#might satiate her hunger for love. And so on.

[space-sheep08]

Actually so tired that people mainly focus on the bdsm when they talk about La Pianiste when we literally have this dynamic right here. Like, that's insane.

What if you were a little girl in her 40's who couldn't grow up because of your mother-wife who made you sleep in her bed and forced you to repress every sexual desires and thoughts of becoming your own person just to keep you close to her ? What if you fought back and yearned for dangerous things out of her reach ? But also, what if you let her because it's all you've ever known and been taught to want ?

[myspacebrat]

dreams about my dealer…

dealer e.m. x fem reader

blurb request: 💌Hey Tori! Hope your day is going lovely 😊 As a request for the vday celebration, could I pls get a blurb where the reader is nerdy and loves reading old cheesy romance novels like these? And one night she falls asleep after reading and she fantasizes about her dealer Eddie as this suave romance hero who sweeps her off her feet and gets her all hot and bothered. And so after that night she starts buying books covers where the men resemble him and he catches on during one of their smoke seshs. You decide how it ends 😉😉 by: @honey-flustered

authors note: This is such a fun request, thank you for sending it in lovely. Hope you enjoy <3 if anyone wants a part two of just smut pls lmk cause I’d love to, but ya know I’m trying to blurb here.

all of my works are 18+

“there ya go, wrap your arms around me, sweet girl. Just like that.” The familiar voice bellows into your neck.

“I’ve got you now, sweetheart.” He murmurs against your flesh this time, sending shivers down your spine. The long familiar hair tickles at your collar bone as his arms wrap tighter around you. This time causing a very needed friction between you and this mystery man.

“Mmm, go ahead angel, make yourself feel good.” He says again before removing his face from the crook of your neck and revealing himself to you.

BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!

You pop up out of bed, removing your sleep mask before you slam your hand down on the obnoxious alarm clock sitting on your side table.

You feel a wetness in your panties when you go to stand up and it’s as if a flash goes off in your mind and you’re taken back to the dream you were just awoken from. Eddie, your drug dealer in nothing but blue jeans, his hair wrapped in a low bun with loose strands that brushed your sensitive skin and his big muscular chest dripping with sweat as he held you against his body protectively.

You look back over towards your bed, eyes glancing over the book you fell asleep reading. You couldn’t deny the man on the cover looked pretty close in comparison to eddie, long hair and the same exact attire as he was wearing in your dream. The man had a smirk on his face that was almost identical to the usual smirk eddie always had when you’d buy your weed from him.

later that day you find yourself across town, at your local library; ready to check out any and every dirty romance novel with a man that in some capacity meets your dealers description. You couldn’t believe the crush that formed from one little dream, you’d been festering on thoughts of eddie all day and you need more ammo for these ongoing fantasies and the very welcomed dreams you might have tonight.

You’re able to find five books in total, and you just knew you were gonna whip through them all in one week. There was a hunger in your center that just needed to be satiated, and if you couldn’t have the real thing, then the next best will do just fine.

The next morning, you speed walk through the halls of Hawkins high, binder held tight to your body as you keep your head down just trying to get to biology in one piece, but you’re running late so your feet move frantically as you go over an excuse to give Mr. Sivertson before you breech his classroom door. As you become deeply lost in your thoughts you collide into another body who was rounding the corner, your binder falls out of your hands and on to the floor as the other persons hands catch you by your waist.

“Where’s the fire, sweetheart?” The all too familiar voice fills your ears and you freeze, eyes now level with an ozzy shirt and his statement leather jacket.

Eddie’s eyes glance down towards your stuff that fell into a messy pile between your feet, your heart hammers when he bends down to grab something. The smirk on his face tells you exactly what he’d found and now you just want to run back to where you came from, get in your car and drive to a whole new town.

“Whatcha got here?” He says through a dopey laugh, as if you’d been caught red handed. That’s exactly what’s happening.

“Didn’t think a church mouse like you would read these kinds of books.” He whispers, although you two are the only ones in the hall.

“I-I’m not a church mouse, and give me my book back.” You huff and snatch your book out of his heavily ringed hand, but your face was far too guilty and you knew that eddie knew exactly why you had these books in your possession.

You eventually side step him, not wanting to hear any of his teasing that you knew he’d readily dish out. Eddie wasn’t a bully per say but he was an asshole, a cocky asshole to be specific.

Once you’re out of biology, you speed walk to your locker. Ready to put this godforsaken book away until the end of the day, when you can read it in bed, cuddled up where no one would make fun of you. But as you open your locker a folded piece of paper falls out and hits the toe of your flat. you shove your binder into a cubbie before bending down to retrieve it.

Meet me behind the football field after school

- EM

Your stomach fills with butterflies as it simultaneously sinks into the depths of your ass.

Why would he want to meet up after school? Was he going to poke fun at you? Have you show his friends your book so they could all laugh at you?

But another part of your brain said:

What if this is it? What if he really wants you? Maybe he’ll kiss you? Maybe you can finally feed this hunger.

That was all you needed to make your split decision.

After school, you grab your book from your locker and make a beeline for the football field. Bypassing quick goodbyes from your friends.

When you finally make it to the tree line, you exhale a deep breath you hadn’t realized you’d been holding, then you take a few deeper steps into the desolate woods. No one else came back here except for one infamous metalhead, so you knew you wouldn’t be met with any asshole jocks. That settled your stomach a bit, but not fully.

You see the back of Eddie’s head first as he sits on the old warped, wooden bench; hunched over as if in concentration. When you move closer, walking around the rickety table you can now see that he’s breaking up a nug of weed and placing it into a zig zag before rolling it up, snug.

Your eyes meet when he glides his tongue along the lining, he smirks up at you as your eyes gawk at the movements of his pink muscle, licking up and down. You can’t help but to squeeze your thighs together, that burning in your core blazes hot and he hasn’t even touched you.

Your eyes flicker back up into his and you realize that he’s watching you, watch him.

In a moment of faux confidence, you ask—

“What’s with the letter in my locker, Munson? I thought I was the one that was supposed to put the letters in your locker when I want to smoke.” You shoot him a weak smile, making him scoff as he puts the joint behind his ear for safe keeping.

“Are you gonna sit your ass down and smoke this with me or not?” He huffs, pulling a zippo lighter out of his leather jacket pocket and flipping the lid open and closed, open and closed. Is-is that a nervous tick? Is he nervous, too?

You lower yourself onto the seat in front of him, taking on your own nervous tick of picking at your nails.

He takes the joint from behind his ear, his eyes never leaving your form and it has you cowering deeper into yourself. He lights the spliff and inhales deep, holding it in for a second and then letting the smoke bellow out of his nose and mouth. You can’t deny how undeniably sexy he is.

“So, those little slutty novels you have—” He starts

“They’re not slutty! They’re romance novels, Eddie!” You screech in embarrassment, as your cheeks heat up from the deep cackle he makes in your expense.

“Yeah yeah, princess. Tell me, do they fuck in these romance novels?” He throws weak quotation marks up for the last two words, as his eyebrows shoot up under his bangs in question.

“Well, I mean…yeah they do.” You respond with a defeated slump of your shoulders.

“Mhm, just as I suspected. Slutty.” The way he sing-songs ‘slutty’ makes you fall into a fit of giggles, and the noise is music to Eddie’s ears.

“So uh, do you want me to make you feel better than those shitty books ever could?”

[hazelfoureyes]

The Radio Demon Fucks a Human Sacrifice (deleted scene)

⟢Alastor x Reader - The Radio Demon fucks a Human Sacrifice (A Valentino Production)

Valentino has acquired a living, breathing human in hell. But at the begging of Angel, Alastor makes a deal in exchange for her soul.

Part 1 smut 💦 Part 2 smut 💦 Side Story Part 3 smut 💦 Part 4 smut💦 Epilogue sexual Deleted Scene smut 💦 📍

I simply couldn’t fit this in anywhere but it’s still a fun lil read so figured might as well share. Wrote back in like February 😅 you may see I cannabalized some lines from this as I never intended to post it

「Warnings/Promises: Alastor x Fem Reader short smutty scene , love making???, Alastor is oddly affectionate and loving, you got him so fucked up, cream pie, riding him like a coin operated airplane in front of the grocery store, so like slow but still super fun?, deleted scene so starts and ends abruptly, redemption is for losers, Alastor moans」

Minors, hey,

hey

💥🗞️DNI

“I’m hopeless.”

“About what?” You glanced at him, a small laugh coming.

When he didn’t reply, you looked back at him, lingering a little longer.

His smile softened, eyes seeming to dilate ever so slowly as he stared. Finally, “Redemption. What a silly little thing.”

You hummed in agreement, going back to your phone, “Right? Who needs heaven when I have everything I need here.”

Had you said it on purpose? So easily cut into him? Was this surgical precision or dumb luck?

He laughed , “You always seem to understand perfectly, my little doe. How do you do it?”

Your smile reached your eyes, “I was made to be your undoing, remember? It comes naturally, mon cher.”

He pulled the phone from your hands and set it on the blanket, mouth coming to the well of your ear, “Say it again”

A chill ran down your spine, fine hair standing on end as goosebumps ran down your arm. “Mon Cher,” the words barely left your mouth before he kissed you, swallowing them into himself. Why? How? A hunger still foreign to him, rising from his lap and igniting his chest.

You felt his hands trembling on your chin, "Are you okay Alastor?

He shook his head no. "I want all of you, my love."

A word you hadn't anticipated. Hadn’t planned for. Hadn’t even dreamed of.

"You have my eternal soul, pretty sure I also threw my body into the deal," He kissed along your jaw then down your neck, making you sigh and relax against his mouth, "What else is there?"

"I don't know. I dont know what I'm saying." He pulled you onto him, setting you on his lap with bent legs holding you steady. Bringing you down for a soft kiss on your lips, "Why does heaven get to decide what redemption looks like?"

He moved aside your sleep shorts, humming happily to find you wearing nothing underneath.

Alastor famously hated you on top. You learned intimately what inspired him to be in the mood, and you on top was decidedly not it. He pulled down his own pajama pants, and began to rub his sticky wet head against your heat.

"Alastor, you -- I thought you didn't like me on top?" You asked, trying to not discourage him.

"I have an odd appetite today, dear. Entertain me?" He began to push in, hands coming to your hips to bring you down onto him. You rested both hands onto his chest for balance, breath already quickening with the burn of him stretching you out first thing in the morning.

When he began to lift your hips and move you up and down his length, you could understand why this would still satiate him. He was still taking the lead, still the one in control.

But something unusual was happening, he was uncharacteristcally vocal. Normally, the only sounds during sex with him were your own pants, his breathing, and the sound of his body slapping into yours. A rare moan tumbled from his mouth, making you clench around him. You licked your lips, wanting another. His eyes were on your connection, watching himself sink into you and disappear entirely. His face was…indiscernable. Somewhere between entranced and desperate.

You took a chance, seeing he was in a different mood than ever before. Putting his hands in yours, you brought them off your hips and laced your fingers into his. As his hands met yours, you leaned into them and let him hold your weight as you rode him. As you tried to find a pace, you watched his eyes tighten close, another breathy moan forced out of him.

Oh, the things that sound did to you. Was this was how good he felt when he was fucking you? Was this that high he seemed to be chasing every time you eagerly let him pin you down?

Unpracticed and clumsy, your hips rolled over his cock. Soon you were letting your full body weight fall into his lap as you plunged him as deeply as you could. You leaned in for a kiss, your own motions making your mouths slide over each other as your lips tried to make contact in the right places. Failing, you left kisses on his chin, his cheek, just below his nose. Another moan, a sigh, then--- did you hear your name ghost over your mouth?

That was all you needed, you slowed and ground down on him, friction bringing you to the edge and tossing your body over it with a violent shudder.

As you stilled, trying to ride out your orgasm, Alastor bucked up into you. A little scream as your softened walls jumped at the contact. Another thrust up, until he was fucking you through the after effects of your orgasm, chasing his own. You wanted to say something, but you didn't want to push. This was already so out of the norm, you felt the moment was fragile.

He whinced, a series of moans threatening to make you cum all over again as he met his release. You could feel his cock jerking inside you, twitching as he flooded you with his seed. What a lovely feeling, warm and full. You wanted to roll off before you dripped down him, another thing you knew he was uncomfortable with. But when you tried to move his hands went back to your hips and pressed you down. His head pushing deep against the end of your cunt.

"Please, just-- stay like this for me." His voice was low and soft against your cheek, a loud crack of static peppering his voice.

You'd stay like this until the inevitable heat death of the universe if he asked. You'd never leave his cock if he so much as mentioned the idea.

[somanyratsinthewalls]

Bad Decisions (+18)

Bad Decisions (Sanji x f Reader)

Summary: Your hunger and your impulsivity both get the best of you and you end up in a compromising position. You ask Sanji for help, but it might be even more important to him than it is to you.

Pairing: Sanji x afab!reader

WC: 3500+ oops

TWs: vaginal sex, pet names, oral sex, fingering, crying, begging, virginity loss, it's porn with a brief plot idk man

You were starving. You and the crew had just finished a rough fight on a random island and brought back several chests and bags of treasure back to the ship. For over an hour after your return, you sat on the wooden floor of the deck with Nami going through bags full of gold, silver, and rare jewels. 

“Once we find somewhere to turn all this into berries we can buy the CUTEST new outfits!” Nami shouted with her back to you, head buried in a treasure chest.

“Nami your closet can barely close and you still have stuff with the tags on it, what the hell do you need new clothes for?” You quipped back while rummaging through a burlap sack.

“I’m a pirate, I can do whatever I want y/n.”

You rolled your eyes and continued going through the bag. Your hand felt something… fleshy? Like the soft, tender skin of a banana. You grabbed it and pulled it out to see a strange pink, oblong fruit. Your immediate thought was that this was a devil fruit, but it didn’t bear the signature swirled texture. 

“Nami... come look at this…”

A door was suddenly flung open from the galley. 

“Hello my beautiful girls! I’ve prepared you an aperitif to keep you satiated before dinner is ready! My sweet y/n here-“

Sanji stopped in his tracks after his sudden intrusion.

“Where the hell did you get that? Put it down!” Sanji swiftly placed the tray he was carrying on a barrel and snatched the strange produce out of your hand. 

You were confused as to why Sanji suddenly looked so concerned. 

“Sanji what the fuck is your problem? I found that fair and square!” You snapped at him, your piracy-addled brain wanting to keep it for yourself since it was clearly of value at this point. He held it behind his back as you approached him.

“Mon amour you don’t understand, this is a very dangerous berry and should not be consumed under any circumstance.” Sanji stepped forward, eyes dark with concern.

“Ok weirdo keep your purple banana, I’m here for the diamonds.” Nami said as she carried several of the bags downstairs on the Sunny to the storeroom, leaving you and Sanji in a stalemate on the deck. 

“I’m putting this away.” he said as he walked back into the galley. You followed him quickly, not even letting the door close behind him before threw it open behind you and snipped at him.

“Ok give it up cook, what’s your deal with this thing? Why is it dangerous? It’s not a devil fruit, right?” 

“You don’t understand. These are very rare fruits that are native to the South Blue. I’ve only heard tales from patrons at the Baratie of what this can do to you. It’s the worlds most powerful aphrodisiac.” Sanji’s hands were shaking as he placed the fruit on the kitchen island. 

