#my inner demons dancing to it instead of bothering me for once

[oreo-creampie]

Mother will feed you content soon

[xseaxwitchxkpop]

NSFW Alphabet: Sub!Seonghwa Edition

A/N: idk anyone in Ateez who pushes the catboy agenda more than hwa and this precious soul just makes me have cute aggression. Lemme just remind everyone that stage presence ≠ bedroom preference, so he might be a demon on stage but I personally think he's very far from dominant in the bedroom. Also this is framed for a femme!presenting reader.

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A = Aftercare (What they’re like after sex)

A very clingy baby! Even though he's the sub, he would want to hold you instead of the other way around; when you're cleaning up, give him a plushie to snuggle because he just feels very happy holding something. He would also have the most sparkly eyes ever, looking at you with pure love and adoration. He'll also be very hungry, so always have some food on hand and be prepared to be fed by him because "you need it, too, I don't care if you're my domme, lemme feed you and show you my love!"

B = Body part (Their favourite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

He's fave part on himself is probably his eyes because he knows how expressive they are for him and how transparent they are -- his eyes always betray his true emotions and considering he's a more private person, he likes this. His fave part on you would be your breasts, but not in a sexual way; whether you're part of the itty bitty titty committee or big titty gang, he likes them as a comfort thing, groping them or sucking on your nipples, it's very calming and relaxing for him!

C = Cum (Anything to do with cum basically… I’m a disgusting person)

He loves his face to be covered in either pussy juices/"cum" (since, ya know, pussies don't ejaculate lmao anyway) or use fake cum (or real cum if you have an actual dick) to cover his face and/or inner thighs, it'll get him going like nothing else. He also loves seeing his midsection painted with his own cum and also eating his own cum.

D = Dirty Secret (Pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

Every once in a while, he likes to fuck his plushies. No one would suspect this because he takes much care in cleaning them immediately afterward, so they keep their softness and hugability. He's recorded himself doing it a few times but always either deletes the videos or keeps them in a separate, unsuspecting folder in his phone; he's thought about sending them to you but never could bring himself to do so.

E = Experience (How experienced are they? Do they know what they’re doing?)

He's had a few hook ups but most of them have been pretty vanilla as many hook ups tend to be, he knows what he's doing especially with that tongue of his.

F = Favourite Position (This goes without saying. Will probably include a visual)

Probably missionary, with you on your back and him fucking you. He can easily kiss you, suck on your neck or nipples, and you can easily grab his hair roughly, pull him in closer, scratch his back with your nails, and you two can make intense eye contact. Yeah, that's his favorite position.

G = Goofy (Are they more serious in the moment, or are they humorous, etc)

He's more passionate about it than anything. He likes it rough but not necessarily fast, and he likes it soft but not necessarily gentle. It's a very delicate balance that he prefers most of the time and can be difficult to pin down when the mood has to be forced from either of you -- when that happens, he rather not have sex at all.

H = Hair (How well groomed are they, does the carpet match the drapes, etc.)

Trimmed, doesn't bother to shave and he doesn't care what you do; bush, no bush, trimmed, shaved, waxed, whatever. However, he likes it when you shave for him down there as a sweet bonding experience, nothing kinky or sexual.

I = Intimacy (How are they during the moment, romantic aspect…)

He's very sincere and very intense during sex, especially with someone he's romantically involved with because he's not the most open person and, like Yeosang, takes some prying open emotionally so when he shares that emotional part of himself and trusts that other person, that translates directly to the bedroom. He can be a little goofy if he's particularly happy that day, like giggly kisses n' shit, but otherwise very sincere, very intense.

J = Jack Off (Masturbation headcanon)

If he jacks off, you know about it because he sends you audios of himself getting himself off, complete with moans, whimpers, groans, muffling himself, and him cumming in the end of it. He never sends videos, though, because his ass has a voice kink. He masturbates semi regularly just because he has a high sex drive and you're not always available so he temporarily satisfies himself.

K = Kink (One or more of their kinks)

So, this man, has some kinks that get me thinking. He has an oral fixation for sure, so anything involving his tongue; he definitely has a breeding kink like hard-core "let me breed you, mommy/daddy, I wanna give you babies" breeding kink, more so than San; temperature play; pegging/anal play; cock rings; nail scratching; biting/marking; kitten play; shibari; restraints; voice kink; ASMR kink.

L = Location (Favourite places to do the do)

Hmmmm, maybe the bedroom? He doesn't really have a favorite place to do anything because each place brings a different kind of thrill for him, so anywhere he can look at and easily imagine you commanding him to take you or you taking him is his favorite place. His least favorite place is the shower because the water washes away the lube and is just generally an annoying interruption.

M = Motivation (What turns them on, gets them going)

Doing a sexy, feminine dance for you. Sexy girl group concepts? He learns the choreo and dances it just for you; turns him on because he enjoys you intently watching him while being just out of reach. Rubbing your hand up and down his thigh, no matter how innocent, will also turn him on greatly. Also if you cook for him -- it can be as simple as ramen but as soon as he sees that you cooked for him, he's ready to pounce you and be at your every command.

N = NO (Something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

I don't think he would be into piss play or scat play (absolutely no hate to people who are into this lol) but I think he wouldn't like them just because he's a bit of a clean freak and all he would see is a mess to clean up and that would definitely ruin the mood for him. Another definite turn off of his is extreme pain; he likes a little bit here and there, like slapping his ass and thighs, nail scratches wherever you scratch him, but flogging and riding crops are a no go for him.

O = Oral (Preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc)

He LIVES for giving oral and that's directly from his oral fixation. It keeps his mouth busy plus he gets to please his partner. Again, he also loves his face covered in cum and/or pussy juices, so oral is definitely such fun for him!

P = Pace (Are they fast and rough? Slow and sensual? etc.)

Moderate. He likes it a little faster than slower, but not exactly fast, if you get what I'm saying. He likes to feel you and you to feel him, so he wants it on the slower side of things but a slightly fast pace will be suitable for the most part. Only every once in a blue moon would he want you to fuck his brains out or to fuck yours out.

Q = Quickie (Their opinions on quickies rather than proper sex, how often, etc.)

Quickies involving penetration? Nah, not a fan. Quickies involving oral? Sign him the fuck up. He wants to see how fast he can get you to orgasm with just his tongue and since you derive such pleasure from it as well, you let him take on this challenge.

R = Risk (Are they game to experiment, do they take risks, etc.)

As long as extreme pain is not involved, he's game for a lot of things. He's always wanted to try semi public sex, voyeurism, and submissive cuckolding, but he would only try this with one of his members since he trusts them quite a lot.

S = Stamina (How many rounds can they go for, how long do they last…)

I think he could probably go two, three rounds, maybe four if he has a crapton of energy for God only knows what reason. He has experience, jacks off sort of regularly, so he can last a good while in bed while being pounded into or pounding into you.

T = Toy (Do they own toys? Do they use them? On a partner or themselves?)

He's got dildos of varying sizes because he, like San, is also a size queen. He has a couple of buttons plugs and some vibrators, along with handcuffs and bondage rope. He has a couple pairs of kitten ears and a matching choker and butt plug.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

He likes to tease, but not in a bratty way. It's a very sweet way, like poking your cheek and rubbing it like a cat as he strokes your inner thigh and ghosts your genitals, teases you with food like "hey if I make this dish, maybe you can fuck my ass tonight" and he'd act all cutesy about it, he'll make suggestive comments while making direct eye contact, and wiggle his butt sometimes.

V = Volume (How loud they are, what sounds they make)

He's a happy medium between San and Yeosang. Hwa makes noise - groans, whimpers, moans, mewling - but he isn't loud with them per say, they're very throaty noises and he uses his chest to make them so they're low in volume but frequent.

W = Wild Card (Get a random headcanon for the character of your choice)

He quite prefers the natural noises of sex between you two rather than having a playlist or any other background noise going. He's sensitive to noise in the first place and the background noise could overwhelm him in a bad way.

X = X-Ray (Let’s see what’s going on in those pants, picture or words)

He's average. Nothing too long, nothing too girthy, but boy does he know how to use his average dick regardless.

Y = Yearning (How high is their sex drive?)

He has a bit of a high sex drive. Think like smack in the middle of average horny and extremely horny and that's Hwa. He can go like three days without sex with no complaints but coming up on a fourth day may be a little bit hard for him.

Z = ZZZ (… how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

He becomes quite sleepy afterward, wanting to snuggle you to fall asleep while you rub his back up and down and he holds you and squeezes you like his personal plushie. It takes a while for him to actually fall asleep, but that's because it takes him a while to calm down enough to lull into a peaceful state of rest before succumbing to sleep.

[mammonshuman92]

- Tango -

(Lucifer x MC)

NOTE: F!MC

*** I’M GOING TO WORK ON MAKING THE MC GENDER NEUTRAL IN MY UPCOMING STORIES, PLEASE BE PATIENT WITH ME ***

It has been a few months since moving to the Devildom. Everything seemed to be working out fine and you were even getting along well with the brothers. You really felt like you were getting pretty close to them. 

Well, except Lucifer.

No matter what you did, he was always so cold and stand off-ish. He didn’t go out of his way to be rude to you or anything, but you could tell that, at most, he tolerated you. You weren’t sure why, but that kind of bothered you. Probably because you tried your hardest to be kind and polite. You even tried not to get into too much trouble with Mammon. Nothing helped.

You made your way to the dining room for breakfast. You had overslept a little causing you to be the last to arrive, taking your usual seat next to Mammon. They were talking back and forth about the upcoming festival the Student Council was putting on. It was only a few days away, and everyone at RAD had been buzzing about it. You were pretty excited yourself. 

“I can’t very well withdraw now, Asmo, we are days away from the festival.” Lucifer said. He sounded agitated.

“Well, maybe you can find a different partner.” Asmo suggested.

“To learn the entire routine in three days, and be to my standards, would take skill.”

Partner? Routine? I wonder..

“Are you talking about dancing?” You asked, curiosity getting the better of you.

The two demons turned their attention toward you. Lucifer’s gaze made you shiver a little. He’s quite intimidating.

“Mhm, Lucifer and his dance partner always do a routine at the festival but she sprained her ankle really bad and won’t be able to perform.” Asmo explained.

Don’t do it. Don’t do it. Don’t do it.

“Oh. Well, um, I’ll be your p-partner.”  Now all of the brothers were looking at you.

What is wrong with you? Huh? Dang.

Lucifer scoffed quietly. “I don;t think you understand. This is not a hip-hop routine, MC. It’s ballroom dancing.” He said.

Rude.

But he couldn’t really scare you on this subject. You knew your worth when it came to this.

You nodded, looking him in the eye, “Ok. I’ve been in dance since I could walk. I’ve also done competitions. I can do it all from hip-hop to ballet and everything in between. That includes ballroom.” You said smugly.

“Really?” Asmo curiously asked with a smile. “Why didn’t you tell me?! I would’ve taken you to the club a long time ago!” 

Lucifer turned to you,completely ignoring Asmo.“Then I suppose you know the Tango?”

“Absolutely.”

He scooted his chair out and stood up, holding his hand out to you, “Would you mind giving a demonstration?” 

Now? Can’t I eat my eggs first?

You stood and took his hand, walking over to the open space away from the table. All the brothers turned to watch you.

You moved closer to Lucifer, and adjusted your form. Hand placed gently in Lucifer’s.

“Just follow my lead.” He instructed.

You flowed so well together and kept perfect time. He’s a surprisingly good dancer. Strong and secure, yet soft in a way you thought was impossible for Lucifer.

After roughly another minute, the two of you came to a stop. All eyes were on you. Everyone was so shocked to learn about this side of you.

“Very well. Meet me in the music room after school and we will practice the routine.“ Lucifer said, before excusing himself and heading to RAD.

“So, MC.The Tango is quite sexy. Maybe you and I could also do a routine.” Asmo suggested, batting his eyelashes at you.

“Whoa, Asmo! C’mon! MY human. Not yours.” Mammon said, pointing his fork at his brother. The two squabbled back and forth for a couple more minutes and that’s when Asmo’s words finally registered.

The Tango is sexy. 

You’re doing the Tango with Lucifer.

You’re doing the Tango with Lucifer.

Oh shit.

--

After you got home from RAD you headed straight to the music room, where Lucifer was already waiting. How is he so fast?

“Good, you’re here. Ready to get started?”

The routine was fairly standard as far as Tango goes but something about it felt so wrong. But, in a good way?

I mean, Lucifer is your partner.

Lucifer.

Yeah, he’s tall and intimidating. Strong. 

But, he’s also quite handsome.

You went from barely having interaction with the eldest demon, with him barely tolerating you, to dancing with him. Holding you close, his hands on your body. 

You’ve had many dance partners in the past, but none compared to Lucifer. He was so fluid but so strong. He was so graceful. So beautiful.

He seemed to be starting to relax. He was talking to you a little. He even kind of laughed once. It was weird.

Over the course of the next few days, he seemed to really open up a lot. You found him starting conversations with you that didn’t concern the routine. He even seemed to be hanging around you a little more. You even caught him looking at you once. 

You felt better about your relationship with him. I mean sure, you had already had a pact with him before all of this, but that seemed more like a business deal than a friendship type of thing. He’s always been so formal with you. But now, it’s like he’s a whole new demon.

It was now the day before the festival. You had went to see the seamstress at Majolish after RAD to pick up your dress for the dance. It was perfect. You found yourself getting anxious. You were really looking forward to this.

You were putting your dress away when there was a light knock at your door. You quickly shoved the dress in the closet and shut the door. No one had seen it yet and you wanted it to be a surprise.

You opened the door to see Lucifer. He smiled.

“I hope I’m not disturbing you. I was planning to have tea in the music room. If you’re not busy, would you care to join me?” He asked, a slight smile on his lips.

Classical music played in the background while you and Lucifer sat, sipping tea.

“I thought listening to a classical record would help ease the mind before tomorrow. Are you nervous?”

“Me? This isn’t my first performance. Besides, and I don’t mean to be cocky, but I know the areas I excel in. Dance is one of them.” You said proudly. Granted you knew you weren’t professional level, but you knew how good you were. You better be anyway, as Dad would say, with a lifetime full of dance lessons.

Lucifer smirked, “I won’t disagree. I might even have to make you my regular partner.” He glanced at you and it made you blush. Which made him chuckle quietly.

You spent the next couple of hours together listening to music and talking. You had a great time. You definitely felt closer to him. You even found yourself to have a slight crush, even.

--

"Two minutes." The stage hand told you as you were looking in the body length mirror fixing a piece of your hair.

"Thank you." You said to him and turned your attention back to the mirror. You took a step back to get the whole view.

You were on one side of the stage while Lucifer was on the other, waiting for your cues from the stage hands. Not seeing one another until you walked out onto the floor helped your nerves a little.

I bet he looks good. You thought.

You made sure to keep the dress you had chosen out of view from anyone, because you wanted it to be a surprise. It was a good idea too, because honestly, you looked damn good.

It was black with red accents. Delicate lace sleeves covering your arms. There was also a slit on the side that reached your mid thigh.

The Tango is considered a sexy dance, and you needed to look the part. And boy, did you ever.

Over the last few days, your relationship with Lucifer had really blossomed beautifully and you actually found yourself having a crush. You’ve always liked him, or thought he was attractive, at least, but never looked at him the way you do now. You got to see a small glimpse of who he really is the last few days, away from his brothers, relaxed and doing something he enjoyed. He smiled more. The permanent crease in his forehead was gone and his eyebrows didn’t furrow.

Thinking back on the last week caused a slight flush in your cheeks and a lightness in your stomach.

“You’re up.” The stage hand motioned for you to go through the curtain they held open.

 You walked out quickly on stage and met Lucifer where your dance was to begin.

If you hadn’t been studying him so closely, you would’ve never seen the small grin that crept onto his lips before quickly disappearing. When you reached him, he almost looked smug.

Once in position, you had one hand in his and one on his back by his shoulder. His other hand was wrapped around your upper torso, holding you close to him. He leaned down slightly until his lips were near your ear.

“Now I understand why the dress was such a secret.” He whispered pulling you a little closer, that smug grin returning.

You blushed. Hard.

--

Your performance was perfect, and every step was precise. It was like you two had been dancing together forever. He kept his composure for the most part, but when he could get away with it, a tiny glimpse of that smug smile would return. Mostly during the moments of the routine with the closest contact. You died a little internally at the end of the routine when your ending stance caused your leg to be fully exposed due to the insane slit in it. You face turned red when you saw that Lucifer had noticed, causing him to chuckle at you lightly.

A few days after the festival, you had been holed up for what seemed like forever, studying for an upcoming test. You decided to take a break and wandered to the kitchen for a snack.

Having found something to hold you over until breakfast in the morning, you made your way out of the kitchen. Coming from the opposite way, down the hall, there was the faint sound of music. You checked you D.D.D.

1:13 am.

You followed the the faint sound to the music room.

Lucifer was sat in a chair with a drink in one hand. His back was toward the door, so he didn’t see you contemplating on going in or not. After a minute of your inner turmoil, he spoke.

“Instead of sneaking, why don’t you come in?”

You quietly walked in and sat in the chair a few feet from him.

You talked for a bit about this and that, when the song changed. He sat his glass on the small table between your chairs, and stood up. He held his hand out to you.

“What?” You asked curiously.

“Dance with me.”

It made you giggle. “It’s almost 2am, Lucifer.”

He just stood there, hand stuck out, smiling.

You caved and took his hand, butterflies flooding your stomach.

Not sure if it was because you’ve already danced together or the change in your relationship over the past week, but it seemed so natural. Just moving together in harmony, as if it’d always been this way. It was slow, almost intimate with no particular style. He held you close. His grip was firm, but strangely gentle.

“So, we should get to work now, for our routine next year.” He stated.

“Our routine? You’re partner will be better way before then. You won’t need me.”

“Oh, I don’t know about that. I must admit, you really know your stuff. You were quite the partner.” He stopped moving and looked at you, breaking his hold slightly but still keeping you close. 

“I rather enjoyed seeing you at the end of my arm.” His voice softer than just a second ago. “Being so close” he continued, pulling you closer to him. He leaned down slightly, “In that dress.”

You looked away, too nervous to meet his gaze. Your heart heart hammered in your rib cage.

Damn your stupid face for betraying you by turning an undiscovered shade of red! Damn it to ...well, here.

Placing one gloved finger under your chin, he tilted your head back slightly to look at him again. His attention shifted between your eyes and your lips, as he slowly leaned in. Your breath hitched in your throat. With a burst of courage that came from who knows where, you went onto your tip toes and met him halfway, planting your lips to his, sending a shiver down your spine.

Those stupid butterflies are back.

You could hear a small gasp escape from him. Your sudden rashness was unexpected.

He pulled you closer and now had a more firm hold. One hand on your waist, and the other entwined in your hair. 

The kiss was passionate. Your lips moved together harmoniously. Your heart was beating so fast you just knew he could hear it.

You weren’t aware how long the two of you stayed like that, but when Lucifer finally pulled away, you weren’t ready for it to end. He laughed lightly, and you noticed his cheeks were slightly pink.

“If that’s how it’s always going to end, I’ll ask you to dance at 2am more often.”

[darkblueboxs]

Bond, Break and Breath

Demon Jean/Kevin AU

Read here or on AO3 The Raven Prince, barely older than Jean is but with a confident set to his shoulders that speaks to something far older, looks him up and down with the unhurried confidence of someone who is used to schedules bending to his whims. His lips curl upwards, exposing his teeth, but Jean would not describe the expression as a smile. It’s too hungry by far.

“This one. I’ll take him,” says Riko Moriyama, and Jean’s fate is sealed.

