#self-fabric trim

[theodoreangelos]

Dress – robe à la française (late 1770s; fabric 1750-60s) The Kyoto Costume Institute (KCI), photo by Takashi Hatakeyama 公益財団法人 京都服飾文化研究財団, 撮影いただきました畠山崇 様 Kyōto Fukushoku Bunka Kenkyū Zaidan Ivory Lyons silk striped brocade with floral pattern of chenille; self-fabric trim; matching petticoat; stomacher of matching fabric with flower ornaments of chenille; sabot sleeves. Detailed description

• Dress (“robe à la française”). Date: Late 1770’s (fabric: 1750-60’s) Place of origin: France

[darkandstormydolls]

PSA to all historical fiction/fantasy writers:

A SEAMSTRESS, in a historical sense, is someone whose job is sewing. Just sewing. The main skill involved here is going to be putting the needle into an out of the fabric. They’re usually considered unskilled workers, because everyone can sew, right? (Note: yes, just about everyone could sew historically. And I mean everyone.) They’re usually going to be making either clothes that aren’t fitted (like shirts or shifts or petticoats) or things more along the lines of linens (bedsheets, handkerchiefs, napkins, ect.). Now, a decent number of people would make these things at home, especially in more rural areas, since they don’t take a ton of practice, but they’re also often available ready-made so it’s not an uncommon job. Nowadays it just means someone whose job is to sew things in general, but this was not the case historically. Calling a dressmaker a seamstress would be like asking a portrait painter to paint your house

A DRESSMAKER (or mantua maker before the early 1800s) makes clothing though the skill of draping (which is when you don’t use as many patterns and more drape the fabric over the person’s body to fit it and pin from there (although they did start using more patterns in the early 19th century). They’re usually going to work exclusively for women, since menswear is rarely made through this method (could be different in a fantasy world though). Sometimes you also see them called “gown makers”, especially if they were men (like tailors advertising that that could do both. Mantua-maker was a very feminized term, like seamstress. You wouldn’t really call a man that historically). This is a pretty new trade; it only really sprung up in the later 1600s, when the mantua dress came into fashion (hence the name).

TAILORS make clothing by using the method of patterning: they take measurements and use those measurements to draw out a 2D pattern that is then sewed up into the 3D item of clothing (unlike the dressmakers, who drape the item as a 3D piece of clothing originally). They usually did menswear, but also plenty of pieces of womenswear, especially things made similarly to menswear: riding habits, overcoats, the like. Before the dressmaking trade split off (for very interesting reason I suggest looking into. Basically new fashion required new methods that tailors thought were beneath them), tailors made everyone’s clothes. And also it was not uncommon for them to alter clothes (dressmakers did this too). Staymakers are a sort of subsect of tailors that made corsets or stays (which are made with tailoring methods but most of the time in urban areas a staymaker could find enough work so just do stays, although most tailors could and would make them).

Tailors and dressmakers are both skilled workers. Those aren’t skills that most people could do at home. Fitted things like dresses and jackets and things would probably be made professionally and for the wearer even by the working class (with some exceptions of course). Making all clothes at home didn’t really become a thing until the mid Victorian era.

And then of course there are other trades that involve the skill of sewing, such as millinery (not just hats, historically they did all kinds of women’s accessories), trimming for hatmaking (putting on the hat and and binding and things), glovemaking (self explanatory) and such.

TLDR: seamstress, dressmaker, and tailor are three very different jobs with different skills and levels of prestige. Don’t use them interchangeably and for the love of all that is holy please don’t call someone a seamstress when they’re a dressmaker

[xitsensunmoon]

My first ever comic con! And first cosplay too. Of course it's gonna be my boy :] Ramblings about the process are under the cut(Let me know if?? You would want me to elaborate with process images for any of the steps?)

The costume took me forever to make, as I've never done any machine sewing, sculpting, fabric dying or spray painting before but learning all of these was so fucking fun!! I never realised just how many different skills go into making a cosplay but it was so worth it!!!

Almost all of the clothes(except the hat) were purchased first as bases, but all of the detailing was added by me. All of the fabric used was originally just scraps that I was given for free so I needed to learn how to dye and dye all of the stars, they were originally white.

The sewing machine was its own beast that brought me tons of frustration from the lack of skill and knowledge (it was devastating to find out that 95% of fuck ups were my fault and not the machine's lmao). But as a result, a hat sewn from scratch, all of the fur trims, embroidery on the corset, stars and the collar(which is very hard to see on the pictures unfortunately) was all added manually. The stars and the stripes(on the back of the cape) were attached using heat-and-bond adhesive (I WISH I knew about such thing just when I started working on this. It would save me so much time and nerves.)

Then I found out about polymorph(mouldable plastic) and it has become the next thing I wanted to learn, to sculpt the claws and the fangs(yes, they're handmade jfksjs). The claws I then primed and painted in trillion coats because I wasn't satisfied with the colour of the spray paint. The fangs I moulded to my own teeth and then stained with tea to match the colour of my teeth :)c

As for makeup, I used Mehron Paradise water activated paints. At first I wanted to try to save money and bought myself Snazaroo instead, which unfortunately turned out to be a waste. Snazaroo didn't hold on my face for longer than 2 hours, cracking and peeling awfully. Mehron on the other hand survived 11 hours of me smiling, talking, emoting and such and didn't even crease at the smile lines(I'm actually shocked about that). It obviously works like any other makeup which means your skin texture and wrinkles won't go anywhere but Mehron's elasticity pleasantly surprised me. It did obviously smear from sweat and saliva(if you're eating and licking your lips) but if you don't touch the skin it just dries again, self setting. But if it's dry it's fully smear-proof. Highly recommend!

And last but not least, I've decided against painting my hands as it was very risky that I will stain everything I touch at the smallest hint of sweat. So instead I got myself gloves-tights(? Not sure how they're called but it's made from the same fabric as tights) and painted them with normal acrylic paint(did you know you could dye fabric with acrylic paint? I personally didn't), then heat set with an iron and voilà, they're reusable, my hands are not stained after an exhausting day and I don't stain everything I touch. It worked wonderfully which honestly was a surprise as I was really sceptical that acrylic paint will somehow stay in place.

I think this whole thing took me minimum of 6 months with big-big breaks for my school and life in general. But I'm really proud! This project taught me so many new skills and I couldn't have been happier about learning new knowledge, even if it sucked to fail in the meantime.

Everyone at the con was really nice and gave me a large confidence boost even tho it was my first time and I had no idea what I was doing. Taking photos with other people was really awkward/new for me as I hate cameras so I really had no idea how to pose/behave in front of one. But that's okay I think. This whole experience definitely made me want to do this again, so I think that will come with experience. Thank you for reading this far, hope you enjoyed this little summary :)

[faebled-stories]

In the Shadows of Fantasy

Kinkvember Day 2: Roleplay/CNC

Shin Ryujin x Male (????)

TW: Non-Con Themes (first time writing this sort of scenes.)

6.2k words

On a quiet evening in her snug apartment, the bustling world outside felt like a distant dream, imbued with an air of surreal calmness. The remnants of a vibrant day, filled with the excitement of promoting for ITZY, lingered faintly in her mind, but like a gentle tide, it was ebbing away, gradually replaced by the soothing hum of her sanctuary. After conquering the frenetic energy of rehearsals, interviews, and eager fans, Ryujin relished stepping across the threshold into her own little bubble of peace. The muted symphony of the city—a soft hum of distant honks and faintly echoing conversations—enveloped her, whispering tales of life outside while allowing her the comfort of solitude.

Her sanctuary was a refuge, a warm hug against the chill of the metropolitan hustle. As she entered her cozy space, the atmosphere exuded comfort; the soft, golden glow from carefully placed lamps created playful shadows that danced across the walls, turning the stark lines of her apartment into something softer, more inviting. The ambiance wrapped around her in layers of warmth, a stark contrast to the chaos of the outside world. As she sank onto her plush bed, enveloped in a knitted blanket, the remnants of the hot shower she had just indulged in lingered around her, a steamy embrace that melted away the exhaustion of her day. The warm water had worked wonders, loosening her tense muscles and leaving her in a state of relaxed bliss.

Wrapped in her silky pink pajamas—a delicate tapestry of fabric that brushed against her skin like a soft whisper—Ryujin felt a wave of relief wash over her. The delicate lace trim of her pajamas was not just an embellishment; it was a small act of indulgence, a reminder that even in a world that demanded strength and poise, the quiet luxuries of self-care were invaluable. Her long black hair, still damp and slightly tousled from the shower, had been pulled into a loose, messy bun, radiating an effortless elegance as if she were embodying the beauty of simplicity. In this personal space, Ryujin cherished the joy of authenticity, free from the public scrutiny that accompanied her life on stage.

Before fully sinking into the serene embrace of her evening rituals, Ryujin felt the familiar buzz of her phone. She reached for it, quickly thumbing through her messages. A smile tugged at her lips as she read through the lively chatter in her group chat with her bandmates. They were making plans for the night, a rare and precious opportunity to unwind amidst their demanding schedules. She quickly typed her response, crafting her words with care,

“Sorry, I can’t meet up later. I’ve already got plans for tonight.”

A wave of hesitation washed over her. It was true—she had plans, albeit not the kind that involved meeting friends for dinner or drinks. As she sent the message, a flutter of excitement coursed through her, igniting a spark of anticipation. The girls replied with understanding, their supportive words bringing a warmth to her heart. She locked her phone and tucked it beneath the comforting folds of her blanket, her pulse slowing as she glanced around her apartment. The gentle glow of candles flickered soothingly, the air thick with the aroma of serenity, a sharp contrast to the exhilarating chaos she had just left behind.

The scents of lavender and vanilla blended harmoniously, wrapping around her like an invisible shawl. A diffuser on her nightstand sent delicate puffs of lavender oil into the air, its calming properties weaving throughout the room, while a vanilla-scented candle flickered softly on the coffee table, casting moving shadows that danced playfully across the tidy space. Scattered around her were remnants of the day—magazines, photos, promotional flyers—tokens and trinkets of her fast-paced existence. Yet, in this tranquil sanctuary, they felt more like mementos of a bygone affair, whispering echoes of a vibrant life now tucked away as she embraced her present.

Ryujin let out a deep, contented sigh, surrendering fully to the plush comfort of her bed. As her mind wandered, she began to scroll through pictures from the day’s events—captured smiles and spontaneous laughter with her bandmates and the adoring fans who filled the venue with enthusiasm. The vivid memories—bright stage lights, pulsing music, and the electric energy of a crowd—swirled within her, a vibrant tapestry woven from moments of authenticity and connection. Yet, here, nestled in her softly lit living room, with the city humming a lullaby outside, she felt a reassuring sense of peace wash over her. This was her moment, a rare stillness amidst a world that rarely paused to breathe.

With her feet tucked comfortably beneath her, Ryujin relished every second of this quiet solitude. The world outside could wait; tonight, she would luxuriate in her own tranquility, enveloped by warmth, the scent of her favorite candles, and the knowledge that within the chaos of her life, she could carve out a corner meant solely for introspection and self-appreciation. Here, in her sanctuary, she could simply be Ryujin—the girl behind the stage lights, the one finding solace in the quiet power of her own company.

The tranquility of Ryujin's home was shattered by a sudden, deafening crash. The sound, akin to a gunshot, reverberated through the living room, its echoes bouncing off the walls and jolting the young idol from her peaceful reverie. The serene stillness of the dimly lit hallway before her was now a corridor of uncertainty, a pathway to an unknown danger that had so rudely intruded upon her sanctuary.

As the initial shock subsided, the pounding of heavy footsteps against the wooden floorboards sent waves of dread through Ryujin's petite frame. Each thud was a drumbeat of impending doom, the rhythm growing louder and more insistent as the source of the disturbance drew nearer. Her heart, a wild drum in her chest, pounded in sync with the advancing threat, the surge of adrenaline sharpening her senses to a painful acuity.

The darkness in the hallway seemed to deepen, and from its depths, a figure emerged—a menacing silhouette that moved with deliberate intent. Ryujin's instincts screamed for her to flee, but fear rooted her to the spot. Her attempt to cry out for help died in her throat, a silent scream that hung heavy in the air.

As the intruder drew closer, the dim light revealed his obscured features—a black ski mask concealed his identity, and his eyes, those piercing, manic eyes, gleamed with a dangerous intensity that sent shivers down Ryujin's spine. His presence was a palpable threat, a predator in her home, and she knew with a sinking certainty that her world was about to be upended.

With a roughness that took her breath away, the man seized Ryujin by the shoulders, his grip an iron vice that she couldn't break free from. He hoisted her over his shoulder as if she weighed nothing, ignoring her frantic struggles and the blows she rained down upon his back. Her attempts to break free were met with a firm smack to her backside, a humiliating assertion of his control over her. His hands, now freed from the task of restraining her, roamed over her body with a sense of entitlement that made her blood run cold.

The journey down the hallway to her bedroom was a blur of panic and disbelief. Ryujin's mind raced, searching for a way to escape the nightmare that had ensnared her. But her efforts were in vain; the intruder's strength was overwhelming, and her bedroom—a space that had always been a haven—was now the stage for her terror.

Tossed onto the bed like a ragdoll, Ryujin's breath was knocked from her lungs. The bedframe creaked ominously under the sudden addition of weight, and she scrambled to regain her footing, to put distance between herself and the monster that loomed over her. But he was on her in an instant, his body pinning hers to the mattress with terrifying ease.

"Stop! Who are you? What are you doing?" Ryujin's voice was a tremulous whisper, laced with the kind of fear that claws at the throat and threatens to suffocate. The room, once a sanctuary, now felt like a prison, the air thick with the scent of her own fear and the sickening sweetness of the intruder's breath.

His response was a cruel laugh that seemed to mock her vulnerability, he silenced her attempts to scream. "Silence," he hissed, the command a low growl that filled the room and silenced the last of her protests. His hands, calloused and rough, tore at her clothing with a ferocity that left her exposed and shivering in the cool air.

Ryujin's heart pounded in her chest like a trapped animal desperate for escape as she lay there, her wrists firmly ensnared in the iron grip of her captor. His hands, large and unyielding, were like manacles, pinning her to the cold, unforgiving surface beneath her. Her struggles were futile, her strength no match for the brute force that held her captive.

Tears carved rivulets down her cheeks, each one a silent testament to her terror. Her voice, once strong and defiant, was now a mere whisper as she begged for mercy. "Please, don't do this," she pleaded, her words laced with desperation. But the intruder, his eyes darkened with a lust that brooked no room for compassion, was deaf to her entreaties. He was a man possessed, his mind clouded by a perverse obsession that had consumed him whole.

"You’re mine now," he declared, his voice a guttural growl that resonated with the promise of unspeakable acts. The words hung in the air like a specter, filling the room with a palpable sense of dread. Ryujin's body trembled, not just from the chill of the room, but from the deep-seated fear that gripped her soul. She knew that her life was hanging by a thread, and that the man above her was the only one who held the power to sever it.

His breath, hot and ragged, washed over her face as he leaned in closer, his intentions clear. Ryujin felt a wave of nausea rise within her as she realized the horror that was about to unfold. She closed her eyes, trying to transport herself to a safer place, a happier memory, but the reality of her situation was an unbreakable chain that tethered her to the present.

The intruder's hands roamed over her body with a sense of entitlement, each touch a violation, a desecration of her being. Ryujin's mind raced, searching for a way out, a miracle that would deliver her from this nightmare. But as she lay there, helpless and afraid, she knew that her fate was sealed. The only thing left to do was to endure, to survive by any means necessary, and to hope against hope that she would live to see another day.

The roughness of his hands scraped against her soft skin, leaving a trail of dread in their wake. Ryujin's heart pounded in her chest, a frantic drumbeat that echoed the turmoil in her mind. Each grope, each unwanted caress, sent shockwaves of revulsion through her. His touch was a violation, a harsh juxtaposition to the gentle caresses she had once known.

His fingers, unyielding and intrusive, pried at her most private sanctum, a sacred space now desecrated by his relentless, cruel exploration. The intimate touch that should have been filled with warmth and mutual desire was instead laced with a cold, brutal possessiveness. It was a reminder of her loss of control, her autonomy stripped away by force.

Ryujin felt her very essence recoil from the abomination of his touch. Her body, once a vessel of joy and pleasure, now served as a battleground, a site of abuse. With each passing moment, the vile invasion further tainted her, leaving her feeling irreparably soiled, her spirit crying out against the defilement of her temple.

In the depths of her being, Ryujin's mind railed against the horror, a silent scream reverberating through her consciousness. She clung to the fragments of her dignity, a desperate act of defiance against the physical and emotional ravaging of her person. With each heartbeat, she fought to preserve a piece of herself untouched by the brutality that surrounded her, a small flame of resistance flickering in the darkness of her ordeal.