You snorted trying to keep your laughter in but it fought its way to the front. “Hahaha oh stop it! Those are old wives tales, Sanji. If it’s not a devil fruit, it’s harmless. You’re afraid of it, why? Afraid that it will make you what? Too horny? Come on, be serious!”

“I’m as serious as a heart attack, love. You have NO idea what this can do to someone. And there’s only one way to reverse the affects.” He met your gaze with his last sentence. You expected him to wink or pull something perverted, but his blue eyes showed nothing but worry. You sighed and backed off, realizing that the fruit probably wasn’t worth any money. You returned to the deck and going through the bags Nami left behind.

—-

After another half hour of treasure picking, you heard the growl of your stomach and was painfully reminded of how hungry you were. You silently cursed the curly-browed chef that dinner was taking so long. You made your way to the galley to see how the cooking process was going. 

You walked in to find an empty kitchen. Sanji was probably out having a cigarette. He stopped smoking in the kitchen as much after Robin found a pile of ash in her scrambled eggs one morning. Sanji felt so bad that he cried and groveled for three days. 

You remembered where Sanji stashed that fruit in the ice box. 

Curiously you lifted the lid of the ice box and grabbed the strange berry. As you rolled it in your hand inspecting it, your stomach panged again. Long term thinking had NEVER been your strong suit, hence why you ended up on a dangerous pirate crew with little experience at sea. 

Impulsively, you popped the fruit in your mouth. 

And god, fuck, it was the most magical taste you’ve ever experienced. It was like dark chocolate, raspberries, lavender, all the most tender, delicate flavors rolled into one. You audibly groaned as you tongued it around your mouth. You didn’t want the experience to end but you had to swallow. Right as the fruit hit your stomach the door to the deck opened and there was your blonde lovecook. He looked at you, then at the empty fruit stem in your hand. 

“Tell me you didn’t…” he stood there, mouth agape. 

“So what if I did? I was hungry and you’re dragging ass with dinner. Those stories aren’t even real, I’ll be fine.” You confidently strode towards him trying to move around his tall, slender frame when he grabbed the sides of your arms and forced you to look at him. 

“ARE YOU OUT OF YOUR MIND? DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA HOW DANGEROUS THIS IS?”

“Get off me!” You were young but you were strong and you shook off his grasp with ease. “I’ll be fine. Stop worrying about me. I can handle myself.” And you ducked past him and walked out onto the deck and back down to your room. You would be fine, right? He had no evidence other than stories from dirty old men on the Baratie. You spent awhile in your room reading before the crew was called for dinner. It was a beautiful spread. Luffy was dominating the serving platters while you sat next to Robin and joked about something gross Franky had done earlier in the day with a large bottle of cola. 

Halfway through the meal you started to feel warm. You ignored it, blaming the summer heat. But the warmth grew, spread to your cheeks and deep in your tummy. Your skin felt like you had a fresh sunburn. Robin rubbed your arm accidentally while laughing at a joke and you jolted forward, your skin being so sensitive and hot. 

“Are you okay y/n?” Robin asked looking into your eyes, visibly concerned.

“I’m fine I think… I think I’m just tired… maybe I need to go to bed.”

You looked across the wooden dining table and Sanji was staring directly at you. He had clearly been watching you the whole time, eyes filled with concern for your physical state. You ignored his glare and excused yourself back down to your room. This feeling was unlike anything you’ve ever felt in your life. It was like static electricity going straight through your veins. You went straight to the bathroom and splashed cold water on your face repeatedly. After a big sigh you buried your face in a towel. Looking up into the mirror you notice something. Your nipples were completely erect. 

You couldn’t possibly believe that this fruit did what Sanji said it did… but you realized you were growing increasingly wet between your legs. 

“You’re kidding…” You audibly curse to yourself. 

You went back to your bed and grabbed your book to start reading and calm yourself down. You stared at the pages, your brain unable to focus on any of the words, only able to focus on the electric feeling in your body. 

Your body was no longer just hot, it was BURNING. You were wearing a large grey t shirt and light pink panties. You look down and see that you’ve soaked them completely through. Frustrated, you throw your book on the table and lay fully on your back. You want to resolve the issue quickly without problems so you reach your hand down into your underwear and start to circle your clit with your right hand. 

It wasn’t enough. 

You insert your pointer and middle finger inside of yourself the way you always do when you need to release. It wasn’t working. You were hurting. It simply wasn’t enough. You kept trying. You were panting and sweating, your hair plastered to your forehead and grunting in frustration as you struggled to reach a peak. Your skin was so sensitive but you simply couldn’t get there. You were starting to feel sick…. The hot, sweating feeling becoming too much for your brain. An idea suddenly hit you-

“There’s only one way to reverse the effects.” Sanji. He knew. He knew how to fix this. You sprinted out of bed, still in a t shirt and panties and grabbed your baby den den mushi and called the Sunny’s landline, knowing it was in the kitchen and Sanji would be there washing dishes. It rang. You waited. Sweat beads dripping down your forehead, pain radiating through your lower half, you kept waiting for a response. 

“Y/n? Mon amour? Are you okay?” Sanji’s concerned, deep voice came through on the line.

“No I’m not. You were right I was wrong, okay? I need you to get down here now.”

He breathed heavily on the other end, having an idea as to what you were going through. He didn't respond.

“Sanji. You told me you knew how to fix this. Please…” your voice was trembling and broken. 

As soon as he heard the desperation in your begging he knew it was serious. He had an obligation to his crew mate. 

“I’ll be there right now.” And he hung up.

Barely a few moments later you heard rapid knocks on your door and the knob turning. Sanji was fully unprepared for the sight he saw when he entered your room.

There you were. Laid out on your bed, but thighs clamped together so desperately trying to get any sort of friction on your aching clit. Sweat from your neck had stained your large, old t shirt. Your breathing was so heavy he could see your breasts rise and fall tiredly, clearly not wearing a bra. 

“I told you not to do this…”

“Okay! I know! I get it! I should have listened to you! But right now Sanji I-… I need your help.. please…” 

He had imagined it so many times… you spread out in bed, begging and pleading for him. Was he dreaming again? He fisted his cock late at night so often thinking about this exact situation. But as a gentleman he was hesitant. Would you be begging for him like this had you not ingested that fruit? Would it be right to touch you like this? You weren’t drunk, you weren’t on drugs, but is it right? His brain was going a thousand nautical miles a minute until you spoke again.

“Sanji…”

You looked at him as you sat up on your elbows. You let your legs fall apart as far as they would go so he could see the massive soaked spot on your panties. 

“Sanji please… it hurts so much…” 

Hurts. You said it hurts. You were in pain. He could see the tears threatening to fall from your lashes. He has never seen you like this a day in his life, even 2 years ago when you first joined the crew and you were new to piracy. He had seen you take blade slices and Chopper sewed them up with no anesthesia and you barely winced. He could barely imagine the pain and frustration that was causing you to have this reaction now. He vowed to never leave a woman in distress, and you certainly were. 

“Let me go get Chopper, he will know what to do.”

“NO!” You shout at him. “Don’t you dare tell anyone on this ship what happened. You said you could help me and I need it.” You were pleading with him. He saw the look in your eyes. So much desperation. So much lust. How could he leave you writhing in all this pain?

Screw it. 

Sanji quickly slips off his shirt jacket and it falls to the floor. He strides toward you loosening his tie. He sits down next to you on the bed. He was more than a little hesitant but he couldn’t resist anymore.

“I need you to understand... that if I help you with this… we won’t ever be the same… I need you to tell me that’s okay.” 

You grabbed his hand. It was so soft and delicate in yours. Slender fingers slotting in between yours. You looked up into his all-blue eyes, you could see the worry. He looked at you like a porcelain doll that he might break if he takes it off the shelf to play with. But you could tell deep down, he wanted to play.

“It’s okay. I need your help Sanji. Please help me.” You breathed out, the feelings getting so much more intense. Your pussy was clenching around nothing after just feeling his hand in yours… your pulse was so high… You needed release soon or you thought you might have a heart attack.

“Fine. But if anything feels wrong you’ll tell me to stop, love, right?”

You nodded your head aggressively and lifted your torso off the bed and removed your shirt. Tossing it aside you then shimmied off your panties, leaving your body fully naked on the bed for him. He had never seen something so beautiful… pert, full breasts heaving on your chest, a sheen of sweat covering your skin. A puddle was forming on the sheets between your legs…. He knew this wasn’t normal. The wetness your pussy was experiencing was nothing human at this point, dripping far more than was normal for any biological person. It was clearly aching.

Sanji got to his knees at the base of the bed, fully taking his tie off now and undoing several buttons of his dress shirt. “Ok love, I’m going to fix all of this.”

He grabbed the backs of your knees and yanked your sweat covered body to the edge of the bed so that he was face to face with your hot, dripping sex. 

“Merde…”

Sanji knew this was his dream. Sure the All Blue was number one but this was the best thing he’s ever seen or smelled. He leans forward towards your bare pussy to deeply inhale your scent. You cover your face, embarrassed at his lewd, perverted actions.

“Sanji please…” you were whining and writhing, waiting for him to touch you. 

He firmly grabs your hip with one hand and holds you down while he spreads your lips with two fingers from the other hand. No longer able to resist your sopping cunt, he dives in immediately and latches onto your throbbing clit. 

You scream out underneath his touch, your skin so painfully sensitive that it feels a thousand times more pleasurable with his mouth. You moan loudly as he laps and sucks at your most sensitive area. With the affects of the fruit and the pleasure Sanji is giving to you, your brain short circuits. You instinctively fist his blonde locks and pull him deeper into your cunt. You needed release and you needed it now. 

Sanji was in Heaven, your sweet sounds and the taste of your rapturous pussy he could barely think straight. Things were going beyond well… especially for someone who has never done this before. Sanji has never touched a woman, let alone had sex. This was a show. He snuck some of Robin’s erotic novels months ago and tried to understand  how to please a woman should the opportunity arise. Sanji’s hands were shaking on your thighs, trying to make sure everything was perfect for you. He remembered reading that having fingers inside a woman feels good when done right. He inserts two fingers and crooks them upwards, pulling slightly while his lips were wrapped around your clit and you shouted out in pleasure.

“Sanji! Oh my god! That’s it, please! It’s perfect, right there! Don’t you dare stop, please!”

Hearing you simultaneously praise and beg him made his head swim. He never thought he’d be able to pleasure a woman like this. He ruts his crotch into the side of the bed as he slurps down all of your sinful juices, trying to suppress his own sexual desires. 

You felt the tension and in your belly start to reach its peak and you aggressively grabbed Sanji’s head.

“Im… cumming!” You shrieked as you released all over his face. You laid back and heaved and felt relieved.. but only for a moment… 

He pulled off of your cunt, goatee soaked in your release. He greedily licks his lips, smirk forming at the corners.  

“My love… it was the best meal I’ve ever eaten in my life… and as someone with a refined palate, I simply can’t say what an honor it’s been.” He tries to compose himself and put his tie back into place as he stands up from the bed. You grab his wrist. 

“Sanji… I need more… all of it… please…” 

He couldn’t believe that he was hearing. Was this it? He needed you almost as bad as you needed him at this point. 

“My darling… do you mean that?” He asks hesitantly

“Of course I do. It still hurts, Sanji. I can’t get rid of this unless I feel all of you inside of me… please…”

Sanji rips off his clothes at lightening speed, stumbling over his trousers in the process. Thick cock slapping his stomach as he pulls down his briefs. He climbs back onto the bed and hovers over you. Remembering the books he read, he grabs an extra pillow and shoves it under your ass, grabbing an experimental squeeze as he does it. You giggle.

“M-my love… I’ve… I’ve never done this before.”

You look up at him, shocked and bewildered. A virgin? Maybe it was because of the mysterious fruit’s effects, but this man had just given you the most earth shattering orgasm you’ve ever had. How can this really be his first time?

“Oh Sanji I’m sorry I just can’t help it, if you don’t want to-“ He cut you off with a sloppy, passionate kiss on your lips. It was messy, it was frantic, it was needy and so, so good. He pulls back panting and says to you, 

“I want to. My love, I want to more than you know, please let me help you.” 

You release a breath you didn’t know you were holding and reached up to cup his face with one hand and pull him into a kiss. With your other hand you reached down and guided his throbbing, virgin cock into yourself. 

Sanji groans against your lips, you suck a breath in, finally feeling the fullness your body has been violently craving for what felt like an eternity. He leans back from your kiss, seemingly trying to catch his breath and compose himself. He knew it would be good, but the feeling was far more than he’d ever imagined. Your insides were so warm, so wet and open for him, fitting him inside you so perfectly like the last piece to a puzzle. He was broken out of his trance by a desperate whine from underneath him.

“Sanji… baby please… I need more, fuck me now please?” You bucked your hips upwards into him deeper, trying to fuck yourself on his cock desperately trying to fix the painful ache in your lower half. 

He pulled out of you slowly, still hesitant as to what to do, this being the first time he’s ever made love to a woman, let alone someone he felt so passionately about. He leans forward and fully pushes his sensitive cock back inside of you and you let out a high pitched whine. He repeats his actions as he finds a comfortable rhythm. 

“Oh Sanji thank you so much, thank you so much, it feels so good baby, just like that…” You punctuated his thrusts with explicit compliments and loud moans. Growing confident, he leans back and places his hands on the back of your thighs and pushes them up to your chest. He speeds up his hips and you feel his thick cock reach the perfect spot at this new angle. 

“Sanji! There!” You were screaming at this point. Sanji had half a mind to cover your mouth, knowing every other person on the Sunny could hear you calling out his name in pleasure… but the other half? The thought of everyone knowing that HE was the one giving you such intense pleasure that you can’t help but shriek his name throughout the ship? That was the half that was winning. 

You feel like you’re about to explode. It was right there, you could feel it. Tears begin streaming down your face as your love cook destroys your sloppy pussy with vigor. 

“My love you’re so close, I can barely pull myself out… Please cum for me? Mon amour, I need to see it again. I need to feel you cum on me, please? You’re so beautiful when you cum, you’re perfect, darling, please?” Sanji was shamelessly begging you to release on his cock. He desperately drilled his hips into you, pushing your further up into a pretzel. 

“Yes Sanji I’m right there, fuck baby I’m cumming, SHIT-“ you screamed. The orgasm ripped through your entire body, unlike you’ve ever felt. It was an almost painful, intense pleasure. Sanji continued to plow into you, so incredibly close to his own peak, trying to talk you through it but your ears were ringing. 

“So perfect baby, such a perfect, gorgeous pussy. My perfect little pussy, so good for me…I love you so mu- oh my darling, I’m going to cum, please let me fill you!”

Your brain short circuited, so broken by your orgasm, body almost numb. “Yes of course, I want all of it Sanji please! I want your cum inside of me.”

And with that, he did. He moaned your name loudly as he slumps forward meeting your forehead with his. He lets your legs fall comfortably, but stays on top and inside of you. Nothing but heavy breathing and the sound of waves hitting the side of the ship could be heard. After a few minutes he pulls back and he looks into your eyes, seeing the relief, that you’re finally rid of your pain, he smiles. You smile back. You both start laughing. 

“Sanji, thank you.” You finally breath out after catching the giggles, not even believing what just happened. 

