! Thank you you are are so sweet 😊also thank you for the ask :) the tlou fandom for sure needs more pre-outbreak!joel content!!!! I am starved for that shit. I love hot and old ass dilf joel don't get me wrong but mannnn he was so cute when he was younger 🥲 such a lil cutie.

I've never actually thought about this because my mind always jumps to once joel and reader are in an established relationship hehe or when they're dating but not quite official yet. I'm not sure about these hc's tbh, I hope you like them!!

To start off, I don't think joel was a player in high school at ALL. Though of course, with his damn looks he could be. I might even go as far as to say I think he could sometimes give off golden retriever energy? Maybe once he gets to know you. I don't think he'd be 100% golden retriever energy lol definitely not, thats tommy haha. I imagine him only having had 1 or 2 girlfriends in high school, bc like i said i don't think he'd be a player. Flirty with multiple girls at most but I think that might be pushing it.

For some reason I feel like you would be his second girlfriend lol, with the first being eh bc you know how dating is in high school. He probably would've tried some stuff with her (😡) but still inexperienced by the time he meets you.

After some time flirting, you guys go on a couple of dates and you both really really like each other, then afterwards is when you two finally decide to take the next step 🙈

He would never pressure you to do anything you don't want, because joel miller is a gentleman!!!

Your first time would probably be at yours or his house when you were able to find time alone since he would want y'alls first time to be special

The first time you see his dick you probably panic a little and he sees the blood drain from your face because he's definitely on the more gifted side (both in girth and length ;) ), but he just pulls you in close and reassures you that it's okay if you change your mind, he doesn't want to pressure you ❤️

This is the first time y'all have ever seen each other naked and he tells you "you're so beautiful" while he kisses down your neck to your chest

Ofc he makes you cum on his fingers once or twice to make sure you're ready and comfortable, and you try to reciprocate and give him a handjob first but shortly after you start he tells you to save it for another time, otherwise he'll bust a nut before he even goes inside you because he's so horny for you LOL

You struggle a little when he first pushes inside you because he's just so big, and he tells you "take your time baby" while rubbing his thumbs across your cheeks and kissing your forehead and nose as you take more and more of him

Once he bottoms out you both sigh and you tell him to give you a minute as you adjust to him, ofc he does as you ask but you can tell he's eager to start moving inside you and he almost starts shaking with the anticipation hahahah

You have your legs wrapped around his back as well as both arms, with one hand cradling the back of his head and tangled in his soft hair as you hold his head down to yours, and he's holding himself up above you with his forearms caging your head in

Once you get used to feeling him inside you, you tell him he can start to move slowly, so he just rocks back and forth in you while y'all are making out and grinding on each other like theres no tomorrow LMAO

He lets you finish first but he comes almost right afterwards inside you, and then you guys are just laying there in your post-nut bliss✨ before he slides out of you and gets a towel to wipe you down ❤️

Then you just lay in bed together and cuddle and kiss each other as he asks you "was that okay?" and you hold his adorable face in your hands and say "it was perfect" and give him a lil kiss on the nose because he's so cute

After that, y'all be fuckin like rabbits for sure LMAO until your last days 🙏🏼 HHAHAH

I hope I did your thoughts justice hehe, i was NOT expecting to write this much lol

[lucid-ivory]

COD men & equestrian reader

characters: ghost, soap, gaz, price & alejandro X female reader

genre: fluff, platonic, slight crack?

format: bullet headcanons/ bullet fanfic idk

summary: one of the operators of the task force seems to be *too* good at horse riding and it's the last thing they expected

notes: reader is young, this is for all the equestrians if there are any in this fandom😭 and characters may be a bit ooc + this is very long and VERY specific

ghost

has never ridden horses, wasn't planning on it

saw you as somebody interesting when he first saw you on a big horse

you seemed really confident so he just went along with it

little did he know

he was gangsta until you started cantering

like okay, maybe you just wanted to impress your teammates since everyone was watching

he knows shit about position, leg aids and all that so you could be doing anything wrong and he wouldn't realize

he slightly raises his eyebrows when he sees you approaching a big ass jump

like where u goin?????

it's one of those 1.30m oxers

he thinks you're taking it too far

he was already impressed by your skills, why would you jump that high

he's prepared to see you on the ground

obviously a horse goes faster the higher the jump is

the fact that you keep up with the animal is already making him feel like "huh?"

when he sees the horsey getting on his two legs and ready to jump he feels humbled

you're perfectly fine, you can keep up with the horse's speed and you seem proud of yourself

by this point it's already obvious that it wasn't your first time

now that he sees your confidence and level, he would like to see you jumping higher

he doesn't really know how high a horse can jump anyway

(for general knowledge, the record is 2,47meters)

after a few more small and bigger jumps, you go for one that's 1.50m

(which is usually the height of competitions)

you do it casually, enjoying the moment. the horse jumps well and looks sick as fuck, which equestrians call "scope"

so you yell out

"SCOPEY!"

smiling all wide and happy

he mishears it and thinks you're talking about somebody scoping with a sniper or something

everything is going smooth, the horse listens to you and you are humiliating many olympic riders because you are "y/n" and y/n is perfect

the horse is fast, very fast and you're going for the next jump again

but who is y/n without a bit of trouble

the horse refuses to jump, stopping abruptly right in front of the obstacle

but you stayed on because you're cool like that

it did "shake" you a little, you were preparing yourself for a jump after all

but your seat is great and you managed to control the horse

ghost was scared, not expecting the animal to stop at that speed

you knocked a few poles and he offered to put them back for you

you're a crazy bitch so you decided to ride a young horse

and young horses are sometimes spicy

bucking, rearing or getting scared for everything

he's surprised at how calm you look when the horse is like a bull around the arena

when you finally lose your balance and fall off, you manage to fall smoothly on your feet

he's scared, thought you were going to be hurt

"DID YOU SEE THAT?"

how were you so calm?

you just fell off

the horse is still bucking around the arena and you're laughing

soap

i have 0 idea of scottish dialect

in fact i cannot understand it if a scottish person speaks to me so this will be hard

soap is next to ghost, he sees you jumping

you know the position riders do in order to jump? almost standing up and bending over the horse's neck

he checks you out for a milisecond when you do that

apart from that, he's impressed

why are you flying

how are you keeping yourself on the animal with only two irons on your feet and holding some leather in your hands

get down from there

you're just smiling while casually jumping 1.50m

when the horse stopped in front of the jump, he almost screamed

"shit"

he just murmured

smirked when he saw how you stayed on

gg well played

ghost put the poles up for you again after you knocked them down and smiles slightly as you struggle to convince the horse to jump

great horsemanship, or horsewomanship

you let the horse approach the jump and smell it so they calm down

he has no idea what's going on but he thinks you're very gentle for that

eventually you make it over that jump and he feels very happy for you!

then you fall off and he thinks it's badass how you fell on your feet

STANDING UP

so you get on again

when you're done jumping and you're trotting around, you want to show off

"did you see that, Lt?" he asks Ghost, and he simply nods.

while trotting, you play a little bit with the horse's controls

WASD to move shift to crouch ctrl to run ,,, jk

you start doing little dressage tricks

those ones that look so elegant and the horse is almost dancing

passage, piaffe, etc (look that up, it's BEAUTIFUL).

the horse is so cutely and smoothly bouncing and you're embracing the elegance

this is all probably happening while you're in your spec ops gear but it's okay

soap is surprised, ghost next to him simply admires

"why is the horse doin' that?"

he thinks it's pretty, but why and how would a horse move like that

"oh, you're telling him to do that?"

then he realizes you're the one using your legs and amazing skills to make the horse do all that

would like to see you in the classic equestrian competition look

gaz

okay what the fuck

he now understands where all of your leg & core strength is coming from

mans is flabbergasted but secretly wants to keep looking at you

i headcanon that he did ride horses in one of those school trips maybe or something of sorts

and i don’t think he would want to do it again

when you’re about to fall at that speed in front of the jump he’s a bit scared for you, immediately feeling the relief when you’re still on and not on the ground

when you actually do fall but it’s obvious you didn’t get hurt he simply smiles

he knew it was going to happen

but then you got on the horse again and he was like ???

why?

he appreciates your enthusiasm but visibly relaxes when you stop jumping and you stick to a more slow pace

“are you trying to impress us?”

girl you were in full uniform geared up & everything and you casually made the horse do the most complex and supreme movements that literally any other rider would kill for

you DID NOT do that for your own pleasure

gaz did appreciate a little bit more the horse’s posture

y’know ‘collection’ and all that, when the horse walks all pretty with their head down

he was not as clueless as soap and that’s why he teased you

you simply giggled and he smiled in response

now…

why was the horse drifting how did you do that

the horse was casually trotting but you did a few subtle changes (that he didn’t see) and now the horse trots in diagonal

almost crossing his feet while trotting

HOW

he raises his eyebrows

he thinks that this is a useless trait for a soldier cuz i’m telling you no police horse does cute little steps like wth

but even if it’s a useless trait for a soldier, it’s a great ability for who he considers almost a sister

he’s very happy for you and constantly cheers you up and then may ask a question or two about how did you do that

the moment you start explaining technically with all the “WELL YOU PUT YOUR OUTSIDE LEG AND THEN THE HEAD HAS TO LOOK SLIGHTLY INTO THE INSIDE WITHOUT BENDING THE NECK—“ he gets scared

he thought it was easier

+10 appreciation because it really is hard

price

let me tell you this man is almost shaking

he trusts your skills but he knows you're also young and you may not act responsible in order to just feel adrenaline or to impress somebody

while you jump, he holds his breath and then he releases it when you actually land perfectly

just like gaz, he relaxes a lot when you stick to the slower pace

he loves to see your reflexes in other contexts, such as riding

very proud of how you fell on your feet when the horse was bucking but appreciated it even more when you actually wanted to get on again

since this man is older i think he would have ridden horses in his golden era but not as in equitation, more like simply going for trail rides

he considers everyone in the team his little siblings, and since you appeared he may have this father instinct

he helps you with the stirrups and to tighten the girth

loves seeing you happy while riding, he thinks you deserve it knowing how young you are and how easier it is for you to get stressed with all the work

he tells everybody not to approach the horse's back because they may kick

"the horse has a green ribbon on his tail. he's young" he explains proudly to the rest of the team

(he didn't know shit about this, you told him about the ribbon meanings a while ago)

I HAVE THIS FEELING THAT HE WOULD RECORD YOU AND ACCIDENTALLY GET HIS FINGER ON THE CAMERA

this man would probably ride with you

"i don't need a saddle, i'm used to riding bareback"

he does need a saddle.

i feel like if he rides with you and he trots or something he would slightly hurt his back because his position wouldn't really be great

(there was a time where my back hurt like hell too because i didn't know how to canter properly LMAO)

would count strides with you between each jump

i feel like he would like english thoroughbreds

man worships secretariat probably (he'd be so real for that)

jockey potential

don't talk to him about technique

he genuinely thinks it's stressing

the whole "outside rein inside leg, shoulders back, chin up, heels down" shit is very much complex to him

he actually thinks that he would be able to race a horse

can't lie, i think so too (i almost fall while walking)

would pat the horse when you stand next to him

when you dismount, if you are the kind of person that kinda just throws themselves off the horse (i have no idea how to gently and normally dismount) he'll be behind you to slightly grab your waist or back to keep you in place in case you lose balance

ALL PLATONIC

when you're done riding he offers to keep you company while you go to the horses stall

he thinks the horse is following you because you're not holding the reins or anything and he's surprised at the bond between you and the animal

he doesn't know that YOU are actually following the horse because he just wants to go to his stall and eat

when the horsey starts eating, price would approach him and look at him

would be startled when the horse has his ears laying flat on his skull

horsey doesn't want anybody near his food

would help you carry the saddle

if he's brave enough he will try and give a carrot to the horse

if you start picking the hooves after riding, he would be slightly concerned

"does this hurt the horse"

he is like a man proud of his daughter

100% would go to see you in competitions

alejandro

GRRRRRRRR

"vamos, vaquera!"

he would constantly try to cheer you up and would smile widely while you do your "little" jumps

would probably prefer western riding because y'know... los vaqueros

he would probably crush on you a little

i feel like he saw showjumping many times but he is still surprised to see a horse jumping that high in person

i think he's almost the only one that isn't scared when he sees you jumping. if you approach the big jumps so confidently then you know what you're doing

he would actually want to ride with you too, he's so excited

wants to feel like a true vaquero and the first step is riding a horse

i'm sure he focuses on your legs and sees the aids and cues you give to the horse to make different tricks or play with his speed

he looks at your posture and everything like he knows about it or something

he's the kind of person that would surprise you

horses tend to follow each other so whatever you do with your horse, his horse does it with him.

you look back at him when you are both cantering and you smile AT HOW GOOD HE IS

his hips sway back and forth smoothly following the horse's back

his lower leg moves a little but nothing too serious

you felt like he was really close to jumping the 1.50 and reveal he was a showjumper too or something

and the rest of the team didn't expect alejandro to be so good either

you lower the jumps to like 0.50m and you both try to jump

he doesn't jump it perfectly, but he doesn't fall either

impressive for a beginner

trust me he did try to ride your horse and do the same dressage tricks as you but it didn't really work

quickly dismounted after that, he saw the horse bucking and doesn't wanna fall off

after that, i feel like he would get more interested in barrel racing and other western disciplines

he wants to take off the helmet and ride with those cowboy hats.

(saveahorserideacowboy)

you don't let him do that

dangerous D:

he appreciates it, thinks you care a lot for him

he thinks riding together is a new form of bonding for you two.

that was long, i warned all of you

please remember that my requests are open and i'd love to see and write what anyone says!

[bisexual-horror-fan]

Do-Over-December 1st. "Pretty Little Present." Freddy Kruger X FEM! AFAB! Reader.

So back in 2020, I did this lovely little event called Kinky December, basically I wrote over 40k of fics for the month of December following along with a writing event another user in the slasher fandom posted. It was a super fun thing honestly and I was thinking, it's been three fucking years since that event. Why not, revist these fics I wrote and revamp and beef em up?! I know I've been very absent and thought this would be a fantastic way to try and get back into the groove. My intention is to update and improve upon these fics, length, more detail, change shit up a bit and have fun. My gift to you this holiday season is this, the constant commitment to better my craft and show how far I've come. Now let's get into it!

---

Rating. Explicit. Length. 2.4K. (Old Length 1.7K) Warnings: Lingerie. Teasing. Dirty Talk. Knifeplay. Bloodplay. Glove Porn. Manhandling. Choking. Thigh Riding. Pet Names. Implied Established Hookups. Possessiveness. Domineering Attitude. Light Degradation. Freddy Just Being A Bastard As Always.

---

You hadn’t discussed it previously, but to be perfectly fair, you never discussed much of anything while you were together. Freddy always had other plans in mind for your pretty little mouth other than talking, many a night he preferred to treat his ears to the sound of your muffled and wet gagging with his hand on the back of your head as opposed to petty conversation. 

When the idea first hit you initially brushed it off, no way, too ridiculous and yet the thought refused to leave, the musing wore you down until you find yourself in the mall full of shoppers eager to get their holiday splurging over with. You were in the mall picking up gifts for other people and when you walked by that particular store the idea hit once more, and you considered it. The idea didn’t leave you all afternoon and midway through you decided that yes, you would. You left it for last because you still felt almost silly for really choosing to commit to this. 

You’d shopped in here before but never for something like this, your previous purchases were for more every day use, out of necessity and this was much more frivolous. Fingers linger as you search through racks and open drawers, trying to find just the right combination to, no pun intended, set him on fire. When you did find it, you were fucking giddy about it. 

Dear God, it was positively perfect. He would love it, Hell, you loved it too, you knew down to your bones that you would feel confident and sexy in it and as you were checking out you wondered why you never thought of doing this sooner.

You knew he was going to see you tonight. He never talked to you directly and told you when, but he had a little pattern, you had figured out with decent accuracy the nights he would pay you a visit. It had been a few days, there was no doubt in your mind that he would be anything but hungry and would seek you out.

It did look good. You looked good. You were looking at yourself in the mirror, and you wanted to laugh at the effect he’d had on you, turning and admiring your own ass with a thought of, “Like a dream come true.” His cheesy puns and terrible jokes have rubbed off on you more than you liked to admit out loud.

