#its a glorious torture

[monstersholygrail]

very classic but summoning a demon to fuck you and he gets a little obsessed 🙏

Imagine Himbo Demon was one day just casually going about his business, torturing a mortal with the agonizing act of small talk when suddenly a flash of white explodes across his vision. The next thing he knows he’s standing in a magical circle of your own design and he can’t get out.

You ask if he’s an incubus and that’s when he notices the book in your hand, ‘How to Summon Incubi With Your Friends: The Party Guide.’ He also looks you over and notices how painstakingly pretty you are and thinks… he could be an incubus.

That night he has what he claims as the best sex of his eternal life, no doubt about it. The way your body moved as you rode him within an inch of his life made him swear he was being taken back to heaven. The way you tasted sweeter than the finest nectar till it burned permanently into his senses. Every last bit of you was addicting.

When the summoning spell’s time was coming to a close, the demon actually felt an ache at the idea of leaving you and your sweet, sweet holes. He tried to reach for you once more but with a flash of white he was back in hell. His heart and his cock aching for you.

The minute he can he’s scouring hell’s library for the book he saw in your grasp. He reads it like a man possessed, ironically, looking for the spell you must’ve used.

As he’s reading the book, an Incubus just so happens to look over at him. Sensing eyes on him he looks up and their gazes meet. The Incubus reads the cover of the book he has and his eyes widen. He begins slowly inching away from Himbo Demon before turning and quickly rushing off.

Himbo Demon tilts his head, curious as to why the Incubus gave such a reaction. But after a moment of brief confusion, he goes back to reading the book. His eyes brightening as he finds the spell.

That night he clumsily performs the spell. His mind foggy with lust. His cock red, angry, and dripping with precum as he thinks about drowning in your holes, lapping up your essence like it’s the only food he’ll ever need and then fucking you until you’re raw and swollen, only to soothe any pain with his tongue.

Himbo demon growls, reaching down and lazily stroking his cock with one hand and performing the spell with the other. Somehow by a true miracle, it works. He appears back in the same fading circle he appeared in last time. His eyes ignite with feral need and his gaze flickers around the low-lit room before a door opens and you come waltzing in wearing nothing but a towel.

“Miss me, baby?” He snarls in excitement, knowing now he has a way to keep coming back to you.

You yelp, jerking back against the wall in surprise. Not expecting the demon to be here again but you’re not exactly upset about it either. Himbo Demon smiles wickedly, but in truth he’s just so happy to see you! He moves at the speed of lightning and he’s on you in an instant. His tall lithe body caging you in against the wall. You exhale shakily, your body tingling with need and your belly churning with arousal as you glance down at his fat cock bobbing and dribbling with his own arousal.

The scent of you floods Himbo Demon’s senses and he growls, fangs flashing in the moonlight that peaks in from the window. Feeling beyond thrilled that the spell worked. That he can go to you whenever he feels like it now. So long as you keep the summoning circle up, that is. But he’s too focused on your new easy access to even try and realize that.

“Don’t worry, sweet human. I’ve found my way back to you and your glorious body. From now on we shall never be parted and I can properly fuck your weak mortal shell ragged as much as I desire. And there is much… much desire,” Himbo Demon rasps heatedly, looking down at you with a fire in his eyes.

Before you can even think to respond, the demon is shredding your towel into two, revealing your body to him in all its glory. He barely takes the time to appreciate the view and suddenly he’s pressing into, rubbing his length along the height of your belly.

And you know this is the start of a wild adventure. One you’re sure is bound to last more than another night.

[d3vilishd00dles]

it is so not fair....that's I don't know how to draw male bodies and masculine features correctly.....when I have tHAT MANY CHARACTER X PERSONA THINGS IN MY HEAD. I NEED TO SEE THEM ON PAPER. I WANT TO LOOK AT IT. NOT DISGRACE MY FAVORITE CHARACTERS WITH MY MEDIOCRITY. HELP. FR IM ASKING FOR ANY AND EVERY LICK OF HELP I CAN GET. THIS SACRILEGE SHALL NOT GO ON ANY LONGER.

I wanna be able to touch my thoughts and it's not working. how do I download the "draw men right" software into my hands? what's the update? me wants it. me needs it.

[marcyvamp1re-blog]

ITS EVOLUTION, BABY !

pairings ⸺Yandere! Justice League! x Inmortal!Fem!reader.

couple of today! ⸺Yandere! Kal-El x Inmortal! Fem! Reader

This is a Headcanon!

sinopsis ⸺ You had seen it all. From the first whisper of life in the primordial oceans to the deafening buzz of the modern era. Every advancement, every innovation, a heavier burden on your shoulders. Nothing surprised you anymore; everything was predictable and monotonous, so you found refuge in a small apartment in the heart of Metropolis, away from the bustling human nonsense.

Until one day a flying bus crushed you.

warnings ⸺ Dark Themes, Dead, Religion, murdering, Disturbing Content, Unhealthy Obsession, Discrimination, War, Street Fights, Gaslight, Suicide, Violence, Blood, LGBT Content, Kidnapping, NSFW, Sexual Content, Mental Illness, Addiction, Torture, Corruption, Isolation, Trauma, Phobias, Paranoia, Manipulation.

A/N — Bah, just another story pulled from my imagination after dancing all afternoon to Pearl Jam songs while cleaning the house.

This land is mine, this land is free

I'll do what I want but irresponsibly

▪︎Your immortality is neither epic nor glorious. You were not born from the stars or from scientific labs. There was no cosmic ray, no magic potions, no caped heroes to save you. Your existence is simple, without ornamentation.

▪︎You are water.

▪︎Or, to be more precise, you were a microscopic being living in a drop of water attached to a wandering meteorite that roamed through the void, in the infinite silence of space, before arriving on Earth. In that tiny liquid bubble, you were happy, surrounded by other beings who knew neither pain nor time. Everything was calm.

▪︎Until one day, your home plummeted toward the planet you would come to know as Earth.

▪︎There your true evolution began.

▪︎Millions of years passed, and you witnessed it all. You observed the first spark of life in the primordial oceans, the giant reptiles crawling across the continents, and the hominids standing upright on two legs. With each evolutionary cycle, you adapted, but you always remained, indifferent to the passage of time. Nothing truly affected you… Until Martha appeared.

▪︎Martha was your youngest daughter, for now. At eighty years old, Martha was the only thing you had left in this world that no longer mattered to you. Time, that relentless enemy that did not touch you, was wreaking havoc on her. Wrinkles adorned her face, her hands trembled as she knitted. But she made you feel something you thought you had forgotten: humanity. Martha kept you anchored to a world that had become irrelevant to you.

▪︎You did not live in Metropolis with her because she had her own life, and you spent your time wandering to every corner of the earth. Aimless and without a home to sleep in.

▪︎But you decided to visit her when you learned from her husband that she was in the hospital. It wasn’t serious, but she was the most important thing you had, and even at eighty years old, she would still be your little sweet baby.

▪︎Your journey was calm; listening to rock bands and old songs relaxed you. Nothing could disturb your zen state.

▪︎But then came the bus. The fucking bus.

▪︎An empty bus flew out from a nearby building, a flash of blue and red, and chaos erupted in the streets. Superman, facing Lex Luthor, knocked a bus right onto you. One second of distraction and you were crushed, like a puppet torn to pieces.

▪︎Your blood spilled onto the pavement and the broken glass of your car, which was now nothing more than scrap metal.

▪︎Superman, the defender of justice, landed right next to your car, using his infrared vision to see your mangled body inside the vehicle.

▪︎His face filled with horror.

▪︎Why always an innocent person? A choked sob, his eyes full of remorse as he saw you, a pool of blood and broken bones.

▪︎It was not the first time he had a lapse, but it was the first time it cost a human and innocent life.

▪︎The worst part was that you were young, with a long life ahead of you, and his carelessness took that gift away. What would happen to your family when they found out? How would they feel knowing that Superman, the so-called greatest hero, couldn’t save you?

▪︎He was devastated.

▪︎Until, to his surprise, you got up. Your body began to regenerate, bones rejoining, skin closing over the wounds. Superman watched you in disbelief, his hands trembling.

▪︎“Can’t you really be more careful?” you said, your voice filled with exhaustion, brushing off the dust as if nothing had happened. The hero was left speechless. You were immortal.

▪︎That was where it all began.

A/N - And well, this is just a little Headcanon that might turn into a series (hopefully not, because it would be way too long)

I’ll upload more soon, as well as another DC Yandere series. I’ll also post a few updates to explain some things—no need to read them, but it would be app

P.S.: If you’re a reader of the Silly Little Bat series, don’t worry. I’ll upload chapter three soon.

Don’t forget, if you want to request something, the shop is open

Take a bath!

[krysmcscience]

INCOHERENT SCREECHING

...

INCOHERENT SCREECHING

...

EVEN MORE INCOHERENT SCREECHING

y'all come look at this right fukken now thank you please OuO

Hi there!

New Cult of the Lamb Comic dubs just dropped! Huge thanks to @krysmcscience for giving me permission to dub one of their comics for today's video!

[cressidagrey]

The Witching Hour - The Samhain Special: Bound by Blood

Summary:

Azriel's witch has some very smutty plans for Samhain.

Warning:

This is literally pure smut people, so NSFW applies. Otherwise: Ritual Magic, Witchcraft, Ritual Sex, Rough but consensual sex, Biting and blood Drinking, a deer is slaughtered, Blood is smeared everywhere...I think that's it? Azriel and Cate are as unhinged as always.

(Spooktastic dividers thanks to the lovely @tsunami-of-tears)

"Gods, you're going to be the death of me," Cate whispered, her voice wrecked.

Azriel couldn’t help but chuckle, the sound warm and amused. “I’ll take that as a compliment,” he replied, his own voice hoarse from where he had collapsed on top of Cate. He lifted off her, just so managing to land next to her.

Granted, she wasn’t the only one. He was pretty sure msot of the muscles in his body where still trembling. 

"It was most definitely meant as one," his witch assured him, her eyes closed as she stretched out over her black silk sheets. Her pale skin glinted in the moonlights, her rose tipped breasts heaving with her breaths.

She was so beautiful.

Azriel's gaze dragged over her, tracing over every inch of the beautiful female spread out next to him on the bed, his heart thudding in his chest. They had spent the entire night together, the sounds of their lovemaking still echoing in his ears.

His gaze roved over her bare form, her lovely red hair spread out across the dark sheets, his eyes catching on the marks of his mouth across her pale skin. His gaze darkened as a low growl rumbled from his chest, his hand reaching out to touch her shoulder, his fingers tracing lightly over her skin.

He was insatiable. 

Her eyes opened at his touch, their gazes meeting through the dimly lit room. He could see the exhaustion on her face, her skin flushed, her lips kiss-swollen. She looked beautiful, and her body trembled slightly under his touch.

"I swear, one of these days, you'll kill me with too much pleasure,” Cate mumured.

Her voice was rough, still recovering from all the moans and gasps that he had pulled out of her the entire night. He could see the faint purple-red marks that he had left on her skin, and the primal part of his mind purred at the sight of them. 

He hummed in agreement, unable to help himself, and attaching his lips to the marble column of Cate’s neck. "What a glorious death that would be," he murmured, his mouth gently nipping at the sensitive skin.

She gasped softly at his words, her body arching slightly as she tilted her head back to give him better access to her neck. His lips pressed against her skin, his teeth gently scraping over her pulse, sending shivers down her spine.

"You're insatiable," she accused, though there was no real irritation behind it. Only fond amusement.

"When it comes to you," Azriel agreed, his mouth curving into a smile against her skin. His fingers lightly traced over the marks he had already left, his lips following them. "When it comes to you, I can never seem to get enough," he admitted.

He pressed his mouth against a particularly dark bite mark, his tongue swirling over the abused skin, his fingers moving to gently press into the mark, relishing in the way that she trembled slightly in response. Her body was so sensitive, so open to his touches, and it made his blood run hot. Gods, he wanted her again. And again. And again .

"One would think that you would at least be tired after doing this all night," Cate said, her voice still breathless, her body arching as his mouth continued to work over her skin, his fingers continuing to trace over the sensitive flesh. "But apparently not."

"Never," he promised, his voice hoarse, his mouth moving to another mark on her collarbone. "Not when it comes to you."

His fingers continued their exploration of her body, gently dancing over her skin, tracing over the marks he had made, exploring every inch of her. His mouth continued its torturous path, moving down her collarbone, her chest.

The rain continued to fall, its sound a steady beat in the background of their room, the only other sounds than the soft gasps and moans that continued to fall from Cate's mouth. He could feel her shuddering under his touch, her body arching into his hands, her skin hot to the touch.

To say that the last few weeks had been… difficult…that was an understatement. Cate had biweekly lessons with Elain, who seemed to do much better with her Prophecies…but which had done nothing to endear Cate to most of his oldest friends.

Oh well.

There were a lot of things Azriel was willing to compromise on…but Cate was not one of them.

As long as she was willing to be his…he would protect that ferociously.

She was his, and nothing would get in the way of that. His body continued its path down hers, his fingers tracing over her flesh softly, his lips continuing to work over her skin.

“There is this…one thing that I wanted to talk to you about,” Cate said, nearly hesitantly. She had not been hesitant one day in her life. It made him pause. “You can say no and we’ll never talk about it again.”

That got his attention. Azriel lifted his head from her, his eyebrows raised slightly. “What is it?”

“Samhaim is soon,” Cate said softly. “I was wondering…I was wondering if you wanted to make some magic with me, love.”

He swallowed.

He knew what she was asking. Knew what she was offering.

A Witch’s Ritual Circle was the most private thing she had. And if Cate was offering to share it with him… “What kind of magic?” he asked her softly.

She smiled up at him, her eyes soft. "There is this ritual…" she explained softly. "On the night of Samhain, a couple can pledge themselves to each other in a bond as old as magic itself."

His eyes widened. "A marriage bond?" He questioned, his heart thundering in his chest, his stomach flipping nervously.

"Not necessarily a marriage bond," she explained, lifting her hands to gently run her fingers through his messy hair. "It's...complicated. It's an ancient ritual, older than history, older than the fae themselves. It involves a few...interesting steps," she admitted. "But at the end of it," she continued, her eyes soft, "we will be eternally linked to one another. It is a bond that no one can tear apart."

His heart was pounding in his chest at her words, his eyes wide. The idea of them being linked, truly linked, for eternity...Azriel wanted that. He wanted it more than anything he'd ever wanted in his life. But...

"What are the...interesting steps?" He questioned, his voice quiet, his mind already racing through every possible thing that he would be willing to do for her if it meant they would get that bond.

"The ceremony itself will take all night long," she explained. "There will be…a few fun things to do," Her voice was mischievous.

"Whatever you want," he agreed.

She chuckled at his quick response, her fingers running through his hair again. "You didn't even pause to think about it," she said, amused. "Not even a second thought?"

"Not even one," he promised, his voice rough with the intensity of his agreement. He would do anything to have that bond, that connection with her, that link that would tie them to each other, forever. "I'll do whatever you want," he promised.

***

She was pretty sure that if her mother would still be alive…She would kill Hecate just for even contemplating doing this. Granted, her mother had been dead for nearly a millenia, and Cate was all grown up, Thank you very much…but it was still…A risk.

A risk that she was more than willing to take.

There wasn’t a risk in her world that she wasn't willing to take when it was about Azriel.

The bond she was proposing was an ancient, powerful thing. It was unbreakable, eternal in its intensity.

And it was a risk. A risk that many witches kept to themselves, because it would make them vulnerable…but it was a risk that she was willing to take, regardless of every protest her heart screamed at her.

Because she wanted that bond, that connection, that link that would tie her to him, completely

Gods, she really was a hopeless romantic.

