#lamb to the slaughter core

[spxllcxstxr]

Dragonrider • J.V

(Gif not mine)

Request: could i get a fic with Jacaerys where the reader claims cannibal as her dragon 💋 — anon

Summary: Jacaerys catches you claiming the Cannibal

Warnings: gn!reader (no pronouns used so if you see any lmk), dragonseed!reader, no mention of parentage just silver hair, blood and death mention, kinda pre-relationship like an enemies to lovers but I’m focusing on the enemies part y’know what I mean? Not a lot of Jace interaction but oh whale

Word Count: 1.2k (this wasn't supposed to be this long LMAO)

A.N: i actually really like this, i'm not gunna lie...lemme know what you think! Won't do a part two to this though, it was hard enough to write lmao

•

The dreams started when you were a child. Green eyes pierced the blackness of your eyelids making you wake up in cold sweats. In the mornings you would chalk it up to the sweltering heat of King's Landing, but you knew those green eyes were the cause of your unease.

It wasn't until you were deep in the bowels of the dragonpit in Dragonstone years later you would realize what those dreams meant.

Death.

Like lambs to slaughter or whores from the Street of Silk, Queen Rhaenyra offered countless silver haired bastards to her dragons. She plucked you all out of King's Landing in order to place you back in another hopeless situation.

Her theory, you gathered from her somber explanation hours before, was that the numerous bastards of the Targaryen bloodline would be able to claim a dragon. She dare not say it, of course, but since her bastard children could ride, why not all the others? It was insanity.

But it beat starving to death in the capital, you figured.

You shiver beneath your thin rags, the damp chill of the dragonpit surrounding you.

In almost a blink of an eye fire and blood surrounded you; the dragon they had brought up rampaged through the cave, lighting every little thing in sight ablaze.

As smoke fills your lungs you run as fast as you can, dipping behind rocks and ignoring the piercing screams of the other Targaryen bastards around you.

Whether this mass murder was intentional or not, you were determined to get out of the wretched cavern alive.

You walk through the cavern for what feels like ages, exhaustion weighing you down. Eventually, you see a glimpse of light from between the rocks. It's open enough just for you to scrape through, and when you do, the tension releases from your body almost all at once.

The intense rays of sunlight causes you to wince but the fresh air soothes your pain. In the distance the waves of the ocean crash against the sand and stones of the shoreline. With your joints throbbing, you limp through the grass, mind reeling with possibilities.

You were stranded on this damned rock.

Feet aching from running, you continue forward, desperate to stay alive and find someone--anyone--who could help you.

A black mass forms in front of you, smoke curling around its head.

A dragon.

It lays stationary in front of you, the green eyes from your dream watching you intensely. Fear strikes you; down your spine and deep within your core. Holding your breath you try to figure out a way around this, but the dragon almost wants you to come closer.

It's emerald eyes are hypnotic and you find yourself inching closer and closer. Your mind is screaming at you to run, to turn back now before it's too late, before you become another casualty of the Queen's insane idea.

But you find that you can't.

Closer to the dragon, you reach your arm out to touch it, green eyes never leaving your own.

A shout sounds from behind you causing your hair to stand on end. Before you had wished for someone to find you but now it seemed like the dragon in front of you was to be your savior from the very beginning.

Your arm freezes between you and the dragon right in front of you at the voice. The green eyes that were piercing into your own just moments before now settle above your shoulder at the intruder behind you. Smoke curls from the black mass in front of you.

Sweat dots your forehead. You were so close.

Close enough that the stench of rot and blood is thick in the air, though after living your entire life in the depths of King’s Landing it almost doesn’t bother you. Almost.

Panting breath mingles with the shouts and you hear the sound of heavy boots against the dirt getting closer to you.

You hush the dragon, attempting to get its attention again. The eyes flick back to you. Swallowing nervously, your hand slowly lands on the dragon’s snout, scales warm to the touch.

Clicking moans escape from the dragon’s mouth, like purrs from a satisfied cat.

The grin breaks out on your face, relief flooding your tense body.

“You there! Bastard!” The commanding voice spits from behind you. “Step away from that dragon!”

Heart hammering in your chest, you turn to see the young Prince approaching you. Hand resting on the hilt of his sword and crimson cape flowing behind him as he quickens his pace to meet you.

"Stay away from me!" You frantically shout, trying so desperately to not offend the large dragon behind you. You realize that you truly are between a rock and a hard place.

“Are you a fool with a death wish? That is the Cannibal!” He shouts back at you.

Wind whips his brown curls over his shoulders, revealing his lightly freckled face. His gaze is intense, almost like a dragon’s.

“Your mother believes that people like us have a chance. So I will take it.” You reply, taking determined steps backwards towards the dragon’s torso.

“You imbecile, get back here before you get us both killed!” The Prince is filled to the brim with frustration, gripping his sword even tighter than before.

However he doesn’t take another step towards you, the dragon beside you too unpredictable. His hesitation provides you with enough time to climb up the large dragon, grasping tightly onto sharp horns and glimmering scales.

The Cannibal shifts below you but gives no indication that he wants you dead. In fact, the back mass vibrates with the clicks and whirs from before.

You swing a leg over one of the ridges, body blossoming with the warmth of the scales between your covered thighs.

Prince Jacaerys stares at you in disbelief as you attempt to balance on the back of the dragon.

Hands shaking you grab onto the Cannibal’s horns. Your heart thumps wildly in your chest and your breath is erratic. This was nothing like you expected at all.

Exhaling, you feel as though you were finally complete. Like you finally found your true self; propped up on an infamous dragon. The fire within the Cannibal helps light your own.

You were much more than a common Targaryen bastard now.

Prince Jacaerys still stands below you, standing firm in the grass.

“What?” You ask, an eyebrow quirked up as a challenge. “Jealous that mine is bigger?

Smirking, you watch the Prince flush red with anger and embarrassment. Watching him fumble with his words fuels the surge of power running through your veins.

“Now if you excuse me, my Prince.” You tighten your hold on the horns of the dragon below you. Your knuckles are white, but until you get the gear the other dragonriders have, you have to deal with the lack of safety. “I am going to practice flying before meeting with our Queen.”

Prince Jacaerys clenches his teeth, jaw tightening, as his deep brown eyes watch as you ascend above him.

Excitement pumps through your veins as the heat of the Cannibal's scales between your legs subdues the chill of the winds surrounding you.

Thoughts of the young Prince leave your mind as you soar higher into the clouds.

No longer were you just a silver-haired bastard. You were a dragonrider; one of only a select few.

Nothing could touch you here, up in the vastness of the sky.

•

[novaursa]

The Storm Between Us

- Summary: You save your brother's life and fight with Aemond above Storm's End.

- Pairing: niece!reader/Aemond Targaryen

- Rating: Mature 16+

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @alyssa-dayne @oxymakestheworldgoround

The winds howl as Vermithor’s wings slice through the storm-laden skies above Storm’s End. Rain pelts your face, seeping into your armor, but you care little for the discomfort. Your focus is singular: Lucerys. Your younger brother and his dragon, Arrax, are locked in a desperate race to escape. Behind them looms death itself—Vhagar, the ancient, monstrous dragon ridden by your uncle, Aemond Targaryen.

Through the sheets of rain, you see the faint silhouette of Arrax struggling against the gale. Lucerys is just ahead, the boy’s form hunched low over his saddle, urging his dragon faster. And then you see it—a dark shadow, impossibly large, wings spanning the heavens. Vhagar.

Your blood runs cold, but you grit your teeth, leaning forward on Vermithor. The Bronze Fury beneath you snarls, sensing your determination. You pull at the reins, commanding him into a steep dive, cutting through the storm with the precision only a dragon of his caliber could manage.

“Vermithor, faster!” you urge, your voice barely audible over the roaring wind.

As you near the chase, the sight of Aemond on Vhagar’s back becomes clear. He is a dark specter amidst the storm, one sapphire eye gleaming like a beacon of malice. His lips curve into a cruel smirk as he spots you closing in.

"Well, what is this?" Aemond's voice booms through the storm, cold and mocking. "Another lamb come to the slaughter?"

“Let him go, Aemond!” you shout, your voice rising against the wind and rain. “He’s a child!”

Aemond laughs, low and humorless. “And you think you can stop me, niece? You have no idea what you face.”

But you do. You know the risk. Vhagar is older, larger, and more vicious than any dragon alive. And yet, you cannot let Lucerys die. Your hands tighten on the reins as Vermithor bellows a challenge, his roar shaking the very stormclouds around you.

“Dracarys!” you scream, and Vermithor answers. A stream of fire bursts from his maw, cutting through the rain and illuminating the sky. Vhagar twists, her massive wings flapping once, twice, and she evades the flames with an ease that makes your stomach drop.

Aemond pulls Vhagar into a sharp ascent, taunting you. “Come, little dragon! Show me your fire!” His voice is laced with glee, the thrill of the hunt.

You don’t hesitate. “Up, Vermithor!” you command, and your dragon surges after them. The storm rages, lightning crackling dangerously close, but you hold fast. Every time Vhagar veers, you follow. Every time Aemond tries to outpace you, Vermithor matches him.

Below, you catch glimpses of Arrax and Lucerys disappearing into the clouds, fleeing toward safety. Relief floods you, but it is short-lived. Aemond has noticed as well.

“Is that your plan, little niece? Sacrifice yourself for your precious brother?” His voice is venomous, filled with disdain. “Fitting, I suppose. Two bastards for the price of one.”

The words sting, but you refuse to rise to his bait. Instead, you focus on the fight. Vermithor snarls, his claws extending as you near Vhagar. The two dragons clash mid-air, the force of their collision sending a shockwave through the storm. Vhagar’s massive tail lashes out, narrowly missing Vermithor’s wing. Vermithor counters with a slash of his claws, raking across Vhagar’s armored hide. The roar that follows shakes you to your core.

The rain blinds you, soaking through your hair and plastering it to your face, but you hold fast to the saddle and reins. Vermithor heaves under you, his muscles rippling as he strains against Vhagar’s might. The Bronze Fury bellows again, his jaws snapping dangerously close to Vhagar’s throat.

“Give up, niece!” Aemond’s voice carries through the storm, his words laced with cruel delight. “You cannot win against Vhagar!”

You do not answer. Instead, you lean forward, urging Vermithor closer. He responds with a feral roar, his claws slashing again and again at Vhagar’s flanks. Vhagar counters with a snap of her jaws, her teeth grazing Vermithor’s neck but failing to find purchase.

The dragons twist and turn in the air, their roars echoing across the storm-tossed skies. You can feel Vermithor’s rage, his unyielding determination to protect you, as he fights with every ounce of his strength.

And then it happens. Aemond shouts something to Vhagar, and the older dragon lashes out with a ferocity that catches Vermithor off guard. Her massive claws tear into his side, and you scream as Vermithor roars in pain. He falters, his flight unsteady.

“Vermithor, hold on!” you cry, desperation in your voice. You pull at the reins, trying to steady him, but the damage is done.

Vhagar circles above, triumphant. Aemond looks down at you, his face a mask of cruel satisfaction. “It’s over.”

But you’re not done. You refuse to be beaten. With a final burst of strength, Vermithor lunges upward, slamming into Vhagar with all his might. The force of the impact sends both dragons spiraling out of control, their wings entangled, their roars deafening.

You clutch the saddle with all your strength, your heart pounding as the world becomes a blur of storm clouds and dragon scales. Rain lashes at your face, and the wind tears at your armor, but you refuse to let go.