There’s a strained sob from behind Jean that sounds like his mother as hands clamp down on him, pulling him from the line of offered children and towards the inner palace. He tries to wrench his head back for one last look at his mother and father, the sister who will be too young to really remember him, but the hands are all but choking him as his head is forced to bend lest his neck break under the pressure. He can see Riko’s boots as he strides ahead of them, expensive leather striking a rigid rhythm into the flagstones. There’s a matching pair which follows a measured beat behind, but it isn’t until they reach the inner sanctum that Jean can get a proper look at Riko’s adopted brother. He has the build of a fighter but none of the vitality; his eyes sit too deep in his face, darkly ringed as though sunlight is a mere memory to them. His eyes are hungry too, but it’s a curious kind of hunger, more like Jean is a book he wants to pour over, proof of a world beyond the palace walls. Jean doesn’t have time to study him further, not when he’s being dragged to the dais in the centre of the room by hands that clamp around his wrists like cuffs.

The sanctum is walled by ruby tiles that scatter the light from the oil lamps across its inhabitants in crimson pinpricks. Jean doesn’t bother to struggle as they lash him to the glistening block at its centre, but his captors grant him no lenience in return, their hands biting bruises into him as they tie him firmly enough that Jean’s fingertips begin to tingle from lack of circulation.

“Such a shame to ruin a pretty face.” The prince’s face eclipses his vision suddenly, the ruby light haloing his dark hair. “Don’t you think, Kevin?”

A non-committal sound comes from beyond Jean’s field of vision. The doors open and suddenly the chamber is filled with the molten burn of liquid metal. Jean twitches. Riko’s eyes track the movement with bright fascination.

“I’m sure you’ve heard a lot about the bonding,” Riko addresses him for the first time. Jean tries to nod, but the ties holding his head in place are too tight.

“Would you like to hear a secret?” Riko bends over him, lips at Jean’s ear. “It hurts even worse than they say.”

Any hope that Jean still held for his miserable future flickers and dies as he looks into Riko’s eyes and sees the delight dancing within. Riko keeps his eyes on Jean while the priest stands over him, mumbling in a language Jean doesn’t recognise. He keeps his eyes on Jean when they take out the knives and begin to carve matching sigils into his face and bared chest, and he keeps his eyes on Jean as the ruts in his skin are filled with molten gold that scorches him as it cools.

Then a golden chalice is held to his lips, and Jean doesn’t need to smell the hot stench to know what it holds. With merciless hands pinching his nose shut, Jean has no choice but to open his mouth and accept Riko’s blood as it fills his mouth and coats his insides black.

He’s pulled back from choking on blood and spit by the hand that presses suddenly into his chest. It isn’t the pressure so much as it is the response from his body, something in his ribcage rising to the point of contact. Riko’s hand is ice-cold against his feverish skin, the rings that adorn each finger biting into his chest.

“Jean Moreau. Do you give your body and soul that you may serve your Prince?”

Jean thinks of his family left in the courtyard, who will not be let free until the bonding is complete. “I do,” he says, his voice thickened beyond recognition.

“Riko Moriyama. Do you accept this soul to take as your own?”

“I do.”

The shifting thing in Jean’s ribcage rises like smoke, and oh¸ he had been naïve to believe he knew what pain was before this moment. His soul ripples and shifts as it wrenches itself from Jean’s chest and flows like meltwater to Riko’s waiting hands, and Jean screams and screams and screams, no, no, give it back, I need it, I need it-

And then his voice is abruptly cut out, his body silenced as bones and muscles crack and shift, adjusting and rearranging around the missing pieces. His teeth are suddenly too big for his mouth, his fingernails curling into something longer, sharper, and white-hot pinpricks of pain blossom and burst through his scalp in the shape of-

The last thing Jean sees is the hungry flash of Riko’s teeth.

*

The demon formerly known as Jean Moreau spends a day recovering in a sparse chamber before his newly-settled body is dragged out into the courtyard to begin training. He can feel Riko waiting for him before he sees him, a sense of the boy carrying his soul pulsing at the base of his skull like a heartbeat. The brother is there too, and he does nothing to hide the shock from his expression when he sees the changes that have come over Jean since the previous night’s ceremony.

Riko laughs. “That’s right! You’ve never seen one up close before, have you?” He summons Jean with a crook of his finger, and Jean’s legs jerk clumsily in his direction before his mind has a chance to catch up with them. Riko catches him by one of the freshly-grown horns protruding from his head and drags him down for Kevin’s inspection. “I did say it would be a shame to ruin that face.”

Jean hisses at Riko’s grip on his horn, still tender and new. There was no mirror in his chamber, and Jean would have lacked the energy to get up and inspect himself even if there had been one. He has seen the rivulets of gold branded into his chest, the sharp points at the ends of his hands where nails turned to claws, can feel the awkward new shape of the elongated canines that catch at his bottom lip. He isn’t sure he needs to see any more.

Kevin stares, transfixed, and for a moment Jean catches sight of his reflection in Kevin’s eyes. His eyes are a solid black, the bonding sigil shining painfully bright on his cheek.

Almost unthinkingly, Kevin reaches out to him. Before Jean can think to flinch away, Riko is yanking him back by the horn.

“Ah, ah. No touching my things, Kevin.” His tone is playful, but Jean can feel the surge of anger beneath. “We’ll get you your own soon enough, won’t we?” He turns to Jean. “Maybe a matching pair. How old was that girl he came here with?”

Jean’s fist is an inch from Riko’s face when the pain hits. He falls to his knees, choking on air as Riko stands over him, smirking like Jean just passed some sort of test, which he probably did. The bonding is like an iron cuff around Jean’s throat, choking him out until the impulse to harm his Prince subsides.

Training is simple. Riko is a boy with many enemies, and it is Jean’s duty to tear them down before they can lay a finger on him. He may be young and inexperienced in combat, but the changes that have taken over him still give him advantage over the grown men tasked with beating him into shape. His reflexes are faster, his sight and hearing sharper, his already considerable strength almost doubled, his stamina virtually endless. For most of the morning any wounds he takes stitch themselves back together before he has a chance to examine them: it’s only as the day wears on that the cuts and bruises start to linger. He glances to where Riko and Kevin are watching from the shade of the trees, but no reprieve comes. Riko waves his men on with a flick of his wrist, and they continue until Jean’s legs will no longer support him.

When the fighting is over, Riko pokes at Jean’s wounds with interest. Kevin keeps his eyes fixed on the blood-flecked cobblestones, and Jean can hardly blame him.

“He does have limits,” Riko says. “Interesting.”

Kevin doesn’t say anything, but Jean doesn’t miss the way his fingers twitch.

When Jean wakes the next morning, there’s a pot of salve on his bedside table. It smells like the lavender fields of home, the sense memory so strong that Jean’s eyes sting. He tests it out, unsure if he’s about to become the victim of another of Riko’s “tests”, but finds the cream soothes yesterday’s aches as it sinks into his skin like butter.

Down in the courtyard, it’s no longer the pulse of his soulholder that calls to him, but someone else instead.

*

Ten years do nothing to soften Riko’s edges. As he grows, so do his enemies, and time after time Jean steps in, biting and tearing and cutting until there is nothing left of the foolish assailants. He grows accustomed to being the shadow at Riko’s shoulder, to the terrified looks ordinary people shoot him as he passes, to the hollow in his chest where his soul once lived.

“Why do you hate me?” Kevin murmurs as he sews one of Jean’s unhealed wounds back together. Riko had been experimenting with silver knives lately, fascinated by how Jean’s healing abilities were seemingly defeated by the precious metal. It’s the dead of night, and while Jean’s eyes no longer struggle to penetrate the darkness he has no idea how Kevin is able to sew him up with so little difficulty.

“Did I say I hated you?”

“It’s obvious.” There’s a click as Kevin bites through the thread and begins to tie it off with blood-slick fingers. It’s the kind of wound that would have brought Jean to tears during his early days in the palace walls. Now, his voice barely wavers as Kevin pulls him back together.

“I hate that you’re here when you don’t have to be.”

Kevin’s fingers stall. “Riko is asleep. He never has to know.”

“I don’t mean this,” Jean replies scornfully. He turns and plucks the thread from Kevin’s loose hands. “I mean here with him. You have no bond. You have a working body, a soul of your own, a family beyond the palace walls who would welcome you with open arms. You could be free, but you choose to fester in the shadows with us. You choose him.”

Kevin reaches as if to take the thread back, but his hands halt inches away, hovering in the space between them. “You want me to leave?”

“More than anything,” Jean bites. He thanks a God he never believed in that Kevin can’t see in the dark. He doesn’t know what his face is doing, but he knows it’s revealing something Jean has been keeping hidden for years alongside the pots of salve and sewing things under his mattress.

Kevin’s response, when it comes, is quiet, strained. “Who would sew you back together?”

Jean has no answer to give.

*

“Hold him, Jean. Hold him!”

The order courses through Jean’s arms like blood, tightening his grip on Kevin’s thrashing arms. Kevin stares up at him with watery, pleading eyes. As though Jean has any choice in the matter. After all this time there’s still a part of Kevin that doesn’t quite understand.

Jean pins Kevin’s hand in place, and Riko strikes.

*

“Jean? What the hell are you doing here?!”

Jean had grown used to living with one hole in his chest. Two is unbearable, and he only understands how unbearable it was when Kevin’s voice settles back into place within him.

“Kevin,” Jean says. He doesn’t have the strength for much else, every inch of his body at war with itself. Riko’s orders burn like wildfire through every cell in his body, but some impossible gem of resistance at his core holds out. “Kevin, I’m sorry.”

“Jean-?!” Kevin’s voice is cut off as Jean strikes, a harsh strike to the sternum that has Kevin bending over double. Jean catches his arms before he can react, forcing them behind his back until the choice is between breaking an arm or submitting. He can feel the ridges of Kevin’s scars under his grip as he forces him to the ground, much improved after his months away but still there.

“He ordered me to bring you back,” Jean grits out through his teeth. “I can’t…. I can’t stop.”

He feels Kevin’s body go lax beneath him. Kevin’s voice comes out hollow, and if Jean still had a soul it would be torn in half by the surrender in his words. “I understand.”

Jean turns Kevin over slowly, allowing himself to meet Kevin’s gaze at last. His new life is treating him well, his skin having lost the unnatural ashy tint of the palace, his cheeks filled out and sun-bitten. Jean soaks it in, trying to memorise the image before he tears Kevin away from it forever. Kevin’s eyes flicker to Jean’s sigil, then down to his lips, and he looks like he’s about to say something when he catches sight of something over Jean’s shoulder. His eyes widen.

“Look out!”

Something hits the back of Jean’s head, hard. If he were human, it would have shattered his skull. He rolls to the side before springing back to his feet, placing himself between Kevin and the attacker. His breath catches in his throat as he catches sight of the other assailant: he has never met another demon before. He’s shorter than Jean, but more muscular by far, his all-black eyes contrasting sharply with his blonde hair. The sigil on his cheek is a deep amber and silver knives flash in the palms of his hands.

“You touched something that isn’t yours,” he says lowly.

“Isn’t-” Jean starts, stops, and all the air leaves his body in a sudden, sharp shock. He turns to Kevin, denial giving way to deep, burning anger as he sees Kevin’s panic.

“Jean. It isn’t what it looks like,” Kevin begins frantically.

Jean clenches his teeth, turns, and swings for Kevin’s demon’s face. The punch doesn’t even connect, nor did Jean expect it to. Regardless, his bond urges him on, swinging blow after blow which the demon dodges with ease, his bored expression never cracking. Eventually, he grows tired of Jean’s efforts catching him by the neck and throwing him to the ground.

“Andrew,” says Kevin as the demon steps forwards. “Please, don’t.”

“What did I tell you about that word?”

Kevin’s mouth snaps shut, his lips pressing into a tense line. The demon – Andrew – turns back to Jean, eyes narrowed. “If we let him go, he’ll keep coming back. His bond won’t allow him to give up.”

“Don’t kill him. Andrew, I know him, he’s not like Riko, he doesn’t…”

Andrew sighs. “You are a pain, Kevin Day.”

Jean doesn’t feel the hit: one moment Andrew is standing over him, and the next, everything has gone black.

*

Jean feels Riko’s death pulse through him like a hot iron poker pressed through his chest. He screams, clawing at his chest as he rolls from his bunk in the cell he has spent the last – days, weeks, months? – trapped in, and by the time he hits the floor Riko is gone.

But Jean, somehow, doesn’t follow. A hundred miles away, he feels his soul flicker, seep into the air and begin curling its way into the beyond- and then something catches it.

Something warm. Something safe.

For the first time in over a decade, Jean can breathe again.

*

The Kevin that unlocks his door at last has a deep gash where his tattoo used to be. He stands taller than Jean has ever seen him, but it’s on the inside that the real change has taken place. His heartbeat pulses in the back of Jean’s mind as the heat of a fresh bond hums between them.

“It can’t be possible,” Jean says. “Andrew-”

“Andrew is a freed demon. He was never bonded to me,” Kevin says in a rush, like the words have been weighing on him ever since their initial reunion. “I wanted to explain, but he wouldn’t let me come near you in case you tried to take me away again.”

Jean swallows. “He was right. I would have dragged you away kicking and screaming the first chance I had.” He reaches out to Kevin, pressing fingers to his chest to feel the flutter of his own soul resting beneath the skin. “How…?”

“I don’t know,” Kevin says, swallowing. “I saw your soul leave him, and I thought it would just evaporate, but then it kind of…” He gestures wordlessly to his chest. “Settled. What does it mean?”

Jean thinks he knows, but there’s only one way to be sure. He surges forward, and Kevin doesn’t flinch, doesn’t blink, maybe the only person who has never looked at Jean with an inkling of fear, and when their lips meet it’s like two halves of a whole coming together.

Kevin gasps into his mouth as though Jean is a breath of air after years drowning at sea, and gasps again as Jean’s claws rake lightly across his scalp. They’re pressed together so tightly they no longer feel like two different beings, and for a moment Jean wonders if this is part of the bond or if this is just them, because he feels like he’s holding Kevin’s soul in his chest as much as Kevin is holding his.

“Oh,” Kevin says against his lips. “That’s why.”

And then he kisses him again, and again, and again.

*

They break the bond on a bright day that is full of birdsong and sunlight. The agony of a world-worn soul settling back into his chest is an acute one, but Jean survives it with Kevin’s arms tight around him. Jean’s chest heaves with his first breath as a freed demon, and it’s Kevin’s green eyes that welcome him back to the world. *

[gothamslittlejester]

Sweet Comfort

This was written for my dear friend @ajokeformur-ray​ who deserves the world and all the Joker comfort it can bring <333 Thank you for checking up on me even after I fell off the earth, and for reminding me just how much I missed writing. I hope that in return this brings a smile to your face and reminds you just how loved and adored you are :)) (also I know I went SLIGHLTY over word count but oop)

Angst to Comfort. Reader goes into a depression spiel and begins to self isolate and shut down, trying to push Joker away as a result. He’s not having any of that.

Word Count: 2566

TW: Language, depression/depressive thoughts, but quickly followed by clown cuddles!

You just knew, from the very moment you opened your eyes that morning, that today would be nothing short of the exhausting, dreaded imprisonment that was your own depression. It was bleak, and dark, and pulled you in with heavy hands, like a blackhole designed for your own suffering. And suffering you were.

You closed your eyes again and prayed for sleep. The mere thought of getting up to pour some coffee seemed too complicated and tiring, so you didn’t even bother entertaining the idea. What was yesterday’s anxiety was now today’s misery, and you mentally slapped yourself for ignoring the signs. You had dismissed the intrusive thoughts that had whispered to you all week- surely they would go away alone, right?- but they had taken their time to catch up with you, and now you were facing the consequences. Bitterly, you wondered if you deserved it.

Despite everything, you couldn’t help but give your destructive subconsciousness some credit; it waited patiently to attack, taking its time in the back corners of your mind to let stress and insecurities seep into your bloodstream before the real pain sunk in. It wasn’t even cruel voices at this point- something you could pinpoint and fight against, something you could stop- it was just a thick, dark sea of emotions, and it pulled you in with serrated teeth.

It was the perfect poison, and you didn’t even know you were drinking it.

You had gotten so lost in your misery that you barely noticed the rustling sound coming from your left, barely felt clothed arms wrapping around your waist. Your silent suffering was immediately interrupted as Joker sleepily pulled you close, and although your masochistic thoughts still gripped into your flesh, Joker’s presence was unintentionally offering a distraction. Smokey breaths caressed your cheek, and you almost felt it- fuck, you wanted to feel it- but the sickness in your mind was ruthless and refused to give in so easily. Stray pieces of green hair tickled your neck as your lover nuzzled deeper into the embrace, still blissfully oblivious to the inner turmoil inside you.

A small part of you wanted to scream, to cry out for him, to beg him to pull you even closer until all you felt and thought and knew was his body, so you could heal, but your lips stubbornly remained shut. Instead, you silently prayed he would go back to sleep, so you could continue to suffer alone without dragging him into your own personal hell.

And maybe he would have gone back to sleep, like your demons wanted, if you had actually curled back into him like you always did and responded to his morning loving. But you didn’t, you didn’t move a muscle, and even in his hazy grogginess he could feel something was wrong.

His eyebrows creased together in confusion and tried again, nuzzling into your neck and leaving warm kisses to your cold skin. Joker knew you were awake from how you were breathing, so why weren’t you responding? He softly bit and nibbled at your throat, his fingers dancing along your torso as he wordlessly pleaded for a reaction.

He expected his little game to work, he knew how much you craved his attentive touch, yet you didn’t even offer a twitch in response. By now you would have scooched closer, interlaced your fingers in his hair, turned your head towards him, perhaps even giggled at the attention… but you continued to face the wall as if he didn’t even exist, and this set off several red flags in his brain.

He began to stir again, this time fully awake, and turned your body so you were facing him. You let him twist you around until your forehead was mere inches from his, but continued to hide behind the bulky comforter so he wouldn’t see the sadness that contorted your features. You tensed up, waiting for him to pull the blanket away, for the interrogation to begin… but neither came. You knew he was looking at you, studying you, and he most definitely could feel the despairing energy radiating from your body, yet he remained silent. His fingers continued to caress your stomach lovingly, quietly telling you he loved you, to open your eyes and tell him what was wrong, dammit, but you continued your isolation regardless.

Moments passed, and Joker began to feel his instinctive protectiveness take over. He had always been eerily observant when it came to you, and somewhere deep in his chaotic mind he came to the exact conclusion on what was wrong, minus the little details. He easily gathered you wanted to be left to suffer alone just from your body language, but he dismissed that thought entirely. You wished.

His arms once again wrapped around your body, this time more forcefully, and pulled your head against his chest.

“Tell me what’s wrong and how I can make it go away.” Despite the soft plea in his tired voice, you knew this wasn’t an offer, but a demand. Joker rarely demanded things from you, regardless of his dominating nature, but this was one of the few times he did, and you knew there was absolutely no room to argue.

The blackhole that was your depression continued to pull, its hands growing desperate, but now your clown was here, and Joker refused to let go. It was a tug of war, and you weren’t sure who was going to win. He pulled you deeper into his chest, the red fabric of his coat covering your vision and protecting you from the outside world. You idly wondered why he was wearing the blazer in bed and why he hadn’t taken it off last night, but the familiar scent of cigarettes, detergent and innocent blood brought you a small piece of comfort, as macabre as it was.

“I’m fine.” you said in a clipped voice, swallowing down the tremble in your throat. All you wanted to do was sink into your lover’s arms, let his words sooth you in a slumber and gently pick apart the demons that resided in your mind, but your depression wouldn’t allow it. The soundless voices egged you to isolate from him… to hide under the covers of your blanket and mourn your lost peace of mind… and you nearly did- how tempting sadness could be- if it wasn’t for how quick Joker had grown accustomed to your behavior.

The painted ends of his lips began to pull into a frown, his demeanor slowly changing into something more alarmed, and much, much more protective. His expression completely clouded over, and instinctively his arms began to tighten around your body almost painfully, protecting you from whatever was hurting his beloved soulmate.

