#like. oh. this is a mercy killing isn't it

[captorations]

obviously i'm over a decade late to the party but i can't pretend i didn't walk into the final boss of dark souls 1 and get gutpunched by music that, instead of being epic or climactic in any way, was kingdom hearts levels of somber and beautiful and tear-inducing

[peachyutdr]

i finished it, was kicked out of the game, and then spent the next 10 minutes drawing this. i will now go take a shower, most likely cry, and then go through the emotional turmoil of convincing myself to reset so i can do a geno run. i hate it here :D

[memento-morri-writes]

whump wednesday - part iii

tw / tags: concussion, blood, bleeding out, loss of consciousness character: Rook (who else?) status: canon (took place several irl months ago as part of Rook’s first “Horrible, Very Bad, No-Good Weekend”.) wordcount: 525

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

Another continuation from earlier. The party has now made it back to the Winters' manor. Having lost a lot of blood since being revived (on top of his concussion), Rook is in pretty bad shape. His mentor, Sigmar, is attempting to get him to the Winters' healers.

Rook’s eyes drifted closed, the oblivion of sleep calling to him. A sharp prod at his side dragged them reluctantly back open.  “Rook, you need to stay awake. Just a little bit longer, until a healer can have a look at you.” Sigmar’s voice was serious as he half-dragged, half-carried Rook down the hall of the Winters’ manor.  Rook groaned in response. He was exhausted, and every inch of his body ached. He wanted nothing more than to close his eyes and fall headlong into unconsciousness. Sigmar prodded him again. “Tell me what happened to you. How you ended up in this state.”

Rook thought hard for a moment. How had he ended up like this? He remembered Celestia, and healing the party, and then- Oh, right. He started to explain, his words running together as he spoke. “This werewolf guy showed up. Deadringer?” Sigmar’s body tensed but he said nothing. “And he wanted Warren. Warren and Cherry, I think.” He paused, trying to remember what had happened after that. “He… he wanted to hurt them. So I told him he’d have to go through me first. And he said ‘Deal.’ and threw me across the room. I… I think one of his werebeasts killed me.” He felt rather than saw Sigmar shake his head. “I should never have left you. If I’d known she’d bring Deadringer into this… I shouldn’t have let you go off to fight someone like him without me.” Once again, Rook was surprised at the weight of the emotion in his mentor’s voice. He wanted to say It’s not your fault. Or maybe, I would have done it anyway, but his mouth wouldn’t cooperate. So instead he just rested his head on Sigmar’s shoulder. The damp chill that had come over him on the way here was getting stronger and he leaned into Sigmar’s warmth. “‘S cold,” he mumbled. Sigmar picked up the pace a bit, a worried edge creeping into his voice. “Come on, come on. Just a little further.” Rook’s eyes were heavy, and his awareness of the world was fading. He heard a door open, was vaguely aware of a brightly lit, white-painted room, of being laid down on a bed. He could hear people talking urgently, unfamiliar voices joining Sigmar’s. His muddled mind only caught fragments of their words. “Concussion… Severe… Significant blood loss… Not enough… ”  Sigmar’s raised voice cut through the fog. “Help him, damn you!” It sounded very far away, as though coming from another room. Multiple sets of hands touched his skin, and the familiar warmth of healing magic (when had being healed become familiar again?, he wondered dimly) flooded his body. The cold, clammy feeling faded away. The constant pain he had stopped registering some time ago subsided, leaving blissful neutrality in its wake. His head cleared slightly too, blurred reality coming back into focus for a brief moment. Distant voices reached his ears, borne by that momentary clarity. “It’s safe for him to sleep now. He’ll be fine after some rest.” As if his body needed no further reassurance, Rook’s mind relaxed, and within seconds he sank into a deep sleep.

[sysig]

It’s hard to put on a bright face, in spite of everything (Patreon)

[autisticcole]

Heheheheheho I have gotten some of the Dragon Age books (🏴‍☠️) and this is gonna really let me dig into some stuff, especially my favorite guy Cole, cause now I can read his OG appearance, I want to see how much stuff Cole says, especially during his quest actually makes sense, and how much is in-universe "both sides are right"ing about not listening to what Cole wants to do.

I am mainly talking about Spirit!Cole thanking Inky for not making him change... Despite the fact that thoughout Cole's quest Solas ignores what Cole wants (Like being binded) & wants to do (Kill the guy who beat beyond beating a 12 (at most) year old (most likely, it isn't outright stated (to my memory) the Templar who fucked up the paperwork was also one of the ones who physically abused him, but I feel it's a pretty safe assumption) & got that child killed due to neglect & faced no consequences) but ultimately the choice that causes Cole to thank the player for not changing him is the one where you listen to Solas over Cole (Or well Varric, who also doesn't let Cole do what he wants but is closer to what Cole would have done if he had went alone for the confrontation) & in this route I would say Cole's character changes a lot more, especially as he forgets the original Cole, which... Rubs me wrong, but I'll save my more detailed thoughts for 1. After I fully read Asunder & 2. Either a full Cole analysis or a detailed post about my thoughts on his quest & routes (& maybe how I'd rewrite them, as a Autistic person & a ally to the aroace community)

Anyways my point is that I want to see how true it is characters rejected or wanted to change Cole, I want to see what leads him to feel that having two men argue & tell him who he is supposed to be & do only to have a third person decide out of those two's options for what he should do is remotely a situation where he's been accepted.

[obligatory-name-change]

thinkbing about. him

[abyssembraced]

Perhaps surprisingly, Ghost is actually quite merciful in a fight!

In general, they're a lot more reactive than they are proactive.

They do always give it their all in battle, and I suppose in that sense they could be considered rather ruthless. They'll never "go easy" on an opponent, since they don't actually know how to. They've never been in a situation before where doing such a thing would be relevant or useful. Everything they've fought during their life has either been Infected, a lesser creature that they're hunting for SOUL, or a highly skilled warrior that warrants them using their full capabilities. If someone asked Ghost to go easy on them in a spar, they'd probably just be confused about what that even meant?

The closest thing they've experienced to "going easy" on someone is simply not wasting unnecessary resources on a weak opponent. For example, if a lone, regular Vengefly has decided to harass them, Ghost isn't going to bother expending their gathered SOUL and Void with a spell when it'll fall in one hit from their nail.

Though, they are also cautious about how Void affects non-Void beings when they're around someone they care about not killing. Hornet has probably drilled it into them enough that the substance their body is made of is extremely dangerous to regular bugs dgshshfs. Plus they've seen examples of what Void can do to a bug from sources other than themself. Fortunately though, their Void infused spells (Abyss Shriek, Shade Soul, Descending Dark) are generally still safe enough to use in spars!

But, whether they fight and how long the fight lasts actually depends entirely on the other person. Ghost doesn't typically make the first strike or initiate a battle, and in cases where they do (such as the Mantis Lords fight), they make their intentions very clear with a challenge first. They aren't one for sneak attacks.

If someone attacks them, then they will fight back with all their might. But, if their opponent stops fighting, then they will too.

Against Infected foes, this usually means a fight to the death anyway, since due to the Radiance's influence, the enemy will not stop trying to kill Ghost until they either succeed or die trying. But against uninfected opponents like Hornet and the Mantis Lords, they can surrender, retreat, or even talk to Ghost safely without Ghost trying to go in for the kill. Even if that opponent was intending to kill Ghost themself. And for Infected and uninfected opponents alike, if they stagger, then Ghost will stop and wait for them, just to see if the fight is done or not.

If their opponent insists on fighting, though, then Ghost will never retreat themself, no matter how badly they get hurt. They'll keep fighting until their mask breaks, and even beyond that once they have Void Heart and can survive without it. Even in simple sparring matches. Self-preservation... Is not their strong suit dhdhshf.

This also means that my Ghost would not have killed the non-aggressive Infected enemies under most circumstances. In particular, they definitely never killed the other maggots (False Knight's siblings). Not only were those guys non-aggressive; they were sapient, terrified of Ghost, did not want to fight and very clearly showed this by actively running away. Ghost did not kill them. There was no reason to. Hell, I always feel really bad killing them for the Hunter's Journal entries lmao.