Then you see it—the ground rushing up to meet you, too fast to stop.

And then—impact.

Darkness. Silence.

Your body aches as awareness creeps back into you. Pain radiates through your limbs, your head pounding like a war drum. You groan, blinking against the rain that still falls in relentless sheets. Mud clings to your face, your armor slick with water and dirt. The world around you is a storm-shrouded haze, but you’re alive.

“Vermithor…” you whisper hoarsely, trying to sit up. Your body protests, but you force yourself upright. Through the blur, you see him—a massive bronze figure, sprawled but stirring. Vermithor shakes his great head, mud and rain cascading from his scales. He lets out a deep, guttural snarl that vibrates through the ground, his golden eyes locked on a shadow moving nearby.

Vhagar.

The ancient dragon groans as she begins to rise, her massive wings unfurling like the sails of a warship. Her scales glint in the lightning, battered but unbroken. For a moment, the two dragons face each other, their snarls echoing like thunder, primal and wild.

“Good boy…” you murmur, dragging yourself to your feet. Vermithor protects you still, standing like a shield between you and Vhagar. You stumble toward him, placing a hand on his warm, slick hide. “We’re not done yet.”

But before you can even draw your thoughts together, something slams into your back. You gasp as you’re thrown forward, landing hard in the mud. Hands seize your shoulders, flipping you over. Aemond.

His sapphire eye gleams with a dangerous light, his face twisted in fury as he looms over you. Rain pours down his pale hair, plastering it to his face, but his grip on you is unyielding. “You just don’t know when to stop, do you?” he growls, his voice low and venomous.

You thrash beneath him, your hands pushing against his chest, but he pins you down with ease, the weight of his armor pressing into you. “Get off me, Aemond!” you spit, mud splattering as you struggle.

“Why?” he snaps, leaning closer. “So you can crawl back to your brother and play the hero again? So you can run back to Dragonstone and tell everyone how you bested the one-eyed prince?” His voice is filled with anger, but there’s something else there, something deeper.

“I’m not afraid of you,” you hiss, meeting his gaze with defiance. “You can call me a bastard, you can try to kill me, but you’ll never break me, Aemond.”

His eye narrows, his breathing ragged. “You think this is about your precious bloodlines?” he snarls. “You think I chase you and your kin for some fleeting sense of power? You’re wrong.”

For a moment, his hands falter, loosening just enough for you to shove him off. You scramble to your feet, wiping mud from your face. “Then what is it, Aemond?” you challenge, your voice cutting through the storm. “What do you want?”

He stands, rain cascading over his armor, his chest heaving as he glares at you. “You,” he says, the word ripped from him like a confession. His voice is raw, filled with years of suppressed emotion. “I’ve wanted you since we were children. And yet you stand there, defying me, fighting me at every turn!”

You freeze, his words hitting you like a blow. The rain seems to quiet, the world narrowing to just the two of you. “You’re mad,” you whisper, shaking your head.

Aemond steps closer, his voice lowering. “Am I? Or have you always known? You taunt me with your presence, your fire. Every look, every word… You’ve consumed me.” His eye burns with a mix of anger and something else—desire.

“You’re insane,” you repeat, though your voice wavers. You take a step back, your heart pounding in a way that has nothing to do with fear.

Aemond follows, his movements slow, deliberate. “Am I?” he asks again, his tone softer now, almost pleading. “Tell me you haven’t felt it too. Tell me you don’t see it every time we cross paths.”

You hesitate, your breath catching. The storm rages around you, but his words strike deep, unsettling something you’ve long buried. “You’re my uncle,” you say finally, though it sounds more like an excuse than a declaration.

“And you’re my niece,” he counters, stepping even closer. His gloved hand reaches out, brushing a strand of wet hair from your face. “Does it matter, Y/N? Here, now, in the mud and rain, with nothing but dragons and war around us—does it matter?”

His touch burns, even through the cold. You slap his hand away, your anger flaring. “It matters because you’re the enemy,” you snap. “You’ve chosen your side, Aemond. And I’ve chosen mine.”

His jaw clenches, his face a mask of frustration. “Then fight me,” he growls, stepping back. “Fight me, Y/N. But know this—I’ll never stop wanting you. Even if it destroys me.”

Your hands tighten into fists, your mind racing. The storm, the dragons, the battle—they all fade into the background as you face him. “You’ll regret this,” you warn, your voice trembling with both anger and something else.

“I already do,” he admits, and for the first time, his voice cracks.

The tension between you is electric, the storm mirroring the turmoil within. For a moment, neither of you moves, locked in a battle far more dangerous than swords or fire. Then, with a growl of frustration, Aemond turns away, stalking toward Vhagar.

Behind you, Vermithor lets out a low rumble, his golden eyes watching your every move. You turn to him, placing a hand on his flank, drawing strength from his steady presence.

This isn’t over. Not by a long shot.

[queenendless]

ARISE

A/n: As we are now in a new year, time to write on some new fandoms.

Rewatched S1 dubbed — and yes Aleks Le as Sung Jinwoo is the reason why cause he's so damn fine~! Listen to his voice as you read this, I insist! I just need to get my Sung Jinwoo fix. Therefore—

Pairing: Sung Jinwoo x F!Adult!Reader

CW: Explicit 21+ MATURE content inside. SOME SPOILERS but not much. Morning smut, implied mentions of suicide, reader got reincarnated as a humanoid magic beast and serves Jinwoo now.

DON'T PLAGARIZE, REPOST, OR TRANSLATE MY FANFIC WORK. Rather reblog like and follow pls n thx.

"Wakey wakey." That teasing low purr in the crook of your neck had you giggling tiredly as the ticklish sensation pulled you out of slumber. Spooning you from behind, his legs entangled with yours, Jinwoo breathes in your scent, sucking tenderly. Taking his enormous hand that rested on your hip into yours, just to play with his fingers, made him smile.

“Don't go.” You murmur, raising that hand to brush petal soft pecks to his knuckles.

"Come on, now. I gotta get ready." His slurred gruffness were telltale signs he was in no hurry.

"The world is your kingdom now, Jinwoo. It'll still be there tomorrow." Your reassurance meant you curled further into your side of the bed, the tendrils of slumber creeping back in. His deep chuckle trailed butterfly pecks from your cheek, down the pane of your neck, then up to your ear. "Stay here with me, please."

"Even the Shadow Monarch needs to lead his guild." His words were one thing. His wandering hands were another story. "But, if you rather keep me in bed all day, I suppose you could persuade me." His very presence chased away the bitter freezing loneliness you were accustomed to, submerging you in his comfortable burning embrace.

"God, you're something else." You turned in his grasp, finally able to face him and shower him with your smooches, such smitteness brought warmth blooming within him. Not to mention his bulge rubbing against your crotch sent sparks shooting through you both.

Flashes of memories surfaced in your mind. Such a whiplash it is that the most powerful hunter in this world that you personally witness slaughtering every beast and human that dares stand in his way, soaked in their blood, could be the very same man that held such requited smoldering endearment for you.

The butterflies and flips occurring inside from every gaze, touch and word given are always worth it.

"God has been long gone from this world ... just Rulers and Monarchs now ... and yours is beside himself. To think his favorite beast on the streets ... is a lamb in the sheets~" That rumbling deep voice roughly heaved in between kisses. Opening your mouth so willingly had him grinning against you as his velvety tongue entangled yours, lost in the thralls of the passionate dance within. “My favorite~”

His sculpted hands slithered underneath your top, lightly brushing up against your sides, then your tummy. One hand stayed to fondle your cushiony mounds; he never gets tired of feeling you up.

"A human from another world ... reborn as a humanoid magic beast." Pinching, pulling and rubbing your pearls between his long sly fingers had you melting as your muffled mewling grew frequent. “Failed by those closest to you, abandoned to that pain and fear … a kindred soul.”

His other sly hand slips under your undies, cupping your dripping sex. Your moaning had him smirking as he nibbled your bottom lip in tune with his thumb insistently rubbing your clit and the tips of his fingers brushing around your cunt. "Isn't this what you wanted? To be touched by me? Your beloved King?"

"Mmm yes~" His voice always got you going, especially when those four fingers filled you up well, curling and scissoring in their trek straight to your burning core. "Aaah~" Your hips rutting into his hand got him bricked up through his sweatpants. "Nngh~" Wringing your hands through those dark messy locks and stroking along his shaved undercut got him trembling, all to reel him in and keep you as grounded as you could currently be in your haze filled state. "Don't stop~"

"So touch starved." Your sharp gasp was the sign he reached your bundle of nerves, prodding it with such vigor, stuffing you right up to his wrist, lathered up in your cream. “To let me be the first and only one to shower you with such devotion ... I'll forever be grateful for that blessing." Tears of ecstasy leave your e/c eyes and he kisses them away, his ebony bangs tickling your moaning burning face, the flames of passion stoked for you as you come undone. "My Queen~"

His creamy hand then pulled right out of your valley, leaving you desperately wanting him to fill up your emptiness. Your faith got restored, however, as he pulled his shirt over his head, tossing it aside, revealing the chiseled marble sculpture that is his physique.

He knows the sight alone makes your mouth water. Your hands traversed the panes of his soft firm pecs, that thick neck, those broad shoulders, even these sculpted biceps that flexed as his daily tasked push ups came with the added benefit of pushing down to your laying form, being enthralled by your rewarding kisses. Such reliable stability beneath that lean stature of resilience.

Your own eyes burned with the glow of enchantment, the image of who he used to be versus who he has become reminded you of yourself. How the physical and mental scars that plagued your old life for years on end shaped you into who you have become. A magic beast serving the Shadow Monarch. What a pairing.

His cream coated hand slips under his own waistband, pulling his beast free from its confines, using your cum as his lube to be more prepared.

His other hand cupped under your knee, draping your leg over his shoulder. "Wouldn't you rather I give you tongue~?" That low toned growl already got your other leg willingly draped over his other broad shoulder already as that mouth sunk into your wet folds.

“Yes love~!” Ripping such a concupiscent symphony outta your mouth. His other hand couldn't help but jack off to your venereal cries. The scorching presence his mouth gave as the starvation had him ravaging, suckling as much as making out with your now squirting folds.

His cheeks filled with your essence, dexterously aiming his tongue to drive you further up the tower of sins. Your spasming hips only buried his face deeper in, inhaling your scent as his nose got pushed in your pubes, his light yet sturdy weight. Those lidded silver eyes flashed violet as their predatory gaze marveled in your sweaty flushed expressions due to his ravenous gorging, your voice shrieking as you unloaded, his creamy covered lips curling swallowing gratefully.

“You're truly decadent.”

Your body and soul trembled in anticipation for what's to come; your legs falling off his shoulders to hug his firm hips. So did him, leading his dick slowly into your loosened yet smothering grip. "Let me make love to you." He grunted, you sucking him up as greedily as his cock started into the slow steady rhythm stroking your creamy grip.

“Fuck me! Please~! Don't stop~! Don't ever stop!” Your unhinged shouts of passion hit his ear as you hugged his neck, his own hot breath hitting your shoulder as he picked up the lace into the feverish fueled tapping; skin squelching and smacking noises bouncing off the walls.

“Fuck~! You’re heaven incarnate~!” Your sob filled yell riled up his necessity to bust his nuts in you even more. His feral groans in response had you squeezing him in a vice state, marking the side of his neck into a bruising suck, drawing scratches along his chiseled shoulder blades.