But with Azriel, it was impossible not to be.

With him, she was constantly falling deeper and deeper. Drowning more and more with every single look, every smile, every sound, every taste of him.

With Azriel, there was no other option.

With Azriel, she was giddy and in love, and behaved like a teenage witch.

Even after all these centuries, she still sometimes felt that dizzying rush of giddiness and attraction and infatuation every time she thought of him. It didn’t matter that they had slept together more times than she had ever thought possible, that every touch of their bodies was etched into her mind, that they had known intimately every inch of each other’s bodies, minds and powers.

Nothing could quell that rush of pure excitement and wonder at the very thought of him.

Nothing at all.

She knew she was being a complete idiot. She knew that the way her heart kept skipping at the sight of him was a little ridiculous.

But gods, all she could think of, when he was looking at her like she was the only female in the word, like there was no one else in his mind than her at that very moment, was…

She was in love with him. Completely, utterly, hopelessly in love with him.

So really...binding him towards her for eternity...it was a selfish thing to do. And she couldn't help herself.

Sshe couldn’t bring herself to feel even the slightest bit of guilt.

Azriel was hers, and the thought of tying him to her completely, of having that bond, that connection, that link that would tie them to each other forever... Gods.

She wanted it more than she had wanted anything in her life.

And if it was selfish? If it was a little possessive?

Well. Cate had never claimed to be a noble female.

All she knew was that she wanted this. She wanted him, she wanted that bond, and she was going to do whatever it took to make that happen. To hell with the consequences

And if the rest of the Night Court disapproved? Well, they could deal with it. Cate couldn’t find it in herself to care.

So if she started planning that ritual...well.

She had a time (Samhain, which practically fell on a full moon that year, making it absolutely perfect for a ritual that would bend fate to her will) and a place (an old ritual circle in The Middle...) which meant that planning the actual ritual...well that was easy.

It was a little bit frightening, how all of the pieces were just falling into place.

But at the same time…it felt like Fate was on her side. That every piece in this puzzle was meant to be exactly where it was at that moment.

The entire thing was both terrifyingly scary and absolutely exciting at the same time.

But then again, that was her relationship with Azriel in a nutshell: terrifying and exciting, with a lot of heat and passion thrown into it

So, a few days before Samhain...when she had it all figured out...she presented Azriel with her plans.

“You want me to do what?” he repeated, his eyebrows rising into his hairline.

“Kill a stag," Cate repeated easily. “I need the blood.”

“This is sounding more and more like some weird version of Calaimai in the Spring Court,” Azriel told her drily. "For what do you need the blood?"

"I'll need to cover both of us in runes." Cate explained.

A pause. “Runes that involve deer blood?” he questioned, his voice still dubious, raising an eyebrow at her.

She nodded. "Deer blood, along with a few other...ingredients."

“And you're drawing these…runes…on us?” he clarified.

She nodded again. He studied her for a moment.

"What will these ‘runes’ do, exactly?” he asked quietly.

"Well," she drew out the word..."It's going to help your performance."

His eyebrows rose at her words.

"My performance?" he echoed, a hint of huskiness in his tone. "In what areas, exactly, do I need to...perform...better?" he asked, his voice low, his eyes on her.

His gaze roved over her body, his expression heating

And for a moment, Cate was tempted to give up and ask him to just skip the ritual entirely and jump straight into the fun part, but...

No. She could wait. She could be patient. Just one more day, the she would have this gorgeous male completely to herself forever.

"You don't. Usually," she clarified. "These runs...they'll...they'll keep you erect even after you have spend yourself...multiple times," she answered. "That ritual is gonna take a few...hours."

Azriel's eyes widened at her words, his gaze flickering to hers, the heat in his eyes intensifying. His throat bobbed as he swallowed, his gaze darkening. "Hours, you said?" he rasped, his voice rough.

She nodded. "Hours," she confirmed. "With no need for...recuperation, in between."

His eyes widened.

A pause, and then: "Gods," he swore, his voice low. "You do know how to sweet-talk a male, don't you, witch?"

Cate chuckled at his words. "Why, am I tempting you, Shadowsinger?" she teased playfully, her voice sultry. He looked like he was going to pin her down on the nearest flat surface and worship her body right then and there.

He took a few slow, measured breaths, like he was forcing himself to regain control, and Cate could only raise an eyebrow at him, amused.

"You do realize you don't have to exercise this amazing level of self-control and iron will, right?" she said breezily. "I am yours."

He swallowed. Hard.

"You’re mine," he repeated quietly. His eyes glimmered possessively. "And I plan on enjoying that immensely."

****

Gods, the things his witch did to him…

He wanted to tie her up, lay her down on the nearest flat surface, and worship her and her body for hours, until both of them were too sated to do anything but sink into sleep in each other’s arms.

But he knew he had to control himself.

And Azriel didn't care if that meant that he was going to have to kill a fucking stag naked and with his bare hands. 

"And you are sure I need to do it with my bare hands?" he asked her with a sigh that day. 

She shot him a smirk. "Is the big, bad Shadowsinger afraid of getting his hands dirty?" she teased, raising an eyebrow. He shot her a glare, which only seemed to amuse his witch more.

Cate leaned closer to him, her voice lowering to a murmur. " “I can do the hunting too, if you would prefer to be the one being mounted on a stone altar…” He stared at her - her voice sending a visceral stab of lust through him.

"Gods." He murmured. "Are you trying to drive me insane?" he asked her, his voice rasping.

Cate shrugged her shoulders, her smirk sharpening. "Maybe," she said airily.

He stared at her for a moment before closing the distance between them, drawing her flush against him, one arm wrapping around her slender waist.

“Is that what I will do?“ he asked her.

“We’ll enjoy that part, I think,” Cate said with a laugh. "Now...Let me show you where we'll be."

He let her winnow them straight to The Middle, and for once in his life, Azriel was surprised by how welcoming it...seemed.

Probably helped by the warding net that Cate had thrown over a rather broad area.

"You've warded a whole lot of acre here," he noted, his voice quiet.

Cate nodded as she started to pull out a few tools from a bag she had winnowed with them. "It's...safer. We wouldn't want any interruptions."

Azriel's eyes widened at her words. "Interruptions?" he repeated slowly. "How long is this whole...ritual supposed to take exactly, witch?"

Cate gave him a wicked look from hooded eyes. "Longer than you've ever lasted before," she purred, her voice suggestive.

It felt like someone had just punched him.

"Longer, you say,” he repeated, his voice strangled.

"Till Sunrise...well, unless you have somewhere to be," Cate answered. Even if he had, he wouldn’t care. "We'll wait until Sundown to start...Let me show you the ritual space."

She led him over to an old, weathered stone altar, with a few tallow candles already burning around it.

"Right in here," she said, nodding towards the altar. "You will be placed exactly here...like so." She patted the top of the slab, her fingers stroking the stone. "The runes will mostly be drawn on your chest and face...and a few more...intimate areas," she smirked.

Azriel felt his heart rate quicken - and he wasn’t sure if it was due to nerves or excitement. He swallowed as he stared at the stone altar before him, imagining himself laid out on it.

He had agreed to this, and he had no intention of backing out now. Not when she was willing...eager.

He stared at the stone surface, his mind going blank as his imagination tried to provide images of what would happen to him here.

He took a deep, slow breath.

He was going to experience everything she was willing to give him - and he had a feeling he was going to be completely and utterly spent by the time this ritual was over.

Cate drew closer, as if sensing the direction of his mind, her hand coming up to rest against his hip.

"Nervous?" she asked, raising an eyebrow at him, as if she knew what was running through his head.

He shot her a crooked smile. "A little," he admitted quietly, even if he was far more excited that he was nervous.

She looked at him with a smirk, her eyes glimmering and a playful expression tugging at her lips. She leaned closer until her body was flush against his, her hand sliding from his hip to caress the line of his jaw.

Her hand was cool as she traced the planes of his face, her touch almost reverent like she was mapping out every single line of him and committing it to memory.

He leant into her touch, like he was completely unable to resist her, drinking her in like a parched man would drink water.

Gods, he was so gone for his witch.

Her gaze darkened as she stared at him, her eyes trailing over his face, as if admiring and memorizing every inch of him.

She stepped closer, her body molding against his, as her hand continued to caress his skin, sending trails of fire wherever she touched. Her lips were only mere inches from his, their breath mingling together

“I love you.” She whispered.

His heart stuttered at her words.

Gods, he had never heard anything more beautiful.

"I love you too," he rasped. She was everything to him, and he'd be damned if he let anything or anyone take her away from him.

“Then go and kill that deer for us, love,” she told him, and he snorted.

“I just want you to know that the fact that I need to do this naked is fucking ridiculous,” he told her as he started to strip out of his clothing. She just smirked at him. 

"Love,” she shot back, her voice sweet, but edged with an undertone of steel “I did not make the rules.”

“I bet these are your rules,” he muttered under his breath, and she laughed at him. 

“Go on,” she told him, her voice still amused. “Prove to me what a big, bad, male warrior you are and go kill a deer - bare hands only - for your witch. Bring me blood to cover both of us in runes so I can bind myself to you for eternity. Then come back here to me and let me worship every inch of you.”

Azriel stared at her, her words sending a visceral, possessive stab of lust through him.

“You're a damn tease, you know that?” he swore, his voice low. He wanted to throw her over his shoulder and take her right then and there.

But at the same time, he knew he didn’t have time. He had to go - hunt, kill the deer, and return to her - so that he could experience all that she offered.

He stepped forward, bending down to press his lips against her forehead. “I'll be back soon,” he growled, before stalking toward the forest surrounding them.

*** Cate watched him go, that possessive, feral need and lust welling up in her.

Gods, when he was bound to her for eternity, she was going to wreck him.

She took a deep breath, trying to get herself under control. She had a ritual to prepare for.

The first thing she did was throw more wards over the already existing net. The more protection, the better.

She also lit a few more candles around the stone altar, white wax dripping down onto dark stone. She pulled the athame, her ritual knife, from the pocket of her dress...Then and only then, she stripped out of the dress she wore, bare before her own magic.

The sun was slowly dissappearing behind the horizon

The night was slowly falling over the small clearing, the trees surrounding them casting shadows on the stones of the altar and the grass.

The candles around them cast a gentle glow, as if creating a spotlight for what was going to happen.

The moment the sun disappeared completely...she cast out her magic.

Power flared and crackled through the clearing, invisible to sight but tangibly present.

The air seemed to buzz with magic, the air so thick with energy it was almost tangible - as if it was clinging to every inch of her bare skin, almost like caressing her.

She had always trusted her own magic with her life. It had welcomed and cradled her like a favoured child from the start.

Over the years, her magic had become an almost living part of her, entwined with the very energy that ran through her veins.

Even now, she could feel it...almost purring in the air, like a satisfied companion.

"Bella?" she asked aloud, the jaguar appearing out of thin air, tail swishing through the air, prowling around her ritual circle.

The great cat, so black that even in the candlelight she was almost impossible to see, prowled around Cate like a restless, watchful guardian, her muscles taut and powerful, her green eyes fixed on the surrounding area.

"There you are," she breathed.

The jaguar huffed at Cate, a soft, almost purring sound as she padded closer to the witch, her tail still twitching in the air.

Cate reached out a hand and gently ran her fingers through the silky, smooth fur of her familiar.

Bella shoved her head into Cate’s touch, the act almost like an affectionate cat asking for attention. Cate smiled at her familiar, giving her a few more pets before returning to her ritual preparations.

And at that moment, she felt Azriel. Her magic held steady, even as she watched him stride towards the clearing, the deer slung over broad muscular shoulders.

"Just in time," she told him, a smile stretching over her face.

He stalked towards her, every single step powerful, his eyes on her. His eyes raked down her naked form, taking her in in a way that made her skin break into gooseflesh, lust coiling low in her belly.

He didn't hesitate as he stepped into her personal ritual circle.

It was an intimacy she had never allowed another person. But the moment he stepped over the boundary...it just felt right.

The moment he stepped past the wards...her magic seemed to surge and flare, almost like it was welcoming him. She felt it almost caressing his powerful, naked form, his dark shadows twining with her power, almost like a familiar seeking out its owner.

There was an energy in the air, palpable and electric. It was like the air was vibrating, filling them with a kind of energy that seemed to make the atmosphere heavier, thicker... like the air was full of promise and anticipation.

He brought the deer over to her, the neck broken.

"Just for the record, I could have used a knife," he told her drily.

She gave him a cheeky smile. “Oh come on, love, where’s your sense of drama?” she teased him, her voice low and sweet. “Bringing me the deer you killed with your bare hands is more romantic, isn’t it?”

“You just like the idea of me all feral and wild, don’t you?” he asked, his lips curving into a cocky smirk. “All dirty and naked and covered in blood and your pretty little runes.”

She just raised one eyebrow, lifting her ritual knife.

It was the work of nothing to cut the deer’s throat and catch the blood in a stone bowl.

"Onto the altar with you," Cate said quietly.

He moved forward, laying himself down on the smooth stone of the altar.

Even in this light, he was a vision, all rippling muscles and scars and ink that he had never bothered to hide away.

Cate approached the altar, the bowl of blood clutched in her hands. She placed the bowl on the surface of the altar, her eyes skimming over the planes and valleys of his skin, the smooth, muscular expanse of his stomach, that V at his hips….

"Now is the moment to tell me you don’t want this," she told him quietly. She could still change the ritual now. By the time the first rune would be drawn onto his body…well, that was going to be rather impossible. 

He chuckled, the sound hoarse and deep in the silence that surrounded them.

“I’ve never been more sure of anything in my whole life,” Azriel promised her fiercely. 

The night air crackled with the energy that filled it, like a silent thunder that promised power and passion and more ecstasy than he had ever known. He watched her, his gaze never leaving her as she settled on top of him and straddled his bare thighs with her own.

"I have waited a millennium for you," she said quietly as she dipped her hands into the warm blood.

He shivered lightly as her hands, covered with blood, dragged across his bare chest, the fluid and heat of the blood spreading over his skin, whispering the spells that would bind him to her. 

“And I’ve waited a lifetime for you,” he murmured back, his voice guttural and deep as he met her gaze with his own.

She drew the second rune, her fingers sliding over his skin, his wings twitching underneath him.

Her touch was precise, but reverent, as she traced the lines and symbols onto his chest and abdomen, her fingers gliding over his skin.

"Cate," he groaned, his voice strangled.

"Hush," she told him, her voice almost a little breathless. She didn't know how she was staying so calm...he was laid out in front of her and it was taking all of her self-control not to just take him then and there, to claim and mark and taste him until he belonged to her completely.

"I am nearly there." She promised him, even as she could see his cock harden. "This works better if you are aroused anyway."

He huffed out a laugh, his voice strained. “Of course it does,” he rasped, his eyes fixed on her as she worked. "I am pretty sure you just want to torture me.”

"I always pay my dues," she promised him, finished another rune at the V of his hips and then swallowed down his prick without any preamble, as one hand finished painting the rune on his thigh.

His reaction was instantaneous. He jerked against her, a noise that was something between a gasp and strangled moan slipping from his lips.

"Cate," he groaned, his voice guttural and raw, "Gods...Cate, I need-"

She didn’t give him time to finish. She wanted him gone, unravelled, ruined. She wanted him under her, undone, marked and claimed in the most intimate way. Every rune she made seared his skin, a claim that would be with him for days yet.

She finished the last rune. Cate could feel it herself...could feel the magic swell up inside her, like a hook anchoring right there in her chest.

It had started.

She could feel it

The air crackled and filled with power, her own magic swelling like a living thing, as the last of the runes settled onto his skin.

He jerked again, a noise of pure desire torn from his throat.