His depraved taunts sliced through the air, each word a lash against her dignity. "God look at you getting wet, I knew you were a slut hiding as an idol," he sneered, his voice dripping with malicious glee. His words were not just spoken; they were a deliberate and cruel violation of her spirit, an attempt to strip her of her identity and reduce her to nothing more than an object of his twisted desires.

Ryujin's denials were fierce, yet they seemed to dissipate into the ether, unacknowledged and invalidated by the monster looming above her. She mustered all her strength to form coherent words through her sobs, her voice trembling with a mixture of fear and outrage. "No, please, you're wrong!" she pleaded, her eyes wide with terror, reflecting the shattered remnants of her once untouchable world.

But her tearful pleas fell on deaf ears. The intruder reveled in her distress, feeding off it, his smirk growing ever wider as he watched her struggle against the nightmare he had forced upon her. With each passing moment, her torment seemed to intensify, a crescendo of emotional and psychological pain that threatened to consume her entirely.

The man who claimed to be her fan, who had morphed into her captor, traced the contours of her vulnerability with a touch that was both invasive and terrifying. With a single finger, he probed her innocence, curling it in a gesture that was as much a violation as it was a perverse display of control. Scooping the essence of her fear and arousal, he brought it to her tear-streaked face, a macabre exhibition to prove his twisted point. "See? Even when you deny it, you love it," he sneered, before indulging in the taste of her terror, his eyes gleaming with sadistic pleasure as she watched, paralyzed by the moment, her struggles futile under his oppressive grip.

The chill of his words cut deeper than the physical intrusion. "I've been watching you for some time now, I even attended your fan meet," he growled into her ear, the proximity of his breath a violation in itself. "The way you spoke to me, I knew you wanted this, wanted me." His statement was a delusion, a fabrication born from his obsessive desire to possess her.

With no regard for her well being, he forced his three longest fingers into her, cruelly exploring her depths as she fought against the invasion, her legs flailing in a desperate attempt to deny him access. A swift, stinging slap to her thighs served as a harsh reminder of her helplessness, and he pinned her legs open with his knees, ensuring her resistance was crushed under his relentless assault.

His hands were unyielding, pistoning with a ferocity that ignored her pleas for mercy. The slickness of her own arousal betrayed her, fueling his relentless rhythm. Each thrust was a reminder of her captivity, each cry that tore from her throat a testament to her suffering. But Ryujin was not one to surrender easily. With a surge of adrenaline, she mustered the strength to fight back, freeing a leg and landing a kick that momentarily freed her from his grasp. The brief respite was a fleeting victory, as her attempt to escape was swiftly thwarted by his longer reach and quick reflexes.

"You never know when to quit, do you?" he taunted, a smirk playing at his lips. "I should have seen this coming; you were always so strong." His eyes gleamed with a dangerous mix of admiration and malice. "But that only makes it sweeter—knowing how satisfying it’ll be when I finally reduce you to nothing but a toy." His words, dripping with twisted admiration, laid bare the sinister depths of his obsession.

The room that was once a haven of tranquility and self-expression, a scene of unfathomable horror was unfolding. The room, bathed in the dim glow of a solitary lamp, bore witness to a transformation that would leave its occupant forever scarred. This was no longer a sanctuary; it was a site of a struggle that would test the very limits of human resilience.

The walls, once adorned with vibrant colors and personal mementos, now stood as silent sentinels to an act of domination. As the assailant's eyes swept across the room, they settled on an object that would chill the blood of any onlooker: a length of rope, its very presence an ominous harbinger of what was to come. The rope, an everyday item twisted into an instrument of torment, lay coiled and waiting—its innocent origins now a distant memory in the face of its dark new purpose.

With a grip born of malice, the assailant seized the rope, its fibers a cruel contrast to the softness of the skin it would soon bind. The victim, a soul whose light had drawn many, now found herself ensnared by the very space that once celebrated her essence. As she was dragged towards the bed, a symbol of comfort turned into an altar of suffering, the rope in the assailant's hand became a grim portent of her impending entrapment.

"What is this for? You're a kinky little bitch, huh?" he sneered, the words a vile distortion of intimacy. Ryujin's denial was written in the frantic shake of her head and the terror etched across her face. Her gaze flickered towards a drawer.

Noticing her glance, he leaned over and pulled it open, his expression twisting with dark amusement as he uncovered the hidden item. "Well, well," he murmured, lifting the rainbow-colored dildo wrapped in cloth. "Looks like you've got your secrets." His tone was laced with cruel satisfaction as he held her private joy aloft, a personal item now transformed into a weapon for her degradation.

In a swift and brutal motion, she was thrown onto the bed, the force of the action resurfacing memories of what happened just moments ago. The assailant, driven by a desire to dominate and degrade, secured her hands to the bedpost with ruthless efficiency. The rope dug into her flesh, each strand a thread in the tapestry of her suffering.

The decision to leave her legs untied was a calculated one, a means to leave her completely and utterly vulnerable. The sense of exposure was all-consuming, rendering her utterly defenseless against the violence that was to follow.

Ryujin, whose name evoked images of a fierce idol known for her strength, grace and power. Now found herself trapped in a human drama of the darkest kind. Her heart raced, a frantic drumbeat against the silence that enveloped the room. With each desperate pull against the restraints, her unyielded spirit shone through the darkness of her situation, a beacon of resistance that refused to be extinguished.

The moment of violation arrived with a swift and violent plunge, an act that would seek to strip away her sense of self. The toy, once a source of personal enjoyment, was now an extension of her assailant's twisted desires. Its rainbow markings, a grotesque contrast to the act they were now part of, stood in stark contrast to the vibrancy they were meant to represent.

The struggle was internal as much as it was physical. I can't… not like this she thought, but her body, a finely tuned instrument honed through years of dance and performance, betrayed her. A quiet gasp slipped out, her legs trembling as she fought to maintain a composure that was being systematically dismantled. The toy filled her in a way that was impossible to ignore, its movements an unwelcome rhythm dictated by hands that had no right to touch her.

Teetering on the edge of her endurance, her mind spun in a desperate search for an anchor—a lifeline to cling to amidst the relentless onslaught. But the man, a specter of menace was unrelenting, a manifestation of her deepest fears made flesh.

With each passing second, Ryujin felt the invisible grip of inevitability tighten around her. It's too much, she realized, the thought piercing through the haze of her resistance. And just as this realization coalesced into a stark acceptance, her body tensed, betraying her final shred of resistance. A soft cry, born of a place where strength and vulnerability intertwine, escaped her lips as she let go, surrendering to the overwhelming sensation that threatened to consume her whole.

The orgasm that followed was not just a physical response; it was a shattering of the self, a detonation that rippled through every fiber of her being. For a moment, everything else vanished—erased by the pulsating, all-consuming release she had tried so hard to deny. "No, no, not like this—" she gasped, but her plea was lost in the tempest that raged within. The orgasm crashed through her like a rogue wave, her entire body seizing with the sudden intensity, leaving her breathless and exposed.

Her legs shook violently, her control lost to the tide of pleasure that surged through her core in overwhelming pulses. Each throb was a testament to the power of her adversary, a man who watched with a dark satisfaction etched into the harsh lines of his face. His gaze was fixed on her, a predator savoring the sight of his prey coming undone in his arms.

Ryujin's body arched into the pleasure she had tried so hard to resist, her mind too clouded with sensation to mount any further defense. Her composure, once a fortress, lay in ruins, each shudder tearing away the last remnants of her armor. She was completely vulnerable, exposed to the cruel whims of her attacker, a man who seemed to revel in the unraveling of her defenses.

With her legs trembling and the last of her resistance shattered, her orgasm wracked her until there was nothing left to give. She lay there, spent, her breaths coming in shallow bursts as the aftershocks pulsed faintly through her limbs. He held her, still reveling in the sight of his idol succumbing so completely to the moment.

The assault on her dignity continued as he began to undo his pants, letting her glimpse his hardening cock—a sight that was both repulsive and terrifying. He repeated his previous actions, dipping his fingers and letting Ryujin see just how wet she was from being handled against her will. "Just accept it, Ryujin, you're a slut, a slut who loves to be ra-" His words were cut off as a glob of saliva hit his face. Her defiance was palpable, "how dare you say such things, let me go, you freak," she tried to intimidate him despite her position.

This only made the man chuckle, a sound that was incongruously light against the gravity of the situation. He wiped the spit from his face and, without warning, he slapped her pussy and suddenly inserted his full length into her throbbing folds. A sharp gasp escaping Ryujin's lips as her body adjusted to the sudden abuse. His pace was relentless, each movement rough and mechanical, offering no reprieve from the overwhelming sensation.

"Stop… please…" Ryujin whimpered, her voice barely audible as she fought to hold on, her body bucking beneath him as she tried in vain to push him away.

"You want this," he hissed in response, his hips slamming into hers. "You knew what would happen, all those times you were up on the stage, shaking your ass with nothing but shorts that didn’t even cover your ass, you know what you were doing, don’t pretend you didn’t."

The words sent a shudder through her. In the privacy of her home, the fear took hold—would anyone even know to come help her? She should've just gone with the ITZY girls, but this was what she had wanted, a moment to herself, a chance to stay home and relax. Now, her desire for solitude had backfired, trapping her in a nightmare. Her mind rebelled against the raw brutality of it, while her body betrayed her with its responses.

"I… I don’t…" Ryujin gasped, her voice trembling as his thrusts became more punishing, forcing her to feel every inch of him inside her. The sensation was overwhelming—pain and pleasure mixed into one confusing, intoxicating wave.

The man grunted, a cruel smirk twisting his lips. "You will take it. You’ll take everything I give you." He forcefully grabbed her hair, using it as a handle as he thrusted harder into her. If she just slightly brought her eyes down, she would be able to see the assault happening to her precious core, a sight that would haunt her long after the physical scars had healed.

Tears of frustration and shame spilled down her cheeks as Ryujin struggled to process the overwhelming intensity. Each brutal thrust tore through her, making her feel both powerless and consumed. Her body quaked with each movement, her breath coming in ragged gasps as she fought the conflicting emotions warring inside her.

"Please… stop…" Ryujin whispered again, but the plea fell on deaf ears. Her body, traitorous in its response, began to react to his touch, a warmth pooling deep within her core, betraying the turmoil of her heart and mind.

This scene, fraught with a harrowing mix of fear and arousal, is not just a moment but a narrative that underscores the intricate and often misunderstood nature of human sexuality and consent. Her voice, barely a whisper, laced with a mixture of fear and desperation, "No… No… I can't cum like this, not again," underscores the internal conflict that many victims of sexual coercion face. The struggle within her was palpable, a conflict between the primal urges of her flesh and the clear boundaries she so desperately wanted to maintain.

Yet, her tormentor was relentless. "You can, and you will. You want it, your body craves it," he growled, his voice a low rumble that seemed to resonate within her, stirring feelings she wished would remain dormant. His words were not just a statement but a command, an assertion of control that left her feeling powerless and exposed.

The intensity of the situation was undeniable, pulling her closer to the edge despite the tears that streamed down her face. Each sob was a silent scream, a plea for mercy that went unheard. She hated how much her body had betrayed her, how it responded to the very touch that repulsed her mind. The paradox of pleasure and pain intertwined, creating a storm of emotions that threatened to overwhelm her.

Just as his brutal thrusts reached their peak, his voice broke through in a ragged growl. “Fuck, your tight pussy is making me cum. I’m gonna fill you up so well,” he groaned, his member starting to pulsate inside her.

Panicking, Ryujin tried one last time to regain control. “Please don’t—anything but that. I’ll swallow everything, please don’t cum in me. I need to keep my job, please!” Her voice was desperate, her pleas frantic. But he ignored her, too far gone, the sound of her cries only pushing him closer to his inevitable release.

With a final, forceful slam of his hips, he buried himself deep inside her. His body tensed, grunting as the rush of his climax took hold. Ryujin’s body, pushed to its breaking point, betrayed her in the worst way possible. A choked, involuntary cry escaped her lips as she felt a molten heat bubble up from her core. “No, no, no—I can’t cum like this, I can’t—OH FUCK! NO!” Her protest turned into a scream as an intense orgasm ripped through her, unstoppable, her body convulsing against her will..

Every nerve was on fire, her entire being wracked with sensation as her climax overtook her. She could feel him inside her, his length pulsing, pumping one wave of release after another, spilling every drop of his cum deep into her womb. It was too much, her body buckling as the pleasure overwhelmed her.

When it was over, she lay there trembling, her limbs weak and unsteady. Conflicting emotions tore at her—shame and disgust mingled with the unsettling, undeniable relief her body had experienced. She felt a profound sense of humiliation, haunted by the fact that even under such circumstances, her body had responded so intensely, climaxing harder than ever before.

Her breaths came in shallow, uneven gasps as she tried to make sense of the chaotic swirl of sensations and the hollow feeling left behind. Finally, his movements slowed and stopped, his weight pressing heavily into her, pinning her further into the bed. For a moment, the only sound in the room was their ragged breathing, thick with exhaustion, filling the air like an unwelcome reminder.

But then, something shifted. He slowly peeled himself away from her, his movements hesitant, as though the air had grown thick between them. She felt him exit her, and a cold breeze hit her core, leaving her to shiver and her pussy pulsing. He stood, silent, and as Ryujin looked up, she saw him reach for the mask he had been wearing. He pulled it off, the fabric falling to the floor.

Her gaze followed it, and then she looked up, meeting his eyes. Something in his expression made her heart lurch. It wasn’t anger or disgust that she felt now—it was guilt. Sympathy and regret welled up inside her, twisting her stomach.

You stood there, staring down at her with a look of conflict, your shoulders heavy as if the weight of the moment had just settled on you.

“Did you… like that?” you asked finally, your voice soft, uncertain, almost fragile.

Ryujin blinked, trying to sort through the storm of emotions inside her. She had liked it, loved it even—there was no denying the raw intensity of what had just happened. The power of the orgasm had been overwhelming, consuming her entirely. But seeing the guilt in your eyes now made her chest tighten. She hadn’t realized the toll it had taken on you.

“I did,” she admitted softly, sitting up and pulling the blanket around herself for comfort. “But… I didn’t think it would be like this for you. I thought you’d enjoy it too.”

Her voice was tender, her eyes searching for understanding. She hadn’t anticipated this outcome, hadn’t realized that what had been a moment of intense release for her had left you feeling something much different. The realization hit her hard, and suddenly the thrill of the moment faded, replaced by the weight of everything left unsaid between you.

You let out a slow breath, running a hand through your hair. “I thought I would enjoy it. But halfway through, it stopped feeling like an act. It felt… too real.” You shook your head, guilt flashing across your face. “I don’t want to hurt you, Ryujin. Even if it’s just role-play.”

Ryujin’s heart sank as she heard the strain in your voice. The plan she had been so excited about—the one she’d been texting you earlier, coordinating in secret—suddenly felt like a misstep. She had wanted to explore this fantasy together, to push your boundaries, but now she saw how deeply it had affected you.

Seeing your troubled expression, Ryujin immediately reached out and took your hand, squeezing it gently. “You didn’t hurt me, I promise,” she said softly, her voice full of warmth and reassurance. She shifted closer to you, her fingers brushing through your hair, trying to comfort you. “I trusted you completely, and you didn’t cross any lines. You gave me exactly what I wanted.”

Your eyes softened as you looked at her, but the weight of your emotions was still evident. “I just didn’t expect it to feel so real. Seeing you like that—so vulnerable—it scared me. I wasn’t sure if I should stop. I wanted to make you feel good, but then it felt like too much.”

Ryujin’s heart ached seeing the guilt and confusion in your eyes. She could sense how much you had been battling internally, pushing through the moment for her sake. Her fingers gently traced your jawline as she spoke. “I know it felt intense. I know it was a lot. But you did everything right. You didn’t hurt me. It’s okay to feel unsure sometimes—it means you care, it means you’re thinking of me. And I love that about you.”

She pressed her forehead against yours, her breath warm and steady as she tried to ease your anxiety. “I’m sorry if I pushed you too far,” she whispered, her hand gently squeezing your shoulder. “This is our time, not just my time. If it ever feels too real, or if you’re uncomfortable, we stop. That’s what the safe word is for, remember? We’re always in control together.”

You exhaled, your body relaxing a little as her words sank in. You knelt beside her on the bed, your hands resting on her thighs, drawing strength from her presence. “I didn’t want to ruin it for you,” you murmured, your voice thick with emotion. “You looked so caught up in it, and I didn’t want to let you down.”

Ryujin shook her head gently, her heart full of affection as she cupped your face in her hands. “You could never let me down. You did exactly what I asked of you, and you did it because you love me. That means more than anything. We tried something new together, and that’s what matters. The fact that you care enough to worry about me—that’s what makes this work.”