His own fingers dug into your rolling hips, finger shaped bruises painting your skin in kind, while his sharp teeth marked along your shoulder and neck, marking you as his and his alone, raising you further to the apex.

“I’ll fuck you until the world ends. This needy pussy deserves to be ravaged every waking moment. Every inch of you is mine to worship. Your beautiful womb filled up with my seed. That's my dream. To have you as my wife. To raise a family together. To make you Mrs. Sung!”

“Yes, Jin~! Yes~!” Your choked up agreement got lost in the sloppy, tongue filled kisses as you came a third in a row, making a cum circle around his shaft, painting his rippling thighs and the once pure sheets.

Your orgasmic greeting met with his, shooting right into your womb quite thickly, lifting you in his shredded grasp, externally and internally. Thrusting his still oozing libido into your heavenly valley like a madman to chase that euphoric high.

Your head limply rested on his shoulder like a pillow, fatigued mewls spilling out as the burning weight of his essence settled into your abdomen. Carefully setting you down on the bed, Jinwoo collapsed on his side, heaving slowly and deeply, his dazed eyes gazing at yours, glowing radiantly as the sunlight slipping in outlined your form.

Still submerged in you, now limp dicked, his muscular arm draped over you, pulling you both closer, all to have you curling into his slickened torso, breathing in your intermingled scent.

“Now call in sick.” Your weak request got him chuckling deeply.

“I will in a bit.” Curling your cascading hair through his fingertips, he caressed your pretty head, allowing the tranquil silence to linger.

“I love you, Y/n. So damn much. Thank you for being in my life, in this moment, and for the rest of our reign to come.” His whole being enveloped you in his bear hug of an embrace, drawing in your shared taste through an endearing kiss.

“I love you too, Jin. So damn much.” Your voice fluttered from the swelling of emotion taking hold on your heart, as you couldn't help but fall into the routine of peppering smooches all over that beautifully precious face of his.

“I'll love you. In this life and the next. Until the end of it all.” He vowed to you as you succumbed to sleep once again, smiling softly at your face, kissing your sweet lips once more before reaching out behind him for his phone, sending a quick text to Yoo Jinho about his impromptu work absence. His brother in arms was A-okay about, already suspecting fooling around with you being the reason why.

Jinwoo's next text was him dubbing Jinho as his best man at your upcoming wedding, already looking forward to seeing you on that sacred day, followed up by quite the steamy honeymoon.

He was already anticipating your future together, basking in the early morning, setting his phone aside as it filled with the following texts of congrats and excitement from his little bro, before joining you in the confines of dreams, cocooned in your shared comfy warmth, watched on by his shadow army in the corner, silently cheering for their master’s engagement with their future Queen Regnant.

[djarincore]

— vampire!simon punishes you

warnings: noncon/dubcon, smut, angst, dark, jealousy if you squint, blood, sorta based off this post

You're stiff when he throws you against the sheets. A silk nightgown does nothing to shield the feeling of his body molding into yours, trapping you against the bed.

His hands leave trails of ice along your skin as they slide beneath your thighs to force them apart. His lips are on your neck; his tongue drags against your rapid pulse for a taste. You shrink beneath him when it becomes teeth—pointed canines scraping against your skin.

Your voice wavers, a thick lump swelling in your throat. Tears gloss over your eyes as you force the words out. “My Lord, forgive m-”

“Shut up,” he hisses, wrenching away from your neck. His nose meets yours as he looks into your tear filled eyes. “You’re lucky I don't fuckin’ drain you.”

“Thank you, my Lord,” you whimper, shutting your eyes. His gaze, so intense, is enough to make you feel like you're being swallowed whole. If he wants to bite you, fuck you, then he can. You just want to be free of his grasp and breathe again.

“What did you hope to accomplish tonight?”

“N-Nothing, I-”

“Look at me!” He roars. A hand clamps around your jaw and forces your face back to his.

When your bleary eyes open, Simon is still above you, holding a carved stake. The same one you tried plunging into his back.

“Thought you could stick me with this twig? Who gave you that idea, huh? You think that bastard wants to save you?”

You know you shouldn't be going back to him, but you can't help yourself. John makes you feel safe, wanted, more than a lamb for slaughter. When he takes you into his arms, they're warm. Pressed against his chest, you hear his heartbeat, reminding you you're still alive too.

When you're forced to return to Simon at dusk, you're hit with the harsh reality of why you no longer belong to the living.

Simon barks out a mocking laugh. “No one wants to save a pathetic, sniveling thing like you.”

Your chest aches and the tears you hold back flow down your temples.

“I should stick this in you to teach you a lesson. You'd like that wouldn't you?”

A new cold washes over you. When his hands push your nightgown past your hips, exposing your naked core, you grab at his wrists. He ignores your clawing fingers and you begin pleading instead. “Please, don't. Please.”

“You'll take anything in that greedy cunt. This won't be a problem,” he sneers, smoothing a hand down to your mound. “I'll even get you nice and ready for it.”

His thumb presses down on your clit and your legs lock around his waist as the sensation jolts through your body. Quick circles are all it takes for you to shift your hips forward.

“Look at you. Already asking for it.”

You bite your lip and hold back a moan. You hate the way he makes you feel used and dirty and breaks you apart with his touch.

When the stake’s tip touches your folds, you gasp. Luckily, it's dulled at the tip, not sharp enough to pierce you, and the round base is sanded down.

Simon bullies the stake into you, ignoring the way you squirm. He's met with resistance as he pushes deeper because you're not wet enough to take it.

“I can't,” you insist, shaking your head. Its pointed head prods at your walls and you wince. You resist shifting your hips and focus on his thumb still slowly swirling on your clit instead.

“That's not what this cunt’s tellin’ me,” he retorts. “Look at ‘er, takin’ it just like a cock.”

Simon thrusts the stake further. The head stabs deeper into you, forcing a pained gasp from you. Tears swell in your eyes once again and your finger dig into the sheets.

“I can't—I've learned my lesson. Forgive me,” you cry.

He pulls the stake from your cunt. It drags against your walls, making you wince, as it is pulled free, glistening with some of your arousal. Simon throws it to the side with so much force it’s embedded into the wall. To serve as a reminder for the next time you get any foolish ideas.

You take in a shuddering breath, hoping the worst is over, but yelp when his hands suddenly grasp your hips and flip you on your stomach.

Simon bends to your ear, chest pressed against you back and his hard cock against your ass. “Next time the two of you try to kill me, bring him along and I'll drain you last.”

You burrow your face into the pillow and nod your head in shame. You would be a fool to try anything like this again. And you wouldn't dare put John in danger.

“That’s a good girl,” he coos, grinding his cock against your ass. A hand sneaks between your thighs, returning to your clit.

You can't help but move your hips against his hand now that the stake is gone.

His nose brushes your bare shoulder and his other hand forces your head to the side, baring your neck for him. “Now, stay still for me.”

The pierce of his fangs is a cold sting at the juncture of your neck and shoulder. The shock is always first, rooting you in place and unable to even form a scream. And when that subsides, the pain comes hot like poison spreading through your veins.

You squirm beneath him, both the heat of his bite and your rising pleasure clash in you. But the pleasure always wins and the pain becomes nothing but an afterthought against his fingers. Instead of a scream, you moan.

You're so close, you can feel the knot in your belly tighten, but your vision is becoming blurry. You begin to fear he’ll make good on his threat to drain you.

He drinks and drinks, taking what he needs, but you feel yourself slipping between consciousness and your climax. You open your mouth but all that you manage is a weak, intelligible mumble and any pleasure you hoped for slips into a cruel darkness.

[pemguims]

connor bedard as the fool - 0 of 22

insp by @formulanni 's extremely very good f1 tarot card series :) !!

reasoning below cut!

the fool is a card symbolising new beginnings, free spirit and innocence which i think sums up the energy of an 18 year old (now 19) first overall pick very well - a lamb to the slaughter that is the NHL if you will, especially when that lamb is playing for the chicago blackhawks, and organisation most people consider rotten to the core. it's hard to image any good coming of connor by his remaining with that team, both due to the rancid vibes and the fact they kinda suck <3, hence the edge of the cliff. which way you gonna go white boy

i chose to keep the lay out of this card pretty much the same as the rider waite cards mainly because it slaps!

[yandere-sins]

Yan-Poll #25

You held back the sobs that threatened to spill from your lips, clasping your hands over your mouth in an attempt to muffle yourself.

Part of you wished you hadn't heard the plans the cultists had for you. Ignorance was bliss, after all, and had you known how this would end, you'd never come close to these people in the first place. All you wanted was to understand them, to write your article, and be done with it. You didn't know it would end in you getting sacrificed to the god they worshipped.

Human sacrifice, who'd even do that in this day and age?

You thought everything was going well. You spoke with the members, worked with them, and ate at their table. Even if you disagreed with their views, you saw them as the humans they were, perhaps a little desperate for recognition from a god that may or may not exist but human at their cores. They didn't scream "crazy fanatics" to you, but it seems you were delusional, thinking they were normal.

"Fuck," you whispered to yourself. You shouldn't have been out here in the dark per their rules, but some friendly folks invited you for drinks at their cabins, and you didn't want to overstay your welcome. Even when they asked you to stay, you just wanted to return to your camper for a good night's sleep. Now, a part of you wishes you had listened.

But then again, what good would have not knowing done for you? You'd probably have gone along when they prettied you up for an initiation, thinking you'd get some good stuff for your article. You'd never known until these mad people had killed you, following them blindly like a lamb to slaughter.

"Someone there?" one of the cultists suddenly called out, and you jumped, quickly turning the other way to run. You just needed to get back to your camper, and you'd be out of here, gone, never to return. And you'd tell everyone about what you witnessed so it may never happen again!

With a yelp, you were tugged back, the inviting darkness torn to shreds by a flashlight. "Ah, you," one of the cultists said. You watched his face contort as he took in the obvious horror etched into yours. He looked almost... sad. Almost.

"That's not how... you shouldn't have—"

"Stop dallying, let's get them to the priest."

A second cultist approached, looking stern and unimpressed. He took your wrist from the first one, and when you began to brace your feet into the ground, the struggle ensued between you two. You screamed into the night when the first cultist wrapped his arms around you, too, covering your mouth with his hand as the two of them dragged you away to meet up with the priest.

You screamed and bit, but it was no use other than you agitating the two cultists further. Even when you thrashed and threw your body against them to knock them off balance, you didn't win against the two men, who almost seemed trained to handle these situations. Tears dripped down your face as the helplessness overwhelmed you. Was this how you were going to die? Would they kill you now?

After being dragged through grass and mud, the sound of steps on wooden planks as you enter the priest's cabin were deafening loud. Like the announcement of your death sentence. The struggle ceased as you lost the strength in the face of your killer, the surprise twisting into despair as the priest of this cult watched you being brought in.

"What is the meaning of this?" the priest asked as if he were innocent in all of this. He immediately stepped to your side and knelt down, your legs having long forgotten how to stand as you sat on the floor, weeping. Brushing the tears off your face, he made the other two stop handling you like a wild animal, your arms and body falling forward as you were released.

"Sir, they heard us talk about the ritual. We didn't mean to. We were preparing the site and thought everyone was asleep."

You couldn't look up even as anger flooded your mind. How dare they make it sound like it was your fault! As if you ruined something! But gripped with fear, you couldn't utter a word before the priest who held your life in his hands.