“It truly was my pleasure, darling. Just… just promise me you won’t do anything that stupid again?”

“After how incredible that was? I can make absolutely no promises.” You laugh. “Hey remember when you said you loved me?”

Sanji buried his face in your neck with a groan, clearly embarrassed and hiding his shame. It wasn’t a lie, he just knew you didn’t feel the same way. He didn’t know what to say, he wanted to throw himself into the ocean outside the window just to get away from confronting this. He pulled out of the crook of your neck to look at your face. 

“Y/n I-“

“Shhh…” you press your finger to his kiss-bitten lips. “Stay here tonight. We can talk tomorrow.” You assure him while stroking his cheek. Sanji sighs in relief, kissing you gently and laying his head on the pillow next to yours. With nothing left to say you both drift off to sleep, limbs tangled together on your mattress. You can talk about this in the morning.

xx

[sloanesallow]

need

Sebastian misses his girlfriend. The solution? Well, surprise her, of course! Alternatively, needy and greedy Sebastian. ✨Sebastian Sallow x F!MC Tags: NSFW! MDNI! Explicit sexual content, oral sex (f receiving), face-sitting, needy Sebastian and lots of cheesy dialogue. 2.6k words [Read on Ao3] | [Read on Wattpad]

Sebastian Sallow is an idiot.

He knows he’s an idiot and it isn’t because his roommates Ominis and Garreth tells him so almost every day. No, it’s because only an idiot—a needy, madman in love—would apparate, uninvited to his girlfriend’s flat in Marseille in the middle of the night.

This is the first time since the start of his romantic relationship with Sloane that they’ve spent significant time apart. While he works his apprenticeship at Gringotts in London, she is in the south of France, researching with an elite group of herbologists. Wary of the split from the start, time and distance has made Sebastian unwell, to put it mildly.

His need for Sloane is a thrumming pulse in his veins, an ache that won’t subside no matter how he tries to distract himself. To say he misses her is an incredible understatement. The separation gnaws at him, a relentless hunger that only her presence can satiate.

When did he become so co-dependent—or has he always been this tethered to her?

The yearning threatens to turn him mad. With an address and her in mind, he slips through space and time itself, traveling over six-hundred miles in the blink of an eye. Sebastian can smell the ocean when he materializes with a pop on a dimly lit street, glancing from the parchment in his hand to the placard on the nearby building.

He is an idiot, he thinks to himself again as he climbs the stairs as quickly and quietly as he can until he’s staring at the bronze number 8 pinned to Sloane’s door. It takes him several moments to collect his thoughts, practicing what he might say when she opens the door—Merlin, he hopes she’ll open the door.

What time is it?

His first few knocks are far too gentle, not nearly loud enough for anyone to hear. Glancing at his surroundings as if he is being watched by some unseen force, he shuffles his feet and tries again, this time rapping his knuckles a little harder against the thick wood. Nearly a minute passes and he wonders how acceptable it would be to just break in when the door creaks open.   

Sebastian forgets how to breathe.

There she is, standing in the doorway—Sloane, dressed in the tiniest chemise known to mankind. Barefoot and bleary-eyed, she doesn’t seem to comprehend his presence, lazily covering her mouth as she yawns. His restraint is threadbare, fingers twitching at his sides as he resists the urge to yank her into his embrace.

“Do you always answer the door half-naked, sweetheart?” he teases, flicking his gaze from one exposed patch of skin to the next.

“I was asleep—” she mumbles half-heartedly, and he grins when realization settles across her face. “Seb—Sebastian!?”  

Fuck it.

He crosses the threshold, and Sloane barely has time to react as he plucks her up off the ground and into his arms. Her legs instinctively wrap around his waist, soft hands framing his face as he kisses her like the greedy bastard he is. Sebastian kicks the door shut, relishing in the heat of her body against his. He kisses her until his lungs burn for air, pulling away just enough to alleviate the sting and look at her through heavy-lidded eyes.

“Where’s your bed?” he murmurs against her lips.

Sloane, in a surprised haze, take a moment to reply. “Down the hall.”

Sebastian steadily makes his way through the small dwelling until they reach her cozy bedroom, an organized mess of journals, potions, and plants. Her bed reminds him of the sleeping arrangements back at Hogwarts—large enough for one person, barely enough room for two. Good thing he doesn’t plan on sleeping.

Sloane lets out a breezy laugh as he flops her down on the mattress, her body stretched out for him to admire. He remains standing bedside, mirroring her delighted expression, thankful she didn’t have a negative reaction to his surprise. She watches him with sparkling eyes as he disrobes, haphazardly shedding his clothes until only his socks remain.

“Are you really here?” she asks as he shifts to hover over her, bracing his weight on his elbows. Her fingers trace the outline of his face again as if he is a figment of her imagination that might disappear.

“Yes,” he simply answers, momentarily slowing down to pepper her face with sweet kisses before trailing down the curve of her neck. She smells like fresh rain and lemon zest. “Have you been dreaming of me?”  

Sloane’s coy smile and brilliant blush is enough of an answer. Her breath hitches as he nips the delicate skin above her collarbone. “But why are you here?”

“Isn’t it obvious, sweetheart?” Sebastian teases, a devious chuckle echoing against her ear. He pulls back just enough so their eyes can meet. “I missed you.”

She sighs, something between pleasure and amusement. “It’s been—”

“Three months,” he quips. “I know. But…being apart from you, Sloane…it’s harder than I ever imagined it to be.” He steals a quick peck, and then another. “Work keeps me busy, but when I go home in the evening and you’re not there, I find myself…lonely.”

“And I can’t very well go sneaking into Ominis’ room,” he comments with only a little sarcasm. “Well, I could, but I don’t think he’d appreciate me waking him up for a snuggle.”

“Is that what you call it?” Sloane’s nose scrunches up as she giggles. “You really came all the way here to…fuck?”

“Don’t say it like that!” Sebastian murmurs, hanging his head at the tickle of shame that churns his gut. The optics of his impromptu visit made him out to be an even bigger cad than usual. “Good grief, woman, you know what I mean.”

“Do I?”

“It isn’t like I’m spending every waking hour of every day in a perpetual state of sexual frustration—”

“You aren’t?”

He blinks, realizing Sloane is teasing him. She smirks, leaning up to kiss him in the soft way that always calms his heart. “I missed you too, Sebastian.”

For several moments they simply kiss, languid and unhurried despite the circumstances. A small part of him regrets this impulsive decision, knowing his time in Marseille is limited—a few hours at most. Time will tell if he’s inadvertently added to his suffering when he has to leave, not knowing when they’ll see each other again.

“How long can you stay?” she asks when he breaks away to kiss down her neck and shoulder, as if she can read his mind. Instead of answering right away, he follows the low line of her negligée, her breath hitching when he tugs the fabric down with his teeth.

“I have an appointment at the Ministry in the morning,” he says, words mumbled as he sucks her exposed nipple into his mouth. Sloane moans and it is a sound he’s been yearning to hear. “But I can be…late.”

Sebastian shifts, lowering his body down as he pushes her nightgown up, bunching it beneath her breasts. He kisses across her abdomen, dipping his tongue into her navel and grinning when she squeaks at the ticklish sensation. Sloane lifts her hips when he tugs at the band of her underwear, making it easy for him to peel them away and toss over his shoulder to join the pile of discarded clothes on the floor.

It isn’t until Sebastian is about to make himself comfortable between her spread legs that he notices something…different. He falters, eyes darting up to see Sloane biting back a cheeky smirk. His gaze drops back down to the apex of her thighs, where instead of the soft blonde curls he’s used to seeing, there is only bare flesh.

A strangled chuckle escapes him. “What did you do?”

“I did as the French do,” she simply explains, clearly amused by his bewildered reaction. “One of the other researchers here, a girl my age, insisted on taking me shopping.”

“Is this what they call shopping in France?” Sebastian sarcastically remarks, slowly brushing his fingers across her now smooth skin. Whatever Sloane’s response was to be dies on her tongue as she whimpers, hips twitching towards his touch. Fuck—she’s so warm, and soft, and he suddenly can’t wait to taste her like this.

Just as he’s about to dip his head down, a wicked idea flashes through his mind, a fragment of a fantasy he’d constructed while alone in his bed with only his thoughts and his hand. He pulls away, delighting in the mewling whine that slips from her lips. She watches him with a confused expression as he stretches out next to her, his head comfortably resting on the pillows.

“Straddle me,” he says, rather plainly, flashing a wicked grin. “Sit on my face.”

Sloane’s eyes widen and for a moment Sebastian is worried that he’s scandalized her, but he can’t take it back now. He licks his lips, carefully observing his sweet girlfriend’s face as she mimics the action, clearly envisioning the act in her mind. The second she moves, his hands are on her waist, helping to position her body above his. Her knees press into the pillow on either side of his head, and when she glances down, he thinks she must be an angel sent to escort him to the afterlife.

She flashes a shaky, uncertain smile, “like this?”

Sebastian groans in satisfaction, the scent of her arousal dizzying, intoxicating. She’s barely situated when he darts his tongue out, tightening his grip around her hips to keep her steady. He licks a stripe through her folds, repeating the action in broad strokes as he lavishes her, unable to resist. The taste of her is something he wishes to bottle, to drown in later when he’s forced to depart.

He wraps his lips around her clit, eagerly sucking the bundle of nerves that makes her quiver. Sloane’s breath catches, a broken whine spilling from her panting mouth as she braces herself against the headboard. Her fingers grip the wooden frame and her head sags forward, eyes clenched tight as she succumbs to his fervor.

“Rock against me, love,” he instructs, a raspy request made against her inner thigh. Sloane complies in a heartbeat, brows furrowing together in concentration. Sebastian supports her, his fingers squeezing around her hips as he guides her movements against him. “That’s a good girl—fuck—you taste so good.”

He’s relentless in his desire, desperate to feel her come undone. He pushes his nose against her, nearly smothering himself as he probes her entrance with his tongue, grinning when she makes a high-pitched, satisfied sound. Sebastian groans in response, gripping her tighter as her thighs begin to tremble, her body tensing as he edges her ever closer to oblivion.

“Sebastian,” Sloane gasps out, her voice a strained whisper, a plea laced with the ecstasy he’s drawing out from her. She arches, head thrown back as her chest heaves with every ragged breath. Her rocking becomes more frantic, seeking out the sensations his wicked mouth is conjuring.

Seconds later she shatters, crying out his name in a broken moan that nearly sends him over the edge as well. Sebastian holds her through it all, his arms moving to wrap around her thighs and waist as she convulses against him. All the while his mouth never ceases its frenzy, coaxing out every tremor until she’s slumped against the headboard.

When she starts to teeter, he’s there to catch her, gently placing her against the pillows so she can catch her breath. Sebastian is equally winded, but the slight sting to his lungs is worth it to see such a fucked-out expression on her face. He rolls to frame her body with his own, slotting his hips between her thighs so he can press his aching cock against the slick mess he’s just created.

“Do you need a moment?” he asks, gruffly. He balances his weight on one arm, using his free hand to tenderly cradle the side of her face. Sloane shakes her head, flashing a breathless smile as she shifts to accommodate his eager arousal. She hooks her legs around him and he reaches between them to guide himself, easily sliding into the tight warmth of her core.

As soon as he is fully sheathed inside, Sebastian takes a moment to absorb the sensation, wishing he could stay with her—inside her—forever. His initial rhythm is slow and measured as he watches Sloane’s face, memorizing every flicker of pleasure, every sigh and crease that forms between her brows as she loses herself to the feeling. His pace gradually builds, intensifying with each stroke as the fire between them burns.

Sebastian gathers her hands in his free one, pinning them above her head as he shifts his weight to grind down, the angle allowing him to slip deeper. Sloane responds with a litany of moans, her back arching up to meet each roll of his hips. Eventually his thrusts grow more insistent, more demanding as he craves to see her climax once more. Her legs sinch around his waist and her walls clench around him, urging him on, silently begging for the release that is so, so close.    

He captures her lips in a searing kiss, both hungry and panting as the end draws near. Sebastian grunts as he ruts against her, completely losing control as her entire body shudders and tenses with the wave of her orgasm. His own builds at the base of his spine, a heat that threatens to consume him—and he might just let it. Before he can fully realize it, he’s spilling into her depths, the two crying out in tandem ecstasy.

The next coherent thought Sebastian has is when he’s blinking up at the ceiling, his heart still pounding in his ears from the intensity of their coupling. He attempts to steady his breathing, but it’s a lost cause. Instead, he turns his head to find Sloane in a similar state on her back, a content smile curling her lips in an adorable way.

She lazily glances at him and sighs. “I missed you.”

He nearly ruins the moment with a crass joke about her missing his cock, but decides that saying something earnest is better.

“I miss you every day, Sloane. And I can’t wait for you to come home,” he says, reaching over to delicately trace the curve of her cheek with his fingers. “Well, wherever you want to call home, that is. I don’t suppose you’d want to live in a tiny London flat with two other men–”

He stops when he realizes he’s rambling. 

“Anyways…” he sighs, brushing through her hair. “I am ready to spend every night like this.” 

“Every night?”

“Yes,” he quickly replies. “And morning. And afternoon. Every minute we can spare.”

Sloane smiles, and for several minutes they simply exist, gazing into each other’s eyes as the present and future looms. She exhales, and there’s a sadness in her eyes that he doesn’t want to see. “Are you sure you have to leave?”

“Are you sure you have to stay?” he counters, though he knows it would be unfair to ask her to come back to London. He attempts a tease, “you know, you could come visit me.”

“I could,” she agrees with a nod, though her tone indicates she’s skeptical. “But I don’t have roommates. Ominis may be blind, but he doesn’t need to hear us—” “Nothing he hasn’t heard before,” Sebastian murmurs, earning him a playful pinch. He sighs, closing the distance for a moment to kiss her, knowing their time is running out. “We’ve always been resourceful, sweetheart. We’d find a way to be together.”

The levity gradually melts into a content silence, Sloane scooting to nuzzle against his side with her head on his chest. Sebastian wraps his arms around her, his hands slowly caressing up and down her back until he can sense she’s drifted to sleep.

He’ll stay, just for a little bit longer.

[lilibethwrites]

Growing Pains

Chapter 3 (out of 4): Theirs is the Fury?

Aemond Targaryen x F!Velaryon (Strong) Reader

  Part 1 – Part 2 - Part 4 (finale)

  Clueless as ever to one another’s true feelings, Aemond and Y/N take a leap of faith that spirals into events that would change their lives forever. But, for the better or for the worse?

  Warnings: NSFW

  Word count: 4455

The only witnesses to what Aemond meant to do were the stars of the clear night sky and the blood-red leaves of the godswood tree.

 “Y/N,” he whispered, and she raised her head just enough to look him in the eye. She was clearly drunk on the bitter and strong wine, and he himself wasn’t entirely sober.

 Did she really have the same look in her eyes, or clouded by wine and desire, did Aemond see what he wanted to see, he couldn’t tell. Regardless, he caressed her soft jawline, and she, far from his estimations, leaned into his touch. As he slowly and cautiously inched in, Y/N eagerly closed the distance between them.

 Not much excited the cold heart of Prince Aemond, yet when Y/N sloppily pressed her open lips against his, he could hear the pounding of his heart in his ear. Her graceful fingers combed through his hair, and Aemond clutched her waist so tightly he worried he might have bruised her.