“You know, I may be a clown but I’m not a fool”.

You furrowed your brows in silence, unable to come up with a good answer. You knew how perceptive he could be, and in complete honesty the last thing you wanted was to push him away, but dragging him into your pain felt selfish and wrong.  You silently begged him to leave, to let you wallow in your own misery and not bring him into the grief that was your mind, but Joker began gritting his teeth like he had heard exactly what you were thinking.

“Don’t hide from me. Never from me.” He began to cradle your head in his hands, his nose ghosting up and down your face as he breathed in your scent. It was comforting and dotting, an undeniable sign of love, yet simultaneously loud with the words “I’m not going anywhere, so start talking.”

“I don’t want to push you away,” You finally whispered, tears threatening to spill over. “I don’t want to hide from you, I want to tell you everything even though it hurts.”

“Then don’t hide. Tell me everything that’s bothering you, no matter how bad it is, please.”

He was growing more overprotective every second, feeling your pain and fear grip at his heart but unable to pinpoint the danger causing it. He just wanted to see you smile, to see you happy and strong, and he wasn’t relenting until he knew exactly what was preventing it. He knew the walls you had created to keep him out were seconds away from breaking so he urged you on, his fingers still clutching your head near his, desperate for you to let him in.

“Please,” he repeated once more, torment coating his voice, and he knew the second you started to tremble that he had succeeded.

“Arthur…” you whispered out in a heartbroken sob, finally letting the tears spill out and trickle onto his clothes. You began to shake as the sadness trapped in your soul finally escaped, too weak and tired to hold it in for any longer.

Immediately, Joker began to coo in your ear and pet your hair, wiping the tears away with chaste kisses and soft touches. His legs wrapped around yours and he pulled the blanket more snuggly around you, creating a cocoon just for the two of you. He rubbed slow circles on your temple in an attempt to prevent a headache that was certainly going to follow, nuzzling your head even closer- if possible- to his own.

“It hurts,” you sobbed, clutching at your chest as if it was somehow your heart’s fault for creating this misery in your head. “It hurts, Arthur, and I don’t know what to do…”

“I know,” He crooned, his red lips leaving wet smears with every kiss he placed on your cheeks. “Let it out, sweetheart, just let it out. Let your Joker take care of you today. Let me help you.”

And so you did. You cried and cried for what felt like hours, basking in Joker’s care and protective grip on your trembling body. Not once did he drop his hold on you or stop his possessive care, patiently letting you release all the depression and anxiety you had been hiding away, until there was nothing left but small sniffs and hiccups.

“I’m sorry for ignoring you this morning. I was so sad, and felt so alone… I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t… I didn’t want to burden you with my stupid mental issues”. You admitted, tiredly listening to the beating of his heart.

He shushed you, shaking his head at the last part. There was nothing ‘stupid’ about you, especially not something that hurt you to this extent. You were never a burden to him, and it tormented him that your demons had placed that idea in your head for so long without him noticing.

“I’m so proud of you,” he whispered into your ear. Despite his reassuring words his voice quivered with anger, directed not at you but at the world and all the assholes that inhabited it. He knew you blamed yourself for your depressive states, but Joker didn’t believe you were the sole cause for a second. He speculated it was a lifetime of blaming yourself for family, fake friends, and other inconveniences, internalizing the blame instead of accusing those who were really responsible. It made his blood boil, and he bitterly wondered if he would start laughing uncontrollably at it all. How dare they show you so little mercy, leave you so empty and tortured and sad that you felt your only option was to close yourself off and suffer in silence? How dare these worthless, scummy, civilized people, break you like this? He had to physically bite his tongue to stop from voicing these thoughts aloud; you were still in a very vulnerable state and needed love and reassurance, not a furiously possessive bodyguard. He’d save that for another time. For now…

“Thank you for trusting me like this,” he muttered against your cheek after he had calmed himself down, and you nearly broke down a second time.

“Why are you thanking me?” You asked, because the thought of your clown loving you so much just didn’t make any sense to you right now. Not while the remnants of hatred and insecurity still lingered in your mind and body.

“Arthur, I should be thanking you, why-”

He shushed you promptly with a soft peck at your lips, letting his painted ones linger there for brief second so he could whisper a gentle “look at me”.

You shook your head stubbornly, ignoring his order, but Joker was having none of that. “Sweet thing,” he offered again, his voice absolutely heavy with concern but also intense with determination. “Look at me. Don’t make me ask you twice.”

He had a feeling the dominating nature of his tone might make you comply, and sure enough, your eyes shyly peeked up at him through wet lashes. His piercing eyes bore deep into your soul, captivating your entire existence so you couldn’t look away. It was the first time today that you had actually looked at him, and you were utterly devastated to find that his eyes were faintly puffy and unforgivably red, just like yours. Your eyes followed the trail of a single blue drop of paint that went down to his painted smile, but before you began crying all over again, he put a finger to your lips and shook his head. This isn’t about me.

“Thank you,” He praised, knowing you would finally listen to him and hear what he had to say. You were completely at his mercy, and mercy was exactly what you were getting.

“Your pain is my pain, and my pain is yours. If I… isolated myself away from you when I needed you the most, would you be ok with that?” It was a fair question. You shook your head no.

“Then how can you push me away for the same thing?”

You didn’t have an answer, but luckily for you, he had asked it rhetorically.

“All I want is for you to be happy… and safe… but also to… understand, that I would do absolutely everything for you. Your sadness is not a burden to me. Never think that.” His voice was hushed and serious, his eyes looking for any sign of disagreement. There was none.

“Do you understand?” He asked, desperately hoping you did. You nodded.

“Repeat it then.” He said, and although you felt it was childish, you didn’t have the energy to argue with him. Obediently, you complied to his request.

“You want me to be happy.” You mumbled shyly, and Joker gave you an encouraging kiss to your cheek, urging you to continue.

“You want me to be safe.” Another kiss, sloppier this time, and you felt a smile begin to tug at the corner of your lips.

“You would do anything for me, I am not a burden, and I should never think that.” Kiss, kiss, kiss.

“I understand.” You said finally, and Joker rewarded you by attacking your whole face with painted kisses, purposely avoiding your lips so he could hear the delightful sound of your surprised squeals and laughter. Finally after what seemed like forever, you felt all the sadness and stress of the morning melt away at last, and although a small part of you knew it would one day come back, for now it was nowhere to be found.

“I love you,” he cooed, and gave you a smile so sweet you couldn’t help but smile back.

[illneverrecover]

fade into you | kth (m)

➛pairing: Kim Taehyung x Reader ➛genre: CEO!Taehyung, Boss!Taehyung, smut, fluff, pwp. ➛word count: 2084 ➛rating: explicit/mature ➛warnings: cursing, slight exhibition, fingering, very light choking, marking, unprotected sex, sex with feelings because Tae is a big softie. ➛summary: You were already sleeping with your boss (at the office, no less). Why not marry him as well? ➛notes: This is dedicated to the sweet & always lovely @la-vie-en-tae in celebration of her birthday. Happy birthday, Cara! I hope you enjoy <3 Thank you for always being so sweet & supportive! Also, this can be read as a continuation of a previous drabble of mine, Golden, but it’s not necessary to read it first. This is just basically porn with very minimal plot, just like mama likes it. ➛song: What is Love - EXO // Fade Into You - Sam Palladio and Clare Bowen

Meetings were the absolute worst.

They were always so dull, everyone shuffling around the table just to faux interest in whatever the topic may be and sneak glances at their cell phones under the table. The best part of yours was usually staring at your otherworldly attractive boss; the way his large hands would engulf the edge of the dark wood table, the tight strain of white crisp button down against the expanse of his golden chest, his intense amber stare as he scrutinized and took in every word shared.

You would get lost in him for the entirety of the meeting, eyes never leaving his lean form as he prowled around the room in his perfectly cut suit. He was a sight to be seen, and it was one of the best excuses to stare at him for 60 to 90 consecutive minutes without having to worry about any judgement.

However, today, your little game was different. 

Because now when you looked at him, all you could think about what happened the day before. The way he had grasped at your thighs before sliding you up onto his desk, dropping to his knees. The way he nipped and bit at your inner thigh until you were muffling moans with your hand, the other tangled deep into midnight tresses. All you could see in your minds eye as you tried to focus on the man before you was the look on his face when he asked you to marry him, when he slid himself into you so hard that his teeth clattered before he lost himself to the pleasure and the crook of your neck.

Groaning, you cross and uncross your legs, trying to give yourself any form of relief - trying, and failing. This man had just fucked you so hard that your vision was still blurry days later, and yet you were still enraptured with all of the ways he could push you up onto this very table, claim you as his own in front of God and everyone.

Taehyung narrows his eyes at the slight movement, gaze dragging from your calves up to your apex slowly, licking his lips when he finally lands on your eyes. Arousal swims low in your belly, and you’re positive that you’re already so fucking wet that he would be able to just slide right inside of you with a single thrust.

Why did he have this power over you? What kind of demon was he?

Well that answer you did know. He was your personal demon. He was yours.

You hadn’t believed him when he first uttered the words, soft and needy against the column of your throat. Why would you? He was the CEO of this company, and you were just some nobody. Sure, a nobody he had been seeing for a few months, but that’s it. Nothing special, no grand titles or lofty aspirations. Just white hot chemistry and a deeper connection than you had anticipated with your boss.

And yet you knew, he wanted you. He only wanted you.

Letting your tongue dart out to wet your lips, you chance a look up at him as he continues his languid pace, a caged tiger in a glass case. His molten stare was on yours, on every single rise of your chest, and you could feel yourself drenching the thin fabric of your panties. Fuck, you wanted him so bad. You’d take him right here, company be damned-

“That’s all for today. Thank you all for coming, you’re dismissed - with the exception of Miss Y/N. Do you mind staying behind?”

You don’t bother answering, instead smiling with a quick bow, scanning the crowd as they filed out of the room.

Once you were alone, you wait for his next move, eyes watching his sultry stroll around the empty room. 

“Was there something you needed from me, Mr. Kim?”

His answering growl had you shivering, and soon he was above you, palm cupping your jaw to tilt your gaze to his own. “There’s always something I need from you, love.”

His pupils were lust blown wide, impossibly black as he peered down at you. It had your throat tightening, swallowing difficult as air left your lungs like a summer breeze. “Oh yeah?” you simper, voice delicate and soft. “Like what?”

A tap at your chin had you rising before him, his arms snaking around your waist to press you hard against his chest. He nosed at your neck, breath hot as it ghosted your ear. “Well first, I need you to say yes to my proposal,”

You hum, eyes rolling back in your head as he nips at the lobe. “Then, I need you to marry me, to be my wife. Be by my side.”

A groan leaves your lips as he glides his way down to your chest, a small part of your brain reminding you that you were still in the conference room, surrounded by transparent walls in your place of employment. Even sleeping with the boss wouldn’t keep you safe from the rumors that would spread if you happened to be caught like this, yet somehow Taehyung always made you forget the risks. 

“I already said yes to your proposal, you dork.” Head lolling forward, your hands clasp his cheeks and pull his face back in front of your own. “You have me, Taehyung. I’m yours,” you breathe, affection pouring from each word before your lips collide. 

Taehyung always kissed you like he was starving, like sanctuary was only found alongside your tongue, soft and pliant and ready for him. Your knees shake at his passion, collapsing against his form and tugging at his collar so you could feel more, taste him deeper. 

You whine when he pulls away, resisting the urge to yank him back to your mouth. A mischievous smirk was awaiting you when your eyes open.

“What, why did you stop? Is there something more?”

He chuckles, the sound gravelly and low, eyes dancing with mirth. “It just so happens there is. Are you willing to hear my proposition?”

You roll your eyes, scoffing, but nod anyway. When he still doesn’t continue, you sigh. “Yes, Mr. Kim.” 

A cocky grin was the last thing you saw before your back was pressed to the chilled top of the table, legs dangling over the side. You gasp, moving to sit up until he was stepping between your thighs, letting them fall open to accommodate his form. His hands start tracing patterns down your ribs, landing on the border of your skirt.

He leans forward, mouth inches from your own. “I want you to let me take you right here, in this room. Let me claim you where anyone could see or hear,” he drawls, lips skimming the skin of your jaw. “Let me show them all that you are mine.”

Any protests die in your throat when he latches to your collarbone, nipping and biting until the skin bloomed beneath his ministrations. You knew you should tell him no, that this was not the time nor the place, but you were weak. Weak, enraptured, and completely in love with the man who was unraveling you in a conference room on a Wednesday. 

“Yes,” you moan, hands digging into the hair at his nape. “Yes, please.” 

You feel him smile against your chest, fingers deftly undoing the buttons of your blouse so you were exposed to his greedy mouth. Too impatient to completely undress you, he pushes the cups of your bra down until each pebbled nipple revealed. You squeal when his heated tongue laps at one, fingers expertly rolling the other until your back is arching and your cunt throbbing.

Throwing your head to the side, you notice something through the haze of your lust. “Taehyung,” you whimper, tugging at his hair until he meets your eyes. “Taehyung, what about the glass-”

“Don’t worry, love. At a press of a button, we can make the world disappear.” 

Reaching into his suit pocket, he grabs a small remote, clicking it once before tossing it onto a nearby chair, the jacket soon following. The glass quickly fogs into an opaque white, leaving you hidden. 

“When were you going to tell me that you could do that?” you pout, pulling yourself up to rest on your elbows. The man before you just gives you a shit eating grin, hands tugging to loosen his belt. 

“When the time was right,” he murmurs, undoing his slacks until you could see his length straining against the black of his briefs. Your mouth waters at the sight, legs rising to circle his hips and pull him back towards you. 

“You’re insufferable.” 

He pushes you flat against the table, large palm pressing against the tender skin of your throat lightly before trailing down your body, leaving heat in his wake before his hands snake up your skirt. “You’re beautiful. And mine,” 

He slides off your ruined panties quickly, like it pained him to be away from your center any longer than necessary. Trailing his fingers up your slit, he groans at the slick of your arousal. “I need to be inside you.” 

His voice spurs you into action, your hands grasping to free his hardened length, giving the tip a gentle sweep of your thumb. “I need you too, Taehyung.” 

You cry out his name when he finally pushes himself inside your heat, nails digging into his golden shoulders as you flush his body to yours. The burn of the stretch has you simpering, his cock splitting you wide as he slid home. He pauses, letting the pain ebb into pleasure, before slamming into you once more, pace feverish. His thrusts were ruthless, hips snapping into yours until the room was filled with the lewd sounds of skin on skin under a cacophony of moans. 

Despite the assault, all you could think was that you wanted more, wanted him deeper. He was the sweetest poison, his body the most seductive weapon. His eyes never left your own, reverent and dripping with emotion as he watched your reactions to his touch; drinking them in. He was in your heart, in your arms, inside of you. Taehyung was completely under your skin and you weren’t sure where you end and where he begins - and yet you wouldn’t have it any other way. 

Teeth sinking into his lip, you whine into his mouth when he brushes the tender spot inside of you, veins engulfing into flame when he continues to fuck into it until it forces your eyes close.

“Look at me.” 

It was an order - or it was meant to be, but the softness of the words contradict the bite. You meet his gaze, all depthless amber, the band low in your gut poised to snap. “Look at me when you come on my cock.”

With a poignant grind of his pelvis, his words have you teetering over the edge, his name spilling out as you reach your peak. He fucks you through it, undulating slowly until your body slows its shivering and your walls stop squeezing against him. 

Humming, he leans down to press his lips against yours before picking up his pace, murmuring praise through your over sensitivity. He was close and you could tell, and the idea of him giving into his desires to finish inside of you had you clenching. 

“I love you,” you whisper, leaning forward to suckle at the juncture of his shoulder, wanting to leave something of yourself visible on him, too. “Come for me.” 

His fingers are bruising when they grasp your hips, steadying so he could slam into you harder. Curses mix with broken sounds of your name as he finally spills inside your aching core, forehead pressed to your own. He stutters through a few more pumps, making sure every drop of his seed remained deep inside before stopping, collapsing against you.

Automatically your hands raise to card through his sweat tinged locks, pulling him until he was nuzzled tightly against you. As the lust wore off, you feel the sharp edges of glass digging into your thighs, the way your ribs ached against the unforgiving wood of the conference table - but with Taehyung, you couldn’t bring yourself to care. You never could. 

“So,” he pants, tongue wetting his lips. “Does that mean you’ll marry me?”

You laugh then, chest heaving until you could feel the low rumbles of him joining you, plump lips grinning against flushed skin. 

“Of course, Mr. Kim.”

[vantaenims]

moonlight i. | jimin

pairing: contemporary dancer!jimin x reader

genre: college au | fluff, angst, mystery

word count: 1.3k

warning/s: future depictions of violence.

summary: As if it’s calling you, you followed the sounds of the luring piano inside the auditorium but what’s more alluring is the boy dancing gracefully on the stage, enthralling everyone who dares to watch but you never knew that such ethereal beauty lies within a sense of mystery.

masterlist

all rights reserved © vantaenims - do not repost, translate, or claim as your own.

next>

--

 It’s now or never.

 His mind is wiped from any rationality but was instead flooded with impulsiveness, never once cared or thought about the consequences it might lead to, just the pure thought of ending it was what’s more important.

 Helpless is what he is as he watched the mess unfold in front of him, tears streaming down on his face. He woke up from reality upon seeing his friend kneeling down on the floor as he muttered countless apologies like it would make any difference at all.

 What can he do when what’s done is already done or perhaps what’s gone is already gone?

 Jimin was devoured by his inner demons.

 --

The first week of the second half of the first semester is nothing but a bore considering that the preliminary examinations just ended a week ago. Usually, professors would just give out the exam results to review for corrections and dismiss the class early but disappointingly your World Literature professor is not one of those indolent professors.

 With the light setting dimmed inside the classroom, you try to keep yourself awake as you listen to the analysis discussion of Albert Camus’ Sisyphus.

 You write your name repeatedly on your notebook until you noticed the red string bracelet you’ve been wearing since last night when you found it on the computer desk’s bookshelf while you we’re studying.

 You wore it after asking Jungkook – your roommate – if he owns it, he told you that he doesn’t own such an accessory thus the reason you kept it as yours. Grazing your fingers over the braided knots in the middle, you find it elegant even though it’s just a simple red thread.

 “Since we’ll be covering a lot of topics, I’ve decided that it’d be best to assign every one of you a narrative” your professor said as he took out a mini fishbowl filled with rolled papers.

 “Take one and pass it around” he gave the bowl to the student in the first row. You got one for yourself and pass the bowl, unrolling it you read the scribbled words – Clair de Lune by Paul Verlaine.

 “Okay, now that you’ve all picked a narrative” you glanced up to look at your professor, “I want you to make a report about it, I’ll be posting on the portal what should be the contents and when you’ll be assigned to do the presentation”

 Alright, you take back what you said that your world literature professor is not one of those indolent professors. As expected, she assigned you to do the reporting so she could sit back and just listen; pass your job to the students.

 The class was dismissed, meaning your class is done for the day. You stood in the hallway as you wait for Areum & Daeun to go out of the room. You met them at the start of the school year and they’re literature majors as well who you’ve gotten the chance to be much closer to them attending a university wide welcome party for freshmans.

 “What did you get?” Areum asked you.

 “Claire de Lune by Paul Verlaine and you?”

 “It’s something about rose…” she retrieved the piece of paper from her jacket, “Ah it’s A Rose for Emily by William Faulkner.”

 “Where do you guys want to eat?” Eunha said as she got out of the classroom. You go down the stairs as you were all suggesting where until you decided to eat at a Café, saying that you should treat yourself after a week of examinations.

 But then your phone buzzed, it’s a message from Daeun. She’s a junior student and the Vice President for Internal Affairs of the Literature Department’s organization.