The priest sighed heavily, shaking his head. "You fools... Leave us!"

There was a moment of stunned silence before the two tried to argue, "But Sir..."

"Leave! You've done enough!"

Unsure footsteps made the ground shake as the two men left, and you almost felt like you could breathe again. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, Dear. Come," the priest muttered, helping you up. With confusion clouding your mind, you let yourself be directed down into a chair next to the fireplace, the warmth prickling against your skin, fear having drained you of most of your body heat.

You had never been alone with the priest before, he seemed to have always avoided you, perhaps not trusting your intentions to write an article about the cult. He even told you to leave regularly in the beginning. And you had an inkling why, considering he was planning to sacrifice you.

"I don't want to die," you sobbed, scared but also hoping your tears could deter him. The man kneeled on the ground before you, his large hands falling to your knees, his thumb brushing back and forth reassuringly.

"I know, Darling. I know, but we have to. I sent you away so many times, but you wouldn't listen. I can't help you, I can't—"

His sentence broke off as he let his head fall, defeated. You didn't believe him, couldn't. Someone who thought that it was a necessary evil to kill someone was no one you should trust.

"Please just let me go! No one has to know!"

"Oh, Darling. They'd go after you. They already sliced the wheels of your car, and you'd not escape them in the woods alone."

You gulped at the revelation that you were already so deep in this misery, never even having checked if your camper was still useable while you spent your days frolicking with the cultists. Cellphone service was almost non-existent, but still! You couldn't die here! You were scared, but you had to try and convince the priest to let you go!

"Please let me try, I beg you! I won't tell them you let me go, I promise!"

"I—" the priest started, words caught in his throat as he stared. You guessed he was torn between two sides, but against your expectations, he didn't seem as bad of a person as you had feared. Then again, that's what you had thought about all the cultists.

"There... There's another way," he finally muttered, lowering his gaze to his hands on top of your knees. You thought you saw a hint of excitement and shame in his eyes, his lips quivering as he formed the words.

"I have yet to take a spouse. They wouldn't dare lay a hand on who I've chosen, and I... I'd like it if it were you."

The brushing of his thumb over your legs resumed a bit more forceful now. You felt sick hearing these deceiving words of safety, the undertone of greed and lust thicker than any sermon in church. You've learned from the others just how long this priest had served them faithfully, the most devoted and fanatic of them all.

And yet, when he looked at you, you saw the awe in his eyes, the sickening adoration of a devotee. It was almost as if he worshipped you more than his god, as if doing this wasn't a betrayal to the one he swore his loyalty to.

You'd never been so close, never thought twice about this priest, who had probably never been around anyone but the cultist all his life. You were likely something special, someone extraordinary in his eyes; at least, that's what his adoring gaze told you. But what if he started to make demands in exchange? Could you withstand them? Still, it might be your only chance! If you convinced him to keep you safe, you could play him and wander around the encampment to find something to help you—even escape in the daylight.

You'd make it through the dangerous night alive.

You could still run. Punch this guy in the face and never look back as you bolted, but if the preparations had been made, cultists out and about working on this sacrifice, could you really get away far enough before they noticed? Maybe it was worth playing it safe... You had no idea what would happen if you agreed to join hands with the priest. Still, perhaps it was worth it, considering you might die out in the forest, lost and in pain after hurting yourself if you simply ran.

No matter how easy the priest tried to make the decision seem, begging you with lovesick eyes to agree to his terms, you had trouble figuring it out. It had to be made, and quickly! Before anyone would come to find you and proceed with the original plan to sacrifice you!

(Reasoning and discussions welcome! ♥)

[echo-of-damnation]

Lamb for the Slaughter

A Little Treat part 2

Tags: Jago SevatarionxF!Serf, dubcon/noncon, stalking, missionary sex, biting, blood, fingering/cunnilingus, blowjob, spanking, cumming inside, body worship(?) from Jago, light degradation and name calling, hella fucking smut

Summary: Jago's little lamb is ready for the slaughter

Echo's echo: @yurihasurunbara asked so nicely for a part two that i had to oblige <3 I hope it lives up to the hype

The Pit: @thisuserislilsilly

Word Count: 5,353

It had been a few months since Jago first took the serf woman in a dark corner of the ship. Her soft plump body plagued his mind every day from then on and everywhere he looked he could imagine her there. He thought about her kneeling obediently in front of him, servicing him as he serviced his weapon. Jago could imagine her draped delicately over the command console as his cum dripped down her thigh. Ravaging her on the field of battle, claiming her as the blood of his enemies stained the ground under her. The bright crimson contrasting beautifully against her pale skin, accenting the bite marks he littered around her. Oh, how her soft body made his teeth ache.

He was only able to bite into the junction of her neck, but he longed to sink his teeth into the supple flesh of her thighs, to bite into the soft rolls of her belly. Jago imagined all the beautiful sounds he would be able to pull out of her as he marked her. He needed to have her again, it was driving him insane.

He hunted her down, he could remember her mouth-watering scent so finding her in the dark of the ship amongst the other baselines. Stalking down the dark halls, he slipped past in the shadows. He didn’t want to spoil his surprise by having one of the more talkative serfs spreading news of a large beast prowling their safe little deck. He wanted to relive the moment all those months ago and watch her from the dark, letting his eyes burn into her skin. He wanted to hear her heart quicken with the feeling of being followed but no one being there.

When Jago finally found her, it was almost like she was begging for him. She had wandered into the same corridor his room was in. His little lamb subconsciously seeking him out, he mused. Pressing himself against the wall, he watched as she wiped the floor on her hands and knees. A few stray pieces of hair had fallen onto her face from, a bead of sweat trickling down her temple as she worked the dirty rag in her hand between the cracks of the metal sheets of the floor. Jago drank her in as her vigorous scrubbing had loosened a button at the top of her shirt exposing her heavy breasts. He groaned as he watched them swing under her and remembered how soft they were in his rough hands. Jago needed to be the reason they moved.

His plan to put her on edge was working, he watched as a shiver ran down her spine, causing her to look up from her work. She squinted against the dark, trying to find the sudden reason for her unease. Jago chuckled darkly to himself; her useless eyes would never be able to see him even if he was in her face. His the other hand, his eyes could see everything. He could see the soft bit of fat at her lower belly spilled over the waist of her pants as she sat up on her knees, wiping away another drop of sweat from her forehead.

He wondered if she thought about him. He palmed himself as she stood up and stretched. Did she dip her fingers into her hot core and imagine they were his? Picking up her bucket of water she moved further down the hall, closer to his door. Did she wish to feel him pump her full of his cum again? Maybe she fucked herself thinking of dutifully swallowing his load. Bending over to place the bucket back down, Jago smirked at the fact she had turned away from him and bent at the waist. Giving him a beautiful view of her heart shaped ass. He would kill a man just to sink himself in her.

Something he only joked to himself about until it seemed that it might have to be an unfortunate reality. At the other end of the hall, he could see the slow approach or one of his brothers. He knew the walk of a predator well and his brother was doing his best to embody that. Jago took a few steps closer; he wouldn’t let some petty Night Lord ruin his little game. The intruding brother stopped just shy of his little lamb, the sight of his boot in her periphery making her snap her head up at him. Jago would be annoyed if it wasn’t for the sudden scent of her arousal that quickly shifted to fear. Poor thing, she must have thought it was me, Jago thought.

“Am I not to be addressed?” the offending brother questioned.

“No! I mean, yes! Er, no…I’m sorry my lord. I didn’t see you coming,” her anxiety at this interaction was obvious.

“A likely excuse. Though I believe a…punishment would correct that behavior for the future,” the tone the other used on the word “punishment” tripped something dark and possessive inside Jago.

Silently he stalked forward till his own body was right behind hers. He placed a large hand on her shoulder, “Is there an issue with the serfs, brother?” Jago made sure he poured all the venom he could into his question. Both of other people in the hall with him were stunned into silence. The serf under his hand, stiffening as if a small prey animal caught against a wall. And she might as well have been with two hungry beasts caging her in.

“No, Captain. I was just uh, going to discipline this one here,” the brother replied.

Jago’s grip on the woman’s shoulder tightened. Breaking from her spell, she snuck a peak at the man behind her. He could feel her muscles relax a fraction as she recognized him. Her recognition lighting something inside him akin to pride.

“Ah, then I will administer the…punishment,” Jago purred out the last word. He pulled the serf woman back into him, making sure she could feel his already hard cock against her back.

The other man made to argue, but his respect for Jago’s rank as Captain paired with his obvious fear of Jago himself, he snapped his mouth shut and nodded. After another moment of hesitation, the brother turned on his heal and walked away. Jago’s little lamb relaxing more fully this time.

“Thank you, sir,” she tried to turn and face him but was stopped by another hand grabbing her shoulder, holding her firmly in place.

Jago was silent as he moved on hand under the collar of her shirt, groping one of her breasts. The women sucked in a breath at the sudden contact. “I believe I deserve a reward for having saved you from that beast,” Jago purred.

He watched as her lips parted as she twisted her nipple between his fingers. She nodded her head. “So eager to please me,” he moved his hand to work her other breast, feeling it push out between his fingers, “Such a good girl.” The scent of her want filled his nostrils with his praise. A good girl indeed, he thought as his cock strained in his pants.

Before she could even register his movements, Jago pushed her back against the closest wall and shoved one of his strong thighs between hers. The heat radiating from her desperate cunt warmed him to his core. He caged her with his body, his arms on either side of her head. She looked so small like this. He dragged one hand over to cup her cheek, his thumb catching her plump bottom lip as he ran it across. Her hot breath flowing past the large digit. Like this, Jago remembered how beautiful she looked as these very lips stretched around his cock. How her eyes began to water at the strain and lack of oxygen.

Jago brought his thumb to the center of her mouth and watched as she opened it as he dipped his thumb inside. Pressing it down against her fat tongue, he felt her hips rock against his thigh. A deep groan reverberated out from within his chest, winning him a breathy moan from his little lamb. Lightening the pressure on her tongue, Jago was enraptured as the woman closed her mouth around it along with her eyes. He could feel the warm wet muscle within caress him, another moan pulling from her as he pushed it further in. If his gift wanted to taste him, why should he refuse?

With his other hand he brought one of hers down to the front of his pants and she eagerly took hold of his aching cock. Rubbing her hand as best as she could against the fabric, desperate to please him. Jago couldn’t look away as he pulled his thumb from her greedy mouth, a string of spit deliciously attaching them together for a moment. Bringing his wet thumb to his face, he maintained eye contact with her as he put it in his mouth, closing his eyes as a moan escaped him at the taste of her on him. Her needy little humps against his thigh growing firmer and more desperate. She fiddled with the belt around his pants as she watched him in awe wrap his large tongue around his own thumb, savoring how she tasted.

Fixing his eyes back on her, he chuckled darkly as he took in blown pupils and gaping mouth. She looked so pathetic under him, and it drove Jago wild. Reaching down he picked her up, his hands groping at her ass in his hands. Instinctually she wrapped her arms around his neck and her legs around his waist, pressing herself closer to him. Jago could only smirk at her sudden surprise and the blush beginning to blossom across her cheeks. “I do believe I promised a more comfortable place for our next meeting,” with that Jago made his way down the hall towards his room. The woman stared in awe, bringing her hands into his hair. She couldn’t stop herself from licking and kissing his open neck. “Oh,” Jago moaned out, quickening his steps but careful not to dislodge his little lamb currently attacking his sensitive neck. She will be the death of me, he thought.