Silky and sheer stockings creeping up your legs, thigh high of course, the tops of them lacy, intricate patterns you traced absentmindedly with your fingertips as your eyes continued to rove over yourself. The garter belt holding said stockings up was cinched at your waist, the panties were so barely there you seriously wondered if they even qualified as such. The bustier corset style top was to die for, what it did to your tits alone made the price seem worth it. And of course it all matched perfectly, red and lacy fit the season and his tastes perfectly, I mean you’d be a fool not to get the whole set, really. It left very little to the imagination, and you were certain he’d enjoy it.

Was the robe entirely unnecessary? Yes. Did it hang off of your frame beautifully and elevate the whole look? Naturally. Besides, it was a gift, and you normally never brought yourself this kinda thing, it was the holidays, and you’d been very fucking generous to all the people you care about, why not be a bit generous to yourself too? You deserved to feel this good about yourself. 

You climbed into bed that night wrapped in soft and smooth clingy fabrics that accentuated your assets, a pretty little present, all for him. 

Falling asleep was a challenge, simply due to the excitement you felt to see his reaction to your present for him. When you did fall asleep it took awhile for you to notice, which wasn’t unusual, becoming aware of the shift was hard, it was almost always muddy, until you heard him, that made you come to your senses real quick.

“There you are, kitten, took you a minute to get here, tonig-oh.”

You couldn’t hide your smile, you wanted to turn to face him, but there was no need, he was already on you.

His presence could be felt over your shoulder, your back nearly on his chest, you could feel the heat that radiated off of him. You felt his non-gloved hand on your shoulder, it started there and dragged up slowly, the back of his knuckles coming over the side of your throat and up over your cheek. His fingers hook, and he pulls some of your hair aside, exposing more of your throat to him, he leaned in closer and whispered in your ear, “What’s all this, hmm?”

What happened to all of that confidence of yours? It always seemed to dry up relatively quickly around him. Suppressing a shiver, you instead ground yourself but lacing your fingers together in front of yourself, responding simply with, “A gift.” 

You felt his lips brush the shell of your ear as his head pitched forward slightly, he let out this terrible low laugh that made your skin prickle in a way that made you want to squirm. Next you felt the tips of the blades on his glove brush your hip, even through the sheer material of your robe the steel felt terribly cold, then again the robe was there for how it looked, not for any warmth it could provide.

“For me?” 

His question was met with a simple nod in response from you. 

That glove of his moved higher, the clink of metal on metal had started to condition you, hearing it would make you want to press your thighs together and would begin the slow drip of arousal. He pulled some of the material as he went, the soft fabric felt so good sliding against your skin, that small twinge of fear when his glove was on you was present was also welcome, it isn’t a hindrance, instead it adds to the feeling and experience. 

“You shouldn’t have.” He hums.

Fucking Christ, that voice of his affected you on the best of days, but when it was right in your ear? It made the current problem of your ever increasingly wet underwear infinitely worse for you. It was far too early for you to be having this much trouble, but he was just on you aggressively, you had no time to adjust like you usually did, he left you no personal space. The second he saw you tonight, his hands were on you. Yet you made yourself press onward, made yourself speak, and tried to hide how turned on you were already becoming.

“I wanted to.”

That pulled another laugh from him, and to be fair it was funny. The very idea of you spending hard-earned money on a gift for him, money that you could have spent on friends or family, or on yourself in a better way, you spent instead on fancy lingerie to wear for your murderous dream demon fuck buddy. 

The fact that you meant it? That you had wanted to get him something? Hilarious.

The fact that you were actually hoping to impress him, please him? That was downright hysterical.

He sounded pleased as punch as he responded, thoroughly amused and still groping at your body. “My, my what a remarkable little slut you are. And here I didn’t get you anything.”

Him speaking pulled you from your thoughts, non-gloved hand on your throat from behind, glove on your waist, and he manhandled you, turning you around, looking you up and down. It was far too quiet right now, you wanted to squirm from how intensely he was looking at you, wanting to shift your weight from one foot to the other. 

You broke the silence first, desperate to fill the space, to distract yourself from how he looked at you, “I didn’t tell you I was doing this, it’s fine, you didn’t get me something.”

Eyes flicked up, and his gaze met yours, a lecherous grin breaking out on his face, leaning closer as he teases, “All the more reason. I didn’t have to ask, and you did all this.”

He clearly appreciated your effort, that was made all the more obvious as his hands pushed open your robe. More exposed flesh on display he took the opportunity and one of the blades of his glove dragged over that strip of exposed skin between the lace edge of the bottom of your bustier and the top of your garter belt. You weren’t sure whether to lean in or pull away, the touch was featherlight, and it didn’t break the skin, but fuck, you wanted him to.

You wanted him to do what he did best, overwhelm you in every single way possible, pleasure and pain, doesn’t matter, you wanted it all. 

You let him touch you. In whatever way he wished to, and you enjoyed it as always. Fingertips dragging over any exposed skin, pulling on straps and feeling the lace roughly, dipping in occasionally, teasing you with the threat of more. 

What was his goal, agony or ecstasy? Always hard to tell with him, it could be either, or more usually, both, and you wouldn’t have minded whatever he provided. Your eyes had fallen closed, and you were simply enjoying feeling, and then you felt the drag of that blade over your thigh, and it drew a shuddering breath from you, the first cut of the night always was special, this one hurt, burned in a particularly delicious way.

It took a moment for you to realize, you felt the warmth and wetness soaking into your stocking, your eyes flying back open, gaze falling down and there it was. A hole in the red sheer material, matching the one in your skin. He cut you again as you watched, harsh inhale through your teeth, blood blooming, darker red staining the more candy apple colour of your lingerie and fuck you loved that sight almost as much as he did, something that changed in you definitely because of him.

He didn’t stop there. “You look like you want to say something.”

A singular blade dragged up and hooked into one of the straps of your garter belt, a pause, he looked up into your eyes, and you looked back. He moved again without breaking eye contact, he cut and severed the thin red strap that helped hold your stocking up in two. From that small motion you let out a quiet sound of protest and looked down, hand finding the split strap and feeling it, examining it with a small frown, he didn’t stop. Dragging the blades back up, thin lines cut again, splitting apart the delicate sheer material and lace as he went.

You did want to say something. You spent good money on this, and he was ruining it, you hadn’t even had it for a full day, and it was decently expensive, yet here was he was shredding it without a single fucking care, but you knew better than to talk back to him most nights.

The next motion was quick, a sharp upward jerk of his hand and he made another cut, bigger, much bigger, nearly splitting the top in two, nicking you in the process. When one of those blades hooked into one of the straps on your shoulder you finally spoke up, unable to be silent any longer, what you said next might have been meaner than necessary. “What the fuck do you think you are doing, Freddy!?”

And then you were pushed into the nearby wall, back hitting the concrete so hard the wind is knocked out of you, his non-gloved hand on your throat, holding you in place firmly. His leg slots in between yours, and he leans in, closer than he has been all night. 

"This is my present, isn't it?"

You struggled and when you did it put more pressure on your still clothed pussy, you were so wet you were sure you’d leave a stain on his pants, yet he pressed harder. He always made it so hard to think, and you choked out pathetically, "Ah, wha-what?"

He made you grind on him, his hand tightened on your throat, and he made sure you repeated the motion, dragging your almost exposed slit over him once more, and it made you moan. Fuck, you hadn't realized how excited you had gotten, just being around him had gotten to you terribly, you should have known better to be honest. Those blades had an awful habit of making you drip as soon as they touched you. He spoke again, so harshly as if you were an idiot, "You…”

The look he gave you was pointed, your brows furrow, your clit throbs and your hole leaks. He repeats himself before continuing his thought, slowly, “You are MY gift, aren't you?”

Fuck, that got to you too, the extra hard grind he forced you to do on the last word made it worse still. When he talked about owning you, flexing that more possessive side of himself, it made you weak. You nodded once, swallowing, he was holding you so tightly, breathing was a challenge, and you grit out the only reasonable, logical and true answer, "Ye-yes I am."

That damn smirk, he loosened his grip slightly, his thumb stroked over your skin, and he said oh so mockingly, "Then why are you-” He points to you with his sharp gloved pointer finger, close enough you are almost worried he’d run you through between your ribs,“-giving me-” he pointed back to himself before saying, “-shit about how I'm choosing to unwrap MY present?”

And he sliced through that strap on your shoulder, nicking you in the process again, deeper than before, you groaned. 

His glove came up, and he licked the spilled blood from the blade, staring you down. You knew you couldn't fight him. This was his gift and he could do with it as he pleased, do with you as he pleased.

You conceded.

"I'm sorry. You're right Freddy." That got a laugh out of him as he hooked another blade in the remaining strap on your other shoulder and made you grind on his thigh once more, drawing another broken moan from you.

"Naturally." He was always right, wasn't he?

[the-s1lly-corner]

I wanna try something different this time around.

I’ve started to grow an interest to Eyeless Jack, I mean I haven’t read the story but the character has intrigued me.

What’s some fluffy headcanons you can think of for him with a partner in general?

General hcs for Eyeless Jack x Reader !

ehehehehe welcome to the ej fan club!! evil laughs >:) gotta admit my take on ej is only loosely based around the original story (guy waking up to find one of his kidneys missing is the TLDR version) but a lot of my hcs are based around a fic (?) reimagine (?) of ej that i remember seeing floating around yeeeeears ago back in middle school and im unsure how many people follow the "jack used to be a human but got dragged into a cult/human sacrifice unwillingly" idea since i admittedly dont interact much with the fandom outside of writing these lil hcs and making fanart TToTT

after everything that happened to him jack ran off to the woods to be away from prying human eyes, and as far as he knew he was viewed as (albeit unwilling and you could argue it was in self defense) murderer.... kind of puts a stop into your plans of finishing school and going into your dream career.. oh and also the teeny tiny detail that you now rely on human flesh as sustenance with no hope for being able to physically accept alternatives and as more time goes on you start to resemble something.. not human... theres that, too

if you want to see him during the day you're likely going to have to visit him in the woods, but fear not hes not homeless, hes found refuge in an old cabin; slowly hes been patching it up

dont expect him to make you do any work on the cabin, he views it solely as his responsibility and he'll likely deny any actual work helping rebuild it... though i dont think he would be against any tools and decoration (ex. stuff for a generator so he can have power, means to wash his clothes, basic supplies that arent food ectect)

i think overtime he would even get a little mini fridge for you so you can store snacks and drinks at his place, since he doesnt. have food

sometimes visits you at your place, but he only does this during the night so he doesnt get caught wandering the streets by other people... usually enters through the backdoor, to avoid anyone seeming coming from the front

very quiet and reserved, not very high energy... so most nights hanging out with him are calm... usually him asking you how you've been doing... you /could/ ask him the same, but he can only talk about patrolling his area in the woods for hikers straying too close so many times, and he doesnt want to bore you

thats actually another thing, he has traps set up around; mix of a means for hunting without having to go out and pick someone, and to make sure no one gets too close to the cabin

so i think, in the beginning he would ban you from coming to him without him guiding you, at least not until youve had ample time to get used to the traps and how to look for them and remember the general locations of them

teaches you how to forage, him being alone for so long has forced him to pick up new hobbies to keep him from going insane, so you now know how to do that sort of thing as well as identifying plants and fungi... fun!

on the very rare occasion you can convince jack to walk around town with you at night when everyone else is asleep.... its nice, i think.. kind of gives him a chance to just sink back into what his old life used to be and feel like hes normal again; though he tends to be quieter than usual on these walks

i dont think hes particularly possessive, dont get me wrong he cares about you and he does have the passing thought of you just up and leaving him one day (and he doesnt blame you, he holds a lot of self loathing for himself nowadays) but hes not going to be breathing down your neck and watching your every movement... he has enough trust in you not to get hurt or stuck in any situation

blunt, he doesnt beat around the bush and sometimes he doesnt sugarcoat things when the blow needs to be softened... mix of jack just being a little insensitive to others but also because hes gotten so used to thinking so logically and straight forward and numbing his own emotions over... who knows how long, probably even before he got all messed up..

can be a little sarcastic at times, so he might come off as an asshole every now and then, especially when you mix in the bluntness

i dont think he would actively try to be mean to others though, he'd try to understand and fix something if his habits upset you because he doesnt want to lose you

very cold, physically, so be sure to bring blankets and stuff when you want to cuddle into him

very careful with you, he has claws and teeth... and sometimes shedding blood around him can be really dangerous (he feeds on human material, he tends to push off eating for as long as he can since the fact hes eating people meat messes with him.. argument between survival of himself and survival of others; but due to his curse he can go into 'frenzies' and momentarily lose himself to his hunger. think how in finding nemo the sharks went nuts when dory cut her fin on accident, its like that but he doesnt go nuts all the time) so hes very very gentle even when he has a strong hold on himself

speaking of his forced diet, he doesnt eat often.. only really needing to do so every now and then, but i like to think he would still sit at the table with you to keep you company while you ate dinner

though he wouldnt want you to do the same when he DOES eat, might prefer you not come at all on those days actually

him and reader remind me of the "its rotten work"/"not to me, not if its you" audio

[satoru-is-the-way]

Din Djarin x Reader

My Fandom Master List for Din Stories and more!

 A/N: SPOILERS FOR MANDALORIAN SEASON 3! I loved the first episodes so decided to make a little fanfic over Episode One!

Warnings: IMPLIED SMUT, MENTIONS OF SMUT, and angst

Summary: On Nevarro Greef Karga offers (Y/n) and Din a working position and a nice home to become a 'family'. However they both want different things.

"A Home"

Don't you know I'm no good for you?

I've learned to lose you, can't afford to

Tore my shirt to stop you bleedin'

But nothin' ever stops you leavin'

Quiet when I'm comin' home and I'm on my own

I could lie, say I like it like that..

"His name is Grogu." (Y/n) (L/n) and Din Djarin replied in sync.

"If you say so. Now come I want to show you something." High Magistrate Greef Karga waved their corrections and ventured back into his office. He walled around his desk and with one quick hand motion a hologram appears depicting a map of his town.

"There is a beautiful parcel right here down by the flats." Greef points to the sector which lights up correspondingly. (Y/n) eyes carefully evaluated the sector. A perfect home they could make. Nevarro's economy is accelerating beyond what (Y/n) would have imagined. Not only this but they are independent of the New Republic. This area would be for raising their child. It was obviously to Greef that (Y/n) liked the appeal of settling down. However before she could answer Din voiced his wants, as always.

"I appreciate the offer," Din shook his head ," But We have some matters to look after." At this Greef's eyebrows knit.

"I am confused...I thought you both completed your mission but here you are running around with the same little critter." He glanced towards Grogu. The child meanwhile enjoyed his new discovery, the office chair, using his force abilities to spin himself.

"It's more complicated. We completed our quest but a year later Grogu returned to us." Din sighed stopping the chair. Grogu made a noise of protest, "I removed my helmet and now I'm an apostate." He finished. (Y/n) glanced down at the map once more.

Their relationship had been complicated. She had accompanied Din and Grogu since day one. It had been the two, a clan of three, traveling the galaxy in search of a Jedi master. Over this period feelings are bound to form. Many assumed they were a couple and Grogu is their adopted son. That is not far from the truth. While both are quite aware of their feelings neither has yet made a move to become 'official' She remembered vividly the day he removed his helmet, the day they lost Grogu, and they day he finally took her in the bed. To feel him move inside of her. Their lips hunger, deprived and starved. That had been their first and only time in sexual intercourse. After that, it was simple hand-holding, cuddling, and he did not remove his helmet since. But they talked about a future, a family, so when Grogu returned on Tatooine (Y/n) figured this was the galaxy's way of telling her the time is now. Plus Greef is handing them an elegant home for free?!

"Which is all the more reason for you both to stay here. Where you are from, Din, you are an apostate. But here you would be landed gentry." Greef argued. "You two could be stable and this little guy can grow up here. Go to school and be a normal kid."

"It's worth a look." (Y/n) adds Din tilted his head in her direction. "We should go check out the place." If She could see Din's face he would look at (Y/n) in disbelief. How could she be saying this?! Out of all people, (Y/n) would be the only one to understand him. Din is extremely vocal about his want to atone for the crime of removing his helmet.

"No," Din replied voice low and unwavering. The bounty hunters both started at each other in silence unwilling to break. That is one thing Greef knew about them both, too damn stubborn. It felt like hours had passed since Din spoke.

"I-I didn't mean to cause a couples fight." He stutters out.

"We aren't a couple!" (Y/n) and Din both quickly answered. Grogu looked up from his chair with a hand full of red candies.

"I am going with Grogu to look at the parcel. Your beskar ass is more than happy to stay here." (Y/n) replies and shoulder checks Din before picking Grogu up. She turned to Greef who instantly gave her the directions mainly out of fear.

