#mmm should i tag this w blood

[druidshollow]

plastic blue

[last-words-ofashootingstar]

Shells

Chapter Five

Kim Hongjoong x fem reader

a/n: i know i said DJANGO chap two would be next but i've wrote over five thousand words for it and lost the train of thought and wraaaaa 😭 a/n2: EVERYBODY STAY CALM OKAY EVERYBODY STAY CAAAAALM I COULDNT HOLD MYSELF BACK ANYMORE OKAY IM SORRRRY

"For now, he's content to just press his body onto yours and cage you in the nest he made just for you."

Shells Masterlist

✫彡wordcount: 2.7k

♡'･ᴗ･'♡(✯◡✯)genre: yandere, fantasy, smut w/plot

ಠ_ಠwarning/contents(chapter specific): wet dreams, masturbation, mutual masterbation(?), somnophilia technically, no actual smut, more plot development mwhahaha

Shells tags: @ddaeing @the-flavour-of-deaths-ass @wnewoo @catwhisk @silentcry329 @dear-dreamie @atinycafe @is4b3ll3s s @stvrfir3

MATURE UNDER CUT MDNI

The nest is so warm. It feels safe as the thunder rumbles seemingly nonstop. His arms are wrapped around you tightly and squeezing you close protectively as he hears your heart thud in your chest. "Are you scared of the storm, My Precious?"

      A soft nod is his only response, a whimper pressing past your lips as a particularly loud crack of thunder echoes in the cave. "Don't worry, Joongie will protect you." His hand softly rub your stomach and trail down to your bare thighs.

    When did you take your clothes off?

      His hands are so warm and calming as he caresses every inch of skin he can reach before one finally lands on your epicenter. He cups your heat warmly and moans into your ear as he grinds onto your hip, whispering obscenities about how well you'll take his cock one day soon.

     He kneads your plush flesh in his hand for a moment, seemingly basking in the feeling of your juices wetting his palm before he pulls away and crawls down your body, his eyes trained to you like the predator that he is- shining darkly as his scales flush a bright red that rivals his hair. "Will you let me?" He croons deeply as he comes face to face with your wetness.

    "Mmm please, Joongie," your soft moan wakes him with a start, eyes flicking black as he searches the den for any potential danger.

     "Precious? Are you quite alright?" He whispers as he curls closer to you, feeling your head and frowning deeply as he feels your heated skin.

   Is your fever back so soon? It's been three days since your first dosage and you've been fine. Why all of the sudden should you be s-

    "Nngh," another moan stops all of his movements, frozen like a statue as he catches a glimpse of your hips rolling subconsciously. He backs up and off of your body, forcing himself to ignore the small whimper that leaves you as he heat disappears.

    You've got his, and now your, favorite blanket balled up and pressed between your thighs, moving your hips lazily for any kind of friction. "Like that," you purr subconsciously, and that's all it takes for all of his blood to rush downwards, a raging hard on in his sleep shorts in a second flat as his eyes flick up to your blissfully unaware face.

    Your jaw is slightly agape, eyebrows furrowed together as you hump your hips upward clumsily.

     "Oh sweet Huntress," he curses under his breath, slapping a hand over his mouth to cover any noises you may have caught over the storm outside.

   He backs away further, pressing himself to the cool rock wall. He doesn't want you to wake up and think he was the cause of whatever clearly wet dream you're having. And, Gods, is it wet.

     His blackened eyes are trained on the small patch that you rub your core on over and over. You've soaked through the shorts that he made for you to sleep in and are smearing your eagerness on his blanket with continued soft moans trilling off of your tongue.

     He's just about to get up to relieve his hardness elsewhere for your own modesty, knowing full well you can't control this dream your having and knowing even more that if you ever ever knew he had jacked off beside you that he would never so much as get an innocent smile thrown his way.

   But then?

   "Oh, Joongie," it trails off your lips and causes a pang of arousal to hit his gut roughly, biting into his hand with his own sharp teeth as his tip leaks into his shorts.

    Is this his own dream. His mate having a wet dream about him is his wet dream? There's no way. No way.

    "Fuck harder, Hong," you slur and stammer in your sleep, and he has to free himself of his fabrics immediately. Gone is any of his modesty or care for yours. If you're having a wet dream about him, he can just say he had one about you. That's what he's making himself believe is happening even.

     The electric spark he feels when you roll and hike your knee up on his thigh assures him that it's real, however. That he, in fact, is not having the best dream of his life.

    But he chooses to ignore that as he slowly strokes his girth. You look so delicate and beautiful as you smoosh your head deeper into the nest that smells like your mate. He matches his strokes to the way your hips swirl and grind as deep into the balled up blanket as possible. Your body must still be processing his bite too fast. Your horniness is exactly what he was feeling since he bit you, and what he would expect of you in a few weeks if you had been taking his bite normally.

    But he isn't complaining, he's thanking the Huntress as one of your hands seeks out his body heat subconsciously and grips onto his thigh, digging your nails into his skin. "Mate," the word that rumbles off your trembling lips nearly has him cumming on the spot. Five days in, and he's never so much as heard you utter the word besides with disgust. But this time- oh this time. It's laced with honey and desperation and a passion he's never heard from you.

     "Mate," he whispers back as he fists his length roughly, biting his lip to hold back the growls he so badly wants to let out, afraid that he'll wake you before either of you have a chance to relieve the build up of intense hormones that come with the bite he left on your neck.

    He feels an immense amount of guilt for watching you in such a vulnerable state without your expressed permission, but he'll be damned if he lets the opportunity slip away. You'll never know, and he'll never tell. But that doesn't stop his from feeling a bit guilty. What does stop him- what washes away all doubt of his actions is when you lay flat on your stomach and reach your hand under yourself, into your shorts.

     The smell of your sweet, sweet aroma finally hits him full force and he paints his stomach white with his own pleasure, a quiet growl that he can't hold back ripping out of his clenched teeth.

     And even in his pleasure induced delirium, he doesn't dare miss the way that your body seizes up and the wet patch in your shorts grows tenfold before you slump to the warmth of the nest and nuzzle his pillow with a delicate whine.

     "Hongjoong," you murmur through you deep breaths, clearly spent from your unconscious release. He tucks himself back into his own shorts and wipes his stomach on a spare piece of fabric before curling up ontop of you and holding you close securely, ignoring the way that he's still hard. It will go away on its own.

     He's taken more than what you would give in your waking state and for now, he's content to just press his body onto yours and cage you in the nest that he made just for you.

-

     You wake with a newfound pep in your step, metaphorically of course: because Hongjoong refuses to get off of his place on your back for a few hours. He trills happily and holds you close tightly, clicking in the language you don't understand.

   Unbeknownst to you, he's confessing his sins with that sickly sweet tone and bright smile that has you holding back a smile of your own. He tells you exactly what happened with a smile on his face even though he feels like collapsing in on himself a tiny bit. Just to get it off of his chest.

    You fail to notice your dried up arousal until you get up and skip to the separate room to relieve your bladder, and then you're staring down at it dumbfounded. The splash of the water outside of the room lets you know he's gone for a bit.

      He told you, thankfully in the language you understand, that he had some matters to attend to with the tribe.

   So you waited for a few minutes to make sure he's truly gone off before you run out in one of your new outfits that he tailored for you in the past days, diving into the nest and shoving your soiled shorts to the bottom of the thick pile of fabrics.

    You also fail to notice that you had shoved it right next to the rag Hongjoong used to clean himself up, copying his exact shameful actions as you tried to hide the evidence of last night's subconscious rendezvous.

     You don't remember exactly what had happened in your dream, but you do remember that it made you want to kiss him when you woke up. And that fact scares you.

So, you distract yourself with the chest of goodies he gifted you on that second day before all hell broke loose. With your ever growing collection of shells, a small knife, and the wires from a discarded ball gown, you sit down by the fire to work: listening to the storm rolling outside.

-

Hongjoong pushes his way all the way to the front of the crowd and up to the small throne, sitting himself down next to the smaller, empty chair.

"Begin." Is all he clicks. And nobody makes a move.

Annoyance is clear on his face as he scans the people, and it's not hard for them to tell that it's because he had to leave you. He's nearly bouncing to get back to your den, and he doesn't try to hide the fact.

"Today!"

One of the lower ranked sirens swims forward and refuses to look up as he communicates in a quiet voice, "Sir, a few of us had heard of your mate's condition. And we were con-"

"Unless you are going to pray for her speedy recovery and wish us luck, I don't want to hear it. Save your breath."

"Sir, we heard you're treating her with Tophra..."

"That we are. Is there a problem?"

"I thought that it was outlawed because of la-"

"It is. Nobody else is to use it. We used it to save your future den mother, does that fact bother you so much, Minjae?"

"No, Sir. We're concerned for her, is all."

"Don't be. Yunho knows what he's doing and so do I." His dismissive tone makes the young siren realize that their cause will be going no where, so he slides back into his place amongst his brothers and gives Angel a sad glance from across the room.

"Next matter of business?"

-

     "Of all the comrades that e'er I had...They're sorry for my going away," your voice echoes in the quiet den, loud enough that it drowns out the rippling of the water as the top of Hongjoongs head emerges. His brown eyes shimmering and scales on his face a light pink as his ears twitch, focusing in on your voice.

    "And all the sweethearts that e'er I had, they'd wish me one more day to stay..." Although the treatment had stabilized your hormones and slowed the progression of you accepting his bite, it hadn't fought off all of your symptoms. Just the most painful ones.

     You sang. Very much, and very well. The past three days in the den have been filled with soft lullabies that you remembered from your childhood. More often than not luring you and Hongjoong both to sleep.

      You nested- scraps of fabric that he insisted were useless after he finished fixing a garment to fit you, you padded your sleeping area with even more- even if they did little to nothing. Sleeping deeper into the morning despite the fact that you were an early riser back home.

Your bones ached when you were away from him for too long, growing cold and tired on your lonesome.

And above all, you slowly began accepted him as your mate. Though you still preferred the words 'My Hongjoong' instead. Mate sounded too primal.

"So fill to me, the parting glass... Good night and joy be with you all. Good night an- JESUS!" You yelp as he hops out of the water noisily, shorts already on. You hold your project to your chest and muster up a glare to throw his way, only met with a cheeky smile as he joins your side by the fire. He begins skinning an unfamiliar animal, his smile unwavering.

You flatten out your hand over your DIY secretively, which gains a peek from him. "What's that?" You both ask simultaneously, a smile pulling at your lips as he chuckles.

"A secret. What's that?" You turn your body to keep working on it as he works on what is clearly dinner.

"A mammal," he explains shortly, smirk tugging at his lips as he moves to look over your shoulder- pushed away as you place your palm to his forehead and push him back. He laughs and leaves you to it, "okay then, Precious."

You both work separately until he taps your back, a wooden plate of food ready for you to share. "One more minute." You stick your tongue out in concentration, jumping slightly when he places his palm flat on your back and rubs gently.

"Your food will get cold," he pouts and he rests his head on your back, humming softly as he listens to your heart.

"I'm almost..... done!" You turn with your hands cupped together, hiding your project effectively. "Close your eyes," you blush softly as he looks at you with wide and sparkling eyes.

"It's for me?" He asks as he complies, listening to your movements closely as you crawl behind him and latch something onto his neck loosely.

"For you," you whisper as you give into your strange urges and hug him from behind, stroking his bare chest softly, "open."

His eyes flick down to the loose necklace in a millisecond flat, tears welling up as he sees the dark green shell he gifted you on your first night in his care. It's surrounded by littler ones of various colors and shapes, all dangling by his heart. "You-"

    "Mhm, I made it for you. I want you to wear it."

    You don't know the effect that your words have on him. Gifting is a way of courting in his world, and accepting is a way of also accepting the person. This is the first time you've gifted him something, and it's handmade of all the things you've accepted from him.

    "You don't have to but I pricked myself quite a few times so I'd ap-"

    "I'll wear it. I'll wear it every day, I'll never take it off!" His eagerness makes you laugh. A soft and comfortable sound that he cherishes, he gets to hear it so rarely. "I want t-" He cuts himself off as he runs his finger tips on the shells.

     "Hm?" You rest your chin over his shoulder and peek at him, a gently smile on your lips- which he seems to be zeroed in on, his eyes slowly darkening. You let go of him and back away slowly, lowering your eyes.

   "Kiss you." His short, broken, sentence makes you look up as he approaches: slotting himself between your legs and pressing his chest to yours and pushing you down to the cool floor, the necklace resting between you. "Mate."

    "Hongjoong-"

    "Mate. Kiss you," he pants as he rests his forehead on yours, his next word a desperate and drawn out whine, "please?"

    Your head moves to nod, and not even a fraction of the way there his lips are collided with yours as a feral groan rips through his throat. His hands grip at your cheeks, holding your face close to his as yours wrap up in his damp hair. A collection of clicks and purrs come from him as you moan into him softly. He just feels so right. His lips. His warmth. His love. It all feels right now.

He wants to hold you and never let go, but he remembers that you still have to breathe more than he does and pulls away from your lips just enough to let you inhale deeply- still ghosting over your soft skin. "Hongjoong," you coo softly, grabbing one of his hands and blowing on his palm, making him shiver with pleasure as your name shows up once again.

"My (Y/n), I'll always wear your shells."

-

[the-ultimate-pie-family]

Sara encounter with god part 2

Sara: *is home going to bed* hmmm maybe i should try praying?..... *starts praying*

God: *floats above her* hello my child

Sara: dah holy

God: *covers her mouth* i get it so wat is ur prayer?

Sara: honestly I wanted somepony to talk too

God: i see so be it *sits on her bed* so wat do u want to talk about?

Sara: *shocked* im actually gonna talk to god

God: u ok sara?

Sara: uh yes my lord

God: call me blood sara

Sara: blood? Do u always answer prayers?

God: yes my job is very important to my children

Sara: then answer me this blood wat is the meaning of life?

God: everything sara here let me show u *holds out his hoof*

Sara: *hesitate grabbing his hoof* oh dear will this change me on how i look at thing?

God: maybe *smiles*

Sara: *grabs his hoof as they went to a beautiful place* huh w-where r we?

God: beautiful isn't it?

Sara: i feel so happy here so calm no cares at all?

God: explore sara do anything u want here I'll be around *walks off into the distance*

Sara: huh? Wait blood stay with me.......plz?

God: *floats above her picking her up with his magic* I'll stay with u my dear

Sara: *hugs god* thank u

God: hmm ur welcome sara *hesitate to hug her but does*

Sara: mmm u feel so warm god makes me feel happy

God: that's good

Sara: *kisses god on the lips hopeing he doesn't get mad*

God: *blushes deep red* oh fuck

Sara: *keeps kissing god pinning him down* god take me plz

God: sara i rather we date first then fuck right now it be a waste

Sara: but my lord plz i want to feel ur warmth inside me plz

God: oh dear but i think we should still date first sara

Sara: a couple dates then will u fuck me I'll make it worth ur wild

God: we'll see sara

Sara: then kiss me u holy asshole *kisses god deeply*

God: *hesitate but kisses her back* ur so needy sometimes miss sara

Sara: sorry my lord but u make me feel so happy when im with u *places his arm on her hips* just imagine feeling my whole body my lord

God: *blushes* oh dear.......

Sara: *grinds on his chest a little* plz god fuck me now i beg u fuck me i want ur warmth inside me so badly

God: im sorry sara begging won't work on me never has

Sara: then I'll take u myself then *kisses gods neck then his soft lips*

God: *bites his lip trying not to moan* mm plz sara *uses his magic to lift her up covering his lap with a pillow*

Sara: *got a little wet from the sight of god magic cock* i wonder does everything on u changes *bites her lip wanting to kiss god again*

God: *blushes* wat do u mean by that? *gently kissing her cheek*

Sara: oh u'll find out soon my lord i hope....

God: i don't know sara maybe

Sara: plz god fuck me plz *tries to break free from his magic* plz god

God: i would but no my dear sara

Sara: then I'll play with myself till u do fuck me

God: u wouldn't dare?.......

Tag for @saraali-19

[fatuifucker]

People replying to heizou birthday fanart by r34 of the fanart ON THE OFFICIAL ACC, its so funny I swear to God 😭😭

heizou x gn reader (no specific dom/sub dynamics)

SUMMARY = giving his birthday treat under the table

WARNINGS = smut, oral (reader giving), office sex, slight exhibitionism, they/them pronouns used for reader

W/C = 0.5k

A/N = I wrote this during a heavy storm, it was really nice and relaxing :) I love calming storm days

TAGS = @midnxght-sweet-time, @zen-daydreams, @edenialucas, @urcatbf, @nejibot

Heizou quivers; quivers like a lone leaf on a branch in a blustering Inazuman storm. His cheeks are hot, a lovely rubescent red tinting his cheeks while the corner of his lips twitches.

“Soo are you hanging out with (Name) later?”

The detective stiffly nods. “Yeah, I thought it would be nice to catch up with them since I’ve– hgh, b-been busy with investigations lately. You should see the number of cases I’ve taken on this… week."

“Ohh that’s why you are acting all weird today!” the voice exclaims, snapping her fingers. “Paimon was wondering why you’re all red and shaky today. Still, Paimon didn’t think you were the type to overwork yourself like this.”

“Oh, so you’ve noticed?” He forces a laugh. “Sorry, I didn’t want to make you worry. Besides, (Name) will…ahem, take care of me so I’m in good hands.”

Oh he is in very good hands.

“Did you purposely get yourself sick so (Name) would care for you?” the Traveller spoke, dismay in their tone.

“Now, now, isn’t it perfectly normal to yearn for your lover’s attention?” The detective forces another laugh. “S-speaking of which, I should get ready. I don’t want to keep them– mmm, waiting.”

“Alright, we won’t hold you any longer! Thanks for the book, Heizou!”

The door clicks shut and the room goes quiet. Heizou flops over his table, groaning as he clings onto the edges. Underneath it, a person chuckles in amusement.

“Lying through your teeth while you’re cumming in your lover’s mouth? What a smooth talker you are, Doushin Shikanoin.”

“Hey, it’s your fault for making me cum while they were there.” The doushin playfully glares at you as he wipes the residue off the side of your mouth.

“You lent them the novel, huh?” you ask. “I’m glad, I really liked that one.”

“It’s boring.”

“Well, naturally getting blown is more exciting than any novel.” You rolled your eyes before taking Heizou’s tip in your mouth.

“Always so brazen, my (Name).”

“Says the one who asked me to give them a blowjob under the table,” you hum as you take him completely, sending the vibrations down Heizou’s dick.

His body shivers, still sensitive from his previous orgasm. You spare him no mercy, bobbing your head up and down his cock — wasn’t too big yet wasn’t small either — and batting your eyelashes at him. He feels hyperaware of the way his blood is rushing down all at once, his dick throbbing in your mouth as you drool all over it. Archons, he loves it when you put on a show.

“(Name), if you keep doing that I’m– mmm! G-gonna cum again…” he pants, stroking your head to urge you on.

Heizou clings onto the slide of the chair, arching back as he nears his limit. He blows his load in your mouth, and you moan at the salty taste on your tongue. A mixture of spit and semen surges down your throat as you swallow with loud gulps for extra effect. A pop resounds in the room as you detach from his cock, a devilish grin present as you stuck your tongue out.

“Hehe, good job,” Heizou purrs as he picks you up on his lap. “Now, why don’t we continue this at home?

[arinbelle]

Nessian: The Bed pt.2

This is the final part. Again NSFW do not read if you are bebe. As always enjoy. I hope I didn’t burn some of your eyes with such unholy things. Yes it got a little angsty, yes it got a little fluffy, I realize that, but that’s just self care hun. 

Tag list: @moanypony8, @bookstantrash, @queenestarcheron, @greerlunna, @sayosdreams, @ribhinnog, @awesomelena555, @swankii-art-teacher

"Tired?" he asked her while his nose skimmed the length of her jaw. It wasn't teasing. He was asking if she needed to stop. He always did- just in case. She rarely ever said yes though, even when she was completely spent, even though she usually was lying each time. He probably knew too but he never questioned it further.

She shook her head and decided to play with his ego a little. "How could I be tired? I haven't done anything tiring at all." She was definitely still panting from the previous exertion, but the words hit their mark.

He snapped his head back from her throat and glared at her. She almost laughed but bit her lip instead. Sometimes it was too easy to rile him up.

"Really?" he snarled.

"Really," she told him matter-of-factly. Then she pasted on a saccharine smile that would get his blood boiling. If Nesta with stinging retorts worked Cassian into a fit, Nesta with a fake smile and mocking retorts had him fuming.

He breathed in deeply before flashing her a feral grin and asking, “Well then we should fix that shouldn't we? Properly tire you out so you can sleep better."

She purred,"Mmm....yes. I think I'd like that," and pulled closer to his face to kiss him. Only to have him stop her short with a hand on her shoulder. Her face must have shown her confusion but he didn't explain further. He just hefted her up by the hips and set her off of his lap. She wasn't sure where this was going. She was facing the pillows and he was turned in the opposite direction. Their thighs were touching but he wasn't even looking at her. She tentatively reached out a hand to...what? What was she going to do? His entire demeanor had changed. His hand circled her wrist gently and then placed it back down in her lap, again not looking at her.

"Um, Cassian?" She didn't know what to do. She was naked, Mother above, and he seemed to have promised her another round, only to stop all of her advances.

His eyes slid towards her and he nodded his head, telling her to go on.

"Uh, what are you doing? You seem...preoccupied" she finished lamely. She felt hot. The blanket was nowhere near them and she wasn't even clothed. But it was too hot under his gaze that was slowly traveling down her body and then slowly back up, resting on her breasts a little longer than she thought he had the nerve to do. She was squirming slightly under the scrutiny and also because he was just as naked as her and sitting so close their skin was still touching.

"I'm thinking about if I should put a glamour on the room."

"Why?"

Why aren't you fucking me yet? was what she actually wanted to ask, but she reigned it in. No need to sound so worked up...yet.

He looked towards the window to the side of the room. "I'm trying to figure out if the sentries down the street will hear you scream. I can't hear them from here but they aren't making as much noise as you're about to," he explained.

Shock. That was all that registered at his words. Her eyes widened and her lips parted as she took in a sharp breath. He hadn't even batted an eye as he had said his inflammatory words. Her mouth felt dry and she swallowed much too loudly for him to ignore. He looked at her again, and this time a lascivious smile curved his lips.