Reaching the door to his room, Jago slammed her into it pulling her head away from the love bite she was currently leaving him and shoved his tongue into her unsuspecting mouth. They fought for dominance in the sloppy kiss until a bite to her lower lip subdued the serf in his arms. Bringing his hand back down to hold her, he used the other hand to each for the keypad to punch in the code. The hiss of the door opening was the only other sound other than their heavy breathing.

They continued their violent kiss until Jago reached his bed and let her fall from his grasp. Laughing at the look of surprise on her reddening face. He stepped back and slid one of the chairs he had in his room over by the side of the bed. She watched him attentively as he sat down in the chair, leaning back comfortably with his legs spread. A shiver ran through her at the sheer size and presence of him. Something she wasn’t able to properly appreciate in their dark corner of the ship all those months ago.

They were both quiet for a moment, the other sound Jago could make out was the quick beating of her heart and her sad attempt at slowing her breathing. “My little lamb, I want you to show me all of yourself,” Jago told her. Confusion obvious on her pretty round face. “Strip,” was his only clarification.

The bright red of her blush grew and began making its way down her neck, but she obeyed. Jago made a note to reward her for her good behavior in time. He watched transfixed as she slowly unbuttoned her work shirt, enjoying the fact that her fingers matched her chubby little frame. As she undid the last button she brought her hands back up to her chest, holding it closed. Her attempt at modesty endeared him, but he knew the kind of debauched whore she could be. All it took for her to remove it was the raising of one eyebrow, a silent challenge at disobeying him. Jago watched as she took a deep breath and steeled herself, slowly pulling the shirt off her shoulders and down her arms, letting it pool around her where she kneeled on the bed. Jago drank her in. Her breasts were bigger than he had remembered, spilling out of the top of her ratty bra. Raking his eyes up her chest, he followed her collarbone to the junction where he bit her last time. Pleased that the wound healed over but ugly crescent from his teeth sat in a ring, bright red and noticeable for all to see. The sight of it filled Jago with something primal.

He moved his eyes back down, enjoying the way her breasts moved with each breath, moving down to her soft belly. He couldn’t resist thinking of it growing rounder with his spawn. The fat sticking around even after the birth of the child only to tempt him to pump her full of his cum again. He salivated at the thought of squeezing her between his strong hands.

Bringing his eyes back up to hers, knowing she could see the animalistic want, no, need to fill her up. To ravish her in ways she never knew existed. If she could perceive the differences in the blacks of his eyes, she would be able to see the way his pupils were blown wide in lust. Finally noticing she wasn’t removing any more of her clothing, he pulled himself back to reality. “Well…?” his frustration at her stoppage leaking through.

He could see the gears turning in her head, could practically see the smoke billowing from her ears as she fought against herself. “My pretty little lamb, please, I need to see you,” he all but whined.

Her blush deepened as she opened and closed her mouth like a fish out of water before finally finding her words, “Yes, I’m sorry. I just- never mind.” The hesitation in her voice piqued his curiosity but the sudden new burst of her arousal hit him in his chest as she started to shimmy out of her clothes. “Wait,” Jago interrupted her as he held out one hand, a gesture to show her he wanted her to stand for this part.

Taking his hand in his, they both marveled at the sheer difference in size. Jago could simply close his hand around hers and crush the tiny bones in there. The thought apparently having the same effect of both of them was Jago heard a quiet ‘oh’ from her while his already too hard cock twitched in anticipation. Carefully helping her onto her feet, Jago brought his arm up with hers still in tow and coaxed her into a lazy twirl. Her heavy breasts swaying slightly as her belly jiggled sinfully. Once she faced him again, he let her go and leaned back in his chair again, the go ahead to continue clear.

Another deep rise and fall of her chest and she began to pull her pants down before Jago told her to slow down in a tone that went right to her hot cunt, another flooding of juices flowing from her. Doing as she was told, she slowly pulled her pants down, having to wiggle her hips as she did so. Jago’s mouth watered as the first peaking of groomed hair revealed itself before her pants reveled her beautifully puffy cunt. The shine from her wetness was obvious as she slid them further down her plush thighs. The need to bite and her soft skin was overwhelming. Once her pants got to her knees, she let go of them, letting them fall to the floor as she stepped out of them, pushing them off to the side with her foot. Jago took her in more clearly this time.

 She looked like one of those statues of nude women the Emperor’s Children had all around their ships. She was sinful, a creature no doubt crafted by some hedonistic god to tempt good men away from the light. Jago was no good man. He was more than happy to be tempted by these carnal urges if it meant he could destroy her for any other. Jago made a spinning motion with a finger, stopping her when her back was to him. He grabbed her waist and pulled her closer to him, her feet tripping over themselves to keep her from falling. He groped her ass with his large hands, loving the ease at which they moved for him. Grabbing them fully he spread her ass as wide as he could, taking in her tight asshole and the peaking of her beautiful lower lips.

                A needy growl escaped him, and he let go of her ass and spread one hand along her lower back and slid it up, pushing her over at the waist. The ability to manhandle her and her acceptance of if all sent a new pulse of blood to his hot length. Once bent over, she braced her hands on the edge of the bed. Jago brought his hands up the back of her thighs and with his thumbs, spread her wet cunt open for him. The shine of her juices was too tempting, Jago had to taste it.

Without a warning, he flattened his fat tongue against her, dragging it from as close to her clit as he could get to over her leaking hole. She tasted divine, like the finest wine pillaged from the finest cities. Her sweet taste snapped something inside him, and he licked her more earnestly. Shameless moans fell from her lips as he flexed his tongue and shoved it inside of her. He could feel her clench around it as he began to fuck her with his tongue. One hand coming up to pull and twist her little nub. He found it adorable how hard it was and oh how she squealed at his abuse of it.

Jago ate her hot and leaking cunt like a man lost in a desert finding a well filled with the sweetest of waters. He pulled his mouth away only to replace his tongue with two large fingers, watching her beautifully stretch at the intruding digits. A low roar rolled from his chest, and he bit down on the plump fat of her ass. Earning him a hiss and a moan as he continued to fuck her with his fingers and roughly played with her clit. Her moans echo around his room till they were even louder than his own twin hearts slamming in his chest. Her blood coating his tongue as he lapped at the wound only to bite down again in a different spot.

The women in front of him cried out, pushing herself back onto him. Jago’s inner animal preened at the fact that this little lamb was so desperate for his touch. Ripping his fingers from her cunt, he licked at her again. Taking his hands and spreading her open as wide as he could, he needed to be deeper, he needed to taste her release. The release he gave her, and only he could ever give her. Pushing his face more, shoving his tongue deeper into her, she began to lose the fight to keep herself standing. Jago pushed her face down on the bed, crawling on his knees towards her he returned to fucking her greedy little hole with his tongue.

He could feel her tightening around him; he could tell she was close. He took on of her legs and pushed it up on the bed to give him better access to her weeping cunt. Jago used his hand again to rub her clit and roughly. Her screams muffled by the mattress grew deafening as he brought her over the edge. He drank her climax down, letting it drip down his chin and slid down his throat. He was a man dying of thirst and his little lamb was saving him from certain death.

When she was finished, he pulled himself away to admire his work. Her cunt was red and puffy and absolutely glistening from the amount of cum she had dripping from her. He brought a hand down hard on her ass and watched it ripple from the sudden impact. The women pulled her head back and loudly moaned at the sudden sharp pain. He did it again, watching in ecstasy as her already bitten and abused ass reddened in the shape of his hand. She was his little lamb, and he was the slaughter. He would do as he pleased, and watching her tight little hole clench and leak new juices each time he hit her pleased him oh so very much.

He repeated this several more times on each cheek, a beautiful crimson blossoming out. He sadistically thought that each new imprint of his fingers was adding another beautiful layer of petals. After one particularly hard slap, he watched in amazement as she came once more. She squirted on him, drenching the front of his shirt. He would feel like wet fabric cool against his nipples, hardening them and sending a delicious zap of pleasure straight down to his cock.

Jago grabbed her and flipped her over, watching as her body jiggled as it settled into place. He grit his teeth as his nostrils flared at the sight of her debauched face. He half lidded eyes and wild hair paired nicely with the thin sheen of sweat on her chest. Her lips still kiss bitten and swollen from their earlier meeting. Oh, how he longed to ruin her more.

Jago didn’t have enough patience to wait for her to move on her own, so he roughly handled her until she was turned around on the bed, her head hanging off the edge. His cock ached painfully; he needed to feel her around it desperately. In one swift move he ripped his pants off, his hard length finally free. Looking down at her, he could see her eyes widened as she was once again faced with his size. Jago looked on smugly as he began to stroke his length over her face, watching as she opened her mouth slightly and whined, a small hand moving to her own nipples. Jago stood enraptured at she twisted and pulled on them. He loved when she would pull them away from her body and let go, watching as the fatty tissue bounced back and forth with only gravity.

Groaning, Jago stepped closer, “I believe baselines usually start with an appetizer before the main course.” He leaned over her head till his heavy balls were just above her mouth, and without any more prompting, she eagerly opened her mouth and worked them with her tongue. Jago’s eye rolled to the back of his head as he threw it back. His sweet little lamb was a whore, and he loved it. He continued to stroke his length as she lapped her tongue around each ball, sucking them into her mouth every now and then.

It was a sensation he had never experienced before, and it was salacious. Her mouth was so delightfully warm against his most sensitive parts. Opening his eyes again he saw that she had moved on from playing with her breasts to now spreading herself open to fuck her own fingers. The scene was more than erotic Jago thought. The precum leaking from his cock and dripped on her belly and he watched as she scooped it up with her fingers and rubbed it against her clit. Jago growled as he looked on, deciding that now was the time to fuck her pretty little throat.

Moving his balls away, she whined but quickly quieted as she saw him lining up his cock with her lips. She opened it obediently, but he only teased her, rubbing his leaking tip along her plump lips. He chuckled darkly as he watched her tongue desperately try to make contact with him. “My poor little lamb. Do you want to taste my cock?”

“Yes!” She breathed out after another failed attempt to lick him.

“Hmm, yes what? I do wish you would use your pretty little words for me,” Jago purred.

“Yes, please! Please I want to taste your cock!” Her begging going to his length.

“And will you keep fucking yourself with your fingers for me?” Jago teased.

“I will! I promise I’ll fuck myself for you,” her fingers pumped into her cunt faster, he could hear the squelching of her juices.

“Mmm and then does my little lamb want to drink my hot cum?”

“GODS YES. PLEASE,” she was all but yelling at this point.

Her desperation for him was intoxicating. Wanting nothing more than to please, he lined his cock up once more with her mouth and pushed it in. She moaned around him as he entered her hot mouth, and he looked on as he pushed himself deeper and deeper. He could see himself stretching out her throat, feel it too. It was so tight around him. He pulled out slowly and then went back in, bringing a hand to her throat to feel it expand around his hard cock. It was a wonder how he did not break her, but he took it as a sign that she really was for him and him alone.

Pulling out once more till just the tip remained inside, he stilled as she played with his head. Her tongue gliding all around, lightly sucking. He could feel her lick at his hole, he knew she was trying to get more of his precum out of him. The next time he pushed himself in he was determined to bottom out. He had done it before during their secret tryst, but he wanted to see it more clearly this time.