Regarding the Hunter's Journal entries, actually, for the enemies that they wouldn't have killed many of (if any at all), and perhaps even just in general, I'm inclined to say that Ghost still has the entries written down, but did so after just observing the specimens rather than killing them? Plus maybe also by inspecting the bodies of already dead creatures, like how you get the Garpede entry.

At least the initial entries anyway, which I like to think were actually written by Ghost. They probably don't have any of the "second tier" entries physically in the journal, considering that some of them (e.g. The direct quotes from the Warrior Dreams) make no sense for Ghost to know. But for the ones written specifically by the Hunter, maybe Ghost would pop by to show him their journal from time to time, and that's when he'd give them his input on Hallownest's creatures?

[telomirage]

oh damn. she doesn't believe in kindness. and we are drilling right down into that

[midnite-c6]

knife play with nam-gyu during hide and seek..nghgfn..

no bcuz ure so real. why was he so hot in that. he was singing. talking abt one night stands. he was so horny. he was so yummy. this one no proofread:(.

warnings: 18+, sex, knifeplay (knife would scratch u just a lil’ bit), blood kink, cunnilingus during hide & seek, dubcon, object fucking :3, nam-gyu x fem!reader

人｡⁠*ﾟ⁠+ oh no! you were red, and he was blue! you frowned as you looked at him from the other side, the only "ally" you had. once the rules were announced, he'd immediately come to you, with his hands pressed together: "c'mon, can you even kill with that? i know you can't." he says, on his knees, drugged-out of his mind. "please, please, let's switch teams, just let me have it, hm?" his hands were already holding the handle of the sword, like he knows you'd give in immediately. the sharp blade would accidentally scrape his finger and he winces, "fff...m'bleeding." "sorry." you immediately mumbled. seeing the blood drip down to the palm of his already bloodied-up hands from the previous games. "make it feel better—" he catches you off-guard by shoving the bleeding finger past your lips, you choke. "give me the sword, c'mon! don't be difficult, jeez." he stares right into you, into how you were getting used to the metallic taste of his blood.

of course you give in.

"fuck yes! thank you, thank youuuu..." you stare at the big wide grin plastered on his lips, "we're gonna team up, yeah?" a big hand tugging lightly on the key necklace wrapped around your neck, "g'nna find you, and thank you... you for bein' such a good teammate—" when he was overdosing with drugs, he was more vocal. he talked more, but you can't help but shake the fact he's sounding just like thanos right about now. "...thought you were a stupid cunt, in the midst of it all, but you're so smart!"

wow. fuck him.

⊂•✧～⁠｡⁠☆ 🔪

the hide and seek game finally starts, and you're quivering in your boots! where were you gonna hide? you hear "player 124, pass" just a few minutes ago, so you try your best to stay alive, hiding in a small room your key had opened. were you so sure that he'd be finding you? he was overdosed! of course he'd forget you the second you leave his sight.

these thoughts however, leave your mind when you hear his silly voice, humming a famous song about love and whatnot. you also hear echoes of your name being called out, guess he didn't forget about you.

⁠‿⁠•⁠⊂⁠ *⁠.⁠✧

atleast now you know you're safe. well... at the very least, the safest place you could be is right underneath him, legs spread with him in-between, and the sword you offered to give him as he glides the smooth blade against your clothes. "nam-gyu... i... anyone could kill us, kill me...!" he just laughs. "you're not thinkin' right, ah... no-one's gonna kill you, m'right here." he says as to assure you, "and i won't kill you, because i've already passed right? and this is just a small lil’ thank you gesture." you nod, just staring at him with all the utmost trust you could give. afterall, he's the one holding the knife.

his shakings hands (not from fear but from the pills) that's holding the sword, slowly rips the hem of your shirt. "nam-gyu! they're not gonna give me new clothes—!" he quickly points the knife to your face, and you freeze. "shhhh. don't worry, all you do is worry!" the cold blade would press slightly against your lips. "this isn't about you, can't you understand that? we're gonna do what i want." he brings the sword back to your shirt, slowly ripping the fabric in half to see your bra underneath, "i-i don't want other people to see me naked," you frowned, "fuck, you keep complaining, i'm just getting to the good part." he groans in annoyance, his clouded eyes glaring at you with disgust, while you stare back like you were begging for mercy.

he'd rip your bra too. his mouth would immediately latch onto one of your nipples, whilst the other sensitive bud feeling the cold, metal knife. "fuck. i miss this... you're so cute ’n weak." he'd bite at the hardened bud, eyes staring at you. "you know you want this too? even how everyone's dyin', you want to get fucked. by me. of all people." he'd lick a long stripe against your cleavage. "m'so glad that jerk thanos is dead, for sure he'd fuck you too. and you'd gladly take it."

"guess that's just how sluts think. ’ts okay, thanos told me alot ’bout girls like you." "m'not a slut..." he'd snicker to himself, the way you were trying to defend yourself despite the situation was quite ironic. "you act like one," the sword would move on to rip the fabric in-between your thighs. his eyes would light up, seeing the pool of pure wetness and arousal at the center of your underwear... so delicious. so easy to eat it all up. "you're wet like how a slut would be in this situation, y'know that?" he'd grin wide. knowing full well he's right.

the knife would drag to rip your panties, he wasn't gentle with it, "careful!" he was careful enough not to accidentally cut off your clit or something, but he couldn't care less either way. "awww. but it's just missin' something." the blade would slice through the supple flesh of your inner thighs. just a small slice. just enough for blood to drip down. it didn't hurt much, but you'd still wince. "oopsies." he smiled, "what- what for! s-stop! you hurt me!" he'd point the knife again to your neck, just to stop you from always complaining. "can't you take it like a slut too?" his head would dive in-between your legs, his tongue darting down at the slice he'd give, further smearing it on your thighs. your hands would instinctively tug on his hair. "nam-gyu! we can't do this!"

"don't tell me what to do, we do what i want. i'm the one holdin' the knifeeee..." he speaks like he's drunk. his tongue would move to your folds, then to your clit, but not too long, he doesn't want you to be too pleased by him. just enough to hear you squirm. "nam-gyu!" he'd play with you. smearing your own juices and own blood together, tasting absolute perfection for a pyschopath like him. and it feels good for you, him making you feel better because he hurt you. that's what you like to think. that he's still thinking of your pleasure. "y'wanna be fucked? tell me," you nod your head, the knife pointed at you would touch your neck, "yea-yea! wanna be fuck... fucked." "wow. didn't even put up a fight, you're sososo silly.."

he'd move the knife to the apex of your thighs. turning the handle to kiss your clit. "wanna fuck this?" you don't answer. "wanna fuck this little thing that's killed someone? you're so filthy." you whimper, but you couldn't reject him eitherway ! "take it. i know you follow orders, s'good.." he'd push the handle past your clenching hole, and you'd whine. the handle stretched you just right, but the plastic was an unfamiliar feeling. "nn.. nam-gyu.." he ducks to give some attention to your clit, maybe he's got some pity left in him. he'd make out with the glistening bundle of muscles, throbbing at his disposal. twitching at how he was making it so sensitive.

you think, over and over, when will this hide and seek game end? you shouldn't be into this. yet you are. "y'better cum or you won't win the gameee. everyone's playing hide and seek. you were playing a different and more fucked-up game.

yayyy i posted :3 not my blog popping off again once squid games 3 released

[bxnfire]

love island ft. ryomen sukuna

masterlist

loveisland!sukuna who isn't interested in you at first (or anyone for that matter) but due to his little feud with gojo he decided to spend time and time with you, as it seemed as though gojo was smitten with you. but his scheme ended up with him actually being into you, oh boy!