"I...I think it's...um, fine," she was tripping over her tongue. He hadn't even said anything that lewd. He'd said dirtier things to her, even before they'd been...well whatever they were. And she hadn't even blinked those times. But this? The promise of how he'd make her scream. It made her toes curl.

"I agree," he told her, and then nodded his head behind him, "Get on all fours."

This wasn't Cassian's voice anymore. This was the Commander. It was the same tone he used when training soldiers. When he didn't take nonsense from anyone he was working with. This was the voice that led legions. It didn't give any room for debate. She had after all asked the Commander to come play with her.

Wish granted, Nesta.

She'd never been taken from behind. It felt strangely vulnerable. Although one could argue that having a person inside of you and having them face you is definitely more vulnerable. All these thoughts raced in her head and she realized when Cassian turned his head to better look at her, she hadn't moved.

She licked her lips in apprehension. She didn't know what to do. All those males in Velaris and she had never once had them like this. Or rather, they'd never had her like that. She was usually on top, able to set the pace and most of all, in control. She started to explain, "I've never-"

"That's fine. I just realized. If you're not comfortable, we don't have to. But I think you might like it if you try. I've been told," he added with a cocky grin, "it hits a particularly deep spot."

Well then. She didn't want to think about other females he had this way and which ones had told him about a deep spot. She knew it wasn't fair to be bothered by his past lovers. She'd been with many males too and he never asked about them. In fact, he seemed to make a point not to ask- for his sake or hers, she never knew.

"I don't know what to do," she admitted.

"Do you trust me?"

She didn't even think before she told him she did. He smiled slightly when she said that. Of course she trusted him. She was pretty sure that there was no one else in the world that she trusted more than him. Not even her sisters.

"Then trust me. You don't have to do anything," and he was pulling her further up the bed then. He moved her by the shoulders until she was sitting with her legs under her, and then he came up behind her. She could feel the heat coming off of him, warming her back, and giving her a solid presence behind her. He grazed his hands up her sides before settling on her neck, slowly massaging at the base in slow circles. A small moan escaped her lips and his mouth lowered down and kissed the crevice between her neck and shoulders. Then, he gently pushed her forward, until she was bent at the waist and her hands pressed into the bed.

"If your hands get tired, go down on your elbows." He kissed a slow path from the top of her back down the ridges of her spine, and as he moved lower and lower she could feel herself getting wetter. He stopped at the base of her spine and lightly bit the side of her hip, pushing her legs apart with his own. He steadied his hands on her hips before slowly sliding his cock through her folds, not yet entering her. She mewled at the sensation and pushed further back into him, only to have his hands tighten down on her, resisting her advances. She made a sound of protest in the back of her throat.

He chuckled darkly before addressing her, "So impatient today, aren't we?" She hissed as he aligned himself at her entrance, but again, ceased moving any further, pushing her patience to its limits.

"Gods your so wet, Nesta," he groaned and slightly pushed forward into her, only to pull back out, teasing her further. She was going to scream. She was going to kill the bat. She was-

Suddenly he was moving forward, pressing his muscles chest down on her back, whispering in her ear, "So, so wet Nesta. So ready for me, aren't you sweetheart?"

She made a keening sound that made a part of her scream internally at herself. Why do you make yourself so obvious, Nesta? But that other part of her- that primal Fae part of her- that one was enjoying this little act of Cassian's. That one wanted to let him fuck her senselessly, and beg as much as possible until he did. Shameless. Her Fae instincts made her utterly shameless when it came to Cassian. She was too willing to give up all her perfect control for him- to him.

"What do you want?"

She didn't answer.

"If you don't tell me Nesta I can't keep going. You want me to fuck you? I will. But you have to ask." She could hear the smirk in his voice, even without facing him. Arrogant ass indeed. He knew she was at the edge of her limits with how much he had teased her. And now he wanted her to ask? To beg? No.

She turned her head to look behind her. She couldn't see much but when she caught his gaze she scowled, and snarled, "I will not, Commander. Feel free to leave if you don't know what you're doing. I don't have many expectations from you anyways, regardless of how you've puffed yourself up in this moment."

He laughed into her hair and then pulled back completely. She missed his warmth that had been pressed against her as soon as she lost it.

"One more time Nes. What. Do. You. Want?"

"Nothing," she bit out.

Yes nothing at all. I just want you to fuck me so hard into this mattress that I can't leave till the next morning. Nothing more.

She heard a hitch in his breathing and the grip on her hips tightened to almost bruising.

"Into the mattress, sweetheart? I'll try my best."

How had he heard-

Cassian thrust forward, seating himself to the hilt inside of her and she screamed. So deep. He was so deep inside of her, and she had never felt so stretched. It felt heavenly.

His pace was unmatched. The way his hips snapped, she could do little except grip the sheets in front of her into a twisted mess. After her second climax he slowed down, letting her oversensitive body come down from its high. It was too much. She had sobbed through her second time because it felt so damn good but it was too damn much. "Deep spot" indeed- Nesta was going to combust. She got used to this new position quickly and when he had slowed, she learned to press her rear back as he pushed forward, taking him even deeper and making them groan in unison.

Right before her fourth and final climax, her hands had indeed gotten tired and she had needed to press onto her elbows then. One of his hands came down to circle her neck, thumb stroking up and down her pulse point, and the combination of the sheer possession in that motion, as well as how hard he was pumping in and out of her, threw her violently into an orgasm that had her screaming his name into the sheets. Not long after, he was spilling himself inside her, and he roared his release in the form of her name. Over and over again.

Nesta. Nesta. Nesta.

He collapsed soon after, lying right next to her. She turned her head towards him, and saw his chest heaving up and down with his breathing. He was just as tired as she was. Good. Serves him right for how he'd teased her. She was still on her stomach and he was on his back next to her, the only point of contact being the back of his palm lightly resting on the outer edge of her thigh- barely though. She wanted him to close his entire hand around her thigh. Keep it there through the night. Brazen. She was becoming too bold in Cassian's company.

Her eyes were closed now but she was very much awake. Just too spent to move. And fine, maybe she didn't want to move either. She felt the bed dip and heard him rustle forward, before grabbing for the furs at the end of the bed and covering her. He didn't hold her, in fact he made it a point not to touch her. He went to the right side of the bed and she counted out the time between his breaths until they became an even pattern. She debated leaving. There might be implications if she stayed in his bed, especially through the entire night. But then she was yawning again and his sheets were so soft...

                              ------------------------------------------------

She woke up to his wing curled under her, and his muscled form providing a warm presence behind her. His free wing was covering them both over the layer of blankets. She was too hot, what with the heavy blankets, his wings, and Cassian emanating heat onto her skin- and yet she didn't mind it one bit. She craved it. She could stay here forever she realized with stunning clarity. Stay in his arms, which sometime through the night had come to wrap one around her torso and the other across her chest. So she closed her eyes, content for now to just be, and went back to her unfinished dreams of hazel eyes and bold, beautiful wings.

The next time she woke up properly, it was afternoon. Cassian was still in bed with her, but awake this time. His fingertips lightly traced over her shoulder, down her back, circled around the base of her spine, and then moved back up achingly slow. As he continued tracing new patterns into her skin, she settled backwards just a fraction, and it was invitation enough. The arm braced under her head that had snaked over her breasts and rested on her ribs, tightened, and he pulled her closer into him.

She sighed in contentment. She could get used to this. Falling asleep in his arms. Waking up in his arms. Cautiously she raised her fingers to do some tracing of her own. His tattoos had enraptured her from the first moment she'd seen him without a shirt. As a human, she'd only seen the licks of black ink around his neck where his shirt opened at the top. When she turned Fae though, when Feyre was still acting as spy in Tamlin's estate, he would come up to the House of Wind where her and Elain were staying. Sometimes, him and Azriel trained in the sparring rooms, and try as she might to ignore it, curiosity struck one day and she had left her book and investigated. They were doing hand-to-hand combat, panting and grunting with each move, covered in sweat that she knew had been worked up for the past two hours of them training. She really did try not to look at glistening brown skin and the black tendrils of his markings as the two Illyrian males danced around each other. Or to follow the bead of sweat that ran down his exquisitely chiseled chest and abdomen, into an area lower that she had never seen before- of any man or male's. And in that moment, she realized she wanted him. Perhaps not yet with her heart, but she couldn't deny her attraction to him. Of course it was at that moment Cassian looked away from Azriel's fists and towards her, who was very obviously looking at his half naked body. 

He had given her a wicked grin and teased, “Enjoying the view Nesta?"

She had scowled and hissed back, "Go to hell, bat." Before he could reply or continue shaming her for doing exactly what he said she had been doing, she stormed off and made it a point to never watch him during training again. At least, not when he could find out.

"You could get some, you know?" he now murmured into her hair, his fingers still dancing across her skin.

"Get what?"

"The markings. You could get some too if you wanted," he explained. Then with a teasing lilt that she had come to know as being wholly Cassian's, he added, "I know you've been eyeing mine for some time now."

She scoffed, "I have not. Not everyone is enamored with you as much as you are with yourself."

"I didn't say anything about enamored. You did. I was talking about the markings." He let out a low chuckle before cooing, "So how long have you been, enamored with me sweetheart?"

Forever.

"Go to hell, bat," she sweetly retorted.

His laugh rumbled through his chest and into her body that was pressed up in front of him. It warmed her heart to hear it. He was always so carefree with his feelings. If it was funny, he laughed. If he wanted to smile, he did. If he was hurt, he cried. Speaking of hurt...

"Are you feeling better today? About yesterday..." she trailed off.

He didn't reply right away, content to keep stroking circles over her ribs with his thumb.

"Yes. I'm sorry if I upset you. I needed a day to process everything and now I have. And I'm fine," he pressed a soft kiss to her cheek before going on, "but thank you for asking."

"You didn't upset me," she assured him, but then admitted," I was worried though. You were so quiet. You're never quiet." Not like me. I don't want you to be like me.

"I didn't want to say something to you that I wouldn't mean, when it wasn't you I was angry with. I thought it best to calm down a little bit before finding you. Of course you had other ideas," he laughed quietly and nipped at the pointed ends of her ear.

"I always do. And my ideas are better than yours. You shouldn't sulk when you get upset. You should-"

"So not like you?" he cut her off.

She turned her head slightly behind her to face him, and gave him a withering glare. "I do not sulk. I do not lock myself into my study and refuse to listen to help."

"Gods no. No, you're more content to seethe in silence and then snap at anyone who bothers you too much," he said laughingly.

She opened her mouth to protest, even though he was right, but he smothered it away by crushing his lips to hers. He tasted like her. The thought activated some primal part of her brain that relished in the thought. Mine. He's mine.

He seemed to have a similar idea when his hand moved over her breasts, giving a squeeze that left her keening, and then settling to wrap around her neck. So possessive he could be. Not that she was any better. She took a secret pride in the nail marks she'd leave on his back above his wings, especially when he went out to train and took off his tunic, showing them off.

His free hand that had settled earlier on her waist moved lower. Lower. Lower. And then he was settled right at the apex of thighs, dangerously close to the ache she needed relieved.

"Oh...Cass...," she hated the whine in her voice. She hated that he smirked at her before kissing her thoroughly, fully aware of how he was affecting her. The heady scent of her arousal and his filled the room, and she could feel him hard and ready to go pressed against her backside. He shifted his hips slightly and the little friction she got from it had her crying out for more.

His fingertips swirled around her swollen bud with just enough pressure to make her wetter, but nothing more. She ground her hips forward, craving some form of release to the desire that had pooled in her core, and the prick moved his hand away.

She let out another cry, this one of frustration, “Fuck you Cassian."

"Gladly."

He let out a dark, sensuous laugh that skittered over her bare skin, and when he latched his mouth onto her breasts, she thought she would pass out from the sheer pleasure. His fingers had returned between her legs and while his thumb circled in taunting circles, he added two fingers inside of her and curled up, stroking at just the right pace. She was mewling lushly until he silenced those sounds with his wicked tongue.

He broke off their kiss and asked, fingers still working inside her, "What do you want?" He'd asked the same thing the night before. She didn't want to give in, but she needed him inside of her, sooner rather than later.

"I can play nice if you tell me what we're doing. I can play sweetheart, but I have to know what you need."

She needed...

"You," she managed to choke out as he added a third finger.

"I'm sorry what was that? I couldn't quite understand. I'm afraid I'll have to cut our time short if you don't make yourself clearer." And then he slowly removed his fingers from her. She let out another small scream in anger, but it only seemed to spur his teasing further. At least that's what she assumed he was doing when he took those fingers and put them in mouth, licking up the taste of her on his hand. If it was possible, she grew even wetter.

"You taste so good, Nesta," he moaned. And that was it. Her control snapped. If he wanted to tease her, fine. She'd just need to make him regret that.

She smirked and shifted slightly to better face him, before grabbing those same fingers and placing them to her mouth. She swirled her tongue over the tips before taking them between her lips, running her tongue down the length of them, sucking lightly, and Cassian's gaze turned feral. When his eyes stopped widening in shock, she let him go with a pop.

"Pay attention because I'll only say this once. I know I taste good. I don't need you to tell me that. I do however need you inside of me right now and you better make it good considering how much you keep messing around. You're going to fuck me until I can't walk tomorrow. And then you're going to do it one more time just because I asked. Is that clear enough for you, Commander?" she finished with a growl.

He blinked. Once. Twice. Then he gave her a wolfish grin before plunging his cock into her. And so they began again, after mere hours of having had each other. It would never be enough she realized. She would never be sated from him. They both groaned as he lifted her leg up and pulled her apart wider, giving him more access to enter her deeper from the side. The hand wrapped around her neck lightly pushed her head to the side and he burrowed his face into the hollow of her throat, kissing the sensitive flesh, and her arm automatically went behind her to grasp his head. She wrapped her palm around the back of his neck for some, any purchase, as he continued his assault with his lips and teeth on her neck, hips still furiously thrusting into her.

She was too close, much too close, because he'd worked her up too much.

"Slow," she gasped out. "Slower Cassian."

"Really? You're so close though," he crooned. How he knew...she didn't want to think about why that was.

"Hmm yes. Slow down. I want...," she fumbled for the right words as he slowed his long, deep thrusts to a shallower motion. A rocking motion. They were rolling their hips into each other, grinding really, and the sensation, Mother above. It was just as pleasurable as before, but more tame. She preferred the idea of coming with him like this, so closely joined with not enough room for even paper between their sweat slicked bodies.

He gasped as she arched backwards into him, and she knew he'd come soon. He seemed to realize this too, and how Nesta was farther away from her climax now. She had wanted to come together this time, to somehow make-up for how generous a lover he was, making her call his name at least a few times before giving into his own release. Always putting her needs above his own. The hand that had been hefting her top leg up, moved to rest her foot on his thigh- a strange position but it opened her legs up even wider. He licked his two fingers before placing them on the bundle of nerves between her thighs that had been pleading for attention. He knew just how to touch her- his fingers carefully rolling her bud, his cock slowly sliding in and out of her, and the hand encircling her throat moving up to slip his thumb between her lips, letting her suck and swirl just how she would have done if it were his cock instead.

"Watch," he commanded her. Her lips parted releasing his thumb as she looked down to where he was looking. Where they were joined.

"Watch me fuck you, Nesta. Look at how good you take my cock sweetheart," he purred.

It was obscene the sounds they were making- the scent of sex filling up the room. And Mother above it was crude-the things he was whispering in her ear, about how tight she was, how wet she was, how much he loved being inside her. All she could do was moan louder and louder as his decadently filthy words fueled her desire for him, bringing her closer to the edge upon which he was waiting for her to fall over with him. When they came together, each chanting the other's name like prayers to a deity, it was soul shattering. She felt it then. A tug in her chest, and at the end, him.

He didn't give any inclination to her that he had felt that tether between them strengthen, but she knew he must have. Which was fine by Nesta. She wasn't ready for that conversation just yet. She focused on calming her rapid breath first, calming down the thunderous beat of her heart as she came down from her high. They were still completely entangled with each other. Arms crossing over, legs intertwined, no limb of hers that wasn't somehow twisted around his. And she was fine with that too. She didn't want to leave him just yet.

He moved first, extricating himself from her still limp form, pressing a chaste kiss to her forehead and jaw before leaving the bed. She followed his naked form with hooded eyes, as he went to shower. She could join him. He'd let her. But they hadn't done that before and she wasn't going to be the first one to initiate something so intimate. She needed to bathe though. The remnants of their night and just now were still in the bed, still on her skin, still inside of her- one of them would need to change the sheets later.

Soon, she heard the water turn off and she grabbed his shirt from the floor and quickly threw it on. Gods knew where her own clothes lay from when Cassian had practically ripped them off of her. He was drying his hair with a towel when she walked into the now empty shower. She paid him no mind, even when he stopped his toweling to stare at her naked form through the glass doors. When she continued to ignore his ogling, he sighed impatiently and left the bathroom. She huffed a quiet laugh to herself- sensitive Illyrian baby.

And so that was how it began. She stayed in his bed that same night too. After he took his fill of her, she claimed exhaustion again and fell asleep curled into his side. And so this was also how it progressed.

First it was reading. She would read on his bed during the afternoons when he was running extra training sessions. He would find her on her stomach, both feet dangling in the air, sometimes swinging up and down when she got to a particularly smutty scene. He would never join her before bathing, but as he gathered his towels and soaps, he would steal a few extra moments to stare at the simplicity of it all. How natural she looked, lounging there among his sheets, which had now begun to hold her scent along with his. When he was done, he'd sometimes enter the room in just a towel, and her book would lay forgotten while she snapped the towel off of him and rode him hard. Other times he'd come fully dressed and lay down beside her, eyes closed, legs crossed, an arm thrown behind his head- the picture of serene calm. This was Cassian. Not the Commander. Not the Lord of Bloodshed. Just Cassian enjoying a small nap before getting up to prepare dinner alongside his... what was she to him? 

Others in the camp certainly had their ideas them. Some were more spot on than others. More than once Cassian had been asked about his "wife" and "how is she doing." He didn't know she was only a few feet behind him the first time he was asked that and she took a secret delight in how red he got as he stammered out that he didn't have a wife. But the Illyrians paid him no mind. She was his female, if she wasn't anything more, and after it came into realization, she was treated with respect- albeit grudgingly. No one wanted to risk the wrath of the Commander when it came to Nesta. Not that Nesta would ever go and complain about testy Illyrians to Cassian but-

"What do you want for dinner?" he asked her, interrupting her thoughts.

"Whatever you make, I'll eat. I'm not hungry right now," she told him, eyes never straying off the pages of her novel. It was at a...particularly scintillating scene and it took Nesta all of her resolve to not imagine the male in the book being Cassian and the female he was making love to being her.

He made a sound of assent before his eyes shuttered again and he looked to be on the cusp of sleep. His hair was unbound and before she knew what she was doing her fingers had strayed over to comb them back from his cheek. He stiffened at her touch but kept his eyes shut, his breathing the only telltale sign that he was alert now. She continued stroking the silk strands lightly, nails slightly scraping his scalp, and soon enough he was purring under her hand. Before she knew what to do, he was moving, his large palms sliding up her waist and settling under her ribs. He pulled her close and burrowed his head between her breasts, nuzzling them softly before settling down and resuming his supposed nap. She didn't move for a few moments- didn't know how to process this intimacy. Her instincts won out over her apprehension, and she resumed stroking his slightly damp hair that had begun to curl softly, settling one of her legs over his hips, pulling him closer as well. That was how they fell asleep, plans of dinner left forgotten, completely entwined with each other's bodies as their hearts were entwined with their souls.

And from that day on, Nesta did not need to use sex as a reason to stay the night in Cassian's bed- her bed now. No, as the Rite came closer and trainings grew more rigorous, Cassian came home later and later- and each night, he found Nesta in their bed, long asleep even though she did try to stay up and wait for him. He would silently climb in beside her, and wrap an arm around her waist before settling in against her back, breathing in her scent before succumbing to a peaceful sleep he hadn't had in centuries before Nesta came into his life.

Sometimes he would awaken to her hand holding the one he slid under her head. Other times she would have climbed over him, wrapping herself so tightly to him, he knew this was where he would be content to die. Sometimes she woke up if he made too much noise and they would make slow and sweet love under the covers. And sometimes she woke him up, with her wicked tongue on his- no, their- favorite part.

But always, always, she was there. Waiting for him- her love and open arms ready to encompass him and his heart each and every time he returned to her.

[maleficar-writes]

Control

Pairing: The Darkling/Alina Starkov

Fandom: Shadow & Bone | The GrishaVerse

Rating: Explicit

Additional Tags: Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, light bondage, sex magic, dirty talk

Summary: He was power crafted into flesh. But so was she.

Aleksander impresses the importance of control on Alina. She is a quick study.

On AO3: Link

They rode side by side, leaving the Little Palace and Os Alta behind them on a crisp, chilly day in late fall. Since the day at the well, he’d invited her out a handful of times—whenever he was at the Little Palace, he seemed to find an excuse to go riding with her.

Alina turned her eyes to the sky and wished he’d find an excuse to go riding with her. She probably hadn’t made it clear she was interested in him like that. After all, she’d dropped hints to Mal for years, but he never looked twice at her.

“Your lessons are progressing well?” Aleksander asked her, breaking the silence between them.

He rode like he was born for the saddle, all straight lines and confidence. He held the reins in one gloved hand, his other resting loosely in his lap.

With a sigh, Alina slouched in her saddle. She didn’t ride well at all—even without the comparison to him, she felt as uncomfortable on a horse as she did in her classes. She belonged in both places, but she fit wrong.

“Well enough.” She looked away from him, studying the passing trees with more interest than they deserved. “I can summon the light, at least.”

“Mmm.”

The sound of his agreement caressed the length of her spine. Her back arched, her shoulders rolling back, and when she glanced at him, she found him studying her.

“What?”

His brows lifted and he gave her a faint look of amusement. “You’ll need to do more than simply summon light at the Fete.”

Since she couldn’t scowl at the great General Kirigan, she dragged her eyes away from him and back to the trees just in time for them to give way to a broad meadow.

“Sometimes,” he said, “it helps to have a goal to work toward.”

He dismounted at the edge of the meadow, leading his horse toward a nearby post.

Head canted to the side, Alina followed and dismounted as well. “Why’s there a post here?”

“Old training field,” he replied, tying his horse and then hers.

“What’s here that will give me a goal?” She surveyed the field, barely managing to disguise her disbelief.

Aleksander gave her a dry look as he stepped around her, putting the horses at their backs. “Space.” He sounded incredibly amused by this, like he knew something she didn’t.

