#i weep into my hands they are so happy and precious

[orangetintedglasses]

Considering how glued to each other’s hip you and Wolfwood have been, it’s strange for him to be missing for most of the morning. He left you a note not to worry, that he’ll be back in the afternoon, but he never explained what he was planning on doing…

He better not be getting into trouble. He didn’t bring his weapon with him.

Morning turns to hot afternoon, and you spot him speedwalking in the direction of the inn. Wolfwood, of course, spots you in his peripheral and strides over with a genuine smile. In his hand is a sizable brown paper bag with handles—he had the bright thought of covering whatever is in it with tissue paper. Dang it.

“Good thing I found ya here,” Wolfwood reaches out and takes your hand, squeezing it gently, then continues, “Let’s go back to the room. Got somethin’ for the birthday boy.” He pulls your hand towards him in the direction of the inn, and just like that you are making your way back.

Once inside, he sets the bag down on the small table and lets you go. “I know you’ve probably been curious about this since you remember all the weird things I tell you about myself, so…”

Out of the bag comes a humble, round two layer cake. The edges around the top are rounded to look like a donut, and it’s decorated like one too. There are also buttercream roses (don’t ask him what a rose looks like, he couldn’t tell you) and the words ‘Happy Birthday Vash’ stand out, written in a beautiful cursive-like print. It hits you that you’ve never actually seen Wolfwood’s handwriting outside of a bill for $$10,000 a couple years ago…

“Ta-dah,” he gestures to the cake with feigned (but not really) excitement, “Found a place that’d let me decorate one. Did a couple for them, actually.”

He kisses you sweeter than any slice of cake could be.

“Happy birthday, Vash.”

@forgivenpunishment (mw)

[ x ]

[just-some-random-blogger]

Tormented Spirit | 9

Part 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10

"Is it such a sin to stand up for yourself?" you mutter as tears blur your vision. The way he reacted was visceral, instinctive even. "You never have to stand up for yourself ever again," says Daemon, reaching a hand to you, "come."

Daemon Targaryen x Hightower!Reader | 4k+ | cw: fem!reader, reader has brown hair, wife!reader, twin!Gwayne, arranged/forced marriage, canon divergence, alternate universe, slow burn, DD:DNE, panic/anxiety attacks, daddy issues/child abuse/family problems, mentions/depictions of mental/physical/psychosomatic illness, ye old misogyny, angst, typos, etc.

A/N: GUYS ITS STILL TOO FUCKING LONG I HAD TO CUT IT AGAIN. T_T canon stuff/medieval health care might not be accurate so ROLLLL with it ok. please consider leaving comments/reblogs because they really help me with the fic. | cross posted on ao3

@arabellasleopardcoat @prettybiching @myllovellybones

Daemon takes you to the dining room, and upon entering, you are met with Rhaenyra and Alicent, who were in the middle of eating lunch. For a split second, you are happy to see them both, but then you remember the horrible news regarding the princess's mother.

Daemon is taken off-guard by how you pull away from him. He knits his brows, following after you as you head towards his niece, deeply annoyed by how easily you disregard him. But upon hearing the words you speak, he freezes.

"My deepest condolences, my princess," you curtsy at Rhaenyra before placing a hand on her shoulder.

She is dejected and her eyes are sullen as she turns to you.

"She was in active labor last I saw her..." you shake your head, finding the words to say, "it is terrible to be without a mother," you turn to your sister, placing a hand on her shoulder as well, "the pain never quite leaves you. My sister and I know it well."

Rhaenyra turns back to her food, "how good to know."

You frown and crouch down beside her, "darling."

Rhaenyra slowly turns back to you, tears now falling from her eyes.

"Pain is difficult... but I've come to realize," you swipe her cheek, "it makes peace all the more precious." You chuckle under your breath when your own eyes begin to water, "I would know."

Alicent frowns, quickly feeling her own eyes well up at the display.

The same happens to Daemon. He watches three girls weep and his face hardens as he comes to Rhaenyra's side, "bisa tolī kessa rēbagon, ñuha riña." This too shall pass, my girl.

Rhaenyra turns to her uncle as he grabs her hand, heavy tears stream down her face, "ziry ōdragon." It hurts.

Daemon is supposed to say something, but then he notices Alicent begin to fuss over you. You softly brush her off as you come to stand. Alicent is quick to stand with you, and she is glad to have done so, because you nearly topple back.

Rhaenyra's hand is quickly dropped when Daemon comes to your side, calling out your name. You sheepishly turn to him, apologizing over and back as he escorts you to a seat.

Rhaenyra stares at you as her uncle sits you in the chair across her She watches how Daemon treats you, thinking she's never seen him treat anyone like this before, much less a lady. It makes her sorrow all the more sour.

He brushes your back but only calms after your food is served and he's seen you eat a few bites. He takes a goblet of wine but his eyes remain fixed on you, "better?"

You turn to him, sheepish, still, "I am. Thank you, darling."

Alicent's eyes widen at the sound of the pet name. Rhaenyra rolls her eyes with a huff. It is precisely that sound that makes you realize what you've said. You were used to referring to Alicent and Rhaenyra that, it came so naturally this moment, "I- I mean-"

"Where is your father?" Daemon turns to Rhaenyra, seemingly not noticing your slip up. He did notice, but why wouldn't you call him darling?

Rhaenyra clenches her jaw as she shakes her head, "mourning his lost heir."

Both you and your husband's face fall. You turn from the princess to the prince, reaching for his hand. Daemon clutches your hand as his brows constrict, "your brother is dead?"

"Just last night," Rhaenyra absentmindedly stirs her food, "his and my mother's funereal will be held in a few hours."

Your heart hurts for her, "my deepest sympathies for your losses, princess."

There is a thick silence for a moment. You all find it quite hard to eat, but you do so regardless. You force feed yourself through the unpleasant churn in your belly. After a while, you look across the room, finding that it looked everyone was experiencing the same thing. You break the silence, turning to your sister, "perhaps Alicent can accompany you to the temple to pray. It did always help me."

Alicent turns to Rhaenyra, but she does not react.

Your sister looks back at you and you give her a nod of encouragment. Alicent thinks for a moment, "a walk there would be good for you as well."

You smile at the red haired girl.

"My prayers are terrible," Rhaenyra mumbles.

You huff and frown at the thought, "it is impossible. No prayer is terrible, especially not one spoken in earnest."

Rhaenyra remembers how her septa would use you as an example for praying. She sniffles, "would you join us, aunt?"

You perk and immediately nod, "I would love t-"

"No," Daemon quips, placing his silverware down, "I do not want to be subjected to tolling bells and incense."

You all turn to him as Daemon turns to you. You slowly shake your head, "if... that is the case, you do not have to come."

Daemon's eyes widen ever so slightly in offense.

"Perhaps you can wa-"

"Kesan daor mītepagon ao ñuha ābrazȳrys," I will not lend you my wife, says Daemon to Rhaenyra.

You turn from your husband to his niece. Rhaenyra looks back at you, "he says he will not lend you to me."

Your lips part, giving him a look, "Daemon."

"She has your sister," he turns to you, "if they need another companion, lend her your ward."

A long silence passes.

Rhaenyra stares at her half-empty plate and decides that's as much as she'll ever get to eat in this moment. She pushes her chair back and stands, "I'm quite finished," she looks between the table. Alicent takes a final spoonful before standing as well.

"Raqagon aōha ābrazȳrys, kepa," enjoy your wife, uncle, Rhaenyra says as she walks off. Alicent follows after her, and both girls look at you as you stand to greet them goodbye. Daemon simply looks at his niece.

Rhaenyra, though she always harbored a special affection towards her uncle, could not find it in her to project her ire out on you, for you were nothing but kind to her, and after all, you were her closest friend's older sister. She nods at you as she leaves, "princess."

"Princess," you nod back and do the same for Alicent, "sister. Take care of each other."

Once they are gone, you sit back down and glare at Daemon.

It takes a moment for him to realize it. When he catches your look, his brows contort. You immediately quip, "would it very hard for you to stomach the ambience of the temple for an hour?"

Daemon turns back to his plate. He thinks of the night he came to you at the temple, "just because I came for you does not mean I wish to do the same for Rhaenyra."

You knit your brows deeply, not having a clue on what he's saying, "what?"

The image of sorrowful wailing still haunts him, and your prayer for death is not something he wishes to hear ever again. You cannot pray such prayers if you are not in that fucking place, "I forbid you from going to the temple."

"You forbid me?" you ask, flabbergasted.

"It is my prerogative where I go, and-" he turns back to you, "where my wife does."

You stare at him for a moment. You feel frustration bubble in your belly, "Daemon."

Anger bubbles in his belly.

You reach for his hand and gaze upon him in confusion, "the child's mother is dead."

He looks at your hand before his away, "I knew her mother longer than she has."

You chuckle in disbelief, pulling your head back. He looks at you, jaw set and eyes glassy. You shake your head slowly, "that's not fair."

"Isn't it?" Daemon laughs, hurt by your sentiment.

"Her mother is dead," you shake your head rapidly, "she who taught her everything she kno-"

Daemon stands abruptly, jaw and fists clenched tightly, making you flinch. He stares at you for a long moment and you feel your breath begin to grow heavy. You slowly reach for his hand, half expecting him to rip his arm away. When he does not, you come to a stand, "Dae-"

"You impress me with your commitment to understand everyone else but I."

His words stab you like a spear through the chest. Your eyes begin to water, "is that what you think I'm do-"

"Then what?!" he snaps, tears threatening to fall down his cheeks.

You begin to sob and you take his cheeks, "I'm trying to make you understand what I am thinking, why I want to go with Rhaenyra, because I know what it fee-"

"Do I not mourn?" Daemon swats your hand away from him. He quickly turns away when his tears begin to fall. He does not get to notice how you twitch at his action, nor how instantly your heart begins to race.

He walks off to the door, stopping for a moment, waiting for you to come after him. You do not.

More accurately, you cannot. You clutch your chest and try to calm yourself before you slip into a full blown attack. You force yourself to take five deep breaths, and thankfully, you do not feel light headed.

Daemon, too wrapped up in his self-suffering, does not even think to look at you and storms out of the dining room.

By the time the doors slam shut, you are able to bring yourself to go after your husband. You move as quickly as you can, convincing yourself sprinting was worth it if you managed to catch up to Daemon. The thing was, you were still a terrible runner, and it if wasn't hard enough to catch your breath, you were screaming out the prince's name as you did, making it doubly hard.

Daemon, on the other hand, did not have to try to walk as fast as he did. He is walking so fast, if anyone were to crash into him, they would shoot off and hurt themselves.

It doesn't take long for you to lose your breath, and though you didn't want to, your body to forces you to stop. You were so close. You managed to catch a whiff of Daemon's silver hair, but now everything was turning silver... then black. You reach to the side to lean against the wall, but you miscalculate your reach and shift your weight, only to slip and crash roughly onto the ground.

You're so out of breath, no sound comes out of you when you crash. The pain is immense, yet you are rendered mute. Your ribs throb at the impact of colliding against the stone floor. You do not know it, but your nose it bleeding too.

It's a wonder that you did not pass out. Or perhaps it was the gods' will for you to feel fibre of your body strangle itself from how your lungs struggled, as punishment for being unkind to your husband.

You do know know it, but two Gold Cloaks find you on the floor. They are quick to bring you to the maester's ward. You hear them explain to the measter how they found you, and you muster up your remaining energy to say, "Daemon... please."

The two Gold Cloaks understand and leave with the intent of sending your husband to you. They will not manage to find him till much later for he went off on dragonback.

You lie on one of the cots in the maester's ward, staring at the ceiling you've come to know all too well. You know your maester can do little to help you in this moment, but you are grateful for his care nonetheless.

"You mustn't strain yourself in your condition, your grace," the old man says, "you are carrying a child within you."

You tense at his words. Your sit up and straighten your back, rapidly shaking your head, "b-but, maester, how can that be? It cannot be."

He offers you a solemn look, "your father, Lord Hand, has made us monitor you-"

"He does not finish inside me," you quip and frantically motion, "he- he... he spills on my skin. How then can I be with child?"

The maester is taken aback by your confession. He does not give himself away though and calmly explains, "it is still possible for... the seed take root from premature ejaculation."

You are floored by this information. You shake your head in disagreement, "but— he will not believe me."

"He does not have to. It does not ch-"

"He will do everything to villainize me. He will accuse me of infidelity."

He frowns, "I can explain it to-"

"No!" you grab his arms, "you must not tell him! You must not tell a soul."

He pulls his head back, "your grace..." he brings your hands slowly off him, "you can only hide such a thing for so long."

You shake your head and bring yourself to stand, "it is a worry for another time."

"Wait- you cannot leave-"

"I cannot miss the queen's funeral."

The maester does his best to prevent you from leaving. He calmly tries to lead you back to bed and explain that no one would fault you for being unable to attend. You are persistent however and managed to get out of the room. Two other maesters come and try to reel you back in, and it is the same time your wards come running in.

News of you fainting had spread like wildfire, and both their faces were marked with avid worry. "Princess!" they call in unison.

"Make them release me!" you wail in exhaustion as you fight off the maesters.

"She cannot go," your maester says, "she is far too weak."