 [Mon, Oct 11, 6:07 PM]

 Daeun: Y/N Can I call you? It’s important

 Before you were even given the chance to reply to her text, your phone went off as you swiped it to answer.

 “Hi Y/N! I’m sorry it’s such a late notice but could you do me a favor?”

 “Yeah, sure, about what?” you said as you momentarily slowed down your pace.

 “Could you please ask them to sign our request letter for equipment to the Facilities Management Office?”

 “I thought you passed it yesterday?” you questioned, you remembered when she dismissed you the moment you asked her if she needs any help in preparing for the General Assembly of your department, you are her Junior Executive after all but instead she told you that she’ll let you know right away if ever she needs one.

 “I’m sorry, I forgot to ask them to sign our receiving copy because I left it in the organization room” she apologetically said.

 “Sure, I’ll drop by the office. It’s in the Fine Arts Building right?”

 “Yeah, it’s right beside the auditorium” she informed you, “Again, I’m really sorry for bothering you. Thank you so much Y/N!”

 You laughed as you quickly dismissed her, saying that it’s your duty to assist and help her anyway. Daeun was really nothing but sweet to you, glad that she’s far from those snobby and bossy student councils you expected.

 You ran up to Areum and Eunha after you ended the call, stopping them to say that you’ll need to pass a requirement in the office, “We can go with you if you want” Eunha said.

 “No, it’s okay I’ll catch after you if I can. I’ll text you?” you bid them goodbye as they told you to meet them at the café if you’ll be able to finish earlier.

 As soon as you enter the organization room, you saw the other junior executives preparing the props needed for the program that’ll be set few weeks from now. Daeun proposed this program because she sees this as a perfect opportunity for all the literature students to bond and at the same time to appreciate their major by performing skits.

 You excused yourself as you get the paper in the table, quickly greeting them encouraging words before you went out to go to the Fine Arts Building which is approximately 10 minutes away from your building.

 Upon entering the building, you were elated to see that they have elevator services not unlike in your building but as you were about to go inside, you were barred from entering by the lady operating it, saying how the school staff are the only ones allowed to use it. Great. You grunted as soon as the doors closed and proceeded to use the stairs instead.

 You were gasping for air by the time you got at the sixth floor, as if walking here in this building isn’t tiring enough. You pushed the door of the office but it did not budge, looking up to see that the lights are off. It’s already closed as it says on the door that it’s office hours is from 9 A.M. to 6 P.M.

 “Really?” you whispered in annoyance, looking at your watch to see that it has only been twenty minutes since closing time.

 Instead, you placed both of your hands on the railings of the wide vast balcony hallway of the building that overlooks the field as you observe the sunset view for a while to rest before you go down the stairs. It irks you a bit how you went all the way here for nothing but the scenic view could suffice, you get your phone to update Daeun.

 [Mon, Oct 10, 6:20 PM]

 You: The office is closed.

You: It’s only open up to 6 PM

 Daeun: Omg I’m so sorry Y/N I thought it was open ‘til 7. You can leave it in the organization room, I’ll pass it tomorrow.

 You: I’ll come back here tomorrow

You: My class ends at 5:45 every Tuesday so don’t sweat it!

 Placing the phone back on your pocket, you walk towards the hallway but immediately stopped when you suddenly heard a music playing coming from the auditorium just when you were about to leave. A sound of piano to be specific.

 You thought that maybe it’s one of the staff from the facilities office, possibly checking the sound system. You let out a relieved sigh, maybe you’ll be able to sign the papers tonight but you didn’t expect to see such view when you opened the doors of the auditorium.

 --

next> 

A/N: This is too short for a chapter but anyways it’s more of an introduction to the whole series. This is my first fic series so please bear with me 🥺 If you want to be tagged, don’t hesitate to reply or drop by my asks. Hope you’ll like this!

[jetsetlife138]

Idk if you’re still accepting prompts but can you do 79 with Alastor x fem!reader?

#79 - “Fuck me like you hate me.” Pairing: Alastor x fem!ReaderWarning: VERY explicit and rough smut

He’d gone too far this time. Alastor thoroughly enjoyed pushing your buttons, and most days you could handle it, but not today.

“I’m done, Alastor. I’m so over your bullshit. You’re egotistical, selfish, and just… I hate you. I really, truly do. Just stay the hell away from me.” 

It’s not that everything you were saying wasn’t true, and if you were being honest, calling attention to his shitty behavior was long overdue for the arrogant demon. So… why did you have an almost overwhelming sense of guilt as soon as the words left your mouth? 

The Radio Demon peeled his lips back into a sinister smile, revealing his frighteningly jagged teeth.”My dear girl, are you truly that foolish? It is you who repeatedly seeks me out. It’s you that comes crawling back to me for companionship when you’ve seemed to abandon all hope. I am the company you seek when you lie awake at night, lonely and desperate for affection.” 

You refused to budge as he moved closer, his face now only inches away from your own as his hot breath brushed over your face, his scent equally revolting and intoxicating. “There’s no harm in admitting what you already know, dearest. You cannot resist me, and you would love nothing more than to be filled by me over and over again like the hungry cock slut that you are.” 

SLAP

The sound of your hand coming into contact with his face echoed throughout the room, leaving behind a haunting silence in its wake. His face had turned away from you due to the impact of your assault, and his mouth hung open in shock. All you could do was gawk at him, utterly speechless and unable to fully comprehend what you had just done. 

The both of you remained still for what seemed like an eternity, but was probably no more than a few seconds. Finally, he looked toward you again, a coldness in his eyes that you had never felt before, turning your blood to ice. His lip curled, and it was only when he smiled once more that you had realized the gravity of your mistake. 

“So, that’s how this is going to go, hmm?” he purred dangerously, tilting his head far enough to crack the bones in his neck. His demeanor was eerily calm, but you could still feel the intensity  beneath the surface, his rage threatening to emerge at any given time. The fact that his reaction was cool and calculated had frightened you more than if he would have exploded with anger instead. 

Swallowing thickly, your immediate reaction was to take a step back to create some distance between you and the unpredictable demon. However, with every cautious step you took away from him, he countered by taking an enormous stride forward. Why the fuck did he have to be so tall with such long ass legs?!

Eventually, you had reached the wall, no longer able to distance yourself. “A-Alastor… I didn’t… I--” 

Before you could finish the rest of your sentence, he was on top of you, twisting you around to face away from him and pinning you up against the wall. You tried to wriggle free, but his hold on you was far too strong as he kept you in place with his body pressed against your back. 

Your froze when you felt him bend slightly to run his claws up your inner thigh towards your core. When his fingers danced over your heat, your breath hitched and you fought the urge to buck into his hand. 

His black and red strands of hair swept across your cheek as he leaned forward to whisper huskily into your ear, “Tell me again how much you detest me,” he demanded as his slender digits continued to tease you over your damp heat. It took all you had to resist grinding against his fingers. 

“I’m pretty sure the word I used was ‘hate’, but whatever,” you barked, seething with irritation and sexual frustration. “Either way, I really fucking do.”

His hand found his way into your hair as he yanked your head back, pressing his lips hungrily against yours in a deep kiss. Overcome with lust, you reached your arm back to bring him even closer, opening your mouth to welcome his tongue as he wasted no time in kneading it against your own. Absentmindedly, your thighs began to part wider to allow the skilled demon more access to your throbbing cunt, already dripping from his actions. You really hated how easily he brought you to this state. 

When he began to press his palm into you to add more pressure to your aching clit, a needy whine escaped your throat, which he swallowed down with his mouth as he continued to kiss you, chuckling at your obvious need for him. 

Breaking the kiss, he flipped you back around so that you were facing him once more before he pressed his forehead against yours. His hot breath swept over your face as he panted against you, moving to finally brush the fabric of your panties aside to allow him full access. He wasted no time slipping a finger inside of you, crooking his digit into a ‘come hither’ motion, hitting your g-spot over and over again. 

Clutching the front of his suit in your hands, you rolled your hips against him, eager for more. He relished in your response to his touch, smirking arrogantly. “For someone who hates me as much as you supposedly do, you’re awfully wet, my dear.” 

“That doesn’t mean a-anything,” you bit back, trying to maintain your composure as he increased his speed, pumping in and out of you with vigor. “Just because you’re an entitled, n-narcissistic, self-absorbed piece of shit--oh god--doesn’t mean that you’re not also a--mnph-- somewhat decent fuck.” 

He snarled at you, shoving a second finger without warning and thrusting into you with such force, you thought that he was going to break you. “I must say, it’s unbecoming to so easily succumb to the advances of someone supposedly as entitled and self-absorbed as I am. One might say that it’s actually quite pathetic, wouldn’t you agree?” 

“Fuck you, Alastor.” 

He laughed darkly, choking on his own breath shortly after when you moved your hands down his slender form and onto the obvious tent in his pants, palming at it eagerly while he rolled his hips against you. 

“And you say I’m pathetic?” you mocked, smirking at his reaction to your touch. 

He responded by shoving his fingers so forcefully deep inside of you that you could have sworn you had been lifted from the ground. You cried out in both pleasure and pain, knowing full well that you weren’t going to be able to walk right for the next few days. 

Using his other hand, he made quick work of his trousers, eagerly pulling out his weeping cock. Unable to stop yourself, you reached forward, sliding up his shaft with your hand and thumbing at his slit, spreading the precum around the head. He moaned at the sensation, his jaw unhinging as he shut his eyes, his body trembling with anticipation. 

“I’m going to ruin you,” he promised breathlessly before sliding his fingers out of you, bringing them to his mouth to suck his digits clean. You whined at the sight, earning another wave of arousal to leak out of your cunt. He then reached back down to hook his fingers around your panties before yanking so hard that they ripped right off of your body, causing you to jolt forward into him as he tossed them aside, an arrogant smirk plastered on his face. 

“Doubt it,” you retorted offhandedly. “You’re not as good as you think are, Al. Last time you fucked me I nearly fell asleep from boredom. I thought demons were supposed to be strong and fearsome. You’re a goddamned softie. You’re weak - a fucking doormat. ‘All-powerful’? What a fucking joke.” 

It was an obvious lie. Not only had you previously seen the barbaric carnage and slaughter of his enemies first-hand, but there had also been plenty of times before where he had fucked you so brutally that your entire body was littered with multiple dark bruises, leaving behind a soreness that lasted for several days. Regardless, you were pissed off and you were doing all that you could to deflate his ego, consequences be damned. 

The look in his eyes instantly made you regret your words. Grinning sinisterly from ear to ear, he reached up to grab your throat, completely cutting off your airway as he used his other hand to line himself up against your heat before snapping his hips forward and filling you completely. 

Your immediate response was to gasp, but he held onto your throat too tightly, quickly withdrawing and shoving himself back in again and again, setting a brutal pace. 

Tears filled your eyes as you silently begged him for some lenience, which he finally granted you, releasing his hold on your throat after a few more thrusts. You sucked in the air greedily as he continued to rail you against the wall, nearly lifting you from the ground with the harshness of his momentum.

“O-oh, shit,” you choked out, 

“Is this what you wanted? Or am I boring you yet again?” He emphasized his words with a particularly rough jab right into your core. 

You wanted to beg him to stop-- to slow down and not be so malicious, but there was no way in hell that you were going to relent and let him think that he won. 

“I h-hardly even feel anything. I-- oh god-- I’ve had better sex with-- huhg-- with myself. You’re n-nothing.” 

With all of the moaning and rutting you were doing, you would have been shocked if he had actually believed you. Given the way he was fucking you, it was a surprise that you could even form words at all. Regardless, Alastor enjoyed the challenge, and the both of you knew it. 

“Is that so?” He then gripped your leg tightly, lifting it up and curving it around to rest on his hip while he slammed himself even deeper inside of you, his cock hitting your cervix with each shove. Your nails raked his back, running along the smooth fabric of his red suit since he hadn’t even bothered to remove a single article of his own clothing. 

“How about now? Can you feel me now, you ungrateful harlot?You were slightly taken aback at how angry he sounded-- as if he was genuinely upset by your teasing. If you were being honest with yourself, it brought you a lot of smug satisfaction. 

You opened your mouth to give some witty retort, but with the way he was railing you, it was damn near impossible. Your eyes rolled into the back of your head as you finally relented, releasing a wail of pleasure as you struggled to breathe, each thrust knocking the breath out of your lungs. The only words that escaped you were, “Yes! Oh, god, yes! Just like that. Fuck me like you hate me.” If he wasn’t already dead, you would kill him. He was an alluring monster-- hauntingly beautiful and wicked all at once. You were drawn to him in ways that you could never comprehend, nor explain. The sad truth is that you were no more to him than a form of entertainment. He was an enigma, tempting you with his mystery and promises of wonder, but underneath it all was a sadistic and malevolent being, whose interest in you was limited and not at all sentimental. He made you feel weak-- helpless to his meaningless advances and you hated him for it. And yet… what angered you most of all was that you found yourself genuinely caring for him… and it would never be reciprocated in return. 

Luckily for you, there was a way to escape those nagging thoughts, and it was by being completely fucked out by the demon. The pain of his harsh movements mixed beautifully with the pleasure it brought, and you were overwhelmed by the ecstasy of it all. Crying out with wanton moans, your body shook uncontrollably as his suit rubbed up against your clit, causing an unbelievable friction as his cock brushed against the deepest parts of you. He noticed you rutting against him in a way to earn more clit stimulation, so he reached down and began massaging against you in small circles with the pads of his fingers. The action caused you to practically scream as you bent your head forward and bit harshly into his shoulder to muffle your loud noises, probably bruising his skin even through his jacket. 

“A-Alastor. I can’t… oh fuck, I-I’m--,” you couldn’t even finish the words before your body flooded with bliss, your climax hitting you so abruptly that your knees gave out and you nearly blacked out from the intensity. 

He continued to fuck you with abandon, chasing after his own release as you soon became over-sensitized, tears rolling down your face from the sensations. 

Resting his cheek against yours, you could distinctly hear the little pants and grunts escaping his throat. They were sounds of vulnerability that were reserved only for you in moments like these-- a genuine rarity. Alastor didn’t petition for sex often, and he especially didn’t partake in having multiple partners. You were honestly surprised that he wanted to fuck anyone ever considering he hardly showed interest in the activity, but when he immersed himself in it… fuck if you didn’t reap the benefits. Slapping the palms of his hands against the wall on both sides of you, his body shuddered as he released an especially loud groan, reaching his high. Heavy spurts of his demonic seed lined your cervix as he continued to convulse, his orgasm lasting longer than anyone you had ever been with. He had rested his head in the crook of your neck, seemingly forgetting about your fight for a moment before he pulled out of you, still breathless and smirking as he watched the remnants of his hot cum drip down your legs. “What a pitiful creature you are. I imagine it must make you feel utterly wretched getting off on the hatred you supposedly feel for me. I wonder if there is anyone else who can bring you to the brink of death and back like I can.” 

Fuck that goddamned arrogance. You fought so hard to put him in his place, and instead you got completely fucked-- both figuratively and literally. Your entire body had ached and would be sore for the next week. It made you wonder if the intense orgasms you got from him were even worth it. 

Your heated glare was met with an unforgiving sneer as he straightened out his jacket, which had been wrinkled during your interaction. “Let me be as clear as I can be,” he spoke candidly, though his eyes were filled with warning. “You belong to me.” 

Narrowing your eyes at him, you bent down to pick up the shredded remains of your panties before you stepped around him to leave. As you reached the door frame, you paused to turn and speak over your shoulder as nonchalantly as possible before walking out. 

“Keep telling yourself that.”

[ruewrites]

Ache for Me

AO3

Ship: Solomon/Asmo

Word Count: 1474

Warnings: Genderbent

Asmo’s back raised in a perfect arch as another sweet moan escaped her lips. Of course everything about Asmo was perfect. She made sure of that. Magic coils twisted around her wrists like snakes, making sure that she was bound to the headboard perfectly so. Manicured fingers twitched with each stroke of Solomon’s expert fingers. Two fingers were buried two knuckles deep in the demon’s pussy, while her thumb worked the clit. The sorcerer’s movements were slow and deliberate.  As she worked, she took note of how Asmo tried to not bite her pretty pink lips lest she make them bleed.

Of course Asmo would go absolutely ballistic if even a single hair even got the tiniest of split ends, much less leaving her face marred.

Her eyes raked over the demon’s smooth, porcelain legs aback up to where her button down lifted just enough to reveal her hips. A chuckle almost escaped Solomon. The poor dear, couldn’t wait to get it off. Not that she minded, it added to the demon’s appeal in her own personal opinion. She had come into Solomon’s room (unsummoned) spouting how much she missed her favorite sorcerer, not even bothering to ask if Solomon was busy. But of course other people’s work went out the window as soon as The Asmodeus entered the room. She had sat herself down in Solomon’s lap grin wide and eyes dancing with mischief. Of course Solomon did try to continue her studies, but Asmo was relentless. Kissing and nipping at her neck, groping at her chest, doing absolutely everything in her power to get the sorcerer’s attention. To her credit, Solomon’s expression remained neutral, and Asmo almost got disheartened as the other closed the tome. That is, until Solomon grabbed her face and pulled her into a rather rough kiss.

“ Solomooon ,” the moan was so loud, so lewd, “Can’t you speed up even the teensiest bit? Please?” Asmo wiggled her hips and pouted. Of course her sorcerer’s fingers were always devine, but this pace was agonizing. It felt good, but not good enough. It wasn’t enough to get her off. It wasn’t fast enough for her liking. Her pretty sorcerer was teasing and she knew it . She knew what she was doing to Asmo and it drove her absolutely insane! Aside from the pace, her sorcerer was still completely dressed aside from her cloak!

Solomon tilted her head to the side with a low hum. Instead of quickening her pace, she stopped completely. She ignored the other’s whines and movements as the strawberry blonde tried to get some friction from her fingers.

“ Nononono! That isn’t what I wanted !”

“Oh? Was it not my dear?” Solomon purred, removing her fingers, eyelids lowering as she slowly crawled over top Asmo. She wanted to make sure her lover had a perfect view as she lifted her fingers to her mouth and licked each one clean. Tattoos of her pacts peeking out from behind black sleeves. Asmo’s eyes widened and for a moment, she looked like she might cry. Her pussy  was throbbing and aching for Solomon. Those fingers really had some sort of control over her. Even when Solomon beckoned her to come closer, she would use the same stroking motion with those same two fingers. It always made the demon even more hot and ready for her sorcerer (as if she wasn’t already).

“Please,” Asmo choked, feeling Solomon latch on to a hickey that had been left earlier.

“Beg harder,” Solomon growled against that perfect skin, “You were the one that interrupted your own pleasure in the first place. So work for what you ruined.”

“Ple-”

"'Oh please touch me Solomon?' 'Oh please fuck me Solomon?' 'Please make me cum Solomon?' Is that what you're about to ask me dear?" The sorcerer mocked, “Oh please you can do better.” Solomon knew. She'd heard better slip from the demon's skilled tongue. She nipped  at the hickey once more. The bite wasn’t rough, rather a teasing nip, just enough to frustrate the avatar of lust even more.

“Dammit Solomon! Just fuck me already!” Asmo cried, “Just let me finish please! I’ll do anything! I’ll… I’ll…”

Asmo was at a loss for words she didn’t know what to say. She was just so frustrated. Hot tears brimmed at her eyes, threatening to ruin her mascara, when Solomon removed herself from the demon’s neck to kiss them away.

“Good girl,” she purred, slipping back down in between her legs. She was feeling generous today, and she wanted to get to the part that had always been the most enjoyable part for her. Leaning to the side, she kissed and nipped at Asmo’s inner thigh, making the other moan above her. One of her eyes peeled open slightly to look up at her precious jewel as her cheek pressed against her leg. The look of longing and want on Asmo’s face was priceless, and Solomon would never want to miss it for anything. She let out a soft hum, rubbing her cheek against flesh, “You’re so soft…. So beautiful. Truly no one can compare.”