To be fair, he certainly did.

Frowning, she followed after him. “Why do we need this much space?”

The meadow was easy as big as the massive drive leading up to the Grand Palace. A critical examination of the meadow using all the skills she’d gained as a mapmaker told her they easily had the same area as a city block.

Aleksander stopped walking forward, and she stumbled to a halt half an inch away from his back.

He glanced over his shoulder at her. “You won’t see anything from there, Miss Starkov. Come—” She hoped the heat that washed through her at that word didn’t show on her face. “—and stand at my side.”

She joined him, watching him with curiosity.

He clasped his hands together behind his back.

Their shadows overflowed their boundaries, darkness welling up around their feet, their ankles. The sight of it no longer frightened her. Instead, he awed her as he brought his hands around his body, drawing more shadows from the distant edge of the meadow.

“Do you remember what I told you on our first ride to the Little Palace?”

Frankly, it was a blessing she’d forgotten the bulk of their terrifying flight across Ravka. At first, she’d dreamed of the Drüskelle’s death regularly. Had jolted awake from nightmares of his blood splashing her face all over again or, worse, the hand axe cracking into her skull. Now, the whole thing seemed like a lifetime ago.

Unsure if she should be embarrassed that she didn’t remember, she ducked her head. “No,” she answered honestly.

“The Cut,” he said, and her eyes jumped back to him.

She remembered that.

The Cut was a technique unique to Summoners, a shaping of power that required tremendous skill and concentration.

“I’ve seen the Cut,” she said, her voice low and soft. She didn’t know what might happen to all that power if she disrupted his concentration.

“So you have.” He held his hands before him, creating a crescent of writhing darkness in the air, holding the scythe-like edge.

Her eyes widened. To casually hold the power like that… how much power did Aleksander actually possess? What was the true extent of his abilities? She knew he was old, knew that meant he had considerably more power than the average Grisha, but—

“But we can do more with our power than just kill—than just destroy,” Aleksander said, a strange quality in his voice.

Darkness fell from his fingers in inky pools as he spread his hands wide, creating a plane of shadow. One of his hands slid beneath the darkness, as though supporting a tray, the fingers of his other hand danced over the plane, sculpting it slowly into a panorama.

Alina exhaled heavily with wonder, eyes wide as Aleksander made two forms out of shadow that walked together through a glade ringed by trees.

“We can create.” She felt his eyes on hers, but she couldn’t look away from what he’d crafted. “People think the small science has to be big.” His lips quirked, as if he found a joke in the small contradiction of his description.

Darkness collapsed on itself, folding into a small sphere no larger than a marble, but she felt the tremendous weight of it. Its gravity pulled her, and she stepped closer, enchanted by a kernel of midnight.

Aleksander turned his body toward hers. “The small science is small,” he said, his voice lowering. “It needn’t be a grand thing that overwhelms.” He lifted his hand between them, and she stared at the blackness, the emptiness, the void resting on the tips of his fingers. “Where is there shadow, Miss Starkov?”

Her eyes lifted to his. There was a lesson here, and she tried to divine the answer in the darkness of his eyes.

The corner of her lip quirked up.

Your eyes didn’t seem like an answer she could give him. “The night,” she said aloud.

“Think smaller. Where else is the darkness?” His eyes were fierce.

“Beneath the forest canopy.”

“Smaller still, Miss Starkov.”

She licked her lips. “In the space between you and me.”

Something shifted, an infinitesimally small change in his expression. There was darkness there, she thought. Darkness in his eyes.

“Smaller.”

“The hearts of men.”

“How philosophical.”

Heat flushed her cheeks. “I—”

“You,” he interrupted, “are not wrong.” He spread his fingers wide, and the darkness stretched between them. “You find your piece of the science wherever you can. We are all things, Miss Starkov, that is the truth. And there is power in that.”

Lifting his other hand, he caught the strand of darkness and stretched it into a long, thin rope.

“And underpinning it all is control,” he said, his voice low and rough, his gaze fixed on hers. “The ability to exert your will on the world around you. If your power is everywhere, then you cannot be robbed of it.”

There was something important in that statement, but he gave her no time to pick through the labyrinth of his words.

“And if you can control it, you can never be overwhelmed.”

His hands turned in lazy circles, and she felt a coil of shadow against the inside of her wrist, cool as silk.

With a gasp, she lifted her hands as he drew them together, bound in a cord of darkness. She felt the pressure of another tendril of darkness against her throat, her waist, just below her knee.

Instead of feeling trapped, she felt a strange sort of liberation. If there was darkness in the hearts of men, there was also light, and his shadows were only so dark because her light shone so bright. He bound her in darkness, but she could destabilize his science with her own.

And that was power.

“Could I do this with light?” she asked him, studying her bound hands.

He caught his fingers beneath the knot of darkness, drawing her closer to him. He hadn’t hobbled her feet with his shadowy bindings, but she let herself fall against his chest.

His hand settled on her hip, holding her in place as he chuckled.

“Ah, Miss Starkov, how is it you so often surprise me?”

Since she’d arrived at the Little Palace, she’d thought of him often. At first, she’d been afraid of him. His reputation was as great and terrible as the Fold. He was solitary and given to isolation, they said, whoever they were, with exacting standards and little patience for mistakes. He was power crafted into flesh.

But so was she.

Now, when she thought of him, it wasn’t with fear. It was with respect—more respect than she’d had a moment before. And deeper, buried beneath the respect, was something else. Something hot and hungry, something full of craving.

Full of desire.

Lifting to her toes, her wrists still bound and her eyes on his, she pressed a tentative kiss against his mouth.

His eyes went wide and then drifted half closed, the hand on her hip curling into the heavy fabric of her kefta.

“Twice in as many minutes,” he murmured against her lips.

She shivered, finding the brush of his mouth against hers delicious. “I don’t think that was two minutes.”

“Are you suggesting I possess a poor sense of time?”

“Maybe.” Her lips curved in a faint smile. “Maybe you should release my hands and let me try this on you.”

His other hand found its way around the back of her neck, the tips of his fingers pushing into her hair to hold her close. The hand on her hip gripped her tighter, pulling her against the solid wall of his body.

She inhaled sharply, delighted and somewhat mystified by the sharp ache growing between her legs. She’d felt desire before, but it had always been a muted thing, easily set aside for the more pressing concerns of her own survival. Maybe she should be more concerned with her survival in this moment—he was dangerous, and to suggest he wasn’t was to believe a pretty lie—but all she wanted was to sink deeper into the feeling.

“You are Grisha.” Every word he spoke was like a kiss. Tingles spread from her lips to her jaw, along her scalp and down her spine. “Maybe you should practice your power.”

She hesitated. “Isn’t that dangerous?”

The hand on her hip curved to the small of her back. The heel of it pressed against her, urging her closer, and she was surprised to find there was still space between them, a space she quicky eliminated. Then his hand shifted lower, the tips of his fingers brushing over the swell of her ass.

Dark eyes watched her as his hand eased lower.

“Would you hold any part of yourself back from a lover?” he asked her, his voice low and rich and, Saints, she felt that sound. “Would you not use your hands to touch them?”

“Yes,” she breathed as his hand cupped her ass and tugged her flush against him. His arm kept her close, helped her maintain her balance.

“Would you not use your mouth to kiss them? To taste them?”

She swallowed hard, remembering all those times she’d imagined Aleksander’s mouth on hers. And on other parts of her.

“You’re imagining it now, aren’t you?”

She gasped as liquid darkness slipped over her arms. The bindings around her wrists stayed in place, but cool shadow drifted inside her sleeves and stroked over her skin. Tendrils of it, like so many cool fingers, dipped beneath her tunic and into her breeches.

Skin prickling with heat, she tried to tug her wrists apart.

“Where would you have me kiss you, Miss Starkov?”

“Alina,” she insisted.

“Alina,” he agreed, his voice a rough purr. “Will you dodge my question?”

She wasn’t sure she could answer his question. “I…”

He smiled and brushed his lips against her in the faintest caress.

Somehow, that devastated her more than any other sensation. She felt like she was falling even though he held her secure against his body.

“That wasn’t your original question,” she managed. “That doesn’t answer my question.”

“You worry about control.” Shadow licked along her thighs, following the curve of her ass, and she gasped, arching into him. His eyes darkened, becoming pools of midnight and desire. “That, Alina, is why we practice.”

He drew his mouth along her jaw, urging her head back and into the palm of his hand. A shuddering breath rushed out of her, tinged with a quieted moan. The heat of his breath washed over her skin, along the column of her throat, and his teeth followed.

Gasping, she yanked again at her hands. “You’re distracting me.”

“You’re not trying.”

She sucked in a sharp breath as he nudged aside the collar of her kefta and sucked on her skin. A reedy sound caught in her throat. “I could hurt you.”

“You could.” He licked the hollow of her throat. “I don’t believe you will, Alina.” He drew away from her neck, his nose following the curve of her jaw again. His lips brushed the shell of her ear, and his teeth caught the lobe. He tugged, and pleasure shot through her like lightning, ricocheting through her body.

And lightning was light and light was her power and she summoned it without thinking. Sunlight shattered the bonds on her wrists as she sank her hands into his hair and yanked him back to her mouth.

Hungry little moans spilled from her lips to his as she kissed him. His hand on her ass flexed, and she arched her back to press into his touch, which only served to have him yank her closer to him again—where she felt the beginnings of his desire against her stomach, even though the heavy layer of her kefta.

“Summon again,” he whispered against her mouth, his hand sweeping over her hip and to the front of her kefta. Fingers of flesh and darkness pulled open her belt and buttons.

She shrugged out of the heavy jacket, letting it fall to the ground as her fingers yanked at his silvery buttons. “I don’t want to.”

As he had, she kissed along the length of his jaw and then down the line of his throat, trying to imitate how he’d licked and sucked on her skin.

The sound he made when her teeth raked over his pulse made her shudder—and drew light to the tips of her fingers.

His fingers stroked down her sides, caught the white chemise tucked into her breeches, and pulled it free. Warm, human fingers caressed her over her stays alongside more cool, silky darkness, and she cried out against the skin of his throat.

“Summon for me, Alina. Show me your control.”

Control? She was supposed to be in control? Now?

Aleksander’s hands spread over her ribs, his thumbs brushing over her breasts through the fabric of her stays.

Burning tension drew through her.

Shadow sank beneath fabric. Two cool coils curled against her nipples, and she gasped.

“Banish the darkness, Alina.”

How was she supposed to find control when he purred her name like that? When he touched her like this, like no one else ever had? When she—Saints, the revelation crashed through her like a spring storm come down from Fjerda. “I don’t want to,” she gasped.

He went still against her, drawing back to peer into her face.

Heart pounding in her chest, she met his gaze, keenly aware that she was already half undressed, and if she tilted her head to the side, she’d see the tunic beneath his doublet and his skin behind that.

“What do you want?” he asked softly, quietly, as if the words might break the world.

She freed the final buckle of his doublet, danced her fingers up his chest, and loosened the laces at his throat. She licked her lips.

Beneath the confines of her skin, she burned, and fire, too, was light. She drew on that burn, on her own desire, and spooled a thread of it to the tips of her fingers. They glittered gold as she let them wander over his skin, her eyes lifting slowly to his.

Light spun off her fingers, reflecting in the darkness of his eyes. She felt it like an extension of her body, drifting over his skin.

Against her sides, his hands tightened. His pupils dilated as she watched, as her light twisted against his flesh like his shadows had against hers. One arch of light ran over his nipples beneath his clothes.

He surged against her, capturing her mouth in a devastating kiss.

Burying her fingers in his hair, she held his mouth to hers. Their tongues met, tangled, and delirious heat wound through her. More light spilled from her fingers, spinning around them both like ribbons.

Just as much as his hands, his shadows pulled at her clothes, loosening her stays, the cords of her breeches.

Cognizant that she’d be naked faster than him, her hands dropped to his shoulders and then lower. She pulled at his clothes, too, until he broke away from their kiss.

One hand cupped her jaw. His forehead rested against hers. “Where is your line?” he asked her.

Saints, she didn’t know. She’d never done this before, but she’d also never wanted someone’s mouth on her skin as much as she wanted his.

As if sensing her hesitation, he began to draw back—and she knew she didn’t want that.

So she ran her hands down his sides, his hips, his thighs as she went slowly to her knees.

His breathing turned ragged. The look in his eyes scorched her.

She knew enough about sex to know all the ways people could play with each other. She knew that all the ways she wanted his mouth on her, he could have her mouth on him.

Emboldened by the way he looked at her, she brushed her lips against the hard line of his cock through his breeches before she spread her kefta on the ground and leaned back on it. She pulled the laces on her breeches open, letting the front panel sag low on her belly, and met his gaze with trembling anticipation.

As if mesmerized, he knelt between her legs. When he leaned over her, she felt sheltered by the shadow of his form instead of caged. His hands pressed into her kefta above her shoulders, and he hovered above her.

“I want—I want to feel—what you said earlier,” she managed, feeling her cheeks heat with embarrassment. Not because she didn’t want him to touch her, to taste her, but because this was new, and she didn’t quite know what she was doing, and she worried about disappointing him.

The hot look in his gaze, the ragged cadence of his breath, all told her she probably didn’t need to worry about disappointing him.

“My mouth on you?” he asked.

She nodded.

Slowly, he lowered himself onto his forearms. His fingers threaded into her hair at her temples, and he kissed her slow and long, his mouth lingering on hers as though she were a treat to savor.

With a groan, she arched against the air, seeking the weight and comfort of his body and frustrated when she didn’t find it.

His tongue licked into her lips as he obliged her, settling against her.

She gasped into their kiss to feel him between her legs—she’d never thought too much about how she might feel the line of a man’s cock through his clothes and against her body, but, Saints, she adored it. The weight of him, the feel of him, filled her with a gnawing need.

“Is that all you want?” he asked her, each word its own kiss.

She licked her lips. Licked his lips. Gasped when that made him groan and roll his hips hard against hers.

Oh, but she liked that. Loved that. Sliding her palms down his back, she curved her hands over his ass and urged him to move like that against her again.

With a moan, her head fell back and her body arched in a sinuous line against his. More friction, more pleasure, and she lost his question in the labyrinth of fire his body created against hers.

“Alina.”

Her name on his lips only made her want more, only served to make her burn brighter.

“Alina.” He tipped her face back towards her, and she felt shadows on her legs again. The silky darkness curled around her calves, and she felt them release the buckles of her boots.

That. She needed to learn that.

“Tell me, Alina. Do you want more than my mouth on you?” The mouth in question drifted against her cheek, the whiskers of his beard a delicious rasp against her skin. “Do you want my shadows on your naked skin?”

“Yes,” she gasped, driving her fingers beneath his tunic. Grateful, she was so grateful men didn’t wear stays, because the thought of having to get through more fabric to feel his skin beneath her palms was abhorrent.

“Do you want to feel those shadows inside you?” he asked, his voice a low rumble against her ear. He timed that question with a slow, languid roll of his hips against hers so she couldn’t mistake his meaning.

And she didn’t. Her nails curled into his skin, pulling a hiss that dissolved into a wicked chuckle from him. “Yes. And—and then—”

“And then?” he prompted, when she didn’t finish.

Her teeth caught her lower lip. Talking about this seemed strange, but she liked it. It was difficult to put all these secret desires into words, but when she did, those words made her burn. Made her ache. Speaking her desires aloud only made her want them more.

“And then you.” She turned her head, her mouth stroking lightly against his cheek as he groaned and rocked against her again. “I want to feel you inside me, Aleksander.” He trembled against her, and she ached with pleasure. As much as he could unmake her like this, she had the power to do the same to him. “With your shadows around my wrists.”

She didn’t know what to make of the sound that escaped him, but then he kissed her with such a savage hunger, she realized she didn’t care. He liked the idea, and she burned for it.

Shadows and hands stripped her of her clothes. He held her back in an arch as inky darkness took her shirt; his mouth smoothed over her chest as pale hands pushed her stays off her shoulders.

He didn’t pause to draw back and stare at her. Instead, his tongue traced an ever-tightening circle around her breasts before he reached her nipple. He sucked the little nub between his lips as she cried out his name. His thumb dragged back and forth over the other as shadows pulled off and discarded her boots.

Thinking around the wet heat of his mouth proved nearly impossible, but she did manage to create thin, wavering tendrils of light. The heat from her light kept her from shivering—though she thought the heat from their bodies and desire would work just as well—and made him arch and twist against her body in the most delicious ways. Still, she couldn’t strip him naked as he’d stripped her, and she wanted to. Saints, she wanted to. Wanted to use her power the way he did.

“You’ll learn,” he murmured against her underside of her breast.

“Now you’re content with letting me take my time?”

He grinned at her, and that grin made him seem so much younger than he was. “Never.”

Shifting away from her, he settled on his knees between her legs, both of them shirtless. His gaze drifted over her body, and the heat in his eyes made her squirm.

A muscle in his jaw flexed as he muttered a coarse oath. “Watching you move—” He broke off, running his hands up her thighs. One of those hands curved inward, and now his eyes fixed on hers.

Curled knuckles brushed against her breeches.

She let out a shuddering little sigh and rocked toward his hand. “Please,” she murmured, feeling her cheeks flame.

Aleksander’s knuckles brushed against her cunt through the fabric of her pants.

Alina frowned.

He burst out laughing, leaning over her again. “That’s not the look you want to see on your lover’s face.” He kissed her, and she felt his hand shift, felt his palm cup her. The heel of his hand pressed against her pubic bone, and the frown melted into a wide-eyed look of delight. Of awe.

“That,” she gasped.

“Good?”

Her hips twisted, her body moving to push his hand to the right place. She’d touched herself, she knew what she wanted to feel, knew—

A keening moan fell from her lips, and he devoured the sound with a greedy kiss

His hand rocked against her, finding a rhythm with her, until she burned beneath him and mewls of pleasure became broken pleas for more.

“I promised you my mouth,” he reminded her as she carded her fingers in his hair to hold his lips against hers for more of those kisses.

Torn between two wants, she groaned. “Didn’t think this would be so hard,” she groused.

His brow arched.

“I want everything all at once.”

A thoughtful look crossed his face. “Stay still,” he told her, resting his forehead on hers again. His hand shifted away from her cunt, petting up and down her side as he closed his eyes.

She watched him, curious—and then she felt it. The swell of power, a cresting rise of cool shadow sliding over her belly. It shifted and rolled, shaping with his will into—

Alina jerked when a cool mouth brushed between her legs beneath the fabric of her pants.

Above her, Aleksander’s eyes opened. “Not too strange?” he asked as those cool lips kissed her thighs, her clit. As they kissed her entrance—as a cool tongue flicked against her.

She jerked again, her hips arching against his. She writhed, seeking the weight of his body between her legs and getting only the delicious torment of ephemeral shadow.

“Intoxicating.” His thumbs brushed over her lips as she twisted and arched beneath him, her eyes fluttering shut so she could focus on the feeling, the building pressure and pleasure and heat.

She dug her fingers into his shoulders, clutching him against her body as she sucked one of his thumbs between her lips. She needed something, some kind of action to help alleviate the tension inside her. Instead, grasping him close and sucking on him only made her ache more, only made her burn brighter.

“You have no idea how beautiful you look right now.” The dark timbre of his voice shook her. The cool touch of the tongue between her legs made her keen.

That shadow tongue curled around her clit and she sobbed his name.

“Fuck, Alina.”

The coarse language should have offended her. Instead, it inflamed her.

“Not enough,” he muttered, and one tongue of shadow became two.

The first continued flicking back and forth over her clit. The other thrust into her entrance, and her back bowed beneath him.

“Still not enough.”

His hand smoothed over her belly as she turned her face against his neck. Her hips worked hard against his shadows, shadows that continued to torment her when his hand slipped beneath her pants and cupped her.

The heat of his touch snapped the tension coiling inside her.

She came with a broken sob, her nails raking down his back. Pleasure overwhelmed her, but it wasn’t enough, wasn’t quite the feeling she craved. There was no weight to the mouths on her, and nothing of him was inside her.

“Please,” she gasped, trembling beneath him. “You promised.”

“I did.”

Aleksander slid down the length of her body, those shadow mouths continuing their sweet torment as more tendrils of darkness pulled her pants down her legs. She kicked them aside, and he slid his hands beneath her ass, lifting her off her kefta.

She thought she should be embarrassed when his eyes landed on her naked cunt, slick with her orgasm, but those mouths never stopped tasting her, never stopped tormenting her. It almost felt like too much.

Then his mouth, his hot, wet, hungry mouth descended on her, and she realized she’d been very fucking wrong.

Alina’s fingers dove into his hair. She heard herself beg for more as his lips closed around her clit and sucked, as shadow mouths wrapped around her nipples and tormented her entrance. One hand yanked away from his hair to drive through her own. She didn’t know what to do with herself, what part of his body or hers to touch, how to alleviate the wicked, demanding ache he created once more inside her.

And then, as his tongue flicked against her clit, painting strange patterns on her flesh that made her keen his name, ephemeral shadow became somehow solid. It pushed into her, parting slick folds to fill her, and she knew without any doubt that otkazat’sya men would never be able to give her what she’d crave with sex because she’d always want this—this slick, wicked science, this combination of magic and flesh.

He must have remembered what she’d said to him, because as her hands wandered through his hair, over his shoulders, over her own breasts, shadow coiled around them. Darkness tethered her wrists, pinning them together over her head.

With no outlet, all she could do was feel. Wet heat. Cool silk. Insistent tugs of his mouth, the hot flick of his tongue. She sobbed his name, and the darkness swirled inside her cunt, filling her with power. It dragged along tender flesh, stroking her as he withdrew it, and filled her with a raging fire when he pushed it back into her.

She came a ragged cry, her hips arching against his mouth, against the shadows that filled her.

He grasped her hips and drew himself up her body. His mouth crashed against hers in a brutal kiss. She drowned in it, in sensation, in wet and wicked heat as his fingers petted between her legs and her cunt rippled and clenched around the darkness still inside her.

“You’re delicious,” he whispered against her mouth as she writhed beneath him, twisting against the shadows tethering her arms and against his body above hers. “You still want me—”

Her eyes snapped open and met his. “If you don’t give me what I want, I will learn the Cut just to use it on you.”

That didn’t motivate him, but it did make him lick at her lips. “What do you want, Alina?”

She groaned, her heels scrabbling over the rough grass, her hips arching into his stroking fingers.