 Y/N tasted the bitter wine on Aemond’s tongue as his swirled around hers, a stifled moan or two escaped their throats as they deepened the kiss. Save for the quiet rustling of the leaves and the distant howling of the wolves, the only sound in the garden was the panting and the choked moans of the Prince and the Princess—dare Y/N thought, the two lovers.

 Aemond was the first to pull back, gasping for air with reddened, swollen lips. Y/N’s weren’t dissimilar to his. She looked at him with wide, glassy eyes, as if his breaking the kiss was a grave insult or an unexpected blow to her.

 They stood still staring at one another for a moment. Aemond was beginning to question the virtue of his act when Y/N threw herself back into his arms languidly, her lips planting kisses wherever they could: his sharp jawline, strong chin stubbled from days of dragonback travel, his cheeks, the corners of his lips. He let her at first. How could he not when that was what he desired the most? But then the bitter realization sunk in, piercing like a sharp blade through the sweet mumbles and purrs of Y/N.

 The truth was clear as day to Aemond: he got Y/N drunk just so he could satiate his hunger for the woman he couldn’t have. He knew himself to be vile, but that was foul and loathsome, even for someone as horrible as him.

 Y/N noticed the Prince stiffen and drift off under her hands and lips, and pulled back to cup his cheeks.

 “Aemond—” she almost let slip the one thing she wanted to call him: my love.

 “Is something the matter?” Y/N found it difficult to speak, her tongue felt too big for her mouth.

 “No,” Aemond shook his head solemnly, his lips still glistening under the moonlight of their passionate kiss. “Let me get you to bed.”

 He placed a hand on her back, and clutched her hand with the other to help her up.

 “Oh… oh, okay…” Y/N trailed off, thinking not much of it. Truth be told, she couldn’t think much of anything. Her mind and heart changed places, and she was still reeling from the moment Aemond’s chapped lips grazed against hers and his warm tongue danced with hers.

 And to bed Aemond put Y/N. He tried desperately to fight sleep off, worrying that come morning, he perhaps couldn’t remember how Y/N’s hands felt on his neck as she hungrily pressed her body against his. But he also hoped she couldn’t remember much either. If she did, he was certain it wouldn’t be with a fond smile.

 Camylle’s sing-songy voice tore Y/N from her deep slumber, and she rose with a head too heavy to be propped up by her neck.

 The night before was a haze, but the Gods themselves couldn’t rob Y/N of what she remembered: In a sudden and silent harmony, she confessed her love to Aemond and he confessed his back. They didn’t need the words where their lips sealed their declaration of love.

 “Good morning, Camylle,” Y/N grinned sheepishly, all but jumping out of bed.

 “My Princess is in a good mood today, I gather,” she followed behind, helping Y/N change into one of her better-tailored gowns.

 “Indeed I am. Life is beautiful, don’t you think? Perhaps I was gloomy for no reason, after all.”

 Y/N expected Aemond in his seat at the breakfast table, smiling up at his lover, perhaps arranging a date to meet with her after his morning practice away from the prying eyes. Instead, she found him missing altogether.

 “Where is Prince Aemond?” She asked Queen Alicent without a dent in her smile.

 “Oh, he excused himself just a moment ago,” exactly when Y/N was announced to the family to be joining the breakfast. Perhaps he wanted to break his fast with her instead, devouring her lips instead of the sweetmeat.

 “I see. Where might I find him?”

 “He didn’t say,” Queen Alicent gave Y/N a questioning look with her squinted eyes. Come to think of it, it was a bit unusual for her to ask after Aemond alone when Helaena and Aegon were both missing from the table as well. Y/N hadn’t noticed them missing, nor the suspicion her inquiry aroused in her own mother and step-father.

 Y/N also excused herself swiftly after, not allowing doubt to sprout inside her once again. Aemond wasn’t in his chambers, the Kingsguard confirmed. He wasn’t training in the yard, either. But close by, in the armory, with his back turned to the door, he was polishing his night-black armor.

 “Aemond, I missed you at the breakfast,” Y/N circled around him as quickly as her skirt allowed her, and leaned against a table. Aemond didn’t look up from his work.

 “Aemond?” Did Y/N do something last night that she couldn’t remember? Said something, or touched him in a way under the influence of the wine that offended him? It didn’t matter if she did or not, she’d gladly apologize to leave it behind.

 “About last night,” she began but was quickly interrupted by Aemond.

 “It was a mistake,” he spoke sharply, though in his mind, it was an apology and he spoke accordingly. It pained him to see their friendship would come down to this. Where he had hoped it would flower into something more intimate, he now realized it couldn’t even be salvaged at all. His only hope was that Y/N didn’t feel dirty or dishonored because of his vile behavior.

 Y/N gulped. A mistake? She could feel her eyes filling up with tears, so she blinked quickly and looked up to the ceiling of the armory to will them away. What good would it do to sob? Aemond seemed determined, and once his mind was made up, the entirety of Westeros coming together couldn’t make him budge. Oh how quickly the world collapsed on her: all it took was three words from Aemond.

 Y/N sniffled. Her distress was too much to witness, even for a cold, cold man like Aemond. He turned his face away from the sorry scene unravelling in front of him. He wondered if Y/N hated him. He thought about offering his exile, he thought about falling to his knees and apologizing until Y/N was convinced he was sincere in his guilt and shame. Instead, he froze. He expected Y/N to scream out, to slap him, to announce his vile ways to the entire Red Keep. Instead, Y/N spoke between hiccupped breaths.

 “I understand.”

 Y/N left, and Aemond threw the heavy armor to the ground.

 “You’re wearing a long face,” Rhaenyra called out behind Y/N as she tried to avoid her mother and her entourage. All she wanted was to lock herself in her bedchambers and sob until her reddened eyes couldn’t produce any more tears to weep for Aemond.

 Perhaps Y/N was mistaken all along. Perhaps Aemond delighted in seeing her suffer all the same. And perhaps he had been just as cruel to her as he was to any other poor soul, just in a way that hurt more than a lash or a kick. She could rise above it. If he was a dragon, then so was she.

 Y/N threw the heavy blanket off herself, and pushed herself off the bed where she spent the better part of the day sobbing and hitting her pillows. She stood tall and proud in front of the mirror in her bedchamber and with red, swollen eyes, she made herself a promise. This game had been going on for far too long, and seemingly all at her expense. She would give Aemond the satisfaction no more. Come dinner time, Y/N’s hair was brushed with a heated brush, perfectly straight and adorned with golden clips, and she wore a red gown that sat just right on her figure.

 Aemond was there, as well. Of course, he would not miss the occasion, having successfully played his cruel joke on Y/N—and perhaps it was an act of drawn-out revenge for all the times she had teased him as a child; nothing should ever be put past him, nothing was ever below him, Y/N finally understood. He was seated in his usual place, and it was Y/N’s turn to train her eyes on the copper plate in front of her. She could feel Aemond’s eye on her, hoping to catch her gaze. She would’ve loved nothing more than to stare defiantly into his eye, but the strength she had willed for wasn’t quite enough for that. Breaking down and crying when the evening should be an opportunity for her vengeance wouldn’t do.

 Y/N cleared her throat and raised her cup. Rhaenyra gave her a reassuring smile, and Y/N stood up from her seat.

 “I would like to announce the delightful news of my betrothal to Lord Orwen Lannister.”

 “Oh, how wonderful! Darling, this is great news. Congratulations!” Queen Alicent was the first to cheer, and the table followed her into applauding this new, prosperous union.

 The table clapped, except for Aemond, who clutched his cup so tightly his knuckles turned white. He was breathing through the flared nostrils of his nose, his lips were pursed in silent fury, and his wide eye trained on the trays filled with meat and fruits. And on the other end of the table, speaking the words out loud finally allowed the realization to sink into Y/N. She sank, like a Velaryon warship, back to her seat. This time, it was happening. In just a day, she drifted in the tempest of cruel fate, from one port of happiness in Aemond’s arms to eternal misery as a Lannister’s lady-wife.

 The chatter filled the room, and Luke instructed the musicians to play songs in celebration. It was among the laughs and claps that Aemond’s fist fell onto the table, and without a word, he left the dinner. Y/N couldn’t look up to see if she had succeeded in avenging herself, for she still didn’t trust her eyes not to open the floodgates once again as soon as she looked at the man she thought she would spend the rest of her days with. Instead, she smiled at Alicent and feigned interest in the catalogue of desserts she’s promised. Thinking with one’s heart would only lead to doom, the Maester once told Y/N, and she reminded herself that despite her weeping heart, her mind had to triumph, and by the manner of Aemond’s departure, it did. Yet, her heart wept for him, and she drowned the thoughts of rushing after him with cups and cups of wine.

 The very next day, preparations began. Y/N’s dowry was being prepared by her handmaidens and her lord-husband was to arrive by afternoon. The servants and several highborn maidens of her age surrounded Y/N as they agreed to aid in the wedding preparations. Wasn’t she just so excited? And how lucky she was to marry into one of the richest houses. She could wear the fanciest wedding dress in all of Westeros! And she could have all the jewellery she ever wanted. Yet they all paled in comparison to Aemond.

 Rhaenyra noticed Y/N’s newfound love for wine, but chalked it up to her nerves. Who wouldn’t be nervous in the face of such a big occasion? She didn’t find it alarming, because she didn’t know that Y/N drank until she couldn’t anymore and her frequent naps were to escape into dreams where Aemond still waited for her under the weirwood tree, kissing and embracing her. Rhaenyra also didn’t know, for Camylle would never betray Y/N’s trust, that she woke up from her naps calling out for Aemond.

 On a day such as this, Y/N was rudely awakened from one of her many naps. Camylle was shaking Y/N by the shoulders, pleading with her to wake up, and wake up quick. Y/N didn’t need to ask what warranted her to be awake at noon, as the commotion under her window could be heard clearly in her bedchamber.

 She first heard Queen Alicent’s voice, screaming at the Kingsguard to fetch Ser Criston quickly, and the Maester, too. Then she heard Aegon laughing manically, and Helaena’s quiet sobs and pleads.

 “By the Gods, stop it, Aemond!” Otto Hightower roared, to no avail.

 There was a circle of a crowd in the courtyard, in the middle was a man entirely in red, sprawled out on the floor. Straddling him was Aemond, raining down punches like a downpour of fists. Y/N rubbed her eyes. The man, red with his own blood, red as his cloak, was none other than her lord husband-to-be.

 Soon a dozen of the Kingsguard led by Ser Criston entered the yard, cut through the crowd and managed to pull back and restrain Aemond. He was screaming threats and insults, promising that he wasn’t done with the man tended to by the Maester.

 Maybe it made Y/N a monster of Aemond’s kind, and perhaps that was why she was so enamored by him, but she didn’t feel much for the Lannister boy. She pitied him just as much as she would pity anyone else who fought and lost in a one-sided fight. And whenever it was against Aemond, it was always a one-sided one. Even against Ser Criston, Aemond would still triumph.

 Still, she knew she had to head down, to show her support for her betrothed. Camylle, however, informed her that Prince Daemon strictly forbade Y/N from doing just that. He was right, her presence would only fuel the flames.

 “No one knows how it started,” Camylle continued while serving Y/N a cup of water as if she had read her mind full of questions.

 “Some say the Prince simply took the Lannister lord by the collar and dragged him to the yard where he began beating him without a word of reason. Some say they got into a heated exchange before they engaged in a duel.”

 Y/N stifled a snicker. It was inappropriate, but the idea of Orwen Lannister dragged out like a dog by the leash to the yard by Aemond entertained her. Looking back down to the yard, the crowd had dispersed. Both Aemond and Orwen were nowhere to be seen, and a few guards were busy at work, cleaning Orwen Lannister’s blood from the stones.

 Families took dinners in their personal chambers until the crisis was settled. The following night, Rhaenyra forbade Y/N from ever seeing that “brute of a boy” again. Prince Daemon, however, was amused.

 “You have to admire his ferocity, at the very least. The boy is like a wild wolf in a flock of sheep.”

 Rhaenyra gave him a warning look, gesturing in Y/N’s direction.

 “No, she should hear it. She must be prepared for the blood that will be shed for her name and her own blood. The Lannister boy should have known the competition was fierce.”

 “This was no competition. Prince Aemond did this to upset me. To rob me of my betrothal.”

 “Oh, is that what you think?” Daemon’s smile widened. “Oh to be young and so naïve once again.”

 Daemon’s words echoed in Y/N’s mind that night. She was sober after days, and restless as ever. She was forbidden from seeing Aemond, sure, but she absolutely had to speak to him. Either to hear his side, or to have him cruelly break her heart once more and for good so she could bury him into her heart and move on with her life. One way or another, it had to be resolved. And it had to be resolved on that night.

 So Y/N snuck out of her bedchamber at midnight, when the Red Keep itself was asleep along with its inhabitants. The heels of her slippers echoed off the walls, so she took them off, descended the cold, stone stairs barefoot, and made it to Aemond’s room at the end of the wing. It stood alone and intimidating, just like its occupant.

 She knocked once. Silence. Twice. Thrice. Daemon had said over the dinner that Alicent grounded Aemond until he cooled off and the crisis was handled at the small council; he was in his room.

 “Aemond? It’s me. Y/N. I’ve come only to talk—” as if she could hope to take him on in a fight. As if she would ever want to. Despite all that he’d done to her, she felt nothing but affection for the Prince. She was hoping it would change that night.

 “Are you well? Aemond?”

 Nothing.

 She pushed the heavy doors with a strained grunt, and they didn’t budge enough for her to shimmy through. The next attempt was easier, she almost fell to the floor when the doors opened, because on the other side was Prince Aemond, holding them open for her.

 “You’re not supposed to be here, Y/N.”

 She walked past him, and he followed, but not before giving a look of caution to the empty hall to make sure they weren’t spied on.

 “Have you come to quarrel?” he asked, voice dripped in exhaustion.

 “Aemond, I’m not angry at you.”

 He only scoffed, returning to his unmade bed wherein laid a book on the history of old Valyria open. An almost empty bottle of wine and a tray of untouched food stood on the table. In the candlelight, he looked alluring, almost like a tapestry depicting an old god: rugged yet handsome, fierce but passionate, strong yet capable of gentleness. Or so the legends would have the impressionable girls believe.

 She followed him to the bed and seated herself near him. When her eyes travelled from the page depicting the tale of two lovers from the day of the doom of Valyria, themselves doomed from the start, clutching each other tightly as the continent exploded and sharp shards of dragonglass rained down on them, breathing their last breaths together, she saw his hands. His knuckles were shades of brown and red and purple, flesh bruised and open. She winched at the thought of the poor Lannister boy’s face, Aemond stole from him the one thing he prided in the most.

 Y/N reached for his hand. Almost like a timid child, Aemond withdrew. Yet she persisted, scooting closer to wrap a hand around his wrist, another caressing the wounds in a gentle manner that she didn’t think she could ever be with him again.

 “I should fetch the Maester. He must prepare an ointment for these.”

 Aemond only hummed dismissively, his jaw clenched.