loveisland!sukuna who isn't as charming or sweet as the others, and he doesn't pretend to be. for a place where men are encouraged to be on their best behavior he sure sticks out like a sore thumb, but you'd be lying if you said that it didn't attract you to him

loveisland!sukuna who is just passionate. the second he decides you'll be his, he makes it known to everyone, specially you. in your dates, he never shies away from any "hard" questions, nor does he acted like he has mixed feelings. sure, maybe he doesn't call you my love, nor does he tell you sweet nothings at all times, but when you ask him if he'd actually be in a relationship with you when this all is over, or whether he's genuinely into you, his answers make your doubts go away, as if there was never a reason to have them to begin with. he's not quite the talker, but you come to realize that he's a good fucking listener. sure, he looks annoyed about half the time, but you best believe he remembers the names of your plushies, your favorite dressing, the show you've watched 17 times, and the exact spot in your neck where you'd rather be bit than sucked on, the pace at which he should thrust into you, and what sounds let him know that you need more, that you're about to cum, or that you want to change the pace. he truly does make you wonder if anyone's truly known you before him

loveisland!sukuna who always wins the heart rate challenge, for the only one who spikes his off the charts is you, and everyone else is well, just there. this always earns him dates with you, in which he makes sure he spikes your heart rate off the chart. be prepared to wake up sore, because no matter how active you may or may not be, this man is fan of multiple rounds, and even if that was just part of the game, he believes you owe him for getting him all riled up, and he makes you pay for it. you must want to kill him by showing everyone in the cast and crew, who struggle trying to censor the obscene bulge he's worked up after your little performance. whether it is by fucking your throat relentlessly until he feels like you've earned pleasure, or by putting you in all fours and gripping your waist and hair so damn hard that you barely have time to notice he's about to go all in with no mercy, though the way your pussy clenches and gets even wetter lets him know you don't mind one last bit, or maybe even by making you sit your cunt on his tattooed face and not stopping until you're a crying, whimpering mess begging for a break, which spoiler alert! he's not giving you

loveisland!sukuna who is feisty. he's quick to get into a fight when he overhears the other contestants talk about you as if they could get you, or if god forbid, someone disrespects you. if it weren't for the public absolutely loving his twisted temper and how he is towards you, the black eyes and broken noses he's caused would've made him get sent home wayyyy sooner than planned

loveisland!sukuna who loves adventure dates and dinner dates. horseback riding in a forest or mountain can be super romantic, he gets to tease you and let his competitive side shine through, but you shouldn't be surprised to find that he was on a quest to find the perfect hidden spot where he could take you without interruptions, as it was already rough focusing on riding the horse while all you wanted to do was ride him, and he had made it clear he had about the same intentions when he "helped" you get on your horse, which sure, yeah you were secured alright, but you heavily doubted the rubbing of his fingers on your clothed pussy did anything to adjust your seat, or the fact that he explained everything to you between kisses along your neck and shoulders as his breath landed right on your ear had actually helped you on your journey. if anything, it made you wish you had worn a bikini instead of your cotton underwear, which was soon to be torn to shreds. as for dinner dates, he actually loves listening to you speak. he may always bitch when you ask to taste his food, but as he rolls his eyes he pushes his plate towards you, and makes sure to look back just in time to see you've liked his choice, not that he ordered something that would be of your taste, his taste just so happens to be excellent, the mere coincidence it has with your favorite meals is purely random, not him trying to impress you, don't be stupid. and sure, maybe he's making mental notes of your favorite desserts when it's time for those, but he makes sure you can't tell he's scheming by having you as his dessert, because who the fuck would have a spoonful of ice cream when they could easily be nose deep in your cunt instead?

loveisland!sukuna who's cutscenes with you are just hilarious. he loves to banter with you and see how witty you can be with him, and he loves the way your mouth never gives out on him, whether in argument or bed is his favorite is a big dilemma, but he knows he doesn't need to settle it

loveisland!sukuna who has always been secure of everything he's done in this life. who has never known what fear means. but the second he realizes he's fallen for you, he begins to question whether he deserves you at all, and he's fucking terrified at the thought of losing you. it pisses him off terribly to have met his match, and you make him oh so weak, it's agonizing. and yet, in the quiet of the night where it's just the two of you, he comes to realize that maybe, just maybe, he only feels safe with you, only you have lit the fire on a heart that he swore was born cold, and he'll go to the end of the fucking world for you, if you need him to, because even if he thought he preferred his life the way it was, you've given it a meaning, something to yearn for, and he'll be damned if he backs down, because truly, what fool would shy away from earning the greatest treasure of all?

[pinescent-and-gingerbread]

✧ Fantasies in the dark - I

✦ Pairing: Arthur Morgan x Female!Reader ✦ Summary: In which Arthur catches a glimpse of your intimacy, the vision driving him into madness until he finally decides to give in to his urges. ✦ Warnings: SMUT 18+, MDNI! Masturbation, nudity, voyeurism (reader not aware he's staring), self-depreciation, and lots of shame from this poor man. Arthur's pov. ✦ Words: 2,7k Arthur's pic is mine, others are from Pinterest. And as always, as English isn't my first language, prepare for some possible misspellings. Read on AO3

Part I - Part II - Part III

Lately, Arthur had a problem. An incessant, disturbing, haunting problem.

He couldn’t sleep at night.

This could have been related to the gang’s precarious situation, being hunted down by the Pinkertons and surrounded by enemy gangs, O’Driscolls and Lemoyne raiders everywhere. Or even because of some older wounds, the loss of Eliza and Isaac amongst others, reminded almost every day by the complicated family portrait John painted with Abigail and Jack. Or the hurtful thought of the life he never had with Mary that was always following him since he had seen her again near Valentine. Life doomed from the start by his inherent violence and the mountain of corpses he was responsible for.

Arthur had plenty of reasons not to sleep at night. But this wasn’t because of any of that.

He couldn’t sleep because of you. 

Not that it was your fault. In fact, you didn’t even know about any of that and Lord have mercy, he was praying that you’ll never find out; because he would never be able to look at you in the eyes then.

A few weeks ago, the gang had settled at Clemen’s Point. A rather pretty spot just near the lake, and not so far from town. But it wasn’t exactly the place that was causing him trouble. It was the unexpected view he was having from his tent.

For some unknown, mystical reasons, Miss Grimshaw while deciding the camp’s ajancement had decided to place your tent right next to his. Not so big of a problem at first sight, right?

Except that you were a night owl combined with the suffocating warmth of the place. Making you get to bed naked.

Oh, Arthur knew you do, because every night, every single one, you let a candle lit to read, or write, or God knows what before sleeping. The light casts your shadow against the tent’s canvas. The shadow of your very much nude body.

The first night Arthur had noticed, he had come back exhausted from a job in the middle of the night and laid on his cot without even taking the time to remove his boots or hat. A very usual and typical slice of his life, which lately felt more and more like a terribly used one. As if all these slices were repeating again and again. An accumulation of jobs and missions and robberies and fights; deceiving, lying, stealing, killing. Over and over again, going round and round. At night, he was reduced to a slumbered mind in a spent body, that was definitely becoming old and rusty. Already half asleep, mud and twigs surrounding his tired limbs, his thoughts all tangled up like a ball of wool, he had turned his head to his left, reaching from instinct for his pack of cigarettes on the little table next to his bed. Another slice of bad habits from a bad life.

That’s how his eyes had met with this quite erotic shape displayed on your tent.

Said eyes had grown so big that it had fully woken him up all of a sudden, as quickly as if someone had dumped a bucket of iced water on his shocked face. After half of a second of pure stabbing surprise and incomprehension with his hand hanged in the air, his breath stuck in his throat as if really being punched in the gut, he instantly turned his eyes back to the ceiling of his own tent. Cheeks burning red, heart pounding, as if someone had caught him in the act of doing a terribly shameful thing. Exactly as if he had really seen you naked.

He had feverishly grabbed the cigarette pack without looking at it, gaze refusing to turn again, these two blue diamonds locked on the ceiling of his tent, and had messily pulled one out of it, his shaky fingers fumbling, almost spilling everything on the ground.

He must have looked so damn ridiculous.

The smoke helped him to calm down, its soothing and comforting feeling spreading and burning through his lungs. He had fallen asleep, turned to the other side facing the wagon, trying not to think too much about the peek of your intimacy he had witnessed, telling himself it probably was going to be an isolated incident. 

But of course, of course the Lord had to torment him even in the rare moments of peace he could have enjoyed.

Turns out this was apparently a habit of yours. 

To be honest, he probably deserved to be tormented. But this was years from what he had in mind when it came to the Lord's punishment for his life of crimes.