“Do you want me inside you?” The murmured words were decadent against her lips, better than any sweet she’d ever eaten. “Do you want my cock stretching your sweet cunt open?” Two fingers slid inside her, the heat of him replacing the cool darkness, and she cried out with delicious shock. How good his fingers felt, burning hot by comparison to his shadows. “Do you want me to fill you until you can’t take anymore? To grind myself against you until you’re begging for me to move?”

She had no idea how good the fantasy he painted might actually feel, but her body certainly wanted it. She felt her cunt squeeze around his fingers, an involuntary contraction that made her moan.

He shifted over her, drawing his fingers out of her. She dragged her eyes open to watch him pull back and strip off his pants. Had just enough time to see his cock, hard and flushed, before he leaned back over her. The head of it nudged against her entrance, his fingers playing once more against her cunt—as much to torment her, she was sure, as to guide his cock into her.

But he didn’t push inside. Instead, he lingered at her entrance, and the tease was unbearable.

“Please,” she gasped, arching, twisting, yanking hard against the shadows that pinned her arms above her head.

He gave her the most infuriating smile—lopsided, smug. “We came here for a lesson,” he reminded her, bending his lips to her chest. He nipped her skin at the swell of one breast, making her jump beneath him, only to soothe the sting with a long stroke of his tongue. Still his cock nudged her entrance but didn’t push into her. “Call the light, Alina.”

For the first time, summoning was easy. She burned, she ached, her skin stretched tight over the swell of glittering pleasure, and that was all her power. She drew it through her body from her hands, and it sparkled over her arms and down her chest, casting scintillating patterns on his skin.

“Collect it, shape it,” he murmured. “Show me what you’ve learned.”

Show him? The fact that she could summon while he drove her out of her mind should have been enough, but of course he’d expect more from her.

“Come now, Alina.” Fuck him for that phrasing. “Impress me.”

She shuddered beneath him, trying to separate herself from the pleasure he’d coaxed through her so far. She couldn’t, not entirely—she didn’t want to—but she found a quiet place in her mind where the pleasure was warm and soft instead of an inferno, and in that space she urged it into a shape.

Light formed into a tongue, and she ran it from the base of his cock to the tip.

He arched sharp against her with a curse, burying himself in her cunt in a single stroke, and Alina moaned his name as she arched beneath him. Full, she felt so delicious full, and though there was a slight discomfort in the first second, that faded a moment later when her cunt rippled around him.

A different sort of pleasure spread through her, and she purred.

Her eyes opened. He stared down at her, his expression the most delicious combination of aroused and surprised and delighted. A lopsided, smug smile spread across her lips, a mirror of his from earlier.

“Impress me,” she said.

With a ragged chuckle, he bent his mouth to hers. “With pleasure, solnishko.”

He drew back slowly, and she sighed with pleasure. He thrust back into her, her hips arching to meet him, and she moaned. As he found an easy pace with her, she let herself down in the sweet friction.

The bonds around her wrist stretched. Fingers twined around her own, and she held them tight as he fucked her in long, easy strokes. Each time he pushed into her, her back bowed, and her body softened more.

She lost herself in their back and forth, content to float in the warmth of their shared pleasure. But he didn’t let her for long. His lips brushed against her ear. “Once more for me,” he told her.

She recognized the warning in those words a moment later when shadow tongues licked against her clit.

Electric pleasure strung her tight. Now, she clutched at the shadow hands holding her own as silky darkness licked her, as cool fingers stroked the swollen lips of her cunt. He played with her, layering her pleasures until she gasped his name and begged for him. Only then did he replace one shadow hand with his own and the shadows between her legs with his fingers.

The heat of him ruined her, shattered her. She came with his name on her lips, and he followed her mere seconds later, his body shuddering over hers.

They lay together, panting, for a long moment. Then he drew back, the cool shadows retreating as his cock slipped out of her body. Instead of pulling away entirely, he settled at her side, giving her most of the kefta.

She turned toward him, her fingers brushing over his jaw, his lips, his shoulders. “Are all your lessons in control going to turn out like this?” she asked him.

He made a thoughtful expression.

Scooting closer, Alina pressed a kiss to his mouth. “I’ve an idea for another lesson if you don’t.”

His brow arched. “Do you?”

“I want to try binding your wrists with light.” Interest flashed in his eyes, and she smiled. “I want to push you into your chair in the war room and bind your hands to its arms. Then I want to climb onto you and ride you.”

He stared at her, the look on his face equal parts aroused and bewildered. “You—”

“I grew up near farms,” she reminded him. “And then joined the military. Believe me: I have plenty of ideas for lessons.”

“You think you can keep control long enough to keep me bound to that chair?” he asked, a wicked growl in his voice.

Her body responded to that tone with a wash of pleasure, and she found herself hungry for more of him even though they’d just finished. Part of her wondered if that was normal—and she got her answer when he rolled her beneath him.

“The minute your control breaks, solnishko, I’m going to put you on your back on that table and fuck you until your screams summon the guards at a run.”

Wrapping her arms and legs around him, Alina grinned. “Maybe I’ll make you beg for that.”

With his face buried in her neck, he laughed. “I hope you do.”

[thebountyfucker]

Demon!Embo because demons are usually mean but I think Em would be different... Unless we're talking feral Demon!Embo 👀👀👀👀👀

18+ ONLY - NSFW

Tags: blood, some dubcon elements (demonic possession)

“It’ll be fun!” This meaningless, manipulative sentence rang in your head as you sat around a Ouiji board with a few of your supposed ‘friends’. You had not been too keen on this idea to begin with, as your luck with the paranormal was notoriously shitty. You had a spirit leech attached to your aura for a few years, and just about every place you lived in was haunted in some respect. And yet, here these assholes were, laughing and talking to some spirit purportedly named ‘Bo’. Dumbass name. Dumbass friends. They asked when he was born and he said never. They asked where he was and he said he was right there with them. The entire thing sent chills down your spine and you hated it.

You broke apart from the group, deciding to call it a night. Really, you just wanted an excuse to get away from their idiocy. You’d never call them again, you decided. You were done with them…

You slipped into your bedroom and locked the door behind you. The last thing you wanted was for them to get cheeky and decide to play some prank on you. You undressed, tossing your clothes into the hamper near the door, and hit the lights; from the corner of your eye, you swore you saw something sitting in the chair on the other side of the room. When you turned to face it, though, nothing was there. You breathed a sigh of relief and slipped under your covers, pulling them up to your chin. You weren’t usually afraid, but the air tonight felt… different. It felt heavy, and wicked…

You closed your eyes, and tried to get some sleep, but sleep didn’t come. It felt as though something - or someone - was watching you. You popped an eye open and looked around, noting with a sigh that there was nothing. Then, movement from the mirror on your dresser caught your attention. You closed your eyes, debating on whether to ignore it, before hearing a low, incessant hum. You sat up, opening your eyes, and found yourself face to face with a demon.

“Well, well, well… what do we have here?” His golden eyes pierced through the otherwise unrelenting dark, and you lifted your hand to cover your mouth. He took a step forward, reaching out to tip your chin upward with the tip of his pointed staff. “A pretty little morsel, all for me?”

��W-what are you doing here?” You tried to sound strong but your voice quivered in fear. The tip of his staff pressed into your neck, just barely cutting through the skin. You felt the blood drip down, but you were too afraid to reach up to wipe it away.

“What am I doing here? You summoned me with that silly little game of yours.” He drew closer, tossing his staff aside. You swallowed hard as he stared down at you, his wings fluttering.

“I didn’t… that wasn’t me.”

“That is not my problem. I would bother your idiot friends but… they are otherwise occupied.” He smirked, his lips pulling back to reveal his fangs. Screams filled the air, and you froze, listening to your house guests flee down the hallway.

“What did you do?!” You screeched, listening to hisses in an ancient tongue. He chuckled as he reached out to stroke your lips; they trembled under his touch.

“They are not too smart, are they?” He avoided your question as he reached out with his other hand to wipe at the blood trailing down your throat and between your breasts. You gasped at the touch, arching toward him, He smeared the blood around and brought it to his mouth to taste. “Mmm… mortal blood… intoxicating…”

“You aren’t going to hurt them, are you?”

“I will not.” He answered, and your heart clenched. Screams rang out from the end of the hall and then… silence. “Do not be too loud. I would hate for my brethren to come join the fun.”

He crawled up onto the bed, mere inches away from your face. His long, wicked tongue slipped out to lap at your blood with a purr; he met your gaze, and your pussy dampened.

“What is that I smell?” In an instance, he had shoved you down on your stomach, a strong hand pressing into your back. He leaned in closed, his fiery hot breath on your ear and neck. “Are you aroused, little toy, for a lord of the dark?”

You managed a small nod and found your hands restrained behind your back by… something. You went to speak but your voice caught in your throat. He chuckled as one clawed hand trailed down your neck, while the other spread your legs apart. Almost instantaneously, his cock filled you up. You didn’t feel it breach your cunt, nor did you feel it push in… but you could feel it inside you. It burned with the heat of hell, and you let out a cry of pain.

“Hush now, little toy… this is not going to be a painless endeavor.” He purred, drawing his clawed hand up your back, before digging his claws into your skin. Blood trickled from the wounds, and he was eager to lap it up. At the same time, he started thrusting, quick and rough, driving his cock deeper and deeper into you. You moaned, your toes curling and your eyes slamming shut. “I forget how delicious mortal cunts are. Maybe I should stick around for a while.”

You ignored him as he continued to thrust; the edges of your vision blurred and your head began to swim. You let out a cry which rose in pitch, hardly noticing down he was biting down on your skin. What you did notice, however, was the sudden encompassment of his warmth. And then… his body merged into yours, slowly and surely vanishing beneath your skin.

For a moment, you had control of your form. But soon, he wrenched control from you, shoving your consciousness into the background. He drew your hand down to your cunt, and shoved your fingers inside; your other hand rubbed at your clit furiously, and the warmth in your belly threatened to spill over.

“Feels good… feels so good!” He moaned in your head. You moaned in tandem. Your body arched in a way that was unnatural, your eyes rolling back. He set every nerve ablaze, as your hand slipped into your cunt to the wrist, while the other pinched at your clit. You were so close! So goddamn close!!

He curled your fingers against your g-spot, and that was enough to do you in. You came in a loud cry and rush of fluids, soaking your sheets and likely the mattress underneath. Your body flopped uselessly onto the bed, shaking. He left your body, materializing before you once more. It took a while for you to come to, but when you did, he was on top of you again.

“I like it here… I think I will stick around.” And he plunged his cock in again.

[icecream-and-gadreel]

Contagious (NSFW)

Summary: In the first step to take down Abaddon, Dean needs to get the Mark of Cain. This proves to be a longer process than anticipated.

Pairing: DeanxCain

Other characters: Crowley, Abaddon(Mentioned), Castiel(Mentioned)

Rating: NSFW

Warnings: language, unprotected sex, mentions of violence

Word count: 2400+

A/N: This is based on Season 9 episode 11, and is also a part of my 21 songs challenge! Enjoy! Tagging @sheinthatfandom​​ because I love you

You’re contagious, touch me baby, give me what you got.

"Come on, I don't got all day," Dean snaps, his chest heaving. "If you haven't noticed, we're up shits creek without a god damn paddle!" He snaps. Still, all Cain does is stare, pondering Dean's words. Crowley watches them both intently, trying to keep the fear from showing on his face. That mark. Given by Lucifer to the most infamous demon to roam the earth. And here Dean is, acting like it's a sticker that can just be slapped on. "I'm done with the games," Dean grunts. Crowley nudges Dean, gesturing to Cain with a clenched jaw.

"There's a process to these things. Strenuous rituals," Crowley whispers, never taking his eyes off of the other demon.

"What kinda ritual?"

“Bonding ritual,” Cain says, ending his silence. “The mark only chooses those it deems worthy,” he adds, crossing his arms over. Crowley shifts his weight from leg to leg, whipping around at the sound of banging. Demons are climbing around the house from all angles, trying to gain purchase into the home.

“So what we uh – we share our feelings? Go on a fishing trip? The hell kinda bonding we talkin' here?” Dean asks, gaining a shrug from Cain.

“The strongest kind –”

“Boys,” Crowley says, his voice hushed as he watches more and more treacherous demons pile up.

“What we gonna be blood brothers?”

“Again, stronger than that –”

“Boys,” Crowley repeats.

“The hell is stronger than that?!”

“Dean! Cain!” Crowley snaps, flinching when Cain's eyes land on him. “Cain, sir,” he says, clasping his hands together. “I'm not one to complain but under the circumstances, I figure we should speed this up a bit,” he says, his shoulders relaxing as Cain makes his way to the kitchen. Dean follows after, muttering under his breath as he does. The door slams hard, leaving Crowley to his own devices as he waits for whatever the hell is supposed to happen, to happen.

–

Dean tosses his knife on the counter, throwing his hands up. “Alright, let's get it over with,” Dean says, eyeing the window. Yeah, demons are swarming and he's not seeing an easy way out.

“Since this is the last thing I'll be enjoying for a long time –” Cain looks Dean up and down, rolling his sleeves up. “I'm in no rush.”

Instinctively, Dean gets into a fighting stance, grunting as he's pulled into the other man's embrace. “Woah uh...” His voice trails off, all previous thoughts being wiped away. His body is pulsing. Something inside of him is frighteningly aware of how good this is, how powerful he will be once he takes on the mark. His mind races to thoughts of future fights, beyond Abaddon, beyond anything he's already gone against. He could kill them all, easily. The thought should scare him, but as Cain nuzzles his head in the crook of Dean's neck, all the fills his mind is 'I need this'.

"You're worthy of the mark, it's calling to you," Cain says, finally pulling Dean back to earth. They never break eye contact. Something is pulling them both in, begging for the connection to be complete.

"The hell is this?" Dean asks, his shaking hands ghosting along Cain's arms.

"'It's power, Dean, pure ecstasy for men like us." His beard scratches against Dean's neck, sending a shot of electricity up the hunter's spine. "Doesn't it feel good?"

Does it? All he can see is conquest. Destroying his enemy and taking sick pleasure in the experience. "Yeah," he grunts, his chest heaving. Cains's fingers grip into his hips rougher, making the already intense connection even more so. "I want...I want it --"

"And I'll give it to you," Cain whispers, his lips tracing along Dean's neck. "Just lie down, and we can begin," he says, pulling away and gesturing to the table. Just like that, the euphoric feeling leaves Dean. His mind clears, and he can finally see just how...wrong that feeling was. But like it or not, if he's gonna cut Abaddon down, he needs this.

Still, this wasn't what Dean had in mind.

He was gonna grab the damn blade, take Abaddon out, and put a rest to all of this. Instead, he's sprawled out on the kitchen table with the father of murder standing before him. His face sinks, the realization of what 'strenuous rituals' means setting in. Cain slides a hand down Dean's neck, a blank look on his face. He can't explain it. The way Cain touches him feels primal, calculated, and pure instinct; more dutiful than anything. Yet he's never craved someone's touch more than he does now. Dean flinches as Cain grips his neck, his breaths shaking.

“Now where did that bravery go, Dean?” he asks, unbuttoning the hunter's collar.

“I don't need the foreplay sweetheart, let's get this over with,” Dean chuckles, trying to keep his voice from wavering. Where the hell is Crowley? He'd be eating all of this up. Cain gives a cold, stale smile, ripping Dean's shirt open and sending buttons flying into the air.

“Mmm, you want me to speed through this rare opportunity?” he cooes, pulling Dean's pants down his hips. “Rush past having the infamous Dean Winchester twisted around my finger? Absolutely not.”

“Whatever floats your...” he lets his voice drift away, squeezing his eyes shut tight as Cain grips his length over his boxers. “Can uh – can Crowley see us?”

“I'm a fan of privacy,” he retorts, eyes locked on the hunter's twitching cock. “So that feels good, now we're getting somewhere.” Dean swipes a hand over his face, cursing under his breath as his length is freed from his boxers, being stroked roughly by the other man. Once more, Dean's body springs to life, eager to taste the unimaginable amounts of power being offered to him. He fights the urge to cry out, slamming his fist down against the table. “I'd love a little more enthusiasm.” Dean rocks his hips up, thrusting into Cain's hand while trying to imagine he's here under better circumstances. “I apologize for not being your usual demographic,” he adds, chuckling breathlessly. Pausing, Dean opens his eyes, chest heaving and face flushed red.

“Look, you're not bad lookin', I'm just painfully aware that neither of us should enjoy this,” he says, leaning up on his elbows. “I gotta take that bitch out, you gotta tend to your bees. Strictly business.”

“Hm. Business.” Cain presses his lips over the head of Dean's cock, slowly swirling his tongue. Though he tries to hold it in, Dean lets out a stifled moan, damn near whining as Cain takes him deeper into his mouth.

It feels far too good. Hot and wet, his tongue swiping along every inch slowly. The pulsing pleasure returns, forcing moans out of the hunter. How the hell can this feel so good?

“W-wait –” Dean cries out, his hips snapping into the air as his orgasm pulses through him. His cock is buried in Cain's throat, but the demon barely reacts, gently caressing Dean's balls as he rides his release. “Was that it?” he breathes. Cain releases the hunter's cock with a smack of his lips, shaking his head. The connection begins to dull yet again, but before it's completely gone, Dean is pulling him into a gentle kiss. He can't keep riding this high and having it taken away from him. Soon, the air between them changes, and what was once an uncomfortable exchange turns into the two of them crashing into each other. Cain moans into his mouth, his free hand wrapping around the Winchester's neck and pulling him impossibly close. Dean fumbles to undress the demon, his cock twitching as pleasure tingles at his every nerve. Breaking from the kiss, Dean stares at Cain's length, words lost to him. It wasn't supposed to be that...big. Before he can speak, Cain is shoving his fingers into the other man's mouth, settling between his thighs.

“Now now, Dean, my aim isn't to hurt you.” He slowly drags his fingers out of Dean's mouth admiring the stream of saliva before pressing his digits against the hunter's hole. He starts slowly, easing one finger into Dean, humming as he clenches around it. “Doing great,” he whispers, dropping his head to Dean's shoulder as he eases a second finger in. Dean bites back a moan, resisting the urge to rock against the fingers. “Hmm...”

“What?” Dean asks, huffing as the demon begins stroking his prostate in a come hither motion.

“You're good at keeping quiet,” he says, pulling his fingers out and spitting into his palm. After slicking his shaft, he presses the head of his cock against Dean's tight hole. “Never was a fan of that.”

“Yeah well –” Cain abruptly thrusts into Dean, gaining a startled moan in return. Dean arches from the table, hands instinctively gripping at the other man's forearms. “Oh my g-god.” His body clenches around every thick inch, his mouth gaped as Cain sinks deeper into him. More than before, the mark's power pulses through him, his eyes rolling back as Cain lets out a hungered growl.

“So tight, Dean, I was sure the angel I'd heard about had you first,” he breathes, setting a slow, methodical pace.

“Shut the hell up – nngh!” He tries to sound intimidating, but with each hard, slow smack of Cain's hips against his, a moan is forced out of him. Cain lets out a ragged breath, hands gripping the sides of the table as he bottoms out in Dean. He pauses there, enjoying the warmth and tightness squeezing around him, along with Dean's guttural whimpers. The demon lowers his lips to the hunter's, pressing gentle kisses against his lips.

“Cain,” Dean moans, his fingers gripping deeper into Cain's arms. “Fuck that's good,” he breathes, an array of curses falling from him. “H-harder,” Dean whispers.

“Couldn't hear you –” He leaves a sloppy kiss on the hunter's neck – “Speak up.”

“Fuck me harder,” Dean spits, gasping as the other man slams into him balls deep, knocking the wind out of him. Cain fucks him into the table, his gentle pace being replaced with fast, deep strokes. Dean's moans turn into pleasure filled screams, his voice strangled as each thick inch is forced into him. “Don't stop!” he whines, voice fluttering. The only thing he can manage to spit out is Cain's name. The demon leaves rough bites on his neck, licking and sucking his flesh. He flips Dean on top of him, lying flat on the table and resting his hands on the Winchester's hips. Slowly, Dean begins bouncing, his body shuddering with every movement. God, he never thought he'd come like this, but his second edge is quickly approaching. Cain laces his fingers through Dean's hair, yanking his head back and bucking his hips up. He returns to his unrelenting pace, gaining new, choked sounds out of the other man.

“Harder, right?” Cain rasps, his free hand drifting to Dean's length. “You're gonna come again?” he asks, gaining a moan in response. Before he can tease any further, Dean is crying out, hot streaks of come spurting out of him.

“F-fuck – I'm –” He cuts himself off as his orgasm rocks through him a second time, his body going limp. Cain slows his thrusts, tssking Dean. This was going to be more entertaining than he previously thought.

….....

Dean can hardly think at this point. An hour has passed, bringing with it another orgasm for him, and nothing for the demon. Dean lays on his stomach, standing on his tip-toes as Cain fucks into him. Dean's words aren't making sense anymore. Cain kneads the hunter's toned cheeks, his thrusts never wavering.

“You'll excuse me for holding back, this feels too damn good,” Cain says, gaining incoherent words in return. He drags his shaft out slowly, watching each inch until the tip tugs at Dean's rim. In one swift movement, he smacks his hips forward, gaining a garbled moan from Dean. Once more, he pulls his hips back, and Dean tightens up, trying to keep Cain's cock from leaving him. “Your greedy little hole won't let me go,” he teases, giving Dean's ass a playful smack. Cain bites his lip, pumping his hips as finally, his edge approaches. “Our time together is drawing to a close.” He grips his hand in Dean's hair, pulling him flush against him and wrapping an arm around his torso. Cain's hips stutter, his head falling to Dean's shoulder as he comes. He stays buried inside of him for far longer than needed, riding his release and being milked dry by the hunter.

“Nngh,” Dean groans, staring down at his arm as stinging red veins creep up it. The powerful pulsing he's been feeling all night overtakes his whole body, making him feel...awake. Soon, the Mark of Cain is etched into his skin, his arm throbbing. He inadvertently pushes his hips back, a helpless groan forcing out of him as Cain's cock rubs against his spot. Cain keeps his fingers knotted in the other man's hair, still buried inside of his ass.

Somehow, the pleasure Dean was feeling is amplified. He feels like whatever the hell is coursing through his veins is drawn to Cain as it knows of their newly formed 'connection'.

“I'll call on you when I need you,” he says, pulling Dean out of his trance. Cain snaps his fingers, and in an instant their both fully clothed.