"I said no." Din orders quickly following her out.

"You don't own me!" She yelled on the verge of crying.

"I don't care!" He grabbed her arm pulling her back into his chest. "I want you to marry me. Belong to me and only me!" Din said into her ear. (Y/n) shivers at the idea of being married to Din, being (Y/n) Djarin, raising Grogu, and having his children.

"Then I want this! I need a home. I want a family. I need stability, Din!" She yelled.

"I will give you that but my creed matters!"

"Matters more than me?! More than Grogu?!" (Y/n) growled causing the child to whimper

"Don't bring him into this." Din warned her.

"Why not? You removed your helmet for him. As a sign of your love. Then you know what we did after." (Y/n) suggested in a way Grogu wouldn't know. "But after that nothing. I waited far too long for you finally to admit you want to be with me. I won't marry you. Din, I understand that you feel you have to do this because they took you in and saved you. Made you a Mandalorian. But I figured being with me, with Grogu, and starting a family would mean more. But I guess I was wrong." Din kept silent and slowly let's his grip go.

"I love you. Please don't do this." He begged.

"Do what?! As for a life? For a family! I want this for us Din! I love the Galaxy and traveling but I need a home."

"You and Grogu are my home." Din cups her cheek but (Y/n) pulls away.

"This , us, whatever this is. I'm done." She turned away letting the tears fall leaving him standing there defeated.

Don't you know too much already?

I'll only hurt you if you let me

Call me friend but keep me closer (call me back)

And I'll call you when *my missions* over

It has been a week since they argued. She did not see a trace of Din. Greef on the hand talked about how Din is a complete mess. The man has not left Nevarro's local pub until they kicked him out at the end of the night. (Y/n) tried to be happy living here but without Din to hold her at night...she could not sleep. How selfish was she!? Din loved her and wanted to get married...But their stubbornness got the better of them.

"He needs you." Greef sat down in the dining room chair. Currently, Grogu sat in the highchair as you feed him. "I never would have mentioned it...If I knew it would cause problems."

"No, you did nothing wrong. I felt this way...After Grogu left. Din and I want the same thing but in different ways." Grogu whimpers at his dad's name. "We traveled with Grogu all that time. It wasn't until we left that he finally admitted how he felt. Din removed his helmet and...he was an apostate. They took him in after losing his home. Din almost died but these Mandalorians saved him. He feels dedicated to them but I...I need stability now." (Y/n) frowns.

"I offered him a nice hotel. Din refused. He is located here." Greef gave her an address. "Din is in a cheap motel. Let me have the baby. He needs time with Uncle Greef." The man beems and Grogu squeals knowing he could get away with anything being with Greef.

"Fine. Mind your manners Grogu or else you will be in trouble." (Y/n) tone is motherly she crossed her arms giving the baby a look.

But nothin' is better sometimes

Once we've both said our goodbyes

Let's just let it go

Let me let you go

A knock came on the door and Din quickly opened the door. (Y/n) is caught off guard being met with a pair of soft brown eyes. "Please don't leave me." Din's unfiltered voice almost cause her to fall to her knees and beg his forgiveness. "Please I love you too much." He whispered pulling (Y/n) into a passion-filled kiss. The female melts and becomes putty in his strong arms. She pushed him back and quickly shuts the door. Din groaned feeling her body pressed against his.

"I won't leave you, Din." She responds.

"Let me...try and atone. If I can't then I'll come back here with you and Grogu. We will make a life." He whispered and (Y/n).

"Take me..." She begged. That is all Din needed to hear before making love to her all day long.

[galactiquest]

Unexpected Waltz

Fandom: Trigun Pairing: Millions Knives x Reader Other Characters: None Notes: So ummm... Hi!!! I’ve been quiet on this blog for a while because I’ve been hemming and hawing about whether I want to keep participating in this community with others (I haven’t had a whole lot of good experiences tbh) but... I decided to whip up a little Knives x Reader for old time’s sake. Please enjoy! Also, this song inspired the title and general feel. Word count: 921

Warnings: None, just some dancing and a semi-established relationship. And maybe very slightly out of character Knives but this is my house and I get to decide how Knives talks.

[Also crossposted to AO3!]

“I see no point to the task of dancing.”

Millions Knives, the Plant who was forever unconvinced that there was any substance to be taken from extraneous activities and pastimes of humans. And you, the human who loved him and desperately wanted him to do something nice with you.

You knew there’d be a rift between your worlds the moment you met him, regardless of whether that led to a relationship or not. Knives was just so convinced that he was different that he couldn’t fathom partaking in any sort of human activity.

Which, at first, you didn’t really mind–you wouldn’t push him, and he wouldn’t push you. Most of the time.But today, you really wanted to dance with him. Everything felt right, but he stayed stiff as a board on the other side of the room, arms crossed as crackly music came from the record player.

“Come on,” you huffed, mirroring his pout. “Just one little dance won’t kill you, you know.”

“Waste of energy,” Knives added. “Waste of time. All of it, a waste.”

“You said the same thing about kissing and hugging and cuddling at night.”

“And I’m still right,” he snided. “But it’s beneficial to you. That kind of contact releases oxycontin, a critical chemical for your wellbeing.”

“And you don’t feel even a little nice when we do it?”

Knives closed his eyes and refused to answer.

“Well. Dancing feels good, for one. It’s nice to move your body in a rhythmic fashion.” You spun around a little. “Humans have developed a multitude of dancing styles, both for music and without music. Some dances are sacred and used to tell stories, while others are just for fun.”

“...So it’s important.” He was looking away, but had a slight quirk to his lip that could imply a smile–the I’m-not-interested-but-since-it’s-with-you-and-I-like-you smile.

“To me, at least.” You held out a hand. “Will you at least try it? Just once?”

Something he’d heard a lot. When you urged him to take a bite of your cooking, or to draw on some scrap paper, or read a book that wasn’t another tome full of boring nonsense. And every time, he’d groan and lament about how you were expecting too much out of his greatness, how he shouldn’t bother with these things–but he’d still do them, so who was the real winner?

Both of you, actually. He just refused to admit that he’d both lost and won.

After a moment of hesitation, he approached, putting his hand in yours. Ever so gently.

That was the one far cry of the Knives that stayed in your house and laid in your bed from the one that used to be in the elements of the desert–he was gentle in most everything he did, despite his cruelty before, despite the harshness in his words. Maybe he knew that you were human and mortal, and you could only handle a mere fraction of his power before snapping. Maybe he really didn’t want you to break, because he finally found someone who could hear him.

Maybe he didn’t want to be alone.

You placed his hand on your shoulder, reaching the matching one on your side to his hip (his shoulder was far too high to hold comfortably) and interlacing fingers on the other side.

“I’ll lead us, okay?” You were alright with dancing–not an expert, but not completely clueless, either. A simple step would be fine.

“...Alright.” Knives usually hated relinquishing control, but he had extremely barebones dancing skills, if any at all, and didn’t want to step on your toes. Literally or figuratively.

Slowly, you moved your feet to the beat of the music, letting Knives follow in your footsteps. He was able to pick up the rhythm easily, though he was primarily just copying what you were doing. You took him around the room, spinning gently, watching his unmoving expression as he stared at you. There was a slight gleam in his eye–the gleam of I-like-you-but-I’m-trying-not-to-show-it.

As the music continued, you pulled away from him slightly, twirling yourself around his arm. He seemed a bit confused, but your smile was enough for him to allow this to happen. There was a certain warmth in his chest that came from his hand on your shoulder, your hand on his waist, and the other hands intertwined to the side. It felt nice, as much as he loathed to admit it. Knives almost wanted the music to last forever, but it was coming to an end.

“I’m gonna dip you!” You said, bracing your hand behind his waist.

Knives sort of knew this move. He wanted to make some kind of remark, one along the lines of you won’t be able to hold me up, but his body reacted before he made up his mind. He fell backwards, letting you keep him close with one arm. You still strained against his weight–how can one man be so dense, you wondered–but were able to hold the move for a few seconds until the needle bumped itself off the record, music stopping.

Knives stood up, partially taking you with him as you slid off of him.

“Well? What did you think?” You asked, grinning up at him.

Knives huffed out of his nose, then replied. “It… Wasn’t that bad. But don’t expect me to do it again.”

The tiniest smile formed on his face as he turned away. I want to do it again so badly! Please dance with me again!

You knew him too well by now.

[loosesodamarble]

Nacht vs. Nozel Part 2 (Nozel victory!)

This is a part 2 to this post. I've already posted a Nacht victory version of part 2 (as a request) but to show the fandom's favorite silver prince some love too, I decided to give Nozel a victory as well!

..........

In the time since Nozel and Nacht have started their battle for your heart, you've grown even closer with Nozel.

Because you're with the Black Bulls and he's leading the Silver Eagles, you two don't have too much spare time to spend together.

So it's a lot of letters and speaking through magic communication devices.

Often times, you don't wait for a reply and just send Nozel letters whenever you feel like you have enough to tell him.

Nozel will write you pages and pages of stuff in his letters, responding to multiple letters at once and generally wanting to share a lot with you.

One day, Nozel asks to borrow you for a mission. The Silver Eagles were investigating a dungeon that was protected with a magic darkness that only Light Magic could dispel so you were needed.

Using your Light Magic and Nozel's Mercury Magic in conjunction, lighting up the dungeon even at far distances is an easy feat.

"I used to think that I could get by on my own strength, but it's experiences like this that make me appreciate the ability to combine my strength with others'."

"I can't say it as poetically, but I like working with you too!"

For some reason, you both blush over the exchange.

You casually hang out at the Silver Eagles base frequently and it's always something new.

One day, Nozel would teach you how to play chess or some other high society board game. Another day, you'd explain several of your childhood games to Nozel while trying to encourage him to play them with you (despite most of them needing several people to play properly).

You've introduced each other to different music and literature. Despite your limited understanding of high society, Nozel once had you rolling on the floor as he explained the humor of a short story mocking political subterfuge.

Sometimes, during your visits, Nebra and Solid would poke their head in and make a remark about your "disloyalty" to the Black Bulls. "You're already so comfy here. And I bet the Silver Eagles robe would look splendid on you!" Things like that.

Nozel lets you see a side of himself that rarely anyone sees because he knows you won't judge him. He lets himself relax with you because you relax yourself with him.

Your infectious energy and positive outlook are something he finds himself holding onto in his heart.

Nozel's customary kiss on the hand as greeting makes your heart race more as time goes on. And you find yourself growing eager to have it happen every time you see each other.

And then one day, Nozel forgoes the cordial bow and simply brings your hand to his lips and looks you directly in the eyes as he gives his greeting.

Your heart practically stops because "what was that look?!?!?!?!?!"

After the party, you end up going to Nacht to talk out your feelings.

"Something about the way he looked at me made it seems more than friendly," you tell Nacht. "And I... I want that to be the case. Nacht, I think I love Nozel."

For a moment, Nacht is quiet before he finally replies, "I don't think I've seen you happier than this moment, realizing your feelings."

Nacht gives you a plan for confessing to Nozel and you doubt him at first but decide to go along with it.

The next time you and Nozel meet, Nozel of course kisses your hand. Nozel is about to let go of your hand when you grasp his back and pull him in to give a kiss on the cheek.

Nozel's faces is beat red when you do that. He clears his throat and averts his eyes while muttering, "And I thought I was being forward."

You'd tell him that it's not your fault that he played off kissing your hand as something totally non-romantic for years. He's just that refined.

Nacht would quickly give Nozel a pat on the shoulder and whisper "Don't mess this up. I won't be kind if you hurt them."

Now that you and Nozel are a couple, you both make it a point of kissing each other's hands.

[houseofhyde]

Hello there amazing writer 🙋🏻‍♀️! I hope you are feeling well and are finding the fandom pleasant 🤗.

I thought I'd share an idea that's been festering in my head if you'd like to give it a try (but first allow me to commend your sharply pellucid guidelines for requesting, you have seriously inspired me to refine my own 🥂)

I was thinking of something where Daemon has been chasing a noblewoman, interest kindled by her prideful rejection to become his latest muse; then one night she goes to his chamber, dejected and teary, indignantly asking for company. Then something like the beach scene from Drfitmark where he's far gentler than he thought he would be.

Thank you for hearing me out, have a lovely day 💐

but only for tonight.

pairing. daemon targaryen x fem!reader. synopsis. to most, the rogue prince is an untamable beast, with the fury of a thousand men and mind more stubborn than a mule. to you, he's a nuisance in expensive clothing, prone to run away with his tail tucked between his legs each time you reassure him you're still not interested in entertaining his company. till disaster strikes and the only corner of the keep your legs seem to carry you is his chamber doors. warnings. young!daemon (early 20s), enemies to lovers to strangers, kinda softer than usual daemon (he's young and not completely cynical yet), smut (porn with plot, p in v, cunnilingus, fingering, daemon lowkey has a praise kink, dubcon bc daemon is high on life aka the milk of the poppy). word count. 13.1k (this was only meant to be 5k max 🧍‍♂️) hyde's input. thank you so much to @nyctophilic0vitnir for your kind words, your request, and, most importantly, your patience <3 this took me far too long to write and i hope the wait was worth it for you. it pains me to age daemon down (as, personally, i'm a toxic bitch that loves to see daemon be notably older than the reader, since i feel it adds that extra layer of questionable morality to his character and his actions) but it was the only way i felt i could stay true to my personal characterisation of him whilst sticking to the original request. since i view daemon as someone hardened by things in life that only come with age (which, in turn, affects his approach to love/courting), it only felt believable to me that he'd chase after someone in his younger days. obviously not everyone has to agree since, again, this is my personal characterisation of him! i'm rambling so i'll shut up now, enjoy! read on ao3 !

between the blinding shine of the sun and the hateful looks from the ladies seated all around you, you’re shocked to the core that you’ve yet to melt away into nothingness.

the scene is as follows: an arena surrounded by crowds filled with cheering lords and fawning ladies, dressed in their finest of robes and garbs, and with their mouths opened to yell out each time sticks collide or a rider is thrown from his horse; within the arena stand two horses- one so white it offends the eyes and the other blacker than a night’s sky- and, upon their saddles, two men. the first is a man of honour, regal of house and true of heart. he sits like royalty and smiles like a dashing knight, urging his mount towards the stands, no doubt awaiting the gift of the flowered wreath you’d kept yourself awake into the small hours to make. the other man? a fool made of over-the-top armor, a glistening of dark metals and a feathered helmet that, combined with the smug look he sports, has the same effect as simply writing cunt across his forehead.

it is, to your own displeasure, that the second man is who holds his lance out to you first.

“well,” that cocky tone of voice grates you, like the screech of a crying babe, and you fight back the urge to cover your ears, if only by reminding yourself of how his crown-bearing brother is watching from his own seat amongst the crowd. “get on with it.”

“oh, my!” the women in your vicinity swoon, as if the man has just recited a poem of utmost beauty and grace in your direction.

seemingly foolish? most definitely.

but, truly foolish? not one bit, each of them strategic in their behaviour towards the unwed prince, hopeful that someday, should they work hard enough, they’ll be on the receiving end both of his affection and wealth.

you can not mock them- wholeheartedly, at least- for you would be behaving the very same were he any other prince.

“lady cantebury, if you’ll excuse me, i suddenly feel my lunch coming back up.” though you address the woman to the left of you- who, quite frankly, you’ve been ignoring for the better half of the tournament- your words and feigned smile are directed to the man of your ire.

“yes, excuse her, lady cantebitchy,” despite the prince- purposefully, you assume- misspeaking her name, she seems a little too excited that he’s taken notice of her to care. “it takes those northerners a while to adjust to eating something other than half-frozen crops. three moons south and my lady has yet to get used to it.”

“your lady?” you scoff, and quickly scowl, cursing yourself for giving him what he wants: your attention. too late now, you challenge him and lean forward against the railings. “is she with us now, this lady of yours? i should like to pay my respects to her no-doubt deceased sanity.”

“it pains me deeply when you speak so dully of yourself, my lady.” the gaul of this man! to speak such words, to mimic affectionate sentiments and pains in his heart through the clutching of his chest!

and, to make matters worse, to put on this act before the very man you’ve been courting!

the tyrell boy is smiling when your eyes finds his own, but the grip he has on the reigns of the white horse speaks true to the anger that hides beneath the petal-covered surface. you return his smile, and ignore whatever the prince mutters under his breath (something adjacent to greeting that priss of a man, with words more foul and tone heavy on the disgust).

aiming to beckon over the man who should truly receive the gift of your favour, a faint tug on the skirts of your summer’s gown derail your line of thoughts. first, you look to your left, accusing eyes looking upon lady canteburry as if to say she was the one to call for your attention. another tug has your head darting to the right, and there you see her.

the princess is small, in age and height and all else, but she makes up for what she lacks with her overgrown personality and swollen confidence. she’s merely a girl of six, yet she stands as tall as her stature allows, head tilted up to look you in the eye.