He was taut and strung-out underneath her, like a bow ready to snap. Every muscle was tensed and coiled, like a predator right before it took its prey. His eyes were fixed on her - wild, burning, desperate with need - as his hips jerked up against her.

She lifted her mouth of him, dunking her hand in the bowel of blood again, taking his hand and smearing it all over his own...using his hand to come up to her chest, writing the rune over her own heart.

He watched her, entranced, as she smeared her own chest with the blood, his fingers trailing over her skin, leaving bloody trails wherever they went.

He stared as the rune spread across her chest, marking her just like she had marked him, the sight making something possessive flare to life inside him.

One, two, three...seven...And then it was done.

Seven runes to bind them together for eternity.

Seven runes that made her blood sing and her skin feel like it was burning.

She pulled him up to sit up with her, his chest flush with her own, the blood that covered them both smearing between them.

"First part is done," she told him breathlessly. "Now comes the fun part."

*****

Gods, he wanted her.

He wanted her so badly his brain was almost mush, like his body was on fire, completely overwhelmed.

He’d never felt like this before, like he was so desperate and so wild with need that all he could do was grab her and pin her to the altar, pressing her down into the cold stone.

Cate turned around...presenting her back to him, her back arching...on her hands and knees before him.

He almost growled in the back of his throat. The sight of her like that sent a rush of possessive lust through him, like a savage animal claiming his mate.

Something inside him snapped. 

There was nothing carefuly, nothing but animalistic need in him as he covered his body with her own, as he plunged into her body. 

He couldn’t hold back a guttural, feral noise that escaped his throat.

She was tight and hot around him, her body taking him in like it fit perfectly - like she was made for him. One hand wrapped itself around her throat, squeezing, while the other wrapped around her waist. 

“Mine,” he hissed, his voice almost guttural. “My witch.” His other hand tightened on her hips pulling her back against him, like he was trying to press her into him, his movements almost desperate. “You feel like you were made for me,” he panted in her ear.

She mewled in response, her voice high and desperate, her body clenching around his. “Azriel,” she gasped. “Please-”

Somehow it was the sound of his name on her lips...somehow… he felt Cate's magic deep in his bones, seemingly trembling all around them..and also felt...felt that unfurling of a golden bond deep in his chest, crashing into him with no finesse at all, leaving him gasping as he spilled into her, before he even had the chance to…

The moment the bond snapped into existence, he felt like he was drowning in sensation.

He felt it in every nerve and muscle, in every vein and bone - a thrumming, golden magic that now ran through him like living, liquid metal. He gasped against her skin, shuddering with the overwhelming influx of sensation and power. It was like - like he was now part of her soul, like the magic that now thrummed in him was her very life’s force, her light and energy and passion.

He tightened his grip on her, his nose buried in her hair, his breaths laboured and harsh against her skin. He’d never felt such an overwhelming surge of emotions and sensations before, like he’d suddenly became hyperaware of everything around him, everything and everyone around him. He could feel Cate - her emotions, her sensations, her very magic and soul, could feel her body, clenching down around him, felt every muscle tremor that shot through her…

He had never, in his life, felt closer to anyone before.

It was an overwhelming feeling - the feeling of the bond between them now permanent and powerful, a thrumming, golden connection that tied them together at a deep level that even he couldn’t explain.

He pressed a shaking, desperate kiss to her shoulder, his teeth grazing against her skin. “Cate,” he breathed, his voice strangled.

Her body trembled underneath him, high whines leaving her throat.

"Mate..." she whispered.

He pulled her against him, rolling his hips into her, desperate for more skin-to-skin contact. “My mate,” he answered huskily.

He’d been with someone before - he’d had plenty of partners before - but nobody had ever made him feel like this before, like his very soul had found its missing piece.

He wanted to devour her - to mark her and claim her until she wore his scent and nobody else’s. He wanted to leave an indent of his teeth on her neck and everywhere else, so that the whole world could look at her and know she was his. His and his alone.

He growled, the sound guttural and feral. He wanted the whole world to look at her and know she was taken, was claimed, was owned by a male who wouldn’t hesitate to kill anyone who would dare to touch her.

He ran his tongue along the slope of her neck, his teeth grazing over her skin, the scent of her driving him almost wild. He was consumed by the need, primal and intense, to claim her in the most basic way possible on every level.

"Azriel.." she whispered. her body was trembling in his grasp, as she moved, pushing back against him, and he understood the unspoken question, moving back, pulling out of her, grounding his teeth at the lost of contact. It wasn't for long though.

Cate pounced at soon as she could, straddling him. She stared at him, green eyes wide and unguarded...so beautiful. "Azriel. Mate ."

He stared back at her, his chest heaving with his harsh breaths. He’d never seen her look so beautiful before - her face flushed, her hair messy and tangled, skin covered in a light sheen of sweat. He’d never seen her look so unguarded, so open and vulnerable.

He ran his hands up her thighs, his own eyes wide and hungry. “Mate,” he agreed, voice hoarse and low.

***

This wasn't supposed to happen.

This hadn't been what she had expected to happen. She had never thought that Azriel would turn out to be her mate. Not because she didn't want him to be...she would have given nearly everything to have this with him but...but because she didn't deserve him.

But now there they were

Together. Bound for eternity. Two halves of a whole, connected in a way that was deeper and stronger and more powerful than any other connection on earth.

He ran his hands over her skin, his eyes never leaving her face, drinking in the sight of her. She could feel the power of their connection thrumming between them, like a living thing that grew stronger with every beat of their hearts.

His eyes were wide and intense, almost like he couldn’t quite believe this was happening, like he was taking in every single part of her and committing her to memory. She had never felt so seen before, like his gaze was a physical thing that ran over her skin, like he was able to look into her very soul.

She couldn't help herself as she sank down onto him, taking him back into her body.

This wasn't how this ritual was supposed to work. Not when she could still feel the magic thruming in the very air, not when she could still feel her very core pulsing.

He groaned in response, his hands gripping her hips almost bruisingly hard. The feel of her around him was almost electric, like every nerve ending was on fire, every cell in his body aware of her - her skin on his, the heat of her body, the sound of her breath, the feel of her pulse.

He rolled his hips into hers, like he was trying to get impossibly closer, like he was trying to push himself inside her and never leave.

She could feel the power of their bond growing with every move they made, like a golden thread that bound them together with every breath, every beat of their hearts. Cate couldn't help but gasp as she felt it grow stronger and stronger, like it was a living thing that grew with every passing moment.

She didn't even know it was possible to feel such a connection with another person. 

He looked into her eyes as she rode him, her body moving with a primal, steady rhythm. He didn't speak, but he didn't need to. She could feel everything he was feeling - desire, love, possessiveness, passion, devotion...everything.

She could feel it in the way he touched her, the way he looked at her, the way he breathed against her skin.

She could feel it in the way his breath hitched as she moved on top of him, in the way his fingers gripped her hips hard enough to bruise, in the way his eyes burned with heat and desire as he looked at her.

Their breaths were coming fast and hard now, almost matched. She could feel the bond growing and growing with every thrust of their hips, every gasp of their breaths. She could feel herself getting closer and closer to the edge - knew Azriel could feel it too.

She came with a cry, her body shuddering with the force of her release, Azriel’s name on her lips as she felt him follow her over the edge, spilling into her with a broken groan.

She wasn't sure what possessed her...wasn't sure what made her lean forward and bury her teeth in the skin between his shoulder and neck...but the moment she bit down and tasted his blood in her mouth…he reciprocrated. And as her blood flooded his mouth he jerked underneath her...and the magic surrounding them turned into a cyclone.

If she had thought the previous sensation of their bond forming was intense, it had nothing on this one.

She could feel it coursing through her body like liquid fire, like the bond that now grew between them was burning a path through her veins. It was like she was a channel for his magic, like every part of her body was humming with the power of it.

She gripped Azriel’s shoulders like a lifeline, her nails digging into his skin and leaving marks. Mine. Mine. Mate.

The bond thrummed between them, a golden thread that bound them together so intrinsically that she didn’t know where she began and Azriel ended.

She felt the bond settle, thrumming between them like a living thing - connecting them body, mind, heart, and soul.

The magic surrounding them heaved. There was no other word for it. heaved and swirled and tightened...and then in one long, warm rush...it pulled together and rushed right inside her. She couldn't help and arch her back, her whole body trembling 

The rush of magic was almost overpowering - a wave of power and sensation coming over her like a tidal wave. She felt like she was drowning in it, like she was being consumed by the sheer force of it.

She could feel it coursing through her veins, filling every single part of her, like she was a conduit for it. She felt like every nerve ending in her body was alive and singing with the power of it, like she was a lightning storm in human skin.

Azriel was holding onto her as the magic swelled, his arms tight around her, his lips pressed to her shoulder. He was trying to ground her through the experience, to help her ride out the wave of magic and sensation that was flooding through her. She could feel his own magic, cool and calming, wrapping around her like a soothing balm, countering the almost overwhelming surge of power that was threatening to swallow her whole.

She could feel their new bond strengthening with every beat of their hearts, the golden thread that tied them together growing stronger and stronger. 

She collapsed onto him, boneless and exhausted. She could feel Azriel’s heart pounding in his chest, his heaving breaths against her skin.

They were mates. Completely, irreversibly mated.

Mates. Soul bonded for the rest of their lives. A male and a female tied together for eternity, through life and death, and beyond.

She didn't know how long they stayed like that, clutching each other like they were each other's lifeline, their bodies still tangled together. But when she finally stirred, her voice was raw and hoarse.

"Azriel..."

“I am not done,” he whispered, rolling to bury her underneath her again. 

No. No, he wasn’t done. 

She wasn’t even sure what had triggered it. Later she would wonder if the taste of her blood had replaced the need of offering her food…or if it had been something else that triggered the mating frenzy. 

Later, she would worry about all of that. 

But right now…right now the only thing she could do was to hang onto him, while he wrecked her. 

Not that anybody would hear even a syllable of protest from her. 

***

“Was this how it was supposed to work?” Azriel asked her hoarsely. The sun had just come up. Leaving them to survey the damage. 

"I have absolutely no clue," Cate admitted weakly. His witch, his mate, was covered in bruises and lovebites where he had gotten his teeth into her. Her hair stood up in every which direction and she had never looked any more beautiful to him than now. 

"We did manage to reduce the forest to rubble though," he told her as he stared into what had once been a forest. Now…now it wasn’t. 

Actually everything looked like a complete and utter mess. White wax dripepd all over the ground…the trees were broken and fallen and upended every which way…they were both absolutely smeared in dried blood…

He didn’t even have a memory of half of what they had done onto that altart during the night. It had all gone…rather hazy after the 5th or 6th time of spending his seed all over her… drily. 

Cate’s head snapped up at his words. She swallowed nervously, and he could feel a flicker of uncertainty run through her. "Did I...did it hurt you?" she asked, her voice trembling.

He shook his head. "Not even a little bit," he told her, his grip tightening around her, reaching out to cup her cheek. "You would never hurt me."

She closed her eyes, resting her head against his chest.

She relaxed against him, laying her head against his chest. 

He could feel the bond that thrummed between them, in the way her very heart seemed to settle into a steady, comfortable rhythm when he was close.

He had never felt this way before, not with anyone. He felt like he was finally home - like he belonged, like he was finally where he was meant to be.

There was a newfound sense of peace that settled over him as he held her close.

He had never known comfort like this before - the easy, effortless way that he felt at home with her in his arms, like nothing else in the world mattered. It was a new and unfamiliar feeling - but one that he could definitely get used to for the rest of his life.

His witch. His mate. His everything. 

[inf3ct3dd]

ACT 1. TROUBLE

summary: the plan hatches.

warnings: mentions of death, sex joke

wc: 3k

authors note: this fic has been my wonderfully niche vision for so long.... i hope you all enjoy

next chapter. masterlist

the unforgiving blaring heat of the desert was torturous.

the sun seemed to be beaming from right above, practically frying you and your companions skin as you treaded through the sand. one suffering the consequences worse than another, skin resembling a boiled lobster.

dry, chapped lips silently begging for water, only to be met with the sting of saltwater sweat dripping onto them. you can try to lick them away, but it will only worsen the pain. pain, your muscles ache and your bones feel as if they’ll crumble if you step forward once more. you needed…out.…of the heat……

ah, alas, a river! oh, how lovely, a quench to the terrible thirst…. you reach out towards it, cupping your hands to drink, and are met with the hot, cruel surface of a car door.

“are you done, r? you’re gonna set off the alarm.” ellie had destroyed your dramatic scene , rolling her eyes and slumping down on the concrete next to the car. her long ass jorts protected her skin from the heat of the ground.

“no, it can’t be! twas a mirage, my mind has fooled me!” draping a dramatic hand across your forehead, you’re met with a moist surface that you wipe away onto your shorts, falling next to the girl. your shorts however, did not protect you. you slightly hissed in pain, before bringing your knees to your chest.

“they shouldn’t have let you read othello. i think you’re actually going insane.” she bluntly remarks, offering you a light giggle.

your english teacher, honors english if you wanna brag, had just started a shakespeare unit, and you were over the moon. being the first to volunteer to read in class, writing your own gorgeous sonnets about even more gorgeous subjects , and torturing ellie with your constant chiming of “shall i compare thee to a midsummers day?”

“ugh, you hate to see a girl being theatrical.” with a quick roll of your eyes, you crossed your arms and pouted.

“yes, i do.”

ellie knew it wasn’t one of your actual sad pouts, like when she accidentally killed the snail you two found, but simply you being….theatrical. like your wonderful performance in the school musical last year, as sharpay in high school musical. was that fuckass blonde wig a disgrace? absolutely. but your wonderful acting skills distracted from it, or so you hoped.

“you know whats actually making me go insane? the fact that you made me walk to 7-11 in this heat!!! you tryna kill me?”

the taste of the slushy was still lingering in your mouth , along with the red color on your tounge, but the cold it brought was long gone.

“oh my lady, i would never do such a thing! but alas, i required a refreshment, and id hate to go alone.” ellie counters back in her own shitty-british accent , holding a hand to her chest.

“see, told you its fun.” you nudged her elbow with your own, sweaty limbs colliding with a gross “splat”.

“yeah yeah, whatever. you’re right about everything, my glorious queen-“

“indeed!” you interrupted, pout replaced with a cheeky smile.

you both sat for a second, catching your breath. your eyes wandered to ellies arms, and you noticed she had turned into a lobster. her arms were bright red and sunburnt, and you reached out to poke her.

“ow-fuck! why did you do that!!” she winced in pain, moving her arm away.

“jesus, why do you never put on sunscreen? you trying to get tan or something?”

“i didn’t think it would be this bad outside..”

“you’re stupid.”