–

Crowley checks his watch, grumbling under his breath. Leave it to a Winchester to get him trapped in a house with daddy murder himself. How long could getting that damn mark take?! He checks his watch once more, flopping his head back against the couch. Whatever magic Cain is using made it impossible to hear them, let alone see into the kitchen.

Finally, after what seems like ages, Dean comes limping out, the mark etched into his arm. Crowley stands to his feet, swaggering to Dean with his hands tucked in his pockets.

“A braver man than I, squirrel,” he begins, eyeing the mark, “Whatever happened must have been...grueling.”

Dean twirls his blade in his hand, staring at the crowd of collecting demons. “Yup.”

[whump-only]

Last Day

Josh got bored, had a mean idea, and things spiraled out of control (again) 🤕

Tw: lots of manhandling, knife, discussion of knife slashing and stabbing, discussion of murder, creepy whumper, slavery universe

Tag list 🤠: @deluxewhump @eatyourdamnpears @inaridriscoll @whump-story-prompts @newbornwhumperfly

—————

Josh felt like he was rotting away in the sticky heat as he lazily watched a crew pass by the barn door. That was until he made eye contact with poor Guppy, who was trailing the group. The boy quickly sped up, but he probably knew it was too late. Josh wasn’t one to waste such a heaven-sent opportunity.

“Guppy!” Josh bellowed.

A worker stuck his head around the side of the door. “Hey, we’re using him for the project in the far field.”

“We’ll be just a minute,” Josh said.

The worker looked over at someone behind the door, hesitating.

“Just a minute,” Josh said, narrowing his eyes.

The worker sighed. “Alright... In ya go, then. You know where to meet us.”

The gravel crunched, and Josh could hear a small scuffle. Guppy was pushed into the doorway.

Josh was delighted by how he froze in place. “What, not happy to see me?”

Guppy said nothing, still looking to the side with a pitiful expression.

“Tss. They’ve got work to do now, no puppy eyes,” Josh said, waving away the worker. “You’re with me. Come here.” Josh took a seat on a nearby bale.

Guppy carefully stepped over to Josh, as if he might set off a landmine, stopping a good few strides away. That was much too hopeful of him.

Josh slapped his thighs. “Come sit.”

Guppy inched closer. “Sit?” he said hoarsely.

“Well don’t be slow, Gup Gup. Here,” Josh said, patting his thighs again, and bouncing his legs.

He watched the color drain from Guppy’s face as he processed his bad luck.

“W-why sir,” Guppy nearly whispered.

“Because I have something to tell you,” Josh said in a low growl.

Guppy swallowed and finally stepped up to Josh.

Josh pulled the boy down onto his lap and wrapped his arms around his torso tightly. Like a little seatbelt. Guppy yelped. Josh loved that terrified noise, and the way he could feel the boy’s body tremble like a wild rabbit in a trap.

Josh began to rock him back and forth, slowly. “Guuuppy. You see Mishka lately?”

Guppy was totally rigid in Josh’s arms. “Um, yes. Yes sir.” He spoke tightly, taking small breaths.

“Hmmm,” Josh said warmly, tightening his hug, making Guppy squirm and wince softly. “Did you know today was his last day? He’s not coming back.”

Guppy held his breath. Josh could feel the boy’s heart hammering through his thin shirt.

“Wh—” Guppy was growing red. “What?”

Josh rested his chin on Guppy’s shoulder and pouted his lip. “Uh oh. He didn’t tell you?”

“No...” Guppy said softly. “You’re lying.”

“Why are you so sure?” Josh pressed his fingers lightly into Guppy’s stomach. “Wanna know how I know?”

“He would’ve told me,” Guppy replied, with a hint of confidence.

“Tss. You’re just a slave. Who cries and pees himself and always s-s-stutters and can’t even read. Why do you think he’d tell you anything?” Josh replied.

“Y-you’re lying,” Guppy said shakily. Josh felt a flash of anger— the little shit wasn’t buying it. Josh considered just putting him into a chokehold. But he had a stroke of genius.

“Fine, don’t believe me. I don’t care. I don’t need to tell you the message he told me to pass on then,” Josh said coolly, loosening his arms.

“Wait— a message?” Guppy said, falling right back into the trap.

“Why should I tell you, you don’t even care that he’s gone. And I really thought you loooved him,” Josh said.

“Sir. I’m sorry. What did he say!” Guppy said urgently.

“Oh alright,” Josh said, barely containing the bubbling laughter in his chest. He took a breath, steadying himself, then leaned close to Guppy’s ear.

“Last thing I heard from him... he was calling your name—”

“—I—Wh—” Guppy squirmed frustratedly.

“—Begging for help.”

There was a delicious pause as the words sank in. “I— What do you mean?” the boy said. He was now gritting his teeth. Awww. He was so funny when he was angry.

Josh paused for dramatic effect, and then gripped Guppy tightly, bracing. “Your beloved Misha... begged me not to kill him!”

For a moment there was silence, except for Guppy’s heavy breathing. Then Guppy jerked suddenly, squirming hard, trying to pull Josh’s arms down. Josh began to laugh, and gripped him harder.

“Hahah! He said, don’t kill me Josh! Josh I’m begging you, spare me. Hahah!” Josh exclaimed.

“No!” Guppy kicked into Josh’s shins. Josh hissed through his giggles and wrapped his legs around Guppy’s.

“Hahah, Misha begged like an animal! Please stop Josh, oh god, somebody help me, Guppy help me please!” Josh twisted around so that all his weight was on Guppy, pinning him into the bale.

He squeezed the growling boy, and whispered into his ear, “Heh.. Ha... Wanna know what I said to him, before I cut his throat out?”

Guppy bit down onto Josh’s arm. For a moment Josh saw red and threw him off, into the ground. Guppy landed on all fours but as he was rising to his feet, Josh landed a hard kick straight into his jaw.

Guppy collapsed into the straw, panting, and Josh leapt after him, shoving a knee into his back, forcing him on his stomach.

Guppy roared and flailed but Josh pinned his arms behind him, twisting one, higher, higher. Guppy winced, “Ah, ah!”

Josh smiled and planted the other leg into the dirt, to keep from being thrown off in case Guppy bucked.

Josh pulled out his switchblade and flicked open the knife. Extraordinary luck. He hadn’t washed off the pig’s blood, which was brown and crusting the edge. He dangled it in front of the slave’s face, letting it glint and catch the light.

Guppy wriggled weakly, but Josh had him pinned pretty solidly.

Josh considered tracing the knife over his neck, but ideally wanted to avoid the tracks of shallow cuts that would bleed and make everyone dramatically worry.

“I had your crush pinned on the ground, kinda like how we are here. I took this knife,” Josh drove the knife into the dirt in front of Guppy’s face, then pressed a single finger up against the boy’s neck, “and then sliced his throat.” Josh dragged the finger across his neck, miming the motion.

Tears silently dripped out of Guppy’s eyes.

“Blood was everywhere, gushing out. Really a sight to see, hoo boy. I knew he didn’t have long, but I wanted to make the most of it you know? So I stabbed him,” Josh poked Guppy’s sides with his finger, “again and again until he stopped moving.”

Guppy jolted from the pokes and cried harder.

Josh let go of his arm and sat up. Well that was fun. He yanked the knife out of the ground and flicked it shut.

“Why?” Guppy whispered.

Why? Josh didn’t know. He thought for a moment. “Cause I felt like it.”

Guppy‘s face twisted, but he didn’t move, well, aside from sobbing.

How boring. Josh stood up and dusted himself off. Guppy just curled up in the dirt, snot dripping from his nose.

“Nothing to say? That’s sad,” Josh said, folding his arms.

“Mmm...” Guppy said, then mumbled something.

“Didn’t hear ya, speak up please,” Josh said.

“Gonna... gonna tell M-Master,” Guppy exhaled.

“Oooh you little fucker.” Josh pressed his boot onto Guppy’s throat and watched as he twitched without air, mouth gasping like a damn fish. Josh didn’t really want to explain this situation to Roberts at the end of the day. It wasn’t his fault the slave was a gullible idiot.

“No Guppy. I’ll tell him you did it. Tell him you were too lovesick and fucked up in the head. So you sliced him up. Not so fucking innocent after all.” Josh twisted his boot. Guppy was now bright red, clawing at the boot weakly.

Josh lifted his foot and Guppy gasped and coughed jerkily.

Josh crouched down. “Aww. Who do you think he’d believe? Me, one of his longest serving workers? Or you, the pissy, whiny, ungrateful slave?”

Guppy winced, unable to look Josh in the face. Pathetic.

“I’ll know if you squeal.” Josh stood again, and looked out at the fields. He suddenly remembered that he had to return Guppy to the men working at the far fields. “Ah shit.”

Josh looked at the little wreck curled in the dirt, and figured it’d be easier to just go lend a hand up there himself. Oh well. Definitely worth it.

“When you’re done sniveling, haul ass to the far fields. Else I’ll come back here, and neither of us want that,” Josh said.

Guppy was silent, still turned away on the ground. He must really have a crush on Misha, Josh thought, smiling on his way out.

[queen-of-deans-booty]

Swap Meat: Part One

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Word Count: 2,829

Warnings: typical supernatural violence, language, angst, blood, you know the usual

Author’s Note: I do not own anything from Supernatural. All credit goes to their respective owners. Any and all comments on these are appreciated. I really want to hear what you guys think about this one!

Feedback is the glue that holds my writing together.

Tags at the bottom

Lucifer. Michael. Amara. Angels. Demons. Apocalypse. Colt. Crowley.

All of those people and places are being jumbled up in your head. It wasn’t fair since you never asked for this. Whoever put you in charge of… anything? Whose bright idea was it to give you powers, especially important ones? Being a witch was exhausting, but there was a whole world waiting to be saved, and only a select few that could get the job done.

Everyone seemed to need you, but the one person you decided to help today was your former babysitter, Donna. She and her family had been having some kind of problems lately with a spirit so you there decided to do her a solid and help out.

“Dean and Sammy Winchester. Can’t forget about Y/N too,” Donna reminisced with a smile. Her and her daughter Katie sat on a sofa on one side of a coffee table while you and the Winchesters sat on the other side. “So, how long has it been?”

“The summer before 6th grade,” Sam answered.

“Mmm, I remember. You assigned yourself your own reading list.”

“That’s right. I forgot about that,” Dean chuckled.

“Your mom happens to be the best babysitter we ever had,” you said to Katie with a smile.

“Well, when I was a maid at the Mayflower, out on the interstate—long before you were even an idea—their daddy used to pass through town and leave the boys and Y/N with me while he went off to... work. One time, he was gone for two weeks,” Donna told her daughter.

“Two weeks?”

“Mm-hmm. Oh, he'd always come limping back. He loved you three.”

“Did you know what he did all that time?” Katie asked curiously.

“Little Sammy kept trying to tell me. Of course, I didn't believe him. Not at first, anyway.”

“Katie, our dad, um, happened to be an expert at getting rid of ghosts. And now, so are we.”

“That's why I called them, sweetie. They can help us,” Donna sighed.

Her husband comes into the room carrying three suitcases.

“So, it sounds like you guys got yourself a poltergeist,” you got down the business.

“Started a month or two after we moved in,” the husband said.

“Yeah, at first it was, uh, just bumps, knocks, and scratches on the walls. Then, it started breaking things.”

“Is that before it attacked Katie?” Sam asked.

“That was two nights ago,” the father sighed.

“Can you show them, honey?” Donna asked.

Katie reluctantly stood up before lifting her shirt, revealing the words ‘Murdered Chylde’ carved into her skin.

“Oh my God,” you whispered. Katie looked to be in a lot of pain, and you knew you could do something about it. “Do you mind if I try something?”

“Try what?” Donna asked worriedly.

“Don’t worry, she won’t hurt Katie,” Dean assured the parents.

Donna nodded, but you looked at Katie for permission. When the young girl nodded, you got up and sat next to her before placing your hands gently on the wound. She winced from the pressure, and your hands turned a soft blue as your magic worked to heal the young girl. Katie, Donna, and her husband watched as the words slowly disappeared one by one until they were all gone.

“No way,” Katie whispered.

“Way,” you whispered back with a wink.

“Thank you so much,” Donna said emotionally.

“You’re welcome.”

“Katie, everything's gonna be fine. I promise. Why don't you guys take yourselves a little vacation, and, uh, we'll take care of it,” Dean assured with a smile.

“Thank you,” Donna whispered once more.

After the family left, you decided to talk about this case and what approach might be best in a small diner close to their house. You and Sam were sitting at the table while Dean went and got the food. Once he did, he brought it back and everyone began to dig in. Sam ordered a Health Quake Salad Shake, and he grabbed the dressing before adding it to the mixture. He shook the container very thoroughly, opened it, and dug in.

“Oh, you shake it up, baby. You know, poltergeist aside, Donna looked pretty good, don't you think?” Dean asked.

“Dude don't tell me you've still got the hots for our babysitter. Not when your girlfriend is sitting right there,” Sam snickered when you rolled your eyes.

“What? No,” Dean chuckled. “I'm just saying that she, you know, she’s doing good. You know, with her husband and her kid. This whole Amityville thing being thrown at them, and they're hanging tough.”

“Yeah.”

“You ever think that you'd want something like that? Wife, rugrats, the whole nine?”

“No, not really my thing anymore,” Sam shrugged.

“Do you?” Dean asked, looking at you.

“I think that’s a conversation for another time, yeah? We’ll talk about it,” you grinned.

Of course, you wanted children, and having Dean’s kids was a heaven in of itself, but there was no way you could have them right now. With everything going on with Lucifer, Michael, Amara, and the Apocalypse, there just wasn’t enough time to spend on a child.

“Yeah. So, Sammy, what do you got?”

“Uh, well, that house of theirs, it's old—really old. Um, hundreds of years. I found a legend. It’s unconfirmed, but still.”

“What does it say?” you asked, taking a bite of your burger.

“Supposedly, in the 1720s, the house was owned by a guy named Isaiah Pickett,” he explained, turning his laptop around to show you and Dean the screen. “Legend has it he hung a woman in his backyard for witchcraft—a woman named Maggie Briggs.”

“Okay, so an angry ghost witch?”

“If it's true. That still doesn't explain what ‘Murdered Chylde’ means,” you pointed out.

“No, or where the bitch is buried,” Dean sighed.

“You know, I mean, it's a long way back, but I can see if I can find something in the town records.”

“It's worth a shot,” Dean shrugged.

The lunch was finished up pretty quickly, and then you three headed your separate ways. Sam went to do what he said he was going to do, and you and Dean went back to the motel.

“So, do you want kids?” Dean asked once you two were in the privacy of the room.

“With you? Of course,” you smiled, sitting on the bed.

“I’m being serious,” he chuckled.

“So am I. Do I want kids now? I don’t know. I mean, do you really think we can raise a child in this mess? Lucifer is still out there, and you know that whoever finds out about this can easily use it as leverage.”

“I know,” Dean nodded, taking a seat next to you.

He grabbed your hand and intertwined your fingers loosely.

“Having your kids would be an honor, Dean. You’d make a great father.”

“Would I though?” he asked, looking into your eyes.

This is one of those times he showed his vulnerability.

“The fact that you asked me that question tells me you would be. You already are. Our kid would be lucky to have you as a father,” you grinned, leaning in and kissing him tenderly.

“You’d make a great mom.”

“Oh yeah, what kid wouldn’t want to have an all-powerful witch as a mom,” you joked with a laugh.

The moment was ruined when Dean’s phone rang, and he picked it up knowing it was Sam.

“So, any luck?” he asked, putting it on speaker phone.

“Bupkis. I can't even find proof a woman named Maggie Briggs existed, much less where she was planted.”

“Alright. Well, we've got a minute to breathe here, so, uh, let's pick it up first thing.”

“Yeah, you bet. See you in a few,” Sam concluded, hanging up the phone.

Laying down on the bed, Dean tossed his phone aside before hovering over you.

“What are you doing?” you grinned, placing your arms around his neck loosely.

“Kids are out of the question right now, but we can still have fun trying,” he smirked, pressing. A few kisses to the base of your neck.

“Sam is going to be back in a few minutes,” you giggled.

“I locked the door, and he doesn’t have a key.”

“Yeah, alright,” you nodded, bringing his lips to yours.

While you may not have all the time in the world, that didn’t mean you weren’t going to have a fun time.

“Is he still not back yet?” you asked, trying Sam for the hundredth time.

He should have been back by now, but there had been no word from the younger brother. This wasn’t like him at all, and you were starting to get worried. Instead of waiting for him to come to you, you and Dean left to search for him. There was only so many places he could be, and he wasn’t in any single one of them. By the time you got back, you were considering asking Castiel for help when you noticed Sam standing in front of a mirror, flexing to himself.

“Sam. Where the hell you been, man? We’ve been trying to call you for hours.”

“I picked up some food. Bacon burger turbo, large chili-cheese fry, right?” Sam said, motioning to the bag of food on the table. “Sorry, man. Really. I—I lost track of time. I didn't mean to freak you out.”

“Thanks. Don't know why it took you two hours, but thanks.”

“Oh, you're gonna want to eat that on the road.”

“Why?” you asked, frowning.

There was something off about Sam, but you couldn’t place it.

“The maid came in, saw that,” he pointed to the weapons you laid out after you and Dean were done for cleaning, “and now they're all kind of freaking out.”

“Why’d you let the maid in?”

“It just happened.”

“Whatever. I got to hit the head, and then we'll take off,” Dean sighed.

“Alright. I—I’ll be outside,” Sam stuttered.

As he was going to leave the room, you stopped him by putting a hand on his chest.

“Hey, do you mind if I try something?” you asked, your eyes turning bright blue.

Sam freaked out for a moment and backed away as if he was scared of what you could do.

“You’re a witch?” he asked, shocked as if he never knew this before.

“What?” you snapped.

“I’m sorry, excuse me,” he muttered, walking around you to leave.

When the door closed, you walked to the bathroom and waited for Dean to be done before expressing your concerns.

“There is something wrong with Sam.”

“There’s always something wrong with him. It’s Sam,” Dean scoffed, going over to the weapons to start packing.

“No, there is seriously something wrong. I don’t know what it is yet, but it’s not normal.”

“I’m sure it’s fine. Help me, would you?” he asked.

Sighing, you helped Dean pack the things into the bags before heading to the car where Sam was waiting patiently.

“Hey. You ready?”

“Absolutely,” he grinned. Getting inside the back seat, Dean was about to turn the car on when Sam stopped him. “Hey, can I drive?”

“Okay,” Dean posed it more like a question.

The two brothers switched seats, and you watched Sam get excited about being behind the wheel.

“Oh, this is so sweet!” Sam grinned, starting the engine.

He loved the sound of the car, so he revved the engine a few times, but you and Dean were staring at him with looks of concern.

“You want to get the lead out, Andretti? Come on,” Dean scoffed. Sam put the car into gear, and when Dean looked over, he began freaking out. “Reverse.” Sam began to go backwards. “Reve—Reverse!”

Sam slammed the gas pedal and rammed into the dumpsters behind you. Gasping, you put your hand over your mouth in shock at his behavior. Dean looked pissed, and the only thing he could do was look at his brother.

“It’s in reverse.”

“I am really, really sorry,” Sam apologized as they got out to inspect the damage.

They switched seats, and Dean got in with a huff.

“Shut up,” he grumbled.

Dean put the car into drive and squealed out of there.

In order to work the case, you needed a motel room, one without freaked out maids. You had to get another one, and this time, you made sure to tell Sam that he shouldn’t let the maids in until after you guys are done with the case. There was something seriously wrong with Sam, and the longer this goes on, the more it bugged you.

“So, uh, where we going, anyway?” Sam asked.

“To work. The case?” Dean said, looking at him weirdly.

“Oh, right. Yeah—the case. Of course. Where, uh, do you want to start?”

“Well, since you couldn't find where Maggie Briggs was buried, we have to do an all-day tombstone roll to see if we can dig her up.”

“Wait. M-Maggie Briggs? You mean, like, the witch Maggie Briggs?”

“Yeah, Sherlock,” Dean scoffed, looking at you with a weird look in his eyes.

You three stopped on opposite sides of the Impala and was about to get in when Sam spoke.

“Yeah, she's in the basement.”

“Excuse me? W-what basement?” you asked.

“Isaiah Pickett’s house. Okay, there's this legend that he hung her, but he didn't. The real truth is that she was carrying his illegitimate child, and he killed her and then buried her in the basement.”

“The murdered chylde. That would explain the scratches. How do you know all this?” Dean asked.

“Oh, I've done all kinds of research on it,” Sam chuckled, but neither you nor Dean found this funny. “I mean, you know, last night.”

“Yeah. Nice work... I guess,” Dean sighed.

“But he was with us the entire night,” you whispered to yourself.

Dean heard this, and he gave you a quick look before you three got into the car. Dean turned on the radio and Bob Seger’s “Rock ‘n’ Roll Forgets” begins to play.

“Aw, man, turn it up!” Sam grinned.

“Seriously?” you and Dean asked at the same time.

“Hell yeah!”

Dean didn’t know what was going on with his brother, but he turned the radio up, nonetheless. He screeched out of the parking spot and drove to the house where the witch was killed in order to get this case over with. Sam told Dean the way, and when you arrived, you three snuck into the basement in order to get this over with. The electricity wasn’t working in the house, so you had to rely on your flashlights to do the job.

Inching your way down the stairs, you looked around for any kind of spirits or other kinds of monsters that might pop out from the shadows. With the brothers behind you, you made sure to lead them the right way since the basement was huge.

“Boo-yah! Master chief is in the house, bizatches!” Sam yelled.

Halting, you and Dean looked at Sam with a scrunched-up face.

“Are you alright?” Dean asked.

“Yeah. Fine,” Sam frowned.

Shaking your head, you headed further into the basement only to see Willow Moss growing in the back room on a bed made to look like a grave.

“Well, I'll be damned. Willow moss,” Dean chuckled.

“Yeah, right. It's, uh, supposed to grow over witches' graves, right?” Sam asked.

“Yeah,” you answered, knowing Sam should definitely know this.

Dean set up shop and took out the shovels, handing one to you to begin digging. While you two were doing that, Sam held up a gun to the back of Dean’s head as if he was going to shoot him. A chilling shock ran down the length of your spine, but you didn’t know why this was happening.

“Hey, man, I'm really sorry about this,” Sam apologized.

“Sorry about what?” Dean asked.