"Unhand her this instant!" Erryk barks, ready to forcefully shove the old men away from you.

The maesters pull away in shock and confusion as Erryk imposes upon them. Arryk is the one to keep you upright, and he is horrified by the state you are in. You lean into his armour, lulled by his hard steel as you sigh in exhaustion.

"You would subdue her in such a state?" Arryk snaps.

"She is hysterical," the maester says, "she is not strong enough to-"

"Aye, but she's strong enough to fight off 3 grown men?" Arryk grits his teeth as he keeps you upright, "have you not given her medication?"

He sighs, "there is no medication fo-"

"Then what business has she here?" Erryk raises his brows, "you'd keep her to rot?"

The man scoffs, "I am offended, ser, that you think you know better than I when it comes to the health of the princess."

"I do know better," Erryk snaps, "you will not treat her like a prisoner if she asks to leave again."

"Ha!" the maester snaps, "fine! I'm sure the days you've spent gutting men has made you learned in the ways to heal them, ser."

With that, the maesters leave and you feel a weight lifted off your shoulders. You sigh as Erryk turns to you, seeing the hardness of his face soften in real time. You frown, "you should not have done that."

"My duty?" he narrows his eyes, "they had you surrounded like a criminal."

Arryk nods, "I fear they might have bruised you."

You sigh, fighting back tears. You steel yourself away and shake your head, "I should prepare for the funeral."

You do just that and Erryk and Arryk escort you to the funeral. You immediately spot Daemon, but he was stood beside his brother and niece, so you did not think it proper to interlope. You find Alicent standing just a few paces from Rhaenyra and debate to join her, but then you see the Lord Hand farther behind her, and you feel the need to cry.

"Papa," you mumble to yourself as you go to him.

Your father is quick to recognize your distress once you come to him, and quickly takes you under his arm. It is so instinctive, the Cargyll twins are shocked by it. They were supposed to keep close watch on you, but they decided to give you and your father privacy.

Otto had long decided physical affections were no use to you, and yet in this moment, he pulls you into him, securing one arm your shoulders. You press your cheek into his chest as you steal a glance at the king. Viserys stands before two lifeless bodies, and the sight mirrored that of the day your mother died.

You wrap your arms around your father.

He sighs, eyes throwing daggers at the Rogue fucking prince, "did he take the news badly?"

You shake your head, "I have not told him."

Otto sighs again, agitated and disappointed. His face is crestfallen as calls out your name, "what happened then?"

"I am terrified."

Your father tenses and clenches his jaw. He strokes your hair, doing his best to ignore the awful sounds you were making. "The gods with strengthen you, daughter." he turns to Alicent, "I will take care of it, my girl."

After the funeral, once Otto made sure you are taken care off, he goes to his other daughter and asks about the princess. Alicent is quick to explain to him that Rhaenyra is so much like you when your mother died, "I have not seen Rhaenyra in such a state."

Otto offers Alicent a soft smile, placing a hand on her cheek, "you are ever empathetic, daughter, to both the princess and your sister."

"Sister did not look well at the funeral either. I should check up on her."

"That won't be necessary," her father raises a hand, "I've seen to her already. She needs only to rest now."

Alicent slowly nods.

"You ought to offer some empathy to the king however."

The girl tenses at the thought.

"Unlike your princesses, the king does not have people to go to at this time. Even now, he's secluded himself in his chambers. It would be good of you to go to him from time to time, if only to express how you keep him in your prayers."

Alicent tries to make sense of it. She clenches her jaw, "wouldn't it be more appropriate for you to do this, father?"

He chuckles lowly, "how much sadder would he be if a widower offer another widower his bitter prayers?"

She stills at the thought and understands. Or so she thinks.

Otto smiles and places a hand on her shoulder, "it might be best if you keep private your visits to him. You need not explain your concern to Rhaenyra to further distress her."

She nods in understanding. In truth, she does not understand the true intentions of her father, and will not until it is far too late.

As this was happening, you were trying to get ahold of Daemon. You could not for he was quick to leave the funeral right after it concluded. He had seen you crying to your father and wanted to wash his eyes with alcohol, unwanting to behold such a gruesome sight. It stung far too much that you sought comfort in that cunt face. Why didn't you cry to him instead?

Daemon washes alcohol down his throat instead with members of his City Watch at his favorite brothel. Mysaria is there to keep him company and though her touch and words are gentle, he cannot find solace in them like he once did.

The two guards who had found you on the floor earlier today hear about the gathering and go to the prince to tell him what had happened to you.

"Your grace."

Daemon sulks as he stares at a cup of wine. Mysaria, who was stood behind his chair, looks at the men then to the silver haired man, "my prince. These men want to speak to you."

"Wha-what for?" he snaps through a hiccup.

"Your wife, my prince," one says.

Mysaria stiffens, lips parting. She was not a stranger to Daemon's foul moods and prided herself in easily defusing them. It changed when he married the Hightower girl. Though it was evident most of his frustrations stemmed from you, you were too much of a touchy subject, which is why she says, "I do not think he wants to talk about her."

"A whore should not meddle with concerns she cannot understand."

Mysaria scoffs, thinking about how Daemon fucked her once and called out his bride's name. When she brought it up after, he screamed, telling her he doesn't pay her to ask questions. She steps back and crosses her arms, "be my guest then."

One of the two guards lean forward in an attempt to gain the attention of the distracted man, "prince Daemon. We wished to report something regarding your wife."

Daemon ticks. He had been gazing into space, but now he has the wits to pours himself a drink, "is she dead now too?"

The two are taken aback. Mysaria steps back a few paces.

"N-no, your grace. But she-"

"Then do not FUCKING mention her to me!" Daemon snaps, jolting from his seat. His scream was loud enough to cause the noise to cease. He grabs his cup and downs his drink in one go. He then pushes past the two guards and begins to monologue.

"The gods give as the gods take," he says, voice horse and eyes misty. "Try as they may, I am not so easily replaced."

The room is solemn as they look upon the prince. He is clearly distraught and wholly drunk.

He stares at his cup, "wine does not taste sweeter with tears. Tonight, we drink to the Heir For A Day..." he burps, "perhaps he would have liked wine."

Back in the keep, as Alicent leaves her father's quarters, you go to them, which is why you cross paths. She is concerned by how you lean into ser Cargyll's arm as you walk, and immediately comes to your side, "sister?"

"Alicent," you smile, immediately perking up.

"Lady Hightower," the knight greets her.

"It's ser Erryk," you playfully whisper with a smile.

Alicent turns to you and offershim as soft smile, "ser Erryk."

"You spoke to father, surely," you take her hand, making her look back at you, "is his mood grim?"

She shakes her head, "no. He is... relatively placid, I think."

"Good," you break away from Erryk. He assures you are firmly planted on your feet before releasing you, "I can talk to him then."

"Shouldn't you rather be resting?" she asks in concern.

"It is urgent. I-" you shake your head, "I cannot delay any further."

Alicent realizes then that your hair was fully undone and slightly messy now. You were also in your thick velvet robe, and it only causes her further concern. "I know I am not Gwayne, but if there is anything you wish to speak of," she squeezes your hands, "I am hear to lend an ear."

Your lips wobble, but you steel yourself away. You crush your sister into your arms and pepper her cheeks with kisses, "my sweet girl. I am five years your senior. I must lend you my ear." You pull away and cup her cheeks. You frown when you see her glassy eyes, "do not worry for me."

She chuckles rather sadly, "we help but worry always for those we love."

Erryk heart pinches at the solemn exchange of the two sisters. He is glad to know that at least one more person in your family loved you with gentleness. He makes mental note to encourage you to write to your brother.

When Alicent leaves, you take a breath before knocking on the Hand's door.

"Enter."

You walk in and find your father busy at his desk.

"Father."

Otto looks up at you, immediately coming to stand, "what's wrong?"

You close the door behind him, catching Erryk's encouraging gaze. He nods before you shut the door. You turn to you father, finding he was already walking towards you.

He takes your hand, inspecting you. He speaks your name carefully, and it softens your frigid demeanor, "what has happened?"

You smile sadly, "I cannot sleep."

He sighs, partially relieved it is nothing so severe. He walks towards the door, "I will have one of the maids send you warm milk and honey."

"There is something I must tell you," you say, making him stop.

He turns back you, antsy over your serious tone, "if it is regarding Daemon. Do not worry. I have designs to keep him on a leash."

You release his hand and turn to your feet.

His expression hardens. He knows whatever you have to say is grave because you can no longer look at him. He steps forward and takes your cheeks, "daughter."

You look up at him, face stained with tears.

"Go to bed," he wipes your cheeks, "you'll muster the nerve to tell your husband the news soon en-"

"He does not finish inside me, father."

"..."

"I've-" you choke on your breath, "I've spoken about it to the maesters and he's explained it is possible for the seed to take root from premature ejaculation but-"

"Have you strayed?" Otto tightens his hold a fraction.

You are aghast by his statement and rapidly shake your head, "father, I wou-"

"Then there is nothing to fear," he cuts you off, brows tensing, "your child will be born with silver hair and violet eyes, and-"

"Only I inherited your hair color," you mumble, beginning to tremble, "if my child looks too much like me—" you rapidly shake your head, "he will-"

"Enough," he snaps, shaking you slightly.

You chest begins to tighten.

Otto notices and brushes your hair out of your face. He recites the common prayer you used to pray with your mother, "Seven, hear me. Father, strengthen me. Mother, protect me. Warrior, d—"

"Defend me," you sigh, joining in, "Smith, mend me."

"Mend my daughter," Otto mumbles softly.

"Maiden, beautify me," you say together, "Crone, enlighten me. Stranger, guide me."

Otto nods and strokes your hair, "now breathe."

It takes a few deep breaths, but you are calm now. He leads you to the door and opens it. "Oh, good," he says, once spotting your ward, "you're not entirely useless."

Erryk walks over to you, ignoring your father completely as he takes you by the arm.

"Take her to bed and have some warm milk and honey served to her."

"Yes, my lord," he says, though not sparing the lord a glance.

You, however, do, looking back with a soft smile, "good night, father."

He is about to reply, but then comes a servant boy, holding a plate of crackers and cheese, who freezes at the sight of the crowded entry. He thinks he's made a mistake, so he turns to leave, but Otto raises a hand and beckons the boy over, "come."

The boy walks past you, mumble a soft, "milady."

You smile and nod, "good evening."

Erryk eyes him suspiciously as he enters the room but refocuses on walking you back.

Otto closes the door and the boy places the crackers on the table. The man circles 'round to his desk and sits down, "what news do you bring me today?"

"Prince Daemon at the brothel, milord," the boy says, rolling back and forth on his heels.

The Lord Hand's face twists in contempt. He pulls his desk open and procures a cold coin.

The boy gleefully takes it and begins to explain the events that take place.

[a-araiguma-a]

He loved only her

No one in particular, just an elf from the universe of J. R. R. Tolkien. Elf x f!reader

In the ancient forests of Middle-earth, where tall trees concealed the sky, there lived an elf. His people were as eternal as the forest itself, and their hearts were rarely clouded by mortal emotions. But one day, he met a woman—a simple, human, mortal woman. There was something about her that made his heart beat faster: her beauty, which could neither be captured by the finest poets nor sung by the greatest musicians, her mind, so unlike that of other humans, filled with thoughts, ideas, and philosophy, or her eyes, in which one could drown if they gazed too long. It was something he could not understand, but this only made his love grow deeper.

"Cormamin lindua ele lle"—he always wanted to tell her that his heart sang at the sight of her, but it was not the right time, not yet. From the moment of their first meeting, he sought her out and waited for her in this forest every day when the sun's rays gently touched the ground, filtering through the thick foliage.

She told him about her world, about the brief lives of humans, about how they lived and died, dreaming and suffering.

"Lle naa vanima,"—he blurted out one day, not even realizing when he had said it: "You are beautiful." "What did you say?"—fortunately, she didn't understand his words, and that saddened him. It was not enough for him to meet her in the evenings; he longed to extend their conversations, to stretch them out for an hour, two, or forever. He listened to her stories, captivated not by the words themselves but by how her voice filled the emptiness in his soul. Without her, he would never have known the need to fill it.

"Tua amin!"—But did he need help? Did he need to be saved from her? Honestly, no, he was ready to drown in her eyes, ready to die if only to meet her once more. He was ready for anything...

But the Elf did not know how to tell her about his feelings. He understood that the time she gave him was limited, and each moment with her was precious. But how could he explain this? How could he tell her that his heart, which had always been eternal and free, now belonged to her? "The more you love someone," he thought, "the harder it is to tell them." "Nin lithiach, Meleth nín"—she truly enchanted him every time he saw her, even in his thoughts. His beloved. "Guren mil gaim lín"—his heart was in her hands—"Tessa sina ten’ amin"—he asked her to keep it, but in truth, she was free to do with it as she wished, as long as it was her.

And she accepted him. She had loved him too, ever since then, but she understood that it would be difficult for him; her life was short, and what would happen afterward, when she left him? She was ready to weep over such a truth. "Amin uuma malia, Arwen en amin"—it didn't concern him. Being with her and having her even for a moment was already enough. The chance to call her his—that was his happiness. His Lady, who ruled his heart and mind.