Your eyes filled with gratitude as you leaned into her touch, feeling the weight of your worry begin to lift. “I’m not mad,” Ryujin continued, her voice soothing as she spoke. “We don’t have to rush back into this. I know it was intense, and maybe we can try again in the future if we both feel ready. But not until you’re comfortable.”

You nodded, your forehead resting against hers. “Thank you… for understanding and for being patient with me. I really didn’t like seeing you cry, even if it was part of the role-play.”

Ryujin smiled softly, pressing a gentle kiss to your lips. “I know. I could feel it when you hesitated, but I also knew I was safe with you. You did everything right. It’s okay to take things slow next time. We’ll figure out what works for both of us.”

As she spoke, Ryujin wrapped her arms around you, pulling you close. She could feel the tension slowly ebbing away from your body, replaced by the quiet understanding that, while you hadn’t shared the exact same feelings during the moment, your love and trust remained strong.

“I love you,” Ryujin whispered into your ear, her voice steady and full of care. “We’ll always figure this out together. Don’t carry this weight by yourself.”

You hugged her tightly, your grip firm but tender. “I love you too. I just… I want to be what you need.”

Ryujin pulled back slightly, her eyes locking with yours. “You already are. Just by being here, by talking to me like this—you’re everything I need.”

Your breath hitched slightly, and Ryujin could see the relief wash over you, your shoulders relaxing as the guilt you’d been carrying finally started to dissolve.

You sat together, wrapped in each other’s warmth, the earlier intensity now softened by the quiet hum of the room. The air, still charged with the echoes of your shared vulnerability, gradually became a sanctuary of comfort. The rhythmic thrum of Ryujin’s heartbeat under your ear anchored you, a gentle reminder that in this moment, safety and love surrounded you.

The night hadn’t unfolded as either of you expected. While it was intended to push boundaries, it ended up brushing too close to an edge that felt unsettling. But here, in the quiet aftermath, the true strength of your bond revealed itself—not in flawless moments, but in facing the imperfect ones together.

Ryujin’s hand moved with a tender steadiness, fingers threading through your hair as she held you close. Her eyes, soft with understanding and glistening with unshed emotion, searched yours. The apology she whispered carried the weight of sincerity. “I’m sorry again for making you do something you weren’t comfortable doing,” she said, her voice low and earnest. The kiss she placed on your forehead lingered like a promise, warm and reassuring. “We should always both be enjoying it, okay?”

You felt a lump rise in your throat, a mixture of relief and gratitude. Her words resonated in the space between you, washing away the remnants of doubt that had lingered in the corners of your mind. You nodded, the gesture small but full of resolve. “Okay. If it ever feels like that again, I’ll tell you,” you said, your voice steadying as her hand tightened over yours.

A smile broke through the lingering tension on Ryujin’s face, the corners of her eyes crinkling as she nestled closer. The room felt warmer, filled not just with the heat of bodies, but with the shared understanding that mistakes were not failures—they were lessons. The moments of discomfort were laid to rest, and in their place grew something deeper: the affirmation that your love thrived not in perfection, but in how you navigated the imperfect.

Ryujin’s embrace became your refuge as the minutes passed, her breathing synchronizing with yours in a comforting rhythm. The world outside fell away, leaving only the steady beat of two hearts, learning and loving as one. Trust, communication, and care—these were the foundations of what you had. And in that moment, it felt like more than enough.

[sugurizz]

(SMUT/NSFW +18 Minors DNI!)

𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝟐 𝐭𝐨 𝐁𝐞𝐚𝐜𝐡 𝐛𝐨𝐲! 𝐘𝐮𝐮𝐭𝐚

𝐀𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫’𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 ── Sooo I originally uploaded this on my BBY boy’s birthday to celebrate it because he means the WORLD to me bro frrr. But it accidentally got deleted and I only found out about it after a month or sth sooo yeah…poop happens. Anyways enjoy my naugthy boii smut tysm ✨

Lover boy Yuuta who couldn’t forget you after your little escapade together. You were both on vacation and only had a few days left before you had to say your goodbyes and go back to your respective cities.

He gave you the warmest hug the day you two parted ways. His cute straw hat and the fluttering pink on his cheeks had you missing him already.

‘See you soon,’ His much bigger hand held yours. long fingers locking with your smaller ones. ‘Talk to me when you get home.’

You felt frustrated. Having to leave Yuu just a few days after meeting him…

He had the biggest warmest heart and the thickest cock to match, ate your ass like a god till you almost ripped his bedsheets and muttered the sweetest words when he cuddled you on the late summer nights..

‘come visit me soon. I’ll be missing you too…’ You planted a peck on the tip of his nose and smiled, eyes still lustfully glued to his dark ones.

Lover boy Yuuta who kept in close touch with you ever since then. He got more lovesick by the day and hornier by the night. Calling you more often and loosening you up mid convo. Asking you what you’re wearing, the fabric and color of your underwear. Teasing you about the nights he made you cum in tears, reminiding you of how much you whined and moaned, clawed at his back muscles and squirted on his stomach. The sound of his voice talking you into touching yourself, making you crave him more as he does the same. Your whines of dissatisfaction at his absence merge with his deep groans and hearty giggles.

‘Come on sweets…nghh don’t leave me hanging here…cum with me, sweetheart’ He strokes himself faster, making your shaky hands rub your heat.

‘Yuuta…need you so much, my pussy wants you so bad’

‘We’ll be together soon, promise you babe’

He cums and groans low, cursing at how bad he wishes it was your pussy lips squeezing him instead of his own hand.

Lover boy Yuuta who got so embarassed about the idea of sending you nude pictures of him. Not only is he self conscious about how big his cock is but he still wants his girlfriend to see him all soft and vulnerable for her.

You received a pic from him late at night. White towel wrapped around his waist, barely covering past his V-line. He took the pic with a cheeky smirk, big doe eyes shiny and his hair a slightly moist from the shower he just took.

Lover boy Yuuta who’s finally arrived at your homecity, waiting impatiently . You noticed him in his grey sweatpants, waving at you and holding his arms wide open for you to finally fall into. He pulled you in the tightest hug and squeezed your body closer to his, gently stroking your hair.

Lover boy Yuuta who’s been horny for days. His balls all tight and heavy, waiting to be milked dry inside your pretty pussy. He tried to be a sweetheart and give it some time before fucks you dumb, but you couldn’t help waiting and pulled him into your room, dropping to your knees in front of him and pulling his sweatpants lower.

Lover boy Yuuta who’s fuzzy and flustered, he makes sure that he’s not pressuring you into anything like the sweetheart he is, but your eyes bubbling with hearts and your glossy lips planting the wettest kisses on his cock soon shut him up.

‘Oh babe, you feel so good..’

He ruffles your hair and buries your face into his crotch. ‘Do something to me, my balls are so heavy for you, princess.’

Your nose digs into his trimmed pubes. He smells so good and feels so big in your little mouth. Your throat struggles to make space for him but you still take him in. Your teary eyes glance up at him, giving him a lovedrunk stare, fondling his balls softly in your palms.

You suck him off for hours, laying your head on his thigh and licking the sticky precum off his tip, eyes locked with his and nails gently teasing his gorgeous balls.

‘How you doing luv? feels good?’

He shivers and squeezes his thighs around your head, his length twitching and mouth half open in feverish desire.

‘D-Don’t wanna cum yet…wanna do it in your tight pussy’

‘She missed you too..come fuck her like you hate her’

He kisses you senseless, groping your ass and rubbing it back and forth on his hard-on. His moans vibrate against your lips, getting deeper and louder as does his frustration.

Lover boy Yuuta who’s fucking you stupid. His balls are bouncing up and down, bumping on your tiny asshole and making you cry in pleasure.

He keeps you still with one arm and pulls your hair back with the other, having your tits rub against his face.

He smacks your ass on repeat, his large hands leaving their imprint on your skin as you mewl for him to let you cum.

‘Mmmh gosh…fuck my brains out Yuuta!, Make me pregnant’ He holds your face and sticking his forehead to yours, staring into your eyes and lustfully hammering into your tummy.

‘F-fuck..your pussy drives me crazy…Don’t ever leave me..luv you so much, agh’

He holds your hands and props you on his lap, sloppily making out with you and pawing all over your skin. He suckles you tongue and licks your lips till they’re all puffy and soft. The blush on his cheeks never tones down, and his glistening eyes turned teary from so much arousal. His hips rutted faster, raspy moans almost supressing yours.

Lover boy Yuuta who’s covered you all over with his sticky cum; inside your pussy, your butt, your tummy, your face, spurting on your breasts and sucking your nipples till they turned sore and raw.

You skins felt so warm and sticky, gross fluids and sweat covering you both and room getting all hot and foggy from your gasps and moans. He tired you up so much you cried on his dick, begging him to give you some rest as your knees shaked senseless.

‘It’s okay sweetie, bear with me a little more…nghh missed you so much, my big cock still wants more, yeah?’

‘Mmmh Yuuta, hic…p-please wait a sec…it hurtss’

‘Shh, you’re my big girl…You’re strong enough to take me, nice and good’

He cums inside you once more, plugging your cunt with his middle finger and planting a playful kiss on your cheek.

‘Thank you, Yuuta..’ You smile at him softly. You stare at him, all amourous and melty. Tummy so full with your boyfriend’s cum and arms wrapped around him in a warm embrace.

He holds you tight and rests his head on yours.

‘You’ll thank me more tomorrow, sweet cheeks.’

[shellxrls]

mdni | 18+ content based off this prompt /cw: explicit smut, unprotected PinV, virginity loss, masturbation

virgin!coryo whimpers when you first ease yourself onto him and attempts to cover it up with a moan, unsure of how it would be received and if you would think less of a man of him if he was that vulnerable with you.

virgin!coryo cums in his pants from a bit of dry-humping, especially if there's only that thin fabric layer of your panties & his underwear keeping you separated - his tip catching your clit under the fabric with each thrust and you arousal dampening his shaft through the material until he's convinced if he jerks off he would be able to smell you on his hand.

virgin!coryo fantasises about his cum on your tits - mouth wide open and pretty pink tongue stuck out to catch whatever he would give you.

virgin!coryo can't help but leave finger shaped bruises into the doughy flesh of your hips the first time he fucks you, manifesting all his self restraint into his harsh grip so he doesn't cum immediately.

virgin!coryo tries to muffle his cries by directing them straight into the crook of your neck - too lost in the haze of pleasure to realise that you could feel his hot breath vibrating against the skin of your neck.

virgin!coryo jerks off after he spots your panties in the laundry basket - all dainty lace, trimmed edges and pastel colours. (he gets a bit jealous when he realises you may only own them for someone though).

virgin!coryo pushes his softening dick as hard as he can into your gummy walls as he cums, already imagining he's fucking a baby into you despite your insistence on protection.

virgin!coryo loves putting his hands on your tits - feeling up the soft, warm skin with his pale digits, even just as a comfort thing.

[chaos-in-deepspace]

LADS Sylus: Just In Case | NSFW

This? This was supposed to be a fic inspired by how he has his middle and ring finger nails trimmed in his new outfit. And then somehow it turned into this? It still has the fingernail bit tho istg this is the Sylus fingering Reader in a Yurt fic.

❧ Pairings: Sylus x Reader ❧ Warnings: Jealousy, Self Doubt, Comfort, Words of Affirmation, Teasing, Hickeys, Nipple Biting, Fingers, Clothes Grinding, Coming in Pants, Top Sylus ❧ Synopsis: You hated the fact that you were jealous over something so trivial. Ever since traveling with the tribe, and seeing how they all swooned over Sylus, it was hard not to feel a certain way. Then there were the words Tarna has said to you: "Whoever takes them, keeps them." ❧ Word Count: 4.4k

Disclaimer: This is an original fan work for “Love and Deepspace”. Do not repost on other platforms or plagiarize. All characters shown in this fic is 18+.

Blog Information | Masterlist

Sylus

Just In Case

It was already the second night that you had been in the Grasslands. You were exhausted from all the traveling you had done that day, and when you guys set up to stay the night, you had all but collapsed onto your bed roll. Your body ached from all the horseback riding you had done, but it wasn’t like it was unsatisfying. You had seen Sylus basically winning every challenge that came his way, not to mention the sweet gesture he had made when braiding your hair.

Tarna had tried to convince you to join the rest at the bonfire they had set up, but you had politely declined. Sylus, on the other hand, was a night owl. He had been more than happy to join in and had even tried getting you to join, to no avail. So he promised to rejoin you later when he got tired and let you head inside to rest.

The braid he gave you earlier had already been taken out as you laid down, curled up on your shared bed accommodation. You could still hear Sylus’ voice, speaking with some of the locals. Even if he didn’t speak their language, Tarna had been more than happy to translate. Not to mention, he just had a way of communicating with others without the need for words.

You could hear the laughter of some of the women, and flashes of them touching him went through your mind. You tried brushing them aside as you curled up deeper into your bed roll. Sylus was naturally a little more flirtatious, or at least that was your experience with him. You could only hope that demeanor wasn’t leading anyone on.

For just a moment, you even had doubts he’d be coming back to the same tent you were in. You knew Sylus wasn’t like that, but you could still have your own doubts and fears. Thankfully, those thoughts escaped as you heard the flaps of the yurt opening as Sylus came inside, along with the rustling of fabrics. He shed a few layers so he could sleep comfortably. “I thought you said you were tired, yet here you are, awake.” Sylus’ voice broke out in the small yurt and you rolled over just in time to watch him crawl in next to you.

At first, you weren’t planning on even deeming him with a reply to his little comment; maybe trying to fake being asleep would make him not talk. You made a bit of room, allowing him to have some of the blankets. Unlike the night before, you made no move in scooting closer to him. The words Tarna had spoken earlier played in your head like a bad record: “Whoever takes them, keeps them.”

Why did that bother you so much? It was clear that he had caught the eye of every single woman in the area; the way they whispered while watching him compete was enough to let you know. They made it obvious as well, one of them even going up to touch his arm and speak to him.

He had been cordial enough, but the self-doubt in your mind rolled through it like a dark storm. You and Sylus had made leaps and bounds in your relationship, but you hadn’t crossed the threshold of romance yet. Gods, you wanted to so badly. You just were too unsure about everything, and you hated that feeling. It wasn’t even like you needed to doubt Sylus. He had made it so painfully obvious he didn’t have eyes for anyone else other than you. He was just polite when the situation wasn’t business…teasing but polite.

You decided that the silence was too deafening at the moment as you spoke, “It was hard to sleep with all the noise outside,” you said, and Sylus hummed. He had already gotten comfortable, and you could sense the weariness from him. A second night of having to reassure you would be annoying, right? You kept your mouth shut, opting just to ignore the festering feelings in your gut since clearly that was a healthy decision.

“It seems it’s more than that, kitten,” He began, “You’re restless now. Don’t tell me your mind is causing you to stress again,” you felt his hand in your hair as he pushed some of it back. You didn’t even want to look at him right now, worried that you’d say something stupid. You couldn’t stop how your body responded, though, leaning into his touch like a cat.

“It’s nothing, really.” It was a flimsy excuse, judging by how your voice wavered. You hated the jealousy you felt, how it was settling into you to the point where you wanted to be sick. You didn’t think of yourself as the jealous type by any means, but here you were, absolutely upset over hypotheticals. You wanted to convince yourself just not to feel this way, but that was easier said than done as you were mentally screaming.

Sylus frowned, the look marring his pretty face slightly. You really did prefer it when he smiled, even if it was at your own expense. The teasing smirk you often found was at least focused on you and nobody else. “This is clearly something. I don’t think you’d be worried about making it home for two nights in a row,” he propped himself up into his elbow, looking at you, “My ears are always open for you, sweetie.”

Your heart began beating a little faster at his comment as you cleared your throat, “It’s…do you recall what Tarna said the day before?” you decide to test the waters and see if he recalled the information. You highly doubted the saying she taught you guys was on his mind; it shouldn’t have even been on yours.

“She said a lot of things; you’ll need to be more straightforward. What did she say that’s upsetting you?” He was speaking gently right now, making you feel even worse about your feelings. Why was he always so damn patient with you, always willing to reassure you even over something so trivial? When you first met Sylus, you had no clue that this side of him even existed, and it did things to you both physically and emotionally.

You cleared your throat, “Whoever takes them…keeps them.” You clarified, finally meeting his gaze, “That statement.” You could see the flash of recognition in his eyes when he realized what this was about. He had already seen your jealous side earlier by the river, but now it had only gotten worse. He had been nice about it back then, but would you only annoy him by bringing it up again? It’s not like you two were dating, even if you flirted and teased one another like it was some competition.

“Are you worried about that?” He asked, his hand tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, “That someone is going to take me away?” he asked, and you sighed. He managed to figure it out quickly.