Turning around, you watched as Sam was thrown back by an invisible force. Dean stopped what he was doing to go help his brother, and you rushed over with him despite everything in your body telling you not to.

“Sam! You okay?” he asked, helping his brother up.

“Let's get the hell out of here!” Sam panicked.

“Wait, wait, wait. We still got to burn the body, you idiot. Come on,” you snapped, walking back over to the grave.

However, Dean was forced into the wall just like Sam was not a moment ago. Sam jumped out of the way when a ghost appeared right before your eyes. You rushed over to Dean and helped him up, staring at the ghost who had a murderous look in her eyes. She growled and rushed at you and Dean, but before she could make contact, she went up in flames and disappeared. Sam stood by the open grave with flames inside of it, holding a can of lighter fluid in his eyes.

“Dude, that was sweet!” Sam grinned.

Okay, this has got to stop.

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[collapse-and-comfort]

Blurb II

Continued from here. I’ll tag @redwingedwhump because she mentioned wanting more. 

M knew that W was an anomaly at their agency. His hair was the color of dust, though his face lacked any significant wrinkles. He could have passed for anywhere between twenty-five and forty-five. Whatever his age, she knew he was far removed from the newly turned pups that usually found themselves under her care. No, he shouldn’t be here, but that didn’t mean he didn’t need to be. She thought of Z’s suspicions about there being a traitor among them, but she turned her thoughts back to the matter at hand. M tapped the tip of her pen on her desk while reading through her notes, trying to arrange her thoughts and wondering how her hypotheses would be received by her mentor.

“M?”

She lifted her head to see R in the doorway. She recognized him as one of the nurses who consistently worked the night shift. She wondered how late it had gotten. R’s eyes were a little too wide and instead of stepping into her office, he leaned past the threshold as though he was worried about trespassing. As though he was worried about being the bearer of bad news.

“Mmm?” she asked as she straightened.

“It’s W,” he said. “He’s come around more. He’s agitated.”

M nodded and stood. She lamented that they had taken him from one clinical setting and put him in another. Add that to the effects the drug in his system were having on him, It was unfortunate but not surprising that W would be showing signs of distress and disorientation.  

R made room for M as she swept out the door, and followed her toward the ward where W was being kept.

“H is with him,” the nurse said.

M nodded again and felt a modicum of tension fade from her shoulders. H cut a hugely imposing figure, but he was also one of the kindest, most understanding people she knew. He was unparalleled at calming frightened or violent patients without being patronizing. M could not have been more grateful for his presence.

They got to the door to the ward and without even looking, M swept her access card over the sensor and opened the door. They slipped in the door. H had positioned himself between the door W, but he gave him at least ten feet of space. Whatever dialogue had developed between the two ceased when M and R entered the space.

M gave H a pat on the arm as she stood next to him and assessed her patient. It was good to see that W was no longer a huddled, shaking mess. Less positive was the blood that stained his right forearm from having pulled out his IV, and the deep, deep circles under his eyes. He was breathing hard too, but M could not have said for certain if that was a side effect of whatever was working his way out of his system, or a response to stress and exertion. Probably, it was both. His gaze flickered from M to H and back again. She thought to break the silence by introducing herself.

“I’m doctor-”

“I don’t care,” W said. His voice was low but the edge therein was unmistakable. “Let me go.”

M hated this part. They didn’t keep prisoners here, but they couldn’t always release their charges right away either.

Better to bite the bullet, she decided.

“I know this will be difficult to hear,” she said in a firm, clear voice. “But that is not possible right now.”

W glared and took a step forward. M was sure the movement was meant to provoke a response, but it was uncoordinated and he swayed on his feet.

“It’s okay,” H said. “You’re still healing-”

“I’m fine.”

Something changed in W’s eyes; it was as though he was looking right through all three of them. He slowly reached a hand up toward the wall, but the wall was farther away than he apparently thought. He fell against the wall and leaned heavily on it so as not to fall to the ground.

“Woah, woah, easy,” H said as both he and M started forward. They both stopped, though.

“Stay away from me,” W warned as his body went rigid. He Looked up at them with a flash of defiance in his eyes, but it quickly burned out. M could see the realization strike him that he was outnumbered and weakened. His voice cracked when he said, “Just stay away.”

“Should I bring a sedative?” R asked from behind M.

M shook her head from side to side without looking back. There was no need to shoot W full of more chemicals if they didn’t have to. As if to confirm that point, W slid the rest of the way to the blue and white tiled floor. He didn’t take his eyes off of them as he continued to support himself on the wall.

“Easy,” H said as he and M advanced again.

“Don’t,” W said as he flinched. “Don’t touch me.”

W crushed himself so close to the wall that it might have been his intention to merge with it. M and H halted again and spared each other a glance. They had to do this right If they were going to establish any sort of trust between themselves and W. They could not allow their first exchange with him while he was somewhat lucid to end in holding him down and doping him out of his mind.

Patience, she reminded herself the same way her mentor often did.

M stayed a few feet away, but she crouched down so she was eye-level with W.

“We’re not going to hurt you,” she said. “We just want to help.”

That earned her a derisive snort from W.

“We do,” she insisted. “We also need to find out what the people who had you were trying to accomplish.”

Something cold and fearful ghosted over W’s face. His gaze went far away again, but the ire and mistrust crowded his features so quickly it was as though they’d never left.

“I don’t know what they did to me,” he whispered. “I don’t know.”

“That’s okay,” H offered gently.

W’s face fell and M had to quash the urge to put a comforting hand on his shoulder.

“At least let us help you get off the floor,” M said.

W kept his eyes on her as he considered that option. M held her breath until finally, W nodded his head.

M asked R to bring some water as she and H helped W to his feet. They allowed W to get his balance for himself and they walked on either side of him back to his room. When they entered W paused as though he were uncertain of what to do.

“I’ll get your arm cleaned up,” H said as he guided W to the bed. “And then you can get some rest if you want. And if you need anything, just let me know.”

M went about gathering the discarded IV line and thanked her lucky stars the situation hadn’t taken a turn for the worse.

“I don’t want that,” W said.

“Okay,” M said when she noticed how intently W was watching the catheter in her hand. “As long as you can keep some fluids down.”

W looked as though he wanted to argue, but he fell silent and nodded. His shoulders slumped and M wondered if he was going to fall asleep sitting up.

“Was…” W trailed off and M could see the conflict on his face. She waited for him to continue. “Was there another werewolf where I was being kept?”

M shook her head.

“Not that I’m aware,” she said. “You were the only person they found there.”

W nodded as though he had expected that answer. M could not determine which emotion played across W’s face. Disappointment? Relief? Whatever it was, M cautioned herself against pressing for information W was unready to give.

[kilyra]

You a Fangbanger Now?

Eric Northman (True Blood) One-Shot

A/N:  Well, absolutely no one directly requested this, but I’m carrying on with the Eric Northman arc because I love him, I’m trash, and this is my slop offering - so this is following “You Will” and “You Did, Sweetheart”. 

Defending Eric Northman to your raging roommate is the last thing you thought you’d ever find yourself doing, and Eric seems equally surprised.

Warnings:  Swearing. Like the eff word on repeat. No spoilers though (I myself am only on S3 or 4, so this is an early Eric style fic…also, please don’t send me any spoilers).

If you want to be on my tag lists, (all or just a character) just let me know! (Credit for this amazing gif goes to @bonniebird​. Thank you SO much!)

The shrill, echoing shriek woke you from a dead sleep. Sitting bolt upright, you were already fighting to get free from your sheets before you could understand why you were even awake.

A crash in the kitchen jolted you to your feet, sending you scrambling for your bedroom door. Adrenaline flooded your veins as you raced down the stairs, your bare feet thudding on the hardwood.

Tearing around the corner into the kitchen, you skidded to a stop, squinting at the brightly lit room. Your roommate was holding a knife but was shaking too hard to keep it still. Coming far enough into the room to see what she had cornered, your heart pounded harder.

Fear melted to a heavy feeling in your stomach as you spotted him. Eric fucking Northman.

Casually leaning against the counter, a faint grin played on his lips as he watched your roommate uselessly wave the knife his direction. Raising his eyebrow, his eyes briefly darted to yours, twinkling with amusement.

“Who the fuck are you?” She was boarding on hysterical.

Rubbing your eyes, you tried to keep the sleepy groan from your voice. “Amy...Ams, what's going on?”

“This creepy fucker broke into our house. I came into the kitchen and he was just...just...here!”

Reaching over, you squeezed her shoulder. She tilted her head towards you but kept her eyes on him. "Whoa, whoa...hey, hey. That's just Eric, he's a fr-."

His eyes found their way back to yours as you stopped short. There was hardly a shift in his bemused expression, but you thought you saw the corner of his mouth twitch at your sudden discomfort.

Friend? Seriously?

“He's...Eric. It's fine...”

Pulling away from you, Amy shot you an incredulous look as she backed up enough to keep on eye on you both. “Fine?! It's...it's not fine!”

The alcohol on her breath hit your nostrils, and you were suddenly very aware that she was practically waving the knife at you. Facing your palms towards her, you took a careful step back. Eric's face clouded slightly as he pushed himself from the counter, but your roommate seemed oblivious to the shift in her situation as she continued.

“Y/n! He...he appeared...like some goddam ghost or something.... T-that's not fine.”

Her wrist flicked to drive home her point when suddenly Eric was beside you. The knife clattered to the floor as Amy half-screeched and backed into the wall behind her. Ice rushed through you, but you somehow managed to stop from jumping as he rushed close.

Standing at your elbow, his low tone was steady and calm. “It's late. I was making sure you weren't an intruder.”

But why was he already in the house?

Amy's hands visibly trembled as she clamped them over her mouth. Slowly pulling them away, she looked from Eric to you. “S-so w-what? You a...a fangbanger now?”

Letting out a soft snort, Eric's lips pressed together as he gave you a sidelong glance.

You didn't see the humour. “Seriously? He's only here because of you.”

Her hands dropped lower, hovering awkwardly without her knife to grip. As you watched, her face briefly fell as though she knew exactly what you meant. But it was quickly hidden by a glare. “What's that supposed to mean?”

The fact she was drunk did nothing to stop your irritation from exploding into burning anger. “What do you think, Ams? Do you have any idea what your disappearing act did to Sookie? Strange vampires show up, there was practically a new murder each week, and you just leave without saying anything?”

Clenching her jaw, Amy crossed her arms. Her narrowed eyes flickered to Eric as he tilted his head, but they both stayed quiet.

“She thought those vampires had you. Or worse. That girl called in all the favours she had to look for you, and even got Eric to watch over me and our place, alright? None of that would have happened if you hadn't taken off with your loser boyfriend to go get high for two weeks.”

"Yeah? Well, I'm back now! And it had nothing to do with fangers or any of the other bullshit Sookie got herself into, so there's no reason for him to even be here. Besides...don't I have to invite him in or some shit? Couldn't I just revoke-”

“Watch it.”

Even Eric's eyebrows shot up as you growled.

“The whole time you were off with those assholes, he was here for me. He went above and beyond to keep track of my safety and, frankly, the only sleep I got was when I knew he was around. Sookie wasn't the only one spooked when you disappeared, you know. Have a little respect.”

In truth, you still weren’t sure why Eric gave you his blood but you were positive it wasn’t to help keep you safe. And it was next to impossible to sleep when he paid you a visit. But you were way too pissed to care that much about the truth. 

Shifting between her feet, Amy's lip curled. “And I wonder what Sam'll think about all this.”

Curiously watching your argument unfold, Eric didn't seem bothered by her threats. But you were finding it hard to think over the pounding in your ears. Leaning forward, you jabbed your finger at her as she flattened against the wall. "I'm the leaseholder so go ahead and play that game...see what happens. But for fuck sakes, I'm literally the only bridge you haven't burned yet, do you really want to go there?"

Everything seemed to stand still as your final blow of words landed on your roommate. Finally, her eyes darted between you and Eric before she started blinking rapidly. A small drop of pity formed in your chest and you knew you'd be having a gentler talk with her in the morning.

Throwing back her shoulders, she stormed past you without another word. Maybe the gentler talk wouldn't exactly be in the morning...

Turning slightly, you watched her leave, making sure she didn't try anything on her way out. It was Eric's soft chuckle that drew your attention back.

“Mmm, I'm impressed.” His cool voice contrasted the fire still running through your veins. But when you turned back, his eyebrows were drawn together as his gaze swept over you.

It felt like he was taking you in for the first time since you stumbled into the room. Your skin prickled at his confused stare as it lingered over you. Memories of all your heated dreams with him edged into your mind and you realized how little space was between you.

Running your hand over your hair, you lightly scratched at your scalp before you shrugged. It took effort, but you managed to keep your tone flat. “Yeah?”

As he cocked his head to the side, you realized he wasn't wearing his usual smug expression. The former amusement had also drained away leaving a serious look in its wake. “You stood up for me.”

Taking a step back, you crossed your arms and took a moment to study him for once. The statement was simple, but you could hear the question in his tone. Pressing your lips together in a light frown, you weren't sure what to say.

His eyes stayed trained on yours and, for a moment, you were worried he was going to glamour you. Just as your stomach started to flutter, he continued. “I've never had someone do that before. Not like that, at least.”

Swallowing back the nervousness that formed a thick lump in your throat, you took a sharp breath. "Yeah? Well, you're not off the hook."

That seemed to snap him back into his usual self as he scoffed. “Excuse me?”

“What are you doing here?”

Stilling again, he lifted a shoulder in a casual shrug. “I already told you, it's the middle of the night and I thought she was an intruder. A loud, clumsy int-”

Waving him into silence, you were mildly surprised when the gesture worked. “No, I mean why were you here? You were already in the house when she came home...Why? What were you doing here?”

The brief glimpse at the Eric you knew grew stony as his features relaxed and his lips drew into a straight line. His pale blue eyes stared at you from behind the mask of his blank expression. He stayed silent.

Your sense of power grew as the vampire seemed to quietly recede at your question. “Okay, then. Do you do this often? Because, Amy's right, you know. Now that we know what happened, you don't need to keep watch anymore.”

His throat worked as he let his focus trail to the side. He seemed to hear what you were saying, but there was no reply. It was unnerving.

“So? Are you here a lot?”

Snapping his eyes back to yours, the muscles in his jaw flexed before his glare softened. “I stop in sometimes.”

Since you woke up, your racing heart hadn't slowed, but with his admission, it tried to hammer out of your rib cage. In a rush, your cheeks grew warm. Eric Northman. In your room. While you were sleeping. 

The worst part was, you weren't sure if that was upsetting or exciting.

Chewing the corner of your mouth, you noticed his eyes flash to your lips. But still, his expression was unreadable.

“Why?” You practically whispered the question.

Blinking slowly, his gaze lowered before his eyebrow arched in a quick twitch. Looking to the side again, he avoided your stare when he finally answered. “I don't...have an answer for that.”

Your lips parted in a wordless reply as you watched him. The quietness in his tone was as surprising as his answer, and you weren't sure what either meant.

Not that he gave you long to think about it.

In a sudden moment of decisiveness, his head jerked towards the door. “I should go.”

Wait.

The plea was on your lips, but with a soft breeze skimming across your skin, he was gone.

Taglist:  @foreverfaeries  @flower-two  @getlostinyourparadise   @selfishkiddo @angelicshinigami @pansmexualparker   @thatchampagnebitch @mysteryoflovve  @edweirdoddlepot  @divadinag @crazy-fandom-girl1 @givemeabite @breanime  

(Guys, please let me know if you want to be removed from this taglist! I have some of you on here because you encouraged this rabbit hole a while back and this is your fault - but I can take you off the list if you want LOL)

[redrobinfection]

(14) Chills

SociallyAwkwardFox’s Spooktober - Day 14 “Chills”

JayTim | Established Relationship | Food Poisoning | Foodborne Illness | Vomiting | Mentions of other bodily fluids | Sick fic | Want to write with me? Find the prompt list here!

~*~

"Hey! You alive in here?" Tim calls as he enters Jason's safehouse, carefully balancing a shopping bag of 'goodies' on his hip and ducking low to avoid snagging his backpack on the frame as he steps through the window.

A bedraggled head sticks out of the bathroom doorway at half the height one would expect. "Tim? You shouldn't be here," Jason croaks, hauling himself to his feet with the support of the door frame. He looks awful, face pale, cheeks flushed, and dark circles under his eyes. It's only been a day and a half since his symptoms appeared, including copious vomiting, but he already looks gaunt and hollowed out.

Tim ignores him, continues on into the little kitchen, and begins unloading his supplies onto the counter. He's brought an arsenal of medical supplies: anti-nausea meds, antibiotics, fluids and electrolytes - both IV and oral - various disease test kits, portable diagnostic equipment, as well as broths and soups sent straight from Alfred along with saltine crackers, sports drinks, ginger teas, and ginger ale for when Jason’s appetite comes back. He loads the soup containers, drinks and antibiotics into the fridge, keeping his back turned even as he hears Jason shuffle into the kitchen.

"Let me rephrase that: you can't be here. I'm sick. I've got a fever and chills and I've been hurling my guts out of both ends all night and all day. It isn't safe for you," Jason tells him, hovering at the edge of the kitchen like he wants to step forward and shake Tim by the shoulders but knows he shouldn't.

Tim turns and closes the distance between them in two quick steps, raising a thermometer to Jason's temple while laying the back of his hand across his forehead. Jason startles a second too late.

"T-Tim! What are you doing?! Get away!" He tries to back up, but bumps into the wrap-around counter, knees buckling. Tim grips his forearm firmly to bolster him and follows diligently, holding the thermometer steady until he hears a beep.

"One hundred point nine," Tim reads off, nodding sagely. "That's not too bad. Overall, how are you feeling? Have you been able to keep down any fluids in the past twelve hours?" he asks as he pinches the skin of Jason's forearm to perform the skin elasticity test for gauging dehydration. "Mmm, from that I'm going to say 'no' or 'not enough', huh?"

Jason swats away his hand wildly then leans back over the counter away from the other hand Tim lifts undeterred to pull down Jason's lower eyelid in order to gauge the sunkenness of his eyes.

"Wha-wha-what are you doing?" Jason pants, eyes wild. "You can't be here, I have the flu; you can't touch me, I'm going to get you sick!"

Tim shakes his head, but takes a step back, making soothing motions with his hands. "It's fine, Jason, I made sure to--"

"It's not f-f-fine!" Jason hisses, teeth chattering with a full body shiver. "You could die, Spleen-less Wonder!"

Tim raises his eyebrows. "If you would stop running away from me for five minutes, or stop to answer my calls then you’d--"

"I w-was ru-ru-running to protect you!"

Five minutes after his first episode of vomiting, Jason had run out of Tim's apartment like the building was on fire, and then proceeded to lead Tim on a very bizarre game of tag through five separate safehouses over the past day and a half. Tim had been half convinced their wild chase would end with him finding Jason passed out in the street, or on some rooftop, between one place and the next. He still wasn’t sure if he wanted to laugh or cry or tear his hair out over the whole thing. Probably all of the above.

"I th-th-thought you'd given up by now!"

No, he hadn’t given up, but Tim also hadn't wanted to find Jason passed out in the street somewhere, so he had given Jason space and watched from a distance while he gathered evidence and ran tests.

He reaches into his back pocket, unfolds a Batcomputer print-out and shoves it into Jason's face. Jason frowns as he leans in to read the fine print.

"These are the results of comprehensive pathogen testing on a sample of stool and a sample of the foods we consumed the other night," Tim explains to him. "The tests are conclusive: you have food poisoning, not the flu. The food you ate and your stool both test positive for salmonella."

Jason blinks and his eyes dart to Tim with a flash of worry. "But... but you're okay? You didn't eat any of the contaminated foods?"

Tim smiles warmly at Jason for his concern and shakes his head. "No. Alfred and I are pretty sure it was contained to the sausage on your pizza. We didn't find salmonella in anything else and I didn't eat any of yours, only my own."

"Oh, thank fuck," Jason sighs in relief, sagging back into the counter. "Wait," he freezes, pinning Tim with an odd look, "Did you say stool? How the hell did you get a sample of my shit! When?!"

Tim snorts. "I mean, you did leave an incredible wake of contamination in your path as you fled from place to place." Jason glares and Tim shrugs. "You, uh, forgot to flush the toilet at your second stop. I collected it there."

Jason narrows his eyes. "Even if this is food poisoning, you still have to be careful collecting food samples, touching me, touching my shit--literal and figurative... Jeez, if you get a salmonella infection, that could fuck you up for the long term, Babybird."

Tim nods. "I know. I brought gloves, disinfectant, and plenty of hand soap. I plan to be careful. Alfred will never let me hear the end of it if I'm not."

Jason doesn't look happy about it, but he nods his acceptance, trembling as another chill wracks his body with violent shivers. Tim's brow crinkles in concern. He turns to scoop up some of his supplies then steers Jason toward the couch with a light touch on his elbow.

"Why don't you go get settled on the couch while I prep some fluids for you. I'm guessing you haven't been holding much down--or in--for more than a few minutes at a time?"

"Try not at all," Jason croaks as he subconsciously pulls his elbow away and shuffles to the couch on his own.

Tim grimaces in sympathy. "The diarrhea hasn't let up either?"

"Nope."

"Has there been any blood in your stool?"

Jason makes a face. "No," he gasps, gagging slightly. "Ugh. Can you grab me a bucket or something while you're at it?"

"On it."

Tim brings Jason his sick pail, then proceeds to take more vitals and pulls a blood sample to send along to Alfred. Jason suffers through it with as much grace as he can summon between breaks to gag and retch into his bucket.

"The last thing we need is for the infection to get into your blood, so I brought antibiotics along just in case," Tim tells him.

"The last thing we need is for the infection to get into your blood!" Jason shoots back hoarsely as he comes up from another round of vomiting.

"Don't worry, besides taking sanitary precautions, Alfred started me on a course of preventative antibiotics, just in case I did ingest contaminated material and haven't begun showing symptoms," Tim reassures as he begins prepping Jason’s forearm for the IV.

"Wha-what if you get sick? What am I supposed to do then?"

"Alfred will be by shortly to pick up the blood sample and check up on us, and if at any point I start to show symptoms, you or I are supposed to call Leslie immediately. The alternative is for you to return with me to the Manor." Tim wrinkles his nose to say what he thinks of that alternative.

"Nope. Here s-sounds g-g-good," Jason replies, teeth still chattering. Tim finishes inserting the catheter, starts up the fluids, tapes and then wraps the IV site.