“you’re mean..”

after a while of you both sitting in comfortable silence, both of your eyes fall on the vehicle across the street. it was the one thing you always loved staring at on this street. the ferrari was reflecting all the beams of ultraviolet hitting it, practically glowing in the humid hellscape. the dashboard and practically everything else was smothered in dust, the cause probably being its idle parking spot, same one it had been occupying since you and ellie were 5 years old. the black detailing and the shiny silver horse enchanted you, despite the cars mildly decrepit state. 13 years later, you wondered if it would even still run. wondered how the engine would feel rumbling underneath you as you pushed against the wind down the empty streets.

people always make driving seem so crazy and thrilling in movies. sharp turns, constant speeding, drifting, it was like the road was a rollercoaster. or maybe you had just watched too many fast and furious movies with your dad.

but every time you were in a car, you were calm. always having an arm out the window, sometimes waving your hand like the ocean, and others making finger legs and doing parkour off of the other cars. when it rained, especially at night, you’d always beg your dad to drive you around. you’d try to count the raindrops on the windshield , and often times you’d let the taps on the windows lull you to sleep.

you have many memories of your dad taking you on drives to get you to sleep. especially when you were younger, and didn’t want to go to bed because you ‘weren’t tired’. every time, he’d just say “you don’t have to sleep, just rest.” sometimes he’d sing the songs he burned onto his cds, other times he’d make lists of things you wanted to do the next day. but no matter what, within 10 minutes you were always out cold. most times he’d keep driving for a bit, just to make sure you were really sleeping, and then carry you as gently as possible up to your room.

now, you knew better than to try and make him carry you up the stairs. you’d have a dramatic stretch, and practically drag yourself to your house before flopping down on the couch. half of the time face first.

you never wanted to be the one driving, though. you didn’t trust yourself behind the wheel, thinking you’d get too relaxed and doze off the second you started driving. or get into a crash. every time you did bumper carts, you’d be the one annoying all the little kids by hitting them a thousand times with your car. plus, highways are scary as fuck.

but for some reason, every time you saw that car parked down your street, you imagined yourself behind the wheel. always with some of those cool ass driving gloves on, and the scorpion jacket ryan gosling had in drive. you’d drift like all those cool dudes in your dads movies, and never ever crash into anyone on the highway. you thought it was blessed with some spell that made everyone who drove it amazing at driving.

ellie had zero faith in you though.

“you’d total that thing in five seconds. do you not remember the last time you tried to drive?”

her rude remark reminded you of the “raspberry incident”, as you called it, from last summer. you were at your grandmas in the countryside, her in the passenger of her big ass suburban trying to teach you to drive in the raspberry fields. you had been pushing a bit hard on the gas a few times, making her tell you to “calm down” , but you were a damn good driver as far as you saw. but it allll went downhill when she made you practice turning. you had turned around one of the rows of berries perfectly, and you were driving a bit too fast to the next corner. but somehow, you turned on the wrong angle and drove straight into the berries. and to make things worse, you kept pushing the gas pedal on accident instead of the brakes. your grandma screaming at you to stop didn’t help much either. you had torn down no more than 1/5 of the row, but nothing happened to the car. a trip to the carwash and it was like nothing ever happened.

“that was soooo long ago. you weren’t even there either! what if i was just over exaggerating when i told you and it wasn’t that bad?”

“you calling yourself a liar?” ellie took a sip of her slushy. the one she made you take this whole treacherous journey for. she was somehow still nursing hers, while yours was in a trash can five blocks back.

“never. how are you still drinking that thing? we’ve been walking for like half an hour!” you grab the drink out of her hand, taking a sip for a biiit too long.

“hey! you can’t even ask? i spent my hard earned money on that thing.“

“oh please, it was only like 3 dollars. you sound like joel right now.”

you both chuckled. ellies dad acted just like yours, that’s probably why they’re such best friends. that and the two dead wives thing, they had a lot in common. and coincidentally, so did you and ellie. you knew each other since you came out of the womb. well, since you came out. ellie was there three weeks before you, and she never let you forget it. constantly on her “respect your elders” bullshit every time you punched her in the arm for stealing your food. you two were fighting over the same toys and blabbering to each other since birth. your parents were convinced you were some baby geniuses that had developed your own language with how much you ‘spoke’ to each other. you two always understood each other.

“whatever dude, i’d be a driving master in that thing. it’d probably be a total chick magnet too. i’d be cleaning that backseat every day.”

ellie poked you in the side at your joke, and you both shoved each other while you laughed.

“yeah, you and your spongebob boxers are definitely soooo seductive.”

“you can’t say shit, you have the matching patrick pair!”

almost half your closet was either clothes you took from ellies house, or ones you bought to match with her. your dad has a whole photo album of old pictures he took of you and her in your matching outfits. and you have a bin in the attic stacked to the brim with your matching halloween costumes. the one matching thing the two of you never took off was your necklaces. it was one of those basic hearts, two pieces of silver that fit together perfectly with “best friends” and an infinity sign engraved on it. you had begged your dad for it while you were at a beach store, and he reluctantly gave in. you had the ‘st ends’ side, and ellie had the ‘be fri’ one. no matter the occasion, even with the excessive amount of necklaces you always wore, that one was always a part of the stack. and ellie only ever wore the one. in fact, the only jewelry she ever wore was the bracelets you two had made for each other and her necklace.

“hey, they’re comfy! i love those things.”

“you know what i’d love?”

“deez nuts in your mouth??”

you slapped ellie on the arm , and she grabbed it in pain.

“fuck you! you know im sensitive right now!!”

“you’ll live. ANYWAYS, i was talking about the car.”

“pssht, who wouldn’t. who leaves a perfect 288 on the side of the road for this long?” ellies inner car-nerd spilled out,eyebrows furrowing in question.

you and ellie had dreamed of that car ever since you were barely taller than the side doors. pretending to drive it when she came over to yours, leaning against it as you ate your ice cream and accidentally setting off the alarm, even peering in through the windows occasionally. the white envelope with a small bulge always intrigued the two of you, desperately wondering what was inside of it. you’d never seen anyone get in or out of it, and you were surprised it lasted this long on this street.

“why’re you still on this anyway? its not like we’re gonna just steal it or something.”

when you stare back at her for a bit too long, she sighs at you and rolls her eyes. your dumb ideas almost always end horribly, and she wasn’t in for all that this summer.

like last year, when you two were working at this big outdoor restaurant. you had somehow convinced her to drive around one of the golf carts, and it ended with you accidentally ramming it into some dudes car. you both quit to avoid the guy, and you’ve never been back since.

“well, why not! i mean really ellie, I’ve seen you break into joels truck before. you could do it.”

it was an isolated incident. she had locked herself out of the car, and she used a random hanger she found in the mall parking lot to squeeze through the crack in the window and unlock the door.

“thats not the same as stealing some random car!!what if the dude who owns it is some mean gangster and he finds out we took his car and he fucking kills us??? or what if its full of a bunch of illegal shit and we get arrested while we’re driving it?”

“since when do you care this much about shit like that? you convinced me to keep a lizard in my closet for three weeks once. plus, do you really think anyone’s gonna come looking for it? that things been there longer than we’ve been alive.”

“even if we do steal it, what if it doesn’t even run anymore? and if it does, are we just gonna hotwire it every time we wanna drive?”

ellie was sadly thinking logically about this , and you weren’t having it. the pout on your face was growing bigger and bigger, and you rolled your eyes at her.

“you’re so boring.”

“im not boring, you’re just insane and impulsive.”

“besides, where would we even hide it? neither of us have a garage or anything.”

“you ask too many questions. come onnnn, this could be our little sappy senior year memory!! even if it goes like, totally wrong and we get arrested or some shit.”

you and ellies high school experience was..lackluster at most. no crazy adventures, no parties, no insane hookups, nothing. every movie about highschool you two had watched had completely lied to you, because it was boring as fuck. i mean, probably not for everyone else, but definitely for you two. this car would be a saving grace for you two, it could top off senior year perfectly.

“your idea of a great senior year memory is grand theft auto?”

“i mean, the games awesome. why not?”

she chuckled a bit at your bad joke, leaving a smile on your face. everything in her was telling her it was an awful idea, but you were giving her your most convincing puppy dog eyes, hands under your chin pleading to her.

you were amazing at persuading her, and the way your eyes practically sparkled when you spoke of even the mere idea of it sent her to the stars. how could she say no to you?

“…let me think about it.”

“WOOOO”

for ellie, ‘let me think about it’ was almost always code for yes. especially when it came to you. the two of you walked back to your house, ellie finally finishing her slushy. she chucked it in your garbage can before leaving you at your door. you tried to hug her goodbye, but she pushed you away.

“lobster skin. it still hurts. youll probably wanna hug me more tomorrow.”

and the next day, at 8:30, ellie showed up at your window with a toolbox smelling like aloe vera.

[melanieph321]

I did write a similar piece after man city got knocked out of Champions league. (Link below)

Could do something different? How about you being a United fan. You lost last years fa cup and he made fun of you. Revenge type ting 😂

NOW THIS IS WHAT I'M TALKING ABOUT!!! 🙌🔥

Ruben Dias x Reader - Sweet Revenge

+18

* minors get tf out!

Enjoy!

Who knew that Ruben was a sore loser? What a discovery, you thought. Despite Man City's triumph I the Prmeier League, he couldn't quite get over their lost to United in the FA Cup. You'd wake up at night hearing him mutter in his sleep. "At Wembley...Can't believe that they got us at Wembley..."

Eventually, Ruben would roll over and go back to bed, but as his girlfriend, his behavior was a tad concerning. However....as a United fan, what a glorious time to be alive.

"It hurts, doesn't it?"

You joined Ruben in the living room. It's where he spent most of his current days post-season, in front of the TV, contemplating his life decisions.

"What?" He hissed, eyeing you like you had just insulted his entire family. Just your presence would spite him these days, knowing damn well that his girlfriend was a Man United fan. If he wasn't madly in love with you, he would have shown you the door right after the Cup final.

"I dunno?" You shrugged. "Losing for once? It hurts, doesn't it?"

"You're having a laugh about it, aren't you? You and your United friends."

"Hey, all I'm saying is that all is fair in love and football."

"All is fair, huh?"

"Yes." You grinned.

"Are you willing to put your words where your mouth is."

"Erm...pardon?" Your eyes widened as Ruben stood from the couch, draping his shirt over his head, tossing it aside.

"Ruben, what are you...."

"City lost, Man United won." He stated. "We had a bet."

"So?"

"So? Wasn't the bet that the winner gets a wish?"

You smiled. "And you really believe that my wish would be for you to fuck me?"

"What was it then?"

Your smile widened, realizing your power. Ruben was really annoyed, wanting for the subject to be dropped as soon as possible so that he could move on with his life and the game. However, you had another plan in mind.

"You've got to be kidding me?" Ruben said after you left the living room only to return with your favorite Manchester United Jersey.

"Unfortunately, not baby, you made me do it last year, I'm making you do it now."

"But I can't wear that. It won't fit me."

You admit that the jersey would be a bit tight on him, considering that it was almost your size. However, it would add to the sweet revenge.

"It's not my fault your team lost. A bet is a bet baby, suit up."

You didn't know what was funnier. Walking hand in hand into your favorite sports bar with Ruben wearing your United jersey, or the fact that the number behind it was the number five, "Maguire." All you know is that it was a torture for Ruben being forced to celebrate with your friends who were all United fans. A torture for him and hilarious for you.

"What. A. Shit. Night." Ruben said, quick to tugg off your shirt once you returned to the apartment.

"Ah, ah, Ruby. Not so fast."

"What do you mean? I did the bet. Now the bet is over."

"You did half the bet. Remember last year?"

He frowned. "What happened last year?"

"Don't make me spell it out for you." You said, hands on your hips. Nevertheless, Ruben looked lost. You had to help him out.

"What did you make me do once we got back from the bar of your choice last year?"

The dent between his brow grew deeper.

"Sex Ruben, we had sex."

His expression mellowed. "Y/N, I never made you have sex with me."

"Not sex, no. I wanted that."

His sigh of relief made you smile.

"What then, what did I make you..." It all came to him in a flash. A terrible flash, once he realized what it meant for him. "No." He shook his head. "Y/N, please, no."

"Oh, yes." You approached him slowly.

Ruben backed away. "Not with the shirt on. Please don't make me wear the shirt during."

You grabbed its collar, pulling him down for a kiss. "I'm sorry, Ruben, a bet is a bet."

You back him up until he slumped down on the couch. You stepped out of your shorts and got on top of him, bending down to kiss him.

"Y/N, please..." He moaned, enjoying the sensation of your lips tracing down his neck. "I'm not gonna be able to...."

"What?" You moved on to kiss his lips, making it harder for him to speak as his hands were on your hips, slowing down your grinding against his cock.

"Y/N." Ruben put a hand to your chest, preventing any more kisses. He looked serious.

"What?" You giggled.

"I won't be able to get hard wearing this shirt. Not with another man's name on my back."

"Wanna bet?"

"I'm serious Y/N, nothing is gonna work unless I take it off."

"Right."

You slid down Ruben's body, centering yourself over his shorts. You draped them down along with his underwear, revealing his slack penis.

"See." Ruben said, popping himself up on his elbows, looking down at his unresponsive dick.

"He just needs a little love." You said, bending down to kiss the tip of it. There was some movement as you did, giving you hope for the future.

"He?" Ruben said.

You looked up to catch his smile.

"You called my penis a he?"

"Is he not?"

"It's not right to assume once gender you know."

You rolled your eyes.

"Yes, I guess my dick is a he."

You inspected it curiously. It was usually alive and well during other times you would meet. Seeing it so small, so sad, was upsetting yet fascinating at the same time.

"I think he needs a name."

"Yeah?"

You nodded. "Something suiting and aspiring."

"How about Roberto?"

"No, that an old man's name."

"Okay, what about..."

"Maguire!"

Ruben's eyes widened in terror.

"That's it, let's name him Maguire. It's very suitable."

"You're out of your mind. I'm not naming my dick after another player, especially not Harry Maguire."

You laughed, watching Ruben's face turn bright red.

"And another thing...."

You yelped as he pushed you off him only to roll over and lay on top of you. "I refuse to fuck my girlfriend wearing a United shirt." He pulled it off of him, tossing it over you heads.

"Well, I guess that means you're not fucking me at all."

"Not so fast."

You made the gesture to rise from the couch. However, Ruben's weight managed to pin you down, his voice deep in your ear. "Are you just gonna leave me like this, rock hard and lonely?"

You gasped, feeling how he suddenly came to life, his erection poking you in the stomach.

"Ruben, I'm not..."

"Yes or no, Y/N...." He whispered against your skin, pressing his soft lips against your naked collarbone bone. "Either you fuck me or you don't, the choice is yours."

"I hate you." You muttered.

He chuckled and resumed to undress you, draping your shirt over your head to reveal your swollen breasts. Ruben took one in his mouth like man deprived of food, sucking on them to a point when they became sore and sensitive to all touch.

It was a sweet revenge while it lasted. At least you had that. Perhaps the plan would have been more effective if you weren't so damn in love.

The End.

[pygmi-cygni]

Lucky Number Seven

what's that you say? I already have a series that I've been ignoring for one (1) month?

poppycock, I tell you.

a/n: I missed poe, so I figured I'd throw another bone. I'm aiming for three parts but it miiiight extend to four. if I exceed five something is def wrong.

cw: nothing right now, mostly just the intro chapter. later the series will contain themes of violence, torture and angst (with a happy ending!), but all fandom appropriate.

onward! pt. 2

It was always a possibility. As thin as a hair and stacks of odds against it, but still a possibility.

The intelligence division didn't wander out into the fight. That was the joke - they were the only ones 'intelligent' enough to leave well enough alone. But sometimes, they needed brains and capable hands. And you had two for two, so your sign-off was a go.

Not the dream position to be in, but you didn't have a choice.

That terrifying reality rattled in your brain with every rock and root the transport speeder went over. You clutched a blaster to your chest, staring blankly at the empty bench in front of you. The two officers on either side of you were mumbling prayers.

Seven in total. Lucky in every instance outside of this. The top intelligence officers the Resistance had to offer. For the first time in decades, reporting to the tiny group of actual soldiers and pilots hiding a few kilometers outside a very active Imp base.

You took a deep breath, rubbing the tattoo on your thumb. It wasn't much of a tattoo - just a pair of dots. It was meant to be three, but you could only take the pain of two.

Looking out the window, you swallowed nervously.

"D'you think we'll get medals?"

Turning, you saw the newest member of your team. Tonks, you called them. Short, scrawny, with moony grey eyes. Good with numbers and not much else.