“my uncle,” little rhaenyra’s words echo for all to hear, silencing even the most brutishly rude lords as all stand to listen to her sweet voice. “he wants your favour. i think he’s just nervous and forgot to ask for it.”

the last of her words are whispered, loud enough for several women and the prince himself to hear. you shoot him a look as you both scoff over a laugh, him with indiganance and you with disbelief.

blessed be the hearts of children, too pure to know the wrongs of man.

“is that so, princess?” the girl’s nose wrinkles, a sign of her distaste towards hearing you address her by title (“i can not call you ‘nyra in public, sweet child.” you’d told her many a times, hands brushing over her pale hair or accompanying her through strolls in the gardens or helping her escape the boring hours of needle work. “you are a princess, and as one of your ladies it is my duty to address you as such.”)

the girl nods and you spy the way her hair is slowly slipping out of its braid. the actions serves as a reminder, to not just yourself but the gathered crowd of women, of the unfair yet captivating traits of the dragon-riders. fair hair, lilac eyes, unblemished skin.

he wears them differently to the rest of his house.

“listen to the child,” he speaks as if on queue, in tune with your thoughts. “she’s wiser than most her age.”

“unlike you.” you believe yourself to mutter beneath your breath.

the stifled laughter of the queen herself, aemma targaryen, tells you otherwise.

“ao jorrāelagon naejot sagon tolī sȳz, kepus!” you need to be more kind, uncle! another part of the targaryen culture you’ve grown to envy as much as you distaste: their ancestral tongue. which the princess has been improving upon with each passing day since your arrival at the capital, adding yet another person to your list of targaryens who insist on speaking it around you, with no regard to the fact you have no clue of what words they speak. if anything, the prince seems to enjoy it when you storm off, antagonised to the point of despair by his incomprehensible ramblings in his mother tongue. “iā hembar jēda kesan daor tepagon se dohaeragon ao jaelagon naejot gain se riña’s prūmia lēda.” or next time i will not give the help you wish to gain the lady’s heart with.

whatever she says, it’s enough to irritate the prince, if the roll of his eyes are anything go by.

“lykemagon, riña, iā kesan daor nārhēdegon naejot ȳdragon hen aōha bantis zaldrīzes kipagon naejot aōha kepa.” silence, child, or i will not forget to speak of your nightly dragon rides to your father. you may not speak the language, but you’re fluent in context, and so there’s no doubt in your mind that the two are exchanging threats, each wearing that signature look of stubborn challenging you’re more than certain the king grew to despise the moment he realised he’d no longer just face it from his own brother, but his precious daughter too.

when the moment passes, the princess is facing you again, sticky hands plucking upwards to grab onto whatever part of you she can reach and guide you- shove you, if she were stronger than her age allows- closer to the knight in offensive armour.

“uncle, tell the lady what you desire.” the gods were cruel when they chose to favour men over women, tearing away the chance of this poised young girl of ever ruling upon the iron throne, for not even the strongest of men- nor the most foolish, either- would dare to speak to the rogue prince in such a demanding tone.

“to be drowning in whores and wine.” you’re too slow to cover rhaenyra’s ears from the man’s offensive wording.

you suppose she’s heard far worse.

“uncle!”

“fine, fine,” a clearing of a throat, a straightening of a spine and a lunge of a jousting stick in your direction. the horse he sits upon canters a few steps closer and releases the heavy sigh you wish you could. “my lady,” there’s a point to be made with how your eyes drift anywhere but his own as he speaks such blasphemy, a silent scream that you are most definitely, not under any circumstances nor at any point in time, his lady. you’re barely a tolerant of the man! “would you do me the honour of gifting me with your favour, so that i may wear it on the handle of my lance as i shove the other end up this pretty boy’s arse?”

there’s a cacophony of laughter, prompted only after the king himself fails to contain a burst of belly-born rumbles, and then the sweet interjection of ‘nyra once more, voice whiny in a way that reminds you you’ve been cursed with your moonsblood for longer than she’s been alive- even despite your supposed late blossoming!

“kepus! konir sagon daor skorkydoso īlon kȳvanon syt ao epagon zirȳla!” uncle! that is not how we planned for you to ask her!

the prince ignores his niece, eyes spying only upon you and your unimpressed, unmoving, unchanging facial expressions. the frowning lips, the pinched brows, the disdain in your eyes are all marks of something that would- should- send any other man running for the hills, in pursuit of some other lady.

in daemon, it is the pilar of his desire.

“are you going to make me wait all evening?” the teasing smirk and the raise of an eyebrow have become the prince’s signature look around you, from the moment you’d stumbled upon him, hands tangled up the skirts of a serving girl and lips stained in the bloodied red of southern wine. “because i must admit, while i’m not against performing in front of a crowd, i’d rather hoped our first evening together would be a little more intimate than this.”

you bite the insides of your cheek with a force you hope is strong enough to rid you of that grating feeling roused by none other than your greatest enemy: the prince.

by all means, you want to deny him, send him off to pester some other lady for her favour- of which you’re sure he’ll stumble upon an abudance of them who receive him more willingly than you. the crown of pointed thorns and decaying petals and twisted vines is one you’d intended to gift to the rose boy, not the dragon prince.

yet rhaenyra’s little hands and excited smile convinces you to go against your better judgement.

the crowd bursts back to life with cheers and applause as you drop your wreath down the expanse of his lance.

“cherish it, prince daemon,” you call over the crowd, voice drowning out in the masses yet reaching its intended, daemon’s eyes delighting with the attention you give him. “for i just forfeited my chance to be named queen of love and beauty.”

hours later, when the moon sits atop the sky and the king’s guests have had their fair share of feast and drink, you brush off yet another congratulations.

“to our queen of love and beauty!” they cheer, cups to the sky and smiles made of mockery. “our prince sure did pick a fine lady.”

to roll your eyes is your only hope to halt yourselves from chastising the garish men and their claims, a whole rant to throw at them off the cuff of how the only thing their prince has done is place a scarlet letter upon you and slice a dagger through the already fragile relationship you’ve spent your recent days crafting with the stone-faced lady tyrell, who’s spent the past hours staring you down from across the hall and whispering every so often to her husband.

the hand in your own- smaller and distinctly sticky in a way only a child’s hand ever seems to be- tugs and squeezes you along, venturing deeper into the pit of dancing bods, the tuffs of blonde and the poofs of red the only part of the princess you manage to make out as she guides you.

she stops, eventually, when she finds a spot she deems spacious enough and- unbeknownst to you- in the perfect line of view for all that sit the royal table, be they a king, or a queen, or a prince, to witness you both joining in dance, a unique pair among the many couples.

“you know,” the girl ponders alloud, a cheeky grin on her face as her small frame easily twirls beneath your raised arm. “if you married my uncle, you and i would be family.”

“is that so, huh?” she must count her blessings that she remains a child, for were she any older to know better, she’d be tasting the wrath delivered upon any other who’d dare insinuate- much less so boldly propose the idea of- the unification of yourself and the rogue prince. “are you sure you’d be able to handle me as your evil aunt?”

the young girl nods enthusiastically, a silly grin decorating her features and forcing one on to your own down-trodden face, something so infectious in her smile.

when you’d first met the princess, you’d been certain that you’d never warm to her. it wasn’t that she was spoiled or particularly difficult but, rather, you’d never had a child around back home. moving to the capital- under the guise of becoming a lady in waiting to the little princess while truly being an excuse for your father to find you a husband- you’d been unsure what to expect once you arrived. your friendship with the dragon princess was a happy accident.

an accident that’s made adjusting to the capital far easier, sure, but an accident nonetheless.

“uncle!” her recent interest in your courting life and the need to intertwine it with your arch-nemesis’, however, has you rethinking this friendship.

the princess is the one to let go first, ducking out of your hold to crash straight into the prince’s leg, attaching herself onto it like a leech sticks to the skin of a dying man. daemon, seemingly engaged in conversation- with a girl you believe to be part of the lannister house- prior to the appearance of rhaenyra, dismisses the company in favour of his niece, hand clasping itself upon the top of her head and giving several scuffs, messing her hair till it stands in all directions.

and, be it the copious drinks or the immature she-devil who harbours within the depths of your soul, you condemn yourself to approaching the prince.

“stop that!” the words are a hiss as your hands shove away his own and work at smoothing back down the strands of pale blonde. “it took me near an hour to get her to sit still for me while i done her hair, and now you’ve gone and messed my work!”

“then do better next time, perhaps tie it more securely.” never has daemon targaryen had a face so worthy of a slap.

but, as slapping the king’s brother would likely land you straight in a cellar, you settle for something far more childish.

“oh, my bad,” the stretch to reach the top of his head is lessened by the heeled shoes you wear, allowing you to retaliate the treatment he’d given to the princess’ head. “perhaps you should try tying your hair more securely next time!”

it’s a marvellous kind of satisfaction that overcomes you as you gaze upon your masterpiece, the prince now wearing a hardened expression and standing with something akin to a bird’s nest in place of his once perfectly groomed locks.

“i think you’ve been spending too much time with rhaenyra,” he grumbles, attempting to sooth down the mop on his head while trying to maintain an air of collectedness about him as the surrounding guests hide their snickers behind their hands. meanwhile, the princess radiates joy, no fear holding her back from laughing at her uncle. “you’re behaving as if you were her age.”

it’s a struggle to not stick your tongue out, but you fear that would only serve to prove his- likely true- point.

“i’m tired,” rhaenyra, ever the conniving little actress, throws in a fake yawn and stretches her little limbs out as she untangles herself from the prince, staring up at him. the two have always shared a rather queer bond, as though they were cut from the very same cloth, little needing said for them both to understand one another. being aware of this, however, does not make it any easier to accept when they speak of you as though you’re not there. “would you promise to keep my friend company? there’s a lot of strangers at this feast and i don’t want one of them to harm her.”

“i’d say the strangers are the ones who need protecting, princess,” he’s doubled over, moving down to the height of his niece but his focus is all on you and the urge to squirm under his penatrive gaze is stronger than ever. “them northerners can be savages!”

with much protest from you and a shooing motion from the rogue prince, young rhaenyra scurries off towards her septa, eventually leaving the hall intwined with the daughter of her father’s hand, alicent hightower, the pair having been near inseparable since before you’d even arrived in the capital.

you last only four denied dances, three of them which are proposed by the heartbreak prince himself, the only other man bold enough to approach you with your frowning sworn-guard for the night being a lowly lord from the southern isles, kind enough in the eyes yet sporting a few too many wrinkles and grey hairs for you to consider a suitable suitor. and, at last, it becomes time you take your leave, making one last stop before the two royals, once more congratulating the pair on the early stages of the queen’s pregnancy- the first to make it through the initial trimester since the birth of rhaenyra and the sole reason you’ve all gathered, to celebrate the future heir king viserys targaryen claims grows within his wife’s womb- before making your way out into the much quieter, more solitary and notably cooler hallways of the red keep, the noise of the continued festivities drowning out into muffled cheers as the heavy doors slam shut, locking you out.

you breathe easily for what feels like the first time in hours.

ever the fool, daemon seems either incapable of taking a hint or wilfully going to any length to aggravate you, for he matches your steps and follows you out. he’s oblivious to the stare of despair and the roll of your eyes, wishing the man would drop his literal- and figurative- pursuit of you once and for all.

“you’ve been here, what, near four moons?” his voice rising above the stillness of the night captures your attention, widened eyes blossoming with surprise shooting up from facing the ground beneath your feet. “how are you finding your stay? i should hope my brother’s fitted you with comfortable quarters.”

“i, well,” you start, and you mean to finish, you really do. but there’s a loss of connection between your mind and your mouth, one running with a thousand thoughts that fight to reach the forefront and the other parting it’s lips in a broken exhale.

“what, surprised to see i am capable of niceties?” the prince flashes what you imagine most would describe as a charming smile.

“yes. no, actually,” you correct both your words and your posture, unknowingly relaxing that tense feeling that had danced upon the tip of your back and the expanse of your shoulder from the moment you’d found yourself alone with the man walking at your side. “more surprised to see you’re capable of not turning everything into a sexual pass, i suppose.”

“well, you never let me reach the part where i request to see just how comfortable your quarters are.”

that same she-devil who convinced you to mess with his hair perks up her voice once more, seductive whispers encouraging you to cross the space that separates you from the prince and place a hand upon his leather-bound chest, shoving him with less hostility either of you had expected.

“you’re insufferable!” at the very least, you retain the ability to criticise him verbally, though with far more interruptions of failed-to-conceal laughter and less sharpness in your tone.

“i believe it’s pronounced irrefutable.”

“i’m impressed,” you nod along to your own exclamation, vaguely aware of the fact you’ve twisted your feet around till you face the man completely. “that’s a big word for someone with the vocabulary of a foul-mouthed child!”

“if big things impress you, rest assured i’m well endowed.”

“like i said, insufferable!”

when your exacerbated sighs and his teasing chortles fade away into the air of the night, a calm quiet settles over you both, like fog over mountain tops. the rare abscense of the wandering eyes and judgemental snickers and the gossiping whispers exchanged through the courtiers has made way for an unexpected tolerance of the prince’s company, one that leads you astray from your usual disgust and further towards the walking disaster-child that is daemon targaryen.

“come,” it’s a demand, not a request, the talons of your hands digging into the arm of his coat admittedly harder than necessary, a sick depravation found in the firmness of his biceps. you find he gives no protest to the way your arm locks itself around his own. “walk me to my chambers, oh mighty knight!”

“is this your way of accepting my offer to see how comfortable your ch-”

“daemon, so help the seven, if you finish that sentence, it’ll be i who shoves a lance up your arse.”

silence returns like an old friend: with open arms and the promise of a story to be told.

the pair of you traverse through the winding halls of the castle together, arms linked and feet synced- the prince puts a great effort into shortening the length of his steps. to outsiders looking in, you’d almost appear to be nothing more than another couple in the early days of courtship, smiling off to the sides and capable of looking anywhere but each other. the reality that this very man has put your true intended betrothal at risk becomes buried deep beneath the surface of your thoughts, uneager to remind yourself of how you’d last seen the tyrell boy rising from the dirt of the arena, face frowning as the prince called out your name, thanking you for you favour.

“you never answered.” he speaks carefully, voice a gentle timbre as though he’s attempting to coax a wounded fawn out of its hiding place.

“hmm?”

“my question, about your stay. how are you finding it?”

you can not seem to answer him. it isn’t that you don’t want to answer- trust there is another world out there where you easily list off every reason he’s made your time in the capital feel something comparable to torturous and arduous work- but, rather, that you do not have an answer. because not a single person, from your own father all the way to little rhaenyra herself, has dared to ask you before.

no individual has cared to know, yet here the prince stands- walks by your side, more accurately said- and inquires on it.

it jars you so severely you feel the beginnings of an ache in your head.

“oh, well, it’s been... good, i suppose.” both of you share a common disbelief towards the words you speak, yours evident in the way your grip tightens around his arm and his making itself known in a dismissive grunt. “the keep is beautiful, and my chambers are beyond any level of comfort my own house could afford, and the weather is admiteddly nicer. it’s just...”

“lonely,” the man finishes what you started, the hand on his free arm at some point raising itself to rest upon your own. it’s only reflex for your fingers to relax, untense the vice grip you’ve dug into him. “this city is somehow the busiest yet loneliest place in the whole of westeros.”

“don’t get sentimental on me, prince daemon.” to dismiss the mellowness settling in between you with a jovial tone and a pointed look is all you can think to do, far too unprepared to be confronted with the possibility of the rogue prince possessing anything beyond the sheer audacity he displays on the daily. “we would not want someone to overhear and assume you’re soft-hearted.”

the man swallows back a comment of how, while his heart may falter, another of his organs would not fail to remain hardened, and simply gives a noise of agreement. you arrive at yet another flight of stairs, this one so narrow it requires you to walk ahead of the prince, the grasp you have on him never faltering as it slides down the expanse of his arm and reanchors itself on his wrist.

you make it not even a quarter of the way up before your dress proves itself to be a nusance, catching on your feet and sending you crashing forwards, saved from bruising your skin and breaking your bones on the solid stone below by daemon, who effortletsly catches you by the waist.