As the years passed, she began to talk more often about parting, though it pained the elf to hear it, he couldn't disagree. "When the day comes that we part," she said quietly, "if my last words aren't 'Amin mela lle,' you'll know it's because I didn't have time." In those moments, he remained silent, lost in thought, unable to find the words to express that his love knew no bounds of time. "Meleth e-guilen, my love is selfish. I can't breathe without you,"—she was the love of his life. How could she speak of them parting, not seeing her, not inhaling her scent in the mornings, no more afternoon conversations about books, about how Ellen had messed up her work again, no more seeing her smile, or those gentle eyes full of love for him... "Aa’ lasser en he coia orn n' omenta gurtha!"—Let the leaves of her tree of life never wither, he prayed. Just a little longer, he wasn't ready yet, but how could he stretch this time?

But when the fog enveloped the forest, and the cold wind brought with it a premonition of farewell, the elf finally spoke what was in his heart. He took her hand and said: "I was destined to live a thousand years, and I belong only to you for all those years. If we were to live a thousand lives, I would want you to be mine in every one of them." She looked at him, and a tear glistened in her eye. She knew their time was running out, but these were the words she believed in more than anything in the world.

For the elf's love was as eternal as the forest itself, and he continued to love, despite their parting, carrying his feelings for her through the years and ages of his life.

"Cormamin niuve tenna’ ta elea lle au’"—My heart will wait until it sees you again. "Le me ithon anuir"—I will love you forever. "Quel kaima"—Rest well.

[midnight-bay-if]

Romanced!ROs reactions to the MC telling them (sweetly, earnestly, lovingly), "I wish my dad could have met you."?

Your story gives me brain rot 💚 I just love how vibrant all the characters are!

(Thank you! It always makes me happy to hear people connecting with the characters :D)

S: The topic of parents was a source of tension between the two of you. They avoided discussing theirs due to a lifetime of unfulfilled expectations and disappointments leading to estrangement, while you… well, that much should be obvious. It’s not that you have ever explicitly warned them against mentioning James, but they dare not insert themselves where they are not wanted. They always understood that should you wish to share more about your father, you would do so on your own terms.

“I wish my dad could have met you.”

The whispered confession came amidst wonderfully inane ramblings and general chit-chat. They always enjoyed hearing your train of thought as you mapped out your day with every strange occurrence and benign encounter. Just being with you was enough to soothe their busy mind. Every moment like this feels irreplaceable. Yet, their ears catch the words at the same time they take in your demure expression, and somehow, the already irreplaceable becomes utterly invaluable.

They immediately reach out, taking your hand in theirs and holding it as if it were the most delicate and precious thing in the entire world, bringing it to their lips to press a gentle kiss against each individual finger, one by one.

“Would you tell me about him? I would love to hear anything and everything you wish to share.” And they listen. And listen. They hitch a ride on the rollercoaster of your emotions as you weep, laugh, and everything in between. It’s a beautifully awful thrill, and they feel privileged to have been invited to witness the end. “He sounds wonderfully eccentric in all the best ways. It would have been an honour to have met him.

Rain: Hearing about you has always been endlessly fascinating. Getting you to open up beyond surface details has been somewhat challenging, but when you did, knowing you trusted them enough to share the smaller details always put a massive grin on their face. It was a level of trust they had yet to extend themselves, and yes, they realise they are hypocrites for holding so much back. Their justification is that every new detail of your life they learn leads to a better understanding of you, which in turn allows them to take better care of you.

The topic of parents came up naturally after Rain convinced you to sit still through a watercolour. While they dodged every stray query in their direction, they parried with a barrage of their own.

“I wish my dad could have met you.”

They almost dropped their paintbrush. The words were heavy, but they were consumed with joy. They rush to you, almost tripping over their stool, and practically jump into your lap.

“Rain, paintbrush! You're still holding it.”

Too late. There’s a line of pale paint diluted with water running the line of your cheek. “Oh, sorry!” They quickly turn to grab a cloth before you pull them back into the embrace, undeterred.

“Forget it, I quite liked it.”

Rain relaxes, dropping the brush onto the floor so they can splay their fingers across your back. They struggle to express the reasoning behind their excitement for such a casual confession, but it has been so long since they considered themselves a permanent fixture in someone’s life. Sure, they had S and Taj, but the lines between colleague and friend blurred during missions, and the danger made everything feel temporary.

With you, everything feels safe.

“I know I would have loved him,” they agree, tucking their nose between your neck. “If he is anything like you, he had to have been wonderful.”

Taj: They were at a loss for words. No one could accuse Taj of being sensitive, and on more than one occasion since learning of your father’s demise, they had prodded you for details—sometimes out of genuine curiosity, other times to twist the knife. They feel ashamed of it now, but they didn’t believe you capable of true sorrow. More fool them.

So, despite Taj’s blunt questioning on more than one occasion, the words “I wish my dad could have met you” seem to come from absolutely nowhere. Taj feels their whole body freeze, their limbs stiffening to an almost comical degree. Your voice seems soft, as if afraid the words might offend them somehow; their answer matters to you, and that unnerves them. Because when it matters, they can never get it fucking right.

“I, um… yeah,” they begin awkwardly, running a hand through their hair, their ears twitching madly. “From what you’ve said… I mean, I don’t know much about human fathers or whatever; I’ve always pictured them as pitchfork-wielding madmen…” they grimace, cursing their clumsy tongue. “But based on what you’ve said… I think we might have gotten on. Or, well, I reckon we would at least agree that nothing matters more than your safety. So… yeah.”

It isn’t their most accomplished attempt at comfort, but they mean it. Every word.

N: They had lounged in your lap for what felt like hours, deep into the night. It was a rare moment of quiet that N had come to appreciate. Long gone were the nights of depraved debauchery; now, these moments of serenity had become far more practised. Not that you could consider them entirely innocent. If there were something they could say to make you blush, they would undoubtedly say it.

“I wish my dad could have met you.”

It seems it is your turn to evoke a reaction. “Pardon?”

“My dad,” you continue, a little more nervously twirling a long lock of their hair in your fingers. “I would have liked to introduce you to him.”

They laugh because they find the notion ridiculous. They had not intended to come across as cruel, yet the sound was mocking. “My dear, you do remember what I am, yes? I doubt daddy dearest would approve of their only child capitulating to a demon.”

They realise too late that it was the wrong thing to say. “Capitulating?” Your emotions are closing down; they see the shutters over your eyes shutting them out, and if they were not spread across your lap, they think you might have physically walked away.

“Forgive me, my dear,” they begin, desperate to salvage this moment if at all possible. “I was casting aspersions on my character, not your father's. I did not mean to sound dismissive.” They sit up, bring their face close to yours, smoothing over the creases with a gentle caress. “Here’s an idea: consider your most precious memories of him, and allow me to take a peek inside so I might get to know him as you do.”

Umbra: The words pierce their chest.

They had been enjoying a casual stroll by your side, their long limbs sometimes creaking uncomfortably with the movement, like a calf fresh from the womb as it stutters onto its hooves for the very first time. But you make everything entirely easy. You cannot help but explain memories that you believe are new to them, yet they remember just as readily. They wince a little at the pictures you paint when there is an obvious black blot in an otherwise perfect palette where the line between reality and imagination blurs.

But they push past it; their chest might ache, but you are smiling, so the rest can be buried. Then you say it: “I wish my dad could have met you,” and suddenly, every little stimulus threatens to overwhelm. You reach for them with open palms, and despite all their progress, they shrink from you like a child cowers from the cane.

What do they say? How honest do they dare to be? Too much. Your words are too big to be accepted by a heart so small. No. Not them. Not this. You don’t remember. They shouldn’t make you. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts.

And they clutch one hand with another to mask how they shake. “I’m sorry,” they whisper, although the apology seems malformed and misshapen, the words broken before you can mend them. “I waited too long, and now nothing fits. It’s wrong. I’m wrong.” You scowl with obvious concern. Their mind is scrambled, and explanations are hollow, yet there is little more they can offer. “I would have liked to have met him, too.”

Another version of them might have been braver.

(This is probably not my best work, but I've been feeling a little run down and working on little sleep recently. But I hope you find it satisfactory anyway!:))

[mitskisthoughtdaughter]

Stress Relief ; kento nanami 🔞

♡ cw ; husband!nanami x afab preg!reader, oral sex (fem. receiving), fingering, talking thru it, mdni !!!

♡ author's note ; this is my first text ever chat ☹️ pls go easy! I'm always open for criticism and suggestion, happy reading! <3

♡ word count ; 1k

♡ not proofread

after you and Nanami got married, he would tend to find any and every excuse to come home early. and now that you're pregnant, it gives him all the more reason to leave everything and take care of his beloved wife.

even though you're just in your initial stages of pregnancy, kento never lets you do any chores around the house.

cooking? he'll make your favourite dish. laundry? done and folded. cleaning? the house is already spotless. groceries? arranged in the fridge, just how you like it.

he would rather get crushed by a meteorite than let you, the love of his life, lift even a finger.

sure, he still went to his job and did his time of corporate slavery, but he'd be back 5 minutes tops if you'd call him.

your belly was finally protruding - which meant that your bottoms wouldn't fit you anymore. that bothered you a lot, and you hated how bloated and weird you looked. the constant reminder that there was a life growing inside you was terrifying too, and you always shied away from saying that to your doting husband.

as if he hadn't noticed already. Kento knows you like the back of his gentle hand. he saw through your micro-expressions, and though it was your idea to get knocked up, like you had playfully termed it, he never once held it against you. so when his precious wife was under pressure, he knew how to soothe that stress quite well.

Kento has you sprawled out on the bed, your back arching and relaxing as he presses slow, agonizing kisses on your sensitive bundle of nerves through your panties. he's been teasing you for so long, giving your thighs a multitude of lovebites and soothing kisses, leaving you in a trembling, blushing mess. you let out a mewl, your hands reaching down to gently hold onto your husband's soft blonde hair.

he, in turn, lets out a groan which vibrates through your weeping pussy. "use your words, please," Kento murmurs, his head leaning against your hold as his calculating eyes gaze up at you from your legs. "Please Kento," you give in to his request, "Use me already, I can't -" you cry out pathetically, which seemed to arouse him even more. "can't what, love? tell me so that i can pleasure you."

you couldn't take it anymore, and you jut your hips up against his face with a needy whine. he lets out a soft chuckle, resting the palms of his hands on your lower abdomen before lowering his head again. with his teeth he gently shifts the flimsy material of your panties to reveal your glistening wet core. Kento lets out a low growl of approval, his nose hovering over your puffy clit. "I'm surprised," he breathes, his hands gently molding

the plush of your inner thighs, "i never knew you get this wet just from my kisses."

kento is absolutely pussy-drunk. he starts with slow stripes from your twitching entrance all the way up to your nub, eliciting a shaky moan from you. slowly, as you both get used to the pace he speeds up, sucking on your clit gently and pulling away with a pop. "so perfect," he whispers, his tongue working easily between your folds to feast on your arousal, "my perfect wife. all mine."

your head pushes back against the mattress, and your grip on his hair tightens. it took all your willpower to snap your legs close again, the sensory overload was too much to bear. but then again, you didn't complain. you moan out his name in fervor, pulling his face deeper in your pussy. "so needy, sweetheart?" he mutters against your sensitive skin, and you nod quickly.

a soft gasp escapes your lips when you feel his fingers slowly tease your hole. "let me know if it hurts," he says, placing a soft kiss on your hip bone before coating his fingers with the mix of your arousal and his spit. two digits slip inside you with ease, your warm fleshy walls welcoming them with vigor. his eyes flicker from his hand to your face, paying close attention to the expressions you make to make sure you don't feel any discomfort. he'd immediately stop if there was.

he feels you clench around his fingers, the cool wedding band on his ring finger serving as a contrast to your heat. he curls his fingers against your g-spot, making you cry out in pleasure. you grip his bicep, your back arching off the mattress. "Kento, 'mso close," you whimper and beg. he takes your hand and kisses your knuckles, lowering his head again. "can you hold on a little longer, just for me?" he murmurs sweetly, which you know you can't refuse.

with a hesitant nod you accept his request, and he starts to thrust his fingers in and out slowly. you suck up the heat pooling in your lower abdomen, your body begging for that sweet release, but you didn't want to disappoint your loving husband now, did you?

"my pretty girl," he whispers, his lips latching onto your throbbing clit and sucking on it fervently. "k-kento! please, i-i can't!" you cry out as tears sting your eyes. your hands tightly grip his hair, which makes him moan out inside you. his fingers move at a faster pace, slowly adding a third to the mix.

he lets out a soft growl of approval, pulling away from the sensitive bud and placing a soft kiss on your thigh. "cum for me," he mutters, gently nibbling on the sensitive skin, "let me see you come undone."

you dont waste a single second, that delayed orgasm hitting you like a brick. your body convulses as you clench around his fingers and your head pushes deeper against the pillow.

"that's my good girl," kento whispers praises in your ear, very slowly pulling his fingers out and staring at your glistening release coating his fingers and dripping down to his wristwatch. something about that, got him aroused more than anything. placing a chaste kiss on your forehead his lips curl into a thin smile. "you did so well, pretty lady."

you cling to him again after the high fades away. what did you ever do to deserve someone like him? "kento?" you whisper his name, and he gazes lovingly into your eyes. "yes, my love?"