 Calling his name didn’t divert his eye back to Y/N, so she gently laid his injured hand down, and held his cheek in her hand. The same warmth that engulfed her on the night of Aegon’s wedding took over her body again. Her heart, despite her mind, picked up its pace in excitement. That was also when Aemond’s jaw loosened, and he looked at her. If she didn’t know him any better, she’d thought he looked sad. Forlorn and crestfallen, even.

 “Why did you do it?” She asked quietly, without judgment or scorn.

 “Must you truly ask that?” he spat in response with a frown. Frustration grew inside him, spilling into his words and contorting his face. “I have lost an eye and yet you are the one who is blinded!”

 He rose to his feet, pacing up and down with a hand running through his dishevelled hair.

 “I—I don’t understand, Aemond,” Y/N spoke apologetically.

 “No! No, you do not! You do not understand how much it pains me to see you give just about any bastard the time of your day but me! You’d rather consider a stuffy pig for your husband before me! What have I ever done to earn your scorn? Where have I lacked that a spoiled Lannister or a pathetic Arryn excelled? Must I cut through the entire realm until you and I are the only ones left, is that what would satisfy your desires?! Perhaps even then you’d rather die a maiden than to—to stomach me!” He let out a shaky breath. The fires of fury were beginning to die, yet not before boiling up and out of his skin, pink and red with anger, as drops of sweat rolled down from his forehead. He turned his back to Y/N, slamming his fists on a table to cool off, opening what little wounds were beginning to scab over.

 Y/N remained calm, surprisingly so, even for herself. She guessed she’d weep or run from his chambers that night. Instead, she stood still on his bed, inhaling and exhaling slowly, wondering if this was another one of Aemond’s cruel games, or…

 “You said touching you was a mistake, Aemond.”

 “I said— I said that night was a mistake! You could stomach me if you were drunk, and I saw it as a chance to get what I want, even if only for a night. I should’ve thought of your honour—”

 “Stomach you?!” Y/N rose from Aemond’s bed, walking over to his side. She cupped his cheeks once again, and Aemond let her. His hand came up to cover hers, pressing her palm against his flesh as if to stop the bleeding of a gnarly wound.

 “Will you change your mind come morning?”

 Aemond frowned in confusion, unable to make sense of her question. “I’ve never once changed my mind about you,” he took a moment to settle his nerves. He knew in his bones that it was now or never. Like Y/N, he very much wanted it to be over one way or the other.

 “I love you,” he spoke slowly, with resolve. “I’ve always loved you, even when it pained me the most.”

 Y/N took a shaky breath. At least she was right in one assumption: that she would cry that night. What she failed to foresee was the reason for the tears. In the moment she least expected it, on the brink of giving up and giving up on Aemond, The Princess Who Almost Had It All, suddenly, unexpectedly, just like that, had it all.

 “I love you,” Y/N said back with just as much fervor before Aemond bowed his head and she raised on her toes and they moved in unison to lock their lips together once again, but with no confusion between them this time.

 It seemed that they both locked lips without another word to ground themselves in the moment. If, Aemond thought of Y/N, and Y/N of Aemond, they could feel each other’s lips, clutch them so tight lest they slipped away from each other’s grasp, their words couldn’t be lies.

 Y/N was the first to break the kiss for air that time. She took a step backwards, almost tumbling down had it not been for Aemond’s arm quickly wrapping around her waist.

 “Then why did you—why did you behave the way you did? Why did you avoid me? Couldn’t you see then how much you’ve hurt me?”

 “I thought,” Aemond shook his head, ashamed of his own stupidity and angry at the thoughts he’d made up in his mind. “I thought you’d never love me back. I had to get away from you, get over you, but you kept pulling me back with every smile and every word you uttered.”

 “Then why didn’t you ask me, you silly man?” Y/N smiled, wiping the tears on the sleeve of her robe.

 “For the same reason you wouldn’t tell me of your feelings. I couldn’t risk losing you in an attempt to have more of you.”

 He was right, and Y/N was too swept up in the moment to come up with an excuse to disprove his point. So she just nodded.

 “And if you are so concerned for my honour—”

 “You know I am, Y/N. Do not question it.”

 “Then why won’t you marry me yourself?” Aemond perked up, his brows raised in surprise.

 “Do you mean that, Y/N? You truly love me? You wish to be wed to me? Do not toy with me.”

 This moment reminded Aemond of the fateful night he’d claimed Vhagar. His hands were shaking now, just as they were shaking then. His heart was threatening to beat out of his chest and his ears were ringing all the same. Though he suspected he was more scared now than he was back then. With Vhagar it was only a swift death, but if Y/N were to break her serious face, burst into laughter and mock Aemond for ever thinking she would ever take him as her lover, well, it would be a slow, torturous poison coursing through his veins unceasingly until his last day. He would sooner choose death.

 Y/N cupped his cheeks, and pressed another, shorter and chaste kiss to his lips. It was as if she’d reached into the very depths of his mind and put his worries at ease.  

 “I never knew you to be as silly as you are being at the moment. How could you think I would ever want anyone but you as my husband?”

 Aemond smiled then. A shy and handsome one that lit his eye up.

 “I shall give you a day to reconsider and then—“ He was still halfway uncertain, believing it either to be a dream or a mistake on Y/N’s part that she would correct come morning.

 “No, you shall not, Aemond.” It was not necessary. She was considering and reconsidering, dreaming and fantasizing about it since she was a young girl. And in those considerations, never once did she doubt, even for a split second, that she would choose to spend the rest of her life with anyone but Aemond.

 “Very well. Then I shall make you my wife tonight.”

Tag list (let me know if you’d like to be added to it):

@samatedeansbroccoli  @cl-0-vr @icarusignite @fairaardirascenarios @st4rlighty @keencreatorempathshepherd @caspianobsessed @prettymingwoo @mmeerraa​ @ramielll​ @foras​ @anaisbambia​ @literaleftist​ @merakiaes​ @banana-batman​ @sagittariuswritings​ @wasntpriscilla​ @loki-is-trying​ @elleraelockwood​ @starxqt @messofthecentury @pasta-rask @carlottalhn​ @radexpertmongerskeleton​ @candypurplebutterfly​ @caotica-e-quieta​ @ayo-cowbelly​ @speedypeter​ @schniiipsel​ @mafgogh​ @m0onchildsworld​ @emily-b​

[bonny-kookoo]

Ok, here we go.

For Lacrymaria Olor, I'm curious about JK's relationship with Hana, was he officially courting her before she left him? In which way is MC different from her apart from honesty?

Thanks 💜

A/N: Warnings for infidelity and emotional outburst. Flashback.

Every time she's done with him, he feels awfully.. empty.

She's his partner, obviously- he's chosen her after all, and she's chosen him. And yet, somehow, be can't bring himself to feel any fulfillment from her, no matter how hard he tries. She might be a good leader, a strong person, a very well fitted queen to be-

But she's greedy, weak in mind, and fails to see true value in things that matter. She has no patience, and no sense of appropriate self-worth.

She wants everything, and believes she's owed everything too.

He's long lost his emotional interest in her already, long before he even knew she was seeking another man to satiate her hunger whenever jungkook wasn't available. Her affection had soured at some point even before he knew that she was giving herself out to whomever wanted a taste of her. He's not sure why she does- but he knows that this has to stop.

"I want you gone." He tells her, as she runs her hand up his back from behind, intentions clear from the second she entered his bedroom. She's got the audacity to laugh and stay close, all while smelling like the cologne of someone else.

"Yeah, so you say every time." She purrs. "And yet you let me in, every time. I'm your queen-to-be, Jungkook." She chuckles, hugging him, leaning her chin on his shoulder. "You chose me."

"I chose wrong, in that case." He responds, body tense against hers. "The courting arrangements have already been called off."

"You're not serious." She scoffs, before she seems to sense that he is, as he spares her no gaze. "I've been nothing but lo-"

"You do not get to talk about loyalty, while standing in my chambers still wet between your legs.!" He growls, turning around to face her with an angry red gaze, eyes full of rage. "You have lost any sense of shame when you genuinely believed that I'm gonna do so much as touch you while you still reek of someone else!" He accuses, and she instinctively walks back, hands covering herself.

"It was-.." she stammers, visibly shaken by the confrontation. "You have to understand, you're always gone-"

"I used to tend to your needs daily, my love." He sneers, walking closer in a menacing manner, steps relaxed and confident, his presence clearly taking back control. "You simply got tired of just me."

She's silent, and he takes it as confirmation.

"You're greedy." He hums now, as her back hits the door. "You're a parasite. And I hope whoever's mind you've infested wakes up as well. Because I'm no longer a host you can feed on." He snarls, before the door opens. "Out." He simply commands.

And only after she's gone does he let go of his emotions, tearing the sheets to shreds until his hands bleed.

The room never to be opened or occupied again.

[demigod-of-the-agni]

PLEASSEEE TELL US ABOUT YOUR MYTHIC MUMBATTAN AU PLEASE PLEASEE

>:) very well, my people (currently screaming because i wrote a response but i accidentally CTRL+Zd everything out of existence lmao)

The Mythic Mumbattan AU is me pouring the following ingredients into an explosive mess:

Hindu mythology and Indian culture overload

college!Spider-Man shenanigans

revamping the original Spider-Man: India plotlines and expanding the lore

character studies!!! my favourite :)

a potential and self-indulgent crossover with another indian superhero (if we ever get there)

the horrors.

Pavitr and his personal cast!!! just!!!! THEY!!!!!!

(keep reading if you want more goodies >:D)

So the CoffeeBean is a coffeeshop that existed in the mainstream Marvel universe and in real life but that's another thing; the cast below frequently drop by to hang out with one another. The Mumbattan-equivalent of the CoffeeBean is actually the TeaHouse which is another real life thing but shh and so in-universe they're called the TeaHouse gang, but in my heart they'll always be the CBG 😌

Everyone goes to Brihanmumbai State University (BSU). Lots of crazy things happen here. Pavitr's relationship with the others is always in flux but ultimately they're super close with one another (fuck it, they might as well be poly). Their personalities I try to keep as close as I can to the mainstream universe E616 comics, but I'm being creative and letting a few things from the SMI comics and ATSV influence them:

Pavitr Prabhakar — Tamilar (Tamil); he has the charm and skills from his ATSV counterpart and the smarts from his SMI counterpart; he can be a bit of a jerk and a flake, but he tries to be a good friend, and is much more open than he was in high school.

Meera Jain — Kannadiga (Kannada); basically how I've written her in tibim: everyone's first impression of her is that she's carefree and seems to not worry too much about life. She secretly deals with a lot of self-doubt and personal fears, but the gang's presence is enough for her to push them aside.

Gayatri Singh — Gujarati (Gujarati); she's probably the most quiet of the gang, but undeniably the kindest. She's more similar to Pavitr, in that she's stubborn and quick to judge. She's the glue of the gang and always willing to extend a hand to others

Hari Oberoi — Maharashtrian (Gujarati/Marathi/Hindi); the son of the man who tried to bring literal hell to earth, but other than that he's okay. He's a people-pleaser despite having everything, and struggles with his own self-image and who he should become

Ekansh "Flash" Travasso — Goan (Marathi); the high school jock who's grown more understanding and compassionate. He knew Pavitr the longest, so they have quite an interesting collection of interactions. (ALSO I'M SO SORRY I WROTE THOMPSON IN THE ART POST INSTEAD OF TRAVASSO 😭 maybe i should go back and edit that)

Spider-Man is Spider-Man'ing. Mumbattan loves him (sort of. Inspector Singh has mixed feelings). But another question: why is that every where Spider-Man goes the demons of yore all start showing up and begin wrecking havoc? Why is that? I am taking the magic in Spider-Man: India and dialing it up to five million — horrors and magic of every kind! I can get my hands real dirty and /really/ push Pavitr to his limit >:)

That is all for now. There will be more characters, but they'll show up in time. Lots of stories too, all old and new and revamped and crazy, but they'll be told when they're ready. Perhaps this is enough to satiate everyone's hunger? (unless you want to know something else, then by all means go ahead and ask!!!)

[ghostofskywalker]

hiii Lucy Gray anon, since our lovely Peeta took that prompt maybe "I don't really know how to dance..." || "It's never too late to learn" ?

of course, i love this prompt for her!! and since you were next on my list, here it is :) it went a little angstier than i had originally planned, i hope that's okay!

Moving Forward, Together

words: 888

summary: when your girlfriend wakes up in the middle of the night, you two have a conversation about her past, and she attempts to teach you a skill for the future.

flower and meaning: poppy || remembering the fallen of wars and armed conflicts - this is also going to fill my november prompt for the @yearofcreation2023

lucy gray baird masterlist || year of flowers masterlist

It took a while for Lucy Gray to open up about her experience in the Hunger Games, and you never pushed her to talk about things she didn’t want to. You couldn’t even imagine what experiencing that must have been like for her, but you could clearly see it continuing to affect her life, even as far away from Panem as you were right now, having taken the chance to run away together the first moment it came. 

On particularly rough days for her, you tried to help in any way you could, but you often felt powerless, especially when she woke up screaming in the middle of the night. You wept along with her most of the time, offering your comforting touch to her in any way she might want it. Sometimes she would even ask you to sing for her, though your voice was in no way as beautiful as hers. 

When Lucy Gray woke up crying this time, you immediately wrapped your arms around her and pulled her closer to you, placing soft kisses on her forehead and she shivered slightly from the sobs. “Do you want to talk about it?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper. Usually, she would shake her head and that would be the end of the conversation, but you always wanted to make sure you gave her the chance if she wanted to continue. 

And it seemed that this time, she did want to talk. “I can’t stop seeing their faces,” she said, her voice shaking almost as much as her body was. “Jessup, Reaper, Lamina, Dill, Coral, Mizzen,” she said, rattling off the names of her fellow victims, those who were taken from their homes and their families and forced to publicly fight to their deaths in order to satiate the Capitol’s sadistic power fantasy.

Unsure of what to say, you only hugged her tighter, and she sucked in shaky breaths before continuing. “I don’t want to forget them, because that’s what the Capitol wants. But I can’t stop seeing them as if they were attacking me.” 

Tears began to slip down your face at her words, and even though you had never lived this particular trauma, you could understand her struggle. “It’s perfectly okay to want to forget the version of them you met in the arena,” you said gently. “No one blames you for that.” 

“I know, I just-” 

“Lucy Gray,” you said, cutting her off. “You are the strongest and bravest person I’ve ever met, and just the fact that you want to remember those who tried to kill you shows how compassionate and kind you are. You and I both know that their attitudes were a result of the brutal treatment and sick game the Capitol was playing, and I think that they would much rather us remember them as people who loved more than they hated.” 

She nodding, pulling away from you to get out of bed. “Can we talk about something else right now?” 

You could only imagine the toll this conversation must have taken on her, so you immediately nodded and reached out to take her hand. “Of course.” 

“Can you dance with me?” 

The new topic of conversation was not exactly unpleasant or unwelcome for you, but it also forced you to contend with something that you had never admitted before. “Oh,” you said softly, and she looked at you with a confused expression. “I don’t really know how to dance.” 

And it was true. You had met Lucy Gray in the middle of the woods, and although you knew that she and her family often performed at some of the dance halls in District 12, you had never been to one. All the time you spent with (before running away together) had been with the rest of the Coveys in the cabin or the lake, and in the middle of the woods as you rested on the soft patches of earth.