“I mean…I’ve just seen how the others have been looking at you,” like they were drawn to an oasis in a hot desert, “And you’re my ticket home after all…” You wanted to kick yourself the moment the words came out of your mouth. You just had to avoid telling him how you really felt, didn’t you?

He didn’t seem upset at the statement; if anything, he was amused. “I won’t be stolen away that easily.” He assured, “Though I must say I’m flattered that you’ve been keeping such a close eye on me today. So much so that you didn’t even realize that some of the men in the village have been giving you the same look.”

You had to take a moment to process what he said…people had been looking at you? There was no way. It made sense for Sylus, and he was charismatic, handsome, and strong. You were…well, you were a jealous hunter. You did recall how he had braided your hair and the way he had mentioned how only lovers should see their partner’s hair in its natural state…could it be he was jealous as well? No, you were probably overthinking things.

“I…” you said, but you couldn’t get the right words out. He had the tendency to make you speechless, and right now, it was no different. Everything you wanted to say had vanished right into the air as you looked up at those red eyes that were so damn soft at the moment. How could you even think he’d look at anyone else like this? Those sharp eyes of his looked lovestruck at times when it was just the two of you.

“If you’re truly worried, you can always lay a claim on me,” he suggested, and you flushed right away. Your eyes widened at every implication that could’ve meant. You buried your face in the pillow underneath you, now unable to meet his gaze for several reasons, “Kitten, look at me. What’s wrong? Don’t tell me your mind went to the gutter.” His voice was now teasing. Screw the gentle look he was giving you; now you knew for a fact his eyes were shining with amusement at your expense.

“Do you not listen to yourself?” you managed to hiss out the question. His chuckles filled your ears as you let out an embarrassed whine from the back of your throat. Why were you jealous of this man in the first place? He was horrible. A jerk face. Every mean name under the sun couldn’t begin to describe him when he was like this. Why did you like it? That was the real question.

“Well, now I’m curious about what you’re thinking. I was just going to say you could ride with me tomorrow, perhaps hold my arm during rests.” Lies, all of them, and now your mind was definitely in the trenches at him mentioning ‘riding’ of any kind. “What were you thinking?” he laughed again, and you let out an annoyed huff. He was egging you on, and it was working as per usual.

You sat up suddenly and turned to him, pushing on his chest until he was lying on his back. He let out a grunt, but he also had that shit-eating grin on his face as he looked up at you, waiting for your next move. You didn’t even know what your next move would be, honestly. Now that you were here, straddling the man’s waist, your mind was going almost completely blank, so you let your instincts take over.

You leaned down until your breath ghosted over his neck, placing a small kiss there before going in to suck on the skin. You felt him shifting underneath you as you marked him, doing your best to make it known that he was taken. Even if it was a small hickey, it might’ve been enough to get the others to back off, knowing exactly who shared a bed with him at night, who left a mark on his flawless skin.

When your lips finally parted, you could see the blooming mark on his skin. It was a light purple one right on his jugular, and while it wasn’t much, you doubted anyone would mistake it for anything else. Your fingers went over to touch the mark, admiring your handy work.

Sylus’ hand went up and pressed down on where you left the mark, and as a result pressed your own hand closer to him; his eyes curious and holding a hunger to them, “Oh, is that all? You know, people might just think I got a bruise from all the competing I did today. Sweetie, you might need to try a little harder than that.” He was still egging you on to get you to do exactly what he wanted.

Still, if he wanted to play this game, then so be it. You looked over his outfit and eyed something that, honestly, was the first thing you noticed when he had originally put it on. The little voice in the back of your head even supplied you with the fact that the outfit managed to look slutty on him, something you adored. Sadly, it was another reason why everyone else was eying him up and down all day. The man was well-built, and you knew why. You two had trained together, and after you were already tired, he continued on. You swore he had even managed to gain some new muscle recently.

You leaned down to his chest and glanced up at him quickly before deciding to just go all in. One of his nipples was exposed, and you were damn certain if you left a mark right there, nobody in their right mind would mistake it for a simple bruise. So you bit him, clamping down on his nipple, and, with your current position, you felt him rolling his hips up into you.

He let out a groan as you lapped at the bud in your mouth and pulled away, happy to see that there was a distinct mark where your teeth were. Your hand went over it gently, fingers barely touching him. You felt him roll his hips again in response and felt a warmth blooming in you when you felt something hard against your ass. You shouldn’t have been surprised that he was getting erect from this, hell if you were in his situation, you might’ve busted already.

“Think they’ll mistake this for an injury with your…competition today?” you asked with a satisfied smirk on your face. Sylus was looking at you for a moment, trying to process what you just did to him, and then you felt his hand on the back of your neck.

He grabbed you closer to him, and you let out a small gasp when his lips were on your throat. He was pushing down some of the garments you wore to give him access as he bit down on the skin there. You hissed at the sharp pain, realizing that, unlike you, he could commit.

As soon as he left that area of your neck, he went to the front of your throat, sucking a mark that bloomed under his lips. You were now the one who ground down onto his lap, feeling yourself growing wet as he pressed a small kiss there, “S-Sy, what are you…?” you managed to rasp out; you were already crumbling because of this man.

“You aren’t the only one who needs to lay claim to someone,” he said as he began marking another area of skin. It felt too good that you clamped a hand down over your mouth to muffle the noises, “I wasn’t a fan of the others looking at you as though you were available for them to take you. I do have a possessive streak, after all, kitten.”

He sucked a fourth mark; this one was right under your ear as you groaned, “Did you not want the others to hear you? I’m sure if they did, it would send a message loud and clear.” He rolled his hips back into you, making sure there was no mistake about precisely what he wanted to do right now.

“W-we’re guests, Sy,” you managed to get out, “We don’t want to make a scene.” And at the rate this was going, you were five seconds from pushing him back down and riding him until the sun came up. You could already imagine the dirty looks you’d get tomorrow morning from everyone who lost sleep due to your…activities.

“I guess you make a fair point,” he murmured as he let you go. Your entire neck was now covered in marks as you glared down at him. You could lie to him all you wanted, but inside, you felt a bit giddy. Knowing that the other women of the tribe would see you and just know it was Sylus who put the markings on you. You were almost tempted to leave even more on him, but he was already being nice and not pushing it. You doubted if you continued to tease him, he’d be okay with just going to bed after this. He’d do it, sure, but he might be a bit grumpy and…uncomfortable.

Still, you needed to hold yourself back for your own sanity. You carefully extracted yourself from him and rolled off to your side to face away from him. If he did anything else, you wouldn’t be able to hold back. You certainly had never fucked him, and from what you felt just now, he was…big. Riding a horse tomorrow would be a nightmare if he were to rail you right here and now. Still, if you were going to have sex, you’d rather it be back home where you wouldn’t need to cover up all your noises and didn’t need to worry about getting up the next day.

“Running away?” Sylus said as you heard the rustling of fabrics once more. He adjusted your head as he laid his arm out, allowing you to use it as a pillow. The rest of his body wrapped around you as he spooned you from behind, “After you started it, you’re now hiding. Adorable.” The way he all but whispered that into your ear had you shuddering.

“I just don’t think it’s the…place for that…” you said, hoping he’d read between the lines. Thankfully, it seemed he did, but you let out a gasp when you felt a gentle kiss on the back of your neck. He was driving you mad with his casual shows of affection; even cuddling you like this was making you yearn for something so much more.

“Of course, I understand,” he managed to murmur, “But will you be able to actually rest now, in this state?” his other hand trailed down to your stomach, pushing some of the fabric around as he continued trailing his hand further down until it was bunching at the long skirt you wore.

“I don’t know what you mean,” you muttered, a small shiver running down your spine as he began rolling the skirt up so he could press down on your bare thigh. His hand was so hot it felt like he was branding you with it.

He cupped the skin there, just trailing a hand over it as he spoke, “I need you to let me know if it’s alright to continue,” he said, clearly holding himself back. You could feel how your underwear clung to you, almost soaking through the fabric. Obviously, you wanted this, but would you be capable of keeping it together, and now that you are moaning so loud, the entire tribe could hear you? Fuck it, you could try.

“Just…just your hand,” you got out, and he chuckled. Sylus’ hand was now moving upwards without any hesitation, and now he had the green light to continue; he was intent on making the most of it. You felt the warmth of his palm cupping you through your underwear, and you held back a moan, instead biting down on your lip as his fingers trailed along the slick that coated them.

“You’ve managed to flatter me twice in one night,” he commented, pressing his fingers against your cunt and rubbing you through the layers, “I’m glad I have this effect on you though.” He was now finally pushing the underwear off to the side to give him access to your pussy. He trailed a finger over the slickness of your slit, barely pressing a finger into you. It hard you shuddering, almost begging him to just put them inside of you already.

Then you noticed the bluntness of his nails, which startled you as you thought for a moment. You swore up and down he had nails…didn’t he? Despite how turned on you were, the question was running through your head, “Sylus…when did you cut your nails?” you swore they weren’t short earlier.

He actually laughed at your statement, “Sweetie, you’re asking me this right as I’m about to be knuckle deep in you?” He asked, and you let out a small huff, “I have. You know I like to keep two of my nails trimmed…just in case.” You looked back at him with wide eyes. Before you could say anything, he was already reassuring you, “I did it for you, so don’t overthink it,” the moment the words came out, he sunk his fingers into your cunt.

Your mouth opened wide as a moan left you, and your cheeks felt flushed; at the angle, you had turned to, Sylus had a perfect view of it. You quickly moved your head away, nuzzling into the arm underneath you. He had the audacity to laugh again as he began fingering you, the digits easily slipping inside of you with how turned on you were. You felt how his thumb pressed against your clit, and you were now rolling into the palm of his hand, seeking more from him.

“You know, you have an effect on me as well.” As if to prove his point, he rolled his hips up into your ass. You could feel his hot cock through the layers, the hardness making you shiver. Your walls clenched around his fingers, “Hm, you seemed to like that. Perhaps when we’re back home, we’ll need to have a redo of this night.” He muttered—gods, what you wouldn’t give to be back home right about now. How many more days until the festival when you guys could go back? Could it be right now so you could be shoved into a mattress already and fucked until you couldn’t walk?

You were now caught between wanting to grind on his cock, while also rolling into his hand as the wet squelching noises began filling the yurt. You bit down on your lip and tried to focus, and Sylus clicked his tongue from behind you.

“If you’re going to bite on something, use my arm. I wouldn’t mind more marks from you, kitten.” Sylus instructed, and in your lust-filled haze, you didn’t question it. Instead, you turned your head and sank your teeth into the arm underneath you. You heard Sylus groan as his grinding began more insistent, as did his hand. He seemed to be trying to get you to cum before him, and you were so close. Your thighs were shaking already as you tried to squeeze Sylus’ hand between your legs.

You felt that familiar warmth inside of your stomach, and with his skilled fingers and the press of his thumb along your clit you found yourself unraveling. You didn’t even realize an orgasm could be this good as you bit down harder on him. For some reason, it felt so much better that he was the one to touch you. Perhaps it had been the build-up, but right now, as you came, your head was static, and thoughts refused to form as the euphoric sensation wet through your entire body.

You were rolling into his touch, trying to prolong the feeling for as long as possible as he worked you through it, feeling how you squeezed his fingers. Your pussy throbbed around him, and the only thing on his mind was how it would feel around his cock.

When you finally released his arm from your teeth and began feeling a bit more normal, he took his fingers out. Your body was still buzzing with the aftershocks as he pressed his slick-coated fingers against your mouth. You didn’t think twice as you opened up and let him put the digits inside your mouth.

You groaned at the musky taste of yourself on him as he pressed down on your tongue. You sucked his fingers clean as you felt how he was still rutting against you. His hips stuttered in his movement as he groaned, and you wondered what he might taste like. You almost wished his fingers were his cock, and he was coming down your throat at that moment. If he had just waited a few more moments, you might’ve indulged that fantasy.

His breathing was heavier as he rolled his hips against your ass a few more times before he stopped and stilled against you. He removed his fingers and went to kiss the back of your neck. His hand now wrapped around your torso in a possessive grip as he held you there, nuzzling into you.

“Did you…in your pants?” you couldn’t help but ask; in response, you got a chuckle out of the man behind you. The breath of air was chilly on your slightly damp next as you flinched away.

“Very observant, but yes,” he said, “We’ll both be needing to get cleaned up before we properly go to bed.” His words made you pout as you rolled over to face him. He looked good like this, and you could see some of his flush hadn’t gone away after his orgasm. It was a rare treat to see him like this as you mentally stored the image away.

“Okay, but now I’m actually sleepy,” you muttered, and he just gave you a knowing look. It was the look of: “Your excuses aren’t going to save you this time.”

“I’m sure you are, kitten, so I’ll just carry you down to the river myself if you’re going to be acting like this.” He mused, “I wasn’t asking; I was telling you. We need to clean up.” You hated that he was being responsible. Sure, you knew it was important, but your body felt sluggish now, and you just wanted to rest.

“What if someone sees?” you asked, and he raised an eyebrow. His arm was now snaking around to the front of your neck, grazing over the marks that painted your skin like constellations.

“Then let them, not like I care in the slightest. Besides, it’ll be obvious come tomorrow with all our new markings,” he commented, and you looked down at his arm, which had an angry, red bite mark. You flushed as you went to kiss it; he had a point. Hopefully, nobody had heard the wet noises earlier; to you, it had been deafening in the quiet of the night.

“Fine…were you serious when you offered to carry me?” you said while poking at his exposed stomach.

“You’re like a feather to me. Come on.” You felt how his arms wrapped around you as he made you two sit up. Your hands wrapped around his neck as he stood up from the bed. You locked your legs around his waist as he adjusted you in his grasp.

The only thing on your mind now was how badly you wanted to get back home, to Linkon, to the N109 Zone, so that you could properly fuck this man.

Anyway, this was inspired by a post I saw by @aeyumicore which btw did you now if I ever say I'm tempted to write something and someone says do it, I will probably do it. In one sitting. This took three hours to outline, write, and then edit.

[cressidagrey]

Looked to the Sky - Chapter 13

Summary: 

Eira Archeron was neither a Valkyrie, nor a Seer, nor the High Lady of the Night Court. She was, however, Azriel‘s mate with her own mysterious, untrained powers.

Also known as: Azriel tries to court his mate the human way.

Warnings: 

THIS IS THE LIGHTNING IN A BOTTLE SEQUEL! SO READ THAT FIRST IF YOU WANNA READ THIS ONE OTHERWISE THIS MAKES NO SENSE!

Elain Bashing, Low Self Esteem, I gave Kallias a random younger brother that is decisively not canon, and without @k-godling this would have never happened.

(super pretty dividers by @tsunami-of-tears)

Elain and Lucien's wedding would take place around midday when the sun was in its highest position, as it was tradition in the Day Court. After that, it would involve a whole afternoon, evening and night of eating and drinking and quite frankly, it sounded like torture as far as Azriel was concerned.

Belatedly he wondered if this was what Eira would want. Did Eira want a huge wedding with plenty of guests? A Court occasion of sorts?

If she wanted it, he would go along with it. Of course, he would. But it still made him wonder…made him wonder if this was actually what she wanted or if she wanted something smaller, more intimate…

At least the midday wedding meant that they could have a slow morning…Breakfast together, before they all needed to get dressed and be properly presentable. 

Maybe it shouldn’t surprise him that he and Eira were the first ones awake. 

He found his mate curled up in a silky blue dressing gown, trimmed with lace,  on the balcony, nursing a cup of tea, while the shadows were already fussing with her hair.

Azriel took a moment to simply take her in. The way her hair spilt out over her shoulders, the way the silky material of her dressing gown clung to her, showing off her form to perfection…The shadows loved the dressing gown. They swirled around it, clearly delighted by the silky blue fabric and the lace-trimmed edges. Azriel loved that dressing gown too. 

Eira looked up and smiled at him. "Good Morning."

"Good morning," he replied with a soft smile, coming to sit down next to her. The shadows immediately wound around his wrists and flitted to her shoulders, caressing her, and Azriel chuckled at the way more of them immediately buried themselves into her hair.

"They seem to be hard at work already," he quipped, as Eira rolled her eyes. 

"They have plans," she told him earnestly, making him laugh.

Azriel chuckled again, watching the shadows play with her hair, even as she brought the teacup back to her lips. "Plans, hm?" he asked, a teasing note in his voice as one of the shadows brushed the hair behind her ear, almost as a caress.

Azriel chuckled again, watching the shadows frizzing her hair, even as she brought the teacup back to her lips. "Plans, hm?" he asked, a teasing note in his voice as one of the shadows brushed the hair behind her ear, almost as a caress.

Hair curled and open. Maybe some hydrangeas, they match her dress, the shadows told him brightly.

From where will you get the flowers? he asked carefully.

We’ll take them from The Seer's private garden when we...change the centrepieces, The shadows answered.

Azriel had to suppress a laugh at that answer. Of course, they had stolen them.