"you'll make a great father," you say, catching him off-guard. he stares at you for a beat, then with a wider smile, he pulls you close.

"and you'll be the best mother."

🎀

[ichore]

STUDY OF A SCANDAL | NEUVILLETTE

synopsis: a starving journalist, the iudex of fontaine and reader, the most talented soprano of teyvat all attend a ball at the opera epiclese where one scandal follows another as a storm does not allow anyone to leave.

tags, warnings: heavy drugs (aphrodisiac, ecstasy), involuntary drug consumption, neuvillette x afab!reader, reader is a talented singer, reader is secretly a water creature as old as Neuvi, MONSTER FUCKING, Neuvillette's takes reader in semi dragon form, journalist is a pos, cunnilingus, p -> v, unprotected, oh the consequences

wc: est 3.3k

It begins with a tear rolling down on the porcelain skin of the Iudex of Fontaine's full cheek.

As you stand tall all alone on the platform of the Opera Epiclese, not a shred of whisper or mumble leaves the people of the water nation - it's only your voice that vibrates in between their bodies, it crawls at the high walls and crimson drapes and threatens to never leave. You've sung these songs many times across all of Teyvat; you're considered an Honored Guest wherever you decided to set foot. But your heart belongs to Fontaine, and such is evident in the way your gaze lingers on its people ahead of you.

Then, as if it's supposed to be part of your show, as the last note of your last song bubbles in your throat, a clash of thunders shakes the building.

The Melusines are quick on their short legs to inform everyone to stay inside, and whereas there's no need to worry, it would be best if everyone waited in the Opera Epiclese until the storm ended. Curses and hisses rumble across the people meanwhile the Iudex of Fontaine leaves his seat and his noiseless steps carry him to his office. It's only you who notices how his shoulders rise and fall in the familiar motion of weeping, how his cloth napkin soaks in the tears that escape him despite his greatest effort to soothe himself. 

“If it's fine with everyone,” you begin with your voice exhausted and slightly croak from your show. “I have enough cakes and fruits to invite everyone for a spontaneous little ball to spend the time. I'm sure my colleagues would love to entertain you with their music, as well.”

The storm is almost like a gift to you: finally you don't have to worry about wasting all the precious food that people gift you. Usually you give the majority away for the poor, but because finding such families takes time, a good amount still spoils. Such kindness in your heart is the second reason Teyvat adores you, and that same tenderness makes you rush after the Iudex with your dress held a bit higher in your fists so you don't trip.

“Excuse me?” you hear a nervous male voice call out to you, and you reluctantly stop in your tracks to offer a smile to the journalist standing ahead of you. He's skinny, too skinny to be healthy, you think. His hair crown is already fading from the top of his head, the lilac bruise of exhaustion rests under his eyes, but you suppose that he cannot be more than thirty.

“I'm happy to give you an interview later. I'm rather busy with something right now, I hope you don't mind.” you say.

“No, not at all. I just wanted to give you this.” He pulls out a heart-shaped, crimson silk wrapped box from under his arm. Chocolate, more food, great. “I know what you're thinking, but this is the Iudex's favorite and the filling is the finest Valberry jam from Mondstadt. It's very hard to get a box of these nowadays.”

“Oh, my,” you fill your heart sink at the thought of the trouble this poor man went through just to please you, and the furrow of your brow lets him know that you're sold before you take away the box. “I can't thank you enough. Is it okay with you if I share it with the Iudex? You mentioned it's also his favorite.”

“Well, yes, of course. Please enjoy. But I suppose you're in a hurry, so I shall leave you to it.” he bows as he takes your free, white silk cloaked hand and presses your knuckles against his chapped lips. “It was a pleasure meeting you. You're just as beautiful and kind as the rumors say so.”

“Thank you, once again.” you bob a quick curtsy to him before leaving him behind. He watches the white, lacy patterns on the bottom of your turquoise dress wash against the floor as you continue your hurried steps to one Melusine to another to find Monsieur Neuvillette. A smirk deepens at the side of his mouth as he watches you open the box and eat the first piece of chocolate while you wait to be let into his office, and he's already thinking about just how many good pictures he's going to take of you and the Iudex.

A shiver runs across your spine, gooseflesh blooms on your skin when you finally stand ahead of Neuvillette. He's facing his high windows, taking in the view of the year's most brutal storm: trees are bending and breaking, the wind carries away the flowers of the streets and he notices some personal possessions fly across the asphalt. As the Iudex, he's already thinking about how to fix this mess. But as Neuvillette, he can't stop his body from shaking.

“Apologies for leaving without a word. Your show was most exquisite … it touched my soul in ways I cannot find the words to describe.” The tremble in his voice is enough for you to understand the waves of emotions that wash through him.

“Don't worry, Monsieur. Knowing my music has these effects on such a great man like yourself is a compliment on its own. I will remember it for the rest of my life with pride.” Despite him having his back facing you, you can see on the reflection of the window that his usually bright gaze is darker and they're fixated on your form. You offer a slight curtsy, and you swear it's only a long second that you close your eyes for, yet when you lift your chin, he's standing closer to you with his face ahead of yours. He's so close, you can smell the lavender oil the Melusines treat his luscious hair with and the sea salt that they use to wash his clothes.

“And proud is what you should be,” he begins. “It's been a long time since I've felt such an emotional turmoil. Yet, I don't think the language you sing in is familiar to me.”

“It's a dead language,” you nod. Your fingers begin to play with the material of your dress at your sides. “My mother taught it to me when I was little. I know phrases and words, but I can't tell you where the language is from or who used it.”

“No one else speaks this language, yet you manage to touch all of Teyvat with it. You're a real talent, and it's been my pleasure to have you visit our nation.” 

“Oh, it's been a pleasure more of mine, really.” You flash your pearly white teeth at him in a smile, and you swear that at the same second, from his window, you can see the storm lose its vigor and turn into a windless pour of rain. “I just wanted to check upon you, and share this box of chocolate with you at the same time if it's fine with you. A kind gentleman gave this to me saying that this is your favorite.”

“Strange, I can't recall ever seeing, let alone tasting such a dessert from Mondstadt.” He hums against the side of his index finger while musing. In the back of your mind, you already know that someone would lie about such a thing, but a strange, hurricane-like sensation washes across you as you stare at the man towering right ahead of you. The distinct color of his eyes, the ivory color of his healthy locks, the perfect pale skin are all calling to you for a touch, and you press your thighs together as your liquid desire begins to swell in between your folds. “How was it?”

“I'm sorry, what was the question?” you shake your head and laugh a little to be able to tear your stare away from him. The heat is already rising to your head, painting your cheeks rosy with a deep blush.

“I can see you already ate one. Was it to your liking?” the vibrations of his voice are more apparent, you realize, and it pains you that you can't swallow them in a kiss right now.

“Yes, Monsieur. I think it's quite nice. Has a little bit of a strange aftertaste, but otherwise it's delicious. The Valberry jam filling is extraordinary. ”

“Please, call me Neuvillette,” he returns your smile as he takes one of heart shaped chocolates into his mouth before he motions towards the couch, insisting that you sit down while he places the box on his table. “It's delicious indeed. I suppose I can trust your judgment when it comes to sweets in the future.”

“Thank you, Neuvillette.” You whisper. Sweat already begins to pearl at your hairline and on your nape by the time he takes off his cloak and his weight sinks into the couch so painfully close to you, you can feel his thigh brush against yours through your dress. 

“If it isn't too much to ask,” he begins. “Can you tell me what the story is behind your last song?”

“Well… it's a love story. A tragic one.” his colors appear brighter and clearer with each passing second, his icy appearance calling to you for a release from this burning that consumes you within. You can't look him in the eyes anymore, you realize while watching your fingers get lost in the vibrant color of your skirt. “It's about two lovers who were washed apart by the Archons and the primordial sea, never to see each other again, forced to spend their entire lives yearning for the other. But one day, they meet, but one doesn't remember the other anymore.”

“Sounds Fontanian,” Neuvillette muses as he loosens the knot on his scarf, revealing his swan-like neck to you. “Apologies, it's awfully hot in here today.”

“No worries,” you offer a smile, but the first sweat drop already begins to roll down on your temple and in your thoughts, you're mumbling thousands of curses at how tight your corset is. Yet, you do not find yourself wishing for air, but yearning to steal it from Neuvillette’s lungs. “My mother was from Fontaine, so it does make sense that the language originated from somewhere here.”

“Makes it even stranger that I can't recall hearing it before, however - ” 

“Neuvillette …I,” you cut into his words, hesitating to continue your words, but you're certain that you're edging closer and closer to fainting if you don't get some air soon. “It's very unethical of me to ask you, but would you be so kind as to loosen my corset for me a little?”

“Of course,” and the moment you touch his reached out hand to help you stand up, you wish you could tell him that it doesn't matter anymore and that you just need to go outside. But the rain is still pouring and the haze on your mind refuses to leave. The touch of his fingers are ever so delicate and delicious as they open the back of your dress to get to your corset. Your neck tilts and a sigh leaves your lips as the pressure on your ribs eases, and in your moment of relief, you don't notice Neuvillette's halt in his movements.

The sight of the crook of your neck invites him in for a kiss as his arms circle around your waist under your dress - at first, his touches are unsure, but as a satisfied hum leaves you, his arms tighten around you and his kisses travel from your neck to your jaw. Your eyelashes flutter when your gaze meets his, as if to give him permission to his begging eyes, that yes, he can very much kiss you. His lips feel like the sweetest sea foam: so delightful and gentle, and you can finally feel your lungs be filled with his being. You push your dress down, making it pool around your feet while Neuvillette's hands brush up on your belly to reach the front of your corset before pushing it off you and letting it fall on the dress. 

“You're so beautiful,” he whispers, and you feel his cock twitch against your ass as he begins to fondle your breasts. He swallows every whimper that escapes your lips when he takes each of your nipples in between his fingers, playing a rough game with them. “I adore your voice, the noises you make. The thought of making you sing in pleasure for me is driving me mad. Please, let me make you mine.”

“I'm yours, all yours,” you're ready to beg for more, but as if he can read your thoughts, he lays you across the couch before he frees you of your panties, panty hoes and shoes. For a brief second, you can hear a clicking sound from the distance, but the desire entirely engulf you both that you don't notice the barely open entrance door and the journalist with his camera. If this all wasn't for him being able to put bread on his table, he would've admitted that there is something magical about the way Neuvillette's tongue finds all the right spots in your cunt. It really does make a sensational picture: the Iudex of Fontaine devouring Teyvat's most famous soprano like his life depends on it.

But for Neuvillette, that feeling is as real as your hands holding onto his ivory hair. For a while, he wondered what got into him, but his words to you were true and the sounds that escape you makes him throw away every logical reasoning as to why he shouldn't suck on your clit or push his tongue so deep into you that it makes you cry out. 

“Right there, hng, please -” his eyes that were fixated on you the whole time now roll back as he feels the gush of your ecstasy pour into his mouth. He can't help, but get rid of his own clothes in fast but drunken movements, and he's ready to get back on top of you before something feral awakens in him. It's the glowing of his irises that you notice first between your thighs, then you swear that you can see his tongue stretch and part into two at its tip while his suddenly longer nails rake across your sides. This time, he's eating at you with primal hunger while one of his grip finds his growing cock and strokes it in the same fast rhythm his tongue dances inside you. You scream, you squirm, but it only makes him become all the more fast and rough as his upper lip rubs against your clit.

“What the fuck,” the journalist mumbles under his breath, his eyes widening in terror as Neuvillette's lower body grows navy blue scales, a forked tail emerges from the end of his spine and his dick is becoming dark and enormous enough that seemingly only the tip would be enough to fill you up. With shaky hands, he takes a picture.

“So it is you, hng, fuck-” you try to tell Neuvillette as another, but more powerful climax numbs your mind. Your heart flutters at the man standing ahead of you, and your love is the only thing that helps you think straight. “I've been looking for you my whole life, Hydro Dragon, my love.” 

“You're not terrified…” Neuvillette notes, his chest sinking with a sigh of relief before he questions what you said to him. It's an animalistic instinct that makes him kneel between your legs, rubbing his entire length across your folds to coat it in the mixture of his spit and your sticky juices. A whimper leaves your lips each time his thick head threatens to push into your entrance. “You're not human either, are you?”

“No,” you say simply as green scales begin to form on your thighs where Neuvillette is stroking you before they disappear again. Fighting your lavender haze of lingering orgasm, you sit up to take his tip in your palm to rub it for him as you continue. “I'm a siren. So don't worry, I can take this.”

“The song…” his brows furrow as you position his cock against your pussy, and begin to push yourself against it. It's painfully slow: he can feel every crook and cany of your insides, the blood in your veins welcoming him, the very wetness and warmth of you swallowing him so eagerly until his balls meet your ass. He shudders.

“It's about us, my love. You forgot about me.” You moan as you feel your insides adjust to his size. No matter how many human lovers you took over the millennium, no one and nothing ever compares to Neuvillette.

“Forgive me,” his lizard-like tongue dances along with yours as he wraps his arms around you and lifts you up into the air. Your legs wrap around his waist, your arms hold him in a sweaty embrace as he begins to slowly pull you up and down on the length of his cock. “Forgive me.”