And Arthur, even though a hardened man in many ways, able to lock lips during torture, kill men with bare hands, and stay emotionally strong in any kind of situation, was still only, after all, a man. A man with needs.

Filthy, disgusting needs.

He had tried to resist. Had tried not to let his eyes slip in your direction like that first night. Sometimes he would allow himself a quick glance, just to check if you were wearing any clothes for once, like a normal person. And maybe the night after would be different? Every evening spent at camp, his pupils would end up brushing the sinful silhouette in just a soft, slight sight, as if not to scare you, as if not to feel too bad about it.

But it was getting harder and harder not to stare. The easy lies about just checking on you or looking at anything else in the same area as your tent to have the chance of winning a glimpse of you would soon not be enough.

Just the mere fact that he knew you were completely bare, only a few meters away from him, singly the thin and superficial fabric of the tent between the both of you, was getting him hard and sweaty, and making his blood boil as a virgin teenage boy would. He could almost physically feel it, like a burning presence in his back when he was sleeping head against the wagon's wall.

The Human mind may be well designed for a lot of things; it forgets an event too hard to carry or can trick you into thinking you're not experiencing any physical pain in extreme situations. But Arthur had learned that it was extremely poorly made when it came to ignoring something. The more he was trying to not think about his unholy urges, the more he ended up being plagued with them. As sure as the seasons always turned in circles, you would come back to his effusive psyche.

And Oh, he was ashamed. Ashamed and revolted by himself. This was absolutely not in his habits, all the contrary. Yes, he was an old miserable bastard who had killed and plundered. But for God's sake, he had never acted obscene towards a lady before.

But the shame wasn't enough for him to stop. On the nights when the guilt was at its lowest —when the tediousness of his days was nibbling at his patience, he had let his eyes wander to your sinful figure, telling himself that maybe if he did, he could just go on with his night and finally rest. Just a quick taste, not too long.

But it only made things worse. It made him dream of you. 

Dream of you stripped, his imagination taking the lead of what the tent’s fabric was preventing him from seeing. Dream of you moaning, taking him so tightly, welcoming him in your warm body and into your arms. Dream of the feeling of your skin under his fingertips, of the sight of your naked body squirming with pleasure. He would now often wake up frustrated and angry, if he had succeeded in sleeping at all, his member hard and throbbing on its own, his heart beating powerfully in his chest as if it had been real. His pants and blanket had even been damped one or two times. 

What was he, a fifteen-year-old boy again? He was so angry and mortified by the physical obsession his body was having with you that he was constantly in a foul and fiery mood;  bitter with everyone, his tension leaking into every movement and every word he spoke. He started missing targets when shooting, getting even more reckless and hot-headed during jobs, jobs often ending up missed or taken care of negligently, yelling at people when they weren’t fast enough, or clever enough, or silent enough, breaking things, breaking rules. The lack of sleep was making his deadly efficiency fade away, replaced by sloppy and messy gestures, stopping enemies from falling dead at his feet like his lethal skills always did, castrating the only thing that was left of his masculinity.

And yet, he couldn’t stop watching you from afar during the time he was at camp, telling himself he knew, or at least had an idea, of what you looked like without these clothes on; feeling a twisted sensation of pride imagining he was the only one who did. On top of that, your sweet personality and beautiful face weren’t helping him at all with his addiction. Filthy old bastard, stop it- he had to mentally slap himself to prevent staring at you for too long, especially staring at your chest that this goddamn dress you had chosen to wear wasn’t covering at all; or your ass these goddamn pants were fitting way too well.

Tonight, Arthur is avoiding going to bed too early. He knows he would just lay in it waiting for you anyway. Instead, he goes for a walk along Flat Iron Lake’s shores, bringing his journal with him. Two entire pages are already dedicated to your shadow. He had no idea a picture exclusively made of black and white flats on a sheet could have such a powerful erotic effect. Or maybe he is a complete degenerate —which, he is sure, is more and more true.

He has to be honest with himself, he could just go to a hotel, or out of camp for a few days to sleep under the stars, and the matter would be settled.

But he doesn’t want to. Because deep down inside, his urges are winning, making him feel like the most foolish and weakest man alive. He enjoys watching you. He enjoys seeing those forbidden plumped curves cast on this canvas. He feels like you're not leaving him any mercy, pitiless, his days dictated by the wait for his taboo rendez-vous, his nights by your sensual apparitions in his dreams.

He is trapped, you have completely tamed him, and irony of it all, have absolutely no idea you are making him feel like this.

This woman is drivin' me insane.

After a few hours on the cold shore's sand, his fingers only capable of creating quick little sketches and scribbles, his feet lead him back to camp. What a surprise. He finds most of the gang's members already asleep, apart from the ones on guard duty and some late campfire enjoyers talking about life, about love, grief, the future, the past. He briefly nods at them without a word and walks to his private space. He already knows what’s waiting for him there, your tent looking like it’s still illuminated, his thoughts and body avid for it.

No, don’t be a fool, Morgan.

He sits down on his cot. Mumbles to himself orders and curses to try and stay reasonable. Takes off his hat, runs a hand through his hair, sticky with sweat and dirt from his busy day, as all the other ones, as always. Scratches his beard and his ears with a sniff, tells himself he needs to take a swim into that lake. That he’s as dirty on the inside as he’s on the outside. Pulls down his suspenders before stretching his shoulders, a pained groan escaping him. A cigarette joins his lips, a match lights it, and he breathes in slowly. He tries to calm down, focusing once again on this homey feeling it brings him. 

But his brows furrows. His lips tighten. He knows he won’t be able to hold on much longer. He needs to sleep properly. Even being the all-mighty Titan he is, he still needs a good night of sleep from time to time to keep the engine of his body turning, and you have kept it from him for days.

He lies to himself promising this is only for his health.

That this is the only way for him to stay focused during the day; the only way to rest properly and be at his best again tomorrow.

That this will be the only time he’ll do that.

His only moment of weakness. 

The still-lit cigarette and his good conscience fall to the ground as he lies on his cot, settled on his left side, his right hand already roaming on his lower belly. 

His eyes drop on the scene he had fantasized about for what seems like years to him at this point.

Lord have mercy…

Your shadow looks so perfect. He takes his sweet time to notice every detail of it, enjoying to the maximum his sinful behavior, now that he had succumbed to it. How you’re laying on your back, reading your book with your legs crossed. The curvaceous shape of your body looks divine to his insatiable gaze. Your hair messily tangled around your head. The silhouette of your chin and throat making him hungrier than any feast he could have attended. Your belly, rising and falling with your chest and breasts, gives the shadow an organic appearance. Your delicate legs, from the base of your thighs to your calves, to your feet, your toes mindlessly curling as you get lost in your story. And of course, the blurry outline of what was between them…

Damn it.

His hand quickly reaches his belt, unbuckles it,  fiddles with his pants, opens them carelessly in an urgent grip. He spits in his palm, lashes out at himself when the desire of it being your wetness instead crosses his mind, and slips it between the buttons of his union suit. It finally wraps around his desperate shaft, gorged with blood, and he wonders if he already had been this hard before.

The moment he feels the pressure of his own fingers around it, he can’t help but sigh deeply through his nose, and has to physically block the groan he was about to let out.

Make no noise, moron.

He bites his lips to stop any other immoral sound from crossing through his mouth. Last thing he needs right now is to get caught. He slowly rubs one languorous time from up to down, then up again, his fingers brushing his swollen head right where he needs to. He instantly knows he won’t last. He had dreamed about this, about you, both during days and nights. His eyes are locked on your tantalizing silhouette, this deiform delicious flesh. Goddess of the night, Queen of his desires.

His hand rubs once again and his muscles tighten. He starts to stroke in a rhythmic pace, his moves are efficient, messy, careless. He masturbates the same way he takes care of himself —quickly, roughly, as if matching his disgust towards his own self. The exact opposite of what he would do to you if he could. This is pure physical relief.

Yes, God, yes…

Your name turns in his mind between blasphemous curses as he pleasures himself, stroking faster and faster, delightful warm sensations spreading through him. Finally. The burning is no longer in his back or mind; it's right there around his erection, flames licking all around it.