"So, hydrangeas, hm?" he repeated, and Eira gave him a suspicious look as the shadows continued to play with her hair.

"I have no clue," Eira said drily. "They haven't told me yet. I…” she trailed off, looking at him. “..We made a bargain yesterday," she blurted out suddenly.

He could just stare at her. What?!

Azriel stared at her as she spoke, completely thrown off guard.

"You...bargained with the shadows?" he asked her, his voice sounding a bit strangled. That was possible? He hadn’t known that was possible. 

"What? No! I accidentally bargained with you!" Eira said quickly, holding out her hand for him. He took in the small, slim fingers, and then saw the thin band of black encircling her ring finger.

What?!

Azriel's eyes widened at that, and he stared at the band of black ink on her finger. How had he not noticed that earlier?

Right, where a wedding ring would sit. His eyes snapped to her, taking in the wide blue-grey eyes of Eira.

"We promised to tell each other when we had a bad day," he recounted his voice hoarse. He hadn't noticed the feeling of a mark, that burning, so...his eyes went to his wrapped hand, pulling back the wrapping. Right there on his own hand, a perfect match to hers. Encircling his own ring finger.  Thicker than Eira's, but at the same place.  Azriel stared at it, stunned.

How...they were bound. Bound by a bargain.

He looked up at her, completely thrown off guard. "I...I didn't notice," he said hoarsely, his voice low. "I didn't do it on purpose," he assured her, and Eira looked at him, her eyes soft.

"I didn't think you did," she promised him. "I just...I wanted you to know."

He looked at her for a long while, taking in her wide eyes and vulnerable expression. Gods, she looked scared. Like she honestly believed that he would be angry at her, or blame her. Azriel's face softened considerably at that, and he slowly reached out a hand to cup her face, pulling her closer.

“Cauldron, Eira. I'm not angry," he assured her quietly, and he could feel the way her shoulders sagged at that as if the words had been a relief to her. "I...I like the idea of having you with me like that," he told her honestly.

Everywhere he went, the mark would be there too.

Eira stared at him for a moment, and he could see the way her eyes went to the mark on his hand, the way hers looked mirrored against his.

"You...you do?" Eira asked him quietly, almost like she didn't quite believe him.

Azriel softened, his thumb caressing her cheek as he leaned even closer. "Of course I do," he told her quietly. "Having you with me always? That's not a bad thing, Sweetheart."

It seemed that the nickname managed to make Eira's cheeks flush a bit, a small, shy smile appearing on her face. The shadows swirled around her face excitedly at that, and Azriel could have sworn that he heard them coo at Eira faintly.

Azriel's smile turned into a smirk, and he leaned down, his breath ghosting against her ear and making Eira shiver in response. "They're swooning at you, you know," he told her in a low voice, and the shadows swatted him faintly in protest, making him laugh.

"They do that," he continued, and he moved his mouth down to the side of her neck. "They absolutely adore you, darling."

He placed a kiss against her skin, and he could feel the gooseflesh rising underneath his lips. Good.

Eira shuddered at the words and his mouth against her skin, her eyes fluttering shut and he was struck once again by how sensitive she was. 

It only made his smirk grow.

Azriel's mouth moved against her skin, placing kisses against her slender neck and making her shudder again.

He loved this.

Seeing how she reacted to the simplest touch. How his kisses would make her flush and shiver. Gods, he wanted her.

And then he pulled back as he heard a door open, Eira blinking owlishly at him.

Azriel suppressed another laugh at her dazed expression as she looked at him. He would have very much liked to continue his quest to make her blush, but for now...well, Cassian walked onto the balcony at that moment.

And then as much as Azriel would have liked to continue...he couldn't because the rest of their family appeared, and soon enough, breakfast was served and everybody was getting dressed.

Breakfast was a short affair, as everybody wanted to make sure that they had enough time to properly get ready for the wedding, and Azriel was soon standing in the wardrobe of their rooms, staring into his own reflection in the mirror.

He did not do that often. Most often, because half the time he saw his own father stare back at him, and that wasn't something he ever wanted to think about.

He looked like him. He hated that fact. Hated that his mother saw him any time she looked at Azriel. But there was nothing he could do to change that. 

Today the shadows seemingly weren't content with only fussing over Eira, because Azriel got the same treatment, with his hair tidily combed over his forehead.

That's not black, he hissed at them as they freed the jacket he would wear from the wardrobe. It wasn't. He didn't even own another colour but black, but clearly, tonight, the shadows had other ideas. Granted, at least it wasn't bright yellow. It was blue. Dark blue. A very dark blue.

Good, the shadows told him in response, the darkness swirling around his shoulders. You need colour.

Azriel suppressed a scoff. He did not need colour, he liked black, thank you very much!

It matches her gown, the shadows protested in response. Azriel closed his eyes. Of course. He should have known.

They were in a mood, Azriel could tell. A mood to be utterly fussy, if the way they were straightening his collar and the jacket was an indicator. And Azriel knew them well enough by now to realise that arguing wasn't going to get him anywhere, so he just let them do as they pleased.

In the end, he couldn't tell if he liked the result or not. At least he didn't look outright ridiculous.

Dark blue fabric encased broad shoulders closed with silver buttons. There was just a touch of silvery embroidery along the edge of the sleeves. Not too much. It wasn't...as showy as it could be.

Still, Rhys and Cassian took a second look at him as he left the bedroom to join them in waiting for their mates.

"Well don't you look nice, Shadowsinger," Cassian commented with a slight smirk. Azriel just rolled his eyes at him in response.

"I did not pick that," he informed his brother honestly, and Cassian snickered in response.

"Let me guess," Rhys drawled, clearly amused. "The shadows?"

Azriel grunted in response. The truth was obvious and both his brothers knew it, and judging by the smirks on their faces, they were more than willing to tease Azriel about it.

"I think it looks nice!" Feyre said brightly as she stepped out of the room, swathed in purple tulle, while Nesta had slipped into a crimson silk gown, held up by thin straps...but he didn't even really take notice of that.

How could he? How could he do that, when Eira was right behind them. How could he even notice them, when his mate was there, in a muted blue dress, shot through with silver?

By the cauldron.

He had never in his life seen anything more beautiful. Anything more beautiful than Eira. Eira in that dress that bared her shoulders, that cut straight across her chest and did little to hide the swell of her breasts...that had a pair of useless swathes of tulle across her upper arms and otherwise just left acres of unblemished, creamy white skin open to his gaze. It cut in at the waist, but fell to the floor in layers upon layers of blue and silver, shifting the colour with every step she made...if lightning had been made into a dress, this was it. If Eira had been made into a dress, this was it.

She was so goddamn beautiful.

As if she could sense his stare, Eira's eyes flickered up and met his, and he saw how her cheeks flushed.

Perfect. So beautiful, the shadows cooed excitedly, swirling around her. Our Mate. Ours.

As if he needed any more proof of that. The shadows had never before in all his life been so excited and happy as when they fussed over Eira.

He must have stared at her like a fish because she self-consciously clenched her hands in her skirts.

It broke him out of his staring. He swallowed.

"You look breathtaking," Azriel whispered breathlessly as she came up to him. He couldn't keep himself from reaching out to grasp her hand, bringing it up to his mouth to brush a kiss against her knuckles, and the bargain tattoo and her skin burned under his lips in response.

"Like a bolt of lightning," he told her quietly, and he saw her breath hitch in response.

"Thank you," Eira breathed out quietly, her cheeks still flushed from his words, but a shy, happy smile on her face that made Azriel's heart skip a beat.

The shadows swarmed around her, caressing her hair and her skin, even her dress, and it seemed that they were utterly unwilling to let her go. They loved her like this.

Azriel wasn't surprised. He loved her like this too.

He couldn't help but notice the details...Her long, caramel-coloured hair was pulled away from her face but fell to her waist in carefully done curls, a few sprigs of Hydrangeas pinned to the back of her head...

The silver threaded bag she held in her hand, the sapphire necklace around her throat, the matching bracelet...The shadows had their fun.

"You'll make the bride jealous," Cassian commented lightly, and Nesta elbowed him in the side for that.

But...Cassian wasn't wrong. A lot of the attention would go towards Eira, looking like...looking like that. Azriel just ignored the little part of him which preened at that idea. His.

He would have loved to just pull her closer, hold her, just let his hands wander over that fabric, just feel her against him, but...the others were there. Which was a good thing, because if she let his hands wander, he would probably start doing things that were not very appropriate to do in front of their family.

So instead he squeezed the hand he had still been holding, and then tucked it in the crook of her neck. "I'll be the luckiest male today," he told her honestly, watching, charmed beside himself how her cheeks flamed again.

"The groom may disagree with you there," Eira gave back quietly.

"He'll have to deal with it," Azriel said with a smirk, and he heard a snort from beside him, which was certainly Rhys.

Eira just glanced at him under lowered lashes, biting her lip to suppress a smile.

He was utterly in love with this female, wasn't he?

The shadows swarmed around her for a moment, and he watched them cover her shoulders with a pelt...the pelt he had given her. Mountain Lion, not a question about it. They tucked it over her gown, so that she wouldn't get cold…another bit of attention, another show of how she was his. 

He heard the sharp inhale from Cassian and felt the look from Rhys. 

Azriel swallowed and stared at the pelt, at the way it was laid over her shoulders. Gods, she was wearing his pelt. She looked so utterly his, with the pelt over her shoulders. 

The pelt of the animal he had killed. Illyrian Tradition dictated a pelt given by the groom to his wife on their wedding day. If Azriel wanted to scream from the rooftops that Eira was his...well, that would have been more subtle.

The implication was very, very clear, and Azriel knew that Cassian and Rhys knew what the gesture had meant.

The look on Cassian's face certainly indicated as much, and when Azriel glanced over, his brother's hazel eyes were wide as he stared at the pelt on Eira's shoulders. Rhys' lips were lifted in the hint of a smile.

Staking your claim? Rhys whispered in his mind and Azriel growled in response. Yes. Yes, he was.

****

A bolt of lightning.

The words left her stunned and breathless for a moment, and she wondered at the way his deep voice sent shivers down her spine. He was the one to call her beautiful when he looked...the way he looked.

Eira could feel the burn of his lips on her knuckles, as well as the way the shadows had wound themselves around her, making her shiver faintly.

They were loud today. Practically singing in joy.

Eira tried very, very hard not to blush, she really did, but with the way Azriel’s eyes had looked upon her...the way the shadows had swirled around her almost excitedly...she couldn't help it. She knew the others were looking at her, and she could feel the way their gazes travelled over her. Over her necklace, her bracelet, her dress...but all she could focus on was him.

Him. So beautiful. So Handsome, clad in his navy jacket, shot through with silver, a perfect foil to her gown...she just knew that it was the shadows doing. All she wanted to do for a moment was to kiss him. To spend a whole evening doing nothing but that.

She knew that was a bad idea though, especially with the eyes of the others on them, and she couldn't even look at his mouth without wanting to kiss him, so instead she bit the inside of her own lip, to distract herself from the longing, from the need to kiss him.

Her sister's wedding was beautiful. Though there was not one lily in sight as far as Eira could see. She wondered if her sister had changed her mind about her choice of florals or… Or if the shadows that darted through the temple had anything to do with it. Getting their own form of petty revenge.

She had to admit, it was amusing to think about. To imagine the shadows swerving through the flowers in the temple, making it so there were no lilies. She could imagine it too, because the shadows loved to be meddlesome. But at least they were only so towards people they cared for.

They loved her, she knew that. As far as they had feelings, they loved her. They adored her. And judging by how they were still swirling around her skirts, and how she felt Azriel's gaze on her through most of the ceremony, he was well aware of that fact.

For just one moment Eira allowed herself to wonder. Were they ever going to make it down the aisle? She didn't want a huge production like that. It was gorgeous, with all the High Lords in attendance, Helion having clearly spared no expense for the wedding of his son and heir...

No. She didn't want that. She was never a big fan of being the centre of attention, never mind being the focus of this many people. But...She did want him. Wanted to be Azriel's.

Something small...intimate. Something that was just theirs and their families...that would suit Eira perfectly well. Maybe with Azriel's mother in attendance...with her sister and their mates...something small. No need for dozens of guests.

She just wanted him.

Still, she passed a smile on her face as Elain got married, and she realised startled that she felt indifferent about it all. Good for Elain. She wished that her sister was happy. But Eira...Eira didn't...there was just nothing in the way she was feeling that felt like she actually cared anymore.

Elain had burned that out of her chest.

And she honestly didn't know how to feel about that. She knew how guilty she probably should feel, but her heart felt empty.

No love, no happiness, no joy, no sorrow either...just an empty hollow feeling. A nothingness.

Which was a stark contrast to how she felt when she glanced at Azriel, at the shadows swirling around her.

He filled her with so much, and she didn't know how to react to that feeling either.

Though the feeling when Azriel led her out on the dance floor and swirled her around...when he lifted her with his hands around her waist like she weighed nothing...that was a wonder.

She felt giddy, letting him spin her around the dance floor, the layers of her skirts flaring out around them as he did. She hadn't danced in so long, that she had almost forgotten the feeling of the world flying past...until now until he lifted her and span her around as she weighed next to nothing.

By the gods, he was strong.

She wasn't a dancer like Nesta was...somebody that could put a whole room on their knees. But she had always, alwaysenjoyed it. Granted there hadn't been a myriad of suitors willing to partner with her.

But there was now.

There was Azriel who spun her around like she weighed nothing and touched her like she was fragile like spun glass.

He held her like she was an exquisite, treasured thing, an utter and total contradiction to his strength, but so perfect at the same time. She just let herself move to the music with him, following his lead so much more easily than she had ever followed anyone's lead before until she was practically breathless.

There was Rhys, who somehow managed to twirl her around to make her skirt float through the air and make her feel like a princess.

And then...then there was Cassian.

Loud, raucous Cassian. Huge with arms the size of tree trunks. Nesta looked tiny next to him, and Nesta still had quite a few inches on Eira.

Still, she was handed off to him, while Nesta dragged Azriel onto the dance floor.

"I need to warn you, both my brothers are better dancers than me," he told her drily.

She couldn't help it, a small grin curled on her lips even as she let him pull her out onto the dance floor, and she gave a quiet laugh at his words.

"I doubt that," she commented light-heartedly, and Cassian chuckled.

"My sweet summer child," he just drawled in response. "Azriel's the best dancer of us all, and Rhys ain't half bad either."

It didn't take long for her to find out that it was all true. All of it.

Cassian was…not a terrible dancer, but he wasn't quite as smooth as Rhys or Azriel. No, it was apparent that he was used to dancing with someone like Nesta, who took the lead more often than not...but that didn't make him a bad dancer. Far from it in fact.

He just wasn't the best.

"I wanted to talk to you though," Cassian broached the subject after a moment. "I...I have spent weeks with coming up with the right thing to say, but...I think the worst thing I can do is not to say anything," he said with a grimace. "I am sorry."

Her eyebrows flickered up at that, surprised by his words. What...what did Cassian have to be sorry for?

"Why are you sorry?" Eira asked quietly after a brief moment.

"You mean other than the fact that we all spent 2 years treating you abhorrently?" Cassian asked her sarcastically.

"I-" She started, because...what was she supposed to say to that? It was the truth. "I-"

She swallowed again, and her gaze darted across the dance floor before it settled on him. "It's...It was a rough time," she finally admitted quietly.

"I know that you overheard...that conversation between Rhys and I...before we went to that ball in Hewn City," Cassian said quietly. "I shouldn't have...it was an unkind thing to say."

Eira swallowed.   

Oh. He was talking about that. She had been very hurt at the time, of course. No one would have wanted to hear something like that, least of all from people that they had considered to be friends at the time. That had been unkind.  

We don’t need Eira. Quite frankly, it’s better if she doesn’t go. Elain is the prettier one, anyway.

He had said that, and Eira flinched faintly at the memory, and in response, Cassian grimaced. His hands almost tightened their grip on her, in a move of comfort, and she could hear the guilt in his voice when he spoke, the very real remorse in his tone.

"I was out of line when I said that," he told her, his voice thick. "I just...I hate Hewn City. And if I could keep everybody out of there...I would. I didn't want you anywhere near there. This is not me...not me trying to make what I said...any better. Because there is nothing I can say that makes it better."

Cassian sighed as they continued to dance, and his eyes were downcast.

"I...I was cruel. For my own convenience, yes, but that does not change the fact that it was a cruel thing to say...and I am very, very sorry."

There was a small knot forming in her throat, and Eira had to swallow it back before she spoke.

She...she believed him, she knew that he meant what he said. It didn't erase what he had said, or the way she had felt at the time, but she did believe him. "I-" She started, her voice cracking faintly. "I accept your apology, Cassian."

She saw him exhale audibly in relief, and some of the tension bled out of his shoulders.