“It was never your fault, hng, please go faster.” you beg of him as you look down at the sight of the two of you. His legs are of a dragon, his black claws digging at the wooden floor to hold himself in place as he begins to pick up the pace.

“I remember this,” he whispers as he loses himself in the feeling of you wraps around his entire being: your sound, your smell, your eyes. He remembers it all now, and his thrusts become rougher as if he feels angry at all the years you didn't spend together. Not only did they take you from him, they didn't even leave the memory of you. Tears begin to pour from his eyes as he kisses you again, his arms tighten around you and his thrusts become sloppy, but the clenching of your orgasm pushes him over his own pinnacle and he paints your walls white with his seed.

“Don't cry, my love,” you stroke his hair while his tears fall on your collarbone after he gently places you on the couch and he lays on top of you, his body slowly transforming back to human. “We found each other, that's all that matters.”

“What about you? Your loneliness? Your fright?” his voice shakes, and you can hear another powerful wind jerk at the buildings outside.

“I've always known we'd find our way back to each other. When I was lonely, I always recalled nights like this or when you were crying because of a song about a fish family when my parents invited you over to their coral palace. I've always remembered the kindness of your heart, and I carried it with me as my companion.” you comfort him and a smile tugs at your lips as the gray clouds begin to part on the sky, and the sunlight seeps through. You think about asking Neuvillette if he wants to check on the guests, but you find him with his eyes closed and deep in a slumber.

As you are trapped beneath him and you can't hear music anymore, you suppose that everyone else already left and you can also rest.

Until you hear the click sound of a camera.

“Needless to say, you're fired,” the Chief Editor of Steambird doesn't even bother to open the envelope that contains the erotic pictures of Neuvillette and you before she tears it into shreds. “Drugging the Iudex AND a Teyvat famous star? What were you even thinking? Hell, I even doubt you were thinking at all.”

“But…” the journalist begins, but the Editor holds up her hand to halt his words.

“You're to leave this company effective immediately. And if I were you, I'd be crawling on my knees to Monsieur Neuvillette for an apology and a huge thank you for not having you executed for treason.”

And with two boxes of worthless papers and without a penny in his pocket, the only mortal who knows your love story and your true being becomes your enemy.

[kit-williams]

Little Gift

@moodymisty peer pressured meeeeeeeee

tw: some tokophobia?

NOTE: I CAN'T APPARENTLY WRITE HAPPY MORTARION

The day finally came and left... and Mortarion was a nervous wreck... internally. He could hear the voice in the back of his mind berate him as he couldn't be in there with her... back on Barbarus he had heard enough women giving birth to know it was unpleasant. Another reason his felt that bubble of anxiety was he was afraid of what he's helped made... he wasn't like a martyr like Corvus who would probably be beside himself if he impregnated a woman. But, he knew they were hand crafter abominations as Father liked to spout that they were all made with some design in mind.

He snorts as it would probably have been better to make them all Eunuchs or some genderless parody of the human form then maybe he would have spared you whatever the two of you made. Mortarion was also scared of it being some abomination... something malformed and unable to live long... he was scared that you would be traumatized and the fearful small boy in his psychi was so scared that he would be alone again.

"My Lord Primarch." A midwife comes out and averts her gaze as he looks over. She took his grunt as her to continue, "She's ready to see you."

Mortarion walked into the sterile room now empty of the once many occupants before it all started and he left. He looks at you being pale and in a sense deflated... he's studied up on what this will have done to you. You're topless as there on your chest with blood clinging to the bottom of their tiny feet is a newborn... your newborn... his newborn... his throat tightens as he looks at the way you look at him now lovingly.

"Mortarion." You whisper, "They're so precious."

He walks closer and looks down at the baby on your chest. His chest feels so tight... as you look at the helpless creature... no not creature... it was his baby too... he couldn't deny the fact any more. The peach fuzz on the top of their head... the fact they had no smell... his tears hit your shoulder as he ghosts a finger along the tiny spine of their back, a spine probably no wider than one of his fingers, in fact his fingers are probably wider. He kneels down, his eyes darting over the face that looks so old at the same time of being so young. "I... I shouldn't..." He wheezes as he didn't deserve to create... he was no crafter but none of them much less him deserved to create life.

"Do you want to hold him?"

Mortarion shook his head as he held your head against his letting himself silently weep in a sense of joy. "I dont deserve it."

"You will hold them one day... and they wont want to be put down by their papa."

Mortarion makes a strangled noise of pain as like Calas they'll look up to him but its so much different from adopting someone to making them. Your arm half hugs his head as you smile tiredly, soothing him as he whispers to you about how amazing you are.

@bispecsual @egrets-not-regrets @moodymisty @bleedingichorhearts @liar-anubiass-blog

@thevoidscreams @barn-anon @gallifreyianrosearkytiorsusan @squishyowl @ms--lobotomy

@nekotaetae @sleepyfan-blog @aidathekiller

[bloby-876]

This is actually so dialogue heavy be warned.

---

"Im leaving Camelot."

Arthur nearly chokes on his wine and Gwen openly gapes at him.

Merlin laughs lightly at the look on their faces and Gwen's heart melts just a bit because how long has it been since they truly spent a moment together?

He stood in front of their table and Arthur took a moment to look, really look, at Merlin. His eyes were dark and his shoulders were broader compared to when he first came to Camelot. His smile was something Arthur hardly got to see anymore. And as Arthur processed the weight of Merlin's words, a sick feeling of dread slowly began building up somewhere in his heart.

"What? How- What brought this on, Merlin?" Gwen spoke, her voice quivering slightly. Arthur knew that she was likely fiddling with a ring on her finger, a nervous habit she picked up from him.

"I-" Merlin hesitated. One of his hands grasped at his forearm nervously. He looked like he might tear up. "I don't know what to do with myself now."

He locked eyes with Arthur.

"Ever since I first came to Camelot, I've lived in constant paranoia. I could never fully trust any friends I made for fear of the pyre. And- and when you started changing into this-," Merlin gestured to Arthur, "-this selfless, kind, brave king- I did everything I could to protect that. When you started courting Gwen, I did all that I could because I wanted you two be happy. It changed me, Arthur."

They knew about Merlin's magic but he had never truly told them about what Merlin had gone through throughout the years. They were stuck feeling helpless as the light slowly drained from his eyes, doing whatever they could but it never felt like enough.

He went on explaining.

"I turned into a weapon. My hands are stained with the blood of hundreds and yet it never mattered to me as long as you were both safe. But- when you stopped needing me?" Tears were flowing down his pale cheeks as he wiped them helplessly. Gwen got up immediately, rushing to wipe at them with a handkerchief. Arthur was right behind her, a hand on both gwen and Merlin's shoulders.

"I don't know what to do with myself. Gaius has a new physician's apprentice who's way better at medicine than I am, you and Arthur have George, Morgana is an excellent court sorceress, and I'm still here."

Arthur wanted to interrupt. It pained him, more than anything, to hear Merlin talk like that about himself. Like there was no worth in him other than how well he could serve others.

Gwen cried quietly. She had been so busy with learning the inner workings of court life that she missed how her best friend has been feeling.

"Merlin-"

"I need to find myself Arthur, Gwen. And- I can't do that here anymore." He looked so pained as he spoke. Gwen knew how selfish of her it would be to ask him to stay anyway but she wanted to, so badly. And she ached.

"..Okay," the king started, "if that is what you believe is best. But Merlin-"

"You will always, always have a place in Camelot. And I'm so sorry we ever made you feel like you didn't." Her voice came out strong, for she knew that Merlin needed something more, and neither the king nor queen could provide that anymore.

Arthur let his tears fall openly now, and he tightened his hold on them both, on his most precious people, the two who taught him to be better, to truly be a king. He loved them both so, so much. And his heart hurt with how badly he never wanted to let go.

And the three stayed there for a long while, weeping together. Eventually Merlin had to leave. Arthur resisted the urge to pull him back.

And Gwen couldn't see him off at the courtyard properly because she knew she would crack, beg him to stay, apologize a thousand times. And she didn't because she knew that Merlin would.

So when he left and long after they lost sight of his horse and lantern, they stayed by the window. Eventually, Gwen let out a sob and rushed into Arthur's arms. She mourned and cried and sobbed as loud as she needed and pretended like she couldn't feel a patch on her shoulder getting wet.

They fell asleep with heavy hearts and the knowledge of a ring on Arthur's desk that will never meet its intended hand, a third of a coin on a braided necklace that will never be accepted, a speech meticulously planned to ask him to stay with the two forever, to rule alongside them.

Perhaps a lot of things were left unsaid.

---

AAASJEHAIDBOS S

I read pt. 1 of @mysticsublimeperson's mergwenthur au a lonng time ago and this thing has been running around in my head ever since.

[little-miss-fandom-freak]

Could you write something for moon knight and his boys where they react to khonshu making the reader his new fist?

FIRST REQUEST FUCK YEAH!!! I based this off of the show since I haven't read many Moon Knight comics so if u wanted based off of the comics I'm sorry lol

Marc's kinda sad ngl, but that mainly bc of how he reacted to the idea of Layla being the next Moon Knight in the show. Steven's and Jake's aren't nearly as sad :)

ECLIPSE

Something felt... wrong.

Marc had gotten into another argument with Khonshu; it was something petty, ridiculous even, but Marc just had to run his mouth and complain. Khonshu had gotten sick of the disrespect he had been receiving from the three men, so he made his choice.

They felt a shift in themselves, like a piece of them had been ripped away.

"G-Guys..."

He turned around, the sight before him made it feel like all the oxygen was ripped from his lungs. His lover stood before him, dawning the Mark of Khonshu...

Marc Spector

He rushed to them, taking their face into his hands.

"Oh god what have I done?!" He cried. He spun around the room, trying his hardest to spot the deity. "Khonshu you bastard! Release them! Please! I'll give you my life but do not take them from me!"

"Marc!" They called. "Please just calm down-"

"Quiet, child." Khonshu silenced them. Marc could feel the deity's presence.

"Marc Spector; you have disrespected me for the last time. I had warned you once before, and now you love will suffer the consequences of your actions."

"Damn you!" Marc tried to blindly attack Khonshu, but it was pointless. He watched helplessly as his love's precious face was covered by the Moon Knight mask. They slowly approached his weeping form, gently cradling his head in their hands as they lifted his head up.

"Hey... it's okay." They said softly. "I'll be safe, and Khonshu will protect me."

"He won't. He can't-"

"Marc." They said sternly. "Its okay. I'll still be here, and we can still be together. But I can't keep myself sane if you're not there to help. So please, for me, just... try..."

He nodded, holding their hands against his face. He kissed the clothed wrappings that covered their hands, each kiss lingering a little longer than the last.

"I'll be here for you, every step of the way."

Steven Grant

Steven didn't know how to react. On one hand, it felt weird not have the deity inside his mind. But on the other, his partner looked so GOOD in that suit.

"Uh... darling? Wha-What are you, um, wearing?" He asked, cautiously making his way to his lover.

"I-I-I don't know. Steven... there's a giant bird in behind you." They said quietly.

Steven tilted his head, confused. He spun around, looking for the bird. "B-Bird? Wait, do you mean Khonshu?"

They shakily nodded their head. "I think so."

He gasped. "Does that mean you-you're his new host?"

"Indeed it does, Steven Grant. Your fellow host, Marc Spector, has disrespected me for the last time. There for, I am done with you three. It's time for a change."

Steven didn't know what to feel. Should he be happy? After all, Khonshu was finally gone. It's what he's been praying for since he met the diety. But he's had first-hand experiences on what it's like working for Khonshu. He didn't want his lover to go through that pain as well.

Steven watched carefully as his love had a silent conversation with Khonshu, staying back to give them some space. When it seemed like they were done, he slowly approached.

"So?... Do you want to be the next 'Fist of Khonshu'?" He asked, a tad bit over the top, but it was his little attempt at trying to bring light to the situation.

They sighed, their fingers twisted and toyed with the ends of their cape as they stayed silent in thought. He gently held their hand to stop their fidgeting.

They looked up at him, gazing into his eyes before they spoke. "I... I guess it's not a bad idea. I mean, I'll still have you and the others to help me."

Steven nodded. "If it's what you want, then I will support and help you no matter what." He lightly held their chin and tilted it twords his head, their for heads lovingly pressed together.

"I promise."

Jake Lockley

When Jake turned around, he was angry. Angry at Marc for making Khonshu give up on them, angry at Khonshu for forcing their burden upon his love, angry at himself for not doing anything to prevent iI.

But he didn't show it. He could see the fear and confusion in her love's face and knew that his anger was not what they needed right now. He rushed over to them and held their shoulders tightly.

"Hey there love, you with me?"

They nodded quickly, trying to focus on Jake and ignoring the terrifying bird man speaking to them.

"Jake... he-he keeps saying things to me and I-I don't understand- I don't get what he means-"

"Sshhh..." He said softly, rubbing his hands slowly up and down their arms. "It's ok, my love. We... we can figure this out."

"Jake Lockley, my favorite of three. He was always such an obidient host. Maybe he can teach you his ways."