The demon’s entire body shuddered.

Solomon left her lover’s thigh in favor of her dripping need. Her hands went to Asmo’s thighs and she pushed down, “My beautiful Asmodeus, perfect and spread out just for me.”

The sorcerer made sure to stress each syllable of the name, making the avatar of lust shudder. Without hesitation, she started devouring the beautiful flower before her.

Asmo’s screams probably echoed through the halls. “ Oh Solomon! Yes! Oho~ Yes right- ah- right there!” she moaned, forgetting her hands were bound and immediately tried to reach for Solomon’s hair, only to be yanked back. Her breathing became more raid as she watched her sorcerer set an unforgiving pace. She was holding her thighs to the side tightly as her tongue went to work.

In between moans, concern crossed Asmo’s face, “Aha~ Solomon-not...not too tight. You’ll leave bruises…”

Solomon only gripped her tighter.

The sorcerer’s skilled tongue was making quick work  of her beautiful demon, and Asmo’s high moans were nothing but encouragement. The pale thighs beneath her turned even paler as they strained against her strong hands.

“Oh Solomon please! I- I- I’m cumming! I- I-!”

Asmo’s voice raised in both octaves and volume with each syllable and her back raised up even higher. Solomon continued to eat her out until she felt Asmo stop straining and collapse under her. The sorcerer licked her lips before giving the mound a soft kiss. Lifting the spell keeping Asmo chained, she left the room to get a cup of water.

“Drink Asmo.”

“In a second… I just.. Aha,” the demon sucked in a breath before moving closer to her sorcerer, “Hold me.”

Solomon did so without fuss, stroking those wonderful fingers through Asmo’s soft locks.The demon let out a soft sigh and a smile graced her features. The white haired woman couldn’t help but lean down slightly to lay a kiss on her forehead eliciting a small trill from the demon.

“You know,” Solomon started after sitting for a while in content silence, “If you cut your nails-”

“Absolutely not,” Asmo clicked. Her manicured fingers were perfect, just like the rest of her. Of course she filed them so they weren’t too long. Not only would a chipped nail be a nightmare, but she was the avatar of lust and that meant being able to please however she could. “My nails are pretty and perfect just the way they are. In fact it wouldn't hurt you if you stopped biting yours you know, I could take you to the place where I go to get mine done.”

Solomon mocked deep thought before letting out a low chuckle, “I think I’ll pass. Besides, I think mine are perfectly suited for you, don’t you agree?”

Asmo whined and buried her face in Solomon, “Solomooooon! Stoooop! You’re going to make me want you again!”

That’s when the sorcerer’s laughter broke out in the room. She had to wipe a tear from her eye before nodding, “Alright, alright. I’ll save it.”

As soon as Asmo poked her head up to pout, Solomon caught her chin and brought her in for a kiss. When they pulled apart, Asmo only had one thing on her mind.

“I taste so sweet!”

“You taste perfect Asmodeus, now curl up with me and drink your water.” The sorcerer couldn’t help but smile as she watched Asmo take the cup and snuggle closer, taking small sips. There were definitely multiple benefits to making a pact with Asmodeus, and Solomon couldn’t deny that she definitely made her days a little more interesting. The rest of the day would most likely be spent shopping, beauty care routines, and melodramas. Hell, maybe they’d go clubbing later. But Solomon couldn’t say that she minded.

[mythologyfolklore]

Ares and Athena through the years - Ch.19

Chapter Nineteen: Homecoming party

.

Ares never would have dreamed, that his family would be so happy to see him, that they would throw such a huge party to celebrate his homecoming.

And never would he have dreamed, that he would be so happy to be here with all of his stuck-up relatives, that he would be glad to have them and their oh-so-civilised lifestyle again.

But here he was, among his loved ones after mortal centuries of being so far away.

He was in the arms of his little sisters and brother, surrounded by the sound of his half-siblings' laughter, their music and singing, the sweet and etheric scents of home, the sight of his smiling parents, the beauty of home.

And Aphrodite, his beloved Aphrodite, his life, heart and soul, tamer of his wrath, soother of his inner demons, mother of his dear divine children, and he was holding her in his arms, kissing her, smelling her tantalising scent, looking into her pink eyes, feeling her joyful tears seep through his chiton and thought that, right there and right now, he was the happiest god in the world and oh, how he loved her so!

Of course he had missed them all, but he hadn't known just how much, until now.

The happiness was so overwhelming that he almost started bawling in front of everyone. But his pride kept him from doing so, he had a reputation to uphold after all.

Instead he announced, that he had something to say.

Everyone stopped what they were doing and looked over to listen.

“I'll make it short”, he spoke. “When I left here, I was really eager to leave and glad to get away from y'all, because in the years before you'd been even more dickish than usual.”

There were a few agitated murmurs here and there and Hera glared at him. Ah, his mother dearest hadn't changed at all).

Ares ignored it and continued: “But you're my family and at the end of the day I love you all more than I hate you sometimes. Bein' away for a few months to cool off is one thing, but after spendin' several centuries away from Olympos, it's really a whole different experience to come home again. It was fun to travel the world, but still, it's good to be back. Guess there really is no place like home. Bottom line is, I missed you all. I'll soon be back to my usual business again, but for now I just wanna be happy to be home and that you're receivin' me so well. Never thought I'd see the day when you're all happy to see me – yeah, even you, Daddy's Owl! Don't think I didn't notice!”, he added playfully and everyone laughed.

Athena huffed and looked away.

Ares laughed, but decided not to tease her further for now.

“That's it!”, he closed his speech and threw his arms up. “Time to let the party commence!”

These words were met with cheers.

.

It really was the party of millennia, just like Dionysos had promised.

Everyone had fun, there was laughter, the food and drinks were even better than Ares remembered, he was the centre of attention in a positive way and he savoured it all, because today he could pretend that he wasn't one of the most unpopular deities in the pantheon.

Just for this night, they seemed like a normal rich family.

He was laughing, smiling and dancing with Aphrodite, Artemis and his mother, joking with Dionysos and Hermes and playfully bickering with Apollon and Hephaistos.

However, after he had danced with Aphrodite for the third time, he noticed that one goddess was sitting in a corner, moping and looking down.

“'Scuse me, love”, he told the love goddess and danced his way through the crowd to where Athena was sitting.

.

Athena groaned in frustration, when Ares came over and sat next to her.

“Oi, Daddy's Owl! What's with that's face? C'mon, I know you're not into this, but this is still a party! And you're sulkin' in a corner?”

She glared at him. “Well, maybe I want to sulk! Leave me be and go dance with Aphrodite or Artemis!”

“Aphrodite is dancin' with Dionysos”, Ares replied and pointed to where the goddess of love was dancing with the god of drag queens so wildly, that the other dancers kept a save distance.

“And Artemis with Hermes.” There was the huntress merrily dancing with the messenger.

“And I'm not gonna dance with my little brother, that's gay.”

“Hephaistos is paraplegic”, Athena pointed out.

Ares grinned: “So? That's never stopped Aglaia. Oh look, Dite's dancin' with him now!”

Indeed she was, pushing his wheelchair along to the rhythm, while Hephaistos was laughing and holding on to the arm rests.

“As you see, Daddy's Owl-”

“Stop calling me that!”

“Nah. As you see, everyone's hitched, so you're not gonna get rid of me for now.”

She groaned: “Oh for the love of Khaos, Ares! What part of 'leave me be' do you not understand?!”

Ares only rolled his eyes. “Come on, don't be like that! I just saw you being all depressed and stuff and I want to know what the matter is. Just tell me and I'll leave you alone! Now spill it, because hanging out with you isn't any less dull than it was forty Olympian years ago!”

“I see, you're still a tactless prick.”

“Owl, I haven't changed for many thousand years, so why would I now?”

Athena sighed: “Well, as humans say, hope dies last.”

“Cute. Still not going away.”

“If I tell you, will you really leave me alone?”

“Cross my heart.”

The war goddess rolled her eyes. “Alright, fine. I'm angry at myself. That incident with the Roman gods �� I can't believe this happened! How could I have made a diplomatic blunder like that! Our pantheon got into trouble, because of my careless assumption that the Romans are like us and think the same way we do. I didn't even bother to fact check that assumption and with that I endangered us all. This is unforgivable. And the one to resolve the issue was you! You, of all the people! How? How did you, the god of terrible war and bloodshed, ace this situation and appease those foreigners, while I, the goddess of wisdom and good counsel made this fatal mistake?! How?!”

Ares smiled lopsidedly. “Well, what can I say? I can be really diplomatic if I wanna be. Remember what I told y'all forty Olympian years ago, during the Sack of Troy? Since I'm Dad's only legitimate son, that makes me the crown prince. And as such, I bear high responsibilities. I've been doin' his correspondence, ever since I grew to age. Dad would take me to international meetings to meet gods from other places, so I'd get to know them, learn how they roll – ya know, the works. I had to grow into it too, but I've had ten thousands of years to figure it all out. I just have that much practise. How long have you been doin' my paper work?”

Athena scratched the back of her neck. “Since shortly after you left. I offered father to help him with the paper work in exchange for a favour and he was all too happy to oblige.”

Ares chuckled: “Yeah, reckon he was. Bet he has forgotten just how much of his paper stuff I actually do, when I'm not bein' the black sheep of the family an' makin' mortals killin' each other for sports. Did he think you could handle it without so much as a briefing? I mean, don't get me wrong-”

“We both thought so”, Athena admitted quietly.

The older god shook his head. “Yeah, suspected as much. Sorry, Owl, but ya overestimated yerself there. Complaints an' revenge prayers of mortals an' minor gods to Zeus are easy to get rid of. International affairs are a whole different matter. As I told the Roman gods earlier, you're so introverted, ya don't talk to foreigners enough. If ya don't get out and meet people, you'll remain completely clueless about the rest of the world. These people don't think like we do. Trust me, no one knows that better than I. Happens more than often, that I make mistakes when I interact with foreigners people for the first time. I mean, you've read my letters from abroad. Cultural misunderstandings, losses in translation and what not.”

She didn't answer.

She was too busy grappling with the humiliation of getting a lecture on diplomacy from Ares of all gods.

The war god pat her shoulder in sympathy. “Hey now. Don't beat yourself up over it. Shit happens. Besides, how could you predict that the Romans would be offended over such a stupid little thing? It's as I told them, there was no way you could've known. Just give those duties back to me, now that I'm back. And maybe spend your free time hanging out with others more. Make some new friends, especially abroad. You always liked to learn new stuff, didn't ya? Trust me, it'll do ya a world of good. An' you know what? Let's forget, that I just gave you a talk on communication with outsiders too. We'll never speak of it again. Promise.”

Athena gave him a suspicious look. But his expression was genuine and so she nodded.

“Yes, for that I would be quite thankful indeed.”

Ares laughed: “Awesome! Hey, how about a dance?”

She stared at him. “I don't dance, Ares. Also, you promised you would leave me alone, after talking to you about my problem.”

The war god shrugged. “Guess I did. Still a shame though. Dancing is one of those things you gotta try out at least once. Oh well, suit yourself.”

Within a moment's notice he was back on the dance floor and dancing with his sister Hebe.

Athena stayed in her corner, albeit with her mood significantly improved.

[peerless-soshi]

Oh that's great, thanks for the reply :) Btw I'm that xiyao enthusiast from ao3 and I was wondering if you'd like to write something for my other less popular ships. So maybe 70/76 with fengqing or 41/94 for quanyin?

Rules: Send me two (2) tropes from this list + a ship and I’ll describe how I’d combine them in the same story.   

QuanYin: First kiss +  Hair Brushing/Braiding 

Quan Yi Zhen hesitated, eyes dropping. Weird. He wasn’t sure what to do. Weird. He wasn’t sure what to do when shixong screamed at him, circled the room few times like a wind-up toy with no will in its moves, then sat down to get up again, cradling head in his hands. It was all too weird. He wasn’t used to seeing shixong lost, and the rareness of this situation made Quan Yi Zhen even more confused.  

“Shixiong?”

“Why?” Yin Yu snapped. “Why did you save me? Why are you so stubborn?!”

Quan Yi Zhen understood one thing. Shixiong wasn’t happy about awakening in the Martial Palace of the West at all.

He was, in fact, angry. Very angry. His crossed arms and frown lines were giving a message: stay away from me.

It was like this: after he saved Yin Yu’s soul, Quan Yi Zhen lived on efforts, for years probably, to preserve his shixiong’s last breath and bring him back to life. None of gods knew why, or how, he was trying but who cares as long as shixiong came back.

Then it was like this: he made a choice to watch over Yin Yu’s body by himself. That demon – Red Rain Demon or something, he didn’t bother to remember stupid things – offered to help, but Quan Yi Zhen refused. No, it couldn’t be. He wouldn’t give up on Yin Yu, even if Yin Yu wished to hate him in return. It was fine. And for once, Quan Yi Zhen was patient. So patient. There had to be something, one thing, anything he could do to reward shixiong for all the moments when he had been irritating, disappointing, troublesome, himself…

And finally, it was like this: the Red Demon gave Quan Yi Zhen some advice as the nice prince followed them, an indulgent smile on his lips. Quan Yi Zhen liked him – sometimes the prince smiled just like shixiong. One of the things the Red Demon recommended was infusions, the other was pills bracing the spiritual energy, and then energy transmission… Quan Yi Zhen listened, and memorized. He could say that the prince was worried, but the vision of saving Yin Yu stole his attention away. Besides, could it be important?

“Yi Zhen?”

He bounced back to reality really fast. Yin Yu straightened, and Quan Yi Zhen saw him clearly. His face was exhausted and red, and his dark hair stuck to his brow in a sweat-damp strands. He looked a good deal older than before.

“Why?” Yin Yu repeated, slower this time. “You shouldn’t…” He cleared his throat. “I said what I had to say, and I did what I had to do. Things between us were over. But as usual, you had to interfere and…” His voice was hoarse with indignation, but not yet stripped of… gratitude, was it? Or shame?

Quan Yi Zhen was out of sorts. Their last conversation didn’t end well, this one was also swinging over a cliff. The art of speaking was one of many things shixiong had attempted to teach him, and had failed miserably. He couldn’t look into shixiong’s eyes, so he glimpsed the ajar window, and espied the darkening sky, dense and gravid with rain. It made him feel they were inside of storm even before the first drop burst forth. Thunders afar off, shixiong’s calm yet thunderous words in the room. After the battle with Jun Wu, they had taken the occasional black sky for a coincidence, because why wouldn’t they? Later they realized that without the emperor, the heaven was crumbling. Sometimes there were rain clouds, humid and lazy, and sometimes airy tufts of white snow shifting into flurries.  

“Shixiong…” Quan Yi Zhen started, uncertain. And paused.

He felt a sudden stab of doubt: he couldn’t do it alone. What? What should he say for shixiong to stay? In the back of his head, his brain stopped and declined. Stupid brain. Stupid him. But he bit his lip and said what first came to his mind, “Shidi likes.”

Yin Yu’s eyes narrowed now, and a question reflected in them. “What do you like?”

“Shixiong!” Quan Yi Zhen responded. Is there any sense to ask such question? It sounded like there was something else worth liking beside shixiong.  

Yin Yu stared at him. He shook his head in disbelief. “What did you just say?”

“Shixiong.”

“No, before that!”

“Shidi!” he said. And suddenly, it was as though his entire head was filled with emotions, all fear and blame, and if he didn’t shout it out he would explode. “Shidi likes shixiong! So shixiong, don’t be mad at me! Your shidi knows he’s incompetent and stupid, but without you, everything is even more stupid. Everyone else is stupid, heaven is stupid, your shidi is stupid, even fighting is stupid! Shidi is sorry, shixiong…” He turned to take a bow on the ground so violently that he hit his head, saw a burst of colorful sparks, left a crack on the floor and gave shixiong a little heart attack. The floor can be repaired. Then he folded his hands and went on, “Shixiong, please come back to your shidi. I can’t do anything without you. They make me do a lot of things that I don’t understand!”

If Yin Yu was shaking his head before, now his head looked like a windmill blow away in a storm; moving so fast it was one step away from breaking. Quickly, he ran to Quan Yi Zhen and knelt down beside him, putting hand on his shoulder. “What are you doing!? Get up now!”

“Shidi is sorry.”

There was a twist of uncontrolled worry on Yin Yu’s face, and when he realized it, his previous anger trailed off, then disappeared. He put Quan Yi Zhen on his feet, tenderly – he couldn’t help himself – and checked the scratch on his forehead. His finger was familiar, the pinching wound as well. So much like an older brother in cultivation, Quan Yi Zhen thought. As thought this gesture withdrew time, Quan Yi Zhen raised his head obediently, smiled, and he was a disciple again. And he was happier.

Yin Yu looked less happy. When he made sure Quan Yi Zhen was fine, his eyes flickered towards his clothes. He let out a huff of resignation. “Do you know how do you look like?”

Quan Yi Zhen knew what his shixiong saw: messy hair, dirty inner robes, the armor abandoned… somewhere. Quan Yi Zhen wasn’t sure where he had left it. His mind had been wrought with more important matters, so he couldn’t even recall the last time he had brushed his hair. As if to confirm his thoughts, Yin Yu reached out and picked a dry leaf out of a thicket of Quan Yi Zhen’s curls.

“You didn’t notice it?” he said, holding it up to show off its withered colors.

Truthfully, Quan Yi Zhen shrugged.

Yin Yu’s mouth actually fell open when he saw his shidi’s answer, but then his head hung. Impossible. It was impossible to expect more from Quan Yi Zhen. He was honest, and he was hated for it. He felt too free with himself to let others control him. And he was a little puppy lost in a big forest: he had his own world, so every step deeper into the brake of heavenly requirements made him undaunted, wilder, astray, and added more leaves to his hair.

“Sit down,” Yin Yu said, pointing slowly to the empty chair standing in the corner. His eyes stayed on it. The chair was brought here for Quan Yi Zhen to watch over him at nights. “Give me a comb. I can’t leave you like that.”

Quan Yi Zhen followed his instructions happily, fire in his soul; when he rushed out the room, he didn’t bother with opening the door but kicked it instead. It was so swift – a whistle of air and the hinges swayed and squeaked like black trees dancing outside. He made it in a second and he was back, sitting in an overly upright pose. Yin Yu walked up with a comb in his hair.

“You’re still such a child, Yi Zhen,” he said. It seemed as if he wanted to stroked Quan Yi Zhen’s head, a force of habit, but hesitated. There was his secret shame, and it has kept him away from shidi. “Do you even understand what you said earlier?” A small sigh escaped him. “Why do I ask? Of course you don’t understand. Talking about liking like a child… You must grow up and represent the heaven with dignity. It’s… your role now.”

“I don’t want it. And I like you.”

“Stop it,” Yin Yu said.

His tone was blunt, but it didn’t go hand in hand with his gestures. Quan Yi Zhen let his hair grow even longer once he had been left surrounded by worries, and it was wild and heavy now. Yin Yu gave it a little thought before he split his hair into thinner strands. The comb in his hand wailed, resisting.

They sank into silence filled by only comb strokes. There were so many things Quan Yi Zhen wanted to say, but even someone like him felt the weight of this moment and held his tongue. He only thought it was pleasant. A second or two it rested there: shixiong’s gentle hands, the feeling of being both seen and cherished. He had people who would help him. Sort of. But he didn’t want them, and they didn’t want him. Now his mouth curled with relief.

Yin Yu broke the silence first. “Again, I owe you something.”

“Me?” Quan Yi Zhen asked. “It is shidi who pays his debt. You saved my life. But even if you hadn’t saved me, shidi would have still tried to help shixiong.”

“Have you ever thought that I don’t want your help?”

“No?” Quan Yi Zhen said, sincerity in his voice.

Yin Yu didn’t answer, so he continued.

“Shixiong always said that shidi is irresponsible. Now I understand it and I’m taking responsibility for my actions. I brought shixiong back.”