There was clearly guilt weighing on his shoulders, so she felt the need to continue. "It...it hurt, you know?" she said quietly. "Hearing...what you said. But then, eavesdroppers never hear anything good about themselves."

Her mouth curled into the hint of a bitter smile, and she heard Cassian chuckle lowly.

"No, they don't," he agreed, and his answering smile echoed bitterly before he sighed audibly.

"I...don't expect you to ever forget about it," he said quietly, “or forgive me, for that matter. But...I just wanted to apologize. To try to make it right."

The knot in her throat was still there, but Eira forced a small smile onto her face. "You are a good male," she replied quietly.

"I...that's up for debate," Cassian said, clearly trying to make it a joke, but it just sounded flat instead.

She could see the guilt that was clearly weighing down his shoulders though, and the regret in his eyes.

"You are," she assured him.

"You make him happy, you know?" Cassian said quietly.

She knew he was talking about Azriel, and it made her cheeks heat again. Gods, the way she blushed whenever his brother was mentioned...it was bordering on ridiculous.

She didn't know what to say to that, to how to respond, and she could see the hint of a smirk form on Cassian's lips. "I've never seen him the way he is when he's with you,” he drawled.

"I..." Eira's eyes darted away, feeling a little self-conscious. "Azriel is...he's very dear to me," she admitted, her voice going quiet when she met his eye again.

Cassian's answering smile was small but entirely genuine, and he gave a faint nod.

"I can tell," he said quietly. “Do you know that that pelt he gave you means?” Cassian asked her and Eira could just stare at him. What?

The Pelt wasn’t around her shoulders right now. She had shrugged it off before the first dance and had instead been draped over the back of her chair back at the table.  Now though…now she wished the soft fur would be back to wrapping around her. 

“Every Illyrian Male gifts his bride a coat for her wedding. Made out of pelts he hunted,” Cassian said quietly. “A show of…their ability to provide in a way. A claim.”

She swallowed. Azriel had given her…he had given her the equivalent of a bridal gift? He hadn’t even hesitated to offer up the pelts when she had refused to let him pay her. 

And now…now she found out their significance…what they meant for him, for his culture…It was…startling. 

She wasn’t quite sure what to think of it.

The music came to an end, and their dance as well.

She watched Nesta make her way across the room to them. "Azriel is dancing with Feyre....Rhys is deep in conversation with Kallias," she said. "Can I steal my mate, or do you still need him?"

"Steal away," Eira said with a laugh. "I'll get myself something to drink."

"Are you sure?" her sister asked gently but Eira nodded.

"I am not alone," she said easily. Not when she could still feel the shadows twirling through her skirts.

Cassian gave her a final smile before he let go of her, taking the hand that Nesta offered him and letting himself be dragged back onto the dancefloor.

Eira exhaled quietly when she was left alone, and as promised, she made her way to the small table where drinks were being served. The shadows followed her there, swirling around her skirts and occasionally touching her skin, caressing her.

She also got a good view of the orchestra, her eyes immediately drawn to the harpist.

She was good. Real good. Eira stood there for a few minutes sipping her drink as the harpist played, watching her as her fingers danced across the strings of the harp. It made her want to pick up her own more often, as her practising was finally resulting in songs that actually sounded like songs and no more screeching that only Nyx seemed to enjoy.

"Do you play?" A question came from her right and her head snapped towards a tall male. Utterly pale, his hair white, his eyes ice blue, but a warm smile on his face.

She gave a small nod in response. "Yes, I...I do," she agreed and forced a small smile onto her face. The stranger was wearing a coat of grey, trimmed with fur...Winter Court maybe? Eira wasn't quite sure.

"I couldn't help but notice that you were watching the harpist," the male continued. His eyes and voice were soft, a sharp contrast to his hard, cold exterior. "You play the harp, don't you?"

He had a nice voice, she realized, warm and smooth.

"I-" Eira started faintly, surprised that he'd noticed that, and that he guessed correctly. Her eyes flickered to the harpist for a moment, before they went back to the male. "Yes," she admitted quietly. "I do play."

A smile curled on his lips as that, his expression almost gentle when he spoke. "You must have wonderful skill then," he said, almost like he was complimenting her...and Eira just blinked stupidly at him. "The harp is a beautiful instrument, but...also one of the hardest to master."

There was no sarcasm or mockery or anything like that in his voice, and it took her a moment to realize that he was actually complimenting her and that it was genuine.

"I...I wouldn't say I have mastered it, but..." she said quietly after a few moments. "I...I'm doing alright, I suppose."

The male chuckled quietly, and his eyes glimmered as he looked at her. "You are humble in addition to being talented," he said quietly, with the ghost of a smirk on his face.

Again, she was taken aback for a moment. Compliments were not...something she was used to receiving from strangers. "I am Kleon," he introduced himself finally. 

"Eira," she replied quietly in reflex, and the ghost of a smile stayed on his lips as she spoke.

"Eira," he repeated back quietly, and almost almost as if he was tasting her name in his mouth. "What a beautiful name."

Her eyebrows flickered faintly at his words, another compliment, and surprise flashed through her.

"That's...kind of you to say," she replied awkwardly.

"Will you do me the honour of a dance?"

The request came out of nowhere, completely unexpected, and she found herself blinking in shock yet again. He...he wanted to dance with her?

She found herself gaping for a few moments before she finally forced a small, but awkward smile on her face. "I-"

"Please," he practically purred, and she found herself unable to say no. "It wouldn't be a proper celebration without me stealing a dance with the most beautiful female in the room."

Her cheeks flushed darkly in response, completely overwhelmed by the compliment, and it only got worse when he chuckled quietly. "There is nothing to be shy about," he said, clearly amused by her reaction. "I'm just speaking the truth."

Surprise and disbelief shot through her for a moment, before a small, slightly disbelieving laugh escaped her. "I think you overestimate me," Eira said a bit breathlessly.

"I don't think I do," he replied easily, and a hint of a smile curled on his lips again. "You're beautiful, that's a fact. As is my intention to steal a dance with you, if you would be agreeable to it."

The shadows stayed quiet, silent…as long as they didn’t want her in any danger, Eira supposed that refusing this…Kleon would probably be considered impolite. Her mother would have had her head for it after all. 

She was attending a ball, so she was required to dance with every man who paid her just the littlest bit of attention in the hope that maybe one of them had any marriageable brothers, sons or nephews…or maybe he himself made out to be a good match. 

(Which for her mother mostly had only meant money and power. In every imaginable way.)

“One dance,” Eira agreed quietly. 

Something flashed through his eyes, something satisfied. "One dance," Kleon repeated, and extended his hand to her, an invitation to take it.

One dance. 

He was a good dancer. She would give him that compliment, peppering her with questions about the music, her likes and dislikes.

Kleon was charming and had manners, and didn't do a thing to make her uncomfortable, and there was a smoothness to him that could have been utterly thralling ...if it were not for the fact that he wasn't Azriel.

But that was the thing. The conversation, the questions, the compliments...none of it could truly lure her in, because there was only one male in that room that could ever lure her in, and that was Azriel.

There was only one male that she was truly interested in. 

The song ended and she forced a smile onto her face as they came to a stop, her hand still in his. "Thank you for the dance," she said quietly, politely.

"Thank you for indulging me," he replied smoothly, and there was that hint of a smile on his lips again.

He released her hand, but his fingers lingered a few moments as if he was reluctant to release it. "I've enjoyed myself," he added quietly.

"I...I'm glad," she replied faintly, and she actually was glad. She had enjoyed herself. The conversation had been pleasant, and he had been a good dance partner.

There was just no spark. No fire in her veins. No pull to him.

Not like it felt with her mate.

A ghost of a smile curled on her lips at the thought. No, nothing like that. That was all reserved for Azriel. For...her mate. Her mate, and no one else.

"Making nice with the Winter Court?" Asked Rhys drily behind her.

She had to suppress the urge to startle at the sound of Rhysand's voice suddenly behind her, but she did jump a little. Eira turned around to look at him, and a small, sheepish laugh escaped her as she did. "He asked to dance with me," she explained quietly. "So I said yes."

"And that's the only reason you said yes?" Rhys inquired, in that infuriating neutral kind of tone he tended to use.

She just stared at him. 

 "I didn't want to be impolite," she confirmed. "It would have been rude to refuse," Eira said, her voice certain, and even just saying the words out loud...made her feel surprisingly defiant.

She could practically see that Rhys had been surprised by her confidence, but there was no sarcasm or mockery in his express

"How very polite of you," he said quietly, and she swore he almost sounded amused.

She felt more than heard Azriel behind her, reaching a hand back only to feel his own in hers seconds later. The pelt was draped over her shoulder, with a gentle touch, utterly polite, but she could feel his fingertips trail over her arms, a shiver escaping her.

Even the briefest touch from him sent a shiver down her spine, and a warm feeling rushing through her body. She could practically sense the shadows curling around her skirts again, trying to get closer.

"Having fun?" Azriel murmured into her ear, his voice low. There was a hint of something to it, the edge of possessiveness, and his hand gave hers a small, almost imperceptible squeeze.

"I like dancing with you more," she answered honestly.

Azriel's lips curled up in a small smile at her words, and his hand gave hers another small squeeze.

"Then let us dance," he said quietly, as his free hand went to her waist to gently guide her back towards the dance floor. The shadows trailing after them and swirling around their feet, clinging on to both of them.

Their hands were still intertwined when they came to a stop, and she placed her hand on his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath her hand.

She couldn't help the content sigh that escaped her when he pulled her closer, so she was pulled flush against him. It was more swaying in one spot than proper dancing...but they were at the edges, not bothering anybody.

There was a content look on Azriel's face as they swayed in one place like he was just happy being able to hold her close. 

Shadows were swirling around them, curling around her skirts and his legs, as if they were trying to get closer to them both. It almost made Eira laugh faintly.

"Your shadows are clingy," she teased, in a quiet voice.

"They are," Azriel agreed, and his voice was just as quiet. There was a hint of a smile on his lips, and his free hand tightened around her waist as he added, "They like being close to you."

"Oh, they like being close to me, hm?" Eira said faintly, still mostly teasing. A small, amused smile on her lips as shadows coiled more around her and tried to get between them as if to prove Azriel's point."Are you sure they're not just being clingy because you like being close to me?"

It was a brazen thing to do, and she didn’t dare to look at him as she said it, as she felt the sharp inhale…but then he tipped up her face with a single finger so that she was forced to look at her. 

His eyes were green and brown and gold, and he looked at her with an expression… an expression that she couldn’t quite place. Sweet and soft and warm and it made her feel…safe. 

“They are a part of me,” Azriel said simply, like that explained everything. 

And she supposed, in a way it did. 

[tadpolesonalgae]

Fire In His Blood

Lucien x reader

For Day 2 of @acotar-omegaverse-week - Turning Up The Heat: You seem a little flushed, darling... is everything alright?

a/n: avert your eyes

warnings: smut obviously, knotting, pussy-eating, overstim, squirting, light nipple play, spanking, praise kink, breeding kink, kinda rough sex, biting, belly bulge

word count: 3,696

——————————————————————————————————————————————

Across the room Lucien sits patronisingly silent, both eyes focused with infuriatingly faux concentration on the book clasped in his long fingers. 

Your throat rolls, a pearly bead of sweat gliding down your spine, throat rolling as you shift once more in attempts to shy from the blazing heat of the miniature furnace. If you’d also hailed from the Autumn Court you’d be singeing the carefully trimmed ends of his thick, silky hair; burning the hem off his perfectly tailored trousers that wrap themselves greedily around the mouth-watering muscles of his thighs; turning his slippers to coal. 

Perspiration gathers between your breasts, but you refuse to yield an inch. He’s used this tactic plenty of times before, and each and every one you’ve naively fallen for it; not this time. 

In the evenings when the light fades, and the air becomes cool but dry and the two of you take up your seats in the living room, windows flung wide to allow that evening breeze to sweep through the interior should the day have been too much of a struggle, he’ll do this. Slowly raise the temperature of the room, incrementally inching higher until you discard your outer layers. Then it will continue to creep higher…and higher…and higher…until there’s a dewy shine to your skin and you’re in little more than a vest and underwear. Then one thing will lead to another. 

“Your clothes are already off.” He would reason with a self-satisfied smirk, a broad palm gliding up to pause between your shoulder blades, the pads of his fingers splayed across your skin. “Might as well help you sweat out the fever.” 

Of course, it was never a fever. Nor an oddly warm night. Always Lucien Vanserra, inching up those degrees. 

On this cooler night, however, there’s a fire lit in the spacious living room, burning and crackling and sparking. A log splits, popping cavernously and you flare your skirts under the guise of rearrangement. The temporary rush of air that sweeps up your legs is welcome, but the following stagnancy is hellish. With a subtle glance to the windows, you ache for them to be open, for the curtains to be swaying in a nighttime breeze bringing in a moon-kissed wind that would soothe the burning heat of your skin, but as it is the curtains are drawn shut, trapping you within the sweltering furnace of a room. 

Breathing becomes difficult, the dry air itching at your parched throat, tongue sticking to the roof of your mouth and lips sticking shut. 

When a bead of sweat rolls down your temple, your jaw grinds, pushing abruptly from the armchair to stride over to your mate. Arms fold beneath your breasts, glaring down at the cocky alpha you’d somehow thought would be a good idea to spend the rest of your life with. 

“Lucien.” His name is a sharp hiss of vehemence from your lungs, his eyes snapping from his book at the furious tone. “Cut it out.” You grit the words through a clenched jaw, nostrils flared with indignation.  

His brow raises in denial, lips parting to produce a no-doubt snarky reply, when he pauses. His pupils dilate, chest expanding on a slow and deep inhale. A few seconds pass with you stood before him, arms crossed tightly as you glare down at your alpha while he stares silently upward. Then his book closes. He doesn’t take his eyes from you as he lays it across the chair’s arm, and the heavy novel slides from the fabric, thumping to the wooden floor. 

Lucien’s attention remains on you, making the heat increase tenfold, blood scalding as it gushes through your body. 

“I said cut it out,” you pant, fury singeing at the edges, steadily disintegrating to ash as you have to drag your sleeve below your jaw, drying the dampened skin. 

Lucien’s throat rolls, irises almost entirely swallowed by the black of his pupils. “Lovely…” he tries, but you cut him off with a low hiss that boarders on a snarl. “Right now, or I’m—” 

Hot palms caress your hips before long, deft fingers curl around the sweep of bone and your pulse fumbles, spiking higher than you thought possible. Breath catches and sweat slowly slips down your inner thigh, trickling over the scalding skin—so hot you’re surprised it’s not evaporating. 

Lucien swallows again, hot mouth parting on a short breath, a fang glinting shy from beneath his lip. “That’s not…” He’s breathing heavily now, nostrils flaring delicately and his grip closes around your ribcage, fingers splaying up your back while his thumbs graze beneath the swell of your breasts. Your inhales match his, growing laboured as he stands from his seat, slowly rising higher until your head tips back, forced to crane your neck from the proximity. 

Another droplet of sweat slides down your inner thigh, meandering down until it drips over the roundness of the interior of your knee. “Turn down the heat,” you demand breathlessly, “it’s too hot.” 

“That’s not me,” he murmurs, tongue flicking over his lips, eyes refusing to remove themselves from your face. “Lu, there’s currently sweat dripping down my thighs, don’t you dare…” You trail off in a moan when hunger darkens his eyes, pulling you tight to his body and sliding those long fingers between the roundness of your ass, pushing between your legs to graze your clothed sex. “I don’t think that’s sweat, princess.” 

He spins you around faster than you can blink, pushing you down into the deep cushioning of his armchair, spreading your thighs so they hook over the arms, skirts shoved up to your hips. Firelight shudders over the burning orange room, walls alight with the heat of flame and arousal liquefies in your lower belly, hundreds of tiny butterflies fluttering wildly in your abdomen, between your legs, so much intensity your thighs begin to shake. “What-…?”

It seems Lucien’s figured it out before you, knees hitting the hardwood floor with a painful thud, fingers wrapping around and squeezing the flesh of your thighs as he pushes them closer to your chest. A shiver breaks down your spine as his fangs graze the interior of your knee, tongue dragging hotly against your skin, flicking up over that heavy droplet of— 

The growl he releases has you sinking further into arousal, leaning deeper into the instincts that are swiftly surfacing. You push your legs wider, leveraging yourself upon the arms of the chair to incline your hips, offering and begging for him to do something. 

A russet and a golden eye both flick upward and you swear you can feel them over your pussy, skating up over your breasts, nipping and tugging at your lips. Heat, they say, You’re in heat. 

You think you shake your head but you can’t be sure, not with the haze that’s descended down on your mind like a wave of fog cresting the mountains and falling to fill the valleys. 