He wants to be able to join you there, so badly. He wants to discover the tone of your bare skin in those places you never show to anyone. He wants to whisper sweet things in your ear and you to sigh back, your voice high and softly shaking from pleasure. He wants the lewd intimacy, the shared tension and the electric, exciting touch of two foreign skins discovering each other for the first time. He wants to see your hardening nipples he can only have a glimpse of through the fabric. 

He wants to have you, to take you, consume you, all to himself. He wants you to think about him the same way he is now, wants you to come while thinking of him, only him, your mouth to moan, whimper, scream even, all thanks to him. 

He wants your hand instead of his, around his cock right now, pressing harder, moving faster.

Yes, yes, jus’ a bit more darlin’… -

A movement from you, a real one, makes his pace slow down and his heart stops, afraid you might have by some sort of divine knowledge understood what was happening. But you’re just shifting in your bed, positioning yourself on your belly with your book open against your pillow, and Arthur’s balls spasm; he now has the most perfect view of your ass, its gorgeous, decadent round and plumped contour making his member twitch in his fist.

Ahh, shit… So god damn perfect… 

Pearls of sweat leak from his forehead to his neck. His ears shut close to the outside world, his surroundings completely disappearing. Now, there’s only you and your perfect back beautifully arched ending with your perfect bottom and him, and no one else’s on Earth. His breath is jerky, his entire face completely crimson, his fingers pumping so hard and fast he’s basically fucking his hand —your hand, with those wet and unmistakable noises filling the air.

His breath speeds up as Arthur feels his deliverance coming, blood rushing in his veins. He sees himself behind you grabbing fistfuls of your cheeks, he sees his erection diving deep between them. And it's the last straw. His brows are crunched in an exquisite expression of pure sexual delight, jaws so tensed he’s about to break his teeth, your pleasure-filled voice screaming his name in his head, dragging every sensation out of him. His orgasm hit him with the strength and speed of a thunderstorm, lightning bolts of satisfaction striking every fiber of his body.

 Yes! Yesss  —Damnit! 

He comes hard with a low and throaty growl he forgot to —or couldn't repress, silently repeating your name again and again, his lower lip almost cut open from how hard he had bit himself, an enormous vein on his forehead where sweat covers his skin. His thick, hot cum spills messily in an indecently large amount, the aftermath of having held himself back for so long, leaking on his pants and fingers and staining his cot; a dash of white contrasting with the darkness of what he just did.

He’s praying to the Lord and the Devil, any mystical forces known to man, that nobody had heard his final relief sound, especially not you. It was louder than what he would like to admit.

Shit, so damn good…

Using his black bandana, he roughly cleans himself then tosses it somewhere on the floor, his cock finally softening as he shoves it back under his clothes, balls empty. And it feels good. So good a wave of shame and guilt crashes onto him once more. What a pig he was for jerking off while ogling you. What an old bastard he was to mingle you and his filth. But at the same time, he feels like his muscles are thanking him, his restless flesh satisfied, even though he almost hurt himself with how fast he had stroked, lost in his haze.

His bittersweet and contradictory feelings accompanied him as he took a last glance at your tent before drifting off to sleep, his breathing still a bit raspy as if he had run for hours. You had closed your book and taken the candle between your hands to blow on it, the little flame flickering before fading. And then, darkness.

The curtains falling on the stage at the end of this private decadent act.

Eyelids heavy, Arthur knows he will finally sleep tonight.

But he also knows this isn’t the end of his torments at all; the conflicting thoughts paint his mind just as the sun pierces through the dark ebony clouds of a thunderstorm, creating those abruptly dazing shapes and color, pitch black laced with blinding light.

Never in this life or the Other he will forget the form of your naked body, no matter how wicked he feels. Because when it comes to you and only you, Arthur Morgan is, indeed, a very weak man.

↣ Part II

tagging : @a-court-of-valkyries and @zae-heeyyy

[galactic-rhea]

I was thinking about how in the Sith Raised Anakin AU it would affect the other side of the characters, as in. Maul does get some positive growth by having little Ani around and even though they both know they, technically, have to kill each other when the moment comes (and it never does) there's still a mutual respect and fondness. Especially from Anakin's side because he was like a lost duckling and the least worst around was Maul.

So when in TCW Maul was going insane and said 'he's been groomed for this', in this AU that becomes 10x times more interesting because he's on the front seat and he's known Vader since he was just little scared Ani, and I can imagine him going "oh damn, this is Very Bad. Even for my standards.". And the most logical route would be want to try to help Anakin, but lol, i feel like he would just want to try to kill him anyways, but in this case it would be a mercy kill, or an attempted mercy kill.

HOWEVER this wasn't the point of this rambling, because I was actually thinking about Obi-Wan. Obi-Wan who as we all know didn't have the skills to be the parent of a hypertraumatized 9 years old boy. But this Obi-Wan has never had to deal with any of this, he has the trauma of Qui-Gon's death and living with that failure, but there wasn't any promise to carry on and no jealousy over Qui-Gon wanting to take a new padawan, and there wasn't any monumental task falling over his shoulders.

And all of this just makes me believe in this AU, Obi-Wan is just...much more immature. Like, he's almost exactly his same self as at the start of TPM. Like you wouldn't believe that's a 30-something years old, he still acts like the school's mean girl who's dating the mysterious jerk Maul, who's also the partial reason he can't fully go on because that jerk also killed his master

(no, is not real dating, is just a very 'oh My mortal enemy, i can't stop thinking about the moment i finally kill him ', but very gay).

So to summarize, Obi-Wan is just even more of a bitch in this AU, and probably isn't anywhere close of getting into the council, he didn't even kill Maul, what a loser (i love him)

[readychilledwine]

Idk if you do requests but holy shit you are amazing but like on the off chance you do I’m feral over this idea you would absolutely kill for cassian or Azriel

I’m dying for a smart ass foul mouthed girl in the dirty book club that’s like half his size to get him all worked up teasing him every time he sees her but when he finally gets her alone she literally was all talk and is clueless and timid and he blows her fucking mind

I talk a big game but it’s all a bit and I have zero confidence to back it up 😂

Bonus points and my first born for…

Dumbification

Big ole size kink

& a praise link to feed the ✨ daddy issues ✨

All For Show

Summary - Cassian has gotten tired of you and your pretty little mouth. He just had to wait for the right moment to correct it.

Warnings - smut, praise kink, degradation, slight dumbification, shy reader x bold cassian, fingering, oral (male and female receiving), implied size kink (little reader x big cassian), public-ish sex, unprotected sex, a hint of Voyeurism, best friend ex dynamic, loose editing, I'm probably missing some to be honest.. oh, gwyriel mentioned. I apologize if it isn't your preferred ship, but it felt right for this fic.

A/N - I've shamefully written this three times because I wanted bonus points while also giving it plot 😅

🗡Cassian Masterlist🗡Master Masterlist🗡

Your mouth was going to get you in trouble one of these days, but you couldn't bring yourself to care as you laughed with the Valkyries. 

The 4 of you were deep into your book club meeting, discussing the recent salacious read that had Gwyn’s cheeks matching that shade of red hair you'd grown to love so much. Emerie high fived you, fingers linking together as the newly added Pegasus charms on your woven friendship bracelets made a soft clink. 

You were bold, especially with these 3, and your interest in the sex scene you all had just read was immediately noticed. “I mean,” Nesta genuinely laughed, “Who wouldn't want to have sex with their mate in front of their equally attractive friends?”

Gwyn shrieked, “Nesta!”

A deep throat cleared at that, reminding the four of you that you were in an open room of the House of Wind. That Cassian and Azriel were sitting right next to you. Gwyn shrunk further into her chair, Azriel smirking and chuckling at his.. whatever they had decided they were today, meanwhile Cassian had his eyes locked on you, a brow raised as you began to play with that bracelet. Deep pink, deep orange, and a purple-y navy stared back at you, the blend reminding you of a sunset. “Something to say, General,” Nesta looked her former lover up and down. “Y/n isn't interested.”