"What?" Your brow furrowed.

They shifted closer, face curious. "Y'know, medals. For being brave and stuff."

You rubbed your neck. "Uh...not sure, kiddo. I don't think medals are gonna be the focus of this mission." The statement came out a bit crueler than you intended, and you winced.

Tonks swallowed, shrinking back into the corner. Oops.

The sweltering swamp air made you gag. It felt like being inside a sprinter's sock; damp, hot, and smelling of rot. Sticky pools were collecting under your arms and the heavy straps of your protective gear.

"Holy Maker," one of the officers groaned, shifting the massive bulk of a transcriber over his shoulder. You did not envy him.

The sun was high and beating down on your neck. Underbrush creaked and slopped under your boots as you trudged through the thick sludge. Tension was high, and the hairs on the back of your neck were straight up. Tonks stumbled behind you, mumbling all the while.

"Are...are you reciting code?" You swiveled to raise an eyebrow, nearly tripping into a pile of mud.

They sniffled, wiping sweat from their upper lip. "Regulation protocol. Rules calm me down."

Ah. My mistake.

Snorting, you hurried to catch up with the rest. Falling behind would do nobody any good; the suns were setting fast and the squelching mud was becoming a freezing, slick sludge. You'd skimmed the records of life on this planet, and you were not inclined to meet any of them.

Nal Hutta, named "Glorious Jewel" for reasons that escaped you, was a polluted swamp planet home to the slovenly species of Hutts. The Imps, likely enamored with its sewage and decrepit appearance, had decided to operate a communications base and a trading port. Allegedly they were allied with the smuggling captains and frequently used the back alleys to discuss trade operations.

This made it a seemingly easy target for the Rebel fighters, but you had quickly realized the Hutts were more equipped than you thought.

Hence the arrival of translators, cartographers, code breakers, and one (1) weapons specialist arriving in a cramped armored vehicle five hours away.

Logic.

Another wave of nausea threatened to overflow as the pockmarked ground belched a glob of slime. Your eyes were watering from the stench, and the sound of retching could be heard in front and behind you. For being a small planet, it was densely humid, and the temperatures fluctuated wildly. Your tongue was dry as Tattooine, but the mold beginning to grow around your water jug was not appetizing.

"The bacterial growth rate is astounding," one of the biologists murmured into a receiver, handing back swabs of growths to the research assistant. You made a face, dodging the slimy sticks of nastiness.

The craggy hill your group was mounting came to an abrupt peak, evidence of a fire burning ash down the side. You took the opportunity to shuck your pack, stretching out your tired muscles.

Tonks was vomiting off to the side, shaky hands bracing their scrawny knees. Sighing, you removed their glasses and wiped them on your pants, grimacing. They nodded a thanks, swallowing back bile.

The rest of the journey was equally as uncomfortable. You'd soaked through your clothes with sweat, salt and mud caked around your boots and pants. The soiled clothing chafed against your thighs, and you couldn't bear a step longer. One of the younger officers had lost his boot in a sticky puddle, and was now hobbling around with a crutch.

"Hey...hey, hey hey!"

Tonks' voice carried from a ditch, excited and bright. You stumbled behind the crowd, trying to see what Tonks had found.

A chimney with smoke trailing into the dark sky. Squinting, you peered around the ground and cried out triumphantly.

Canvas tents, well hidden by debris, tucked alongside the mountain ridge. It looked to be a few minutes walk.

"Oh fuck yeah," you breathed, starting off at a fast pace down the craggy side. The officers followed, groaning in relief. The ruckus of twenty officers rushing at the small camp alerted a few guards, who approached with blasters raised.

One of them, a stocky blonde, clearly recognized one of your crew, and broke into a grin. You watched, dazed, as they clapped each other on the back, other soldiers coming over to greet the group. Knowing you were safe, exhaustion had begun to set in hard. A bone-deep ache shuddered through your body, your boots tripping over each other. An unfamiliar pair of hands steadied you, and a woman said unintelligible words to you, eyes worried.

You mumbled something incoherently and sunk to the ground, eyes rolling back.

When you woke, it was still dark, but your clothes were clean and your hair was damp. You sat up and immediately regretted it. Stars swam in your vision, blurring the small light source next to you until it looked like Van Gogh.

"What the fff..." you smacked your lips, tongue like sandpaper. A rustling to your left made you jump.

Tonks peeked their head in, grey eyes bright. They gave a toothy grin and handed you a glass of liquid.

"Oh, hi! Don't worry, Marfa washed you off. Drink this, it's good." Their gaze was shiny and a little unfocused, and you took the drink with a bit of apprehension.

"Are we bunking together?" you croaked, wiping the foamy blue drink from your chin. It was good, mild and sweet, but definitely alcoholic. Subtly you set it aside, reaching for water instead.

Tonks nodded, hands fluttering excitedly. They launched into a recap of the last few hours, babbling about the base and the soldiers and a thousand other things you did not have the energy to keep up with.

When their energy and stream of words seemed to die down a bit, you mumbled about taking a piss and stumbled out of the tent, rolling the tension out of your shoulders. Your feet were steadier and a cold drink of water sounded great.

Despite it being the middle of the night, quite a few Rebels were still out, huddled around fires and under rooves. Some laughed and joked, dancing poorly to music, while others talked with hushed tones and pursed lips. You watched it all, amazed. It was far from the few bases you'd been on before - all grey, stoic, cold.

Smiling, you watched an animated game of cards between two pilots. One of their helmets was holding bets, stacked almost to the brim with credits and meal tickets.

Your smile wavered as you tilted your head to catch the insignia. Black.

Black Squadron was here?

The heat of the nearby fire sapped from your bones. Stumbling backwards, you ducked back into your tent and hissed, "Tonks! Who've we met at base?"

They blinked. "Wh-"

"The squadron. Who are we going to work with?"

"Black Squadron. Dameron's. Did you not read the debrief?" Snorting, they returned to their game of solitaire.

Your mouth felt like Tatooine's deserts as you shakily sat down. Tonks didn't notice your existential crisis, continuing to puzzle through another bad hand.

Poe had grown up with you, on Yavin. You weren't friends, not really. Just flowers that grew in the same garden and occasionally fluttered past each other on windy days. He was always too reckless, too fast. You preferred the late bloom to the hot summer flashes, unfurling your leaves in gentle spring. A strange dance had emerged as you orbited each other's circles, never going any farther than a hey or a good morning.

Well, you'd tried. Once.

And....failed.

But that debacle was successfully locked up in the box of 'do not fucking open this ever under any circumstances' and that was where it would stay.

Your thumbs ran worry lines over the rough lip of your canteen. That grudge had calcified among your bones, growing into your ribs alongside your heart. It might be wise to let it go, but the scar tissue had healed and it would hurt more to rip it out. It didn't bother you any more - the Resistance was so big you hardly saw him. You saw more than enough, all the posters and photoshoots polluting your media feed.

Until now.

You swallowed back another gritty mouthful of blue something and tossed your cup onto the sheets.

Well, it seemed you couldn't avoid him any longer. Three years you tried. A valiant effort.

Bring it on, flyboy.

You woke early the next morning. Morning dew clung to the tents, slicking up the encrusted slime into rivers of sludge. Nothing, not even sunrise, could make this planet appealing. It was frigid out. You wrapped elastic around the hems of your close to keep the heat contained. The end result was a striking resemblance to a Hutt. Futile anyway, for it would be boiling temperatures within the hour.

Standard protocol mandated an officer meeting by 0800 this morning. It was 0530, so you had time to kill. Usually you’d go for a run, but this terrain didn’t welcome any wandering off. You decided to take advantage of the quiet and explore the camp you missed yesterday.

It was smaller than you expected, but spread out. It looked like there were two cohorts of pilots that arrived; Red Squadron, whose camp was well-established, and Black Squadron, whose setup looked fairly new. Dameron must have landed within the last few weeks. It puzzled you why Red would even need any assistance – they had the highest ratio of trained fighters to licensed pilots. They were nicknamed ‘red’ for a reason. Their commander, Shayla Din, was the best staff fighter you’d ever met.

You shoved your hands deep in your pockets and crept along, tallying the tents as you passed. Forty. Two people per tent…eighty-ish. That was a small crew, but you could make it work.

A small hill approached. You muscled your way to the top, nearly stepping in a rat carcass. The ‘fog’ you’d assumed earlier appeared to be the gas from a nearby geyser, kept low in the atmosphere by the temperature. Well, that’s disgusting. No amount of soap and water could cleanse your body after that discovery.

Turning, you began your loop again.

And paused.

One of the tents was illuminated, and a very familiar head of curls sat outside buckling his boots.

A bucket of cold water crashed over your nervous system, sending your heartrate into the stratosphere. You wished, for the first time, to be absorbed into the grimy mess of the ground, sucked away into blissful death.

Anything was better than seeing his face.

You stood, frozen, watching as he dusted off his soles, stretched, and turned. And saw you. And saw you. And for a brief second, for the first time in three years, you felt like an anxious little greenhorn, shaking in the presence of a Commander. Poe’s gaze, even from here, was harder than Beskar. Clean and sharp like a blade, cleaving the strength from your bones and leaving you in a heap of quivering insecurity.

“What in Maker’s name are you doing here,” he hissed, closing the space in three long strides.

Your mouth was glued shut. Ignore him. Just keep walking, don’t even look him in the eye.

His deep brown eyes met yours with seething confusion. Swallowing, you tilted your chin, deciding to stare at his ear instead.

“I’m one of the seven that came to help, Commander.” Your voice was smoother than you expected. His rank had the desired effect, his jaw twitching with irritation. Poe stood, a little too close, before grabbing your elbow and yanking you behind him.

“What the-“

“Follow me, and don’t talk to anybody,” he gritted out, “I’m calling headquarters.”

“What? Why?”

He stopped in front of the largest canvas tent, whirling to face you. “I’m sending you back.”

Any anger simmering under the surface boiled over in a massive collision between your fist and his cheek. The satisfying thud made your heart glow for a moment, until realizing you’d just punched a Commander’s lights out.

well, let's see where this goes I guess.

tags! comment to join (please specify if you want my main taglist or just this story xo)

@krakenkitty @ominoose @bulletgoth @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction @justsomeonecalledemma

@iolaussharpe-24 @rosegnome @twwcs @heeheehoohoofictimr @steven-grants-world

@ael-xander @to-be-a-sunshine @weasleyswizarding-wheezes @silvernight-m @lonelyisamyw-0love

 @unear7hly

[pinkkittysaw]

CAGED IN

chastity - leon s. kennedy

pairing: leon s. kennedy x gn!reader

word count: 856

content: NSFW (minors + ageless blogs DNI, you will be blocked!) “dom” reader, chastity/cock cage, “blowjob”, “handjob”, ball worship, slight degradation, dirty talk, spit, begging, petnames (baby), referring to leon as a “pet”, mentions of ada wong, use of the words “god” and “christ”

a/n: i’m proud to say that this is posted in collaboration with @ficsforgaza for their kinktober event! be sure to check out the other wonderful creators involved here! (heed the content warnings) also be sure to check out my “sponsor a whip” post, here!

dividers & graphics by @/ficsforgaza

"Naughty naughty naughty," you tsk toward the squirming blonde in your bed.

After hearing about yet another unplanned rendezvous with a certain Ada wong during his impromptu rescue mission to save the president's daughter, you finally decided to take matters into your own hands.

You and Leon had talked at length about chastity cages before, having him test and try out different ones, but they hadn’t yet been fully implemented until today.

Truthfully, it wasn’t his fault that wherever he went, Ada would follow, but the cage would serve as a reminder, to both her and Leon, of who was boss.

How were you supposed to know that the poor thing would get so turned on after affixing the device to him?

So here he was, cargo pants pulled down to his thighs, painfully aroused, despite his inability to get fully hard.

“Poor baby," you tease, a mix of diluted cruelty and faux sympathy in your voice. “You wanna cum?”

Leon nods quickly. His pale bangs fall in his face.

"Yes, baby, please.”

You smirk a little, kneeling on the bed before situating yourself over him. Bending over, you begin kissing his neck while walking your fingers down his body to where the plastic cage sits. You brush over the sensitive flesh of his cock before moving to cup his heavy balls.

“You wanna cum so fucking bad, don’t you? You naughty thing,” you whisper to him, words filled with snark and amusement as you knead his sac.

“Fucking christ-“ he groans as he attempts to buck his hips into your hand.

“I don’t think so,” you murmur, reaching under your bed to pull out the special box of toys you stashed for nights like this.

Tipping off the lid, you pull out a dildo that’s similar to Leon’s cock,  both in skin tone and in glorious length, before setting it down near his thigh.

“If you want to cum,“ you tug his black t-shirt over his pectorals, squeezing the muscle freely, “you’re gonna have to earn it.”

Leaning back toward him again, you kiss down his body, making your way to where he demands your attention most. You start to lap at the ash brown strands of hair that make up his happy trail as he begins to fidget even more.

You place the dildo in front of his actual cock, which is now straining against the confines of his cage, and use a little suction so that it sticks to his skin. You tease the tip of the fake cock with your tongue while giving it a couple strokes in your fist.

“Oh baby, that’s not fair." He bites his lip as he watches you, unable to look away.

“What’s not fair?” You kiss the tip before sucking the silicone into your mouth, taking it as far as it’ll go before coming back for air, dropping a pool of saliva onto the now slick material.

“Your punishment? Or the fact that you needed to be locked up in the first place?”

You sink down onto the dildo again, bobbing up and down slowly, putting in your best work while maintaining eye contact with him the entire time.

His hips rock slightly, not with enough force to make you pull away, but not hard enough to get any sort of pleasure. He squirms, white knuckling the sheets that lay beneath him as he endures your sweet torture.

Your hand reaches down to fondle his balls once more, causing another groan to choke its way out of his throat.

“God-“

You moan around the plastic dick, the dampened vibrations blooming in Leon’s navel. Unrestrained, his hand reaches toward your head, preemptively trying to guide your wanting mouth further and further on the dildo.  You swat him away, pulling off the cock with a small wet pop.

“You better start fucking begging.”

You kiss down the shaft of the dildo and over his cage before you reach his testicles, going back and forth between kissing each one while your fist moves back to stroking.

“Baby-“

“I said fucking beg, Leon!” You demand.

"Please, baby, fuck, please let me cum.”

“I’m not so sure you deserve it,” you suckle one of his balls into your mouth, moaning around it.

His back arches wildly now, his plump ass a good few inches into the air. Your fingers are met with his own as he jerks the dildo messily, tightening your grip on the material as pleas and whimpers fall from his lips in quick succession.

You ponder his words for a moment, suckling on the skin as he bargains for your compliance. You can see he’s at the end of his rope, his teeth digging into the skin of his lower lip as he holds back the orgasm he so desperately craves.

“Cum for me, pet,” and with one final suck that hollows out your cheeks, he’s twitching in your mouth, the reflexes in his hips jerking slightly. His seed oozes in between the slits on the cage, effectively soiling himself.

Your smirk down at him as his high begins to wane.

“Think you’ve finally learned your lesson, Leon?”

[long-death-dazai]

[Dazai’s eyes squeeze shut a bit tighter and he frowns in that way that Chuuya knows well enough isn’t a negative expression for him. It’s warm. And soft and notably not soggy like the mattress in the shipping container after he forgot to close it a few days and it rained. He’s surrounded by weight and pressure and fuzziness. All radiating from within his arms. He hums and shifts closer to Chuuya, hands running aimlessly on his back and sides as he also bites Chuuya’s hair]

[Chuuya hums a bit, still mostly focused on trying to breath. He nods though, absently agreeing. He tilted his head a bit, seeming to be silently wondering if dazai had gotten it all or not, before sighing a bit. His grip around Dazais wrist is iron strong, if a bit loose.]