“Lucien,” you breathe. “Lucien…” 

His nostrils fare, scenting the arousal that’s practically rolling off your body, almost vibrating with need, slick dripping from your sopping pussy. Soaking all the way through your underwear. Dampening the fabric of the cushions beneath you. 

A moan spills from your lips, hips rolling upward desperately as he tears the underwear from your body, fangs having pierced the delicate fabric, ripping them clean from your sensitive skin. His eyes are glued to your cunt, glistening in the firelight, and pulses of pleasure flutter up through your abdomen as he drags his tongue through your centre. A thick thread of slick is attached to his chin from a single lick, and he dives back almost instantly, tongue, teeth, and mouth centring at your entrance, his nose pushing against your clit and your thighs fall apart for him.

The sound of slurping bounces off the walls, his tongue practically burning as he licks you clean, swiping against the innermost parts of your thighs, trailing around the the curve of your cunt, lapping from where your ass meets the cushion to the tip of your clit. You want more. You need more. You open your thighs wider, as wide as they can go, hips bucking and rolling, rubbing against his face. Fingers lazily, weakly, thread through the length of his silky hair, feeling as it slips between your digits, perfect to grab onto—like luxury reigns. 

Your hands bunch into fists, knuckles turning white from the grip you have on him. Powerful arms band around your thighs, muscles stretching from how far you’re being pushed apart, aching from the pleasurable strain but it feels so good. The babbling moans that are falling from your throat are probably more than enough to tell him that, though. 

The orgasm rises smoothly, swiftly, dragging you under like a stray riptide as a wave passes overhead, dragged down, down, down, as breath is locked in your lungs, drowned as the pleasure pulses through your thighs, cunt fluttering as your clit aches. 

It’s not enough. 

It’s not enough. 

“Lucien.” Hands tug on his hair but his face is still buried between your thighs, tongue and teeth working hungrily, dragging up through your centre, licking up and tasting your orgasm. “Lucien. Lu. More. Please.” Your breathing is far from even, laboured and huffing from your lips, fabric rustling as laces fly free from loops, ruffles strewn from your waist and arms, flung to the floor as you surge forward to meet the firm body of your alpha. 

His palms wrap themselves in a cage around your ribs, moans and groans spilling hotly as your lips meet, arousal gleaming thickly over his mouth as his tongue dips inside. Fuck, you can feel him against your stomach, the hard outline of his cock digging into your abdomen, and he can’t have all those clothes on. Feral fingers claw at buttons, sending them flying as linen is ripped away from hot, bare skin, your tongue instantly dragging up his sternum, teeth biting hungrily at his collar bone like you might be able to feast on him. 

“Love,” he pants, hands squeezing and exploring, tracing and retracing each line of muscle, every swell of your body as if he’s blind. “Love.” It comes out as a snarl, fresh arousal bursting through your body, every spec of skin aching with acute awareness, searching for the feeling of his rough hands to satiate the keen yearning that’s itching below your flesh. 

His hand fists in your hair, tugging you back, forcing you to stare into his molten gaze, starving hunger simmering so blatantly a whimper escapes your throat. His fangs glint in the flame light, then he’s hauling you back with him, shoving you down to the floor, the impact hardly registering as he fits himself between your legs, and you can feel him. Oh gods you can feel him. 

“Lucien,” you cry, on the verge of melting into nothing. “Inside…I need you…inside, now.” 

Thigh are pushed upwards, knees to your chest, sweat trickling down the nape of your neck, dripping onto the rug below. Your eyes lock as he slides in to the hilt, the entrance swift and effortless. Wet slurping noises sound between you as your arms and legs lock around him, panting and crying as you feel him deep inside, powerful muscle hot and firm against your soft and supple form. 

Lucien groans, muscles flexing in his arms as he pulls back to look at you. “Fuck, you’re perfect,” he growls, jaw straining as molten iron simmers in his one russet eye. He leans closer, lips searing your own. “Perfect little omega cunt.” 

Your eyes flutter, grinding sloppily against one another, hips rolling and bucking lazily, not yet focused enough to organise your movements. His cock rubs against your walls, pushing a bulge into your stomach and your toes curl. “Lucien…I— I need—”

“I know what you need,” he growls, palms splaying across the carpet as he pushes himself up, firelight kissing sun-warmed skin. “And—fuck—I’m right here.” 

A loud moan is shoved from your chest as he pulls back and slams in, pleasure knocking the breath from your lungs, and you don’t think you’ll be able to live through this if he doesn’t let you take his knot. 

You need his knot. 

Need to feel it swelling inside of you, locking you so firmly in place as he releases into you, making sure you can’t pull off him when he unloads inside of your sweet, dripping pussy. Not until you’re dripping his cum down your thighs from being stuffed full, so full— 

Lucien hits a spot than has your nails scraping and scratching his back, clawing hungrily as your arms shake, needing to feel him inside of you, spilling into your cunt, filling you up until you can’t move without some of him dripping out. Lucien curses under his breath, hips stuttering as he feels you tighten around him, sucking him deeper into your wet heat. “Such a perfect cunt,” he groans, hips rolling roughly to your own, bucking sharply as instinct demands he give and give and give. “So fucking pretty. So fucking prefect of you.” 

Your eyes flutter, and you’re coming, squeezing his cock tight, hips bucking as your clit grazes his abdomen, thunder and lightening storming in your veins, fuelling the fire that’s burning between the two of you. 

Lucien releases a deep-throated groan, bordering on a growl as he feels you fluttering around him. His brows furrow, eyes shutting as he pants, basking in the aftershocks of your cunt. “Feels so good,” he mutters, hot breath fanning across your throat, fangs scratching faintly, promising more. “Gods, I could stay in you forever.” 

“More,” you urge, thighs squeezing him, hips already bucking against his despite having just orgasmed. “Lu, please. Need your knot. Need it inside of me.” 

“If that’s what you want…” 

You whimper with pleasure as he rolls onto his back, bringing you with him so you’re straddling his hips. Tears slip from your lashes as gravity pulls you down on his cock, his tip pressing against that spot that… 

Your palms splay across his chest, his hands gripping your hips tight, cock nestled deep inside your dripping cunt. “Lu…” you start, but his grip tightens on you, lifting you sharply from his hips only to slam you down, bucking up to meet you. Your spine arches with the surge of pleasure, teetering along the line of overstimulation…but that’s exactly what you need. To be shaking, trembling, sobbing. Need to hardly know up from down, and still have him pounding your pussy, filling you up. 

His hips buck, and your nails push against his skin. “There…!” You pant breathlessly, “right there…!” Lucien angles your hips, keeping you from moving away. “Here?” 

“Yes…yes, yes, yes!” 

Your breathing falters as you feel a swell at the base of his cock, noting how his chest is lined with tension…you begin bouncing, vibrating with pleasure when you feel him swell, grow larger, and larger…and… You whimper, wiggling your hips faintly, nestling down on him as you feel his knot lodge inside of you perfectly. Lucien groans, and you know he’s undeniably close. Close to spurting loads of cum into your pretty pussy, his knot keeping you locked on top of him as he finishes…you can’t wait for it. 

“Lu…” you whine softly, bringing your body to a still, fingers half-wrapping around his wrists, encouraging them higher. “Touch me…please…” 

“You want more?” The laugh he releases is strained to say the least, but his russet eye is glinting with hunger. “Greedy little omega. Isn’t that right?” Your teeth find placement in your lip, nodding eagerly as a lazy smile curves your lips. “Greedy…so greedy, Lu.”  

“Want my cock and my knot, huh?” 

“So badly.” You arch into his touch as he palms your breasts, grazing the pads of his fingers over your sensitive nipples. “So, so badly.” 

“Mhmm. So if I do…” Fingers pinch at your nipples, hips rolling up to meet yours, grinding against you so his knot rubs against those sensitive inner walls. 

Lucien chuckles as your eyes roll, hands falling away from his wrists, barely holding yourself upright on his cock. “Please…” you whisper, swirling your hips, tightening around him in encouragement. Urging him to finish inside of you. “Want to take it…” 

“You think you can?” He taunts, bucking upward sharply. 

“Mhmm. I can…”

“And you’re gonna do it…?”

“Well! …so well,” you pant. “Please…!”

A smirk curves his mouth, and you hungrily slide over him, lips pushing together as you moan into the sloppy mess of a kiss. His palm connects with you ass, squeezing appreciatively, soothing the sore skin before pulling back and spanking you again. Curses are muttered over your lips, Lucien feeling how you tighten around him with every impact, his canines nipping at your lips, his own still tasting of your arousal. 

“You’re going to be a good girl and take it? All of it?” A nod, followed by a hard spank. 

“My sweet little omega? Desperate for my cock? Not going to complain or whine when it gets too much because she doesn’t know her own limits?” Another nod, another spank. 

“Gonna take everything you can? No complaints? Not gonna brat about how it’s too much when you love it being too much?” An eager whimper, followed by a firm and final spank. 

“I won’t…I’ll take it…I’ll be perfect…!” 

“Such a good girl,” he praises, russet eye twinkling with male satisfaction, pride shining in his blown-out pupils. His fingers flex around your hips, readjusting his hold. “Have it.”

Together, you lift as far as you can go and slide down, swiftly finding motion and rhythm that works—you finding what you like, and Lucien carrying your movements with his grip, following whatever direction you choose. 

Both of you curse as he reaches his peak, feeling his knot pulse inside of you, feeling all of him inside of you, releasing, spurting hot cum, unloading himself deep into your cunt. Euphoria floods your body, heart fluttering in your chest. Your head tips back, hips swirling over him, Lucien’s hands pressing you down tight to him. Cock nestled deep, cum releasing deeper. 

Power crackles through the air, magic blazing from within his chest, the very tips of his fingertips glowing with red-hot brightness, russet burning the colour of freshly forged steel as pleasure courses through his body. 

Breath is knocked from you however, when he flips you over. 

You gasp at the sensitivity, shuddering with overstimulation, sweat surely beading down your spine. Is he—? “Lucien!” 

His hands grip your hips tight, his knees between your own on the rug, your palms flat against the soft fur and tears line your eyes as he pulls himself out, knot deflated enough for him to slip away. 

And slam back in to the hilt. 

The force knocks you forward, arms giving out beneath you as he pounds your poor pussy, slick coating your thighs—his, too—as it continues dripping, spilling from where you’re joined. One hand snakes between your legs, the pad of his middle finger effortlessly locating your clit, and you squirm as he begins circling it—mean, tight circles than make your muscles lock. 

Pleas fall from your lips, begging for more, for less, to go slower, to go harder, to fill you up, to full out, to fuck your mouth, to fuck your pussy, to come on your tongue, to spill more inside of you…to fuck you into babbling, sobbing mess of pleasure, arousal, and come.

“That’s it,” he soothes, curving over your arched back, heat pressing into your spine. “You’re taking it so well. Let me keep you full, yeah?” 

You moan your desperation, nodding your head as much as you can, feeling heat boil and bubble within your core, having trouble dealing with all of his stimulation…and with another knot forming… Gods, this. This is perfect. This is what you need. Every minute of every hour of every day for the next week. Maybe more. 

Lucien pulls himself upright so the hand that was bracing him on the rug can drop to the slick interior of your knee, gripping tight as his fingers wrap a good way around the circumference of your thigh, cocking your leg. You drool into the carpet as he fucks you deeper into the pleasure, knot swelling larger, larger than before, once again locking you tight together, except this time his fingers are rubbing against your clit and you sob as you reach your peak. 

Pleasure unlatches within you, and you feel as liquid pleasure releases onto him, gushing as he hits those spots again, and again, and again. Fucking you into an oblivion of ecstasy. 

In the back of your mind you can hear the breathless praises falling from his mouth. Telling you how perfect you are, how well you’re taking his cock, how full you’re going to be by the time he’s done with you. And sure enough you can feel him spurting into you, releasing himself deep inside your cunt. 

You’re a panting, sweating mess beneath him—both of you are, really. Skin glistening before the hearth, flame flickering its heat onto the walls. You’re far too sensitive to be moving, the aftershocks still fluttering through your overstimulated cunt, and yet part of you wants Lucien to roll you back on top of him and start slamming you down again, pounding into you until you’re orgasming again, feeling his knot swell inside, keeping you together. 

Teeth prod into your lower lip, tilting your head to one side. Together sounds good. Joined; locked; tied. 

Your throat rolls as Lucien’s tongue licks up the side of your neck, a low growl rumbling in his chest where instincts are ordering him to bite, searching for the spot he likes. And when his fangs find those marks, the rightness of your unity floods you with pleasure, weakly pushing back against him so his cock remains tight inside of you. 

Gods, a week of this…fucking heaven. 

——————————————————————————————————————————————

general taglist: @myheartfollower @tcris2020 @mali22 @slut4acotar @sfhsgrad-blog @needylilgal022 @hannzoaks @hnyclover @skyesayshi @nyotamalfoy @decomposing-writer @soph1644 @lilah-asteria @nighttimemoonlover @mrsjna

[donatellawritings]

Hiiiii mamacita!! Totally love your writing! Wondering if you’ve seen the trend of girls pranking their bfs by telling them they got waxed by a guy? I’ve already seen loads of fics about it so I was thinking maybe you could do a Rafe one but instead of the wax maybe she could say she got a massage from a dude? And like not even a prank but she went to the spa and actually got massaged by a guy but she thought it was totally innocent so she casually tells Rafe LOL he’d go ballistic

hi baby! omg this is actually so funny

rafe was completely aware about how serious you were about self-care - you loved being pampered and that was partly thanks to the lavish lifestyle that rafe had introduced to you. you got regular blowouts, fresh sets of cutesy acrylic nails, monthly facials, weekly shopping trips on the mainland - you were a spoiled princess through and through. rafe didn’t mind it though, you worked hard in school and never failed to be the devoted trophy girlfriend that he proudly sauntered around the island. so, when you told rafe that you’d be treating yourself and sarah to a spa day, he didn’t even bat an eyelash, only pressing his lips to yours as he slid his debit card into your purse and slapped your ass as you walked out of the front door.

it was a typical spa day for you, you’d bashfully talk about your days with rafe to your nail lady, while she engrossed you with details about her barging clients. the two of you exchanged bubbly laughs as you sipped on your mocktail, wearing nothing but the fluffy white robe that came complimentary with your spa visit. you were so involved with the relaxing environment that came with getting waited on hand and foot, that you didn’t even realize that your regular masseuse had been swapped out for a middle-aged man who had taken over her position.

now dressed in your figure-hugging, white lace-trimmed romper that rode up the plush curve of your ass, you strutted through the front door of tannyhill, chanel bag in-tow as you relished in your fluid and relaxed state. the exposed skin of your legs, thighs, arms, and chest glowed from the luxuriously creamy oils and lotions used on your skin, your face radiant from your facial as you raised your dior sunglasses to sit on top of your hair. “papi, i’m home,” you sang, placing your purse onto the couch, a low sigh leaving your lips as you reached to grab a glass from the top cabinet.

the thin fabric of your romper became wedged between your taut asscheeks as you stood on the tips of your freshly pedicured toes, a shriek coming from your lips as a harsh smack came down on your ass, “coño, raaafe,” you whined, your pained pout quickly subsiding into a smile as your boyfriend chuckles lightly, pushing his hand down against your spine, bending you over the counter.

rafe was shirtless, wearing nothing but his belted slacks and socks as he feigned a few thrusts into your clothed bottom, before leaning over to kiss the back of your head, “how was the spa, mama, y’got everything done?” he questioned, reaching over you to grab your glass, bringing it to the fridge to fill up with water.

with a smile, you nodded as you approached rafe, sliding your arms around his naked waist with a dreamy sigh, “yeah, i got my nails done, we went for a french manicure and pedicure,” you raised one of your hands to rafe’s eyesight, your eyes brightening with excitement as he kissed your knuckles in approval, “i got a facial, my eyebrows and lashes done, i got waxed,” you sang, earning an enticed hum from rafe as his eyebrows raised with peaked interest.

a giggle escaped your puffed lips as rafe’s hand slid down your back, before he gripped your plush ass, jiggling it a bit as he curved his finger into your wet taint, causing you to throw your head back with a dopey smile, “rafe, listen to me,” you whined playfully.

with a nod, your boyfriend motioned for you to continue as he brought the glass of water to his pink lips, “and i got a full body massage, they used this warm oil - ugh, it was amazing,” you mewled, dramatically leaning your forehead against rafe’s bare chest, “the masseuse was really good, i think he was new-” you continued, bringing your swollen lips together as rafe cocked his head to the side, completely unamused by your revelation.

“he? didn’t y’tell me that it was a girl who does your massages?” rafe quizzed, setting his glass in the sink as he pulled away from you, adjusting his signet ring to sit further on his finger, his jaw strained.

internally you slapped yourself - sure, you knew that the masseuse was only there to do his job, but rafe had made it a point that you were to only have a female masseuse, he wasn’t too keen on having some guy running his hands down your oiled body. now nervously toying with the laced hem of your romper, you bit down into your bottom lip.