Oh, but you were, and he wasn't blind to that. “Just think this is interesting, that's all,” he grumbled. “Especially considering, y/n gets flustered when someone so much as touches her hips to adjust her stance.” Your glare shot his way as your friends began to laugh. Azriel hid a chuckle behind his hand. The tension between you and Cassian had been growing, especially due to the private hand to hand lessons he was giving you. 

“You grabbed me by my inner thigh,” you retorted, eyes rolling.

“And you turned the same shade of red aa the threads on that bracelet Ness wears,” he stated. “You talk a big game, sweetheart. Someone is going to call you on your shit one day.” If you were a smarter female, you would have realized that was a warning. 

Cassian was showing no mercy the next night as he threw you to your hands and knees for the fourth time in your 2 hour session. “What the hell, Cass?!” You were panting as you sat back in your heels. “Did you not get the memo that I am just a girl?”

His eyes rolled, “Stand up.” The part of you that had never responded to demands well sent him a look, head tilted back to study his imposing frame. The look you gave him was enough to break his calm. He was a General, a commander, practiced and poised, but you were ruining him. The tension between the two of you was ruining him. He had denied himself so much in this life, lost so much more. Why deny both of you what he knew you both wanted?

“You know what,” he muttered more to himself than you. “I can't do this anymore.” A hand found its way into your hair, strands wrapping around strong fingers as he pulled you to one of the benches, forcing you between his legs as he sat. “Show me,” he demanded.

“What-”

“Show me what you brag to your little friends about. Show you these skills you think you have.”

Your flush began immediately, “Cassian-”

"I knew it," he interrupted you, “Admit you're inexperienced.”

“I'm not inexperienced! I'm just shy!”

He studied you, hazel eyes taking in every inch of your skin as if you were some display. Even with your clothing on, you had never felt more exposed under his gaze. “Shy but can run your mouth to Ness? To Gwynie? To Em? Are you shy or do my hands make you shy?”

That furthered the flush as said large hand pulled your hair, angling your head back to look at him. “Cass-”

“I'm so tired of hearing you speak.” His lips crashed on yours then, forcing you into his lap, legs straddling one of his much larger thighs. Even like this, Cassian towered over you, consumed your frame. You had never considered yourself the smallest female, but with Cassian? Every female could feel small with Cassian.

His free hand slid down, tracing the curve of your breast, your waist, your hips before grabbing and squeezing your left thigh, forcing it over his other leg so you were fully straddling him and open to him. 

He pulled back, lips still close as you tried to catch your breath, “Good,” he almost seemed to vibrate with his lust. “That's my Good Girl.” 

There was no patience as he pulled your training top off, no ceremony as he took your bra off after it. Cassian was a male in need, something you felt every time he moved and his hips ground his covered length against you. 

A silent prayer was sent to the Gods, thanking them for Nesta being in Autumn with Eris for the next week. While it didn't promise no one would walk into the training ring on you two, it did promise at least Nesta wouldn't. His mouth moved down your neck, kissing and nipping until he found the spot that had you melting to his form. “That's it,” his voice had grown deep as he licked at your skin. “Relax, sweetheart. Let me have you.” 

Maybe it was because your brain stopped functioning. Maybe it was because something in you just seemed to float in his presence, but you didn't remember getting laid back on the mat, nor your leather pants slowly removed inch by inch as he whispered praise. You didn't remember his own clothing meeting the pile of yours somewhere off to your side. But you remembered his kiss bringing you back to him, “So we go dumb?” He forced you to nod. “I bet you just love being cock drunk, don't you, princess,” the nod wasn't forced this time, his smirk growing as he looked to the sky as if to say his own thank you. 

His hands and lips explored every inch, the soft gasps and noises you made his consent, the way you squeezed his fingers encouragement. His tongue swirled your nipple, wetting the tender nerves before latching onto it, rolling and sucking. You couldn't help but arch your back, whispering his title, his name. 

“You sound like I imagined you would,” he murmured as he kissed his way to your other breast, offering the same treatment as his words shot to your core. He had imagined you. Imagined how you would sound below him, maybe on top of him. 

His kisses began to trail lower, paying extra attention to the sensitive spots he found. He stopped at the hem of your panties, eyes glancing to meet yours, “This is your chance to tell me to stop. If I keep going, that's it. It's you being manhandled by me until I'm done with you, understand?”

The whimper that left your throat at that was almost sinful, “Cassian, please.”

“Use your words,” he demanded. “Use that your mouth to tell me what you want done. You like to run it when you think I'm not listening. Talking about how you want to ride cock and be tied up and used like you aren't telling everyone my dreams.”

Another whine as he licked your core, protected from that skilled tongue by thin lace. “Words,” he demanded again.

“Please taste me.” The tear of fabric followed that plea, all caution thrown to the wind as he dived in. 

Cassian wanted to taste every inch of your core. His tongue running over the left side, the right, your clit, your wet entrance. Emerie had told you once enthusiastic partners made sex better and you knew why now. Cassian not only knew what he was doing, but it was clearly his pleasure to be doing it. Each plunge of his tongue inside of you was met with him moaning or groaning, lips vibrating the sensitive parts of your body and building the feeling desperation that slowly wanted to kick in. You sat up on your elbows, watching him as he glanced up, hazel eyes dark and watching your face. Each reaction was a reward to him, your heart seeming to tug at the pride gleaming in his eyes at each little noise that escaped you. 

No novel compared to this. 

No words could describe it. 

Your stomach was growing tight, head falling back as he feasted as if you were the most delicious meal he'd had in over 500 years of life. His lips wrapped around your bundle of nerves, tongue making half circle shapes around your far too aching clit as a thick finger ran your core and gently pushing in.

“Cassian,” your body seemed to shutter in pleasure, tightening around that single digit. “Cauldron fry me,” you moaned as he curled his finger up, immediately locating that special spot inside of you. 

This was just his finger. Just his finger had you feeling like you were stretching to a limit as he worked his tongue and hand in time, the band inside of you going taunt. He was careful as he added in a second, watching your face as if he knew. As if he could feel that little panic building in your mind. 

He washed it away as he changed how his tongue was moving, now giving teasing motions with just the tip directly where your body was screaming to be touched. He watched your eyes close, watched your guard drop as your hips moved, wanting to ride his face and fingers. He would have normally allowed it, but not this time. Not when he so desperately wanted control and to prove you were all talk. Not when he so desperately wanted you to be his. Your walls began to tighten again, his name becoming something you couldn't even finish as your gasps and panting increased. 

Then you tumbled. You fell from the edge, squeezing those two fingers so hard he struggled to work you through your high with them. His free forearm pushed down on your hips, forcing you to stay still and at his mercy. He only slowed down when your trembling did, fingers coming out of you so he could lick them clean, his own hazel eyes fluttering shut. He moved up, kissing you again and forcing you to taste yourself on his tongue. 

“Off,” you begged, mind going hazy as you tugged his own leathers. Your request was met, Cassian standing over you as you instantly moved to your knees, watching his hands unlace before pulling down. His cock stood hard for you. It was thick, long, veins in places you knew were going to touch the perfect spots inside of you. 

Cassian was larger than any male you'd ever been with, and it had been a while since you had been with anyone. He was a challenge, one you were prepared to meet as you felt your mind fully slip away. “Open,” he whispered. His own stomach flipped with excitement when you obeyed, hand grabbing your high ponytail as he moved his hips and your head forward. This was something you knew, mind immediately working on the sole goal of his pleasure as you began to lick and suck, head bobbing. His hips met your pace, not pushing or forcing. “Just like that, sweetheart. Putting that mouth to good use for once,” he groaned. He tasted of something purely Cassian. Of salt and power. “You look beautiful like this,” his hips increased slightly, encouraging you to do so as well. “Mouth wrapped around my cock, looking up at me with those pretty eyes. Such a good girl.” 

He wouldn't give you the satisfaction of making him finish like this. No. He wanted that to happen when he was buried inside of you, you ass bouncing with each thrust he would give you. He watched you closely as you sucked him off, tongue and lips wetting him until he was sure he wouldn't last if you kept going.