[@long-death-dazai contining the other one here!]

[scuttlingcrab]

So it's pretty obvious that Raphael would be a massive fan of luxury items. How would he react to Tav being able to make certain luxury items from scratch (such as lotions, massage oils, perfumes, soaps, etc.) and is really freaking good at it.

Maybe he learns this little fact about Tav when he receives a bundle of custom luxury items from one of his warlocks and it has a note which says, "To: Raphael. From: The mouse. A 'thank you' for the food." (assuming Tav filled a plate of food during the group's first encounter with the fiend)

Thank you for this awesome prompt. I took a liberty with this one, wanted to try something that maybe a writer hasn’t done before re: what luxury item Tav would make Raphael. I also referenced a few characters from my other stories. Marin, the composer from A Night at the Symphony and Dolofina, the warlock, from A Warlock is Born. I couldn’t resist! Hope you enjoy! And send on the next prompt if you haven’t already! :)

Summary: Raphael receives an unexpected gift from Tav.

Warnings: Mild violence/torture

––

A Perfect Fit 

(Image via violadesdragons)

The screams were like music to Raphael’s ears.

The torment that resonated from each shriek, every wail that echoed into his House of Hope, if directed well, could create a symphony that would feed Raphael for weeks. A melody almost as magnificent as Marin’s concertos. Raphael mastered what buttons to push, what minute threads to pull, to achieve perfection.

Every human was an instrument in their own right. They had a unique cord, an unsung talent, that Raphael knew how to excavate and mould. He had spent millennia fiddling with mortals, experimenting with different techniques to inflict pain or even less conspicuous means to really persecute his poor unfortunate pets. 

Nevertheless, Raphael despised it all. Torturing these creatures was so below his station, another idle role he had to play to keep up appearances in this never-ending farce to reach his objective, to reclaim the Crown of Karsus. He longed to see the players of his saga, his glorious ascension, leave the dark confines of the wings and enter the proscenium for all the planes to see.

Raphael listlessly looked up towards his current unfinished task, a withered mortal impaled on rusted spikes. No matter how hard Raphael stared at this rat, how tirelessly he worked his mind to calculate new methods to inflict agony, all Raphael could do was muster an apathetic groan in response. 

He was almost relieved to hear footsteps approaching the dungeon, identifying the bouncy gait of one of his warlocks almost immediately. Dolofina. 

Raphael smiled to himself, letting out a shallow breath as the doors slowly creaked open. He snapped his fingers, and another spike appeared, slowly lifting to meet the others.

“I do hope you have some interesting news for me. And think hard on your answer, or else I might swap you out with poor Boris.” 

Raphael turned to greet Dolofina, the whimpers of the tortured human slowly rising as he approached her. She stared back at him without any emotion, unmoved by the threat. He taught her well.

“Apologies for the intrusion, but a woman was insistent you receive this. She wouldn’t leave Korrilla alone until she confirmed we’d deliver it to you.”

Dolofina lifted the basket in her hands with a sigh, offering it to Raphael. 

“Pah! Which insolent creature is it this time? If it’s that damned–” 

“She only referred to herself as the, and I quote, ‘little mouse.’”

Dolofina seemed perplexed at the name, rolling her eyes as she waited for his response. Raphael’s mouth parted, his eyes instantly becoming more animated at the mention of her.

“Could she be crawling to me already?” So fast, and such a pity. He had been looking forward to a tussle.

Raphael gingerly picked up the basket, holding it in his hands and carefully inspecting every inch as if it was an ancient relic. What a simple little offering, merely a straw woven basket. Its contents were hidden under gold wrapping paper and held together delicately by a red bow.

“Don’t worry, we’ve already inspected it for traps.”

Raphael gave Dolofina a flat stare. 

“Do you think the creature would be so daft?”

Dolofina shrugged.

“I am merely a mortal, what would I know?” 

There was a hint of mischief in Dolofina’s eyes as she smiled back at Raphael, so pleased with herself. He growled, pointing towards the threshold of his dungeon. The skin on his human disguise hissed, verging on transformation. 

“You have overstayed your welcome. And might I remind you, I am your master. I can terminate our agreement whenever I see fit, be it from the smallest lapse in your performance. You know what that means for your future.”

“Yes, master.” Dolofina responded through tight lips. She promptly made her leave, but not without slamming the doors behind her. 

“Must every creature under my employment be so thickheaded?” Raphael whispered, taking a moment to massage the bridge of his nose. 

When Raphael was sure his boiling blood had cooled, he proceeded to focus his attention on the basket, now weighing heavy in his hands. It would’ve been a shame to have accidentally incinerated the gift with his temper, which was nearly uncontrollable in recent months, without even knowing what was inside.

Raphael started with the bow, carefully untying the knot. Once it was removed, he brought it to his nose, slowly taking in its scent. Cloves and roses. Oh how he relished it. Raphael placed the bow in his pocket and removed the wrapping paper. He discovered a small envelope sitting on top of a golden gift box. A sudden jolt of electricity shot through his veins as he opened the letter. 

To: Raphael  From: The Mouse  Thank you for the food. Please accept this gift in exchange for your hospitality. If the measurements are not sufficient, perhaps we can schedule a fitting. You know where to find me.

Raphael snapped his fingers, leaving the letter floating in the air beside him as he continued with the box. His fingers, usually so calm and still, twitched with excitement. 

Raphael gasped, removing a single doublet from the box, its red colour as dark as blood. The silk melted in his hands, the article of clothing sparkling against the roaring flames of the dungeon. Gold and silver markings were intricately embroidered throughout the jacket, infernal designs suiting Raphael’s tastes. The cuffs of the doublet were adorned with devil tails that swished and curled on a constant loop. 

“My, my, the little mouse has been busy indeed.”

And what artistry! It had been ages, no centuries, since his eyes fell on such an alluring piece. Is this what it would feel like once he held the Crown in his hands? 

Raphael snapped his fingers, the doublet now on his person. He sighed, oh it fit him perfectly, as if that creature knew Raphael’s body like the back of her hand. He raised his arms, bowed, did every possible movement that could come to his mind in that instant, and yet could find no imperfections. 

Raphael was a generous devil, perhaps often too generous. He wasn’t opposed to receiving such luxurious gifts on occasion, but it was dangerous to play with his food. He considered for a moment being harsher to his future clients. The little mouse had a long road ahead of her if she was to help Raphael get what he desired. She needed to focus. No more distractions. No more gifts. 

And yet… 

Raphael clapped his hands and a mirror appeared before him. He gave himself a little spin, grinning. It was a suitable doublet. Cursed creature! Perhaps he could make other uses of these tadpoled yet. What was that mortal saying he heard so often? Ah yes, all work, and no play… 

Raphael was pulled from his thoughts at the howls of the tortured mortal, still impaled above him. Raphael’s cheeks burned, he had been sloppy, overlooking that he was not alone.

He angrily snapped his fingers and the mortal combusted. Their screams died with the flames, leaving no signs of their previous existence as the ashes fluttered away. A waste of a soul, Zariel be damned. She’d never even notice it was missing. 

And with that, Raphael stormed out of the dungeon, proudly wearing his new doublet. 

[thecampjuicebox]

Glorious Suffering

Pairing: Abdirak x Tav(f) x Astarion

Rating: 18+ NSFW, Minors DNI

POV: 2nd person

Warnings: SMUT, sadomasochism, use of objects for hitting, blood, bruising, biting, voyeurism/exhibitionism, orgasm denial, oral, fingering, p in v penetration, minor game spoilers

Trying out a new writing format to put better emphasis on dialogue. Let me know what you guys think!

The stench of blood and unwashed bodies lingers in the air like a thick blanket. It stings in your nostrils - singes the hairs with gut churning ferocity. Putrid. It makes your eyes water. Your stomach turns and bubbles as your breakfast threatens to make a second appearance. The once grand Selunite Outpost has since crumbled to near ruins, the occupation of goblins tainting its beauty and grace in a matter of days. Filthy pests, they are. You turn your head up, eyes watering from the scent as you climb the stone stairs toward a hallway of small rooms. Your group follows close behind reluctantly.

"This place is disgusting." Astarion whines, tip-toeing around small piles of bones and viscera.

Cautious eyes peek around corners. The first room is brightly lit with candles and lanterns, a young man strapped by the wrists and ankles to some sort of torture device. Two goblins swing maces and whips in his direction, shouting obscenities and asking for information. Information the man clearly doesn't seem to have.

"Pathetic. All of them." Shadowheart huffs, turning her nose up at the display with obvious disdain for what she's seen.

"They can't even properly swing a mace to cause actual damage. Lady Shar would be displeased."

Astarion grins at the sight. Excited fingers crawl against the stone brick wall to take hold of it as he leans into the doorway, his tongue flicking out to wet his bottom lip and trace the sharp points of his fangs.

"Let's stay and watch." The spawn's flirtatious nature can be so insufferable sometimes.

"Astarion, come. We have other business to attend to." Your voice is sharp and stern, seemingly the only way the elf will listen to you.

"You're such a bore." He groans, pulling away from the wall and hooking his index finger into the back of your leathers, giving them a playful tug toward him as he presses close to your behind and mumbles into your pointed ear.

"Doesn't that device look like such fun? We should give it a try once the little green ones have no more use for it."

Your cheeks burn crimson and a disengaging elbow flies out from behind you, connecting with Astarion's abdomen hard enough to force him to let go of your leathers.

"Not now, you tease." With a cough, he puts some distance between the two of you - an insidious grin lingers on his lips.

The second room draws closer and the quiet mumble of a man inside makes your ears perk up. His voice is strained, the occasional sounds of mace to skin ringing through the hall. He cries out, and every hair on your body stands on end. Astarion rounds the corner first, stumbling upon a man with medium build, knelt down in front of one of the rear walls of the room. He stands and turns to your group slowly, eyes falling on you first. His gaze is almost.. Comforting. Silver eyes pierce through you like the sharpest dagger. It nearly knocks the breath straight from your lungs. His chest and abdomen are alarmingly bloodied and bruised, little cuts and scratch marks speckling his skin. Astarion clears his throat once he notices your eyes locked on one another and the human offers a kind smile.

"Greetings, child. I've met few aside from Goblins here. Are you also here to assist with the prisoner?" He questions, motioning toward the room just next door.

You shake your head slowly, averting your gaze to the floor for a moment. Warmth swirls in your belly. He's incredibly handsome, the salt tones in his blonde hair showing his age. His voice is low and raspy and it sends shivers up and down your spine when he speaks - like sweet red wine to your ears. Delicious and intoxicating. His face contorts into a grimace as he crosses his arms over his chest and rests his weight on one foot.

"Hm. While I was thrilled to be invited here, I must confess I find the goblins and their methods.. Crude and primitive." He leans forward at his last word, eyes narrowing toward you. "Pain without purpose is a terrible thing. Wouldn't you agree?"

Your cheeks involuntarily flush that deep shade of crimson that clearly gives you away. He awakens something within you. You'd recognize his garb from miles away. A follower of Loviatar, the Maiden of Pain. The things this man has probably seen. The things he's done. It excites you in a way that's almost embarrassing. A familiar ache pings in your core and you can't help but cross your legs, squeezing your thighs together tightly to dull the desperation. The inherent need. The human before you certainly notices and takes a step closer, inhaling slowly before he speaks. He's toying with you now. He must be. Astarion can smell the growing eagerness in your blood, hear the way your pulse quickens, life force pumping into different parts of you now. He smirks and keeps quiet, but gods, is he painfully aware.

"Forgive me -" The man interjects, pointing directly at you now. You gulp. "but that look in your eyes. Something terrible has happened to you."

You cross your arms over your breasts, shifting your weight from one foot to the other. "Clever man. How did you know?"

"Because I see those same eyes when I look in the mirror.. Dear one." His hand reaches out to caress your soft cheek and goosebumps raise by the millions on your skin. "We've all suffered in these.. Dark times. It is little wonder you bear scars of pain and anguish. Please. Let me.. Alleviate this pain."

"What exactly would this entail?" Astarion's voice cuts through your thoughts and your eyes shift to him in disbelief.

"Well, the Maiden of Pain, Loviatar, teaches us that pain is a most powerful and sacred sensation. And, should our pain delight her, she will grant her most sacred of blessings." His hands clench into excited fists in front of him. "If you would permit it, I could show you first hand."

A knot forms in your stomach, twisting and tangling, his words sending jolts of arousal and excitement throughout your entire body like bolts of lightning. This experience would be new, however. The idea of such an act being performed in front of your newly acquired companions, and the man you'd started to have feelings for, makes your brain fuzzy. Gods, they'd for sure say no. Maybe even leave you to find a cure for the wriggling parasite behind your eyes by yourself.

"Sounds like a wonderful show. She accepts." Astarion beams, his eyes fixed on you, scanning up and down as your heartbeat quickens further. "As long as we can stay and watch."

"Surely Shadowheart has some reservations about watching, right?" You ask with an air of desperation that's almost laughable.

She grins and places her hands on her hips, quirking an eyebrow at you. "Lady Shar would frown upon me if I were to miss something as deliciously torturous as this. Go on."

"Oh, I have something exquisite in mind." He rubs his hands together, a devilish grin smeared across his lips. It makes your core ache even more. "Disrobe, face the wall, and we can begin. And by the way.. You may call me Abdirak."

Disrobe? Gods, this was not on your list of things to do today. Kill some goblins? Sure. Save a wildshaped druid from death? Easy. This? This may be the most difficult thing you've ever done. Astarion waves a hand toward you, motioning for you to obey the Servant of Loviatar. Your confidence wavers for a moment. Not only are you about to willingly endure what is essentially torture, now you must do it.. Naked. You gulp and set your backpack down at your feet. First goes your boots, next your leather harness, your head turning to look at Astarion who is enamored by the sight of you slowly undressing, his back pressed against the cold stone wall. Another gulp. How embarrassing.. Shadowheart snickers quietly at your obvious discomfort. Trembling fingers struggle with the laces of your tunic and in a bout of frustration, you quickly tug it over your head. The white linen falls to the floor at your feet, your perky breasts bouncing ever so slightly from the rushed movements. A quiet sigh emits from Abdirak and he quickly looks to his table of various weapons, hand hovering over the selection.

You finally tug your leathers down past your knees, kicking them to the side with reckless abandon just to get it over with. Your lack of underwear earns a barely audible groan from both Astarion and Abdirak alike. Naked and exposed, you shiver, hands resting at your sides.

"Well, go on, darling. Don't be shy."

Astarion's words give you the final push to step forward. You face the wall as instructed and chew at your bottom lip as the human lifts a mace into his hands, turning it over to inspect its condition. A quiet "Yes.. This will do nicely." stoking your fire as you wait. Abdirak approaches you from behind, reaching down to guide your hands toward the wall, foot kicking between your ankles to spread your legs apart. The cold metal of his mace traces along your spine and you shudder, teeth chattering at its frosty bite. You wait with baited breath. Brace for the imminent kiss of pain. Abdirak rears back and lands a blow to your back hard enough to knock an involuntary yelp from your throat. Astarion chews the tip of his thumb, his right hand lowering to the front of his leathers to palm at his growing erection. The half elf stood close beside him eyes him carefully, and then you, arms crossing over her chest now, completely unamused.

"The pain you suffer will cleanse you. Do not fight it."

A loud sob follows Abdirak's words as you process the pain, blood trickling from a new gash on your skin. You beg for mercy, plead for the pain to stop, your knees nearly buckling beneath you. But this is only the first blow, there is so much more to come. Somewhere deep down inside, you're enjoying this. Your companions watching as you stand there, completely vulnerable, bloodied and bruised. Open to the elements and whomever wanted a taste. The human licks his lips.