"Okay, that should be good to go for a while. We'll know in a few hours if you'll need the IV antibiotics. For now…" he trails off, taking in the small, nearly empty safehouse and then the shivering form of one miserable Jason Todd. "How about we cuddle up on the couch and binge some Netflix?"

"I don't have a TV."

Tim smirks. "Do you think I go anywhere without my laptop and an unlimited 4G data plan?"

He sets up his laptop on a tray table in front of the couch and retrieves several clean blankets from the hall closet. He drapes two of the blankets across Jason's shoulders, which he accepts with a murmur of appreciation, then seats himself beside Jason and spreads another across their laps. He cuddles up to Jason and attempts to wrap an arm around him, his shorter stature be damned.

"Wh-wh-what are you doing?" Jason stutters, leaning away with a comically alarmed expression.

"You've got the chills, so I brought you some blankets and I’m snuggling you?”

"No, why are you practically on top of me! What if I throw up on you?" Jason wails, attempting to push away. Tim pulls him close and hands him the sick pail.

"You're a crack shot, Jay, so I trust that you won't miss at point blank," he teases.

Jason glares balefully, but gives up trying to pull free. "You're still gonna get sick…" he grumbles.

"I doubt it, but if that's a risk I have to take to snuggle you, then I'll take it."

Jason sags into him and grumbles under his breath.

"What was that?"

"I said you're an idiot with a d-d-death wish," Jason growls between shivers.

Tim chuckles and squeezes his shoulder. "Whoa, there, Jay, I think you need to chill out."

"Tim."

[franklyshipping]

Our Masterpiece ~ A Markiplier Ego Fanfic

This is another WONDERFUL anonymous prompt which I am just so hecking excited to write because it's gonna be cute! LEEEET'S DO THIS!

TAGGING: @silvlee-shepherd @yandere-ipli-ler and @thehostofleetrature

Silver Shepherd was comfortable....and yet nervous. It is a rare state, but it can be a wonderful one depending on the circumstances and situation. In this case, it was an absolutely wonderful state, and one which Silver was more than happy to be in. The sweet superhero had his wrists in padded cuffs above his head which were attached to the headboard of a comfy, lavish double bed. He was shirtless, barefoot, and wearing a flustered smile....because he had the two people he loved and trusted the most in all the world....smirking down at him.

'Oh Hosty....doesn't our Senpai look so pretty all exposed for us?'

Silver blushed when he heard the sensual purr from Yandere, who was on their knees on the bed to Silver's right. Their crimson eyes flicked over him hungrily, and their blood red lips were stretched into the most gleeful grin. The exposed hero blushed even more when a chuckle came from his left.

'I'd certainly say so....'

The Host smirked amidst his own purred words, and was also on his knees so, like Yandere, he could have that wonderfully intimidating stance in place as he continued.

'.....however, I find that my mind's eye is not working so well with him being so still and so silent. Would you be a dear and help me rectify that hindrance?'

Silver let out a soft whine, looking between the two loves of his life as Yan let out a soft gasp. This was it....this was the start. Yandere crooned lovingly to the Host.

'Oh of course my darling, we cannot deprive you of this pretty scene!'

The Host smiled when Yan leant in to kiss him, and he smiled even wider when Yandere leant down to Silver so they could softly kiss him too. It was gentle and reassuring. Then the Host did the same, relishing in the happy mewl that he coaxed from their sweet hero.

'Mmm....he already sounds happy with this turn of events....'

Silver giggled bashfully, squirming with embarrassment at how effortlessly they both managed to tease him. He loved it. He loved it when they all played together like this, no matter who was being ganged up on it was always amazing for all of them. Yandere let out a soft, yet slightly malicious, giggle before they spoke once more.

'Oh! I just thought! I've been wanting to practise my calligraphy lately, and I think Silver would make the perfect canvas, don't you? And with how naturally restless he is, it's a win for both of us!'

Yan squeaked with delight and clapped their hands at the ''revelation'' of this ''completely and entirely spontaneous idea that they totally only just came up with right now this second''. Silver squeaked softly to himself and hid in the crook of his arm...he couldn't believe this was actually happening.

'What an excellent idea my dear....you know, I think I may join you in that. Continued practise of a craft as complex as calligraphy is very important after all.'

Silver's heart was just pounding, he couldn't believe how mean Host and Yan were being with dragging out the anticipation like this! Silver was flustered beyond belief, only able to watch with wide eyes as Yandere and Host each picked up a feather quill and a pot of ink that just so happened to be conveniently near them on the bed and wasn't planned at all....ahem. Silver watched as the nimble fingers of his lovers twirled their quills before dipping the...wonderfully sharp tips, into the ink pots. They both flashed Silver a smirk....before they both began.

'I think I'm going to focus on words with the letter ''t'', what about you dear?'

The Host mused as he started working on eloquently noting the word ''ticklish'' at one side of Silver's ribcage; Silver was already giggling and twitching....and that only got more intense when Yandere eagerly copied the Host's technique.

'You know, I think I'll do the same-'

'Ohohoho my gahahad!'

Silver ended up cutting off Yandere's enthusiastic input with his giggles, which of course to Yandere was just the height of rudeness. Her crimson lips parted in a gasp as she looked down at Silver, not stopping her writing as she exclaimed.

'Uhm EXCUSE me we're in the middle of a conversation here!'

Silver of course, couldn't stop giggling no matter how much he tried. The meticulous scratching of those quills was just impossible to ignore, and the only reason that Silver wasn't in hysterics was because of how Yandere and Host were being gentle to ease him in!-ah....not that this scenario was....planned....

'I-Ihihihi'm sahahaharry Ihihi'm sahaharry!'

Silver squeaked adorably as he looked between his ticklers, his eyes wide and imploring and innocent. Of course, even though the Host and Yandere were in love with that look and expression...it didn't mean that they always succumbed to it. The Host snickered a little as he now started writing the phrase ''ticklish baby'' up Silver's ribcage, making the hero arch his back and titter as Yandere hummed with pursed lips.

'Hmmm, you don't sound like you are.'

Yan fluttered the feather end of her quill over Silver's nose as she spoke, making Silver whimper and gaze up at her even MORE imploringly.

'I-Ihi ahaham bahaby Ihi ahaham!'

Silver whined through his giggles, which made Yan let out an affectionate ''aww'' as she surrounded her calligraphy with little love-hearts. The Host smirked at how deliberately cute Silver was being, and crooned in a tone that dripped with sarcasm.

'Awww he called you baaaby, he MUST be sincere! Poor thing....'

Silver's face went a dark, embarrassed pink as Yandere hummed musingly again, dipping her quill back in her inkpot as she seemed to contemplate something.

'Mmm....although, he COULD just be playing to our sympathies in the hopes of us stopping our treatment. Which is honestly rather rude of him since all we're trying to do is help your third eye perceive him properly....'

....the Host had never been more impressed in his life. Yandere's magnificent, imaginative ability to come up with the most amazing excuses to tickle Silver like this were truly unparralleled! The Host straightened up for a second as Silver lay with his mouth gaping, both of them taking a few moments, before the Host smirked.

'.....well, that reasoning of yours just makes complete logical sense, it is rather rude....all the more reason for us to continue really.'

Silver, amidst all this, had been spluttering and squeaking and looking between Host and Yan, trying to find some way of interjecting, and finally he did. Whether it was a good idea though...is questionable.

'Y-Yohou guhuys ahare juhust bullshitting! Y-You c-can't even think o-ohof an i-intimidating, flustery r-reason to tihickle me! Y-You're bohoth reeeeally losing your edge....'

Silver giggled residually amidst his stuttered reply, since Yan's and Host's tickling had become a little lacklustre amidst their conversation of....bullshit. Silver, as you can imagine, at first felt very empowered by calling them out like this, and felt good at the thought of demeaning them as ticklers. Then however, reality kicked back in. Reality being Yandere and Host's heads snapping in Silver's direction as they gritted their teeth and loomed over him....yep, big mistake, big mistake Silver.

'Oho.....so Senpai thinks he's a clever brat does he?'

Silver gulped. Yandere only ever called him Senpai when he was in super deep doodoo.

'Maybe we should just cut away the façade, hmm? Clearly our little hero doesn't want us to be nice and creative with our tickle treatment....'

...and the Host only ever called him ''little hero'' when he was riled like a hurricane. Be teasy? Fine. Be cheeky? Sure....but criticise Yandere and Host's tickling abilities? Boy, Silver was for it; specifically at the moment though...Silver's armpits were for it, since Host and Yandere had started swiping their quills in Silver's hollows.

'EEEE! N-Noho w-w-wahait I-Ihi dihidn't mean it!'

Silver let out a nervous squeal as he tugged at his wrists, spluttering to try and remedy his mistake....but it was too late. He broke out into a wide, mirthful smile as his hollows now endured ticklish swipe after ticklish swipe from those dastardly quills.

'Here we were thinking you wanted us to make a pretty game out of the tickles.....but no....you just want us to torture you don't you?'

Yandere purred, grinning devilishly as she interspersed swipes of her quill with drawings of pretty love-hearts; they were kinda her thing. Silver shook his head frantically at Yan's words as his giggle fit became a hysterical giggle fit.

'NOHOHOHO NOHOHOHOHO!'

Yandere giggled at that, and the Host laughed softly under his breath.

'Oh Silver my love, if you simply wanted us to cut straight to the tickle torture then you only had to ask.'

Silver squealed with embarrassment at the Host's teasy, baritone nonchalance; whenever he spoke like that it just sent so many tingles down Silver's spine, and he already had ENOUGH tingles thank you very much! As the Host and Yandere happily drew hearts and little feathers and cute geometric shapes in their hero's underarms, Silver just became frantic. He was wriggling like an insane earthworm....but he was seriously happily within that. Silver couldn't deny that he loved scenarios when ticklers made up stupid little excuses to tickle....but right now he didn't want that. Silver just wanted to be absolutely wrecked. Sometimes a scenario doesn't need elaborate reasoning; ticklers can tickle someone...just because it's what everybody WANTS.

'NAHAHAT MY PIHIHITS AHAHA IHI CAHAN'T MOHOVE MY AHAHARMS!'

Yandere smiled with pride at Silver's exclamation and squeaked happily.

'Awww I'm glad you approve of my knot tying skills! I've been practising!'

Yandere giggled as Silver continued to wail from all the tickly doodling he was being subjected to. The Host smiled....just at everything. At the waves of happiness he could feel from Silver being tickled, and the happy giddiness Yandere felt at all her hard work paying off. He leant in to peck Yan on the cheek as he murmured teasingly.

'Oh I think he more than approves, look at how happy our sweet Silver is.'

Yandere giggled, chastely pecking the Host on the lips before they had a little mercy, they didn't want to over-do things too early after all. Silver gasped and tried to catch his breath, weakly mumbling as he buried his face in his arm.

'Shuhuhush ihiiiiit....'

As they set their quills and ink safely aside, the Host and Yandere both awed at him because I'm sorry but how could they not?!

'Oh what a pretty colour his cheeks have become! It almost seems strange given how pale the rest of him is....'

Yandere exclaimed....but as she trailed off, she let her fingers casually drop onto Silver's very exposed torso....specifically, onto his belly. Silver trembled when he felt Yandere's nails trail over his skin, his breath hitching as Yandere's eyes gleamed with sadistic intent. Silver trembled even more though...when the Host suddenly held up a number of felt tip pens that had spontaneously appeared and had absolutely not also been next to the quills and ink used previously. 

'I'm sure we can fix that.'

The Host mused, and Silver could only whine and struggle as his lovers readied their new, evil implements....and got to work. Silver's belly was such a wonderful canvas, so smooth and pale which meant that any artwork would stand out so boldly and marvellously; Yandere's little pink fruity doodles were already looking lovely.

'I feel like drawing these raspberries is more than appropriate, don't you think dear?'

The Host chuckled, though it was only just heard above Silver's jumpy cackles.

'I think it's a wonderful idea darling.'

Thus, the Host set about drawing some cutesy fruits of his own. Keeping with a similar sort of palate as Yandere, he elected to go for doodles of strawberries so that the aesthetic would be consistent and pleasing to the eye. It was a little difficult with Silver writhing non-stop beneath them of course, with the felt tip pens being really rather tickly.

'NAHAHAHA PLEHEHEASE!! MY BEHEHEHELLYYYY!!'

Silver's tummy was a serious tickle spot for the hero, so this was definitely a step up in tickly intensity. Silver was arching his back as cackles literally leapt from his gaping mouth, and his cheeks were certainly leaning from a raspberry hue to a strawberry one. The Host cocked his head at Silver, his expression entirely innocent as he replied to his exclamation.

'Hmm? What was that? Please draw on my belly? Well, with such manners like that how can I refuse!'

This, of course, was the only valid interpretation of Silver's words that the Host could perceive, and he'd be damned if he didn't see to Silver's desires! The Host switched to now drawing beautiful cherries, making sure the stems flicked against Silver's belly which I'm sure the hero appreciated.

'IHIHI DIHIDN'T SAHAHAY THAHAT IHI DIDN'T I DIHIHIDN'T!!'

Silver squealed desperately, making the Host grin amusedly as he shrugged his shoulders.

'I can't help how I heard it darling!'

Silver let out a flustered cry, trying to hide in the crook of his elbow as he smiled a wonderfully bright, flustered, Silver Shepherd smile. Yandere smiled too, she smiled lovingly at both her boys. She paused her artwork to peck Host on the cheek with a purr.

'You're so evil. I love it.'

The Host smirked proudly at that....he always liked being evil in the right way.

'Oh I know you do....I know you both do....'

Even Yandere ended up blushing a little at the Host's purr....particularly so when the Host pecked her lips, and then leant down to peck Silver's. His love was so effortless and perfect that it only served to make Silver more desperately flustered and happy...and did I mention flustered?

'BAHAHAHAD HOHOHOSTY BAHAD NAHAHAUGHTY!!'

The Host and Yan both let out soft laughs at Silver's giddy cry as the Host purred amusedly.

'If you say so angel.'

A wonderful as it was giving Silver's belly so much attention though, soon another round of mercy was doled out when Silver started to let out the softest of sniffles. The pens were set aside in favour of fingers carding through Silver's raven hair, and the Host and Yandere just sighed as Silver hummed at their touch....they were so content.

'The prettiest angel.....'

Yandere murmured happily, which was followed by a hum of agreement from the Host....and there Silver thought his blushing was going to die down. Silver could feel Yan's eyes and the Host's mind focused on him, and he was flustered because sometimes he just couldn't actually believe he was lucky enough to be in this beautiful relationship....with the two people that he loved more than anything in the world.

'....y-y-yohou're b-bohohoth prehettier....'

His lovers smiled fondly, but of course, some playfulness could not be overlooked.

'I hope that's not any self-deprecation I detect.'

Silver smiled warmly at the Host's soft tease....Silver had to admit to himself, that in the past he did used to self-deprecate on a level that was just not good for him. He didn't do that anymore though, oh no way mate. Silver could look in the mirror now and see his pretty eyes and soft, good-looking complexion and cute wit and kindness. Yandere and the Host had shown him how to see all the good in himself. Silver whispered happily in his reply.

'Neverrr....'

Yandere and the Host's hearts swelled at that, and Silver got a kiss on each cheek for his inhuman perfection. Now though, the Host grinned and slipped away, and the only reason that Silver's eyes didn't follow was because of how Yan stroked his hair....and had his attention transfixed with their dastardly, yet loving, smirk.

'Ready for a little more?'

Silver felt the heat from his cheeks creeping down his neck as he nodded at Yan's whisper, making Yan giggle and eagerly join Host at the foot of the bed...then Silver saw them. Biros. The Host was holding biros. Biro pens. At the foot of his bed....near his feet....oh no.

'Shall we?'

The Host purred, spurring Yan to pluck a pen from his hand...before they both took ahold of one of Silver's feet...each. The sweet superhero gulped, sitting up as much as he could as his sweet brown eyes darted over the scene. He licked his lips nervously, his voice sounding particularly squeaky as he stammered.

'Y-You're g-gonna go one a-at a time righ-AAAAHHH OH MY GOD NOHO!!!'

Silver shrieked....and laughed....because no, they were certainly not going to go one at a time. Yandere and the Host chuckled at they focused their artwork at Silver's heels, working perfectly in sync.

'I think I'm gonna draw lots and lots of pretty love hearts up Silvy's footsie, what about you Hosty?'

Yandere asked sweetly, making sure to go over each and every love-heart they drew....just for good measure. The Host smirked, feeling warm as he perceived Silver's mirthfully writhing form and Yandere's giddy wiggles of joy.

'I plan on keeping with the fruit theme with some doodles of strawberries and grapes, things that I feel really relate to our Silver right now.'

The Host mused, because honestly he could have mistaken Silver's face for a radiator with how much heat it was giving out. At this point, no metaphor alluding to the colour red was good enough; there was red, and then there was Silver's face. He was a blushy, thrashy, hysterical mess of a man.

'PLEHEHEHEEEASE IHIHIT TIHIHICKLES SOHO BAHAHAHAAAD!!!'

Silver arched sharply as he tried to scrunch his feet, because the feeling of those biros was just insane. They were MORE than just tickly. They were sharper and more precise than any manicured fingernail could ever be, and it was like tiny shocks of ticklishness were shooting through his feet rather than just staying at his skin. That's how bad it was. Silver's tormentors chuckled together as they kept on drawing.

'Oh? What makes these pens tickle so much worse?'

Silver wished he could have articulated his more detailed thoughts in response to Yandere's question, but as he felt his lovers' doodles move up to his soles....he could only really cry out. 

'THEHEHEHEY'RE POHOHOHOINTY!!!'

Yandere and the Host chuckled once more, leaning in together so Yandere could rest their head on the Host's shoulder happily. This was such a beautiful series of moments that was making this into a beautiful, perfect day. As the Host added little dots to his strawberry doodles to make Silver yelp though....he came up with an idea to make it all even more perfect, whilst making it even more torturous for Silver.

'Your....''point'', being?'

That's right. Throw a pun into the mix, and let me tell you, it really did have the desired effect. The Host heard Silver groan with utterly defeated despair....Silver had been thinking that it couldn't possibly get any worse, but the Host's puns were just diabolical. Silver theorised that one of the Host's puns was the last thing people heard before they died. Silver desperately tried to cover his ears as he laughed, for fear of hearing more horrid humour, as Yandere grinned at the Host.

'Darling that was absolutely disgraceful.'

The Host let out a short, sharp laugh of satisfaction. As he and Yandere focused their doodles at the tender centres of Silver's soles, causing hiccups to erupt, he drawled.

'Why thank you dear.'

Tickle torture....and bad puns. Silver Shepherd was in hell.

'WHAHAHAT YOHOHOU'RE DOHOING TO MEHE IHIS DIHIHISGRAHACEFUL!!!'

Silver practically yelled through his screeches, and Yandere seriously had to put effort into looking offended instead of bursting out laughing at how indignant Silver sounded. They managed to keep it together though.

'Well I think our art is rather delightful thank you very much!'

Silver spluttered at that, squeezing his eyes shut as he cackled and wheezed at the ''artwork'' reached the balls of his feet. Yandere and Host had such good grips on his feet that he couldn't hope to tug them free, and his mind was just getting more and more frazzled by the second....the tickling was really destroying him.

THAHAHAT'S NAHAT WHAHAT IHI MEHEHEEEE-!!'

Silver's laughter was at its most intense, especially since Yandere and Host were being VERY firm with their tools of torment against Silver's poor sensitive skin. As Silver dipped in and out between hysterical babbles and silent mirth, the Host cooed with a happy, taunting tone.

'What a sweet thing he is.....I understand that some people become speechless in the wake of great art, but this is truly off the scale...'

Yandere and the Host giggled to themselves....and that was when Silver truly lost it; he couldn't handle a single second more, and finally screamed.

'DOHOHOHOHOHOOOOOVE!!!'

The Host and Yandere straightened up, and ceased their onslaught. Then it was a matter of the Host snapping his fingers. Upon hearing the safe-word, the first snap was to de-materialise all the tickle tools and send them back to their proper places, and the second snap caused Silver's bindings to become undone. Silver was free. The hero weakly gasped and coughed softly into his pillow, wiping his eyes and forehead, and Yandere and the Host were there in a flash.

'It's over Senpai, it's okay you did so good, you were so strong and fun to tickle....'

Yan whispered as they and the Host lay either side of Silver snugly, thus allowing the hero to snuggle into them both with a bashful smile in place. With Yan's kiss on his temple and their fingers in his hair, he started to relax....but though his laughter had dimmed, his smile certainly had not.

'I know I speak for both Yan and myself when I say that that was ever so much fun....thank you for trusting us....'

Silver hummed happily at the Host's tender words, and purred when he felt the Host hold his hands and kiss them, making sure his fingers weren't cramped from how much he'd clenched his fists during it all. Silver let out a soft yawn, mumbling sleepily as he felt his body and mind relax....he'd really needed all of this. Sometimes people need to be hysterical and thoughtless for a little while, because it's fun and uplifting and in those moments you never feel more safe. Silver felt safe....and uplifted.....and loved.

'Mmm...'ll'alwayss trust yousss....'

Silver's loving tormentors exchanged loving smiles at that, and as soon as the blankets were drawn over them, they too slept. And ah....I must say, it was all a rather wonderful masterpiece....and I'm not talking about the doodles.

AAAHHH HOPE YOU GUYS LIKE THIS FICCU LEMME KNOW IF YA DO WOOOOP LUV YOUS XX

[friendlylocalwhumper]

cole causes trouble, pt. 2

“Why did you do that?” Cole demands to know, storming around. It would be kind of cute, how he’s forming his own opinions and getting worked up over them. Except. What’s kept Cole alive here was being complacent and listening to Lux without hesitation. And if Colten gets too loud in his frustration, the Hunter might come down here and make one of them pay for drawing his attention. And Lux is in enough pain right now to make him reluctant to interact.

The younger boy stomps over. Lux is looking down, just trying to keep his opinions in his head. Everything he considers as a response to Cole’s current behavior wouldn’t be helpful. Things like I was just trying to protect you, or you’re not old enough to understand, or if I stomped around and asked questions when I was a kid… there’s no need to say anything like that. Colten has been put in a situation where he has to be mature and accepting of harsh truths, and it was only a matter of time before he felt the instinct to lash out. Lux took it for granted that Cole hasn’t acted like a typical ten-year-old yet.