She began to choke as he started to block her windpipe, but she fought to control it. “Good girl,” his praise winning him a moan around him, the vibration sending a new kind of sensation up his length and through his body. Sinking further into her warmth, he ran his hand across her neck, feeling the strain in the muscles. He was teetering so close to the edge, he could cum right now down her throat, and he knew she would gladly swallow each drop, but this wasn’t how he wanted to end it.

Pulling himself slowly out of her throat and out of her mouth, he had her kiss the head before he handled her once more. Picking her up in his strong arms, he moved her to the head of the bed, gingerly laying her head on a large pillow. He wanted to see her face this time as he fucked her. He wanted to suck down her moans and whines as he kissed her while he pumped himself in her.

Once she was situated, he climbed on the bed himself, lazily stroking his cock to ease the ache in it while he sat back on his heels between her legs. His little lamb looked at him longingly, placing her hands on the inside of each knee before pushing them open, showing him her beautiful pink center. Jago needed no other instruction, crawling on top of her he lined his cock up with her awaiting hole. He held her eye contact as he slowly entered her warm cunt. Her eyes rolled back with the beginning of the stretch, her mouth falling slack as a groan pulled itself from her chest.

Jago had to keep focus on his breathing in order to not blow his load as soon as he bottomed out. Both moaning as their skin met. Jago began to slowly grind against her, letting the spot just above his cock apply sweet pressure against her still hard clit. In slow steady glides, he began to fuck her. Jago couldn’t decide where to look, his eyes moving between the delicious bounce of her soft belly, the sinful way her breasts swayed with each thrust, or her beautifully debauched face with her mouth wide and eyes rolled back.

She was still so tight around him, her muscles feeling as if they were trying to pull him in deeper and keep him there. The way her body moved with each slap of his hips muddied his mind, it was too much, it wasn’t enough. More. More. More. He needed more. He picked his pace up and pulled her knees up towards her shoulder to give him more access. Her pleas, and breathy yeses, filling his ears like the most beautiful music.

He pressed her hard into a mating press as he fucked into her. He could feel himself hitting her womb with each bottom out, his ball stinging deliciously each time they slapped against her plump ass. He was so fast and so rough that he could feel her juices spray against him with each pump, fucking her through another orgasm.

He leaned down and took a nipple into his mouth and sucked hard. She brought her hands into his hair and dug her nails into his scalp. He licked and bit and sucked on the sensitive nub before he moved to abuse the other. He grunted with ever thrust, the white-hot coil tightening in his core desperate to be let loose.

He folded her more, her moans turning into pretty little sobs at the assault of stimulation. He couldn’t hold himself back anymore, he needed to cum. He rested his head next to her ear as he moved his hands to under her ass, forcing her up to meet him with each thrust. He dug his fingers into the soft fat as she dug her nails into his back, a trickle of blood beginning to run from the force of her grip. “Cum for me, my little lamb. Let me feel you cum all over my cock. Show me how good I fuck your pathetic little cunt,” he growled.

She needed no other instruction, her muscles clamping down hard about him as she screamed through her climax. Jago tried to fuck her through her orgasm but the grip her muscles had about his hot cock was too much. “Oh fuck, I’m going to fill you with my cum. I’m going to keep you filled. You’ll be so pretty with my cum dripping down your legs FUCK,” and with that, Jago followed her over the edge. Roaring through his own climax, he felt his cum fill her. He pumped his hips a few more times, enjoying the feeling his seed lubricating her tight abused hole too much.

He stilled when the sensation became too painful, and he could hear his little lamb whine beneath him. Carefully, he pulled himself out and leaned back, watching as his spend leaked from her beautifully stretched hole. He got up to grab a towel from a shelf and came back to clean her up. He was a cruel man, but for a lover who took him so well, he became more compassionate.

Once she was clean of his leaking cum and the excess sweat wiped away, Jago stood by the edge of the bed. Looking down at the post orgasmic glow his little lamb had. He would fight in a hundred wars, kill thousands of men, just for this beautiful creature in his bed. She sleepily reached her arms out to him, and ever the giving man, Jago crawled into bed with her. He situated them till he was wrapped protectively around her. She was fast sleep by the time he had settled them. Nuzzling into the base of her skull, he took one more look down at the woman in his arms. The sight of his bite on her neck making him smile contently as he followed her into sleep.

[1lostsoul0fishbowl]

Pretending @talshiargirlfriend tagged me for this one too (you did say “anyone else who’d like to play” lol so here I am!)

First fic tag game 📖

Pick a fandom and post an excerpt of the first thing you ever wrote in that fandom. Could be a scene, part of a scene, a couple of lines, whatever your first foray into writing for that fandom was. Feel free to include a link to the story it comes from if it’s been published (excerpts from WIPs count too).

Excerpt from the shield and the shepherd:

Not until her final class does it occur to her that this whispering, gossiping playing field has never been level, and all is only well if you’re willing to fall into place on Jason Carver’s team. She was pushed firmly back into her slot, and the view is fine from here. But Eddie—

“Did you hear?”

Eddie isn’t even on the opposite team.

”…beat the shit out of him…”

Eddie barely even has a team.

”…serves him right, fucking creep…”

Just a ragtag group of misfits he protects with his entire heart disguised as brashness, loud voice a deflection, leather jacket a shield against arrows and stones. Shielding his sheepies.

”…wonder if she actually…”

Lambs to the slaughter is an idiom for a reason. But nobody in Eddie Munson’s flock is going under that carving knife except him.

”…kidding me, she’s so boring…”

Chrissy Cunningham feels anything but boring at this moment.

There is something rapidly boiling up inside her, smothering helplessness in white hot rage, burning straight through to her core. She has reached her breaking point. She can stand silently no longer.

The crackling flames roar in her ears.

Enough! Enough! ENOUGH!

She rises dangerous from the ashes, phoenix with narrowed eyes, shield forged impenetrable. Ready to be enough.

read the shield and the shepherd on ao3

No-pressure tags: @krakoansam @here-for-the-vibe @smokefurball @pearlypairings @hellcheercaine

[ox-imagines]

In the Vault

Tohma Ishibashi x f!reader

2.5k words

CW: smut. sex. MINORS DNI!!

“Come with me,” your boyfriend’s voice was hushed, unusually urgent, his arm hooked tightly to yours. Tohma had asked you to meet him at Frostheim’s dorm; you’d barely made it through the door before he’d latched to you to whisk you away. He led you to the grand, icy staircase, taking you downstairs. To the Vault, you presumed. Your feet moved quickly to keep up with him down the stairs.

“Is something wrong?”

He didn’t answer, his eyes fixed ahead. Once you reached the hall at the end of the staircase, he wasted no time in pulling you through the door. As soon as the door was closed your back met the cold wall. Tohma had you caged, his steely gaze darkened and locked to yours, his chest rising and falling harder than it should’ve been. “I’m- sorry for this lapse in judgment, but…” his eyes trailed down your form before his lips met yours roughly. Your head was pressed back to the wall for a brief moment until his hand replaced the hard surface, his fingers tangling in your hair as he kissed you more insistently. Though shocked, you yielded to him, your hands running up his back as you parted your lips enough for him to slip his tongue in. He groaned into the warmth of your mouth and fully pressed his body to yours. The unmistakable bulge already tenting his pants rubbed against you and he huffed softly, his eyes fluttering closed as he pressed his hips harder against yours. When he was out of breath, he pulled away and began loosening his tie. “Here,” he panted, gesturing toward his desk.

A shiver of anticipation ran through you and you did as you were told, moving to sit on the edge of the table. 

His sharp eyes darkened predatorily and he shook his head slightly. “Oh no, love. Turn around.”

His words went straight to your core and blood pounded in your ears as you turned to face the desk. He hummed appreciatively, the sound accompanied by the soft fabric rustle of him discarding his jacket and top on one of the chairs. You expected the sound of his belt next, but instead were greeted by the warmth of him behind you. His large hand moved your hair over and his lips connected to the sensitive skin of your neck, his other hand intently fondling over your hips and breasts. He began unbuttoning your shirt, the Vault’s cold air embracing your skin as he revealed it. After a moment, he released you and stepped back. “Finish undressing.” The tone he used made it clear to you he’d be watching you do so, his voice dripping with piquant lust. 

While you did as you were told, the sound of him undoing his belt finally greeted you. You trembled, an innate, unintended reaction to the noise. You could imagine the hungry smirk on his face as he watched. Ignoring your better judgment, you stole a glance behind you at him. His pants were undone and pushed down enough to free his bulge, veins faintly trailing paths up his defined abdomen from under the edge of his boxers; his muscular forearms flexed as he removed his monocle and gloves. He caught you looking and raised an eyebrow. 

“Did I say you could turn around?” Though Tohma’s tone was soft, you knew better than to trust it. It was the voice of a shepherd addressing his flock, but you were a lamb being led to slaughter. You immediately faced away from him again and the click of his shoes against the tile drew near to you. You’d stripped down to your undergarments despite being instructed to finish undressing. Such impudence wouldn’t be permitted. Two of his fingers slipped between your skin and the fabric at your hip, drawing it away from you. “What’s this?” It was a rhetorical question; you held your tongue. He knew you knew your mistake the same way you knew not to answer the question. Behind you, he crouched slowly, sliding your underwear down your legs. A brief tap on your ankle signaled for you to step out of them. “I’ll be keeping these as payment for your little transgression until I see fit to return them.” Great. You’d be going back across campus to your dorm without underwear, then. He smirked softly at how wet the garment was, the thought of how wet you must be.

You placed your palms on the desk in front of you for support as you began to feel lightheaded. His fingers ghosted just above your spine, sending a shiver through you, then unclasped your bra with practiced ease and slid the straps from your shoulders.

“Bend over.” The statement was nothing short of a command. An ecstatic flurry of butterflies swirled in your stomach as you obeyed, leaning down onto the desk. The icy surface quickly sapped your skin’s warmth, but you didn’t mind; you were far more focused on the fire burning hot at your core. Fingers rubbed carefully between your legs, prodding, teasing, his skin cool against your heat. He didn’t provide enough pressure or depth to give you any gratification, no, only enough to further excite you. Meanwhile, his other hand slipped up your back, lightly and tauntingly, before sliding into your hair. 

All at once, his hand was gone, his torso was pressed to your back, and, consequentially from how he was now laying against you, his arousal pressed against your ass. You could feel his warmth through the fabric of his boxers, the way he was straining against the garment. “Now,” he whispered, his breath tickling your shoulder, “I wish I could take my time with you today, but unfortunately I do have other business to attend to, so we’ll have to make this quick.” As soon as his warmth had appeared over you, it was gone again. Though you missed the feeling of him blanketing you, you wouldn’t trade it for the sight of him. Long, even strides carried him around to the other side of the desk. There wasn’t a single visible sign on his lithe, confident form that would suggest he was bothered by the frigid air of the Vault; just lean, rippling muscle and that perpetual smug smirk. He knelt and opened a drawer, producing a nondescript box. You couldn’t see in it from where you were, but as he returned the box to its spot, you caught the increasingly familiar sight of a shiny square of plastic in his hand.