"Your voice sounds so sweet, dear one. Keep going."

"Don't wear her out entirely, priest. We may have use for her yet." Shadowheart grins, eyes narrowing on your trembling frame.

Her mocking tone and underlying breathiness strikes an interesting chord with you. Exciting. Stimulating. Blood pumps in your ears - a deafening drum beat that only you can hear. You sway your hips to the rhythm and Astarion chews at his bottom lip, ready to pounce. Hunger burns in his stomach. Emptiness. Even though he'd fed on you just hours before, his mouth salivates like he's positively starved. He intends to devour you in one way or another.

Your tormentor rears back to land another blow, this time to your ass, and it nearly knocks you forward into the wall. You grit your teeth and stifle a scream and Astarion groans at your strained noises. He's enjoying this almost as much as you are, you're just much better at hiding it. Arousal soaks your folds. Your walls flutter around nothing and you chew your bottom lip to stifle a moan as Abdirak lands a third blow against your thigh. Nails dig into the stone bricks, almost bloodying your fingers. Gods, you want more. Need more. Abdirak takes a step back to admire his work, rubbing the tip of the mace up your inner thigh, dangerously close to your cunt. You whimper and he quirks an eyebrow. In a sudden change of mind, he swaps the mace for a paddle, little circles cut from the wood to increase the sensations. A quick smack earns a loud cry from your lips.

"That's it, dear one! Let Loviatar hear you!"

"Not the worst technique, priest. Good wrist movement. Lots of.. Enthusiasm." Shadowheart interjects again plainly.

Astarion continues to palm at his cock as he watches, eyes fixed solely on you. The way your blood bubbles up and trickles over your flesh. The scent of your arousal. It's the sweetest perfume and he can hardly control himself.

"You're being so good for him, darling. Keep going."

The vampire spawn's voice is breathy and low. You moan just from his words and Abdirak lands another smack to your opposite ass cheek, a large red print immediately surfacing and swelling on your skin. "Fuck!" You cry loudly. Tears sting in the corners of your eyes. The human grins and sets the paddle down, moving behind you to trace his fingers over each bruise, cut, and mark he'd left. Little trophies of devotion. His goddess will be pleased. You shiver at the contact of his fingers.

"Sweet child.. You bore the pain like a true believer. I am proud to have served you this penance."

"Th-Thank you.." You muster quietly, bottom lip still trembling at the threat of tears. "I enjoyed myself."

Abdirak tilts his head back and sighs heavily, one hand reaching down to trace over your bruises once more. His cock throbs beneath his garb and he presses a free hand into it, groaning at the friction.

"As did I, dear one. Loviatar herself found your performance.. inspiring."

He grins and steps to your side, leaning close to your ear. His breath is warm and smells of a metal. More goosebumps speckle your skin as he presses his lips to your pointed ear and whispers quietly.

"And on a personal note.. Thank you. That was positively divine. This doesn't have to be the end, however. You've proven yourself perfectly capable of accepting such exquisite pleasure. I'd love to show you so much more."

"She'd love that. May I assist?" Astarion murmurs, approaching the two of you with confidence.

Normally you'd be incredibly irritated by the vampire spawn speaking for you, but now, Gods you couldn't be more grateful. A cold hand cups your cunt suddenly and you jolt at the sensation, back arching forward as Astarion's middle finger presses just barely into your folds and against your clit.

"Mm. She's so wet for us."

Sharp teeth just barely pierce your shoulder, a sensation you've become all too used to ever since you discovered the pale elf's affliction. You'd let him feed on you when it was needed, and sometimes purely because you enjoyed how he'd hold you close to him. How he'd savor your taste and lick your skin clean. His sweet words of encouragement as he'd bite into another place. And the way he'd talk you through the dizziness once he was finished. Your brain whirs with arousal as Astarion coos quietly against your skin and presses little kisses to the now bleeding spot. He drags his fangs over your flesh with torturous slowness, exhaling heavily at the salty taste of your sweat and blood combined. The finger pressed to your clit begins moving in circles and you nearly fall apart right there. Your legs tremble. Toes curl against the stone beneath your feet. Abdirak picks up the paddle once more and eyes Astarion. They exchange a glance of approval and the paddle makes fiery contact with your skin once more, over the same swollen spot it had assaulted before.

A mix of pain and pleasure courses through every vein in your body and your vision goes white. You could cum at any moment. Another smack. And another. And another. Astarion lowers his hand from your cunt, landing a smack of his own against your folds and your knees nearly give out at the force.

"Gods, please.." you whimper loudly, head falling between your shoulders.

"Yes, beg for it, dear one. You're doing so well for us."

"What a good girl you are, darling."

Their combined praises is enough to push you over the edge, but you hold on tightly. You can't cum. Not yet. Astarion's fingers circle around your slick soaked slit, playing with the clear sticky fluid for a moment. One digit slides inside first and you whine loudly, hips pushing back against him.

"M-more.." you beg.

A second finger slides inside and stretches your entrance ever so slightly, the cold digits pressing firmly into that spongey spot that could stop your heart.

"More!" You cry, and both men behind you grin at your desperation.

Abdirak slides his index finger into his mouth to soak it with his spit before lowering it between your thighs, forcing it inside of you atop Astarion's hooked fingers. The stretch burns in the most delicious of ways.

"Please.. Please more.."

A second finger of Abdirak's slides inside and finally you're sated, hips bucking back against their hands rhythmically. Astarion kneels down and sinks his teeth into your left ass cheek, blood trickling from the flesh and down his chin as he sups of your nectar, his eyes rolling back in his skull. He can taste your orgasm building. Your arousal and desperation. Your every need and want. His fingers pump in and out of you with bruising speed and Abdirak follows suit, his free hand reaching around the front of your waist to pinch your clit between his thumb and index. He rolls the sensitive, swollen bud between his fingers and presses sloppy, open mouthed kisses down your bloodied ass and thigh, savoring the metallic tang of your blood and the sweetness of your sweat. A delectable treat for all of his senses. Your moans grow louder and louder, jaw hung open and drool falling from your mouth in a steady stream. An eager hand reaches up to shove itself into your mouth and cover itself in your spit before moving back to your clit, spreading the wetness around.

The knot in your belly grows tighter and tighter, wound like a bow string, and you squeeze your eyes shut at the near painful overstimulation of your slit. Still the fingers work furiously against your walls.

"I'm gonna - I need to - Gods please!"

"Ah ah ah, use your words, darling. What do you need?"

The spawn drags his tongue over the globe of your ass to clean the remainder of blood from your skin. A quiet groan escapes his lips and he stands again, free hand taking hold of your hair to stand you fully upright.

"I need to cum.. I'm gonna -"

Just as you're about to topple over the edge, both sets of fingers are pulled from your cunt, a thick rope of slick still connecting you with the two men standing behind you. You keen at the emptiness. Your walls squeeze and contract around nothing. Abdirak lands a hot smack against your clit, and then another, and another, grinning as you sob loudly at the strikes. His pulls his hand away reluctantly, slipping his slick covered digits into his mouth to suck them clean. Astarion flashes him a toothy grin.

"N-no please.. Please!"

All you can muster are pathetic pleas and raspy whines, your feet stomping in frustration against the dirty stone beneath you. Astarion's fingers wrap themselves around your throat from behind and yank your back against his front, the threat of his angry erection rubbing back and forth against your bruised ass. You're fully exposed. Vulnerable. Writhing and crying for release. Such a beautiful sight to the vampire spawn and the servant of Loviatar. This is torture.

"Shadowheart, my dear. Are you sure you're not interested in some fun?"

"I'd much prefer to watch, thank you."

The half elf smirks and leans against the wall, eyes scanning over the scene just a few feet away. Her eyes narrow on you and you can feel her gaze burning holes into the back of your head. Does she approve? Do you even care? Skilled fingers work the front of Astarion's leathers open and his cock springs up and out, a soft slap against your ass startling you from the heavy daze filling your head. Your brain feels like cold snow slush. Your legs are weak, growing weaker by the second as Astarion rubs the tip of his weeping cock against your hungry slit. You nearly pull him right in and he hisses at the tightness. The invitation. Abdirak lowers himself to his knees in front of you, both hands finding purchase on your hips to keep himself steady. Gentle kisses pepper your abdomen, hip bones, and your stubbly mound, a shiver running up your your spine at the warmth of his breath against your sex. You wiggle your hips, both to tease the vampire spawn behind you, and to beckon the human's lips toward the spot you need him most.

Without warning, Astarion slips inside. His size surprises you. The delicious burn of the stretch, how he's nearly in your guts before bottoming out. Gods, he's huge. A careful push of the hips nestles him fully inside and he waits there for a moment.

"By the nine hells, you're tight.." He murmurs, lips pressed tightly to your ear now.

Abdirak's tongue flattens against your clit and he lifts his head to slide it up and over your mound, repeating this same movement to go back down. His strokes are slow and calculated. The combination of sensations makes your legs tremble like leaves in the winter air, and your hands fly down to tangle in the human's hair and guide his head. With a tut, Astarion reaches around to quickly grasp your wrists and yank them behind your back - you're pinned in place, forced to submit to his quickening thrusts and the skilled swirling of Abdirak's tongue. Your frame bends forward just slightly at the force of the spawn's thrusts, your legs spreading further apart instinctively. Again, that familiar knot twists and tightens in your belly and surely you'll cum at any moment. Astarion's free hand moves your hair away from the side of your neck to expose the still-healing bite marks from just the night before. He lines his fangs up perfectly re-open the wounds and you hiss at the sting. Like shards of ice in your veins. Overcome by pleasure and blood loss, your vision goes fuzzy. Drool drips from your lips and down your chin. Positively cock drunk.

Not even a soft moan is able to escape now. Only heavy exhales and gasps making your lungs burn and your throat raw. Abdirak's tongue works with surprising artistry against your clit still, lips sucking and tugging at the bundle of nerves to earn any sounds he possibly can from you. The loud slap of skin against skin rings throughout the stone room. Surely the rest of the outpost could hear you. You're surprised you don't have an audience gathered in the door way, watching the way you're being devoured and fucked into oblivion. The vampire spawns teeth leave your neck with a soft slurp sucking the last little drops of your blood through the puncture wounds, his tongue swirling around his lips and teeth to collect the remnants. Astarion's thrusts begin to lose their rhythm and you can't help but grin as his cock twitches erratically inside of you. Abdirak quickly releases your clit from his swollen lips, ducking his head further to use his tongue on Astarion now. The tip of the human's tongue traces the furry outline of the vampire spawns sack before sucking one ball into his warm mouth, massaging it in his jaw. The he switches, and the primal growl that escapes Astarion makes your heart flutter.

"Fuck, I'm cumming! Oh gods, I'm cumming!" He groans loudly, nails digging harshly into the plush meat of your hips as he quickly pulls himself from your constricting walls and spills his seed onto the small of your back.

Your end draws near, Abdirak's fingers finding their way into your cunt with impressive speed. They hook forward into that perfect spot and you cry out loud, finally able to make some sort of noise. The spawn behind you rubs his softening cock against your ass, keeping a tight grip on your arms behind your back still. Quiet squelches and slurps from the human between your thighs make you grin. Disgusting. Cold hands keep a careful grip on your trembling body. One restraining your hands, the other wrapped tightly around your throat now, playing with the pressure against your arteries. First a soft squeeze. Then it builds, and your hearing muffles. Black spots invade your vision. The spawn releases, and all of it comes rushing back. You gasp loudly for air, lungs on fire. Playfully, he repeats this again and again - bringing you to the brink of unconsciousness then quickly yanking you back. Soft coos and words of praise work you up to your climax.

"Such a good girl. So obedient. You like that, don't you? You like when I tell you how good you are?"

You nod in agreeance, unable to speak. Words feel foreign on your tongue. Your mouth is dry now, like you've filled it with linen. Still your end builds. Loud cries, sobs, and screams alert all of Faerun of your pleasure. You should be embarrassed. Ashamed, even. But you couldn't care less. Not now. You nearly topple over the precipice of pure ecstasy when suddenly.. The feeling disappears. Abdirak moves back from his original spot. Your cunt aches. Empty. A soft whimper escapes you and your head falls back against Astarion's broad shoulder.

"You thought we were going to let you cum? Little love.. How naïve."

His words sting like bees. Little Love. The degradation should upset you. Should ruin whatever arousal you have left. But it doesn't. If anything, it adds oil to the fire. You're more wet than ever. Heat rises in your ears and the tips turn a bright red, your fists balling up behind you in frustration as you try and wiggle out of his grasp. Through gritted teeth, you growl. A pathetic performance, on your part. Abdirak stands before you and circles his index finger over both of your nipples, smirking at you with half lidded eyes as each one perks up.

The half elf across the room giggles in amusement.

"Positively cruel."

"Patience, dear one.. You'll meet your end soon enough."

[fayes-fics]

Needy

Pariing: Anthony Bridgerton x fem!reader, modern AU

Summary: short blurb with a needy Anthony...

Warnings: 18+smut, minors DNI, dom-sub undertones, sub!Anthony, handjob, edging, teasing, vaginal penetration, creampie.

Word Count: 0.4k

Authors Note: Tonight I did a smut writing sprint with a talented mutual. I haven't written any smut in almost 2 months and felt I needed the practice. I used a roulette wheel to pick a Bridgerton (Anthony or Benedict), an era (modern or regency) and a phrase from a list of prompts (result: "Faster! Please, let me come!”). This is the result. Unbetaed filth written in 30 mins. thanks to @colettebronte for the title. Err enjoy!

It’s a fun game. 

Watching him like this. A sheen over his forehead, his bottom lip reddening from his own teeth, eyebrows so expressive, large doe eyes pleading under fluttering lids.

“Please…” a broken, rough, panted appeal. 

A bead of sweat trails down his neck, getting caught in the fuzz of hair on his chest as it rises and falls rapidly.

“Maybe…” you tease, but your movements stay languid, slow, almost torturously so.

It's not your fault -  you can't resist a Viscount, only this Viscount, right on the tart edge of frustration and need. Desire and defeat a war on his face. A powerful, worldly man utterly, willingly, wantonly at your mercy.

His cock is so hot and hard, in a swollen, reddened, almost angry state. Leaking profusely over your knuckles every time you squeeze just a fraction on the slow upstroke, eliciting the most adorable stutter of tiny staccato moans from him as if it hurts as much as it feels good.

“Faster!” he pleads desperately. “Please, please let me come!”

Your laugh is almost mocking in its hollow refrain, giving his shaft a powerful squeeze, a solid grip of just two fingers in a tight circle around the root, knowing gripping him there will just prolong the experience, delay his orgasm even further.

He growls in frustration and screws his eyes shut, throwing his head back, a solid thunk noise as it hits the wall.

“Don't pretend this isn't exactly what you want, Bridgerton,” you taunt silkily, restarting your leisurely movement up his shaft, feeling each ridge and vein pass under your fingers, watching the twitch in his downy thighs as you reach his head and twist your hand slightly, more precum coating your fingers for the downwards pass.

He lolls his head to the side, towards where you sit next to him, and his eyes flutter open. He looks wrecked, utterly debauched… and completely devoted.

“It is…” he confesses under the crest of another moan.

“I know, baby, I know…” you placate, giving an extra squeeze of reassurance that has his whole body flex, arching upwards so beautifully like poetry. “You’ve been so good; perhaps it's time for me to put you out of your misery?” you offer

His enthused nod and hopeful, humble expression are what break your resolve. Taking pity, you straddle him quickly and sink onto that glorious cock in one swift move.