“i wasn’t aware the king placed you in the highest tower of the keep,” the prince, a known hypochondriac, quips on the amount of stairs  the travels to your chambers entails.

“must be to keep scoundrels like his brother from trying to reach me.” a joke it may be, given you both laugh, but there’s certainly an element of truth behind it.

pray, you will, that you’re never enquired on how often a scoundrel has taken it upon himself to lift the ends of a woman’s dress for no reasons other than aiding her to climb up steps without the fear of her feet catching on the ends of it.

he follows you up closely, closer than he’d been before, and drops the material only after you’ve reached the top. the pair of you move in sync to reform your previous positions, arms intertwining with ease.

“what,” it’s criminal, you think, that it’s taken you all this time to experience how soft the prince’s voice can be once he’s rid it of all that ego and peacoking energy he barks around the courts with. meanwhile, he’s doing everything he can think of to slow your inevitable approach towards your chambers door. “do you have planned tomorrow morning?”

“tomorrow morning?” the question prompts you to look at him. seeing his face closer than it’s ever been before, you see the little details, like the flecks of deep purple that accentuate the lilac eyes, or the small scab on his chin where a shaving knife must have sliced it, or the subtle indent of frown-lines on his forehead that you think a man of his age is far too young to possess. “usually my mornings are spent with the other maidens who reside in the keep, before rhaenyra comes searching for me after she’s broken her fast.”

you don’t mention the way the young girl never fails to bring something tucked beneath her skirts- an apple, a buttered roll, a slice of meat- and forces it upon you, demanding you eat the breakfast you so often forget to take.

“how likely is it that your absence would be noted, say, if you were to go one daybreak not with those wenches?” you wrinkle your nose at the choice of words and he chuckles, mentally notting the distaste you harbour for wenches and reminding himself to use it against you at some point in the future. “my brother says the she-beast they call vhagar laid a clutch.”

“how ominous. haven’t you dragonriders taken enough dragons beneath your wings?” it’s meant to be naught more than a silly comment, a clever play on words to rouse a tired eyeroll from prince daemon. it isn’t, however, supposed to pull a pointed look and a sigh of defeat from the dragonless targaryen. “i’m sorry... i didn’t mean to offend.”

“no, no, it’s fine. just never speak such a stupid pun again.” he juts his arm out, playfully stabbing the point of his elbow into your side and rousing a smile back onto your face, unease slipping out with your next exhale. “it’s for the queen’s babe. my brother demanded i collect the eggs and bring them to-”

“there you are, my love! i’ve been looking for you all evening.”

like a pair of children caught with their hands down a cookie jar, daemon and you jump apart with haste, eyes no longer focused on one another and, instead, on the figure stood at the very end of the hall.

he still wears the armour which he’d been defeated by the prince in.

“laurel!” while your tone may read as elated, it’s filled only with disappointed surprise. “what are- why- what brings you here, at this hour?”

the prince seems to instinctively step closer to you as the tyrell boy begins to approach, leaving his post outside your door. he’s stern, brows furrowed and nothing remains of the man who’d been making you laugh a mere ten paces back.

“i was looking, for you,”

“clearly not hard enough.” you wonder if the tyrell boy catches daemon’s muttered words and, the part of you that agrees with them wishes he did.

you’d been at the feast all evening, with just about every other person of status in the city. if he’d wanted to find you, he’d have been best to make an appearance at the event rather than camping outside your apartments.

“i thought we could take a stroll through the gardens,” the rose speaks as though his idea is not preprostous, inviting a maiden out into the darkened greenery at such a late hour.

passing by the prince, laurel tyrell spares him no attention, as though the man is not even there, and simply makes his way towards the stairway, turning back only when the notion that you stand frozen in your spot kicks in.

“come along, my lady!” my lady. those two words feel tainted from hearing them fall from between the prince’s lips, the tyrell’s voice prickling your skin with it. “i promise i shant keep you late.”

your eyes find the prince.

he nods, once and then a second time.

“go,” he urges verbally, when his actions don’t speak loud enough. “fleabottom’s been calling my name all evening, and i intend to answer it.”

with a twist in your gut and a wretch in your heart, you shuffle your way over to laurel tyrell’s open palm, letting him drag you back down into the night.

this is a decision you come to regret, no later than four sleeps.

because the man's words follow you, no matter how quickly you run through halls and creep up stairwells. they turn every corner you take and pause with every rush of breath you stop to heave into your screaming lungs. you pass doorways and sleeping guards, and they pass them with you too.

this nonsense best prove it's worth once i bed her.

there's anger in the clutches of your hands, clenched into fists of pointed knuckles and skin-digging nails, and sadness caught between the lashes of your eye, drops of liquid heartbreak threatening to stain your skin if you so much as blink.

the halfwit doesn't notice when i focus on her tits instead of her eyes.

the poetic words, the strolls through the gardens, the nights of dancing, the stolen smiles and fleeting looks across crowded rooms, all for nothing.

least she be a maiden. i've heard the feel of breaking one of them in is unmatched.

all for laurel tyrell to be another man who sees only the shape of what you hide beneath your clothing.

you want to hate him, curse him, tell all you meet of his crude words, but, instead, the thought of their reactions leaves you despising yourself, for ever thinking a man could think with more than what sat between his legs.

it is not even an option to contact your father, you lament while climbing yet another winding stairwell, for he’d merely remind you of a woman’s duty, which serves only her house until she takes a husband and, then, serves only him.

if the tyrell boy wishes to bed a maiden, your father’s voice plays in your thoughts as though he were stood before you this very instant, best it be you.

his words, the thoughts and your footsteps all come to a halt at the same time. like reentering your body, or awakening from a nap, you find yourself disorientated, gazing upon a chamber door you register not as your own. no, this door is more akin to the level of gradiose you face each day that you visit the young princess’ room, dragged away by her small hands as she works to avoid yet another one of the classes that she views as a bore.

yet, this is not her door.

sure, it carries similar markings and engraves in the wood, and sports that very same rich colour and shine to it. but something, subtle as it may be, is askew. the princess’ door has silver handles, this one has gold. the princess sleeps in the east wing of this part of the keep and you’re certain you’d marched west, away from the voice of your betrothed. a guard stands by the princess’ door, no one sits outside this one.

bile rises in tune with your hand, staining the back of your throat with anxious thoughts as you hesitantly knock.

you pause and wait.

minutes pass before you’re knocking again, this time with a little more anger behind the way your knuckles hit against the cold oak. it’ll be a wonder if you do not awake to swirls of purple and twists of blue painted across your skin come sunrise.

the tenant of these apartments still does not open their doors.

you hit a little harder, replacing knocks with a forceful, full-handed slap against the door. and then another, and another, and another, and-

your hand meets flesh that prickles with stubble and points with it’s cheekbones.

“what in the seven hells merits such behaviour at this hour?!”

the prince, for the life of him, has barely managed to open his eyes fully, rejecting the bright lights that burn in the hall. behind him is a sea of black, whatever treasures or prisoners he hides within his quarters lost into the darkness. he’s frowning, hair a mess, clothes foregone hours ago, and a distinctly red hand print slowly searing itself into the left side of his face.

the sight brings you more relief than you’d ever thought him capable of.

you’ve always been rational. it’s a badge you wear with honour, basking in the glory anytime one of your siblings met the angrier side of your father that never failed to reprimand them for being less like you, for being incapable of thinking before acting like you, for never weighing consequences until after a deed was done.

till the day you die, you will never find the words to describe what leads you astray from this level-headedness in the small hours of this evening.

you crash into the prince less gracefully than you’d prefer, lips barely meeting the bottom of his and pressing themselves half on his chin as you dive in for a kiss.

a kiss that daemon does not reciprocate.

in fact, he doesn’t even attempt to move, body frozen in place. pulling back to find the sheer unfazed, almost bored look that occupies the features of his face, floods your soul with a horrible, thick, heavy feeling, that stains every part of you it touches. 

you’re ashamed.

and mortified.

and disgusted.

and embarrassed.

and reaching for his lips again.

this time your mouths collide in perfect level, no unwanted chin in the way. wanting- needing something to anchor you down, your hands shoot out to grasp at where a tunic would usually be. instead, you’re met with nothing but the solid, heaving, sweating mass that makes up the prince’s naked chest.

daemon remains stoic.

“i,” you breathe a shaky exhale, a sting nagging away at your reopened eyes as the previous tears reappear. with a nod, and a sniffle, you step back from the man. the nervous tremble in your hands forces you to grab at the fabrics of your skirt, grasping at anything to distract your mind. “that- this was a mistake.”

this entails so much. kissing him, knocking on his door, walking to his chambers, moving to king’s landing, courting with the tyrell boy, letting the prince get in your head and, all over what? a single experience where the two of your were capable of coexisting without tearing one another’s hair out?

it is all one big mistake, the kind that one can’t hope to fix if all they do is turn and run from the danger it exudes.

knowing this won’t stop you from trying, however.

you twist so quick you worry you may snap your spine or strain a muscle, body kicking into action in an attempt to get as far away from the prince as you’d once desired to be from the tyrell boy. not even a full step, do you make it, until an unmovable force clamps down on your arm.

daemon imposes on you this time, leaning down and crashing his lips against yours. his mouth is warm, with lips of honey and hands of stone that grab and pull and tug at the parts of you they blindly reach for.

the prince is not the first man you’ve kissed- nor do you imagine a life where he’ll be the last- but there’s something behind the way his tongue burrows itself into your mouth, his presence so tangible and all consuming.

you pull back, if only to catch your breath, but he follows, taking ownership over your senses.

stumbling backwards and crossing the threshold into the prince’s chambers, darkness takes ahold of you both, bathing you in nothing but the light of a distant moon. you barely register how one of you reaches for the door behind you, only the slamming of it alerting you to the fact it’s been closed. a lightheaded feeling overcomes you, forcing you to pull apart when your lungs scream for air.

“i’m starting to understand,” daemon’s voice is full of rasp, dry and cracking and far too grating on the ears for you to genuinely be finding yourself attracted to it. “why my brother swears by the milk of the poppy.”

a horrible feeling floods your soul, bile burning its way up your throat.

“oh, oh my god,” your hands are at the level of your eyes, pulling at strands of your own hair. “i completely forgot... you- you’re on bedrest, i can, i’ll just leave-”

the prince’s injury had been the talk of the town since it had occurred: a near-deadly run in with a frightened stag amidst a hunting tourney. the horned animal had spooked his horse, throwing the man off its saddle as it reared and ran off, leaving him to face the male deer. the truth of what had entailed, few would ever know, all that was said was that the prince returned to camp dragging the slaughtered animal by it’s horns with a blood staining the clothing surrounding his left shoulder. 

“no, you won’t, heathen!” in rare occasions, daemon would be the only one to pull a smile from you all day. how fortunate that this is one of those occasions, the scowl on his brows contradicting the subtle upward quirk of his thin lips. “you can not dangle a piece of meat before a dragon and then refuse to feed it.”

were you in any state to think rationally, you’d dig more into the fact he’d just referred to you as a piece of meat.

but, then, if you were thinking rationally, you’d never have wound up at his door.

the second kiss is less forceful. no rush enlaced with every touch, no desperation tickling at both your senses, no desire to stray too far from one another.

you find yourself trusting the prince more than you’d like to when he starts to guide you backwards, a gentle pressure on your hips building while his mouth travels over your jaw and reaches the top of your neck. you walk, and stumble, and shuffle wherever the man directs you and, then, you fall.

any frightful scream you would have let out is quickly replaced with a squeal and a giggle of delight, back meeting what you’re confident in naming the softest bed you’ve ever laid upon.

at last, the shine of the moon allows you to see the man hell-bent on attacking you with his mouth.

“what is the meaning of this, hmm?” the condescension in his tone usually grates you. now, it excites you, arouses you, leaves you wondering of what pleasures he could speak with it. “why’re you suddenly at my door, behaving like some wanton whore?”

oh, you think, who knew such crass could prickle your skin with desire?

the shadow of the prince casts down on you, bathing you in an exagirated enlarged image of him, as if the fates wish to remind you of how big a shadow he looms over your own existence. it scares you.

his eyes scare you more.

they’re usually wider, observing every move, full of that mischievous nature the prince is known for. but, if what people say is true and the eyes are the mirror to one’s soul, then daemon’s soul must be a dark pit made up of lustful glares and hooded eyelids, resting so low his eyes almost appear shut.

you want to answer, you really do. but between the hand that circles a grip around your throat and the heat shooting straight for your core, burning up in a puddle of arousal, you can’t. all you can do is watch the man before you, silver hair a beautiful mess just begging for some fingers to be ran through it and stare promising to ruin you in the best way possible.

the silence pleases him.

“do you know how hard it is to get you alone? always got someone wanting to talk to you, stealing your attention. do you even know how many stupid feasts i had to attend to finally get some time with you?” daemon pauses, like he’s waiting for you to relay an answer, guess a number. he loosens up the grip on your neck, teasing your skin with a few soothing strokes of his slender fingers, lulling you into a state bordering insanity. “no answer, sweet girl? or are you lost in that pretty little head of yours?”

“i’m,” your voice is but a whisper, raspy with a new found thirst. “trying to figure out what you want me to say.”

if it’s the wrong or right answer, you’re soon to find out, the sharp faced man releasing a dangerously low chuckle as he takes a hold of your chin. like a pretty doll, you move any time and any way his fingers command you to, finding yourself staring right up into his eyes, a swirl of melting jasmine that reminds you of how alluring yet sultry every inch of him is. lips near touching, he refuses to break eye contact as he speaks up once more, sealing both your fates when his breath hits your face.

“then let me show you what i want.”

his mouth comes down on yours like it’s the answer to all your prayers and, yet, all your nightmares.

it excites you how easily he works his lips over your own, captivating every inch of you when he tilts his head to the right and deepens the kiss. the rhythm of your lips is a mismatch of beats, where one moment you are moving in a sensual waltz, grazing tongues and dipping heads to get rid of that inch of a space remaining between your bodies, and the next moment your tongues are tangled in a tango, the kind where his teeth send blood rushing to your lips with every bite he drags over them and his hand drags shivers down your spine as it makes its way down, down, down your body.

yet it terrifies you how willingly you’ve succumb to daemon’s touch, intoxicated by whatever witchcraft he has in his possession and currently holds over you. there’s a deadliness to the way his lips part from your own only to repeat his previous seamless descent down your jaw and the expanse of your neck, a poisonous element to the way his hand suddenly finds itself clutching the meat of your thigh.

the moment his fingertips ruck up the fabric that safeguards the last of your modesty and meet the ends of your sleep-gown, you’re wishing you’d never slipped it on in the first place, every fibre of your being growing angsty under the weight of his suddenly halted hand. it stays still for an immeasurable amount of time, grazing over your near shear dress occasionally while he continues to mouth at your neck.

like visenya and vhagar at the unstormable vale, daemon parts your legs with little to no effort, creating a pathway for his fingers to travel further up your thigh. blunt fingernails drag up your skin, a trail of goosebumps being left behind, a visible marking of where he’s touching you.

his movements halt too soon for your liking, too much distance between his lithe fingers and your body’s pulsating core.

“have you figured out what i want yet?” his voice is a stark difference to the usual smite-filed, almost spat-out-words tone you’ve grown used to hearing from the man. right now, there’s no trace of sardonic undertones in the thick rasp and there’s no time for an exchange of childish insults while he’s glaring down at you through hooded eyes.

something compels you to nod your head, even though you’re a little too lost in the thoughts concerning what you desire, rather than what the stranger incarnate looming over you wants.