"My love... if this is something you don't want then..." He gulped, trying to choose his next words wisely. "We can maybe negotiate with him. Try and get him to use us instead or-"

"Jake." They said softly. "I think... I think I want this."

Jake was... surprised. "Really?"

"Yeah. I mean I always felt useless when you guys would come home covered in bruises and scars. Now it's your turn." Jake chuckled at their weird form of humor, but ut did bring him comfort. He knew his love better than he knew himself; they can handle anything thrown at them.

"I promise to always be there for you, my love. There is no where you can go that I won't find you and save you."

They chuckled as they held his face in their hands. "Even when I'm the one with the powers, you can't let me do the saving can you?"

He smiled, kissing the palm if their hand. "Never."

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

FIRST REQUEST COMPLETED! I HOPE YOU LIKED IT AND FEEL FREE TO SEND MORE MY WAY! <3

[drefear]

Righteous and Romance

Summary: Miguel is the God of chaos, and you are the goddess of peace and beauty. an idea originally by @hrhmimieucliffe

TW: light smut, p in v.

He was inherently chaos, broad backed and straight shouldered. He was the voice dripped in red and encouraged man’s wildest desires: murder, sex, gambling, money, and more. A drowning flame, he was a mystery cloaked in anger and resentment, mirroring unease at every fine point. He was insanity and she was clever. She was butterfly kisses of the sea salt air on the beach, an afternoon sun shower with a rainbow across the bluest sky. She smelled of lavender and truth, and she sounded like honey covered dew drops on the tongue of a river. Her laughter made men fall to their knees, and so did his sword. His words made widows weep, and her words made them pray for thanks. 

She was all that was good and beautiful, and he was the fire that burned beauty to the ground in a pile of rotten ashes. 

They did not see eye to eye. 

“A martyr, creating such victims with your gifts.” Miguel roared, his nature as God of Terror taking hold of his mind as he stormed into your garden while you tanned in the grass. One of your eyes opened to see his hulking, angered form marching towards you and you let out a deep sigh in retaliation. 

“At least I am one to give gifts, as I recall you only give grief.” You sat up, fastening your silk robes around your waist as you covered your shoulders and leaned on one hand. He blocked the sun as he stood in front of you, frown cutting the corners of his mouth sharply. 

“Grief builds countries, grief gives men purpose and woman motivation. What do your frilly gifts do for anyone?” 

“My beauty and kindness gives all who they grace a sense of purity and happiness, of which can also build countries and give purpose and motivation. Have you ever been kind in your life?” 

“No one has given me a reason to do so.” As you stood to speak to him, you felt dwarfed by his stature and fixed your posture. 

“You should not need a reason to be kind to another.” You spoke back and he stayed quiet, no other words being spoken. 

This was a battle of beliefs, an unspoken exchange of ideas. You stared at one another silently before he turned on his heels and stomped away. 

But the truth was, at night, he worshiped your body like a loyal disciple. HIs lips ghosted over your skin as you mounted his lap, being held but one of his arms around your waist as your head fell backwards. Miguel pushed your hair off of your shoulder as he kisses and licked the top of your soft breasts, pacing himself and going slow to savor you like his last meal. 

“Your body is like a peaceful night under the stars.” He whispered as your hands wound their way into his brown hair, shivering at his sweet words. “Thank you for this, for giving yourself to me, my sweet Goddess.” He thanked you, appreciated you as your bodies rocked together in harmony, a melody only the two of you would ever witness. 

“My bold MIguel, let me give you everything when it is just us, let yourself fall deep into love.” You spoke against his forehead as he rolled your hips against his, buried deep inside of you as you shook with overwhelming pleasure. 

“I have fallen in love, and you are my only saving grace, you are my all and nothing could compare to our intimacy. I only pray to you, I only make love to you.” His admission of true love and devotion sends waves of ecstasy to your core and makes you clench around him as you both finish. Sweat covered your features as he laid down your bare body, staying close to you and refusing to detach himself. “I will never be with another like I am with you, to the Gods I swear it.” He announced and you cupped his cheek, bruising your thumb against the stubble. 

“To you, my precious Miguel, I am only my true self, and you are my purest desire, my indulgence. You are mine.” You concluded as your eyes pulled you into a black abyss and you both fell asleep, knowing that tomorrow the bickering would continue and the night would create a paradoxical love once more, between Chaos and Beauty. 

[sehtoast]

Perfect Punishment (Homelander x gn!Reader Smut)

18+ | spanking, leg humping, technically supe!reader (vague), sublander, light choking | Fic Directory

Suffice it to say, you're never quite sure how you end up in these situations. Granted, the common denominator in all of them was that Homelander was an endlessly voracious man in need of an infinite amount of attention, and he'd go to any lengths to get it. 

Even this. 

“Mmm, harder…” He hums as your palm strikes his rear, a playful grin etching into his face at the resounding slap.

“I thought this was a punishment,” you say as you rub soothing circles over the red of his briefs. “Doesn’t really count if you like it.” You're almost ready to stop and leave him hanging as a real punishment. 

“Right, right. Ah! Ow!” 

You roll your eyes at his theatrics. You'd teased him about being such a bad boy, but it seemed like he was all too happy to fill that role. His behavior cranked past ten, and now here you are: The Homelander himself bent over your knee, underwear pulled down just a smidge and pants at his ankles. 

You're not even sure who made the spanking joke first, but god knows his eyes practically lit up like a Christmas tree at the mere mention. 

For his smart comment, you swat significantly harder. You could never actually hurt him– maybe just sting him a little.  In fact, you have a sneaking suspicion that the power dynamic reversal is what has him rocking against your thigh like the needy little thing he is. So pathetically horny at the idea of being weak and vulnerable for you. 

Of being punished by you. 

Not even his commentary could hide it. 

“Oooh, that one tickled.” He snarks one more time, but his voice betrays him completely. A slight quiver in his words, a shaky breath exhaled, cheeks turning a light pink. “C'mon, babe. Give it to me. Unless you're all talk…”

Antagonistic little… 

You grip his briefs and rip them clean off, revealing his bare ass to knead and squeeze to your heart's content. You loop an arm around his neck, restricting his throat between your forearm and bicep, tugging him just enough to make his back arch. 

“You're a very bad boy,” you whisper, nails scratching his glutes. What little fabric survived the rip still miraculously covers his cock as he grinds against you unabashedly. You wind up for the swing and–

“Mmph!”

Like music to your ears, he chokes on the cutest little sound. Something squeaky and precious, surprise vocalizing high in his throat at your sudden brazenness and strength. 

“You just wanted to hump my leg like a dog, didn't you?” You accuse, tightening your arm at his neck. You rub your last strike tenderly, letting your fingers slip along the curve of his crack. You can practically feel the way he shivers against you. “You’re makin’ a mess down there, aren’t you baby?”

Even pressed firm against your leg, you can feel his drooling cock twitch with need. The surviving scrap of fabric has to be drenched at this rate– you can almost feel the heated moisture and you know damn well his cock weeps practically the whole time he’s aroused on a regular day. 

A breathy moan escapes his slack mouth the second your fingertips graze his sack, hips bucking forward to seek more of whatever delicious friction he'd found against your lap. 

“You just wanted to lay on me and get played with like the little whore you are.” You trail your hand back and grip a cheek as hard as you can, nails biting into his flesh. “Admit it. You acted out for attention.” 

“Mmm, yeah– fuck,” he confesses through a breathless whisper. 

For his honesty, you reward him with a warm palm to his balls, feeling them tighten every time a pulse of pleasure surges through his body from how you play with him. 

He keens softly, eyes screwing shut against the twist of bliss knotting in his core.  He ruts even more brazenly than before, as if he wasn’t just getting spanked mere moments prior for always having to have his way.  Your body rocks with the strength of his thrusts, so you angle your leg to press back against him.  Sure, he was being ‘punished,’ but you’re not totally cruel.

“You wanna be my good boy, right?”  You ask ever so innocently in his ear, breath fanning against the shell of it in a way that makes him arch further back.  His mindless little nods make you grin sharply. “I thought so…”

Your hand comes down with a sharp crack against his right cheek and he writhes against you, mewling through his restricted throat.

“Count ‘em off for me,” you say, squeezing his neck a little more.  You let off for a moment only to remind him to speak up if something’s too much, then squeeze again.

Slap!

“O-One!”  He announces, hips bucking against you.  

You can hear it in his voice– he’s like a time bomb ready to blow.  His expression is infinitely more desperate. Hooded red eyes, cheeks burning a deep crimson, tongue peeking out just over the edge of his lower lip.  If there was ever an image fit to sit beside whore in a dictionary, it was the sight of him like this.

“Tell me how good you’re gonna be for me after this.”

“I’m– I’m gonna be so good!”  He promises through panted breaths.  “Good for you– good f–”

You don’t let him finish before you swat his reddening flesh several more times in quick succession, watching with pure satisfaction as that mouth that never stops running opens to moan so loudly you’re almost sure the floor below must have heard it.

“N-Nine… No– no, fuck!”

Poor thing had to make a guess.

You tsk at him in false disapproval.  “Good boys don’t lose count,” you say, even though he was definitely right.  “Start again.”

And he did, too.  By the time you make it back to the count of nine, his legs are quivering and his precum has soaked through the leg of your pants.

“Please, please, please!” He mewls desperately.  “Let me– oh fuck, please let me come! Please, just– fuck I need it! I’ll be good!” He’s rocking against you without permission of any type as he spouts off promise after promise to behave himself for you.  “Good– good b-boy… I’m your g’boy, I p-prom– ohfuckohfuckohfuck!”

And just like that, he’s blowing a thick, creamy load against you, legs spasming and glowing eyes rolling back in his head as you hold him through what must be an absolutely earth shattering orgasm if the full body trembling was anything to go by. Your name falls from his lips in a repeated prayer until all he can do is simply mouth it silently. 

Your lips are to his ear the whole time, whispering affections and praise, adoration and love in droves.

“You are my good boy,” you say, accentuating your words with soft caresses to his sack.  “My very, very good boy that I love so much.”

“M’your g’boy…” he murmurs weakly, eyes shut as he sinks into the glow. For a second, you think he might actually be calm for the rest of the evening.

Who are you kidding?  He’s going to act up all night after this.  You wager you've got about fifteen minutes of aftercare and snuggles before that switch flips and you're fucked on every horizontal and vertical surface he can possibly think of. 

And you? 

You’re gonna love every fucking second of it.

[swannieluv]

.ᐧ.ᐧ ⊱ Rain, apples and smiles ⊰ ᐧ.ᐧ.

Summary - It's raining again in Fontaine, but maybe someone can help to make a rainbow out of his sadness.

Info - pairing: (platonic) Neuvillette x gn. child reader – w.c: 1.1k – TW! Crying and referenced neglect towards reader.

a/n: This is my first time ever writing something, so feel free to leave your thoughts on comments! I would really appreciate it if you could like and reblog (if you enjoyed it!). Comments, asks, brainrots and rambles are always welcome!! <3

The Hydro Dragon, Father of the Melusines, Chief Justice Neuvillette. Those are all titles assigned to him. No one would have the nerve to disrespect this man, let alone on trial. His expressionless face is often able to make people speechless, he is like a stone in the middle of the sea of people and changes.

He is supposed to be a serious person, he's the Chief Justice after all. He shouldn't feel sadness towards the guilty, he should be firm and not let the mundane morals affect him, yet he can't help but feel his chest tighten at the end of every single trial, the looks of despair plastered on the face of the criminals.

It's raining once again, people in the streets are running to seek refuge under the main street shops' roof. The skies turned gray in the blink of an eye, well, in a blink of Neuvillette's eyes.

He absolutely didn't desire to cry now. Maybe the Melusines are also in a bad mood now because of it. He'll probably apologize later for it by letting them play around the court.

“Hydro Dragon, Hydro Dragon, don't cry…” — he listened to someone's voice, but couldn't quite place where it came from.

“Why are you crying, Monsieur Neuvillette?” A small voice asked him from above, Neuvillette could only see a child, who seemed to be no older than eleven, seated on a tree's branch. Their [e/c] eyes spying on him while the rain made their tattered clothes and unevenly cut hair wet. He tried to quickly wipe the hot tears with the back of his hand, only for it to be met with numerous new ones that wouldn't stop running down his cheeks. He would be surprised at the fact they knew his name, except for the fact that he's the Chief Justice.

“I don't know what you're talking about.”

“Are you sure, sir? You don't look like someone who's happy though.” — They tried to inspect his face, but couldn't see much due to the angle they were. The only way to know if the person in front of them was really crying was to be quiet and listen to the quiet sniffling sounds he let out from time to time. — “The Hydro Dragon is also crying… is it such a sad day?”

“What are you doing outside in this cold rain, child?” He crossed his arms, not daring to face the child. This man didn't want to get caught weeping by a child, it would be too humiliating for someone his age.

“Well… I got stuck in this tree…” — their face became a bit red from embarrassment. It was the truth, though. They were trying to collect some apples on the tree due to their hunger, only to end up stuck. It's not their fault, really! They just thought that descending from the tree would be easier than climbing.

“Jump, I'm going to catch you.” — he looked up at them, his puffy eyes with fewer tears sliding from them. Neuvillette opened his arms in their direction, as if telling them to trust him to catch them.