She looked shocked at your admission, but it wasn’t long before a smile began to spread across her face. “Well, it’s never too late to learn, if you’d like to,” she said, holding out a hand for you to take. 

When you took her hand and let you lead you through a (rather clumsy) waltz, it didn’t even matter that you felt completely out of your element. You could see some of the tension and worry evaporate from Lucy Gray’s face, and it was soon replaced with a look of concentration as she tried to explain to you both the steps of the waltz and then a simple line dance, which you were equally terrible at. Soon, the heavy atmosphere that had filled the room was gone, and the sound of bright laughter took its place. 

“You really are a terrible dancer!” she said, after you stepped on her foot for about the twelfth time. 

You laughed. “Am I the worst you’ve ever seen?”  

“Absolutely!” she shouted, leaning in to steal a kiss before bursting out into laughter. “But that’s okay, I still love you.” 

“I love you too.” 

The frightening memories and persistent troubles that Lucy Gray felt would never truly go away, you knew that. But you hoped that with moments like these, you would be able to help make them a little less haunting.  

- the end -

i no longer have a taglist! if you're interested in being notified when i post, you can follow my library blog @ghostofskywalker-library and turn on notifications!

[fartistt]

DRINK IT!

vampire au harbingers (signora, scaramouche, arlecchino, tartaglia, dottore) gender neutral reader content warning(s): blood, gore, pain stuff, death mention, some religious imagery a/n: happy halloween 🎃 i dont actually genshin so dont expect this regularly -🍝

if you enjoyed reading this fic, please consider donating to providing aid in palestine!

LA SIGNORA!

—La Signora feeds from the heart. She demands nothing but pure devotion, nothing but your undying loyalty promised from her. Does the heart not represent love and passion? Where else would a vampire like her feed from you? Her cold fingers would trail against the fabric covering your torso so carefully, her nails pressing with just enough pressure to make you shiver. And when she sinks her fangs into the left side of chest, the chill of her breath that settles on you feels like the only reminder of the fact that she’s an undead monster of the night rather than a human lover whispering sweet nothings to you. The pain subsides to nothing as her fangs tear and sink into your soft flesh, and when your blood stains the crevices of her lips, you can’t help but think that she looks the most beautiful when she ravishes you.

Your vision spins, and you’re only vaguely aware of the pressure bubbling up inside your throat. You know you should be more wary of your surroundings, more wary of the fact that you teeter dangerously on the precipice of life and death, but you know your captor too well. She adores you, equally to the point of which you worship her, and she could never punish someone like you with something as permanent as death.

“Does it hurt, little love?” She cradles you in her lap. Her dress billows like flames around her, pooling in waves of velvet and ember by her legs. Her fingers play with the outline of your face, and despite the coldness that prickles your skin, you feel warm. 

You shake your head, unable to answer. Your own clothes are in tatters, ripped into small pieces on the floor and abandoned. Blood stains your chest, and a fresh pair of bite marks decorate the older ones on the left side of your ribcage. Through your hazy vision, you see La Signora looking down at you with a smile that she reserves only for you.

“Good.” Her fangs, dyed crimson, glisten like rubies. “I would hate to hurt you. But you wouldn’t mind. I know you wouldn’t. You love me too much.”

She’s right. Any pain might remind you of who you were before you became enamored with her. But everything outside of her embrace is unfeeling and unwelcome, and you feel happy when she holds you like this. She makes you feel needed, and in turn, you give the part of your body that befits your other half. It’s the only part she’s missing, but you have more than enough to sustain the two of you.

She leans down and presses her mouth against the top of your forehead. Her lips, always perfect and poised, are sticky and warm with your blood. A shiver trickles down your spine, and her thumb strokes the apple of your shuddering cheeks. The red drops of your blood spread across her mouth and your skin in a hauntingly twisted kiss, an oath and a reminder that you could never belong to anyone else.

“I love you,” she whispers.

SCARAMOUCHE!

—Scaramouche feeds from the neck. He hungers. Too monstrous to be human and too empathetic to be human, the vampire desires nothing more than the warmth and comfort of having his cravings satiated for once. There’s nothing that makes him feel more powerful than to hold you down and to take a bite out of your neck, to feel the vulnerable thrashing of your body as you cling to life. Spurts of your blood fills his mouth, and he drinks like he’s gone mad, taking in mouthful and mouthful, swallowing and sucking as if he’s a starved man devouring honey rather than a beast feasting on his kill. It’s only afterwards, when he sees your glassy eyes clinging to whatever strains of your consciousness that you can, does he realize the horror of what he’s done. But he can’t deny his nature, and for every step his human heart takes forward to give you the dignity you deserve, his vampiric instincts drag one back.

“Stay still! Stay fucking still!” A shrill voice invades your ears. You writhe against the hard floor, your limbs splaying out and struggling against whoever is pinning you down. He sits on top of you, his hips pressing down against your navel and his hands digging down on your shoulders.

Your throat burns. He takes bites of your neck like an animal, flesh and blood staining your skin and the air, the noxious scent of iron filling your nose. You scratch and kick at whoever is holding you down, and the boy sneers at you in between desperate mouthfuls of your blood. In between the adrenaline and the pain, you don’t know what your panicked mind can make out: is it fear that keeps you fighting? 

His fangs are attached onto your jugular, buried into your flesh. He drinks, and his lips are pursed around your skin, determined to drain you until you’re nothing but a shell. In his eyes, it’s clear that your humanity means nothing. After all, what is morality to a depraved monster like him? The only thing he can feel is the hunger that gnaws and claws at his stomach, demanding that he be fed before any sense of clarity can kick into his body.

Your defenses only still when your mind nearly goes blank. The loss of blood makes you go almost limp, strength escaping your body as the dark-haired vampire steals it out of you. He gasps and wipes at his mouth, the warmth of your blood spreading inside of him before he shoves himself off of you, practically collapsing next to you.

The boy cries. He scratches at his mouth, his voice almost like a scream as he buries his head in his hands. Gone is the bravado of the outcast vampire, journeying alone like a lone ship, and his decorated shell is peeled back to reveal the emptiness that remains underneath.

“I’m sorry-,” he sobs, cowering next to your barely conscious form. “I’m so, so sorry.”

ARLECCHINO!

—Arlecchino feeds from the thighs. She prides herself on her wisdom and her power. A true hunter stays a step ahead of its prey. An apex predator remains on the top of the food chain not purely because of its might or power but because of its wits, and like any vampire worth their reputation, she has cultivated her place in the world through careful planning and preparation. The thing to fear most from her isn’t her outstretched claws or the razor-sharp fangs waiting to dig into your veins; it’s the head atop her shoulders, always waiting and always thinking. What an honor it must be to see a woman like that on her knees, her lips hovering above the bare skin of your thighs and just waiting for the right moment to feed. It’s a faux show of intimacy as her mouth moves up higher and higher. Her tongue swirls around the puncture wounds left by her teeth, making sure she drinks up every last drop of blood that comes from you. Nothing escapes a vampire like her. 

You wonder if salvation remains for you. The place that Arlecchino calls home reminds you more of a gilded birdcage than that of a vampire’s rich castle, undoubtedly a Machiavellian reminder of what she’s capable of. You’re nothing more than a figurehead, seated atop a golden throne as she kneels before you, slotting herself in between your legs.

Sharp claws slide up your bare skin, and the cool air makes goosebumps prickle on the top side of your thighs. Your body feels weak, trapped in your own skin. Your strength has been sapped away by her feeding, and she looks up at you with unreadable eyes as the last of your blood disappears down her throat. 

“Have you been taking care of yourself?” She asks. It’s not a question she asks out of genuine concern for you. Everything she does is calculating and explicable only to her. But her intentions are clear this time around; you have to stay alive for her sake. Who else could give her the sweet blood she craves if something were to happen to you.

“Yes, Arlecchino.” Her name is like poison against your tongue, and yet you still let it linger anyway. You don’t have the strength to run away from her or to fight back. She’ll know the moment even the thought of rebellion enters your brain, probably faster than you’re aware of it yourself. 

She rubs the sore spot on your thigh, right where she had bit you. The flesh is numb and swollen, your body desperately trying to heal itself after the wound she inflicted onto you. This is what a true predator-prey relationship is like, with her keeping you in her grasp, knowing that you exist only to give her the sustenance she requires.

Truly a cunning woman. Not entirely heartless, but in that perfectly measured middle ground of both fear and respect.

“Good. It wouldn’t do either of us any good if you were to grow weak.” She rises from her feet, and you watch with hazy eyes as her snow white hair emerges into your view. She stands with her back straight and her head raised, peering down at you as if she wasn’t the one staring up at you with a mock reverence just seconds before.

A hand reaches forward, and her frozen palm cups your face. This isn’t affection, nor is it a reward. 

“Now rest,” Arlecchino commands unfeelingly, “Regain your strength so that you can sustain me.”

TARTAGLIA!

—Tartaglia feeds from the wrists. It’s wrong for a vampire to become fond of anyone, but that’s the predicament Childe finds himself in. You’re a human, vivacious with your own life and hope and dreams. You have likes and dislikes: things that make your eyes sparkle when you talk about them and things that make you scrunch your face up with scorn at the mere thought. How could he not be enraptured? He loves playing the role of a teasing gentleman. He loves the pursuit, winning over your trust bit-by-bit by seducing you with his well-timed charms. He finds it so endearing how easily you present him your hand when he bows before you, his once shiny eyes turning dark and sultry. Did you expect him to kiss your hand? No—that was never his plan. Not when he can sink his teeth into the veins in your wrists and drink to his heart’s content, the thrill of chasing you down just as sweet as the result itself.

The way the man in front of you steals your blood feels downright lewd. You’ve always known that there was more to Childe than he let on, more to him that the flirtatious young man that stuck to your side. You had constantly wondered what exactly he was after, but you could have never expected someone like him to have hid his fangs so expertly.

His tongue lathers and laps at your wrist. He sighs happily against your bloodied and torn flesh, like he’s laughing to himself and enjoying the gruesome sight of you frozen in your tracks, too terrified to yank your hand away from him or to even fend him off in any capacity.

“Don’t be shy,” he breathes. His exhales are like gusts of winter wind on your unassuming body, and it’s another horrifying reminder that the man you once trusted was never human to begin with. His true colors are showing now: a bloodlust-filled smile, an unforgiving grip on your arms, your very life force being shoved down his gullet. 

“You’re very pretty when you smile. Don’t you remember all the times you’d smile at me? I’d tell you my dumb jokes, and you’d laugh in a way that made my heart skip.” He licks his lips, and his mouth turns an even messier shade of ruby red. “At least, it would have, had I been alive.”

You’re at a loss for words. Your response weighs like an anchor inside your cheeks. Your lips tremble with fear. Is this man going to kill you? No, he wouldn’t. Not so quickly, not when he seems to be enjoying your suffering this much.

His tongue slides against the two clean puncture wounds in your wrists again, and you wince at the stinging pain that shoots up your muscles. He smiles into the curve of your hands. “But I don’t think this expression is all that bad either. I’ve never seen you make a face like that at me. I forgot how much fun it is to hunt someone down. I bet you never saw this coming.”

Childe smacks his lips exaggeratedly, generous rivulets of your dark blood trickling from the corners of his mouth and down his chin. “I want to see everything you have. Show me all the other parts of you that I haven’t seen yet. Let me be selfish with you.”

DOTTORE!

—Dottore feeds from the mouth. He operates on the tangible, the real, the pain and the catharsis of it. To feed doesn’t simply mean to nourish himself. He wants a reminder of his place in the world, the power he holds over knowledge and his constant pursuit of it, and he wants to see the effects seared in his wake. It isn’t enough to steal your blood, he needs you to feel it just as much as he does: the strength leaving your body and into his, his tongue lapping selfishly at your life force, the stinging pain and the numbing sensation making your knees buckle. Maybe he fits the role of the traditional vampire most closely, making sure you understand your inferiority in every single way as a human, that your existence is to be his experiment and his prey, that he can snuff you out like a candle in the dark if he so much as chooses to do so. 

There are bite marks on the bottom of your lips. Some have healed, the flesh scarring over into bumpy lumps, and others are still in the process. But the one tonight is fresh. They’re torn open, left there with a fury from Dottore’s pointed, jagged fangs. A strong hand grips your chin and keeps your face in place. 

His mouth is on yours, tangled in a kind of mangled kiss. He sucks and sucks at your lips, your blood staining every inch of your tongue and the inside of your cheeks, as if he’s reminding you of how monstrous he can be. There’s no rhyme or reason to your mind in his way of feeding, but to Dottore, it’s a constant reminder that you have no way of fighting back against him. For someone so cold and so heartless, it’s ironic that he kisses you so passionately to drink your blood. 

Tears well in your eyes when he pulls away, and a sticky mix of saliva and blood connects you to him momentarily before it snaps. 

“Does it hurt?” His voice is firm, scary. Each syllable is poised like a viper baring its fangs, waiting for a single sign of weakness to finish off its catch. He enjoys your suffering, revels in it, finds different ways to draw it out of you, yet the only constant is his insistence on drinking from your lips.

Your voice trembles, and you nearly choke on your own blood. “‘t hurts- Hurts a lot.”

He smiles behind his mask, and you shudder at the sight of his perfectly lined pointy teeth. Each one sharpened, it’s a mark of a true predator. 

And for a split second, you know why he drinks from your mouth. It’s his way of stealing every scrap of humanity from you, to steal something as primitive as the act of kissing from you, so that every part of himself is engraved deep into your own base instincts. 

“Good.” Strong fingers grasp at the fat of your cheeks, and he lowers his head so that he’s eye-level with you. You can’t see anything, not with that unfeeling mask in place, but Dottore’s evidently pleased with whatever he sees. Your face hurts where his fingers dig into your flesh, but when he drags his tongue across his blood-stained teeth, you know that this is only the beginning. He’s only gotten a taste of your blood, and a sampling is far from the amount he needs to satisfy himself. It’s only when you’re cowering on the floor, wasted beyond salvation, begging him for mercy, that he might decide that he’s had enough of toying with you.

The cycle is always the same.

Your eyes shake violently at the mental vision, and your chest tightens with cold anticipation. It’s dread, and it’s your body yelling at you in order to preserve your survival. But it’s futile. Not when he’s so much more than you are: stronger, faster, smarter. 

“I want it to hurt,” he mocks your horror-stricken form. “And I want it to always hurt.”

x

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[atsadi-shenanigans]

What Shall We Become 2 - Scattered

The rogue rolls a critical fail.

On AO3.

The Underdark is…something. Vast caverns, so tall the roof is hidden in gloom even Astarion’s sight cannot pierce. Glowing crystals larger than palaces in Baldur’s Gate. Glowing mushrooms, glowing creatures. That last point is becoming something of an urgency.

Astarion is long used to the claws of starvation on his innards. At best, his hunger is a barely satiated beast seething beneath his skin. At worst, it chews apart his mind until that’s all that stares out through his eyes, until every nerve, every twitch of his muscles screams and needs and his teeth ache and his jaw clenches so hard it sends pain lancing through his skull.

He’s about halfway to that point, currently.

He’s colder than usual. This is not helped by the cool air of the Underdark. His bones ache and his joints creak. He catches his fingers hooking into claws from time to time, and takes to pretending to fuss over his nails or his knives to hide it—said fingers are too numbed and stiff for anything like dexterity, anyway.