“you have?” the words come out in a layer of amazement, and you have to wonder if it’s because of the lie you’ve just told or the way your legs have closed in around his hand, trapping it between them. “i want to know what you want, though.”

you want his thumb to stop stroking over the flesh of your inner thigh.

you want his eyes to stop gazing down at you like you’re the perfect prey.

you want him to stop teetering your impending pleasure on a string.

you want-

“you.” is all you manage to breath out.

it seems to do the trick, however, your point getting very much across to him. a softness flickers over his features, brows no longer furrowed and smirk curling up into a full smile for what feels like an eternity, but is actually no more than a couple of seconds before his devilish aura is back.

lips meet lips again, the desperation and force behind each stroke of his tongue against yours the same as before. the prince, much to your delight, seems to grow just as impatient as you’ve been since the moment he’d stopped you from fleeing at his door.

one hand still resting between your thighs, his other seizes the opportunity to drag your body closer, till a mere inhale is enough to have your chest pressing into him.

the prince’s descent to the floor is graceful, his figure made of solid muscle and unclothed skin lowering till his knees hit the ground and it becomes you who stare down at him, your hands clutching at the silk sheets his bed has been dressed with in an effort to replace the desire to touch him instead.

choosing to not dwell on the heavy feeling of his eyes on you, or the sheer visual strength depicted in the straining muscles of his thighs, you instead focus on the way his lips have trailed away from yours and are beginning to make their way towards the top of your chest.

his hand abandons post between your thighs and rises to the surface, where long fingers begin to pull at the straps of your flimsy night-dress, successfully manoeuvring the cotton material till it pools around your midriff and your breasts are exposed to the damp air of the night.

with no want left to play around, he dives right in to dragging his lips down the upper swell of your left breast. you imagine he can feel the beating of your racing heart beneath the goosebump littered skin. it doesn’t take long for his tongue to enter the scene, skilfully flicking over your hardened nipple a couple times before enveloping his mouth around the bud.

one, two, three sucks and he’s moving on to your right breast. there’s no lead up, this time, simply his mouth finding delight in toying with your body while he busies his hand with your left side, thumb and pointer finger rolling and tugging and spreading the remnants of his saliva over your heated skin.

the straw that breaks the camel’s back, and has you arching your own, is the faintest pressure of his teeth biting down on you. it dances on a thin line between pleasurable and painful, exhilarating enough to make you throw your head back as a moan slips past your lips. it echoes in the empty room, replaying your own sound for both of you to hear again and again before the chain is broken by a laugh.

his laughter.

“why are,” he picks the right time to trail his fingers down your body, dragging your dress with them till it sits uncomfortably tight around the top of your hipbones, fabric digging into the rapidly heating skin. “you laughing?”

“has anyone ever told you how beautiful your tits are?” it’s crude and heartwarming all at once, not unlike the man who says it and the little smile he shoots up in your direction as he rolls his tongue over your nipple once again.

“no, i can’t say they have.” one hand finds it’s way onto his shoulder- the shoulder that does not possess gauze wrapped around it, that is- and grasps it in a vice grip, the fear of melting off the bed and directly onto the concrete floor all too prevalent as you gain enough confidence to let the other hand slide around to the back of his neck and thread your fingertips in the silver locks, hair as soft as you’ve always imagined it to be. “you’re the first.”

“i’ll wear that title with honour,” he seems to delight in the way you’re carding through his hair, eyes closing while he tilts his head back further into your touch. a delighted sigh follows. “has anyone ever asked to drink from your cunt?”

you nearly choke on your own shock.

“i suppose that’s another honourable title for me to wear.” daemon is beginning to give you whiplash, with all this switching between being unusually receptive to your presence and the man that minutes before was making poetic profanities out of the beauty of your bared chest. he peaks his eyes open again, slowly, adjusting once more to make out your figure in the darkness. when he has the nerves to smile at you, all dreamy eyed and relaxed sitting before you, knees pressing into the ground in a mockery of a bow, some crevice deep within your soul sparks up a fire that burns on the belief that perhaps you’ve been wrong about the prince all along, judging only on what people say and not on how he behaves. then, he reopens his mouth and dampens the flame. “now, do i have to tear you out of your skirts or will you stand up and let me slide it off?”

this time, its your laugh that echoes in the air.

“you think i jest!” he seems to whine his way through his exclaim, bottom lip jutting out ever so slightly in a way you’re certain is both influenced by the milk of the poppy that flows through his bloodstream, and is going to drive you insane. “i can not go on another moment like this, you sitting there like something akin to the most mouthwatering summer’s peach, without spending my seed. and, while i’d much prefer to do so inches deep inside you, i’ll settle for a mouth full of cunt.”

“you’re so-” you give up on trying to find a single word to describe him, knowing there’s no word that can quite capture the prince’s essence. “okay, okay, i’ll umm... just stand up and-” the shriek of fabric tearing rips through the space between you. “hey!”

“i’d apologise but, well,” daemon’s dazed smile should not be this gentle, not when it is proceeded with his hands returning to your now bare thighs. “you were trying my patience.”

his hold on you is strong- both the grip he has on your legs and the control he harbours over your mind-, and he plays it to his advantage, laying one palm flat over your torso and forcing you backwards, till your back meets the mattress and your eyes find themselves staring up at the images carved into the roof of the wooden bedpost, details indistinguishable in the darkened room.

from the floor, the prince is grabbing and pulling and maneuvering you down the length of the mattress, finding the backs of your knees and bending them, spreading your legs to a width wide enough for his broad shoulders to sit between. 

“need you closer, my tongue’s not that long.” the prince mutters, half to himself, as your arse meets the edge of the bed, all the way to where his wanton mouth awaits you. as if to give you a preview of what awaits you, the kisses from before reduced to nothing, his tongue pops out to run over the smooth of his bottom lip. your hands return to fisting at the sheets beneath you, digging and searching and reaching for a way to keep yourself grounded through the maddening thoughts of the prince and the current position you find yourself in, and ignoring the anxious ridden vipers inside your mind that spit their venom and hiss their tongues in commands that entail you gathering the remaining fabrics of your tattered clothing and running out these chambers, out the keep, out the damned capital, out the clutches of the man on his knees. though, with the way his fingers squeeze into your thigh, you doubt you’d make it as far as even a single step. “comfortable?”

“as i’ll ever be.”

“all the ladies in the seven kingdoms that would die to be in your position, and you choose to say that?” he tisks, tongue hitting off the roof of his mouth before a blow of air hits against your folds and, though it’s faint from the distance still between his mouth and where he wants it to be, it sends a jolt of excitement up your spine. “i’ll just have to make sure i over-perform, make you more eager for next time.”

neither of you choose to dwell on those words, next time.

him, too occupied with getting his first taste, tongue licking a strip up your core and coming to a stop as the tip of it bumps against your aching bud.

you, too busy having the air knocked out of your lungs, hand unconsciously finding safety in gripping his hair as you lurch upward momentarily, back arching off the bed and mouth falling open in a quiet gasp that echoes around and around.

“hmm, make sure you hold on tight.” you know he’s teasing you, with his words, and with his eyes, and with his mouth that seems to find enjoyment in trailing itself over your buzzing centre and up your pubic bone. “you smell sweet as sin, you know? enough to make any man go feral.”

the chance to reply never comes, not when the prince makes his way back down to your pearl and greets it with the stroke of his flattened tongue. every tiny nerve sparks to life under his touch and you feel yourself grow more sodden, a wave of warm arousal leaking out of your hole. his tongue dives down to welcome it, not allowing more than a single drop- which slips and slides its way down to the crack of your arse, dribbling over your puckered hole- to go to waste.

you don’t even notice the lack of his grip around your left leg until you feel it: the first few seconds of his fingertips probing around your soaked cunt, coating themselves in your liquid pleasure until it’s dripping down the back of his hand.

the first finger to enter your hole is gentle, tentative to the way your body receives him, his pointer and ring finger keeping your folds spread and allowing him the full view of the middle one slowly disappearing from sight, burying itself in the warmth of your womanhood. distracted, his mouth pulls back and his head forces itself into the grip you have in his hair while his eyes soak in the sight above him, flickering up to catch your reaction when another finger enters you, this time with a lot less care as it forces you open around it.

“so pretty,” he slurs over the words, more to himself than to you, delighting as he witnesses you struggling to bite back a pathetic moan when his digits curl within you. he repeats the action a couple times, flicking his wrist back and forth, fingers brushing over your tight walls each time and culminating in a curl that has him pressing against the spongy-like flesh inside. “so, so pretty.”

your hips begin to rut against his hand, meeting every one of his thrusts with perfect timing that has him reaching deeper, further, better places inside of you. all the while the prince is simply watching and admiring the furrow in your brow and the way the swells of your breast bounce in sync with you.

your cunt clenches tighter and his fingers fight to reach deeper before spreading themselves wider in an attempt to scissor you open. he’s giving it his all, a third finger slipping in despite the dull ache setting in his wrist while he coaxes you closer and closer to the tipping point.

the rogue prince takes just as easy as he gives, and it’s that fact alone that drives him to pull his hand back, fingers withdrawing from you and the pleasure you’re pursuing.

“why did you-” you heave through heavy breaths, brain fuzzy from the unvoiced peak you were so close to having, every nerve ready to tingle, every muscle ready to tremble, every toe ready to curl. “stop?”

“because,” the wet smack of his fingers hitting against your pearl is louder than the whimper that drops from your mouth. daemon hears both, however, and grins, quickly landing another smack against your engorged bud. “the goal is to make you cum on my tongue, not my fingers. consider them the appetiser, something to awaken your senses.”

his tongue licks in an upward motion, starting from the tip of your taint and ending at your pearl, and you get deja-vu to just minutes before, when you’d first felt his tongue on your melting skin, the saliva it leaves in a trail behind it serving to cool you down. a shiver runs up your spine as he blows air onto your cunt, the pressure of it doing wonders to stimulate your bundle of nerves.

“would you ever stop?” your whining tone is reminiscent of a spoiled babe, crying and fussing over the need to be fed milk from it’s mother’s teat.

“‘tis you who’s becoming insufferable now, my lady.” the prince, despite what he says, does as you ask and puts an end what feels like unending teasing- really, it’s hardly been a minute but the pulsing of your heat and the loss of a climax leave you no room to think about something as abstract as time.

his lips make a victorious return, wrapping themselves around your centre and sucking against the pulsing nub. every so often, he delivers a couple kitten licks- ups and downs, sides to sides, figure eights- before swiftly returning to kissing your most intimate parts.

in an attempt to make your toes curl, he dips lower and teases the tips of his tongue over your entrance, wet muscle moving over wet skin and tastebuds covering themselves in your essence, till the moans echoing off the walls are indistinguishable between daemon’s and your own.

“you can move.” he grunts into you after a few minutes of repeated alternating between kissing your pearl and tonguing at your hole. it’s muffled with the way he’s holding you down against his face and you feel his lips brush against your lower ones as he speaks. “need you to move. wanna see you use me, sweetling.”

and, really, who are you to deny a prince?

you’re hesitant at first, just like you were all those weeks ago as you watched the flowered wreath slip down his lance. you test the waters and give a single roll of your hips. it feels good, great, especially when paired with his own efforts at dragging his tongue over you.

it takes a few more attempts, and daemon’s patience wearing thin to the point he resorts to grabbing a firm hold of your arse cheeks and dropping your legs over his shoulders, mouth pressing right up against you with his tongue flat and eyes staring up at you in a demand to move, else all the old gods and the new be damned.

move you most certainly do, grinding down on his tongue like you’ve done many a time on the spare pillows that line your own bed, in the hours where the moon sits high within the sky and not a creature stirs nearby to witness your self-pleasing sins. it’s messy, sloppy in the way that his spit mingles with your wetness, a cocktail of fluids sliding down his throat, and painting his lips, and dribbling down his chin as he eats you like a man starved that’s getting a taste of the sweetest fruit.

the rhythm of your hips is thrown off when the man below you switches from having you grinding down onto his flattened tongue to slipping the muscle inside of your hole, thrusting it as far as up as the length of it allows him to. with every time your body comes crashing down on his mouth, the tip of his nose bumps against your clit, forcing you to angle yourself upwards to gain more of the friction.

hands find hair, lips part in unabashed moans, thighs shake with the oncoming of an orgasmic state of mind.

the moment builds too quickly, too unexpectedly, like the ghost of your stolen climax is back with a vengeance and set on ensuring there will be no denying it this time.

“s-shit,” your eyes squeeze shut, too scared to look down at his ecstasy filled eyes in fear of it being what finally tips you over the edge. “oh, there, right there, daemon! yes, i’m going to-.”

the prince pays no mind to your warning. if anything, he takes it as a challenge, an invisible timer beginning in his head and forcing him to see how quickly he can get you to unravel all over his mouth. he’s getting everything he’s imagined since he’d watched you first step foot into the keep, your naked body a mess before him as you fuck yourself on his tongue and your hands, with minds of their own, sliding up to grab and squeeze at your breast.

he watches how the white tips of your nails clash with the darkened colour of your abused nipples, fingers working to pinch, and twist, and pull at them as you lose yourself in the moment.

when you peak, it’s with rolled-back eyes and shaky thighs, his hands gripping at you tighter to steady you as you fidget and kick away from him, his tongue working at coaxing you through your high.

he licks up every drop of your essence he can manage, until you’re cringing in overstimulation and reaching down to push him away. he lets you move him, mouth switching to trail a couple kisses over your inner thigh, something similar to lipstick stains- yet so much dirtier in nature- being left behind on your soft flesh.

“you sound as though you enjoyed yourself.” he’s the first to speak, partly because he correctly thinks you’re incapable of forming anything coherent in the afterglow of your orgasm, mouth agape as you drag and drop the air through your lungs, but mostly because he wants- no, needs to hear you praise him.

“do you ever...” despite your efforts to sit yourself up, against his sheets you remain with limbs melted into puddles jelly and eyes staring wide at the heavens above, a tremble still present in your thighs as you subconsciously feel the patterns his hands dance over them. “shut up?”

“only when my mouth is otherwise occupied.”

silence prevails alongside the ticking of time. some part of you registers the return of your feet to the cold floor and the departure of the man from between your legs. he doesn’t stray far, hands clamping down on your hips, a gentle squeeze or two his own way of searching for your presence, urging your eyes to meet his.

they remain looking upwards.

undeterred, the prince is, bending himself at the waist and resting both hands on either side of your head, holding his own weight up as his face obstructs your view above. life enters you once more, eyes focusing at last on him and his upturned mouth and the remnants of your sexual indiscretions drying into his skin.

“for someone who hates it so much, you sure do know how to stroke my ego.” he must be on a mission, you think, to remind you of why you’ve spent your days avoiding interactions with him instead of tangling yourself within his arms. “i’ve got something much bigger for you to stroke though, once you regain your senses.”

this something bumps against your skin, solid as a rock and spluttering a spit of fluids onto you, warm and sticky. sneaking a quick glance is not enough to fully encapsulate the details that make up this fierce looking appendage, with it’s red-angered tip and its decorative bush of hair and the peak of his stones that sit just past its base, yet it’s all you allow yourself under the scrutiny of his eyes.

“perhaps it’s time you to choose your words more wisely, prince daemon,” your voice is breathy, chest heavy still. you try distract him away from noticing such a feat, hand dancing down the expanse of his bare back till it meets the globe of his arse, nail digging in so deep they’re bound to leave marks, if not draw blood too. “it would be far too easy to punch you in the cock from this position.”

he swallows back a demand for you to speak more about his cock.

clarity bestows itself upon your mind, as your memory serves you a cruel reminder of the words you’d overheard and the voice you’d been running from, dread burning its way up your throat in a sickening twist of guts. the prince must notice the shift in the air, perhaps the way your face has grown a little paler or your pupils dilate as you venture off into the hellscape of your mind, for he’s quick to return you to his hold, heavy body pressing down on you as the prince’s mouth meets yours.

there’s a tangy, sticky sweetness to his kiss, a taste of your self that he gifts you with bitten lips and languid tongue, delving deep into your mouth as if in search of some hidden treasure.

it’s clear now, to the both of you, that your reasons for being here- in his chambers, upon his bed, beneath his body- are nothing if not driven by something deeper, darker, more dangerous than simple ardent lust. months you’d been within reach. months he’d been vocal of his desires towards you. days you’d been betrothed to another man.

but the prince never asks, and so you never answer, letting yourselves indulge in the arts of pleasure and pain.

he pulls on your lip, you pull on his hair. he drags his nails down your body, you dig yours into his rear. he drives you deeper up the bed, you drive him deeper between your legs. he rolls his hips into you, you roll your eyes back into your skull.

“this is a dream. you’re a dream,” perhaps your rational thinking has devolved to naught but hedonistic intentions, for you’re almost certain the mighty rogue has something familiar to wonder intertwined with his breathless voice. the dilation of his pupils, eyes more black than targaryen-lilac, is a mystery you ponder over, wondering if it’s driven more by lust or sedative. “and tomorrow i’ll awake to an empty bed and the reality where you tolerate a rat more than me.”

it’s unclear if he speaks literal of the long-tailed rodent, or if it’s simply a new name for the ever-growing list of things he calls your betrothed.

“do you say that to all the whores you fuck?” your words carry a bite, one your own destructive nature hopes will drive him away from you.