“Uh… I…” — they looked down, the ground spinning in a nauseous way — “Okay!”

They took a deep breath and closed their eyes. The child held their apples close to themselves as if they were precious treasures and jumped. The cold wind made them shiver as they were expecting to land in his arms, alternatively they would land face down on the ground.

“...!” — their eyes slowly opened. Their [e/c] eyes made contact with Neuvillette's blue ones. Then he put them back on their feet again, giving them a small pat on the head, like he does after the Melusines tie his hair. “Thank you.”

Some apples fell from their arms as they fell. Neuvillette took notice of their poor appearance and ran his fingers through their hair in a soft and careful motion. It wasn't uncommon to see children like this that came from the slums, they usually become criminals or die before reaching adulthood, he felt guilty once again for not being able to effectively help them.

“What are those apples for?” — he picked up the fruits off the ground, analyzing it.

“I'm going to give it to the other children. They need it.”

“Only apples?”

“Yes… that's what I could find.”

Neuvillette eyed them for a second. He soon started walking away, signaling to follow him. Their steps echo through the place, it was slightly uncomfortable. They soon reached his office, there were some piles of paper above the wooden table. There were some ink stains on the edge (probably from this overworking during the week). He decided to just leave the fruits he picked up there.

“Oh… I haven't asked your name, child” — he picked up a towel from a drawer and started to dry their hair. — “Do you even have one?”

“Yes, it's Monday”

“Monday? Were you born on a Monday?” — Neuvillette pondered about how they could live without an essential thing like a proper name. He cracked a small smile as he saw their messy hair after being dried. "They definitely need a proper haircut", he made a mental note about it.

They smiled a bit while fidgeting — “No. Everyone calls me that because I was found on a Monday… no one really cared to give me a proper name…” — they were interrupted by his sudden pats again.

“Then I'll give you one, if you wish to.”

“A name…” — they looked up — “then I want the best name ever!”

“The best name ever…” — he crossed his arms, a small smile on his face — “What about [Name]?”

“[Name], [Name], [Name]...” — they repeated it a few times, trying to get used to it. — “Okay, I'm [name].”

His glance returned briefly to the apples. — “You said you were going to give them to some children, didn't you?” — Neuvillette picked a fruit from the table — “I'll ask some help… and we're going to bake some apple pies for them, what do you think?” — he didn't care about the extra work he would need to do after, it was only… a break, yes. That's what he's going to tell himself when he feels bad after it.

Their eyes gleamed with happiness, they just wanted some apples, yet they're receiving apple pies? That was a blessing for them and a small reminder to express their gratitude for the hydro archon… only if there's still any kind of respect for her, though.

They went to one of the kitchens in the building and baked the most delicious apple pies they (the Melusines) could. And if anyone asks why the kitchen got flooded… [name] can just say that it was the hydro archon's fury, and definitely not because they almost burned the place and Neuvillette tried to extinguish the fire… which only caused more damage. But they are happy now with their apples and smiles. And for the first time in centuries, there was a rainbow in Fontaine.

[glittergoblinzz]

Shut Your Damn Mouth

Keegan Russ x GN!Reader

CW: 18+ content, angry sex, teasing, unprotected sex, slight orgasm denial

"I don't see what the problem-"

You were quickly cut off by the snap of Keegan's hips as he plunged his cock deep into your weeping hole, earning a yelp from you.

"I said Shut. Up."

Keegan growled into your ear, his deep voice calm yet laced with venom. You had really done it now....

• • • •

Earlier that day, Keegan had taken you to finally meet his parents at the yearly Christmas dinner his mother hosts. All his family were there, including his sister and her young children. You had met his sister and her kids a few times before, to which Keegan's nieces and nephews took an immediate liking to you, already referring to you as their aunt/uncle. The moment you walked through the door to Keegan's parents house, the little tots were already charging at you and Keegan but calling out to you in particular.

"Auntie/Uncle!"

The kids didn't hesitate to cling to your legs, laughing and giggling as they looked up at you and Keegan with their beady little eyes. You and Keegan each scooped a kid up as they begin ranting on and on about what they had done since the last time they seen you two. One thing led to another and during the innocent little conversation with Keegan's extended family, you accidentally let slip the nickname you gave him only in private. The kids eyes immediately lit up at the new name to call their precious uncle.

"KeeKee? Uncle KeeKee! That's so funny, Auntie/Uncle!"

Keegan immediately shot you a glare the moment the nickname left your mouth, his icy blue eyes peering straight into your soul. You could obviously tell he was not happy that the small children now knew of the embarrassing nickname you gave him. Though that glare was shortlived as he went back to looking happy with the children. They scrambled out of your arms, running off to go tell everyone at the party of Keegan's new name. It was something he knew his parents would never let him live down, and he was right. They immediately started calling him 'KeeKee' as well when their grandchildren told them of the name your gave their son.

The moment you two got back home after the party was finished, Keegan wasted absolutely no time in pinning you against the wall.

"Look what you did, you little brat. I'm going to have to live the rest of my life with my damn family calling me that God awful nickname now..."

You try to protest, to tell him it was an accident, but Keegan wasn't having it. He covered your mouth as his free hand shot down between your legs.

"Shut your damn mouth. You know what happens when you're bad....You can't escape your punishment, darling."

• • • •

So now here you were, laying on the couch in the dark living room with Keegan on top of you, your clothes strown about along with Keegan's. Your moans and mewls filled the room as Keegan continued his assault on your poor, aching hole. Despite already being filled with his hard member, your body desperately craved more. It craved release. Keegan could see this as he continued pounding into you, thrusts deliberately hard but going at an agonizing slow pace. Each time he slammed into you, your grip on his back tightened, your nails digging deep into his skin, guaranteed to make him bleed. He couldn't help but let out a deep, gruntled moan as his hips slammed into yours again.

"You going to be good from now on? You learned your lesson, babygirl?"

Just as you were about to speak, Keegan's hips snapped into yours again, his cock hitting that sweet spot which caused you to whine needily. You were so close but Keegan wasn't going to give you it. So you opted to nod instead.

"Hmm? What was that, doll? I don't think I heard you. You gotta speak up for me."

Again, just as you were about to speak, he thrusted right back into you, causing you to let out a sharp moan.

"Y-Yes! Goddamn it yes...! I-I learned my lesson, Keegan...I'm sorry, it'll never happen again....!"

You choked out between sobs. The desperate need for release was becoming too much for you. You tried jerking your hips up, trying to get off on your own but Keegan's hand came down firmly on your hip to hold you in place.

"Tsk tsk tsk....such a naughty little thing, trying to escape their punishment like that. What ever should I do with you?"

He whispered as he leaned down to your ear, gently nipping at your earlobe.

"I suppose I could give my babygirl what they want....but the question is, do you deserve it?"

He proceeds to leave a trail of kisses and bites down the side of your neck and down to your collarbone all while still thrusting into you at a slow enough pace to where you couldn't reach your orgasm just yet. You knew he was close too, as you could feel his member throbbing deep inside you.

"You promise to be good from now on, Sugar? Promise not to say that ridiculous nickname again?"

You nod quickly as you try speak between mewls and whimpers.

"Y-Yes...! I promise....I'll be good! I'll never call you 'KeeKee' again!"

That was all Keegan needed to hear. He picked up his pace finally, his hips crashing into yours at a pace where you could finally feel the knot in your stomach begin to tighten as his cock slams deeper into you. Keegan's mouth made its way to your chest, where he immediately bit down on one of your perked, sensitive nipples. That along with the feel of him assaulting your needy hole pushed you over the edge. You cry out Keegan's name as your back arches and you desperately claw at his back, your orgasm washing over you as your hole clenches around Keegan.

Keegan lets out a grunt as he pulls out of you just in time, spraying his hot cum all over your abdomen and chest as he reaches his own orgasm.

After a moment, he collapses onto of you....too tired to care about the sticky mess he made on you. You both lay there, trying to catch your breath. It was you who ended up speaking first after a while.

"That was amazing. I love you....KeeKee."

Keegan responds with a firm smack to the side of your ass, though he couldn't help but smile a little. There was no way in hell he could stay mad at you, especially over something so petty.

"Yeah, I love you too you little brat."

[strzxrin]

˗ˏˋ ends of death and peace ˎˊ˗ — morana.

voice message received . . . “don’t be afraid of them, my dear. they all love you dearly.”

world . pevarra

age . unknown (within the thousands)

gender . female

species . deity

untold truth . she feels for the creatures of this world because at every hour of the day, she sees to their death. she would hold them in her arms and guide them to their forever slumber. and she weeps for them, she weeps for their death because she knows that sometimes they have so much more left to live. when it comes to the deaths that are needed, it isn’t handled by her necessarily for she isn’t the one who recollects their sins. she guides them all, and she watches them return back to where they were supposed to be. however, that isn’t the same for you. she doesn’t want you to die, she can’t have you come into her arms traditionally. if she has to find a way to keep you happy and by her side forever, she will search for the ends of the universe for it. after all, you are more precious than life itself, and she can’t handle it if a drop of death reaches you.

appearance. 

long curly white hair that reaches her midback with bangs. her bangs are the only thing that is straight about her hair. she has a crown of butterflies and she wears a vail on her head.

sharp dark purple eyes with black scleras. her eyes almost looks similar to crystals and her pupils are a horizontal split. she has full lips and when she smiles, she has sharp canines.

two beauty marks that are at her lower lips. her body however is scattered with beauty marks. her face has a white butterfly marking that covers from her cheeks to her eyes.

6’8ft (203 cm) tall with a frailer build and pale, almost corpse-like, skin. her hands are black that fades to her skintone when it reaches the forearms and her nails are long and sharp.

she has a big butterfly tattoo on her back that is inked in blues and purples.

her clothes are similar to ancient greece and she would wear darker shades.

she is the type to accessorise her hands with rings. a lot of rings on all her fingers and isemene is the one who gifted her most of the rings.

incoming voice call . . . “these rings would look lovely on you. especially when it goes on your ring finger, lovely.”

she thinks that you’re adorable. how you try to sneak up on her when you thought that she was sleeping, how you’d place a flower you picked up and tucked it into her hair. you’re being adorable and she couldn’t help but just take you in her arms and place her on her lap.

she could feel the heat rushing to your cheeks and she would let out a small chuckle as she cups your cheek, “aren’t you an adorable little thing,” she muses softly, tilting her head as she watches you get flustered by the position. she lets out a small hum and her thumb rubs gently at your cheeks.

“you’re so small, so fragile, and i can’t help but just want to have you all to myself” you find yourself growing shy by her words. you think that she was just saying that to tease you, but she wasn’t. she wants to have you all by herself, she wants to keep you in her arms, in her sight so that she won’t have to worry about you talking to anyone but her.

but she knows that you won’t like that. so, she’ll make sure that you’ll become emotionally dependent on her, even if it takes a long time. why? because it’s you. anything that is related to you is worth it in her eyes, and she could never think of it as a waste of her time. she’s lived far longer than you have, watched mortals be born and die as time passes by. but you? you are the singular mortal that she wants to keep alive.

“won’t you take up on my offer, lovely?” you knew what offer she was referring to. it was when she wanted to give you the gift of immortality. the thought of it does sound nice, but the thought of seeing you outlive your loved ones, seeing them die and when you make new friends, you’ll have to brace for the knowledge that you could never truly grow old with them.

and that does scare you. but you also want to stay with her for a long while. you don’t want it to end any time soon. after all, she’s kept you company for a long while now, and you also enjoy her presence a lot. “i’m still thinking about it, morana” you whisper to her as she hummed and nodded. “take all the time that you need, i’ll be waiting for you here, always” 

she smiles at you, but internally she just wants you to accept it. because she thinks that you’re just better off with her. you don’t need to make new friends and have other connections if you just stay with her. you won’t be lonely if you’re by her side. but it’s fine. she’ll make you believe that you’re only happier when you’re with her.

she just has to take her time. and time will forever be on her side.