You stifled an anticipatory whine as you watched him circle back around the desk toward you, condom in hand. “Somebody seems quite ready, hm?” He chuckled, a warm, deep amusement in his voice that belied his usual chilled demeanor. “Don’t worry, love,” he leaned toward you once more, his lips brushing your ear and his voice dropping hair-raisingly. “I’ll give you everything you want and more.” In one swift motion, he tangled his hand back into your hair, his forearm pressing along your spine as he shoved you back down toward the desk. Your breath fogged the polished surface of his desktop. “Look at you,” he purred as he drew back, admiring you. His voice was accompanied by the crinkle and tear of the condom’s wrapper, then a soft hiss from him as he freed his cock from his boxers. You felt his warmth draw near before you even felt his touch. “We don’t have time for the prep I usually give you, love, but you’ll be fine,” his voice was like honey in your ears; thick, warm, sweet; convincing you you’d be fine, telling you you’d be fine. “You always take me so well.” 

This time you couldn’t restrain yourself from letting out a whimper, his words and tone coaxing it out of you almost willingly. 

“Good girl,” he was smiling wickedly as he stepped closer, placing his hands on your waist and lightly squeezing. He leaned closer, kissing your back, the softness of his lips turning into a subtle sting as he marked you. Fresh, purple bruises bloomed on your skin as he worked, scattered among fading yellow ones. As he leaned in to you, his cock brushed against you; it was so deliberate, everything he did was so deliberate. His level of self-control was immeasurable, you figured; how else could he possibly maintain such composure whilst so obviously aroused?

One of his hands left you, his body drawing back from yours, and you tensed in anticipation. A soft, thoughtful hum left him, then he put his hand back, lifting your hips up with ease and using his foot to slide your legs further apart. You sighed eagerly at his effortless manhandling, your eyes fluttering as you let your weight shift more onto the desk.

He set you down, one hand once again moving off of you as the other slid lower, to the side of your thigh. Then he was close again, closer this time, his tip pressing against your slick lips before pushing in. A throaty, appreciative hum escaped him as the wet-hot tightness of your walls swallowed him. Meanwhile, whimpers and whines fell from your lips at the painful sting, as if he was splitting you in half. He pressed in, stretching you, his fingers curling into your plush thigh and his other hand coming to rest on your shoulder.

The pain melted into pleasure as he filled you, a strangled gasp falling from your lips as his length pressed familiarly against your sweet spot. “Tohma,” you breathed his name out quietly as a satisfied ecstasy flooded you. You needed more, so much more, but even now you felt so full of him, and it felt so right.

“I suppose that means you’re ready then, love.” His tone was devious, corruptive; you could hear his expression, his grin and his darkened, narrowed eyes. He knew full well you’d hardly had enough time to adjust to his girth, but it didn’t matter. After all, you were on his time and under his control. Without further warning, he pulled nearly all the way out of you with a barely-audible sough, followed by a marginally louder moan as he thrusted back in, hard. You yelped, but didn’t even have time to recover as he repeated the motion again, and again, and again, setting a relentless pace.

“Such a pretty little slut for me, hm? So sweet and obedient and needy,” the mild degradation was spoken tenderly, more like an admiration even as his words sent chills up your spine and drew more whines from you. Each sentiment was punctuated with another forceful thrust.

You moaned pitifully as he fucked you into his desk without repreive. The sturdy wooden fixture bore witness to nearly every aspect of Tohma’s life with how much time he spent in the Vault nowadays, so it was only right it got to witness and participate in this scene. It supported you as it bit into your thighs, each of Tohma’s thrusts driving you harder against its polished surface, each slam of his hips sending another wave of heat through your stomach and another burst of stars behind your eyes.

His name was drawn out of you incessantly, a desperately mewled plea. By now the side of your face was pressed into his desk, the appliance and Tohma’s grip on your waist the only things holding you up now. Your knees were pressed into the front panel of the desk lest your shaky legs gave out and the top half of you was melted onto the desktop. Despite the Vault’s chill air, a sheen of sweat glistened over your body; drool pooled between the corner of your mouth and the desk as mental faculty gradually gave way to delusion. 

Like a spring being coiled tighter, tension spread through your body, each of Tohma’s thrusts somehow sending even more pleasure crashing through you than the last. “P- pleasee,” you begged to be released from the ever-increasing tautness spreading through every inch of your body, more a noise than a word.

“I know, love,” Tohma’s voice was mildly strained, his breathing ragged, but his tone was still smug, velvety. Of course he knew you were close; you were splayed tensely under him, the exertive tightness in your every muscle causing you to tremble a little more with every second that passed. The hand that had braced him against your shoulder slid down callowly, a sharp contrast to his usual deliberation. His fingers found your clit, rubbing harsh circles against it as he tried to keep the pace of his thrusts steady.

You were gasping for breath, a futile cause as the air you took in left in the form of wanton moans. Shaking uncontrollably, your walls clamped down on his length, drawing a sharp inhale and then louder groans from the ghoul. His lips were on your back again, the softness of the gesture a stunning foil to the intensity of literally every other action between you at the moment. “Good… come undone for me, yes,” he mumbled against your hot, damp skin. You had no other choice but to obey, the words breaking down your final vestiges of control.

Tohma held you as you cried out, his hand leaving your increasingly sensitive nerve bundle so he could wrap his arm around your waist. You trembled violently, clenching rhythmically around him, your hands balled into fists against the desks. Your head began to clear rather slowly, his thrusts easing up without fully stopping; moments later he bit into your back to muffle himself, his moans vibrating against your skin. Panting, he stilled. His softening cock still inside you, he laid against your back, his arms loosely wrapped around you while he calmed himself down.

“Thank you,” Tohma whispered after a long, quiet respite, lifting himself from you. “Here, love, let’s get you presentable.” He tenderly helped you stand up, picking you up once you’d faced him and gently setting you on his desk. After quickly stepping away to retrieve his pocket square from his jacket, he returned and knelt before you, carefully wiping you clean with the rich, soft piece of fabric. It was set aside while he gathered your clothes (besides your underwear, of course) and helped you into them, straightening them out caringly and fixing your hair. With you taken care of, he turned his attention to himself, removing and disposing of the condom and retrieving the pocket square to wipe himself off as well.

He tucked himself back into his boxers and re-zipped his pants, then looked up at you with a fiendish grin. “Since I have something of yours…” he tucked the damp, stained pocket square into your hand, chuckling as he turned to finish dressing. You couldn’t help but watch the way his muscles rippled under his skin as he pulled his shirt on. “Now, why don’t you go home and take a nice warm shower? Have some water or tea after.” He leaned into a sweet kiss, any hint of his domineering facade melted away as he cared for you. “If I don’t see you tonight, I’ll at least make sure to message. I love you.” With one more kiss and a faint smirk, he sent you on your way, leaving you to walk across campus sore and with nothing on under your skirt.

[lakesbian]

welcome to my post about why blake and rose from the wildbow webserial "pact" are doppelgangers of each other, which fucks

a doppelganger is literally defined as someone who looks identical to another person (while being unrelated to them), and while rose and blake look very similar because they are male and female iterations of the same person, no one is going to be mistaking them for each other. so one may ask: then how in the world are they doppelgangers. (it's me, i asked myself that while trying to figure out why i instinctively called them doppelgangers.) to which the answer is: they tick virtually every other box that doppelgangers are associated with so precisely that they've managed to become the world's first set of doppelgangers who do not actually look identical

doppelgangers are frequently written as unnerving due to unclear origin and intent--a doppelganger's lack of appearance distinct from a preexisting character is often associated with lack of a distinct & traceable identity, which is consequently associated with lack of clear intent, which means potential for ill intent. they are often intuitively interpreted as a potential threat encroaching on a place in the world that only one person was supposed to be able to fill. the "evil twin" type of horror story, the idea of being interchangeable with someone or something else who steals your life. maybe they follow the theft up by ruining or hurting who or what you cared about. maybe they just keep living cheerfully in your place while you're locked out. either way, the core idea is the horror of being completely replaceable.

and that's fundamentally what blake and rose are polarized against each other over. the central determining factor in their relationship is the fact that, even before they realize it, they're in a fight over who gets to exist. they used to be the same person, but that person got ontologically torn in half, and only one of the halves can fit in the space in the universe where the whole used to be. only one half gets to have the house, and the friends, and the feelings, and the life.

when rose is first introduced to blake, it's mysteriously and abruptly. rose is clearly frazzled and confused herself, she states clear intent to help blake, and blake quickly receives proof that rose's message to him was life-saving. yet even before anything markedly suspicious occurs, he's still intrinsically afraid of--and right to be afraid of--theoretical hidden intent. rose is slated to replace him in his own life while he acts as a lamb to slaughter for her, she knows it, she hides it from him, and she does take his place as intended. it's only by a sort of cosmically fortunate misfortune that blake still exists afterwards to realize that his paranoia was validated and experience the rage and despair of watching her unknowingly reveal the mechanisms through which she deceived him to his friends, who are none the wiser about the fact that they ever knew him instead of rose.

then it's rose's turn after blake climbs back out of oblivion and barges back into her life--being erased from the universe's memory means that he was erased from her memory too, and now she's the one in the spot of questioning how she could ever prove that this person who looks exactly like her-but-wrong (and knows so much about her life, and talks like her sometimes, and acts like her sometimes) actually has the decent intents he claims he does. and after she learns where he truly came from--the cleaving of the person they both used to be--the fear is only stronger, because she knows that he has impetus to fight to replace her so that he can be the extant one.

and i've said all of this without citing specific excerpts from the book because it is much harder to find pact excerpts than worm excerpts, but i definitely remember multiple of the little moments that highlight these more overarching ideas: blake first seeing rose in the mirror and having to touch his chest and watch as the movement fails to align to verify that it's not him. blake finishing a sentence the same way as rose at the same time as her and rose's following displeasure. rose and blake's former friends standing in front of him once he's the one in the mirror, discussing him as a potential threat. it's Good. they both get their turn on being the doppelganger. they both get their turn on being the threat of replacement. it's good. when will the horror enjoying wormfans read pact and think about blake and rose with me.

[cosmerelists]

Help I can't stop making anagrams out of "Kaladin Stormblessed"

"I know!" I thought to myself. "I should make anagrams out of character names! And I'll start with Kaladin." (Note: an anagram is when you take all of the letters in a word or words and then rearrange them into new words.)

That was days ago. Please send help. There are so many anagrams I can make out of the name "Kaladin Stormblessed," and I haven't gotten to any other character. I guess the only thing to do now is to share them all?

So here are the best anagrams I found for "Kaladin Stormblessed"!

1. Most Sad Larkin Bleeds

What is Kaladin, if not a sad, flying creature who bleeds a lot?

2. A Most Sad Killer Bends

There he is, bending over, weeping. He just killed SO many people, but listen, he is so sad.

3. A Kind Storm, Sable Sled

If you can ride storm, it's kind. And since you're riding it and the clouds are black, it's your sable sled. It all makes sense!

4. Lost Lamb Sank, Dies Red

I'm just picturing a little lamb, bleeding, sinking into a river. That's Kaladin-core.

5. Soldiers Balk, Sent Mad

Imagine my delight when I saw the word "soldier" among those letters! I think this one speaks to soldiers who balk after they've been driven essentially mad by their experiences--you know, like the Bridge Men.

6. Dear Lamb, Kindest Loss

This one has overtones of a lamb being sent to the slaughter--the kindness type of loss, I guess, because the lamb was born for it. This one just feels sad, like when Kaladin's friends always die.

7. Killers Demand Boasts

Simple, cutting. People who kill are boastful, and they demand that everyone be like them. It's the Alethi way.

8. Dikes Master All Bonds

If there is one thing Kaladin knows, it's that lesbians can master anything.