“Why did you do that?” The younger boy asks again, crossing his arms. “You made it worse. You lied. You made him angry.” Cole unfolds his arms a second later, and pokes a finger to his own chest. “It’s not my fault he hurt you.”

Lux looks up, his expression mournful. “I know. It’s not your fault. Nothing here is your fault, Cole, you shouldn’t have to be here. I just… I did what I thought would keep him focused on me. So he wouldn’t hurt you.”

“Nuh-uh!” Cole frowns and walks over. “You didn’t have to make him angry. You weren’t trying to protect me. You always say that. I think - I think you - you know what?” The younger boy has drawn close, and Lux’s back is pressed to the wall where he’s chained up. He looks up at Colten, waiting to hear what the boy’s working up the courage - or venom - to say.

“I think you like getting hurt.”

It makes sense. In kid logic. Lux tries not to show that it hurts to hear. Lux asks the Hunter to hurt him instead of Cole. Lux obeys, he scrabbles to do what he’s told, he doesn’t struggle. To a frightened, angry ten-year-old who doesn’t want his friend to get hurt, it could look like Lux isn’t doing his best to keep himself from getting hurt.

A small, aching part of Lux wonders what he did to make someone so patient, and kind, and innocent, this angry at him. As if it’s the grown-up thing to do here, to take this personally.

“I don’t like getting hurt,” Lux says slowly, a chill making him feel ill. “Cole, I’m s-still in some - some pain, do you think we can do this la-”

“You’re always hurt,” Cole parries, not missing a beat. Lux doesn’t contest being cut off, he just watches and listens. “All the time. I’m bored, I hate it here, and you just stay there and get hurt, that’s all you do. I’m bored and I wanna get out, I wanna go up there!” He points to the top of the stairs, to the locked door.

A pang of guilt strikes within the older boy. Of course Colten is bored. There are no toys, or friends, or games down here - no TV, no playground, and very little interaction. Just a plain concrete room and watching someone get tortured. Of course he’s bored.

“I can - I can ask for books, for you, or maybe - maybe markers and paper, something to do, since you can’t - can’t go upstairs.”

It’s the wrong thing to say. He was trying to say, in the gentlest and least overbearing way possible, that Colten can’t go upstairs. They’re not here by choice. They are prisoners. But Cole fumes. He doesn’t want books or markers, he wants to be out of here.

Lux can’t back up or move out of the way, but he can straighten up a bit and hold his breath when Colten storms over. It’s a reaction beaten into him over a long time, assuming he’s about to be hit - and then, he is.

Cole has reeled back, curled his little hand into a fist, and driven it straight into Lux’s nose. It knocked his head back and drew out an instinctive frightened whimper. Lux blinks up at the ceiling for a second, then tips his head down. There’s a rush of blood in his head and he feels something hot just above his lip before he sees red dripping into his lap.

Maybe Cole’s waiting for a reaction. Maybe he’s reeling back for another punch, or he’s about to rant some more, or he’s going to stumble back and cover his mouth in horror and burst into apologies. Lux doesn’t have it in him to meet Colten’s eyes, or to tell him something like you should never hit people. It’s been quiet, now, for a few seconds.

Lux lifts his head so the blood slows down - it’s been spilling happily from his nose - and he tucks it against his right arm, manacled up on the wall. It’s as close to tipping his head back and pinching his nose as he can get.

It sounds like Colten’s stepped away and is moving over to his usual spot. Lux closes his eyes before the younger boy passes into his line of sight, and tries not to cough on the bit of blood that tries to slide down his throat.

He’s fallen asleep. Lux only realizes it when his hair is being touched, a shadow falling over him as the Hunter leans close.

“What’s this, little light?” A finger traces the dried blood that dripped down Lux’s bare upper arm, and the prisoner shivers, waking up. His head aches terribly, and his nose hurts still. Not broken or swollen at all. Just bloodied. What hurts more is how it got that way.

“‘s blood,” Lux answers sleepily. Sadly.

“Yes. How did it get there?” The warlock’s chin is held and moved so that Lux’s head is no longer nestled into the crook of his arm. The Hunter puzzles over the dried blood under Lux’s nose for a second. Did he push too hard inside his light’s mind the day before?

No. He would’ve known if he was that close to doing serious damage.

A smile spreads across the Hunter’s face. He looks over to Colten, who’s still awake, and watching nervously. “Did you hit him?”

Cole’s eyes flick to Lux, then back to their captor. He nods seriously.

“Come here, then.”

Lux closes his eyes with a soft emotional sound. He doesn’t know what the Hunter plans to do, but it won’t be good. He hopes desperately that Colten won’t be punished. Of course, if he still can, Lux will offer himself in Cole’s place. Nothing has changed there.

He can hear Cole walking over. Light-footed and uncertain.

“Did you like hitting him?”

Lux opens his eyes, and sees the Hunter has laid a hand on Colten’s shoulder. It’s not to keep Cole in place. It’s more… proud, supportive. They’re both looking at Lux. He closes his eyes again.

“...No,” The youngest answers quietly.

“Why did you do it?”

A beat of silence. “‘Cause I was angry.” The Hunter waits for more, and Cole finds words to tag onto his simple answer. “He was being…” Colten’s voice gets softer, a near-whisper. “Is ‘stupid’ a bad word?”

The Hunter laughs, big and jolly, and Lux flinches.

“It’s not a bad word. You haven’t done anything wrong. You hit him to make him listen to you. Did it work? Did he get quiet?”

Lux doesn’t hear a response. He assumes that Cole just nodded. The Hunter hums in thought.

“Good. See, it worked. He’s being good. If you wanted to yell at him right now, he wouldn’t argue or tell you you’re being too mean, too loud. He would just listen. Go on, is there anything you want to say to him? Anything he does that makes you mad?”

“Mmm… no, he doesn’t make me mad, really.”

“He made you mad when he made you hit him.”

“He… didn’t make me…”

“Oh, yes he did. He got you so angry that the only way to make him listen was to hit him. That was the only way. You know that, don’t you?”

It’s quiet again. Colten sniffles. Lux opens his eyes to see the little boy rubbing at his eyes, his chest hitching. The Hunter isn’t smiling now. Cole is sad, he’s crying, he’s overwhelmed.

“I’m sorry,” Cole gasps, and hunches his shoulders up until the Hunter moves his hand away. “I’m sorry, Lux, I’m sorry I h-hit you.” He takes a breath, and then another; they get more and more tumultuous until he’s sobbing. “I, I, got ang-gry, but, but, don’t w-w-wanna be mean, I got mean, I’m s-sorry, I’m sorry, h-hitting is bad and mean and I’m r-really sorry…”

He stops rubbing at his eyes to try and look at Lux, but all he sees is sad blue eyes and blood from when he was hit. Colten croaks out a miserable sound and falls into Lux’s lap, leaning against his chest and crying into his shoulder, still apologizing.

Lux can’t hold him because he’s chained up, and he can’t comfort him because he’s emotional and scared. The Hunter seems disappointed with this turn of events, like he was going to get Colten to say it was worth it, or like he was even going to make Colten hit him again.

The Hunter sighs. “Move. I’m going to show you how to really do damage with a punch.”

Lux’s heart breaks for the little boy as he hurries to get away from Lux, remembering what the consequences were for going too slow last time. The Hunter tells Colten to watch, and the kid rubs at his eyes again, sitting up on his knees, before the Hunter reels back for a punch of his own. Lux watches the man before him in fear.

“Don’t turn your head away, you keep looking at me,” The Hunter instructs, and Lux nods slightly with a bit of a whimper. Colten watches, mortified by how much control the Hunter has right now. How Lux is about to let himself get hit in the face again.

That heavy fist is swung and it crashes against Lux’s nose, making it creak and shift as the warlock’s head snaps to the side. Lux cries out and then moans, more blood spilling to the floor. He keens when his head is made to tip back up, and his nose is touched on either side.

“Broken. Let me fix that for you, keep you from looking all crooked, darling.”

With some pressure and force, the Hunter realigns Lux’s nose, drawing cracking and grinding sounds, along with pained cries.

“That is how you hit someone. Maybe you’ll get better at it if you practice when you’re angry.” The Hunter’s speaking to Colten, who’s watching with wide eyes as Lux stops groaning and taking loud, staggered breaths when their captor glares at him.

“I’m going to bring down your breakfast now.” He’s not speaking to Lux, even though their eyes are locked. Colten gets breakfast, and it’s pretty good, for something given to a prisoner. Lux doesn’t get his invariable oatmeal this early.

“If - if I can -” Lux starts, terrified - “C-can I earn something, please? A - a book, or crayons, or - a baseball, just, anything, he’s r-really bored.” His voice sounds clogged and heavy from his nose being broken. He still does his best to get the words out.

The Hunter chuckles. “Is that what he hit you for? He wanted you get him toys, and you refused to try and earn them for him?”

No, that’s not it, that’s not what it was about. It wasn’t that simple or childish. Lux isn’t sure how to answer, so he presses on. “No food. For me. For a c-couple days. And when I don’t eat, he can h-have things to do… if that’s something you’d like?” Lux’s voice has grown smaller and lighter with his nerves. “I’ll get… tired, and dizzy, and really hungry… and, and I won’t ask for food, for as long as I can, I’ll t-try my best.”

“Hmm. What do you think, Colten?”

Cole hugs himself when the Hunter speaks to him. “Um… I don’t want him to get hungry.”

“Well, he doesn’t want you to get hungry. Sorry my light, he’s going to have to stay bored. I guess if he gets upset about it again, he knows what to do.”

The Hunter taps the side of Lux’s nose, earning a flinch and a soft pained sound, before he stands over his light.

“You behave,” The man says, nodding to Lux. He looks to Colten, then. “You - I hope you don’t. I’d like to see you get better with your fists.”

As soon as the Hunter’s on the other side of the cellar door, Colten’s hurrying back over and clinging to Lux.

“I’m not gonna hit you again, I promise, never gonna hit again,” The younger boy babbles, terrified that Lux believes in the Hunter’s encouragements about becoming better at hitting. Lux looks down at the top of Cole’s head.

“I believe you. It’s okay, Cole. I know you’re sorry. You’re still my friend. It’s okay.”

[queenlegacyproductions]

The Death of Me (A Finn Balor Demon Story)

A/N: The demon owns my ass, ok? And Wrestlemania 35 did not help. Therefore, enjoy. That’s it. That’s all. I’m writing for my biggest muse, Finn, again. I felt at home, writing this story. I hope you enjoy it as much as I did.  THIS WAS 2369 WORDS! What is life?

Tag List: @wwevampireamongkpop @gold--gucciempress @tacoshu @ladytea19 @evilangel84 @littledeadrottinghood @superrezzy00 @anerdisasanerddoes @melinated-moon-goddess @neversatisfiedgirl

Mondays suck.

There’s no question about it. Especially the first Monday after Spring Break when you’re a college professor. The workload seems more hellish than it did before you finally free from dealing with perfectionist kids on Midterm Week. Then, the work with the lesson plans, meetings with the big boss of the department about what direction the school wanted the department to go, grading papers and projects, etc., etc. But that’s what a typical professor would have to deal with.

Riley was far from your typical professor.

unless your typical professor happens to be the daughter of Death herself….

Then, you’re not far off.

In addition to her human life as a professor, Riley also helped her mom, Morrigan, with her duties of birthing babies to the human world while her mom helped soldiers in war. While she enjoyed breathing life into a newborn baby, she’d much rather enjoy some sleep.

Dealing with humanity is a tiring tall task.

But being the daughter of a goddess has its perks. Much like her mother, Riley has the power to shape shift, which gives her the ability to shift into her human form with ease, no matter what realm she’s in. But also much like her mother, she’s very vindictive. It’s the one of the reasons why her boss, Hunter names her one of the professors at the World Wrestling Academy. But the vindictiveness is one of the traits Riley was hoping not to have, considering the history between her mother and her father.

Long story short: Moms took a liking to Dad. He didn’t recognize her. Now Dad walks with the demons. Oof.

And Riley found herself in that same situation.

A few weeks ago, Riley met with all the professors at the Faulty Spring Kickback. She already knew Seth, Joshy, Sheamus, and Joe but it was another man that caught her attention when she heard that giggle.

A giggle that came from a man, probably 5’11”, broad shoulders, muscular forearms underneath the black button up which was tucked into the black slacks that shows off his muscular thighs. She wasn’t aware that she was staring until Becky called her name to invite her over.

And even since then the man by the name of Finn Balor had the eye and the heart of the Phantom Princess and that scared her.

She shook her head out of her thoughts as she sat at her desk, preparing her presentations for her lectures tomorrow when she heard a knock at the door. She looks up to see Nikki Cross, her student assistant.

“I’m sorry to interrupt ya and your work, Ms. Carter but Mr. Balor wishes to see ya in the dean’s presidential room.” She said.

“What, now?” Riley looks at the clock. “It’s 7:30 pm. Did he say what he wanted?”

“No. He di’n’t specify, ma’am.” Riley sighs.

“All right. Thanks, Nikki. You go home. Take care of Killian for me, will ya?” She laughed as she waves Nikki off.

“Ok. T’anks, Ms. Carter.” Nikki said before she takes off. Riley straightens up her desk before she leaves her office to go to the dean’s conference room. She walks up the hall to the elevator which she takes to the first floor. She waits for the doors to open as she straighten up her suit when the lights in the elevator began to flicker.

“The hell?” She said as she raises an eyebrow at this when she steps off the elevator. She looks around for a few minutes, waiting for something to happen before she shrugs and continues to walk down the hall to the room, the lights behinds her going dark as she did. Riley finally arrives at the room when she notices the temperature had dropped dramatically. She goes to raps her fingers on the door but the door cracked open before she could.

“Hello?” She called out with no response. Her eyes narrows to a suspicious squint, her jaw and shoulders tensing, sensing fuckery as she would put it.

“Finn?” She pushes the door open, surveying the whole room before she steps in completely. The lights in the room appear to be broken, giving the room an eerie feeling with a buzzed flicker before the lights go completely out.

“Goddamn. Really? I hate the fucking dark.” She said, looking around.

“That’s ironic, knowing you.” A voice said behind her. She jumps and turns around, looking frantically around in the darkness.

“Who's there?!” Her body now completely tense in a pre-fighting stance, feet shoulder width apart and shoulders raised with clenched fists. She hears the voice chuckle.

“Relax, A stór. ’m not here to hurt ya. Ya can relax.”

“And why should I believe you if I don’t know who you are?” She asked, keeping her power at bay. The voice chuckles again.

“But you do know me, darlin’. Your dear mother warned you about me.” Riley gasped as she remembers the conversation she had with her mother. The room illuminated red to reveal a muscular figure in the shadows. Tendrils hung from his head as he stood, staring at her. Riley’s eyes go wide as her hands began to shake.

“F-Fi-Fi-.”

“Yes, A ghrá. It’s me. Or rather, the real me.” Finn said as he stepped out from the shadows. His body is painted black, red, yellow, and green. “I said, you can relax. I do not wish to hurt you...unless you want me to…” His voice takes a seductive tone. Riley raises her hands in full defense mode.

“Back off, man! I don’t mess with demons!” This makes him chuckle.

“Oh, darlin’, please. A mere half-blood like you couldn’t hurt me.” he taunted at her. Her eyes narrowed in fury.

“I’m no mere half-blood.” Riley growled as her hands begins to glow purple which turns into a huge scythe that surrounds her as a defense. Balor hissed as his tendrils charges at her which the scythe deflects with ease. Riley then knocks him into the wall, scythe at his throat. He chuckles breathlessly to avoid the blade cutting his throat.

“Ok, Ok, my sweet.” He grunted as she pressed the scythe to his throat. “I was just kidding. Darlin’, have mercy.” He begged her.

“Why should I?”

“Because you’re my one promised!”

Riley furrowed her eyebrows in confusion which takes her focus off her power, making the scythe disappear, dropping Balor to her feet. “What?”

He coughed before he speaks. “You ’re my one promised. I didn’t realize it until ya walked ‘n. I just wanted to feast on your troubled soul.” He stands to his feet. “I haven’t had a tasty morsel ‘n a while now, and ya called to me.”

“You wanted to eat my soul?”

Balor raises his hand in surrender. “At first, I did, A ghrá.”

“And now?”

“And now, I just want you for another reasons. One reason is to take you as my queen.”

“Why should I now that you have assaulted me?”

“I was testing you, M’fhíorghrá. I meant no harm. Please, believe me.” He begged as he kneeled at her feet in submission. Riley contemplated before she grabs him by the lapels of his suit jacket, loving his look of surprise.

“Get me out of here…” He gives her a smile which died down when she says, “Oh, you aren’t forgiven. You’ve got some kissing up to do.”

“Yes, my love.” He said.

He then teleported them to his bedroom. She looks around to get a good look of the room. She spotted the pole in the middle of the room. She walks over to it, running a hand up and down it.

“The pole interests you.”

“I want to know why you have it in your bedroom.” He walks over to her, wrapping his arms around her waist from behind.

“Let’s just say I like to have dinner and a show.” He said as he kisses her neck, one of his tendrils pushing her hair away from her neck. She gives a satisfied sigh at the action as she reaches out to touch one of his other tendrils. She feels the soft texture of it, almost like warm liquid silk. She gasps as the tendril slides up her arm under her shirt to her back to undo her bra that falls to the floor. Two other tendrils then slid up her sides to wrap around her waist to her breasts where they tease the hardened points of her nipples.

“Oh, my…” Riley’s breath takes in her throat as she throws her head back against his shoulder.

“Your nipples are really sensitive, A stór.” He said as he observed her reaction to his touches. She shrieks a little as he rips open her shirt to see the tendrils on her breasts. He cups her breasts in his hands, growling as he feel the weight of them.

“Take me to bed, Balor.” He kissed her neck again before he released her from his tendrils to place her on the bed. His tendrils undresses her as he gets on top of her. He lays kisses on her stomach as his tendrils slid up her legs and arms to hold her down.

“Hey, what the f-?” He chuckles at her.

“A stór, you said I had a lot of kissing up to do. I intend to make good on your demand. With a little assistance, if you don't mind.” She goes to respond but instead she gasps as one of his tendrils tease her clit. She moans as her head fall back against the bed.

“Oh, fuck!” She screamed as she pulls at her bounds. “That feels so good!”

“Mmm, so wet, my little luv. You must really like them, don't you?” He gets a whine in reaction. “I bet I wouldn't have to leave my throne to have you. To take you in front of the whole court and no one would say a damn t'ing. You know why, my sweet?”

She whimpers. “W-Why?”

“Because you're mine.” She gives out a sudden shriek when the tendril slips inside her pussy slowly.

“Oh, god!”

“Not God, luv. I’m your king.” Balor corrected her as another tendril slides up her body to her mouth where it slides in her mouth. She moans around it with a pleading look in her eyes.

“You look so beautiful like this, my queen.” he admitted her form  as he moves the tendril inside her pussy faster and faster, making her scream and gag on the one in her mouth. “Your mind is telling you that it’s too much but I know you better than you. You can take more than what you think.” He leans down to suck on her nipples as the tendril toys with her clit as it curls against her G-Spot. Her back arched as her shrieks are muffed by the tendril in her mouth as she orgasms, soaking the sheets. Balor growls at her action, smacking her pussy which makes her yelp.

“You are a wasteful little thing, aren’t ya?” He smacked it again, making her whine as she gets wetter. “Luckily, you still have more to give.” He quickly and fluidly crawls down her body, his tendrils leaving their respected places to take hold of her knees and ankles, spreading her apart. He licks up the inside of her right calf before he dives right into her pussy.

“Oh, fuck…” Riley whimpered, her hips thrusting towards his face. He growls as he tastes her sweet juices.

“So delicious, like the sweetest pomegranate.” He tongues her entrance as he spreads her pussy lips to stick his tongue inside her. Riley whimpers as she noticed him humping the bed. Using her power, she managed to manifest purple tendrils of her own to stroke his cock. He hissed at the contact.

“Oh, your little minx.” Balor chuckled lowly, his black eyes locking with her now amethyst  colored eyes.

“I can tease too, my king.” Riley said as she made her tendrils stroke him faster. He growled as he suddenly sits up to position himself in between her legs. Balor leans down to kiss her lips as he teases her pussy entrance with the head of his cock before he gently slides inside her.

“Oh, yes!” Riley gasps as she claws at his biceps.

“God damn, A ghrá. You’re so tight.” Balor growls as he pulls out of her to slide back in deeper. “It’s driving me mad.” He stops to pound into her hard, his hips angled to hit her g-spot with the head of his dick.

“Oh, fuck yes! Pound my pussy, mo rí! Fuck me just like that!” Riley mewls as she feels the room get hotter as he growls in her ear.

“Your pussy is fookin’ drenched. Can hear it every time I pound into you. Like a fookin’ whore. I might not last long because of how well you take me, mo bhanríon.” She just whimpers as she wraps her legs around his waist.

“Does my queen want her release already? You’re getting tighter and tighter.” He taunted. Riley just whines due Balor picking up his pace, hitting her spot harder now. He grabs her jaw gently to make her look at him. “Answer me, my sweet.”

“Y-Yes!”

“Y-Yes, what, Darlin’?”

“Sea, mo rí!” She cried out, her hands glowing purple again.

“Déan é. Tar, mo chailín milis!” Riley shrieks at she cums again at his command, clawing at his back, drawing blood which would push Balor over the edge.

“Ó, cac! Oh, fuck, my sweet girl.” Balor growled as he fills her up with his seed. “Tóg mo shíol, ceann beag. Mo bhanríon.” He said as he takes his dick out of her pussy to fall on his back on the bed. Riley just lays there for a few moments before she regains herself to ask.

“Am I really your queen?” Balor scoffed at her.

“Of course you are, pet. You think I ever let someone attack me? Let alone, a half-blood female?” This gets him a narrowed-eye glare from the Phantom Princess. He holds his hands up in surrender. “Sorry. That wasn’t an insult to you.”

“Better not be.” He laughs at her small implied threat.

Translations:

A stór - my treasure

A ghrá - Love

M’fhíorghrá - My True Love

mo rí - My King

mo bhanríon - My Queen

Déan é. Tar, mo chailín milis - Do it. Come, my sweet girl.

Ó, cac - Oh, Shit

Tóg mo shíol, ceann beag. Mo bhanríon - Take my seed, little one. My queen.

A/N: Tell me what you think! Reblog, and share with your friends. Thanks for Reading! Let me know if I missed any translation as well! Cheers, Dears!