The creatures of the Underdark are a frustratingly skittish lot. He longs for a bear, a deer, even a squirrel. The thought of biting into it, smelling of clean sunshine and forest, the skin popping as his fangs pierce and that first gush of hot, salty blood—

“Did you hear me?”

The wizard. He’s talking.

“Oh yes, darling,” Astarion lies.

They’re all standing on the top of some tower belonging to some other mad wizard. Astarion wonders if that’s part of their schooling, towers and wizards. They always go for towers. Even down here, one of them has lost her mind to madness and not only built an entire tower of her own, but of course it’s laced with traps. Wizards love traps even more than vampires, he’s learning.

Their own wizard gives him a look, clearly unbelieving. Astarion gives him his very best “hello handsome” smile, and the man looks away, a touch flustered.

He wonders if the wizard would have been an easier target.

His current target is talking with some automaton. She’d gone directly for it. Speaking softly and deferentially, the way she does with the owlbear cub (Sweetums? Seriously?). It’s not a living thing, not a thinking creature of any kind, yet there she is, acting like it matters.

She does that a lot. Even to the gur she killed. It’s equal parts bemusing and befuddling. What kind of people even produce something like her?

He thinks, sometimes—though he’ll never admit it—that it might have been for the best that the mindflayers only snatched up one Earthian. The thought of multiples of her is disquieting. He’s not sure if they would be the most effective weapon the Sword Coast has seen in a century, or the most self-righteously insufferable gaggle of idiots.

Oh, now the automaton is hugging their most illustrious leader. How twee. He’s standing at an angle that he can see her hug it back, and he notices something. He’s seen hugs and been clutched at in passion. Most people grab (or claw). But this woman, his ally, hugs the metal monstrosity with…fists. Fingers curled in tight, thumbs tucked down. How interesting.

Then he catches the druid noticing the same thing, and the slight frown marring his enormous face—no elf, not even a half elf, has any right to be so massive. It’s absurd. The druid catches him noticing all the noticing, and he seems to be trying to communicate something. A question perhaps. But it’s not Astarion’s business, so he watches that question sail on by and makes no move to catch it.

And then everything goes to the hells. Their leader says something, or the automaton does, or maybe one of their merry band breathed wrong. It really doesn’t matter. It’s a mad wizard’s tower; it doesn’t need to make sense.

The light thrumming through each automaton—because of course there’s more than one—turn red. Apparently, that’s a signal even on other planes, because their illustrious leader’s face goes blank in a very particular “oh shit” kind of way, and she says, “Ah fuck.”

It gets a bit messy after that. Spells fly. The wizard shouts something and a nearby automaton shatters into pieces. The gith and the tiefling both hack at the big one. And their leader, who is the only person in the entire party—himself excluded—who shows the occasional modicum of sense, scrambles to get clear of the whole thing.

They metal monstrosities notice. There’s a strangeness about her that he’s getting used to; a kind of hum clinging to her skin whenever he gets near. Makes his teeth itch. But it draws attention and one of the automatons sets its sight on her and lifts an arm crackling with arcane power.

He’s got an arrow knocked. But the angle isn’t good. He takes two steps to the left—

Two things happen:

He lets the arrow loose and it flies true to bury into the facsimile of a metal face and the beastie goes down twitching.

And the ground beneath his left boot flashes. Which sets of glyphs all across the room.

Their wizard notices immediately. Has enough time to turn directly to Astarion and snap, “I knew you weren’t listening to a word I said—”

And everything lights up in horrible, searing light.

***

It lasts less than a moment. Less than a blink. Then Astarion stumbles forward—the damned hunger making him so ungainly. The tower is dark. Completely dark. Not a single mote of light, though he blinks and rubs his eyes several times.

Hells.

“Wizard!” he says. “We need light over here!”

But his voice echoes. It did not echo this way before. The sound is longer, goes much further, doesn’t bounce off ramparts and automatons and his wretched party. This time, it keeps going. Echoes off something far, far in the distance.

…there’s no other sound.

Astarion is an elf. Was, rather. He’s had excellent hearing since he can remember. Then he became a vampire spawn and everything got so much louder. The Blade had said he thought vampires could hear the stars twinkle, which was just silly. But he can hear heartbeats. Sighs. The soft squeak of leather boots as someone shifts. The gurgle of innards as stomachs digest (which in the first days was insufferable but has become something rather more…routine).

Now?

He hears air move. Water drips somewhere distant. And his own clothing rasps as he sways, trying to keep his balance in the oppressive black.

He’s alone. He can feel it.

“Wizard?” he says. The echo again is long and narrow. Somewhere closed in, but with an open way forward.

The panic is familiar. The taste of rotten iron crawls up his throat.

Enclosed in the dark. Alone in the dark. Closed in, closed in, closed in—

“Eleanor?”

But no one calls back to him. There’s nothing and no one. He tries to take a step but the ground is uneven and he stumbles. Goes down on one knee in a burst of pain.

“Hells,” he gasps.

There’s rocks all around. Some the size of his head. Others large and jagged. His hands—bare, because they’d been clumsily fussing with traps and the growing clumsiness called for ungloved fingers—slap rough, sharp edges.

Hunger and cold and alone, all alone, clawing at the door master please I’ll be good I’m sorry I’ll never do it again master.

The tadpole shivers. Because he has one of those. He was abducted by mindflayers, brought to the Underdark—

He’s in the Underdark.

He scrabbles for that connection and all but rips it open—

To six other people. Shock and anger. He resists all that, someone shouting in outrage over the intrusion and he doesn’t care because that’s six other people and he all but throws himself into their midst. Thoughts jumble around him, a stone tossed into a stream: cold air, smells stale; a huge, glowing purple crystal the size of a bleeding house; something reeks of sulfur; dead fish; hard ledge oh fuck it’s too high and you’re too weak—

Slowly, they all coalesce back into more defined spheres of self. The others pull away, and after that initial blast, Astarion has the sense to reel himself more or less back in.

Where? One of them thinks which ignites like a trail of sparkpowder through all of them.

Scattered images: a pool of dark water, a field of orange mushrooms glowing eerily in the dark, an opening in stone lit by…is that lava?

They’re none of them together. They’ve been separated. And he can tell—they all can—that it’s over a vast distance.

This is why it’s dangerous to mess with waypoints, thinks the wizard.

A defensive spell has blasted them across the Underdark. Astarion, you idiot.

And he can’t let that stand. Would they rather he let that automaton blast their darling leader’s head off? How was he supposed to know some brain-addled wizard had set up a mad trap five inches to his left?

Because the wizard told him so, to his face, three separate times.

Then a surge of irritation. But from neither him nor the wizard. It’s their leader. And she flashes them an image.

Because they’re not speaking in words (none but the irritating wizard, anyway) (he takes offense to that) so much as shapes of thought. Visions, impressions, emotions. His brain momentarily processes it as words, but the initial connection is a sense of outstretched fingers. Her outstretched fingers. A distant sensation that registers eventually as one of them.

They can sense each other. Vaguely.

The memory of a portal, glowing incandescent purple as it swirls and crackles with magic. This is a question.

But the wizard shakes his head. “No. I don’t know the waypoints here and I can’t safely use that spell to open a portal without one. We all saw what happened after that gith attack. It could take us anywhere. Or trap us.”

They had found the man stuck in his own portal, so that makes sense.

“Are any of you near me?” the wizard asks.

He’s next to a waypoint stone. In a great hall somewhere. Huge pillars hold up a ceiling lost in the dark. The stone a set of glowing glyphs carved deep. The hall seems abandoned—save for ancient skeletons and rusted armor.

The wizard doesn’t even register to the faint proximity-feel Astarion grasps at.

Karlach is confused and a touch anxious (and a touch excited, for some godsforsaken reason). She’s nowhere near the wizard. Is surrounded by mushrooms that soar up on blue, iridescent stalks like shaggy trees in an ancient forest. There’s no sign of a cave rat, let alone a waypoint stone.

The Underdark is huge. They could be anywhere. It’s dangerous for creatures that have spent their whole lives down here, let alone surface folk traveling lost and alone. Searching blindly—

In his own body, Astarion snorts. The others are all near something glowing, while he’s stuck in some pitch black…somewhere.

—for a waypoint stone is asking for trouble.

And then they all see an image that makes no sense. A series of green lines all nestled within one another, like an archery target. Except another line sweeps in a circle through them all. And as it goes, it sweeps over several small, green dots that blink and beep. The lines makes several sweeps, around and around as two of those dots merge into a larger one and grow in size.

Radar comes a foreign word. And then something in his mind translates “combine into larger radar signature.” And then something about several balls set on a sheet draped tight, and a much heavier one added with sags the whole things, drawing all of them together, only it’s worlds somehow and something about a “gravity” and…what in the hells is a “space-time fabric?”

They can all feel the wizard vibrate with hunger.

That frustration again. Their leader disengages a moment, and he can actually feel her gathering her thoughts together and shuffling them around.

She senses one of them nearby. They all reach out and…and Astarion can feel it, too. A subtle pull through the tadpole. She’s closer to him than the others.

Their leader’s excitement. She throws them all another images, this time of water droplets on glass. Two of them run together. Form a bigger droplet that pulls the others in one by one.

Find another. Stronger pull on others that way?

“Yes,” the wizard muses. “That may work. You two find each other and we’ll check back to see if our perception changes.”

For being an illiterate yokel with a penchant for setting things on fire at range—and biting out throats in range—their leader’s thoughts feel sharp and solid. Like a blade. She makes a decision and that is her decision. It’s quite easy to go along with it.

“Until then, I propose we all stay where we are. It’s far too dangerous to go off willy nilly.”

Again, that agreement. And that blade of focus turns to point at him. Their leader isn’t all that far from him.

The connection dissolves. He’s once again on his own, in the dark, with pain grinding through his left knee. But their yokel leader is close. All he has to do is find her. Alone. In utter blackness not even his supernatural vision can pierce, standing in the middle of a boulder field.

But it’s that or stay where he is. Alone and blind, in the close, closed dark.

Time to move, then.

***

Notes:

Yyyyyeah. Realized if I do once-weekly updates it’ll be like, September before we get to the chapter I just finished and I don’t want to slow down that much. Plus having that deadline makes me go fast, which keeps me from stalling the hell out. So uh, updates once again on Wednesdays and Saturdays unless I get stuck!

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[wineredsea]

✨Introducing my tavs✨

because I am unable to shut up about them I will now proceed to introduce my tavs:

(warning since one of them is a dark urge character!)

that‘s skylla! skylla brightsworn. she lived in elturel when she was young but due to her father deserting from the hellriders she and her parents (carakos and zagreia) left the city and hoped to build a new life for themselves in baldurs gate. as they travelled they got ambushed by goblins. she was able to hide but her parents left their lives dying due to poisoning. skylla made it to baldur‘s gate but spent many years on the streets until a bard decided to help her out and take her to the temple of oghma, god of knowledge, binder of what is known. the following years she spent as an acolyte tending to the temple and following her curious nature in books and studies of her own. before being abducted by the nautiloid ship she was on her way to where elturel once was, looking for survivors, refugees, offering her clerical power for help.

she‘s a happy go lucky kind of girl, very optimistic until the last straw snapped. she loves hearing people‘s stories and naturally write them down. her and karlach fell in love and she would and does literally go through hell for her. I like to think that after all the events they settle down for a short time so Skylla can document all their tales for the temple but adventure soon calls them (and Wyll) out again. so they set out on new adventures as a little group.

her fatal flaw is easily trusting and never having heard the sentence „curiousity kills the cat“ (seriously, girl, get a grip some times!). also that she has to pick up anything edible she can find and being in constant worry that they might not have enough food or won‘t find food again due to her time on the street.

next up:

xerxa! oooh, boy. xerxa is my dark urge character and absolutely not out for redemption.

xerxa is a drow cleric of eilistraee, her class a reminder of a once attempted try to break from the shackles of her destiny as a bhaalspawn.

she grew up in the cult of eilistraee and had a fairly happy childhood until the urges started. one night her mother woke up to strange noises and found her daughter shaking, covered in blood and guts, her fathers body on the floor and a knife in her hand. she sent her daughter away. unknowing what would happen, easier to cover it as an unknown act than to face what evil urge had overcome her daughter that night. xerxa cried a lot that night, unable to understand the frenzy that had overtaken her and why nobody would help her. she wandered, finding out that killing was a skill she possessed, hunting small animals and not having to hunger. she saw visions in the night, visions of gore, murder, her destiny. and sceleritas who appeared and led her to the temple of bhaal, leaving a trail of death to satiate the urge she made her way to baldur‘s gate and to the temple of bhaal.

she does not feel clarity most of the time but after a while of satiating her urge she felt a sense of denial overcoming her, a feeling that she should not be like this. she left the temple, once again praying to eilistraee, praying for freedom, for forgiveness, she played a dangerous game studying the lore of eilistraee, doing services, learning clerical magic until her bloody destiny caught up to her again.

the nautiloid crash could have been a new beginning but for a new beginning with a past like that she would have needed more knowledge of herself. she mostly gave into the urge after that not even remembering her childhood or anything at first. she allied with minthara out of familiarity, hoping for her to know things, for them to be similar but also out of pure blood lust.

later on minthara and her bond in different ways, they are vulnerable around each other and become a team to take vengeance on who did them wrong and to become powerful enough to not fear anyone wanting to take control of them.

before that she has a brief relationship with gale that is not based on love at all. she has a complicated relationship with everyone in camp, not really allowing anyone to get to close, gale was pawn in her eyes but honestly she is also just a lesbian.

[gomzdrawfr]

Dragon!Price x Corvid!Raven AU

This brainrot has tAKEN OVER MY HEAD I SWEAR

bonus + some story if you're interested

bonus

okay so, the idea is that Raven is...predominantly a Raven hybrid(LMAO) but I figured to incorporate some of the Crow and Magpie habits into her

Basically, Raven's been travelling around after she was nearly killed by her kind(hence the scar on her face and the single wing - also a tribute to her actual lore where her back was stabbed), barely able to survive until she stumbled upon Price's den, and WOAH THATS A LOTTA GOLD

so it started off small, where she steals some gold, just enough to survive the week, but then the curiosity grew and she finds herself back to the den, over and over again

I mean there's so much more than just gold coins, there was a bunch of other treasures alike and they're all. so. shiny.

How could she resist?

and so day by day, she explores the den, it's absolutely massive, sometimes she might even slide down those piles of coins for fun

one day a glint caught her attention, it looked like a porcelain pale owl mask, and when she tries it on it was a perfect fit, she kept it afterwards.

the owner of the den seemingly never once appeared no matter how long she waited, and so she assumes it was a long lost forgotten treasure someone had.

she didnt had the intention to steal everything no, in all honestly the den was located somewhere far and dark, and it was only accessible by a very small hole that she squeezed herself through in her full bird form.

it was a safe place to stay and so she did.

until one day when she on her usual walk and picking up a crown that the pile of gold coins shifted, and it reveals......

bright orange scales.

and an eye, which opened once the gold coins stopped.

little did she know, the owner of the den, Dragon!Price has been hibernating beneath the treasures, and now he was awaken by a pesky bird.