“If you understood anything, you would take care of heaven’s issues, not me.”

“Shixiong is more important.”

“And that is why you’re such a child! Nothing can be more important than heaven to you!” Yin Yu growled in quiet ire.

He pulled too hard, and a small curl of hair stayed on the comb. Quan Yi Zhen hissed, unintentionally, and turned, rubbing his head. It wasn’t mean to be like this. No. He didn’t want to upset shixiong right after his awakening.

Yin Yu froze. There was an irritated sign, and a blush crossing his face. “You have no idea how many thoughts can appear in your head before… leaving. I don’t want to blame you, so…”

As he said it, Yin Yu’s eyes fell on Quan Yi Zhen’s face. What he found was, just like on that memorable day, the taste of tears and panic dancing on the surface of his gaze. Quan Yi Zhen looked terrible – thought, this “terrible” was still on the line of a childish call, so innocent, so colliding with their situation. Then a lightning struck, shaking the palace walls.

Yin Yu gestured to the window. “What’s going on here?”

“Everything goes bad without the emperor. The power in heaven is not stable,” Quan Yi Zhen explained, not hiding the bored tone of repeating after someone.

“And you decided to waste your time on me?”

Yin Yu laughed bitterly, but he bent over Quan Yi Zhen’s hair again, now combing it gently with his fingers. Quan Yi Zhen could feel him combing out knots when the teeth of the comb refused to cooperate, stuck between the curls like in a crown of tree. He was slow; one hair after the another, patiently, with care…

Quan Yi Zhen closed his eyes. “Wasted? What are you talking about? Shixiong knows best what to do. Who is as responsible as you?”

Yin Yu shook his head. He tried to stay teacher-patient, but it wasn’t easy. “I am a fallen god. I can’t help you. Just leave me alone and focus on your duties.”

“I don’t want duties. I want to be with you!”

Yin Yu let out a small breath. “Not everyone deserves what they want. Time to understand it.”

A chill snacked up Quan Yi Zhen’s spine. Piercing, so reminding. He thought again of the day shixiong was exiled, of laughs, and nights spent on empty sleeping. “No,” he said simply. “Nobody deserves this position more than shixiong.”

Yin Yu ignored him completely. He weighed Quan Yi Zhen’s hair in his hands and let it go. More pleased with his work, he wove a single long braid.  

“Old days are gone. Nothing will change that. Besides, how do you imagine it? I am banished.”

Quan Yi Zhen’s eyes finally sparkled. “There is no emperor! Nobody can tell you to leave!”

He turned to face Yin Yu, his shoulders straight and hands clasped in his lap. His whole figure seemed to vibrate, like ignited, and Yin Yu looked dazzled by his smile. This enthusiasm was catching. It passed from his skin to Yin Yu’s when he grabbed shixiong’s wrist and stood up.

“You can stay here. That prince is here too, right?”

Yin Yu just looked at him blankly. “He worked for it. I don’t even have spiritual power.”

“I can help!”

The chain of events that followed that confession appeared to go together with the storm that surprised them. It was as strong, it was like bathing in icy rain: brought a shiver, quickened breathing. Quan Yi Zhen seized Yin Yu by his collar and yanked his face towards his. He struggled, but Quan Yi Zhen hold on, mashing their lips together in what looked less like kissing and more like… punching teeth.

Though shock should hit like a blow, in this case it crept over Yin Yu slowly as he made sense of what happened. Then he gasped and staggered back, glaring and weeping his month.

“What is… you…” he stutterer. “No! What was that?”

Oh. Quan Yi Zhen’s face heated. He guessed that shixiong was mad again, and he made a vague gesture, something on the verge of shrugging. “The transmission of spiritual energy.”

“This? This was just- Who told you that nonsense?!” Yin Yu shouted, clearly lost for his words.

Quan Yi Zhen’s brow creased. “That red demon and the prince. No, wait. Was it Old Pei?”

The Red Demon had recommended transmitting spiritual energy as one of the most reliable methods. Quan Yi Zhen put much effort in it and felt pretty proud. All of the times to fail, did he make a mistake now?

Yin Yu made a noise that sounded like the verbal equivalent of dying. “Chengzhu. Why?” he cried and looked at Quan Yi Zhen. “Just… don’t do it again.”

“Why?” Quan Yi Zhen wrinkled his nose. “I did something wrong?”

“You didn’t even put spiritual energy into it.”

But the rest of his words drowned in the sounds of attempted not-kisses, raindrops, thunders and screams I can help you.  

[marril96]

Curls

Pairing: Rowena x reader

Summary: You like to play with Rowena’s hair. Rowena is not amused.

Editor: @oswinthestrange

There were plenty of things Rowena didn't understand about you.

Like why you'd ever bothered giving her a chance when, back when you'd first met, she was the kind of heartless bitch psychopaths would have envied.

How come, out of millions of people, you'd managed to fall for the one who used to think of you as more of a pawn than a person, a young witch whose magic she could exploit if even the smallest need for it presented itself.

How you always managed to make her smile upon entering the room with nothing but your presence alone.

Why you insisted on hugging her so often, and always held on as if you hadn't seen her in weeks.

Why you kissed her nose and cheeks and the back of her head at random.

Why you booped her nose and laid your head on her shoulder when she least expected it, without a word of warning, and giggled at her reaction as if it was the most entertaining thing you'd ever seen.

Why you played with her fingers when you were bored, and sought attention just when she happened to be deep in some old, newly acquired grimoire, and called her the most ridiculous pet names even she, who thought Fergus and the Mega Coven were wonderful names, found more embarrassing than endearing.

And what, in all hell, it was about her hair that made it so bloody fascinating to you.

Rowena was minding her own business, staring at the bookshelf that seemed to go on for miles, filled to the brim with grimoires and other books of similar caliber (you had your own shelf. There was no way she was putting her precious human-flesh-bound encyclopedias of magic on the same display as your cheap, badly written paperbacks about vampires, or whichever creature it was you were into these days) when you suddenly walked up to her and started playing with the tips of her hair.

She ascribed it to boredom. It was a slow day. Rain was falling in buckets, accompanied by wind that howled and whined like a wild animal. The electricity was out, which meant your electronics were useless. Having no internet, and thus no means to entertain yourself, you had the bright idea to bother her.

Charles help her.

Your fingers tangled in the soft curls like fleshy pieces of thread. They moved among them, fingertips pressing into the silky tendrils, feeling them, taking them in as if you'd never touched them before.

In response, Rowena shot you one of her glares that sent even demons packing.

It had no effect on you. If anything, in only made you explore her hair more, up your game a notch. You were nothing if not adventurous.

Frustration growing, Rowena wanted to growl like a rabid dog, but she cleverly kept it in. It would do no good to throw a tantrum (Charles knew she threw enough of those) over something as miniscule as you playing with her hair. You had no ill intentions, no hidden agendas. You were simply bored.

She would have accepted that had there not been a look of absolute challenge on your face. A dare, a taunt open for the world to see made only more prominent after Rowena had gifted you with a glare. What are you going to do about it? it said, wordless yet loud, practically screaming in her ear.

And really, what was she going to do about it? You weren't doing anything bad, aside from mildly annoying her (which, in Rowena's book, was an infraction worthy of death. Or at least it used to be for people who weren't you). She could scream at you. Threaten you. Call you very Scottish names you wouldn't understand. And what would that get her? More taunting, more mockery.

She settled for intensifying her glare.

You looked her straight in the eyes and, as if to say "watch me," wrapped a strand of her hair around your forefinger.

Rowena supposed it was her fault. She'd never given you reason to fear her. She never had to. Even back when she only knew her as a young witch who needed help with magic, she had no reason to treat you with anything other than pure professionalism. She'd never even been unkind; you'd never given her reason to be. You were a harmless girl, always genuine in your treatment of her. You never looked at her as if she were anything other than a person, a creature of flesh and blood and bone, no different from the rest. In your eyes, she wasn't a monster, wasn't a cold, heartless, wicked witch, and you'd treated her accordingly.

She'd spoiled you, Rowena thought with a touch of bitterness. She'd let you do what you pleased with her. Let you hug her whenever you wanted. Let you kiss her hands and cheeks and neck, and call her ridiculous pet names with no repercussions. She'd let her guard down around you and allowed you to get away with things she used to kill people for doing.

She'd gone soft.

Or, the rational part of her brain reasoned, she was overthinking this.

After all, it was just affection. It had taken Rowena a while to get used to it. After centuries of being on the lookout, of hiding behind protective walls she'd built around herself, it was a tad hard for her to take harmless play and displays of love as they were. There had to be hidden meanings behind them, the remnants of her high alert instincts screamed. There just had to!

But she knew there weren't. You loved her. That was all you'd ever done, from day one. Been kind to her. Respected her. Felt for her. Teasing her didn't mean you cared any less; if anything, it showed you cared more. And, despite her inner turmoil, Rowena enjoyed a few light laughs, even if they were at her expense.

However…

She'd spent two hours perfecting these curls this morning, damn it! She wouldn't let a bored, impudent little girl ruin her hard work.

You released her hair and giggled as it bounced around her shoulders in a happy little dance, then reached to touch it again.

Rowena grabbed your wrist, stopping you in place.

"Don't," she said curtly.

You pouted like a child, and damn, if it wasn't the cutest thing she'd seen in months. "But your hair's so bouncy."

"I spent two hours working on it this morning," she said. "I'll not have you ruin it!"

"I'm just playing with it," you said childishly.

"You're being a menace, is what you're doing," she retorted.

You sighed, exasperated. "Wena, please."

Ah, the cutesy nickname. That was totally going to work.

"No," Rowena said in the tone of a teacher fed up with her student's mischief. One more infraction, and she'd consider threatening to call your parents. And possibly expell you.

"I'm bored," you whined.

"Go play on your phone."

"The battery's dead."

"That must be horrible for you," she deadpanned.

"It's hell," you agreed.

"Then go outside. Gaze at the sun. Play in the mud. Chase bees." Rowena shrugged. "Do whatever, just don't bother me."

Stifling a laugh, you said, "I wanna play with you!"

"I'm not a bloody toy!"

You blinked. Once. Twice. Three times. "Well, you're cute, you're tiny, and you love cuddles. You pretty much are a toy."

She wasn't cute, she was a decent size, thank you very much, and she didn't love cuddles — she merely liked them a lot more than she let on. She opened her mouth to say so, but decided against it. Best not to give you any more ammunition. Instead, she sighed, hard, and said, "You're impossible."

"You chose me," you reminded her.

"Aye," Rowena admitted. Credit where it was due. "I suppose this is my fault."

Her hold on your hand loosened, and you pulled it free. You flashed a happy smile that made Rowena pull on one of her own. She couldn't help it; as annoying as you could be, seeing you happy made her heart swell up with warmth. Your smiles and laughs and joys, as bright and radiant as the sun, made everything worth it.

"Why don't I teach you a spell?" she offered.

You grinned like a child at Christmas. "Which one?"

"I know a rather fun one," Rowena said happily. "You'll love it!"

"Yes, please!" you beamed.

This could turn out to be an entertaining afternoon after all.

Tags: @werewolfbarbie @oswinthestrange @songofthecagedmoose @apurdyfulmind @getthesalt-sam @metallihca @salembitchtrials @jay-eris @hellsmother @elizabeth-effie @victoriasagittariablack @rowenaswife @dropsofpetrichor @xfireandsin @liddell-alien @hotdiggitydammit @thai-inette @darkhumorsblog @wayward-kaia @angel7376 @rowenaisfabulous @ruthieconnells @evil-regal-vampiress @collectorofsecretsandsouls @angel-e-v-a @melisandre02 @a-queen-and-her-throne

[tarithenurse]

On my mind, in my soul - 4

Prompt: Blue, floor, Foreigner’s God by Hozier (passages in block quotes) Pairing: Loki x Burglar!reader. Content: Swearing, angst, pain (mostly emotional), arguing, sadness, mention of trauma, LEMONS (with a hint of dom/sub?)...fluff? A/N: Link to previous chapters in Masterlist (check bio or tab). If you want a tag, then just ask (yay). Please reblog if you enjoyed...or comment! Comments are nice too. When that’s said...probably a shitload of typos etc bc i’ve not proofread ‘cause I’m in a shitty place mentally after a too social weekend (so worth it though). “Resume”: (Because this takes off right where we left last chapter)  The heavy sigh rattles you to your core. “I’m sorry for this, [Y/N].” Glancing briefly, you see how he runs a hand over his face, rubbing the tired eyes momentarily. “I can only imagine what you must think of me, truly…but I need you to hear me out, alright?”

It’s not like you have a choice, really, and this conversation has started nothing like you’d expected. “Then talk.”

Holding the Devil’s Hand

Waiting impatiently for the worst too happen, it surprised you when you realize he’s sitting down on the floor as far away from you as possible. There are other options for him to sit comfortably, still he’s chosen the least threatening option. It’s on purpose…trying to make me at ease. Drop my guard. Regardless the reasoning behind it, however, the silence still hangs heavy in the air, threatening to explode if neither of you say anything.

Her eyes look sharp and steady Into the empty parts of me

“I’m not good at these sort of things…apologies.” Stalling already with a sigh, Loki settles down more comfortably in the corner by the door. “I realize that…nothing I say can make it up to you…” You can feel his eyes on your back and it paralyses you, afraid what might set him off. “I…I’m prone to think very highly of myself and my skills as the God of Mischief and Chaos. Finding that I had been tricked and by a Midgardian girl no less?” He snorts in disbelief at his own words, releasing a hot prickle of anger in your chest. “I was intrigued. Amused more than offended…”

You grab the chance as he trails off. “So far you’ve said nothing that warrants fucking kidnapping me! Either get to it or let me go now!”

“Easy, tiger,” the god smirks, “my point is…your skills, personality…you…I see potential. The few testes I arranged proved that you’re exactly the partner in crime I need for a very delicate…challenge. I’ve been spending almost every waking hour since we parted to try to find you in the hopes of…convincing you to return so I could explain myself and extend an offer I think would be mutually beneficial,” Loki’s voice lowers to a purr, “because you can’t deny that we’re good together. Although…complementing each others’ baser instinct was a bonus which I thought you had no problem with until the…misunderstanding we –“

“Misunderstanding?” Spinning to face him, all the fear’s been flushed away by anger-fueled adrenaline and you can feel the nails dig into your palms to keep your hands from shaking. Anger at him. And anger at the heat in your core at the memories he awakens. “Misunderstanding!? Are you fuckin’ serious right now??!! You hit me so hard that I landed at the other side of the bloody room!”

He’s on his feet quicker than you can fathom and you jerk backwards until you collide with the bench by the window, sending you hard on your ass. The fearful retreat stops him short. Burning indignation reigned in in the same way he returns to the far side although he stays standing.

“What you accused me of being willing to do…” Loki’s voice’s shaking with anger although he tries to hold it back, “people may never think of me as good, but I have a code if you will. Some things that I’ll never lower myself to.”

“H-how should I…” The words are hardly getting across your lips as you stutter meekly along, so you try again. “Ho-ow should I know that?” It’s hardly a victory to finish a sentence, but this time it feels as though you’ve accomplished something grand, the little thrill enabling you to continue. “Prone, held at knifepoint by a guy who was accused of all sorts of shit. And not just here on earth.”

You know from experience how good Loki’s at using his tongue, but words don’t come easy as he opens and closes the pretty mouth of his until eventually, he stops trying and withdraws into himself. Once more, the only sounds is the faint buzz from the lamps and a gurgle in the waterpipes hidden behind the rich wallpaper. Rubbing the back of your legs where you’d slammed them against the seat, you assure yourself that not even a bruise will hint at your clumsiness.

The sound of a lock makes you look up to see Loki opening the door and stepping well out of the way, granting a clear path out of his bedroom. He doesn’t look at you, so you doubt your ears when he tells you that you are free to go.

Hesitantly at first, you tread across the soft carpet, each step bringing you close to freedom yet also fanning a doubt in your mind. Five steps to the door, Loki’s standing still in front of the mirror by the dresser. Four steps, you ignore the frown and glistening trail on his cheek. Two steps, and your legs are slowing, body fighting against the logic that urges you to hurry out and down the stairs, whishing no one will stop you. One step, and a memory presents itself, uncalled for at an inopportune moment which causes even your logic to hesitate. In the doorway itself, you come to a halt.

She feels no control of her body She feels no safety in my arms

“What was it?” Don’t hear the quiver of my voice, please.

You can see the staircase from where you stand, the broad steps granting a glimpse to the hall below.

“What was what?” Loki answers flatly.

“What was the reason the charges were dropped? About your role in New York?”

Everyone had been stunned when the news leaked, and it had been the rage in the media and online where the most absurd conspiracy theories went unchecked because really, what arguments were there anymore now that it was a fact that aliens existed?

“It’s of no consequence.” Arms cross over his chest, defiant and protectively. “Just leave. Forget about this. I will not bother you anymore.”

Dimwitted, emo-loving freak, your logic begins a rant to get you from doing exactly what you end up with anyways. A few steps back, while cussing yourself to Antarctica and back, brings the reflection of the god’s face back in view. Pale and hard. A hand nimbly swipes a wet shimmer away before it reaches the sharp jaw. Don’t fucking do it. It’s a trap. He’s a trickster. A liar. The sharp sting from the teeth sinking into your lower lip shuts up the inner monologue for a moment, allowing you to breathe deeply and way the risks.

All that I've been taught And every word I've got Is foreign to me

“You’d never given me a reason to actually…fear you…despite your majorly creepy stunts of breaking in to my place and shit…” The exhale comes as a puff, that stirs the fine particles dancing in the air between the open door and you. “The rules of our…game...thing…they were never clear, but you…you…uhm…” Struggling to put the chaotic thoughts into words, you know that you’re trying to convince yourself more than him and you hate yourself for it. “You’d not done anything I didn’t want be-before I accused you of wanting to…y’know…and you hadn’t even hinted that that was something…”

Loki has gone completely still, barely even breathing as he listens to the mumbled mess, but you’re at a loss at what you actually want to accomplish. Comfort him? He’d hurt you physically. Scared you. But if anyone had said something similar to you, wouldn’t you have lost your temper? Difference is, of course, that you don’t have the strength to literally knock someone through a wall.

“Gimme one good reason to trust y’again.” The harshness you’d tried to summon is inaudible, reducing your order to a plea.

“Not that.”

Staying quiet, you absentmindedly try to rub some warmth into your arms as you wait for the man to quit being stubborn. It’s going to be a long wait, but now that the door’s open you aren’t in as bad a rush as before.

“There’s an item which I greatly desire, but it’s of dire importance tha–“

“You can take the item and shove it unless you don’t answer my question,” your voice cracks like a whip, silencing Loki quite efficiently and you notice how the god’s body tenses.

A rustle accompanies the stubborn, no, haughty answer. “I told those who need to know about…the background for New York.”

“Then there’s no more to talk about.”

You’re in the hallway, when he calls out for you, broken and beaten by his own demons. I should continue. Already, your feet are rooted on the polished wood. I should leave. Soft footsteps are drawing near, urging you to run rather than turn to face the man the way you actually do, watching his cautionary movements and the tremble of his hands, feeling the cold roll over you once more. This is a trick. Eyes meet and you have no doubt that the pain he’s exhibiting is real.

“Tell me what happened.” It’s a soft murmur, spoken into his raven hair as you awkwardly pat his back.

It takes a minute or two before he straightens up, freeing you shoulder from the weight of his chilly head but taking your hands instead to tug you gently with him back into the room.

The door closes softly behind you, no click of the lock this time at least, as Loki silently offers the bed as a seat for you. You accept hesitantly, afraid of how long or short a time is left before the trap’s sprung. A trap you’ve walked into freely this time. Thankfully, he leans against the wall by the bathroom door with his head hung low as you fidget with the hem of the purple silk, trying to find some way to soothe your nerves. Can I take the cover? The air’s freezing.