[orikiys]

✿ ✿ 〞 voicemails with han on your wedding day

✰ pairings: bsf!han x fem!reader

✰ genre: angst, fluff if you squint and romance

✰ word count: 1.3k+ words

HAN | chan | minho | changbin | hyunjin | felix | seungmin | jeongin

one 𖨂

first off, i’m sorry i made you cry like that. i’m sorry that i intentionally hurt you even though i didn’t mean to. i guess it’s time to spill the beans, huh? it’s been what– like 6 years now? 6 years of constantly pining over you. 6 years of falling in love with every bit of you. and 6 years of watching you fall for several people and get your heart broken. i’ve seen it all. lived it all as well, right by your side just like always. it wasn’t easy of course, watching the love of your life kiss someone else, hug someone else or cry over stupid exes who didn’t deserve you. but i did my best to hold it in. but now . . . i don’t think i can. i love you so much, more than you’ve ever now and more than you ever will. your fiancé is lucky. he truly is. for being able to marry a girl like you in less than a few hours. and you must be wondering why i’m sending you these voicemails 3 hours before your wedding. well it’s because you don’t have your phone with you right now as you’re very much busy, which is a golden opportunity for me.

two 𖨂

i hate you. so so much. i hate you so much for making me feel this way. i hate you so much for running through my mind the entire day. i hate you so much for making me feel all excited and giddy whenever you smile at me, but your eyes. . . they have love. not the romantic one, the platonic one. and that’s what hurts me the most. i even thought of telling this to you earlier but i couldn’t. not when our friendship of 8 years was at stake. never. nothing is more precious than that. but sometimes i do wonder whether your heart used to beat fast when i stood close to you. or whether your cheeks used to feel warm when i touched you. did it ever happen to you? i guess not. how could you love a guy like me? you, who are literally the perfectionist and me who learnt from you. doesn’t match right? i wished it did. i truly wished it did.

three 𖨂

i never lost hope, you know? instead i clung onto it until the very end, which is today. i hoped for you to fall in love with me little by little. and even though you couldn’t reciprocate my love for you, i wish we tried. but i fall in love with you a little bit more day by day. and now my heart is swelling with immense sadness that it even hurts to laugh without letting out tears of pain. it hurts to see you smile knowing i’m not the main reason anymore. i’ve become a side one. and it hurts to see you so excited for your wedding. and i hate myself for that. i hate that i can’t even pretend to be happy for my best friend who finally found true love. best friend. that’s all i mean to you right? nothing more, nothing less. but i don’t blame you. i could never. so i hope he doesn’t hurt you ever. because i might not be sufficient for you whether it be now or 10 years later. just know that.

four 𖨂

as i stand wearing my tuxedo, i wonder how it would look to have your arm linked with mine. to have your eyes shining with joy, for me. but that can never happen, can it? i see the way you look at him. the way you talk about him. and when you’re angry at him, it hurts me even then. oh, how i wish i could be him. standing by your weeping side and wiping your tears. or perhaps, holding you in my arms under the moonlight. it sounds heavenly doesn’t it? at least it does for me. which is the exact reason why it isn’t real. and i can’t imagine what would happen after you hear these. just don’t hate me please? i beg you. it took me a lot of courage to say this. and i would die if i ever knew that you hate me. your man, he’s perfect in every way. i tried to find any flaw but there isn’t one. he’s madly in love with you too but not longer than me, try to beat that. he gifts you all his love and never his anger. he treats you like a delicate vase, if handled improperly, you might break. he engulfs you in his love and you can practically drown in his eyes with the amount of admiration it contains for you. all for you, my angel.

five 𖨂

i’m back, hiding in the bathroom as i speak. your wedding just ended– and i don’t think i could see you two kissing. i’m so sorry angel. so so sorry. i didn’t want to be that bad friend who falls in love and starts acting as a homewrecker. never. i’m so sorry for falling in love with you. if only i didn’t look at you while you were doing my makeup, this wouldn’t have happened. i danced with you although, and when you asked why i was getting emotional i could only smile with tears. this was the last time i held you like i loved you. the last time i twirled you, and the last time i caught you. because now, i’m throwing away that hope from my life. and i’m letting you go now, my love. i promise. i won’t ever try to love you again the way i did and i’ll punish myself if i ever do that once more.

six 𖨂

at times i even thought i don't want to love you anymore. you tore my heart out in the summer and tossed it aside with a carefree laugh and that crooked smile, before sauntering off to meet your new partner before classes began in the autumn. i don't want to flinch every time i hear your name escape someone’s mouth. i don't want to keep getting hurt every time a memory flashes in my mind like a blaring siren, a loop of playful moments and the moments where i fell deeper. i want to not care about you anymore. i want to be perfect strangers, but i couldn’t just not care when you knocked on my door at 4 am, drunk and a sobbing mess, i just took you in my arms. i held you for hours till the moon disappeared, replacing itself with brightness. not for me. not when you couldn’t even remember how i cared for you or how we went back to being best friends. maybe it was selfish of me to for the night knowing you saw my worth only in your drunk state. but it was enough for me. you were enough for me. and my heart shattered every time knowing i wasn’t.

seven 𖨂

i’m finally letting you free, from the love i had buried deep in my heart. i wish you a happy married life, my angel. and i’m sorry but i will be leaving tonight. i’m going away for a while. for good. and even though i have many excuses i won’t tell them to you. i need time. away from you. away from those feelings that keep bubbling out just by hearing your laughter. i know i’m late. very late in fact. but could you try and not hate me for this? please? it’ll be my last wish before i go. and now, suddenly, everything seems like a goodbye. the last dance, the last hug, the last smile, the last kiss on my cheek and the last moment where i add a full stop to this unrequited love of mine. congratulations angel. though i wished i could call you mine.

[babyjakes]

lock them out and throw a feast.

〈 disclaimer: this blog posts content not suitable for individuals under the age of 18. minors are strictly prohibited from viewing, sharing, or interacting with this blog. for more information on this blog's commitment to protecting minors, read our full statement here. 〉

event | kinkmas 2023

prompt | food play

pairing | soft!dark!curtis everett x front-ender!reader

warnings | soft!dark!curtis. non-con. crying. restraints. use of gag. fingering. minimal dialogue (curtis is a quiet guy.) oral (f receiving) with plenty of clit focus. messy food play (a whole bakery's worth of sweets.) forced orgasm. squirting. implied multiple (forced) orgasms. written in 3rd person for some reason. showered!curtis :D

word count | 1,698

an | my snowpiercer knowledge is soooooo rusty i haven't watched the movie in years. this is kind of written in a universe where curtis and his rebellion were able to take over the engine. he picks out a pretty little front-ender as his reward and throws himself a feast... anyway, please ignore any details that might not align with the movie plot. this fic is dedicated to my sweet precious wonderful somny @onsunnyside, she isn't active much these days but of course i wanted to write her a kinkmas piece still, she is so special to me. and i know she loves curtis, so this felt like the perfect opportunity. love you, sonson<33 hope you're well and having happy holidays!

Everything was just the way he ordered it. An empty car all to himself, with both exits locked, dark curtains drawn. Lights dimmed, just bright enough to see through the stilled air. One shining down stronger than the rest in the center of the room, illuminating his long-awaited bounty. His final reward. His feast, fit for a king.

The moment he had laid eyes on her, cowering and weeping as her family's luxury quarters were broken into, he knew she was his endgame. He promised himself he'd have his way with her once he made it to the engine and overthrew the elite. Now that the hard work was done, it was time for him to revel in his victories. And there was no better way to do that, he had decided, than to feed the hunger that had been eating away at him for as long as he could remember.

He stood back in the shadows for the longest time, just taking in the glorious scene before him. Sucking in a strained breath, he pressed a tentative hand over the bulge in his pants. They were new; everything on him was. As his trusted second-in-commands were preparing his private car, Curtis had disappeared to care for himself and his body for the first time in seventeen years. He had a long, tedious shower, taking his time to remove nearly two decades of filth from his tattered body. Once he was clean, he had first choice from an entire car full of clothing- everything brand new. He remained modest with his choices. All the glitz and glam of the elite had no appeal to him.

Taking a step forward, he let his dark brown overcoat fall to the floor, leaving him in the simple gray t-shirt and utility trousers he had claimed earlier. Biting his lip, he pried his hand from his raging hard-on. He would relieve himself, in time. For now, he wanted to savor every moment he spent building up to that release.

Her quiet whimpers were the loudest thing in the room, accompanied by the low rumbling of the train's machinery in the background. Her crystalline tears only made her more beautiful, Curtis thought to himself. There was something so exquisite about her agonized expression; it didn't matter how wrong or cruel this was. He had given it all, risked his life for that damn train. This was his; he had earned it. He would allow himself that.

His men had done a fine job with the setup. She was as captivating as he had dreamt for all those years- no, she was better. Her body sprawled out elegantly over the smooth oak finish of the table below her, tied to the corners by her wrists and ankles, she was nothing more than a piece of meat to be feasted on, a meal to be devoured. And Curtis hadn't had a proper meal in years. The rest of the table's surface was covered in all the sweets and confectionaries his subordinates could find. Ripe fruits, delicate cakes and pastries, bowls of thick chocolates and creams- and to top it all off, his main course had been decorated lavishly to the likings of the delicacies surrounding her. Her most sensitive places had been drizzled and dipped, sprinkled and powdered, making her the most divine-looking creature the man had ever seen.

He took another step forward, surveying her as a vulture would its prey. Her dewy eyes peered up fearfully at him as he slowly approached the side of the table. Voice slightly hoarse from all her crying and struggling, she whined weakly through the thick cloth gag secured snugly between her chocolate-smeared lips.

"Shhhh," Curtis breathed out, the steadiness of his voice and posture such a stark contrast to the girl who lay weeping and bound before him. As he turned to make his way to the end of the table, her bare feet thrashed and kicked uselessly in protest. He simply shook his head at her pitiful displays of defiance. "No use fighting it, sweetheart," he hummed, his voice almost consoling in tone. "You're not going anywhere. Not until I get a good taste of what's mine."

With heedless, eager motions, the man cleared the portion of the table that sat between the girl's trembling legs. As mouth-watering as everything he was pushing aside appeared, his only focus was closing the space between him and the one thing he was truly starving for. Lowering his front down onto the now empty surface, Curtis' greedy eyes trailed up his victim's messy legs, finding the sacred point at which they joined. He drooled at the sight of her perfect cunt as it sat before him on display, dribbles of cream and what appeared to be nervous arousal collecting beneath her rounded ass.

"Mine," he repeated, this time nearing a growl. His rugged hands came up to squeeze at her soft, heavenly thighs, earning tiny squeaks of fear from the poor girl as she shook her head pleadingly- but it was no use. He had her before him now; nothing would come between him and his feast. "This body belongs to me now, angel. Do you understand?" He brought a hand up to push back her mound, exposing her swollen clit and leaky hole to his prying eyes. The confidence he was speaking with was impressive, given the fact that he'd never spoken to a woman like this in his life. But after all he'd lived through, he felt entitled to that sense of authority. He held her life in his hands, quite literally. And he sure as hell was ready to make the most of it.

"This pretty cunt-" he dared to take his words further, his other hand dragging a finger up through the streams of sugary icing coating her thighs to begin prodding at her tiny hole. "-is mine. All mine," he hummed, perfectly happy to be stating these truths to only himself, if his new possession was so insistent on denying them with her angry sobs and harsh glares. She would come around in time; he knew she would. She wouldn't have any choice in the matter.

His finger nudged and teased at the opening a bit more before gently dipping inside, the man's patience wearing thin. At the feeling of her tight, slippery walls doing everything in their power to fight off his intrusion, Curtis wasn't ashamed of the way his cock only grew harder from her unwillingness. He savored the distressed grunts and groans she let out as he forced his digit in up to a first knuckle, then a second. Turning his hand in a fluid motion, he began fucking his finger up into her, groaning lowly at the sight of her quickly growing increasingly responsive to his efforts.

Free-hand momentarily moving back to grab harshly at her hipbone, Curtis licked his lips as his gaze settled in on the tiny nub sitting at the top of the girl's messy slit. Bringing his thumb and pointer finger back down, he forcefully spread her upper lips apart, exposing her poor little button to the cool air of the room. Her legs kicked and struggled as he drew his face in closer, letting out a low groan as the bundle of nerves was finally taken between his parched lips.

The girl let out a howl through her gag, choking on her cries and spit as Curtis worked her aching clit. Closing his eyes, the man savored the feeling of the tiny bump twitching and trembling against his steady suckling. Letting go of any last hesitations, he submitted to eating her fresh cunt like a beast that'd been starved. He paid no mind to being gentle or polite as he latched onto her helpless core, delivering punishing waves of pain and pleasure well outside the realms of her wildest nightmares.

When his lips grew sore from sucking, he switched to dragging his tongue over the pulsating nub, starting with slow, teasing licks before switching to fast, merciless swipes in the blink of an eye. The alternating paces reduced his victim to softer sobs and hiccups, her hips bucking up wildly as her body struggled to tolerate the intense stimulation. And as soon as he'd had enough of the tongue work, he was back to nursing at the poor button, now so puffy and swollen from receiving his undivided attention.

As the girl's thighs shook, Curtis could see something shifting within her. The noises she let out were becoming more desperate, more panicked, with an expression of impending doom appearing on her tear-stained face. At the realization that she was being brought to orgasm against her will, the unrelenting hunger in Curtis' gut only rose. "That's it," he grumbled lowly, her sweet, sticky juices coating his reddened lips. "You're gonna come for me now, babydoll. Come on, give it to me," his face was hardening with determination, his finger thrusting more forcefully up into her fluttering walls as she hurled towards her climax at full speed.

The cry she let out as she finally came was the closest thing Curtis had ever heard to an angel on earth. As the incredible pressure in her tummy finally shattered, her poor clit spasmed helplessly in the man's awaiting mouth. A flood of sweetness sprayed against his scruffy facial hair as she squirted, the sight of her body coming helplessly against his efforts nearly too much for Curtis to bear. Groaning loudly, he coaxed her through the spectacular high. Only when her sobbing turned to weak sniffles did he finally pull away, his darkened eyes trailing up to find her tender face.

As he went to remove his digit from her soaking heat, he could've sworn she almost seemed to cling to him, in a way. He brought the creamy finger up to slip into his eager mouth, the sugary taste of her climax making his head pound with want.

His next words sent her into a fresh fit of tears. "One more," he decided, lowering his head back down to her sticky cunt. One more, he told himself, before he'd finally seek some relief of his own.