Whines of protest left you as he pulled you off, walking you the bench and forcing you to crawl with his grip on your hair. “Hands on the bench.” An order you were not dumb enough to deny, positioning yourself as he asked. He kneeled behind you, kissing your spine as he forced a knee up on the bench as well. It wasn't comfortable, but it would be effective. “Breathe.” Another command from the General of the Night Court as he lined up with you and began pushing in. 

“Gods!” Each inch of him seemed to knock the air from your lungs, your breathing ragged. “Cassian, I can't-”

“You can,” he silenced you. “Breathe. Breathe like we taught you.” He timed his entrance with each deep breath, groaning once he was fully inside of you. His hand went to the small of your stomach, dirty thoughts about wanting to be big enough he could feel and see himself inside of you.

The first rock of his hips had you almost shouting your moans. He reached places you'd never known. Places no one had ever touched. You were like a vice around him, the stretch burning and adding to your pleasure as he began to move, stroking that building fire with care. It didn't long for the training area to smell like sex. To be filled with the sounds of his deep groans, you gasps and pleads, the sounds of skin hitting. 

His hands reached forward, wanting more control of you as he grabbed your arms, holding and forcing them behind your back and making you arch more for him. Helpless. You were helpless. 

And that's when the Cassian Nesta had described to you all began. 

His thrusts became fast and hard, hitting your g spot over and over. His hand that wasn't holding your wrists found your throat, resting there and giving one squeeze to test the waters. You couldn't even moan his name anymore as that fire grew, all words were lost to you, all thoughts eddied before falling to silence. Your body wanted to feel. And feel you did. 

Every drag was a spark, every word he whispered in your ear a kindling. You would burn. You would burn alive if he didn't stop. That tension built again, faster than it had with any other partner. 

Cassian was a God. No one could convince you otherwise as those scarred lips pressed against your temple. “I won't last,” he muttered. “You're too warm. Too tight. You have me, princess. You and this pretty pussy.” He smirked as a wanton moan left your throat, the heat of his body sending you into overdrive. 

You wouldn't last either.

Frankly, you didn't want to. 

His hand squeezed your throat again, his pace becoming less patterned and wild. He was chasing your high like a predator closing in on its next meal, and when you seemed to freeze, body tensing before a scream tore through you, he served himself. 

“That's it, y/n. Doesn't that feel so right, angel? Falling apart with me inside of you,” he grunted as he fought off his own high. “You feel like heaven, y/n. So good, baby. So fucking good.” His voice prolonged your high, forcing you into a state of overstimulation. You collapsed against him, body putty to his will as he chased his own orgasm.

“Fuck,” he yelled before you felt him give one last hard push into you, warmth spreading as his spilled inside. His hands moved, one shooting out to wrap around your hips, forcing you to stay down. The one found the bench, stopping the forward motion from you both falling into it, protecting you even as his mind clouded to the feeling of you squeezing around him.

This didn't just feel like heaven. It was heaven. 

He moved your leg down once he was done, his hand now finding your chin to tilt your head and kiss you softly. “You did so well,” he said against your swollen lips. “So responsive for me. Felt so good. Was it good, sweetheart?” You only nodded, biting your lower lip as he showered you with more praises. “Let's get you dressed so I can get you in a bath.”

Your arms held his right one once you two were dressed and walking towards the house. He only paused when the door opened, and Azriel sighed, holding Gwyn against him as she blushed and squirmed, “You couldn't have kept going,” Azriel teased. “Gwyn was enjoying the show.” Your face fell, realizing you had been caught and watched. Teal eyes met yours, her own blush spreading out from where Azriel had a hand on her mouth. “Come on, my light,” Azriel purred to her. “Time to go do dagger training.”

Cassian laughed as he continued pulling you in the house, pulling you to his room, to his tub. 

You could face the consequences of Nesta potentially finding out later. All that mattered now was the feel of his hand, slipping down your body and below the water for round two.

General Taglist:

@hnyclover @glitterypirateduck @slytherinindisguise @mischiefmanagers @bloodicka @starsinyourseyes @the-sweet-psycho @mariahoedt @rinalouu @sarawritestories @starryhiraeth @starswholistenanddreamsanswered @cumuluscranium @loneliestluvr @eternallyelvish @azrielsmate3 @daughterofthemoons-stuff @meritxellao @aria-chikage @hungryforbatboys @lilah-asteria @fandomrejects @sleepybesson @tayswhp @itsswritten @milswrites @littlest-w01f

[cepalliumtm]

Held in Captivity

yandere!empress x princess!reader

The aftermath of a fallen kingdom being subsumed by a massive empire ruled by a woman known for her cruelty and absolute desire for obedience.

tw: yandere tendencies, slight Stockholm syndrome, no use of (y/n), obsession, age gap, captivity (reader is held hostage), slightly implied sexual content (but nothing explicit)

————————╰ ─┉─¡! • !¡─┉─ ╯————————

"You'd think that after everything you've been through, you would know better than to trust your old kingdom."

Necrisir holds on tightly to her prize, a small pathetic princess lying in her lap enjoying her gentle and soothing caresses. She's careful not to let any of her claws scratch your cheek as she rubs your head, almost as if she's trying to lull you to sleep.

You already know what this is, and you promised yourself you wouldn't fall for her temptations. But it's getting oh so much harder, especially when you're considered the damsel in distress in this situation.

She continues her speech, her voice almost slurring the words out, almost as if she's trying to calm herself down. "It’s pretty pathetic that they think they can resist my orders. I've been living many years princess, you should know this. I'm… quite hard to kill." She chuckles at your sweet hums and moans, you not wanting to let her know you're enjoying her touch. "But I guess their stubbornness will be their downfall, and once they realize that my armies outnumber them, they'll give me what I want."

As much as you want to struggle, the fact that you're essentially taken hostage and thus, a liability, you know that there isn't much point. You don't want to hear about her plans for your kingdom, the kingdom you knew did not care for you. The royalty there were no more different from her, using others for their own gain. At least she's blunt about her plans of assimilation.

And at least she's giving you the illusion of a paradise within the walls of the palace.

You still want to plead for their freedom, hoping that whatever she does with them, your people would still be able to live their lives, to work freely, among other things. But all you can do is listen to the almost horrendous plans she has for them. After all, she's not known for showing mercy to her enemies. Especially those that has offended her so far.

However, the empress does notice a slight movement coming from you. You became uncomfortable in your position, and wanting to turn around. Your head almost feels numb.

"Ah, princess," she coos, giving you the kindest of gazes. You can hear the sweetness laced in her tone, her breath almost tickling your ears as she speaks. "Don't move. I rather enjoy you like this, all docile for me."

You still slightly squirm, wanting to sit up. It's hateful how pathetic you've become, nothing but a prize that she has taken for herself.

"My dear, is it really that bad?" She gently lifts your head up so now it's resting against her broad shoulders. "Perhaps it was wrong to cast that spell on you. Well since you've been an obedient little girl I suppose you may be rewarded with the ability to speak." She presses a finger to your lips, the block in your throat almost dissipating to nothing. It's like you can properly breathe now.

"Oh, Sun of the land," you say clearly, your voice raspy and unpolished. Makes sense, you've been forbidden from speaking for at least a week. "I do have one question I'd like to ask."

She nearly revels at the sight of your huddled up form next to her, bravely speaking out the words even though she can tell that you're nervous. "Well, do tell me my flower."

"I was wondering what would happen to my kingdom once you… take care of things."

"Our kingdom my dear, our kingdom." She smiles and kisses your head. "And I'm pretty sure I know what to do with it. Once they give it up I will make it prosper, better than what it is before. All the suffering, all the pain will be taken away. Can't you see that I'm doing a good thing for your people? Of course, they will have to assimilate into the empire. That is an unfortunate thing."

You shrug your shoulders, at least she's being reasonable. It probably means though because they are essentially her prisoners, assimilating quietly would mean deeming them as lesser than citizens. And as much as you hate it for your people, the alternative was her destroying everything you hold dear.

"My flower, we will begin preparations immediately as soon as we're able. Of course, due to the assimilation process taking so long most of their affairs will be taken over by my troops, but as long as they take the proper measures to fully accept and become loyal to my empire they will slowly earn everything back tenfold. I am a fair and just ruler, isn't that right?"

"But," the lingering question remains on your tongue. "What will become of my family?"