“If you ever tell anyone about this…”

He doesn’t finish the sentence. Doesn’t have to, really, mostly because even in your world there are some things that are sacred. He’s not the only one with a code. And then he begins talking about event long passed, about wrongs he had done of his own free will where not even the despair he’d felt was an excuse and no promises from neither him nor his family could right the many wrongs that had been committed. It had let to his fall. Literally and figuratively.

Then the tale takes a turn for the worse. To a darkness where words fail along with the god’s human appearance. As Loki talks about torture and pain beyond any you’ve experienced, his real form breaks free as if trying to protect him from the memories. Red eyes blur and burn in stark contrast to the ice that form around him, creeping towards you. And still you inch closer to him, to hear the words that are whispered hoarsely and to tentatively extend a quivering hand, placing it on his dark-clawed fingers.  Squeezing as he whispers the name of a Titan.

Screaming the name Of a foreigner's God The purest expression of grief

“I don’t want your pity,” he growls, trying to shake off the hand.

I know. “Good. ‘Cause you’re not getting it.” You manage to contain the sigh. “You’re still a fucking lunatic, but at least I know why…I can work with this…”

“You can…?” Eyes like blood scorch your skin.

Yeah, it’s not smart of me, though. “Gonna clear up some things if it’s gonna work…and you’ve got a shitload of sucking up ‘fore I forgive you for bashing me ‘cross the room.”

The reaction’s immediate, perfect proof that you’ve chosen the wrong words. A low frequency makes the air hum, and the face folds into that of a predator that’s both hungry and amused because it knows where to find the next meal without putting any real effort into it. Catching your wrist before you can pull your hand back, so you tug hard, pulling Loki’s on his knees before you as you scuttle back along the wide bed. Raven hair partially obscuring the smirk curling his lips, falling away grant a view of the shoulder blades oscillating under the thin, white shirt that’s stretching tight over the wider-than-normal body.

“How convenient.” The lip that darts out have an effect on more than just Loki’s lips. “I’ll do more than just…suck…up.”

Pressed up against the headboard, your only escape would be off the other side of the bed, but of course you don’t go for it because you’re a fool with no backbone to resist the silver-tongued god even now. That’s why you let him grab your ankles and pull you slowly to the edge of the bed, kissing each inch of skin as it gets within reach all the while he bunches up the thin fabric of your dress until his lips ghost across the very top of your inner thigh. A cold nose brush the soft lace as he switches attention from one side to the other, almost distracting you from the fingers that are wandering past your hips and across the expanse of you belly, straining the fabric and setting off shivers that have nothing to do with the cold of the room.

There’s a warm shimmer, a sign that you know very well already, exposing more of your body and granting Loki a chance to slither the exploring hand further until it skims the valley between the breasts to trace the delicate lace that does absolutely nothing to hide the perking nipples. Teasing and pinching them through the bra ads a lovely contrast to the feathery kisses and licks below the waist until you’re breathing raggedly, chasing Loki’s mouth with your still covered cunt.

Wide strokes of blue palms towards your hips send new waves of anticipation rushing along, and you can feel how slick your core is becoming even though the god hasn’t even touched you there. The moment his fingers hook on the panties, you can’t help but hold your breath. Glancing down between your legs to see delight warming the features decorated with lines…lines that you know from experience are practically everywhere on his body. But the green eyes are trained on the reveal happening before him as, inch by inch, your pussy’s bared.

“So beautiful.”  The words are carried on cold breath but hold more warmth and adoration than anyone else has ever shown for your body. “Perfect…and eager.”

You know somehow that you moan the moment his mouth finds your folds and begins to tease, driving you to writhing and whimpering to the precipice of release all while Loki’s kneeling on the floor between your feet. Each moan from your lips makes him hum with pleasure, sending vibrations into your core in a way that shouldn’t be possible. Every gasp and panting breath from your lungs causes him to suck greedily at your clit.

Somewhere in the process, you realize as Loki spreads your legs further, he’s removed your panties completely, but a particular strong lick that curls his tip of his tongue inside you chases any coherent thoughts away. Then you feel his fingers pushing and wiggling against the fluttering walls of your pussy, finding the g-spot and running over it again and again in slow pumps matching the pace of his lips. Teeth nibbling and tugging in a masterful feat of balance between pleasure and pain.

“Let me hear you…then I’ll let you cum.” Even when talking, Loki doesn’t let up but applies a thumb deftly to your clit. “Say my name.”

In the foggy storm of you mind, the words annoy you. That wasn’t the deal. It’s a struggle to get as far as to rest on your elbows because each movement requires coordinated use of your muscles that are trembling due to Loki’s ministrations. Finally in place, you catch his hooded, red eyes.

“N-no-o.” Your answer makes him slow down, but not stop. “You’ve no…right…to demand anything.”

You’re gasping for breath and in no condition to assert any imagined power, but pure stubbornness fuels you even as the man arches an eyebrow at you in disbelief. Lazy circles around the nerve bundle keeps you on edge, fingers slide effortlessly through the tight wetness in a way that sweep your g-spot gently.

“My dear, I believe you’re right…I did give my word.”

The low growl should have been warning enough in it’s own, but you’re too tightly wrapped in the ecstasy his adept handling has you stewing in to notice how his arms wrap around your thighs. All you know is that the world seems to shift around you sending you off the edge of the bed and impaling you swiftly around the ridged cock. All air leaves you in a warbled moan as the sudden intrusion topples you over the edge, back arching so you shoulders rest on the mattress, holding you partially in place like a safety in case your grip on Loki’s shoulders should fail. Even then, he’s got your hips in a bruising grip, lifting and lowering you effortlessly at a reckless pace without any risk of you slipping away.

Your core is spasming, sending thundering waves of heat each time the icy shaft bottoms out, ridges passing the sensitive spot each time. Sharp keens spur the god to rut into you wilder, practically shoving you back onto the bed as he leans over you to taste your skin. Lavish kisses and love bites soak up the pearls of sweat and he sucks greedily at your neck, you breasts, your mouth. The two of you share breaths through the superficial pantings, causing you to slowly black out from the mix of restricted air and the continuous orgasm burning through your body.

A cold thumb presses against your clit, rubbing tiny circles simultaneously bringing you even higher than you thought possible as Loki succumbs to bliss, your name woven into the shameless moan fanning your throat an instant before his leaves your lips as a ragged, breathy scream.

Screaming the name Of a foreigner's God …

Wrapped in Loki’s (now pale) arms, your thought are barely coherent enough to wonder if it’s a good idea to linger. He’s taken care of you gently and sweeter than you thought possible from someone like him.

Who am I kidding…there’s no one like him!

Those are your last thoughts as sleep claims you.

[eweniversal]

Secrets of A Councilwoman p2

-PART 2-

Her mind didn’t stop from going over the searing words Rinlear had thrown at her. Like reopening scarred over wounds that had long since healed, his insults seemed to tear through her flesh.

“You still can’t do anything yourself. You need big, strong men to do everything for you.”

We can do what we need by ourselves. A soothing feeling like thick, sickeningly sweet molasses oozing through her veins came with this inner voice. It always did.

Yes.. I’m dependent on no one but me.

“You would sacrifice the spawn of your womb if it granted you more power!”

We did what had to be done. The sacrifice is for the betterment of all!

And I would do it again.

“No sister of mine. You’re no sister. Not mine. You’re no SISTER of mine!”

And he is no brother!

Brothers do not abandon their sister!

“Nor a sister who’d ‘spare’ their brother out of convenience or abandon their lover! You left us! You abandoned Echertai!”

Echertai’s face flashed behind her eyelids as she continued her power walk through the castle, his face staring at her almost as clearly as if he were standing right in front of her. “Ah!” Her eyes opened wide, staring hard in front of her. All too suddenly, Rinlear’s previous actions caught up to her and sent her kneeling to the ground. Limbs shaking, she took several minutes to readjust herself to her environment.

What do we taste?

Bile.

What do we feel?

Smooth, stone floor. Cool to the touch.

Her heartbeat thundered in her ears, a ring starting to drown her thoughts.

What do we hear?

Birds.. Somewhere. Talking.. Nearby, but not getting closer. Safe from view.

The ringing slowly died away.

What do we smell?

Baking. From the kitchens. Bread, muffins, cookies?

What do we see?

Her eyes opened slowly, lifting her head to see where exactly she was. The entire layout of Maerise she knew like the back of her hand as she was intimately involved in the original building process, but where she was specifically was a passageway from the original design she’d implemented herself. It was hidden, but not completely secret, and ran near the kitchens on the ground floor. It led to a staircase that connected to a covered archway that overlooked much of the city.

Stone. Torchlight. A window. Blue sky, through the window.

Exhaling a held breath, Kotaphira stood slowly, placing a hand on the wall for support. For the first time, instead of feeling comforted by her sanctuary of stone, an essence of claustrophobia had washed over her. She needed fresh air.

Her gait picked up again as she mentally reviewed Rinlear’s words once more.

“I want you to decide upon one soul to sacrifice to me, one for every head we have in audience here. You’ll announce them by name at the city square.”

What a sick minded fool. The fact that he would suggest such a thing so vile made her stomach twist. Was he trying to use that as a ploy to upset her into giving in to some other agenda he had? He had no upper hand, nothing to bargain with! His madness must have settled well in a long time ago.

“These twisted lengths you're willing to go through will not be kept hidden."

This was what worried her most. He seemed to see through her, and not need to ask why he was detained, but rather willing to express intentions she may have with him to others. It was as if he understood he was a part of a much bigger puzzle that she was constructing.

“You left us! You abandoned Echertai!”

Her head shook and she gasped softly, pausing at this. No time for your poisonous remarks, demon. She had more important things to deal with. First of which, finding her sons. They would need to be approached, told of Rinlear, and perhaps give some tweaking to the information about him, then guide them along with the one called Boar’s Head and this other Kotaphira to where she needed them. Summoning a spirit of the dead would be no easy task, and defeating one would likely cause at least one of their deaths. If she had to choose, by process of elimination, it would have to be her doppelganger. She had no ties to the girl, and maybe, just- maybe, she could fake her own death with the death of the girl’s. Then she could, if all went well, enjoy her spoils of that Other Place. So long as the dragons were paid off for their precious gifts. That debt was one yet to be paid, and while the Ulpustur dragons had not come to collect just yet, she didn’t want to be caught blindsided. They didn’t need to know how much wealth she’d stumbled upon when she got to the Other Place- she hoped their noses were not so keen on realizing how MUCH wealth was in one spot.

The arches of the walkway she was on let in the afternoon light, and she paused mid-stride to stare at the stone floor in front of her.

-Abandoned…-

Don’t look at me.

Birds chirped, fluttering by as they flew to the walkway above.

Stop it.

From below in the city, the shouts of vendors echoed up, along with the laughter of children and the clattering of carts and hooves. A crier gave updates on the still missing princess Mylla, asking anyone for information on the young girl’s whereabouts.

With a harsh turn, Kotaphira gripped on to the stone ledge and yelled through the archway, looking not at the city below, but what loomed over, white stone perfectly poised in place nearby. “GET OUT OF MY HEAAAD!!”

Silence filled the air after the echo of her voice faded. Luckily for everyone down below, she didn’t use her magical voice in her yell. People in the streets stopped their ongoings to turn and stare up at the crazed old half-Elfirrin woman, birds flying away from the area as fast as they could.

“Shouting at him won’t bring him to life, you know.” Verusk, the king’s advisor, casually rested his shoulder on a post several feet away with his arms crossed over leather and velvet robes. Warm, for the end of spring.

You think I don’t know that! “Oh!” She turned to face him. She had been so overwhelmed with the moment she’d not realized he was standing there. “Ah… I’ll be on my way.”

He pushed himself off the pillar he was against, keeping to the shadowed area of the path as he took a few steps closer. “I think you could use someone to talk to, other than our proud marble representative on the mountain there. Captain Echertai, as good a listener as you claim he was, can only do so much now.. Come, speak with me. Would you, councilwoman?” He gave a smile that was intended to be warm.

“Ah... certainly.” She nodded curtly, needing to bite her lip at his comments about her old friend and lover. More than anything, she wanted to get back to her ‘pet project’. “Is there something you needed? Is my son giving you trouble again over allowances?” Her brain scrambled to find recent topics.

“No, Samund has been quite cooperative- he’s still learning the ropes of being on the council.” He shook his head, “Actually, there’s been talk of some secret happenings going on under our castle’s roof.” He stood straight, stiffening his pose. He was serious.

Does he know of Rinlear? Her head tilted, inquisitive at his questioning. “Secrets? Is that really a new thing, Verusk?” She teased.

His long black hair waved as a strong breeze pushed through the archways, flowers in the planters stinking the air as they danced with the wind. “Perhaps not. But this is something you may be interested in.”

“In what way?” She sounded clueless as ever, perfectly fitting her role, but still irritated that he was stopping her from getting to her goal.

“It seems..” His voice lowered as he stepped closer, not wanting his voice to carry. “Someone.. Or some people, have been poisoning our dragon eggs.”

She blinked. “What?” That was serious cause for concern. The military had recently adapted the dragon rider force over the course of the last 20 years, and it had been quite a success- not to mention these were the very gifts from the Ulpustur dragons. Precious and valuable to the Maerisian forces. Who would sabotage that?

He glanced around, checking their surroundings as his large pointed ears turned with his head. The Arc’hildean night-Elfirrin looked back to her and whispered “Perhaps here is not the best place to discuss this. Shall we go to my office?”

The last thing she wanted was a distraction, and time to do what she needed was limited. But this was… troubling. What group or person would do such a thing? “Very well.” She walked next to him, keeping her head held high.

“How has Taskell been? We hardly hear from that troublemaker these days.” Smalltalk from Verusk meant he was in a troubled mood. Which could mean the king was in some sort of danger. If the dragon eggs and hatchlings were in danger in the safest place in the castle, so too could Selreth be. Verusk never attempted to get involved with anyone unless there was something wrong with King Selreth’s safety.

“Hm.” She nodded, but didn’t say anything to respond. She didn’t have time for this, and getting involved with his safety measures was not entirely her job.

The silence between them grew, and Verusk seemed desperate to close it. “So many flowers have been blooming this spring. The apothecaries are working overtime for anti-allergen potions. It seems we are running low on- get this- frusian leaf. The thing grows like weeds on the hillsides, and no one wants to bother risking their fingers on digging them out of the ground.” He was amused at that. “So the apothecaries who have more of the potion are overpricing their products! Imagine, paying fifty LP for a simple anti-allergen potion.”

“Highway robbery due to laziness. It’s not a new concept.” She finally obliged a little to his chatter. But the silence continued once more, and she noticed his irritation, though if one did not know him well would presume he was nervous. Still, she kept silent and followed along the hallways to his office.

By the time they arrived at his office, she was in a more sour mood. Time was dropping like sand from Midra’s hourglass. He shut the door tight behind them and moved to make tea.

“I’m needed elsewhere, Verusk, and having pleasantries with the king’s advisor in closed quarters hardly seems appropriate.” Her jaws clenched, irritated. She didn’t move from her spot by the door, already feeling claustrophobic for the second time, now from the shelves of books that lined his walls and the large map of the city that hung over his tea making station. 

It seemed she hadn’t completely gotten over her episode from earlier.

He didn’t turn around as he prepared the pot, using an apothecary’s torch to light a small metal ring underneath. Carefully he put the torch away as the ring grew bright and orange, heating the water inside the pot. “Refusing tea from your host is quite an insult, even in Maerise. Isn’t that right?” He moved to set cups and cookies from a covered plate to a tray with a small container of sweetjuice from a miro’ak plant and another of milk. After the water was hot, he poured it into the cups over leaves and set it on his desk. When she made no effort to move from her spot, he picked up her cup and held it out to her. “Milk?”

“Will you get to the point!” Kotaphira huffed as she walked over, took the tea from him and set it firmly on his desk.

“Really. You can’t make a moment, even for me?” Irritation bubbled up in his tone. “We have been through enough together as it is, and you act like this now! Have I upset you that much over that incident that you still give me this cold shoulder?”

At that, she pinched the bridge of her nose and sat down. One time, and he still holds it over my head! How many years ago was that? And nothing even happened! “Was this all a ruse, just to get me alone!”

He scoffed before exhaling, turning to the large window behind his desk and opening the drapes on half the window, light from outside illuminating where she sat. “No. There is a group out there doing terrible things. But I did wish to see you. It has been awhile since we sat and… talked.” he was almost glaring at her with his golden eyes as he sat down.

She responded with a hard glare of her own, squinting from the light. “Ah, it seems we’ve talked, thank you for the tea.” She moved to get up and he laughed, sourly.

“Ahaha! Oh, you’re always in such a hurry, fair Kotaphira! Five. Minutes. Please.” His motioned to the empty chair. “We have to discuss the dragons, at least.” His frustration at her was still quite obvious.

His compliment made her skin crawl, but she sat back down anyway.

After a deep breath, he started once more, careful with his words. “The Festival of Lights is soon, and Queen Sylvarra has invited leaders from around Erai’hym, including King Selreth, his family, and a few others to join her in her palace on the Fertile Peninsula in Lutria.”

“Yes, I heard about this carousel.” She had intended to use that time to put her plan into action, but with Mylla ‘missing’, Selreth wasn’t ready to set foot anywhere if it wasn’t intended to find his precious brat.

Verusk let out an amused snort of air from his nose. “I know, you don’t care for such festivities, but considering it would be on neutral ground for once, I think it would be an excellent chance for us here to get in on her good graces. Also, seeing as you are our founder and are best at working… peaceful negotiations, you would be a valuable asset to this social get-together.”

“The king won’t have it.”

He looked confused. “How-,”

“So long as young Mylla is missing, he won’t even start to think about attending a gathering like that. You know this. Why can’t your protective mind extend further than the King and his ‘assets’?” Her head shook. “So long as you keep close minded on situations like that, you won’t get far.” She would make sure Mylla was found well before the festival, but the ruse needed to stay up- for now.

His tone turned teasing for a moment. “You insult me, councilwoman Arculum. I know where my priorities lie, and I am very familiar with what the king is motivated by.”

That wasn’t quite the response she expected from him. She thought he was going to say, The king and his family are always first to me! My loyalty is to them! That seemed to be his initial outgoing response to most things. What changed, she wondered. “What is it you are motivated by, then?”

A smirk, and he leaned back in his chair, thin fingers interlacing. “Quite simple, really. Power. But! You know me, I cannot work well without someone’s guidance and push. The dynamic between Selreth and I is a bond that is intricately entwined. If something were to happen to him, it affects me directly.”

“Then why are you not down in the streets looking for Mylla as he is?”

Had she caught him off guard? The look on his face seemed to insinuate so. But he gathered himself in a dignified and convincing way. “Someone has to cover the day-to-day nonsense.” He motioned to the stacks of paper littering his desk. “I do this, as he trusts me to, so that he may have some ease in searching for his beloved child. She is of my flesh and blood too, remember.”

“Yes, your niece’s mother is a very prominent member of our society.” Kotaphira couldn’t help the almost snotty tone she took when she said that. She disliked his sister; but, there were few people she liked. “Can we get back to the matter at hand? You mentioned dying dragons.”

“First, answer. Will you attend the festival with me?”

“No. What are the rest of these people’s motives?”

He let another dry laugh before idly tracing the rim of his cup. “You are, without a doubt, one of the most apathetic and aloof women I have ever met. If Mylla is found before then, will you attend?”

“IF she is found…” By the time she is found, I will not even be here. And if I am, this will be the least of my worries! “Ask me at a more appropriate time.” Like, never.

He seemed quite amused still. “Alright. You win. I will ask again later.” He sat back, watching her.

“So? The dragons?”