“we don’t speak,” he does the opposite, sinking further into you. you become all too aware of the heat returning to your core when he ruts the length of his cock up your folds, coating himself in a thin layer of your lubricant. “sounding like you, they can never achieve it. they can look like you, from the back, at least.”

believing his words to be a lie feels easier than accepting them as truth. the rogue prince has been nothing if not a menace to the streets of silk since the dawn of his sexual maturity, and there is not an inch of you that can fathom him using these vices as a means to quench the desire for you, seeking out your form in faceless, nameless and, apparently, voiceless cunts.

there’s no great lead up to the breaching of your walls, simply another two rolls of his length along your soaked core and a ghost of a kiss against your forehead before the prince is lining himself up and impaling you with his cock.

you’d been warned all about the ache that would come with the breaking of your maidenhead, traumatised at the young ages of four, five, six and onwards of how, someday, your husband would tear you open and leave you a bloodied mess. and, yet, here you lay, a dull ache burning within you, the feel of a pop and the heavy slap of his stones meeting your skin.

“it hurts, i know,” he hushes you when, at last, a pained whimper breaks the surface of your silence, hips stilled and keeping him buried deep in your walls that fight and squeeze and tighten around the intruder. his face, from the little you see of it past the wall of tears building within your eyes, is scrunched up in discomfort, fighting back the instincts that tell him to pull back and fuck himself into you over and over. “but you’re good, and you’re strong, and you can take it. you know you can, just relax.”

you do as your told, far easier than either of you had expected, and find rhythm in his own heavy breathing, matching each inhale and exhale till the soothing of hands over your thighs relaxes the muscles and you manage to retract the nails that dig deep into his back.

the prince moves only once your legs tangle themselves around his waist, spreading you wider and holding him closer.

from there, a symphony ensues, except where normally one would find the melody of a guitar or the blowing of a flute or the beating of a drum, this one is made of skin slapping, mouth kissing, moan singing. the ache builds and builds till it collapses into a pit of delirious pleasure, the kind that opens your eyes as to why it’s so easy for men and women to succumb to the sins of flesh.

“look at you,” his words are rough while his touch is soft, hand gliding over your breasts once more, pinching and pulling at your aching nipples as he puts strength into gazing down at you, intoxicating himself with the way your bodies join at the hip, his cock disappearing into your walls and reemerging coated in your arousal, glimmering beneath the moonlight. “taking me so fucking well. letting me carve out a home for myself in your cunt, huh? gonna let me stay inside you forever?”

he’s manic, and crazed, and spewing out things that you know should make you cringe and roll over in disgust. but you’re just as far gone, mind no longer vacant in your body as you chase that special feeling only the repeated hammering of his tip against your womb can bring.

“let me cum inside, sweetling,” is it more plea or demand? it’s hard to tell, and hard to care, arms circling round the back of his neck and back arching to press chest to chest. the prince ceases his senseless rambling only to lay kisses down your sweat-covered face, neck, chest, each carrying the weight of his desperation to feel you real and breathing beneath him. “stake my claim over this tight little cunt, leave you dripping from how full i make you.”

waves of pleasure crash over you in tandem, unintelligible groans and gasps all that play through the air as hands clamp down and teeth bite skin. your walls spasm around his cock while it twitches within you, both of your peaks painting your bodies in liquid arousal. warmth fills your cunt and trickles out of you, catching on the dark mass of hair that sits above his appendage, the stark white of his cum sickeningly reminding you to the first time you’d seen snow as a child and arousing the same response from you: a desire to taste it.

he collapses down onto you before you get the chance, however, and the exchange of body heat and shallow breaths lulls you both through your states of ecstasy, slipping into a quiet comfort.

the prince moves slowly, as if not to disturb either of you, and shushes you with kisses when you whine at the loss of him from your cunt, softening cock slapping down against your leg. a few moments pass before he’s moving again, this time with you in tow, dragging at the sheets beneath and working them over you both just as you begin to register how cold the chill in the room is. never mind, the dragon keeps you warm against him, limbs tangling as you make a pillow out of his chest.

“my betrothed.” you take the lead this time in breaking the comfortable cloud of silence which had settled itself above your tired bods. the prince merely grunts, disliking the sound of those two words as much as you dislike the taste of them. “i overheard him conversing with an adviser of his.”

“whatever he said, i’ll cut his tongue out and feed him it.” his vulgar threat drags an airy laugh out of you as he mumbles it into the top of your head.

“my maidenhood, that’s what lead him to offering me his hand.” you laugh again, though there is no trace of humour as it devolves into something of a broken, heart-wrenching sob. “gods, i must be so stupid for thinking a man like him could fall in love with me.”

the silence is unnerving, weighs down on your chest with every breath that ebbs and flows between you both. you’re waiting on it, anxiously anticipating the moment laughter breaks out his ribs and shakes his whole body in amusement at your sheer ridiculous expectations, mocking you for giving away your maidenhood in an act so childish as simply not giving your betrothed the satisfaction of taking it.

marriage is politics, you can picture him saying, love is merely a made up tale to entertain children.

daemon never quite has been one for following expectations.

“i could fall in love with you.”

so it is you who winds up laughing, a repeat of that fractured chuckle that dissipates into something more painful and stings at the cracks in your heart.

“you’re not in love with me, daemon,” it feels obvious to say, yet you’re graced with a disagreeing look upon his face. “you’re obsessed with me, there’s a difference.”

“i beg to differ.”

“you see me as nothing but a lady who doesn’t fall at her feet for you, and it excites you. it’s okay, i understand, but i won’t let you delude yourself nor i into believing its love.”

he has no reply to give, not one that could change your mind.

and so there you lay, naked bod pressed to naked bod, sweat and spit and other bodily fluids becoming the glue that hold you together, with limbs entangled and eyes locked. you see peace in his smile and he watches as sleep slowly whisks you away into its warmth.

little does the prince know your eyes will not meet his own again for many years to come.

not days later, as he stands amongst the crowd of folk bearing witness to the exchanging of vows between the tyrell boy and you, nor several years after, as you return to the great hall of the red keep to see the announcement of prince aegon's birth, your own child stood at your side and grasping your hand, the silver-moon upon her head no match to the straw blonde of your husband.

[gojoswhitebabydolllashes]

Saving the idol

Song mingi x Fem!OC (Hyerin)

-

Overview: After finally submitting to her friend's pleading, Hyerin finally joins her in front row tickets to the ATEEZ concert and sees a side to the band, and one rapper in particular, that even their die hard fans hadn't seen.

-

Warnings: I do not know. Go easy on me😭😭 I'm very new to this fandom. This isn't based on any specific performance or event that has happened to mingi.

-

Lini stood at the doors of the Arena shaking with excitement as she waited for the doors to open. The Beaming US sun was hot, and Hyerin swore her makeup would melt off any second if they didn't go inside soon.

"I hope Seonghwa signs my poster!" Lini giggled and pulled out her phone to take a picture with the massive paper.

Hyerin looked around, seeing hundreds upon thousands of fans dressed in monochrome colours and extravagant jewelery. Upon taking notice of her own outfit, she could only thank Lini for the hint about wearing darker colours.

Her black pinstripe two-piece consisting of buttoned shorts and a corset top kept the sun beaming down upon her exposed skin. Hyerin quickly noticed that lini had started talking to two girls who wore matching black jumpsuits with the band members' names written on them in white.

Hyerin saw them giggle collectively and laughed to herself. "I'm gonna go to the bathroom, okay?" She tapped Lini on the shoulder.

"Okay, but be quick! Doors open in 10!"

Hyerin nodded and walked off into the vast crowd of fans. Reaching the back of the line in thankfully a few minutes. Looking around at the venue, Hyerin saw only one toilet, which was a far ways away down the street, and that meant having to go through even more people.

Hyerin sighed and started to walk back to Lini, who wasn't hard to lose due to her tall ponytail.

"I thought you went to the bathroom?" Lini questioned

"They're ages away, I can just wait," Hyerin shrugged.

At the same moment, Lini goes to speak, the doors the the arena open, and the fans start to flood in with the help of about 7 security guards to keep safety in check.

Lini screamed and jumped up and down ecstatically.

Hyerin laughed at her friend, and as they walked slowly into the arena, something in Hyerin's stomach told her this was going to be the best choice of her life.

-

The loud speakers thumped into Hyerin's ears as one of the members, which Hyerin knew as San, started to sing loudly into his microphone above the others. As much as Her head was aching, Hyerin couldn't deny that she was indeed having a lot of fun, and their voices were a symphony of energy that bathed the arena in adrenaline.

"That's mingi!" Lini yelled at Hyerin, pointing to one of the members with bright orange hair in a black leather jacket.

Mingi. Hyerin stared at him as he rolled his hips, holding his fist out in front of him. The entire group was doing the dance, but staring at Mingi, Hyerin felt he was definitely leading the stage in that moment.

The loud thrumming of the beat to say my name made Hyerin excited as the arena followed the sleek moves of the group. Hyerin had never been grinded on by so many people before but since her eyes had stayed on mingi, she couldn't have cared less.

As the song progressed on, mingi moved to the front to perform his solo. His rap had the arena shaking either literally or metaphorically. He croutched down to the front row, stilling singing while making moves with his hands and fingers.

Unaware of her actions, Hyerin somewhere had found herself reaching up for the stage as she screamed and yelled the lyrics, and upon the sudden graze of her hand on his shoe, Mingi looked down at Hyerin with a glint in his pretty eyes.

His face was pristine. Perfect is possibly every way. Plump pink lips and high cheekbones had never looked better.

He gave her a smile and then walked back down the stage toward Yunho and Seonghwa. It made Her feel fuzzy inside, seeing Mingi smile at her like that. She wasn't even sure why it felt so amazing, but it did, and her heart was racing a million miles an hour.

-

By the end of the concert, Hyerin was exhausted but still bursting with adrenaline running through her now sweaty body. Lini poked up beside her.

"That was absolutely amazing. You got so into it, girl!" Lini playfully pushed Hyerins shoulder.

Hyerin scoffed and smiled at her friend. "You know what?! It definitely was worth the 500 bucks!"

Once the two had reached outside, it was about 2am, and everyone who was once bursting with energy was now tired, and some crying now that the concert was over.

"I'm gonna go pee, I'll be right back. Stay here" Hyerin told Lini before she walked off.

The air was warm and clinging to Hyerin's already sticky and sweaty skin. She crossed her arms and tried to find a bathroom anywhere.

Somewhere from around the corner, she could hear a female voice and a male voice. The male sounded mildly afraid, and the female was extremely hyper. Hyerin poked her head around to see Mingi and what looked to be a fan, In some kind of altercation.

Or which, Mingi actually looked pretty afraid, and the female was beginning to corner him. Hyerin tried to be quiet, but the gravel beneath her boots crunched, alerting Both Mingi and the girl.

"Yo, I think he's had enough." Hyerin put her hands to her front as she approached the girl.

The look in the females eyes scared Hyerin a little as she cautiously walked toward her. "Who the hell are you!" The girl yelled and pointed. "Their manager?!"

Hyerin chuckled nervously. "No, but I am the daughter of a police officer, so if you wanna pick a fight, I would do it with someone else"

The girl scoffed and walked away. Hyerin stilfed a laugh at the fact that it was that easy to get her away. She lowered her hands.

"Thank you so much," Mingi Panted. "i-i cannot thank you enough seriously"

Hyerins' eyes widened. Despite what had taken place, she couldn't actually believe Mingi was right in front of her.

She cleared her throat. "You don't have to thank me. Are you alright? That looked pretty bad" Hyerin asked the idol.

Mingi stood tall. "I'm alright. It actually happens a lot, so I can't say I was absolutely terrified"

Hyerin scoffed and raised her brows, applauding mingis bravery internally. The male stood like a tower in a leather jacket and black suit pants. His bare torso on display.

He was infact more gorgeous up close.

"Let me repay you for helping me," Mingi offered. "I swear I'll get you free tickets to tomorrow nights show,"

Hyerin chuckled. "That won't be necessary, truly it's okay. As long as your alright"

Mingi went to speak before another male voice called out, then another, then another, and before she knew it, Hyerin was watching the other 7 members of Ateez walk toward her. All were equally as intimidating in their own way, dressed in all leather and black outfits they looked like some kind of Mafia.

"Min! Bro, are you all good? You've been gone for a while!" A shorter male Hyerin knew as Wooyoung put his hand on Mingis shoulder.

"I'm fine, guys" Mingi smiled softly.

"Who's this?" Seonghwa questioned, gesturing toward Hyerin.

"Oh!" She exclaimed."I'm, no one really. I'm just trying to find the bathroom"

"She just saved me from this crazy girl," Mingi told the group.

A few of them were gasped. "You're a hero!" Hongjoong's eyes widened, sparkling in the dim light.

Hyerin couldn't help but laugh and watch as San gestured Mingi over to him. The rapper obeyed and walked toward his friend who mumbled something to him in Korean.

The others laughed and made silly noises at Mingi. Mingi strided toward Hyerin with a nervous smile on his pink lips.

"Let this be my debt to you," Mingi grinned and gently grabbed Hyerins arm and wrote something on her skin.

Mingis hands were warm, but his metal rings were cool in contrast, making Hyerin shiver. Mingi held the marker lid between his pure white teeth as he wrote. He pulled the lid out and out it on the marker.

"For whenever you need me, doll," he put his large hand on her shoulder and smiled at her sweetly.

"Maybe we'll see you around hero," Mingi grinned and collectively, all the members of Ateez waved me goodbye and thanked me for helping mingi before they walked off.

Too stunned to speak, Hyerin looked at her arm.

It was a phone number.

[writingmochi]

soobin's spin-off teaser

cast: alt kid!soobin ✗ fashion student/designer!fem.reader

synopsis: after soobin's encounter with a person from his original timeline, he experiences doubts if he can settle in this new timeline or not. his alienation and existentialism take a spin in a new world he has to figure out himself, or if he could be courageous enough to ask you to guide him down back to the surface

genre: coming of age, slice of life, romance, drama, friends with benefits au, college/university au, angst, fluff, mature content (drug consumption and explicit smut)

word count: 489

release: out now!

a tiny message: for the people unfamiliar with the series, i recommend reading the series first to know about the world! spoilers from chapter i-vi of time wave

masterlist

after he laid back in his bed after bringing you back, his state of mind went into such a limbo that all of the thoughts in his head are about you, original timeline you, his best friend yeonjun, and his home timeline. he tried to sleep it off, but it didn’t help until something made him impulsively act.

he steps out of his bed and turns on his desk lamp to open his sketchbook, grabbing two different colored pens of black and dark blue as he sketches the visual in his mind. figures are drawn in black ink into faceless figures talking to each other, some holding bottles in hand and a few laughing “hahaha”s around the people. the center of the paper is empty as he grabs the blue pen and draws another figure that looks so different from the others. its shape is humanoid but its head is bigger than the others. he outlined the clothes and how the being is holding onto a bottle of beer, he assumed, but with the black ink. he makes a small rectangle on the chest as he writes “soobin” in it.

retreating his posture back, he sees the finished picture as he visualizes. the lone blue outline humanoid in the middle of the black figures. ever since original timeline you left, he sensed his mind was being pulled out of his body for the first time since long ago and he sees himself in a third-person view when he walks back to his room. the out-of-body experience also recaps his year-long life here in a fast pace before one word rings in his mind.

alien.

he feels like an alien. this isn’t his original home after all. this is not the world he was born in. he’s not supposed to be here.

after you mentioned what happened back in your original timeline, he can’t help but feel his heart sunken down into the fathoms of himself. on how he left so suddenly. on how he only thinks about himself as he try to rebuild his life here. how the “feeling alive in a new world” means seems more of like an illusion to him. soobin felt himself crumbling as a tear fell out of his left eye, still staring at the drawing he made in the middle of the night. cicadas sound outside of his window as he hears a fading muffled sound of people in rooms far from his. all become solemn and sound as the doubts he holds back are now crashing the dam and filling up his head like a vase.

he misses the adventures he and yeonjun had in high school. his discovery of rock music and songs his dad might listen to if he could ask him; though he was meters under the ground. he misses the experimental parts of his youth and how, even in his hardest times, he’s still living.

soobin misses home.

taglist: @raeyunshm @endzii23 @fluffyywoo @camipendragon @hiqhkey @wccycc @cha0thicpisces @y4wnjunz @yeehawnana @beansworldsstuff @kimipxl @stayzentiny @rebsmoonn @boba-beom @angelbythewindow @ttyunz

time wave taglist (i remember you all!): @rein-deer-stuffs @kookthief @papiibuprofen @soobsfairy444 @yeombin @jaemacchiatto @zgkigia @strawbrinkofdeath @moaberryjjunie @fandom-kay

© writingmochi on tumblr, 2021-2024. all rights reserved

[ymaohoh]

I write fanfiction for a lot of fandoms (what a fickle little imp I am). I've used multiple usernames over the years so thought I'd link it all up together in one place. Very mindful, very demure.

it's me

Click on the titles for links to individual stories.