She huffs, but answers it bluntly. "Your family has committed treason, my flower. They shall be put to death the day they do what is best for the kingdom. You must understand…" She faces towards you, her gentle but firm caress pulling you upwards so you can meet her eyes. "This is simply the punishment for not settling the conflict peacefully."

The thought of it terrifies you. Knowing that you only have a limited time before you can see any of your family again would tear you apart. And despite her seeming infatuation with you it can easily turn into the same punishment they will go through.

"You needn't worry about yourself however," she notes, knowing the horrid thoughts going through your head. "I would never, ever do that to my flower. You are simply precious, perfect for me. As long as you don't betray me I would never hurt a hair on your little pretty head." She kisses your head again, wrapping her arms around you and holding you close. "Don't forget that they gave you to me. The moment you stepped foot in this palace is the day you became mine. I know you don't see it darling, but I will do almost anything to make sure you realize that. You are free under my influence, safe within my arms, and belonging to my kingdom. Do you understand that?"

You gulp, knowing the undertone beneath those words: ever try to escape me darling and I will hunt you down and bring you back to me.

"O-of course, sun of the land."

She giggles at your sweet title. "My dear, I'd prefer if you call me by name."

You don't say another word, a mental block (this time from within) preventing you from speaking once more.

She sighs, closing her eyes as she gives you a quick squeeze. "It's okay, we'll slowly get there." You settle into her arms, eyelids growing heavier as she continues to soothe you with her touch. Her words continue to unsettle you, whispering promises of love and loyalty. "I know one day you'll willingly stay by my side, become completely mine, come to love me as much I do you."

And the worst part of it is, you're slowly starting to believe them.

a/n: tbh, this is more of a test. I never thought that I would post this out in the open, but here I am, posting it anyway.

[ashthesalamipiece]

Hello could I request one of overprotective dad Bakugo and reader where they have a daughter (either middle or high school) and she tells them she has a crush for the first time and Bakugo loses it and crashes out? I think it would be hilarious of him realizing his little girl isn't so little anymore and she's thinking about these things now. Thanks!

“Who the Hell Is This Kid?!”

It was a peaceful Saturday afternoon.

Too peaceful, in Bakugo’s opinion.

The house was quiet—too quiet. No explosions, no yelling, no suspicious “don’t tell Dad” whispers between you and your daughter. That usually meant something was up. And Bakugo didn’t like "up."

You were in the kitchen, humming as you sliced apples. Your daughter sat at the island, chin resting in her palm, her eyes faraway and dreamy.

Red flag number one.

"What's with the face, Princess?" Bakugo asked, raising an eyebrow as he popped open a soda. "You look like you're gonna float off into the damn clouds."

Your daughter blinked, looked at you, then at her dad.

And she smiled.

RED. FLAG. NUMBER. TWO.

"I… think I have a crush," she said, twirling her hair around her finger.

You choked on your apple slice. Bakugo stopped mid-sip. The soda can hissed in protest as his grip crushed it like a stress ball.

"YOU WHAT?!"

"Ka—Katsuki," you coughed, trying to get him to breathe. "She’s in high school, it’s normal—"

"WHO IS HE?" he boomed, voice already rising like a missile about to launch. “I’LL KILL HIM.”

"OH MY GOD, DAD!"

"YOU CAN'T JUST LIKE SOMEONE! What do you mean you like someone? Like… like like? What the hell kind of punk is this?"

Your daughter groaned and hid her face in her hands. "I knew this would happen..."

"Does he have a quirk? Is it stupid? It better not be stupid. I swear if it's some loser kid who makes origami with his eyelashes or something—"

"You're being ridiculous," you said through laughter, trying to hold him back before he stormed out to the school with a flamethrower and a dad-sized 'No Dating My Daughter' banner.

"I TAUGHT HER COMBAT! NOT FLIRTING!" Bakugo was pacing now. “I was supposed to be her hero forever—what the hell do you mean she’s thinking about boys?!”

“She’s growing up, Katsuki.”

“WELL TELL HER TO STOP!”

You gave him a knowing smile as your daughter snorted from behind her hands, cheeks pink. “It’s just a crush, Dad. I didn’t say I was gonna marry him.”

“Oh good,” Bakugo muttered. “Because I wasn’t gonna let that happen until you’re at least thirty.”

He stared at her for a moment longer. His little girl. His baby. Now giggling like a lovesick idiot over some pimple-faced high schooler with a hormonal quirk and probably no respect for authority.

Lord have mercy.

You wrapped an arm around his shoulders. “You’ll survive this. Probably.”

“Not if I see him first,” Bakugo grumbled.

And that was the day you had to physically sit on your husband to stop him from sneaking into the school disguised as a janitor just to "scope out the competition."

Fatherhood was hard. Especially when your daughter was perfect and the rest of the world? Not nearly good enough.

---

[captain-huggy-bear]

"Every morning I fall in love with you all over again." with lukey!

1000 Followers Celly Finished (I have like 3 left for the Celly to write, i'm so close, guys!) Requests are currently closed while I work through current ones <3 Writing Masterlist

You're face to face in the early morning light, beams streaming in through the gaps in the curtains. The warm light highlights each of his beauty marks, every freckle, every copper touch to his dark curls.

He's beautiful...Luke's always beautiful but there's something about Luke in the mornings. When his skin has a flush from sleep, his eyelashes still graze his cheeks, eyes half-lidded and sleepy as he traces your features with a finger. Everything is slow like you're both in molasses. The sort of morning you want to last forever.

"Every morning I fall in love with you all over again." Your voice is low, quiet and warm, a little rough from sleep but that just makes it warmer on Luke's ears as you whisper like you're afraid someone might overhear you...even though it's only the two of you in the room and Jack sleeps like the dead down the hall.

He flushes the most delightful shade of pink, all the way up his neck, the tips of his ears and the highest points of his cheeks. Eyes shifting away from you like he can't quite believe you, isn't used to the sweet affection being poured over him. Bashful and endearing in a way that you adore. Luke always struggling to take a compliment. Luke who turns red at any given sign of affection.

It makes you want to double down, keep going so you do. "You're so handsome, Lu...like one of those renaissance paintings or something..." God, you want to paint him. Have a picture of him like this always, but you're not some great master and you don't have the time to learn. Not to capture this exact moment.

"Stop...."

"No...not gonna stop. You're just so...God, you're so amazing, Lu and I'm so lucky..." You sigh it out, fingers reaching up to play with his curls, twisting them around your fingers and watching them bounce.

"I'm the lucky one." Luke mumbles, eyes shifting from you, cheeks no longer just pink but beetroot red, deep and vibrant.

"No, I am." You hit back, his eyes shift back to you, narrowing at your refusal to accept his statement as truth.

"No. I am."

The back and forth goes on for far longer than it needs to, so long that Luke gets fed up of it, a playful sort of energy taking over him as his fingers find your ribs, tickling you as you squeal underneath him, legs kicking until he has you pinned to the mattress. His hips press yours to the bed, your legs trapped underneath his own, both your wrists between one of his, planted over your head.

"Admit it. I'm the lucky one." He grins down at you as you glare up at him.

"No!" Another bout of tickles attack you, Luke's free hand finding your ribs again until you can't breathe, squealing out at him for mercy.

"Okay, okay! You're the lucky one!" You admit with a laugh, grinning up at him.

The two of you fall into a contented sort of silence, only the sound of your heavy breathing as you catch your breath after Luke tickled your admission out of you.

The silence is broken by an annoying, grating voice that can only belong to your boyfriend's older brother from the other side of the door, "Luke, can you not kill your girlfriend? It's like 6am!"

"Fuck off!" Luke glares at the door like he could send laser beams through it straight to Jack. Jack who always seemed to kill every moment. Jack who was always there. Jack who stole your food all the time.

"Is that an admission of guilt?!""

"Go away, Jack!" You call out this time, head thrown back against the pillows in annoyance. You like Jack most of the time, but God, sometimes he really does kill a mood.

"Oh, good to hear you're still alive in there."

"Go away!" You both yell this time, only to be greeted by the sound of Jack laughing as he walks away from the door. A menace. Always.