His groan echoes up the walls, and he is immediately cumming inside you. His whole body is on fire, twisting and twitching beneath you as he pushes deep and comes hard, the warmth blooming inside you.

“Good boy…” you smirk, cupping his jaw and letting his unfocussed, glassy eyes roam your face as you pet his cheekbones.

No taglist as this was a silly little blurb sprint.

[27moremoons]

Hamas, October 7th, 2024:

In the Name of Allah, the Most Gracious, the Most Merciful

A Flood Towards Liberation

A year into the ongoing heroic Al-Aqsa Flood Battle:

October 7th marks a historic turning point in our struggle, representing a natural response to zionist schemes aimed at erasing our national cause, consolidating control over our land and sacred sites, Judaizing them, asserting dominance over the blessed Al-Aqsa Mosque, persecuting prisoners, and continuing the siege on the Gaza Strip. This heroic battle, led with unwavering faith, determination, strength, and capability, was carried by the Al-Qassam Brigades, alongside all Palestinian resistance factions, with the support of our people across the homeland and abroad. At the heart of this movement were the steadfast, patient, and sacrificial people of Gaza, standing at the forefront of the nation, defending the land and the holy sites.

Since October 7th last year, over the course of an entire year, this Nazi enemy has committed the most heinous crimes and massacres, launching one of the most horrific genocide war against our people in modern history.

This ongoing aggressive war, now marking its full year, has claimed the lives of more than 41,000 martyrs, the majority of whom are women and children, with over 96,000 injured. Thousands remain missing beneath the rubble, alongside the thousands of detainees, all from Gaza alone. In the West Bank and occupied Al-Quds, over 600 martyrs have ascended, a quarter of them children, with more than 6,000 injured, while around 11,000 of our people remain imprisoned, subjected to the most brutal forms of torture, persecution, and the slowest deaths in the occupation's prisons.

As we mark one year since the Al-Aqsa Flood Battle, we in the Islamic Resistance Movement - Hamas offer our prayers for the souls of our people’s martyrs, who ascended in our long struggle against the zionist enemy. We also pray for the martyr leaders who sacrificed their lives in this heroic battle: our brother, the martyr leader Ismail Haniyeh, our brother, the martyr leader Saleh Al-Arouri, and the caravans of the martyrs from our nation, especially from the support and defense fronts, led by the martyr, His Eminence Sayyed Hassan Nasrallah, and the martyr leaders of the Islamic Resistance in Lebanon, whose blood mixed with the blood of our people on the path to liberating Al-Quds and the blessed Al-Aqsa Mosque.

We affirm the following:

First: The steadfastness of our great people in the Gaza Strip, their steadfastness on their land, their immense sacrifices, their rallying around and embracing of the resistance while remaining patient and steadfast for a full year, is the rock upon which all the occupation’s plans to displace us and eliminate our rights have shattered.

Second: The cowardly and criminal assassinations carried out by the fascist occupation against the leaders, symbols, and cadres of the resistance, both inside and outside of Palestine, and against the leaders of the resistance on the support fronts, only strengthen our resolve to confront the occupation and its aggressive schemes until it is defeated and vanquished.

Third: One year into the ongoing Al-Aqsa Flood Battle, we express our pride in the following:

1 - The legendary steadfastness of our great people in Gaza, who have written a glorious history for our people and our nation through their blood, suffering, hunger, and thirst, as they continue to defend their dignity, freedom, and independence.

2 - The bravery of the valiant resistance, including our victorious Al-Qassam Brigades, Saraya Al-Quds, and all resistance forces who have shattered the myth of the occupation and brought the despicable occupation closer to its inevitable end, offering the lives of their leaders and soldiers in the process.

3 - The heroism of our revolutionary youth and resistance fighters in the proud West Bank, who are confronting the occupation army and defending their land and holy sites against the enemy’s crimes, its hostile invasions of cities and camps, the rampages of extremist settlers, and their desecration of the blessed Al-Aqsa Mosque.

Fourth: The Movement has made and continues to make significant efforts to stop the aggression and end the suffering of our people, positively engaging with all initiatives while firmly holding to a permanent ceasefire, the full withdrawal, the upholding of our people’s rights and aspirations, and honoring the blood and sacrifices of our people.

Fifth: All the lies and black propaganda promoted by the occupation and its fascist government against our people and resistance have collapsed and have proven to be false. Likewise, all the rumors and psychological warfare have failed to undermine the popular support for the resistance.

Sixth: We hold the U.S. administration, a partner in this aggression, fully responsible for the continuation of these crimes and acts of genocide. We call on it to stop its biased support for the occupation and immediately act to halt this brutal genocide war.

Seven: The expansion of zionist aggression to include Arab and Islamic countries—Lebanon, Syria, Yemen, Iraq, and Iran—proves once again that it poses a real threat to the security and stability of the region, as well as to regional and international peace and security. Now, more than ever, there is a pressing need to deter this rogue entity, isolate it, boycott it, and shut down all attempts to integrate it into our nation or normalize relations with it.

Eighth: We highly value and appreciate the jihad and sacrifices of our brothers in Hezbollah, the Islamic Resistance, the Islamic Group in Lebanon, Ansarallah in Yemen, and the Islamic Resistance in Iraq. Their steadfast support, sacrifices, and participation in aiding our people and resistance during the Al-Aqsa Flood Battle are recognized. We call on all the forces of the Islamic Nation and its free people to join this heroic battle, gaining the honor of defending Al-Quds and the blessed Al-Aqsa Mosque.

Ninth: We renew our call to our Arab and Islamic countries to take urgent steps to stop the ongoing aggression and genocide war against our people. We also urge the implementation of the resolutions from the Arab and Islamic joint summit held in Riyadh on November 11th of last year, calling for serious action to break the siege, bring aid and relief to Gaza, and cut all forms of political, diplomatic, and economic relations with the zionist entity.

Tenth: We express our gratitude to the Republic of South Africa for filing a lawsuit, and to all the countries that have joined this case, against the zionist occupation at the International Court of Justice for committing genocide in Gaza. We also value all the official, popular, and partisan stances, initiatives, and activities in our Arab and Islamic world, and across the globe. We commend the mass mobilization by all free peoples and those with a conscience in capitals around the world, the union movements, popular protests, and student demonstrations in universities supporting our people's rights. We call for an escalation of solidarity activities in all arenas and fields, strengthening the boycott of the occupation, condemning its crimes, and pressuring countries, entities, companies, and organizations that support the genocide war in Gaza.

Eleven: We call upon the masses of our Palestinian people in the West Bank, Al-Quds, the occupied territories, and in refugee camps and the diaspora to escalate all forms of resistance and struggle against the zionist enemy and its schemes. We also call on all Palestinian political factions, movements, organizations, and national figures to unite, close ranks, and prioritize national responsibility, focusing all efforts and resources to confront this fascist aggression.

In conclusion, we affirm to the entire world that there can be no compromise on our people's legitimate right to resist the occupation by all means necessary, to establish our free and independent Palestinian state with Al-Quds as its capital, and to live a life of dignity, free from siege, bombing, threats, or foreign control—like all other peoples of the world. Our great people and valiant resistance will continue their legendary epic in the Al-Aqsa Flood Battle, standing firm against aggression and thwarting its hostile plans.

Mercy, glory, and eternity to the martyrs of our people and our nation, swift recovery to the wounded and the sick, and freedom to the prisoners and detainees in the enemy’s prisons.

It is indeed a jihad of victory or martyrdom.

Islamic Resistance Movement - Hamas

[amorgansgal]

The Memory of Shadows

So here we go, the sad Astarion x Reader/Tav fic that made me sad when I wrote it. I've not included a named or gendered tav, so hopefully everyone can enjoy... or not enjoy as the case may be!

Gender Neutral Tav/Reader x Astarion

CW: Grief/mourning, death, depression, suicidal thoughts

He wakes. He takes a moment to look at the gossamer red fabric that drapes over the bed, feels the plush, velvet cover under his fingers, he trails them up to the pillow next to him, its cold blankness always an aching reminder. He hates it and he’s not even sure if it still smells of you, there’s so little of you left. Time is doing that, you slip away from mortal memory, becoming lost to the status of mythical hero, rather than living, breathing, flesh and bone. Like a dull knife forcing its way back into his heart, he aches, everything hurts - though he’d never admit to it.

You’re in books, there’s songs about you, about all of them: brilliant Gale, fierce Lae’zel, clever Shadowheart, noble Wyll, excitable Karlach, even Astarion gets a look in as wily. And you, you were the hero, the glorious leader who led them to victory, who saved Baldur’s Gate. You have the starring role. It seems though, to him, the more that is written and said about you the less real you become. He’s scared of that, you’re shimmering before him, your face drifting like shadows, the memory of shadows. Oh he has paintings of you, they’re all over the house - he put them back up after it became somewhat bearable - but they’re a frozen piece of you, not the real thing. They don’t capture the way your mouth would twitch before you smiled or laughed, the way your eyes sparkled with delight when he had managed to pick a lock or the warmth of your hands when you took hold of his.

‘How long has it been?’ he thinks as he finally gets to his feet. ‘50 years, 80, 100?’ He wrote down the day in a diary, but that too has been lost to this house and he’s not sure if it really matters. Why would it? Knowing there’s a special date to acknowledge your passing doesn’t make any other day hurt less. He’s alone, more so than ever. Gale is gone, Wyll is gone, Lae’zel is gone, Shadowheart passed a few years ago… There’s just him and Halsin and Jaheira, and he’s never exactly been close with either of them. Halsin used to visit when you had passed, you had been close with him after all. But he got the sense Halsin did so out of obligation, rather than actually liking him and when they had exhausted all topics of the past - the nautiloid ship, the druid grove, the goblin camp, the shadow curse, moonrise towers, Ketheric, Baldur’s Gate, Orin, Gortash, the Elder brain, you - and he and Halsin were left with an uneasy silence. A silence that lingered on and on and was close to swallowing them up, until Halsin said he would leave Astarion in peace. As though he even knew what peace meant anymore. Now they only meet when someone else dies. What a grim prospect. Who's next? Probably Jaheira, though that won't be a for a while yet.

He moves over to his wardrobe, even this part of the day holds no joy for him. He doesn’t get to hear your teasing comments about how long he spends carefully selecting his clothes or feel your hands wrap around his waist, your chest pressed against his back, the kisses you would trail down his spine. He presses his lips tightly together, not wanting to let out any whimper of pain or cry of anguish. At times, his darkest, loneliest times, he wonders if he would have agreed to let Cazador torture him for all eternity, if it meant he could just have one more day with you. A single day would be worth it. A single kiss, a single loving touch, a single laugh, a single look. He’d make a deal with all the devils in hell if it meant he got to hold you again for one last time. 

He pulls his hand away from the handle on the wardrobe door. He’s too tired for this and he doesn’t want to do it anymore. He’s in hell already, he may as well see if he’ll get a glimpse of you in the afterlife. He walks over to the heavy draped curtains, his fingers curl on the black fabric lined with golden leaves. You probably won’t be pleased with this, but hopefully you’ll forgive him. He's sure you will. And gods, he would love to see you angry because it would mean seeing you again. He'll take anything he can get. He yanks open the curtains. The sun is brilliant, blinding, burning hot and cold, and the sharp, all encompassing light reminds him of your laugh, your wit, your very being. Maybe he’ll get to see you soon.

[fairszy]

arataki itto x begging !! ♡ "ugh . . . baby, please, i can't . ."

this prompt comes from this post !! so all credit to the idea goes to them ♡

contains : begging, animalistic sex teehee, overstimulation, size kink if you squint, creampies, afab!reader, service top!itto ♡

sometimes, having a boyfriend like itto has more than one perk. many actually. this man is an absolute saint. he loves hard and proves it through his copious amounts of love for the people in his life through different acts of service. being his partner was absolutely no exclusion from this. itto loved and cherished you deeply, everyone around you two knew it.

whether it was the large amount of lovebites on you at all times or even the way itto always had a protective arm around you in public, everyone was aware of the oni's love and passion for you. his smile when you'd walk into the room was brighter than a thousand suns and the way he talked about you was enough to make a married man feel single and lonely. you truly are the pride of itto's existence.

this being said, the man is rather addicted to you. itto will almost immediately do anything you ask him to without complaint . . so when you have him tied to a chair in your residence, sitting right on his lap where he cant touch or hold you. why it drives him crazy. it makes him almost feral . . but that's exactly what you want. he's grunting trying so hard to fight against the restraints you have on him but its all in vain.

"come on sunshine . . . this is so cruel !!"

he whines it like a child, a pout showing up on his perfect face in protest but you're not listening. you only roll your hips as to tease him even more, giggling to yourself at how pitiful all of this is. an oni, someone double your size, being tied down and pathetically begging to be released. all of this went to your head as you continued your motions. poor ittos cock was hard and threatening to burst out of its confinements.

"at least use your hand !! c'mon . . pleaseplease -"

you immediately cut him off with a kiss, making the oni whine into your mouth. all his sounds being beautifully swallowed up by you. he melts into this, trying to lean up to chase the softness of your skin as its the only part of you he's allowed to touch in this moment. you can feel a shift in him, something rather territorial as his breathing starts to get heavier and heavier. itto is reaching breaking point.

he lunges froward, the rope around his biceps snapping in a fury as now you're being pinned against the wooden floor. his breathing . . god is glorious. he's borderline panting in your ear, grunting and groaning as he fists a hand into his pants to free himself. there's no running from this. however, you believe that to be the case . . when all of a sudden his face softens once more. gentle kisses being placed against your exposed skin.

"that was torture . . please - let me take care of you. i'll do anything you ask just please let me touch you."

with the puppy dog eyes he's currently giving you, how could you refuse? with a small smile you nod and slowly sit up. you command him to remove your clothing as well as his own, the oni taking little to no time to do such actions. that's when the reality of the situation hit you. even though he was untied, you were still in control. he gave you the submission you wanted out of him without needing to be confined. itto was truly whipped for you.

your next command to him is something he'd more than happy to comply with. taking his length into his hands again itto now finds himself slowly pushing into the tight warmth of your walls, a loud satisfied noise leaving his mouth in pure bliss of such a feeling. truthfully, it has you biting your lip too. itto's extremely large and the bulging skin on your tummy proved this as he made his way fully inside of you.

he pounds into you with great force, a wave of moans and loud animalistic sounds following in his path. your vision blurs and you almost cant see straight. you want to cry out for a moment, to beg him to slow his pace but you knew that you truly didn't want him to. you wanted to be treated like this. this marks your first orgasm of the night. it has you shaking, spasming, and tugging at itto's hair. itto watches you like you're a movie. he stares, studying every single little reaction you make to the pleasure he gives you.

this is what makes him finish. he makes sure to pull your hips right down to his thighs, wanting to be fully inside of you while he cums. during his entire orgasm he's a mess of words,

"ohh fuck - you look so pretty - shit - archons i need to -"

is all he's able to get out before he's pounding into you again, both of you borderline screaming from such overstimulation so quickly after orgasm. this time its his turn to ignore you as you cry and beg for mercy, for him to let you take a moment to rest. he can't be bothered to comply this time, especially when you feel as good as you do. however he doesn't get far before he's whimpering again. itto pushes you into a mating press knowing just how good it feels for you. he howls in delight at such a nice feeling.

"ugh . . . baby, please, i can't . ."

the rest of his words fail him as he wails from the overstimulation. he finishes again, muttering copious amounts of things while he does - ranging from praises to degrading thoughts. it doesn't matter to him, nothing does but this - but you.

"you . . are like the biggest onikabuto you can find . . WAIT !! not like that - i mean like !! you . . are really rare . . and so so soooo pretty . . please, just a few more?"

those begging eyes never fail to work . . do they?