Stranger Things

Dating Chrissy - Hellcheer - oneshot 'It seemed that word had traveled to all the bachelors of Hawkins High that the Queen Bee herself was open to dating (and her bonehead ex was safely out of the picture). So it fell to the brave and brightest knights to try for her hand.' Chrissy's single and Nancy encourages her to try dating. Rule 63 - Hellcheer - oneshot Ellie Munson is a junkie-freak, and Chris Cunningham is the school darling. Chris is struggling with bad nightmares and visions and goes to Ellie for something to help. Rule 63 - version of 'Chrissy Lives'. All genders are swapped. Howl - Hellcheer - oneshot “Death had been a cruel savage way to show him exactly what he was capable of.” Eddie and Chrissy die. Eddie and Chrissy live. But this wasn’t really living. Season 5 Hellcheer ft. time travel “We could always just…do it anyway?" - Hellcheer - oneshot - M “Packet’s ripped, sweetheart. We seem to be without a condom.” His fingers stilled and Chrissy was biting her plump little lip that tasted of strawberries and magic. She was watching him closely, her cheeks flushed and panting from being so close to what promised to be a world-shattering orgasm. “We could always just…do it anyway? Without a condom, I mean.” Yankee Candle Baby - Hellcheer - oneshot Eddie wants to buy something nice for Chrissy. Candles are romantic, right? Chrissy Ran Away - Hellcheer - complete Eddie wasn’t being so friendly to her now. He’d barely spoken to her since she turned up covered in mud and leaves with a fucked up knee. He seemed to be doing his best to avoid her completely. What if Chrissy ran from Eddie after her vision? What if it pushed them apart? They share a joint and things get much much worse. My take on 'Chrissy lives'. Chrissy Cunningham is a Brat - Hellcheer - oneshot - M Munson suddenly gripped hold of her ass so tightly she hissed. “If you’re going to behave like a brat, I’m going to have to punish you.” Jason sees Chrissy and Eddie in the woods. Jason POV. 'and she's a bride of the fucking devil' - Chrissy x Henry Creel - M Henry Creel has waited a lifetime for her (and Chrissy thinks this is hell). Lots of very iffy manipulation and dubious consent. There's going to be an underlying theme of Chrissy/Eddie

A Court of Thorns and Roses Series

Of Cauldrons - Elriel - oneshot Elain is Cauldron-blessed. She asks the Cauldron to change its mind. Hewn City - Elriel - oneshot Azriel's POV set when they visit the Hewn City in Silver Flames. He and Elain manage to find some time together while Nesta dances. Of Scars and Roses series - Elriel - 4 fics so far - all oneshots Of Scars and Roses “Do you like that, Elain?” She did. A part of her wanted him to push her down and take her right there on the grass. She wanted to claw the earth when he slipped inside of her. Feel the dirt between her fingers. Elain Archeron has a vision and her relationship with the spymaster takes a turn. Of Visions and Lace There was something utterly wonderful about seeing the usually sweet Elain Archeron look like that. He was starting to realise that Elain was not all sweetness beneath the surface; she liked him telling her what to do. Wasn’t that perfect? “Lift your skirt. Slowly.” Of Daggers and Moonlight Azriel shows Elain how to use a dagger Of Daggers and Moonlight - Part 2 Azriel teaches Elain how to winnow. They discuss that Solstice night. Sort of a follow up to the story above but not really.

Shadow and Bone

Alinochka the Brave - Alina x Darkling - M - complete Three women step in and raise Alina Starkov to be the equal of the Shadow Summoner. (Ana Kuya, Baba Yaga, and a spiteful Upyr) By the time she reaches adulthood she is his match. It is inevitable really that she should come to love him. Features: Alina being essentially a Knight Enchantress, Slavic folklore, Mal being a side character, and lots of ominous (sexual) tension with the Darkling. They do something about it in the last chapter.

A Song of Ice and Fire

Raise the Stakes - Sansa x Jon - wip “I would hear something beautiful, if it please you.” Sansa Stark, the beloved daughter of Winterfell, is stolen by the King Beyond the Wall. AU The Veiled Woman - Sansa x Hound (but eventual Jon) - complete What if Sansa had accepted the Hounds offer to escape? She leaves the South and starts a new life in Braavos with her faithful sworn shield. Sansa/Sandor. Book spoilers Warning: Lots of pent of angst and little pay off. Literally my first ever fic. Save that for the Black and White - Sansa x Jon - oneshot Sansa dances above The Wall. Jon likes to watch her. Clad in Iron - Argella x Orys - oneshot She could be dressed as a queen in all the lace and jewels in the world but she would never forget that she was presented to him in naught but her skin.

Horizon

The Sun-King's Bath (Aloy x Avad) - M - oneshot “Have you ever bathed alone with a woman before?” Aloy goes back to Meridian and accepts Avad's invitation to dinner. The two of them end up spending the evening together. Mild spoilers for the beginning of Horizon: Forbidden West. Fearful is the Hunter (Aloy x Avad) - M - wip Aloy heads straight to Meridian and its Sun-King. Takes place right after Horizon: Forbidden West (so spoilers).

Avatar: The Last Airbender

Helpless (Aang x Katara) - M "He was the Avatar. He belonged to the world, not to her." Katara broke it off with Aang after realising that he would never just be hers. It's five years later and there's inevitably a reunion. Wild People and Lilith's Art (Zuko x Katara) Zuko wants Katara to show him bloodbending.

[outtoshatter]

I just felt like putting together a little list of some recently published fics in our not-so-little fandom! I got a TON of help from @missanniewhimsy putting this together, thank you so much!! Some of these are more winter than Christmas but it’s mostly festive! This list got a tiny bit long so I added a cut to make things nice and neat! Please enjoy and maybe leave the authors some love if you can! :D

Krampusnacht, or How Derek and Stiles Got a Kid for Christmas by HisBeloved (6k, T)

When Peter Hale was a child he was almost taken by Krampus.  He's hated Christmas ever since.  This is the year that Krampus returns.

Hale’s Bookish Tales by raisesomehale (5k, E)

The man (who Derek had taken to calling ‘Bambi’ in his head) had arrived at Hale’s Bookish Tales painfully early that morning. Normally when he came in he would sprawl out in the desk under the large bay window up front, but today he’d made a bee-line for the lower level and hadn’t returned to the surface since.

Not even after the mass blizzard alert hit, and all the other customers had fled.

If it wasn’t for Derek’s increasingly unhinged infatuation with the man - and thus over-awareness of his presence - he wouldn’t even have noticed that a customer still remained in his bookshop. But Derek had been carefully watching the stream of customers filing out, and had noticed the glaring absence of one in particular.

give me your heart, darling, for christmas by sterekhale (15k, T)

  "I need you to pretend to be my boyfriend for the Christmas party because Joanna's gonna be there!" Stiles shouts as he barges through the door to Derek’s apartment.  

Derek doesn't look up from the book he’s reading. "I see that you're still handling your problems with the same level of maturity." — Stiles wants to convince his ex-girlfriend that he’s totally over her—because he is, he barely even thinks about her anymore—and he needs Derek��s help to do the convincing. He’s just a little oblivious of Derek’s feelings for him.

baby please come home by elisela (5k, G)

Stiles should be happy.

He should be happy, he should be fucking delighted—there’s a bottle of champagne being uncorked, hands being shaken, a too-hearty clap on his back that jolts him forward and causes him to stumble slightly. But the space in his chest that usually burns with the high of a closed deal is hollow, empty, and the twinkling gold Christmas lights one of the secretaries had hung in the office mock him, a depressing reminder that he’s about to be alone for the holidays.

It feels like I don’t know you anymore, was the last thing Derek had muttered to him, standing in the threshold of what had been their apartment, backpack slung over one shoulder and duffle bag strap clenched in his fist. I can’t do this.

Poetry in the Raw by Jmeelee (5k, E)

Derek answers his phone on the second ring.  “What.” No inflection whatsoever.  

“Does the ‘S’ in your middle name stand for Sexy?”

Silence.  Then, “Stiles.”  Still no inflection.  

“I doubt it stands for Stiles, dude.  There can only be one,” he answers in a kick-ass impersonation of The Kurgan.  “But tell me it isn’t, like, Sawyer or Skylar or something equally new-age and white-boy contemporary.”

“How did you get my number?”

OR: 5 times Stiles guesses Derek's middle name +1 time he knows.

All I Want for Christmas Is Brew (And You) by snarkatthemoon (4k, T)

“One spiced hazelnut mocha for the dude with the impressive eyebrows and cute scarf,” he says, handing Derek the cup instead of putting it down on the counter like all the baristas do. Their fingers brush gently, and Derek takes far too long to take the cup from Stiles, their eyes meeting.

Ask him for his number, his brain supplies in a voice which sounds scarily like his sister’s. Stiles raises his eyebrows, their eyes still locked and both still holding the cup.

The second Derek opens his mouth, the moment is broken by one of the other baristas shouting, “Stiles! We could all use a little help here considering we have a line going out the door.”

Stiles pulls his hand away as if he’s been burned, giving Derek a sheepish smile before he turns to get back to work.

Derek heads out past the line of irritated customers, ignoring the dirty looks he’s being given while he curses himself inwardly. Idiot. That voice sounds like his other sister.

.

Or, the one where Derek has a crush on a hot barista with a talent for baking and a questionable taste in festive headwear. Written for the Sterek Secret Santa 2021 gift exchange.

McLinski’s by StaciNadia (3k, G)

Derek is a coffee snob looking for some good coffee, but what he finds is bad coffee jokes and maybe a whole lot more. 

Build A Wolf by PalenDrome (5k, T)

Derek is a romantic. He dreams of finding his mate, of connecting with that special someone who will make his heart swoon.

Easy Wind, Downy Flake by wanderingeyre (16k, E)

The man’s hazel eyes snap with something like anger, his mouth a thin line. “We aren’t open.”

Stiles opens his mouth, gaze sliding from the fire, being cheerful, to the man standing five feet from the fire who looks like he wouldn’t know cheerful if it bit him in the ass. “The snow is bad. I barely made it here. If I try to go over the pass in this weather they’ll find my body at the bottom of the mountain come spring.”

Sock-Stuffed Stockings (and other traditions) by redhoodedwolf (9k, T)

Stiles just wants to make it home in time for christmas, so when traffic is crawling due to an accident on the highway he takes a detour down the back roads, only for his beloved jeep to give out. but doesn’t derek hale live in these woods? stiles hasn’t seen him since they were teenagers, but the gentle guy who opens the door with a kid on his hip is definitely not what he expects from the arrogant dick who ignored him back in high school.

[assorted-candy]

20 Q's for Fic Writers

I got tagged by @dp-marvel94! Thank you!

1. How many works do you have on Ao3? 

I've just posted my 22nd work a few days ago!

2. What's your total Ao3 word count?

37,763

3. What fandoms do you write for?

So far, all my published fics are for Danny Phantom. It's a fandom that's near and dear to my heart and my favorite to write for. I've written fanfiction for myself in a lot of different fandoms over the years. Miraculous Ladybug, Mega Man (Star Force, Battle Network) and Fire Emblem are a few. (Will these ever see the light of day? Probs not, lol)

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?  5. Frayed Ends - 37 kudos - Jazz and Maddie are fighting more often. Jack wants to reach out and help his family. 4. The Same Blood - 45 kudos - Maddie and Jack try to help a sick girl that collapsed in front of their house. They don't know what to make of her condition. Danny wants to help.

3. Returned Home - 49 kudos - Maddie finds Danny at home after he disappeared ten months ago.

2. The Broken Pieces Left Behind - 66 kudos (tie) - Maddie knew what the portal did to Danny. If she could create something that essentially turned him into a ghost, she could figure out a way to fix all of it. Even if she hasn't made any progress in the past two months, she'll keep trying. She didn't account for what Danny wanted. 1 . What's Out of Out Control - 66 kudos (tie) - Danny thought he had it under control. He thought he could finally hang out like they used to always do. Tucker could feel the rift between them widening. It wasn't getting smaller anytime soon.

5. Do you respond to comments?

I try to! There were a few comments from my two earlier fics that I never responded to and it's already been so long and I feel like I ended up putting it off too long to say anything now 😓But I'm so so thankful for all the comments I receive! I never thought anyone would read my work, let alone comment on it. I'm always between two modes of 'author commentary' and 'screaming thank you and running away'.

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

Lol, I love my angsty stuff and there are so many different flavors of angst, so it's hard to pick just one. I'd say the piece I aimed to write for Angst Fest, The Broken Pieces Left Behind, might be it. It ends on a rather hopeless note for the Fenton family that even I don't know how to make everything better for them

7. What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

Probably Home for a Cat. It was for a Ectoberhaunt prompt that I was absolutely stumped on. So I decided someone was going to adopt a cat by the end of the fic.

8. Do you get hate on fics?

Ahh, so I actually posted a fic on FFN wayyy back when I was in high school. I remember it being received pretty well but I got a really rude comment on a simple spelling mistake. Back then, I was just told I had dyslexia a few years prior and I had some really bad self-esteem issues tied in with that. So, yeah, that comment basically made me terrified to ever show my work to anyone ever.

It's been over ten years since then and I wanted to actually get over that fear. I impulsively decided to do Angst Fest with the mindset that no one would even look at what I posted. Not only did people look, everyone has been so kind!!!

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

lkdajldkf, nope. I get flustered trying to write basic romance and having two characters hold hands, lmao. Major props to those that can, it's definitely a skill that takes time to master just like any other genre.

10. Do you write crossovers? What's the craziest one you've written?

I haven't.

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Also haven't had this either.

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

Nope, but it seems like a lot of fun.

14. What's your all-time favourite ship?

Back when the show was airing, Amethyst Ocean (Danny/Sam) was my go to. I'm a sucker for friends to lovers tropes and it's really nostalgic for me. But, I don't really read a lot of shippy things for Danny Phantom, so ships don't make or break a fic for me.

If I'm looking to read romance, the whole Love Square (MariChat my beloved) with Miraculous Ladybug will always be great. Even if I jumped ship on the show around season 2 or 3 and I have no clue what they're doing now, lol.

15. What's a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

I honestly have so many WIPs that are unfinished on my computer from over the years. Maybe a super old one that I titled 'Phantoms in the Daylight'. Angst once more with Character Death as the main pain point. I like the beginning but oh boy, does it get sloppy and confusing real quick. I'd need serious outlining energy put into it if I'd ever want to salvage it and I just don't have it in me.

16. What are your writing strengths?

Dialogue! Give me two blorbos and I'll make them talk forever.

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

Scenery and description. I love the dialogue portion so much that I end up running into the floating heads in an empty room problem in the first drafts of my fics. My first round of edits are dedicated to making sure I have a scene and grounding characters into it. And then I have to go back later to make it not feel so robotic sounding.

(Also a weakness but more as in fic than writing. Summaries and Titles. I stare at my drafts on AO3's editor for at least half an hour trying to pull something together, lol)

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language for a fic?

I can probably talk about this for hours, lol. I absolutely love foreign languages, especially when it comes to linguistics. So, I'll try to be brief, lmao. Short answer: depends on the fic but normally no. I already spend so much time fussing over the word choice/slang/formality/dialect characters use in my native language. I don't have a good enough grasp on another language for it to sound natural to the reader. ("They would not fucking say that" is my internal monologue during dialogue edits, lol)

19. First fandom you wrote for?

It's a toss up between Pokemon and Danny Phantom. I first learned about fanfiction from a friend who showed me FFN for the Pokemon fics. I looked around the site and found all of the Danny Phantom fics soon after and got hooked on those. I started writing around then and it would have been for one of those two.

20. Favorite fic you've written?

Hard to chose one! Writing technicality wise, I'm proud of how What Remains on the Table turned out. I consider description my weak point, so the original draft was 0 dialogue with very stiff descriptions. I was able to edit it to really practice my environmental storytelling. (Although, please mind the tags if you click the link as it does deal with the dissection topic)

I'm not sure who's been tagged and I'm not sure who writes fanfic, so @lavendarlily, @fangirlwriting-stories, @grub-xd, @nanaarchy and anyone else that wants to join!