YES think about that one scene in Hobbit this was 100% inspired by it

some Dragon!Price hc in this au:

used to take part in battles and territorial fights, which results in many scars, especial the one in his left eyes, one of those fight eventually results him to lost a wing(yes, bluegiragi with their single wing Price for credit)

prefer to be in his hybrid form where his half human half dragon, because being a big lizard boy takes up hella space and hard to satiate his hunger

but he does hibernate as a dragon cuz well he's home, and it feels great to be weighted down by all his treasures

very greedy, if he wants something he'll get it, also dragon hoarding tendencies

havent thought about this but I reckon this so call "den" is just a big hole underneath a castle maybe - ah well just yoinking Hobbit's Lonely Mountain

also possessive :]

Raven herself has shiny fur...and he loves shiny too....so..... :p

[king-midas-fortnite]

Journal Entry: 01

Relevant Reblog Thread: https://www.tumblr.com/king-midas-fortnite/757401380403200000/ive-come-to-curse-you-you-are-a-vampire-for?source=share

This curse business better not keep happening. The aluminum touch was one thing. Another entirely to be inflicted with vampirism.

Anything that forces me to seek out fucking Kado for help... Whoever put that curse on me can go to the very same hell I suffered in the Underworld for eternity for all I care.

Anyway, that night was just as horrendous as can be expected. Kado, to his credit did come to help me. Albeit not before tricking me into satiating some of my hunger on a Wastelander. He failed to mention their blood would be mostly that Nitro bilge water they all love so much. I was only slightly less hungry after, and then dealing with a splitting headache and nerves on fire to boot. Hilarious to him, of course. Fucking Vampire.

(But oh, that's supposed to be Secret! How I would Love to "leak" that information. If only I cared any less about eventually getting my bodily property back from him. And...if I didn't feel I owed him for later events on the night.)

I separated from him, and Valeria offered to help me after that. They offered something of their own that they promised would be less offensive to all of my senses. Kado "warned" me against taking it. In trusting them more, and resenting the Vampire's audacity in thinking he can tell me what the fuck to do, I agreed to meet with Val.

I am not too proud to admit that perhaps I should have listened. And I might have, had he not worded it so aggravatingly.

The thing Valeria offered was her own blood, beautifully presented to me in a crystal glass. It glittered oddly, and the first small sip immediately burned. She told me it had been mixed with a shimmer wine for taste. A ridiculous lie I'm hind-sight. But, irrelevant. At the time I was a bit too hungry to be thinking as critically as I should have.

And, as if on queue to lower my careful inhibitions further, Kado had showed up then. His irritable possessiveness brought him to us. I knew he'd come to stop me, so I drank the rest all at once.

I don't know exactly what it did to me. I remember losing control. Clearly her blood is infused with the relic that is infused with her. Likely what Kado is so fiercely possessive of.

In any case, it made me attack Valeria. I lunged at them with full intent to kill...and nothing I could do to stop it.

What I remember after that is fuzzy. I know that Kado stopped me.

I came back to myself with him pinning me to the ground. Much to my annoyance, he was going on some trite explanation of new vampires to Valeria while pointing out my fangs that had started to retreat as the curse reached it's end. He infuriatingly ignored my command to remove himself from me, and it took my yelling to get Valeria to reign in the dog. The sway they have over him is something I will be speculating on for a while.

But anyway, Kado stopped me from trying to kill Valeria. I owe him for that. Questionable trust after feeding her powerful blood to me aside, I don't want to think about how long it would take to forgive myself had I succeeded in what it drove me to try.

I hate the idea of being indebted to him, so I will avoid mentioning my gratitude for now. Maybe I will send him something from my wine cellar and call it square to myself.

Reminder: these are not "public" to other Tumblrverse characters. Okay to reblog, but please do not roleplay on journal entries!

[blaqueswanzaghouliishiilikeda]

iwtv ep 3 rewatch thoughts

Louis: I don’t want you kill people anymore, there it is.

Lestat: A fish that doesn’t swim. A bird refusing to fly.

I’m borrowing this statement to use for Louis in this moment - I believe this is when Lestat diagnoses Louis with hysteria.

In this scene the power imbalance between them becomes defined more by patriarchal gender dynamics. Lestat dives into a more rigid paternalistic approach when dealing with what he perceives to be Louis’ irrational shame of being a vampire and going against his very nature despite what Lestat has been trying to teach him. This reading of their relationship is intentional. so much so that while he says this the focus of the camera pans out to frame a shot of Antoinette walking past and there’s a parallel shot of Louis and Lestat sitting at a table next to another couple, a man and a woman who are presumably husband and wife, where both husbands’ (Lestat and the man) gazes follow after Antoinette and Louis and the wife literally notice at the same time. This is them (as in the writers etc. etc.) being really over handed about what they’re implying about Loustat’s relationship/marriage/companionship moving forward. Louis is literally sitting on the same side the wife is sitting and Lestat the husband. Antoinette poses a very similar threat to both Louis and the wife who is a bw (only her black husband could die behind Antoinette, at worst, given the era).

For what it’s worth (not much) I don’t think Lestat is actively plotting in the sense of being aware that he is forcing a gendered hat on Louis that doesn’t fit. I think he believes that this is a role Louis is suited for, especially if he’s drawing from the trauma of his relationship with his mother and the ways Louis might remind him of her. What I mean by that is his focus is on the front he see that Louis is putting on. He thinks he’s removing the offending hat Louis is, for a reason he can’t understand (and won’t bother to), clinging to. I think he believes the final frontier of Louis’ problems is simply submitting to his vampire nature (and to him lbfr) which i talked about in the tenor scene. (He doesn’t realize he hasn’t escaped the confines of humanity, he just benefits from them more in a way that lends to his ability to live as if they don’t apply to him)

Louis’ acting like he’s not a vampire and Lestat likens this to his business “a cover, an illusion to throw off the scent of the dogs.” The section of the Azalea where they are engaging in “polite conversation,” where the word “vampire” is off limits is a front for the nefarious business of trafficking women where consumption of bodies is allowed as long as Louis can separate himself from it. Pimping hidden in the shadows of the Azalea, the way he seeks to hide his vampirism in the shadows of his humanity. Bluffing is fine in a game of poker against humans Lestat believes is beneath him—against human’s he naively believes he elevated Louis above by giving him the dark gift—but it’s no way to live as a Vampire and it’s no way to love Lestat.

This is most offensive to Lestat, and I don’t doubt concerning given the impact it will have on Louis. Lestat: “You’re going to struggle. I fear for the feline population of New Orleans.”

He’s being really snarky about this, but I believe he means it. Louis’ hunger will not be satiated by eating cats or other small animals. He will be weakened physically and mentally by it. Lestat drives this point in by saying he’s gonna render them extinct in the area, behind this reluctance to kill or feed from humans. Lestat fails to see Louis is trying to regain some semblance of control over his life where he has very little control over how so many things are playing out against his favor even with the success of the Azalea which is unstable. There’s also the situation with his family. The fact that he has to kill to survive but doesn’t want to. the fact that he believes himself already damned, but still full of shame and guilt. Then as things worsen between him and Lestat etc. etc. He needs something to control.

Lestat sees this as more than just a moral quandary just not in the way it could have lent to the understanding of Louis so much as it clearly imo pokes at Lestat’s insecurities about whether he can be loved for who he is fully. He sees himself as above humanity, fully immersed in being a vampire and proud too and Louis is rejecting that so in a way, to Lestat, he’s rejecting him and the dark gift he’s given. He thinks he’s being played the fool. (“I can pretend the fool”). Louis agreed to all these things and now he’s switching up and holding out. (marriage contract etc. etc.) Lestat overcorrects so egregiously he’s the agent to his own fear being realized—the threat of Louis leaving him.

I don’t think i’m saying anything of a revelation to say Lestat can stop himself from acting out. I don’t think it’s anything new to say he has a clear need and demand for attention. He immediately follows this up with causing a scene and performing. He hops on stage and plays the piano for and with the people of the Azalea—what Louis seems more inclined to give his time and energy to rather then enjoying being a vampire and his new life with Lestat. Plus It’s not like it doesn’t work a little. Louis’ in 2020 in Dubai with a whole new husband crediting his white ex for something i doubt he actually was the catalyst for. idk I have my doubts about his claim about the Wolverine Blues. I think Danny being openly and immediately doubtful, as far as to play it, was intentional in making us question that as well imo.

He does this again tho. In part because it sort of worked in his favor this time especially since he threw the scent of this being what he does when he feels threatened (which i believe to be the main reason he does it again) to he was helping Louis out bc the pianist was gonna leave Louis. An interesting redirection considering this is a reaction to the fear that Louis will leave him. He’s playing poker. and he sort of* won this hand. So yeah he does it again, but more manically, later on with Louis’ preference of military men (i just know he thought about that sailor at the bar and it sent him over the edge) when he sees Louis would rather let an old flame do him “some face” (🤭) and eat a dog than fuck him and feed with him. but let’s not jump ahead. let’s let ep3 seduce us as Louis has been seduced!!!

antoinette brown said she gone be here all night y’all she really claimed the eternal night from jump. you can see the moment Lestat gets the idea to torment Louis with the “rotisserie chicken” (🤭 anon you will always be famous). She passed by and he turned so quick to Louis all bright eyed like “you’re going to struggle” ☹️ knowing he gonna be the agent of that particular struggle.

*i say sort of bc Louis is impressed by the scene he created when he starts playing, and it probably smoothed things over that night, but he doesn’t budge on his disordered eating bc that’s not how it works Lestat!!!! (“did i forget to mention i’m terrible at this game” or something to that effect)

[the-case-book-of-fanfiction]

The Case-Book {Masterlist}

Hey, I'm Case! My blog was getting a little crowded, so here's a masterlist for the stuff I write.

And here's an {Updates Page} for when I finally make myself a schedule I think I can stick to in terms of posting & to "announce" upcoming work.

Some of this will be a liiiiiittle empty until I edit my work and decide to post it.

Organized by fandom!

Your Favorite's Here {Masterlist} — Eddie Munson Eddie and his band bask in their success over a drink at a restaurant he's never been to before. But Eddie gets far more than he bargained for when he stepped through the front door.

1989 — Eddie Munson Returning to Hawkins after years of helping Eddie through English class (and specifically poetry assignments), you make Eddie watch a new film with you called Dead Poets Society.

Not Quite Dead — Eddie Munson You find yourself alone in Hawkins, a town ripped to shambles despite the sacrifices made to save it. Is it better or worse that Eddie doesn't live to see it? He'll tell you himself.

Like Another Tattoo — Eddie Munson Eddie learns to appreciate the scars he's covered in, one comment and show at a time. His friends also manage to make him cry.

A Kiss Kiss — Eddie Munson The Hellfire Club is one member short, but Eddie refuses to let the campaign slow down. That's where you come in, Eddie's "tutor" turned into his muse.

The Graduation Lineup — Steve Harrington Billy Hargrove comes between you and Steve at graduation—but only by last name. Additionally, you finally find out Steve's middle name (among other things).

Rain-Soaked Kisses — Steve Harrington Steve hates storms but loves the rain—just another oxymoron of his life, like the secret the kids are trying so very hard to dig up.

Bob Seger — Steve Harrington Is there a handbook for what to do when your crush walks into your store to buy a gift for his girlfriend? There should be!

Eddie's Girl — Steve Harrington Steve finds himself pining over the one girl he can't have, and he has no idea how to handle it. It's a good thing you notice before Eddie does, and, by God, is Steve's timing perfect.

The Only Tally Mark — Steve Harrington The 'You Suck' tallies are getting pretty high, but there's a girl in Scoops Ahoy who knows Robin in wrong. If she can just get the courage to open her mouth, Steve's luck is about to change.

steve harrington hcs (pt. 1) corroded coffin setlist detective harrington au idea

(more coming soon...)

Burns Like Rum — Astarion (Baldur's Gate 3) Astarion's hunger worsens every day and you don't have any blood to spare—but that doesn't stop you from inadvertently tempting him at every turn. Luckily for both of you, you've both got the same idea to cure him of his hunger.

Sweet Like Wine — Astarion (Baldur's Gate 3) Your monthly bleed is over—just in time for you and Astarion to find yourselves with a bit of alone time. You might not be able to feed your vampire as easily, but there's another hunger for the two of you to satiate.

Crawl Home to Her — Astarion (Baldur’s Gate 3) As awful the feeling of blood on the skin is, sometimes it can be helpful, you have to admit. At least, when it comes to Astarion, blood is always helpful. You'll have to take his word for it—and that's oh so easy bathing with him.

Love Bites {Masterlist} — Astarion (Baldur's Gate 3) With your memory spotty, you gravitate toward the first person you see—an old friend from a very old past. But Astarion is keeping plenty of secrets...and he's never been the best liar. How long will it take before his deceptions unravel? And what will you do when you realize just how much damage he's done?

When Gods Listen — Astarion (Baldur's Gate 3) Astarion is hit by a memory spell mid-combat. You fear what will happen to him, but Astarion only knows he woke with the answer to his prayers looking down at him.

astarion ancunin hcs (pt. 1)

(more coming soon...)

A Job Unfinished — Santiago "Pope" Garcia It's been days since you last saw Santiago, days after he promised he'd be back. One last (very illegal) mission in Colombia, and then he'd be yours forever. But Santiago is five days late.

(more coming soon...)

Hmm... It's a ghost town in here.

(there's a multi-chaptered Poe Dameron fic currently sitting in drafts)

Operatives One-O-Three — Barty Crouch Jr. Knowledge is a curse, and we know all. Lord Voldemort's regime grows stronger on the daily, and it's up to a ragtag group of teenagers and an undercover operation to stop him: Operatives 103, otherwise known as Operatives One-O-Three (one-oh-three in the official Ministry log books). But there's more trouble than Voldemort for the undercover spies, and the root of it starts in the home. (available on A03 or Wattpad)

(more coming soon...)

Looks like this part of the museum isn't open yet...

(yes that's a hint at my current marvel wips)

Well, uh, I think we'll be in purgatory for a bit, folks.

These are probably hidden in a locked desk in Ketterdam.

I, uh, hate all the old ones I wrote, so I won't be linking those, and I'm gonna sit in my mind palace for a few hours until I can come up with some better ones.

No, no, don't panic! They're in here somewhere. I just have to remember which room...

I need a section for my random stuff! This is it.

(Baldur's Gate 3 content is now under its own label, underneath Stranger Things. Go back up!)

I'm bound to write the strangest one of these at some point, so might as well be prepared.

It's a bit empty in here, isn't it?

REQUESTS ARE OPEN as of May 7!

Check out the... ☟

Have something you'd like to ask me to write? Don't hesitate! Here's what to do.

DM me to make your request and include the fandom & charcter(s) you'd like me to write for, as well as the general "premise" of the fic (such as a prompt). Answer any clarifying questions I send to you and wait for your fic to arrive! I won't be able to get to every request, of course, so please be patient with me! If I can't think of what to write or have no inspiration, I will let you know. Sometimes, the fic just doesn't come to me.

Additionally, chances are I can probably write for more fandoms than are currently on this list. There's a Miscellaneous section for a reason. If you're not sure, it doesn't hurt to ask!

If requests go over well, I'll start making some prompts to make requesting easier for you guys.

Happy reading & requesting!