9. Break Solids, Melt Sand

What does lightning do? It breaks solid things into pieces, and it melts sand into glass.

10. Likes Bold Trans Dames

Kaladin likes his trans women like he likes his coffee (?)--bold.

11. Dateless Dork Slam Bin

Listen, listen. My wife found the word "dateless." Then I found the word "dork." We had to do it. Kaladin IS kind of a dateless dork. What is a "slam bin," though, you ask? I assume that's where dateless dorks get put--into the slam bin.

12. Salted, Sad Boner Milks

...I blame my wife for this one. I may have found "boner milk," but the rest is all her.

[moyazaika]

oh SHIT I LOVE TALKING ABOUT WIPS!!! feels like edging my followers 💌💌😊👍 thanks for the tag harmonyyy <3 (copied ur formatting cus its 2 pretty 😓)

tag game rules; make a new post with the names of all the files in your WIP folder, regardless of how non-descriptive or ridiculous. let people send you an ask with the title that most intrigues them, and then post a little snippet or tell them something about it! then tag as many people as you have WIPS <3

ᯓᡣ𐭩 mea culpa ; this is the detective fic i've been working on for months that i rlly don't wanna spoil,, just look forward towards the end of this year for 15-20k words of an absolute mindfuck :)

ᯓᡣ𐭩 double trouble ; and it’s at the exact moment that you turn to book it to the safety of your room that strong arms wrap around you from behind. instinctively, you freeze, as someone lowers themselves to smile against your skin—

—a soft kiss to the nape of your neck, “finally found you, meri jaan.”

(inspired by the childhood best friend concept i posted about a while ago, but with double the crazy yup)

ᯓᡣ𐭩 saccharine ; you make him feel like his head is full of fucking popping candy - but he's always had a bit of a sweet tooth, so won't you be a darling and let him sink his teeth into you, pretty please?

ᯓᡣ𐭩 lamb to the slaughter ; beneath the facade of your new idyllic life, unease festers. Eden seems to be shrouded in a constant fog. The townspeople's laughter rings too loud, and their smiles stretch too wide. who is this mysterious man they call Father?

. . . and why do you feel like you're being hunted?

that's it from me HAHA i wanna tag @yandere-yearnings , @ozzgin , @darling--core , @carnivorousyandeere (๑•̀ㅂ•́)و✧ no pressure, just would adore to hear you guys ramble about what ur cooking up xoxo

[gynandromorph]

In a high school English class there was a conservative boy I hated and he hated me back as an obvious dyke and in this particular class we were debating and it was about whether torture is ever morally right and we went back and forth and he said so if you would save our whole society by torturing a TERRORIST you think it'd be wrong? It'd be wrong to save millions of people for one terrorist and I said if it's a society that needs to torture anyone to exist maybe it shouldn't exist at all and the teacher cut the debate short at that point because we were both getting heated (and everybody clapped etc etc) but what I'm saying is. Even as an adolescent I could not justify doing something to someone I could see as a Bad Person that I would not be willing to risk doing to someone who is innocent and there is something deeply, profoundly sick at the core of a society that worships punishment and revenge like idols above life and dignity, a society that would slaughter a million lambs just to find the wolf instead of finding something wrong with the very idea

[yelesomeblue]

Finally part 5 of Fazbear "wins" but not really.

Here we go based in @sinclairmaxwellao3 "Lambs and Slaughters" mafia au fanfiction

After using magic to rip Fazbear off of Moon, Kill Code showed no mercy in using a few binding spells to pin the bear to the wall and with a clenched fist and a sharp yanking motion ripped the robotic Bear's core from his chest. He watched with cold clinical eyes as the life slowly faded from the sick bastard's eyes. Kill Code quickly turned his attention to his trembling moonlight. He snapped the golden chains tying up Moon's arms and broke the ones connecting his ankles then scooped him up into his arms holding him close. Moon's form quaked and shook in the larger animatronic's arms as he sobbed silently, the only sounds being his vents roaring as they worked overtime to cool him down.

The Bloodmoon twins launched themselves toward Moonrise and Sun. The twin with the star hat slammed into Moonrise with all the force of a semi truck while the twin with the striped hat snatched up Sun before he could fall and hit the ground. The star twin proceeded to duke it out with Moonrise, he ripped off half of Moonrise's right arm, slash his side with his claws, and he's pretty sure he dislocated one of his knees. Moonrise wasn't about to go down easy and managed to stab the star twin in the eye. The twin screamed in pain and rage and plunged his hands into Moonrise's chest and started ripping out whatever he could grab.

Sun flinched hard when the twin screamed and let out soft wheezing sobs. The striped twin held him closer tucking his head under his chin and whispering soothing words though he glanced to his twin in concern but found he had already finished and was walking back over to them.

"We're leaving," Kill Code commanded walking out the ruined doorway with Moon cradled in his arms. The twins followed right behind carrying their own precious cargo. Eclipse and Ruin fell into step with their family as they left this godforsaken building A message was sent for the repair bay to be prepped.

(Got a little bit carried away bit here y'all go, hope y'all enjoyed this little thing my mind dreamt up)

[zapreportsblog]

Sukuna’s Godly Husband

➥ summary : Yumi (M/n) had originally been offered up to the King of Curses, Sukuna as a sacrificial bride for his people so that they may be spared. In other words he was a lamb waiting to be slaughtered but something unexpectedly happened the King of Curses Sukuna took the human in to his temple and under the engraved stone walls, Yumi (M/n) had been declared the bride of Sukuna, forced to bare his marking on his shoulder and stripped of his human name.

➥ chapter 2: The Encounter with Sukuna

The journey to Sukuna's temple was long and treacherous. As I traversed through dense forests and climbed steep mountain paths, a mix of apprehension and anticipation coursed through my veins. The legends surrounding the king of curses painted a terrifying picture, but I remained resolute, prepared to face whatever lay ahead.

Finally, after days of travel, I reached the entrance of Sukuna's temple—an imposing structure shrouded in an eerie silence. The stone steps leading to the entrance stretched before me, weathered and worn from countless sacrificial brides who had come before. It was here, at the threshold between the mortal world and the realm of curses, that I would present myself, just as those who had faced this fate before me.

With a deep breath, I prostrated myself on the stone steps, arms outstretched, palms pressed against the cold surface. It was a gesture of surrender, of acknowledging the power that Sukuna held over me and our village. I hoped that by presenting myself willingly, I could somehow gain favor in his eyes and fulfill my role as the sacrificial bride.

As I lay there, my thoughts swirled with a mix of fear, determination, and curiosity. I wondered what Sukuna's reaction would be when he emerged from his temple and laid eyes on me. Would he unleash his wrath upon me like he had done to the others, or would he spare me as a gesture of amusement? The uncertainty gnawed at my core, but I steeled myself, ready to face whatever destiny had in store.

Time passed slowly, each second feeling like an eternity. Then, finally, as if on cue, the ground rumbled beneath me, announcing the arrival of Sukuna. My heart raced as the temple doors creaked open, revealing a figure wreathed in darkness. Sukuna emerged, his presence commanding and his aura imbued with an otherworldly power.

For a brief moment, Sukuna's eyes locked with mine, his gaze piercing through the depths of my soul. There was an inscrutable intensity in his eyes, a flicker of curiosity that seemed to dance within the darkness. Instead of the expected violence, Sukuna's lips curled into a wry smile—an unexpected twist of fate.

In a swift and fluid motion, Sukuna moved toward me. His extra pair of arms, elongated and sinewy, wrapped around my body with a gentle yet firm grip. As he lifted me from the stone steps, I couldn't help but marvel at his sheer strength, tempered by a delicate touch.

Together, Sukuna and I crossed the threshold into his temple—a realm filled with an eerie ambiance, adorned with ancient artifacts and symbols of power. The air crackled with an unknown energy, sending shivers down my spine. I couldn't help but wonder what awaited me within these hallowed halls.

Meanwhile, at a distance from the temple, the village elders stood in silence, their eyes fixed on the exchange between Sukuna and me. They had anxiously watched as I presented myself, fearing the worst. Yet, they too witnessed Sukuna's unexpected reaction—an acceptance, a willingness to humor the chosen sacrificial bride.

Realizing the significance of the moment, one of the elders hurriedly made their way back to the village, ready to share the news. Word would spread like wildfire, igniting a mixture of relief, hope, and perhaps even a glimmer of optimism. Sukuna, the king of curses, had accepted their chosen one, Yumi (M/n), as the sacrificial bride.

As the elder's footsteps faded into the distance, I found myself standing within the confines of Sukuna's temple. The enigmatic king of curses, a figure both feared and revered, had chosen to spare me—for now. What lay ahead, I could only imagine. But I knew that my journey had just begun, and the challenges that awaited me in the realm of curses would test my resolve like never before.

With determination burning in my heart, I prepared to face the unknown, eager to discover the depths of Sukuna's intentions and the potential for salvation that lay hidden within the heart of darkness.

[jyoungbloodvo]

How I Characterize The Lamb (Part 1/?)

Y'ever just make up a backstory and whole personality for The Lamb as you play the game? Here's mine. >:3

Before the "Silencing of the Lambs", our little lamb was their town's librarian. Let's call them...Lux. Lux's library contained vast amounts of history and stories from across the land, yet, none were of the Old Faith. If anything, Lux was a true nonbeliever. They didn't believe any of the figureheads of the Old Faith even existed, and the concept of godhood was something they believed only existed in fairy tales. They were a scholar first and foremost, helping those within their building with reading and even telling stories to the young ones at night.

But even then, Lux was alone, personally. They spent most of their time tending to their library, but outside of that, they were generally quiet, reserved, speaking only if needed, and if they were seen outside their library, they were most likely reading a book about the fauna surrounding the land or an old myth from ages ago.

Then the slaughter came.

Lux was a coward, they would say so themselves. All they did was try and find a place to hide as they witnessed their kin become corpses. The few who hid with them only survived as long as they did due to Lux having retained some survival tips from one of their books. Though, sadly, they didn't last long.

Their town was destroyed beyond recognition. The library and all its contents were burnt to ash. And the bodies of every single lamb lay in a pool of blood, sinew, and bone. All but one.

Lux was alone. Truly alone. They wandered the lands, fearing for their life with every step. They came across a farmer, and I'm sure some of you know where that lead to.

They were kept prisoner by the followers of the Old Faith for a good month or so. Not because they had to continue the search, no. They just wanted them broken for their final moments.

Malnourished, scared, and shaken to their core, they were brought before them. They they were, as clear as crystal. The Bishops of the Old Faith. He of Chaos. She of Famine. He of Pestilence. They of War. They were as real as the ground their knees laid upon.

Their words were muffled to them, but they knew that they spoke of their soon to be execution. Their head lay on the stone...and suddenly, everything went white. A void of pure nothingness except for 3 figures in the distance.

Lux never believed in an afterlife. They never believed in gods. But their one true god stood in chains before them. The One Who Waits. He of Death.

They were given the red crown, and of course, were resurrected. But only one emotion was shown as they were brought back. Rage. Pure anger, for their brethren, for their years of work gone to ash, and because they were wrong. Wrong about everything. Wrong about their faith, their role in the universe.

They still can't recall exactly what they did in that moment. Only that they remember being drenched in blood. All they could do was scream in horror. They were never a fighter, in fact they hated violence. But they did this? All by themselves? What kind of power were they given?

And that's just the start of the game XD