“Yes, yes. This group-,“ He sat straighter in his chair. “This group seems to have an agenda that the dragons are not welcome here. That because they are not magical like the large dragons from the Ulpustur Region, they must be creatures from Herac’ine. Not only that, if you notice, none of the dragon riders are, or have been, human.”

“What does that have to do with anything? The bond between a dragon and dragon rider is not one that happens by chance- the dragonling chooses their rider. Everyone knows this.” This did sound like a serious issue.

“People want equality, fellow councilwoman. There’s something more. There’s quite the unrest in the city, and not just from Mylla’s disappearance. Many Elfirrin and those with Elfirrin blood have reported feeling agitated and highly so. I myself have felt this uneasiness recently, but only when I’m down walking in the streets. Trocbloods, Derhanish, and others have not.” His eyebrows came together as he thought over this. “It’s possible our Elfirrin blood may have a virus of some sort that is infecting others. So be wary of that.”

“I’m fine.” Nothing out of the usual, anyway. Or.. so she figured. “About the dragons- Why did you not take this to Steirtorim?”

“He’s been out of commission for the past several weeks, under your orders, I found out. I could hound you for the reasons as to why it was so pertinent you reassign our captain to an unknown location.”

“And Stiphen? He is the commander, after all.”

“Now, I couldn’t rightly bring out an accusation like that against him.”

It took her a second to process what he meant. “You think- Stiphen is a part of this group!?” A serious accusation against the old man. There were rumors of some higher ups being racist, but racism had never been an issue in Maerise. If Verusk was one of these racists, however… “What of me? Why tell me?”

“Your motives would not follow that agenda. We all worked too hard for the chance at those dragons, none of us would threaten or hurt them now. It makes logical sense.”

“But logical sense is not proof. Bring me proof of all this- any of this, and I’ll listen to more of what you have to say. But for now, I have a meeting to arrange.” She wanted nothing more than to leave the conversation. There were more important matters to attend to than his dislike and potential slander against her city guard, and the commander, an old friend.

“The proof of the poisoning is there! All you have to do is go and see, I’ll take you to the handlers myself!”

She was already moving to leave.

“Kotaphira- why did you have Captain Steirtorim reassigned?”

“It’s a private matter.”

“So you hire a private thug. Not the city’s captain!”

“I think you’ll find he’ll be back in his own bed tonight. Check there and discuss this issue with him then, and maybe you two can speculate more on this ‘cult’ of yours.” With that, she stood and went to the door, firmly grasping the handle.

He exhaled. “Kotaphira.” His tone had softened considerably. “What should I tell Selreth you’ve done with Steir?”

Informal now. She hated the switch he was able to flip when he wanted more information. The fact that he used Steirtorim’s nickname meant he was thinking back to their ‘adventures’ thirty years prior when they made the pact with the Ulpustur dragons- Selreth, Steirtorim, Verusk, his sister Aneela, and herself were forced together at the time in that unknown place, but they learned how to work together and in the end brought back an agreement of peace and several small dragon eggs. Along with an empty promise to pay handsomely for these eggs should the Ulpustur dragons ever come to collect. Kotaphira knew as soon as her sacrifice was made and access to the Other Place was opened, those dragons would smell the wealth and gather. She’d have to share her greed, and she wasn’t quite sure how much she was ready to surrender to a bunch of money hungry fire breathing lizards.

“Ask Steirtorim that. And don’t bother me again.” She left, closing the door loudly behind her, leaving her untouched tea on the desk.

[romanamongthestars]

Another Sad Love Song (Prinxiety Song Fic)

Summary: He’d promised Virgil that he’d be more open when it came to their disagreements. That he would try to see clearer, and he wouldn’t let his pride get in the way.

If only Roman was better at showing Virgil that it wasn’t Virgil’s fault. It wasn’t ever his fault.

Pairings: Prinxiety

Warnings: slight cursing, mentions/flashbacks having to do with an argument, guilt, self-hatred, weaponry, weaponry practice, crying, panic attack, fainting, strong atelophobia (the fear of not being good enough or being imperfect)

Genre(s): angst, hurt/comfort

Word count: 1,628

A/N: out of all the songs i listen to, i didn’t think a khalid song would identify with this ship so much. but when i made the connection, i almost jumped out of my chair and then i started writing this right away! so here we go!

***

I'm not the best at showing my emotions

You cut me deep and you left me wide open

Roman ran into his room and slammed the door. Words and sentences echoed in his mind, all screaming and desperate.

Just like after most arguments he’d have with Virgil, the indignation arrived first, followed by anger, followed by shame. He’d promised Virgil that he’d be more open when it came to their disagreements. That he would try to see clearer, and he wouldn’t let his pride get in the way.

He had promised, and he would do anything for his love. His amazingly thoughtful, caring Virgil, who kept up walls around anyone but him. And Roman had probably destroyed that trust with one swing of his (metaphorical, he would never actually swing one at Virgil) sword.

If only Roman was better at showing Virgil that it wasn’t Virgil’s fault. It wasn’t ever his fault.

Now that Roman thought about it, he could be better at showing Virgil a lot of things. Even though he was the most vulnerable around his boyfriend, his emotions would get caught in his throat too often, and they only came out in ways he didn’t want them to.

Such as the fight they’d just had.

The guilt was overwhelming, and he couldn’t handle it anymore. So Roman snapped his fingers, and his room faded away into his realm.

I fought the demons that lie in between us

They'd think we're perfect if they'd ever seen us

But I guess this sounds like another sad love song

I can't get over how it all went wrong

Roman gazed at the forest. Beautiful trees with emerald green leaves flourished among rolling hills. He probably should just sit here and think through what had happened instead of doing what he was about to do.

But thinking was Logan’s job. So Roman sent a silent apology to the trees and pulled out his sword.

“I don’t understand why I can’t. Don’t you want me to be happy?”

“Not everything is about you, Roman.”

In a flash, Roman was at the nearest tree, the argument replaying in his head once more. The words were demons haunting him, breaking him down.

With every horrible word he said to Virgil, he pulled his sword over his shoulder and swung, leaving a deep dent in the tree. Every ounce of hatred he had towards himself for what he had just done to the man he considered the love of his life.

“Whatever. You can get so controlling sometimes. It’s like a thorn in my side!”

“Why would I say that?” Roman growled to himself, swinging the sword back once more and hitting the tree even harder. He knew Virgil was just trying to show that he cared.

“I’m just trying to do what’s best for you, Roman! You obviously can’t look after yourself, and someone has to do it.”

“Is that all I am to you, Virgil?! Your charity case? Just because you were once my charity case doesn’t mean I have to be yours!”

“That was a lie!” Roman’s voice had gotten louder. Swing.

“Roman, I... I was your charity case? You never actually cared?”

Swing.

“Well, Roman, in that case, maybe we should break up. I’m not anyone’s charity case, and I sure as hell don’t want to be yours.”

I took the time to think of what you said

You were tap-dancing in my head

I must be honest, I have a lot of pride

But I'm broken inside

Roman cried out in agony at the memory, swinging again, again, again.

Then he dropped his sword and collapsed to the ground, sobbing, his heart in shreds.

Roman didn’t know how long he had been crying when his realm merged back into his room. His breaths were shallow, his lungs and stomach hurting, and his vision began to become blurry and out of focus. All he remembered was that he was crying out Virgil’s name, somehow having the strength to project without having air to breathe.

Then the entire world faded to black.

***

Bridges, they are burning

Lover, I am worried

Tables, they are turning

Lover, I am hurting

Virgil couldn’t remember what the argument was about anymore. All he knew was that one moment, Logan was at his door saying something about Roman, and the next, he was hovering over Roman’s unconscious body. Patton and Logan stood behind him, concerned.

And they all had a right to be concerned. Virgil felt his heart begin to hurt as he looked over Roman. His face was scrunched up as if he was in pain, a mixture of sweat and tear stains marking it. His outfit was torn up and muddy, his sword lying next to him.

What bothered Virgil most is that Roman looked... defeated. And Roman was never defeated. He was bold and proud and triumphant.

Had Virgil breaking up with Roman really hurt him this much? At the time, he’d acted like it was no big deal.

What have I done? Virgil thought, hesitantly lifting a finger and tracing Roman’s hairline, then down to his neck and shoulders, where there was so much tension stored that Virgil almost cried out.

“I’m... I’m um, gonna go get some water or something...” Virgil got up and stepped around Roman to go and leave, when there was noise from behind him.

Virgil turned around in time to see Roman open his eyes and groan. “What.. where...”

A sudden gasp came from the torn man, and he cried out, “Virgil! Where’s Virgil, I need to tell him I’m sorry, I-“

Virgil ran back to Roman’s side, grabbing his hand. “I’m here, I’m here.”

Tears started to stream down Roman’s face again, and he managed to say, “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean any of it, I just... I love you so much, and...”

Virgil shook his head. “Not now. We can talk about it later, but I need you to breathe for me right now, okay? In for four, hold for seven, out for eight.”

Roman struggled to hold his breath, but Virgil tapped out the breathing pattern on his inner wrist, and it seemed to help.

“It’s okay, I’m here,” Virgil soothed. “I’m here, I’ve got you.”

When Roman got himself together, Logan and Patton stepped back into the room, surprising Virgil, who hadn’t seen them walk out. Patton was holding a glass of water. Logan was looking over the situation and mumbling to himself.

Patton handed the glass of water to Roman while Virgil slowly helped him sit up against the wall.

Logan sat down across from Roman and gently asked, “Roman, what happened?”

Roman set down the glass of water before taking a deep breath and forcing out shaky words. “Virgil and I had an... argument. And afterwards I came up here and started some sword practice in my realm, but then something happened. I couldn’t breathe and I was crying and then I just... passed out!”

“Unconsciousness caused by lack of oxygen that was the result of a panic attack. I suggest you get some rest,” Logan quickly concluded, standing up.

“And you two kiddos need to sort things out,” Patton added, walking out of the room and dragging Logan with him.

Soon it was just Virgil and Roman. Silence immediately filled the room.

Roman looked at Virgil.

Virgil looked everywhere, it seemed, but Roman.

Then Roman began to speak.

“Virgil, I’m just... so sorry. My words and actions weren’t justified or right. They aren’t how I should be towards you. They aren’t the choices of... the choices of a prince worthy of being yours. Much less the choices of a prince at all.”

At the last two sentences, Virgil’s eyes snapped up to meet Roman’s. His fanciful, dramatic voice had been shattered into crumbles, revealing a vulnerable, insecure interior. His eyes, usually so confident, were nothing but pain and fear.

“Maybe you were right to break up with me, Virg. I’m nothing and you’re... everything.” Roman looked to the side, ashamed. “But I still love you. And I still want you back,” he finished in a whisper.

Virgil felt something in him break, and he tilted Roman’s chin up to meet his eyes again. “No. Don’t talk like that. Not when you are nothing less than royalty. Nothing less than everything.”

Roman closed his eyes, allowing two tears to fall. Virgil leaned back against the wall, curling himself up near Roman.

The next words Virgil said were spoken with hesitation and soft love. “But you’re also not perfect, Roman. You make mistakes, and that’s okay.”

Roman stifled a sob at the words. His greatest fear had been spoken aloud, and it was... relieving. Virgil was correct. Roman didn’t have to be perfect.

He didn’t have to, and he wasn’t.

And, for the first time in his life, Roman realized that was okay.

Virgil draped an arm around Roman’s stomach and pulled him closer. He leaned up and placed a kiss on Roman’s forehead.

“I make mistakes, too. What I said at the end of that stupid argument was one of the biggest ones of my life, Roman. And that’s saying something.”

Roman chuckled at the joke, knowing that Virgil wasn’t serious about that self-deprecating comment at this instant. Then he began to look a bit bashful, eyes flighty. “Does... does this mean you’ll take me back?”

Virgil kissed the last tear off of Roman’s cheek before responding. “As long as you’ll have me, I’m here.”

Roman felt another weight lift off of his chest before he smiled, leaning into his boyfriend. Whatever demons they might have to face later could wait. For now, what had attempted to keep them apart was gone, and they couldn’t be more content.

[laketaj24]

Game on Pt. 19

A/N: I wrote this at like 3 am this morning! I dont know why this particular part has haunted me. But I like it. The taglist is still open! or if you would like to be removed you can give me a heads up and I will take you off! This part also features a song. If you have not heard it... listen to it -------> HERE.

Catch Up on Game on -------> HERE. 

Warnings: Fluff. Smutt. Drunk Ivar. 

The state of the Lothbroks was undetermined. Ubbe remained calm, he went over every shred of evidence that Ivar had collected in awe that they had missed it before. But not Ivar he was on to Bjorn and his mother before the bomb went off. He didn’t trust them. Ivar knocked back another glass of Whiskey and watched Ubbe as he dived into it once more.

“The shit is not going to change Ubbe. We kill Torvi. We scar Bjorn. We kill Lagertha.”

“We can’t kill Torvi.” Ubbe adds. “Shit. Ivar we can’t just go on around killing everyone. We have to think reasonably.”

“We can’t kill Torvi,” He mocks. “They killed my mother.”

“I know what they did, but we should at least talk to dad.”

“We can just walk up to them and kill them. Bjorn and Lagertha. Boom.” He smiles pointing the crutch at Ubbe. “Head shot, ten fucking points.”

“Head shot, life in prison. He takes the bottle from Ivar, giving you a weary look.

“Fuck your life in prison. As soon as I see her, she is dead.” Ivar laughs.

You drape your arms down his chest. “Babe, we should get to bed.”

“I don’t want to go to sleep. I want to kill something.”

“Well, let’s talk about it tomorrow. I’m tired baby.”

“You should go undress.” He smiles. “Goodbye Ubbe.”

Drunk Ivar is perhaps your favorite. He sings. He rants and he sleeps. The small talk with Ubbe had made him rant. “That fucking bitch.” He slurred. “I want her dead.” Ivar declares waving his crutch over his head. “She’s a murderous cunt.”

“Talk dirty to me baby.” You laugh staring at him from the bottom of the bed. You wanted to be ravished and fucked until words were incomprehensible. But here he sat ranting.

“And-“ he hiccups. “Bjorn is gonna die. Somehow, that big motherfu-“ he paused. “Is gonna die!”

“Tell me more.” You help him with his shoes. Unlacing them both while he shrugs out of them.

“And dad, he’s not right in the head. He told me to forgive and move on. I can’t do that.”

“Your dad has been in a coma for three weeks babe.”

“His fucking ghost said it Y/N! That bastard is haunting me from Valhalla.”

You suppress your immediate urge to laugh and tug at his pants. “Okay babe.”

“Don’t fucking mock me.” He scoffs. “I know what the fuck I heard and saw...” he glances down at his pants. “I’m drunk. You can’t take advantage of me Y/N.”

“I’m not taking anything, your gonna give it willingly. And I’m drunk too.”

“I don’t want to fuckkkkkk.” His groan ends with him pitifully rolling to his side. “Y/N...” he sings your name with his slanted eyes peering down at you.

You hum a song under your breath and climb up the bed next to him. “Ivar...”

“What.” He whines.

“You’ve been neglecting me.” It sounds pouty but it doesn’t bother you for it is the truth. “Four weeks and every advance I have made you have denied me.”

“I’m too drunk for this conversation.”

“Well, no one told you to down an entire fifth of whiskey. I’ve been here for you. I’ve controlled those horrible spurts of confidence you have to kill without regard. I helped you bury your mother, hunt down photos and memories for you. I continue to express my love for you and there is nothing given in return.”

“Y/N,” he adjusts himself facing you. “I didn’t mean to neglect you. It was not my intention at all. I’m-.” He stops laying back. “I can’t get the vision of my brother fucking you out of my brain.”

“What.” Your voice cracks giving off your plea for an explanation. “Ivar you suggested it.”

“I know what I suggested it was foolish of me. I didn’t want Ubbe to think I was less Viking.”

“So, you sacrificed me as your willing victim? You used me to show that you were man enough to share! I told you that you were enough.”

“You didn’t seem to unwilling to decline him and the way you goggle at him and confide him.”

“Ubbe is a great listener, perhaps he would have heard me when I said YOU ARE ENOUGH. You know you make loving you hard, Ivar.”

“Oh yeah, blame me.”

“I will!” You sit up in the bed.

“I fucked someone else while you healed,” he pauses. “Oh wait, no that was you!”

Your mouth drops trying to remember that he was highly intoxicated. “I’ll let you sleep this off alone.”

“No you’ll fucking listen to me!” He barked. “Have you ever thought about how you make me feel woman! I’ve never cheated on you.” Ivar’s voice is low. “I’ve never looked at another woman. I’m loyal to Y/N. How the fuck do you think it makes me feel that you fucked Hvitserk, willingly, hmmm?”

You say nothing, unable to answer. Surprised that he even brought it up. “Or that instead of fucking learning with Ubbe you want to dance and fuck around with my him! They both can give you things I am not capable of doing! Ubbe can fuck you sideways and dance with you. Hvitserk can make you feel compassion for him. What about me? What about fucking Ivar? We argue more than we talk. I don’t even know if you enjoy fucking JUST me anymore. I want to be enough for you, Y/N.”

“Ivar, you’re more than enough.”

“Yeah. I’m sure you say that because you pity me. It’s the only reason I can imagine that’s made you hang on to such a lost cause this long. I don’t need your pity. I need your support. I’m tired of being vulnerable with you tonight.”

“Baby.”

“Turn off the fucking light Y/N.”

The lights were off but your mind continue to replay everything he said. And you can’t deny everything in you had been selfish, overly so. You climb out of the bed and quietly walk to the kitchen and begin to clean a little but of the dishes from earlier in the night. You don’t want to wake him, you couldn’t exactly formulate the proper words to tell him. But one thing was for certain, no one else would come between the two of you ever again.

You start to play music softly to comfort the ghost of his words and you hear him in the hallway, making his way towards you. The soulful voice Keke Wyatt drifts through the House.

I must have rehearsed my lines, a thousand times until I had them memorized.

Ivar stands nearby shirtless and his blue eyes are on you. “Y/N.”

But you don’t answer him. You take your hands from the soapy water patting them lightly on the white towel that hung from the oven handle. Your to him gripping his hands with your helping him walk to the open space to the kitchen. His eyes are so soft. He didn’t want you to know about those inner demons he hid inside. “Let’s dance.” You smile.

But when I get up the nerve to tell you, the words never come out right.

If only you knew, how much I do, do love you.

He doesn’t say much. The song pretty much takes all words from the both of you. It makes you wonder if you’d paid more attention to him you would have seen his insecurities earlier. You sway with him from side to side resting your head on his chest listening to his heart trying to breakout of his chest. His tears stain your shirt and you grip him tighter.

You move closer to the couch and he takes you down with him to it. You climb in his lap wiping his face and taking his untamed mane into a messy man bun atop of his head. “I love you.” You whisper in his ear. “And I’m so tired of this game we play. It’s over. The game is over, okay?”

“Yes.”

His thick fingers climb your back taking the hem of your shirt over your head. His lips plant kisses on your breast stopping at your nipple tracing circles over it with his tongue then sucking. You gasp still allowing him to adore an worship you anyway he can. His hands take down your back stopping at your lower back and pulling you closer to him. Ivar’s kisses move up your neck to your lips and his other rips your little pastel green panties off tossing them to the ground. He lifts himself up pulling his underwear down and revealing his dick. Easily he lifts you over him and you sheath him. It isn’t fast this time. Your hips wind, rise and fall hypnotically over him. He fills you with no effort and he can’t take his eyes off of yours. Your fingers are in his hair as your forehead meets his, both lightly coated with a mist of sweat. Your light whimpers of pleasure begin as he joins in meeting you with each thrust. He pulls you down harder on him. Your breath is labored and frantic even as you grow closer to your orgasm. You don’t want it to end for you but there is not any stopping it. You come with a surge of pleasure and your heart stops a beat when you hear him moan and groan your name as he empties inside of you.

The game was off. No more tricks or changes, all you want is him.

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