“yeah, but she’s on leave sooo,” you stepped closer to rafe, batting your wispy lashes up at his cold eyes, sighing in defeat as he remained stoic, “look, i didn’t even know that they hired someone new, papi,” you squeaked, bringing one of your legs to snake around rafe’s waist as you pushed yourself one, wrapping your other leg around him as his hand instinctively held you up by your ass.

rafe rolled his eyes, unimpressed as he carried you, “y’not going there anymore, princess,” he decided, pecking a short kiss to your lips as you opened your mouth to speak, “m’serious, y’know how i feel about it so don’t fuckin’ ask me,” he confirmed, patting your ass as you let out an exaggerated whine against the skin of his neck.

“you’re so strict,” you spoke, your voice muffled and strained as rafe nodded, refusing to fall into your complaints while he craned his neck back, forcing your eyes to meet, “wait- what if i just let you do my massages, but i can keep going to the spa?” you beamed.

searching your eyes for any hidden intentions, rafe shrugged, “i will fuck you up if you get another massage from him, y’understand?” he warned, completely entranced by your doe eyes and plump lips, not missing the way your warm pussy strained against the fabric of your romper.

smacking a noisy and wet kiss to rafe’s lips, you nodded furiously, “i understand,” you hummed sweetly, letting out a soft moan as rafe suddenly let you drop a few inches, before catching your thighs with his large hand, causing your aching pussy to taste the perfect amount of friction against the crotch of your romper.

with lowly hung eyes, rafe swiftly placed you on top of the kitchen counter forcefully spreading your legs to reveal the sticky wet patch that sat right on your pussy. crouching to reach eye level with your wetness, rafe wordlessly pressed his tongue against the damp spot, allowing his spit to dampen the sweetly-tinged fabric of your romper before enclosing his warm mouth around your clothed-pussy in a sloppy kiss. overly sensitive from the brazilian wax, you sucked in a breath as you tried to close your legs around rafe’s face.

“don’t fuckin’ touch me,” he hummed, licking another long and slippery stripe up your covered pussy, sucking on the wet spot as he held your legs spread with a tight grip on both of your knees, “y’so fuckin’ wet, mama - fuck,” he moaned needily, leaning his face in closer to your pussy as you blissfully throw your head back with parted lips.

“fuck, papi, s’so sensitive,” you moaned, exhaling an uneven shudder of a breath as rafe pressed his tongue into your fabric covered hole, maintaining his strict grip on your wobbly knees as he swallowed your pussy in an open mouthed kiss. your eyes rolled back as your lashes fluttered closed, your tummy tightening with each drooling lick the rafe pressed to you, your freshly painted nails scratching against the smooth countertop, eager for any kind of sensation to ease the race of your incoming orgasm.

rafe's piercing eyes closed with bliss as he pulled your knees to rest over his shoulders, carefully carrying you to lay on the floor, his slick and hot tongue continuing to lap at you, a short laugh vibrating against your clothed clit at the sound of you yelping as your back hit the polished hardwood floor. with your legs now thrown over his broad shoulders, it was easy for rafe to dig his face deeper into you. softly sucking on your clit through the fabric of your glove-like romper, rafe opened his eyes, the sight of your perked nipples straining against the flimsy clothing egging him on just right.

"y'gonna cum all over yourself, mama?" he mocked, hastily spitting on your the area right above your throbbing clit, greedily watching as his spit dripped down between your puffy pussy, "shit," he groaned, returning his head between your legs as you let out a hoarse cry.

with a few more generous licks, your warm cum creamed through the fabric that clung to your pussy, leaving rafe in a cum drunk state as he sucked every drop possible, through your clothing. your eyes slowly opened, your pupils blown as your gaze met rafe's as he licked you selfishly, eager to drink you whole. your chest huffed in and out, your vision grainy as rafe finally pulled his handsome face from between your legs, his nose, lips, and chin shining from your cum and his spit. your plump lips parted as you took in rafe's messy state, before they expanded into a dazed smile.

grabbing rafe's face, you pulled him into a searing kiss, shamelessly sucking on his tongue, eager to taste yourself before pulling away with a 'pop'. the two of you lazily smiled at each other, both too fucked out without actually fucking to speak.

[allfearstofallto]

C, H, I, L, D, E for Childe 😋😋!! (Keeping up with the theme of Childe lovers in ur ask box)

YOU CHILDE FANS MAKE ME SICK!!

Anyways, this was so fucking fun to write, thanks you!!

TW: finishing inside, breeding, public sex, oral (m. receiving), cum eating, prostitution (??) (kinda?? spoilers he fucks for information)

ABSOLUTELY 18+ MINORS DNI

C um - Anything to do with cum, basically

His seed is precious. It's what he'll use to make children with you soon, so why shouldn't it be deep inside you? Your tight hole swallows him so much, it's able to take a little more. No matter what position he fucks you in, whether it's on your back with your legs up, or bent over whatever piece of furniture is the closest, he finishes inside you. He holds steady with his hips pressed against yours until every drop of him is inside you. His favorite part is pulling out and watching his cum dribble out, happy to have bred you with it.

H air - How well groomed are they? Does the carpet match the drapes?

Orange is his hair color across his whole body, including down below. Coming from Snezhnaya, where the cold is constant, he isn't partial to shaving any of it. Childe makes sure it's well groomed, trimming it if it ever gets too long or uncomfortable, but he prefers his pubic hairs longer.

The sight of you with your lips around his cock is already outstanding, but when he forces your head down, making you take him all the way to base, he hisses in delight. Your nose pressed against his long patch of pubes, drool and slobber leaking down onto it messily, makes him never want to cut it.

I ntimacy - How are they during the moment? The romantic aspect

He can fuck you until you're weak in the knees, unable to stand the next morning and he does like it better this way. But he also is able to be slow and sensual as well. If you're good to him, he's good to you, bringing you to the point of multiple orgasms with his fingers and tongue.

Even he can't stand a slow pace for too long though and eventually he'll start fucking into you roughly against, his dick aching for relief. But he'll still kiss you all over, praising you for taking him so well.

L ocation - Favorite places to do the do

Childe prefers places that are semi public. Places where he could get caught, but most likely won't. Places where even if a person were to walk by, the act could be covered quickly and with ease.

His favorite is the living room of his manor, with all the large windows open. You'd still be wearing your long dress, just with your panties pulled to the side and with his cock was pulled from his pants. Your bounce up and down on his dick, the fabric of your dress being enough to cover the scene. If anyone were to see, they'd think you were just too lovers, cuddling together on the couch. Little did they know he was actively creaming your insides as they walked past.

D irty secret - Pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs

As much as he doesn't like to admit it, he doesn't let his cum go to waste. If you're not there to swallow it down in your mouth or pussy, then he'll drink it himself. He cums into his hand and laps it up, letting the salty liquid flow into his mouth.

Originally he did it out of what felt like obligation, but as time went on, he started to enjoy it. A part of him secretly got off on swallowing it himself, his cock growing hard as he remembered the taste.

E xperience - How experienced are they? Do they know what they're doing?

He's just about as experienced as you'd expect from someone with a face as pretty as his. Women fall at his feet constantly, so of course he's had his fair share of tastes. His perceptiveness is what really sells him though. His ability to tell slight differences in moans, or even feeling which spots make you tighten more than others.

His skills are used for more than one off flings though. While he prefers to do things the brute force way, he knows that not all missions can be solved with fists. The best way to get information out of someone, is to give them what they want, and usually that thing is his body. He'll blow their mind in bed for the right price, a deal is a deal, after all.

[getonite]

PLAYING : HOTLINE ! — DAZAI TUNES IN!

𝗧hinking about Dazai, your childhood friend and the one who shows his vulnerability only to you. Years after you've gone and left the Port Mafia and your terrible past behind, he knocks on your door. He looks downright terrible. His bloodied hands are trembling as he grips onto the fabric of Odasaku's coat, he's trembling, and on the verge of tears.

"Dazai, how'd you—" he practically leaps, his bandaged arms wrap around your neck, squeezing harshly, though you wonder how he found you... Ango.

There's not a word spoken between you two, but you know exactly what he needs. You pull him inside, carefully closing the door. "How about we clean you up first, okay?" You whisper. He stinks. His eyelids are puffy and there's red underlining his eyelashes. His hair is due for a wash with split ends, and he's pale. You guess he hasn't taken too much care of himself since you left. He silently nods, leaning his full bodyweight into you.

You bring him to your bathroom, carefully peeling the layers of clothing from him. The first to come off is the black coat he's regularly worn since he joined the Port Mafia.

His knees are to his chest as he speaks for the first time. "Mori-san's coat, burn it. I don't need it," he whispers in a raspy voice as if he's been screaming. You hum in acknowledgement as you set the dirty thing on the bathroom tile. Your hands carefully help him undress before starting to undo his bandages. "Years later and you still can't change your bandages like I told you to," he hears you whisper with a small smile. The bloodied and worn bandages fall to the floor as he hears the sound of streaming water come from the bathtub inches from him.

Once he's in the bath, you carefully rinse his body with warm water, lathering his new and old scars with soap carefully. There's a hint of guilt in your heart as you hear him wince, though this is probably for the best.

The pads of your fingers massage his scalp as you wash his hair, just like you did when the two of you were kids. You carefully trim his wet hair and brush it before getting him out of the tub, helping him dry off. You were likely the only person he could truly trust to see him so...bare and vulnerable. You couldn't exactly tell if the silence was tense or comforting, regardless you continued with is predictable mute moment. He always got like that when there was something wrong, you sigh.

"How about, I get you something to eat? I made some bento boxes, you can eat one and then brush your teeth, is that okay?" You speak softly and re-bandage his tender skin.

You smile softly at him when be finally nods. "Okay," you whisper and attempt to finish quickly before his mind changes.

As his hair dries it becomes its usual fluffy self, you'd assume hair matches personality; however, Dazai's eyes were close to dead. He only seemed to relax, feel different, when you touched him so gently. You quickly clean up and head to make him food. "You don't have to eat all of it y'know...just some, okay?" You whisper, setting the box in front of him.

He can tell your eyes are studying him as he eats, wondering what your Dazai from years ago has turned into. You look at him proudly when he finishes half of it before pushing it away. "Thank you," you whisper.

Handing him a toothbrush, you let him brush his teeth and fix the mess that is your bedroom, knowing he'll ask to sleep. And surely, 5 minutes later he stumbles to your doorway. "Can I...Can I stay?" You look him up and down, smiling softly. Compared to the terrible look he had when he first appeared at your door, he looks better. No longer like a man seconds from being a corpse.

"'Course," You smile, pulling back the covers, "C'mere."

He walks to the bed, crawling onto the soft sheets carefully. His brown eyes look at you expectingly, watching you get under the covers with him. He moves his body next to yours, putting his face into your neck without a word. "Ready to talk?" You whisper. His hoarse voice whispers a 'No.'

The calming effect your fingers have as they glide along him and his hair makes him feel like he's home. "Okay, just sleep. I'll be right here, I'm not leaving."

Dazai again, speaks no words, but his legs entertangle with yours. He remembers just why he came here. He missed you. Even if Odasaku is gone, he has you to make sure he doesn't go over the deep end. He'll save people, he'll grant Odasaku's last wish. But first, he wants to rest. Right next to his home.

"I promise, sleep." The man listens, squeezing onto you as if to test that this is real before drifting off.

For the first time in days...he's at peace.

A/N: dazai srsly needs a hug, 'n ill b the one 2 give it 2 him if no one else will! we need more fluffy fics of taking care of dazai, rather than dazai taking care of us. nyway, if u haven't signed up 4 the new tag list u totally should! there's new options n better format.

SUBSCRIBERS : @avatsu @sofliesy @tamreadfanfiction

[merakiui]

eden.

yandere!rollo flamme x (female) reader cw: yandere, unhealthy behaviors/relationship, nsfw, non-con, captivity, obsession, menophilia/period sex, vague references to the story of adam & eve note - a self-indulgent paradise crafted by rollo's generous, gracious hand.

Silvery slivers of moonlight spill through the space in the curtains, illuminating the fluffy sheets you’re currently entangled in. A sharp sting in your abdomen rouses you from your dreamless slumber, so agonizing it causes you to slowly curl in on yourself. Miserable and defeated, you groan and bury your face in the neighboring pillow. Now muffled, the sound can only carry on for however much capacity your lungs possess. It eventually fizzles out into a solemn, silent resignation that forces you to accept the third day of the monthly curse that is the menstrual cycle.

It’s a natural facet of your biology, but that doesn’t stop you from moping when you register the slick sensation between your legs.

This wouldn’t be an issue if he got me pads or tampons, you think, bitter with resentment and worn to exhaustion even though you’ve only just woken.

Awkwardly, you attempt to sit up and pull the covers back to check the damage. Rollo’s sheets are always spotless and fresh; he washes them every two weeks on Sunday afternoons, dedicated to following his schedule down to the letter. But then the pain persists, stabbing through to your very organs, and you resume your pitiful fetal position in hopes that the severity may abate.

It does, but you think you’re just tricking yourself into believing so.

You can feel the blood soaking through your white nightgown, and the sodden fabric molds itself to your rear in a very unpleasant way. Shuddering, you blink back tears.

I wanna go home.

Home, as it happens, has felt less and less temporary with each passing month spent in Twisted Wonderland. You’ve come to associate the familiarity of Night Raven College and its student body with comfort and contentment. It’s your home away from home. A long, long way from home. But it’s all you’ve ever had since the Dark Mirror beckoned you forth, and it’s served as your solace for a while.

Initially, you felt trapped and alone, uncertain of your fate and what this could mean for your life. But now you realize that no amount of feeling stuck at school could ever compare to this—to real confinement.

Your capture and, subsequently, your captor’s inexplicable infatuation are the result of arbitrary observation. In his frigid, heavy-eyed stare, you fit the criteria for a definition of purity he has constructed for his own abstract conduct. Untouched by magic, unable to conjure even the simplest spell, you are the speck of hope within Pandora’s box—a blessing enshrouded in sin.

“It must be taxing to live amongst mages so often,” he had said, as if to extend sympathy.

Foolishly, not quite understanding where those words were coming from, you replied in jest, “Believe me, it is. The amount of times I’ve nearly been caught in the crossfire when my friends get into heated arguments… Yikes.”

Rollo Flamme is a righteous man, and thus it is his duty to build a pristine paradise for you. An Eden of his own creation, its sole purpose to safeguard you from the pollution that is magic and, by extension, mages.

But purity cannot be found here, for Rollo is a devil in this garden. Potted plants adorn the floor; it’s something of a floral jungle, filling the room with perfumed scents and pretty sights. You’ve made note of their habits—of every flower that wilts and rises once it’s watered, of every petal that pries itself open under the moon’s glow and closes come sunrise, of every stem that’s trimmed to prevent excess.

Rollo Flamme prefers tidy spaces, so this well-kept garden is sterile and peaceful. You’ve likened it to a morgue filled with dead things—or soon-to-be dead things, as most plants cannot thrive forever no matter how diligent the botanist.

He barked a humorless, monosyllabic laugh at your declaration. “Unless you’ve chosen to view yourself as a rotting corpse, which you are not, your comparison is both unwarranted and untrue,” he muttered, and that was the final utterance of that subject.

Conversations with Rollo are always impossible, which is why you’re dreading this next one when he turns the key in the lock. The sound is like a gunshot in an empty room: explosive. As if echoing your discomfort, your cramps worsen in their intensity and you suck in a shaky breath through grit teeth. You hear the door shut and lock, sentencing you to an exchange with an unwanted warden. He walks into a mostly serene scene, his glacial gaze sweeping across the room to pick apart any interruptions in this slice of Shangri-La.

“I’ve brought dinner,” he announces, and you lift your head to peer at the tray in his hands.

“I don’t want your grapes and croissants,” you spit. “I want something warm.”

“It is warm.” Stepping closer, he sets the tray on his desk. You spy wispy tendrils rising from a bowl of soup. “Sit up and eat before it goes cold.”

You attempt that, halfway up on your elbows, but then your abdomen tightens and you slump back into the sheets. “Hurts,” you whine, clutching your stomach.

Rollo sniffs at the air, brows furrowing. His shoes click out an even rhythm against the floorboards, stopping at your bedside. Without ceremony he yanks the duvet away and you hiss at him, humiliated even though it’s normal. Your skin prickles with a chill, and it’s made even worse when you see the fiery glint in his eyes—the perceptive sort of glaze that overtakes his pupils when he’s observing you. His eyes crawl down your figure, stopping at the stain sullying your satin nightgown.

“Ah, you’ve leaked.”

“Obviously,” you snap. “I did this yesterday, too. When are you going to get me pads? Or tampons? I’ll even take a towel at this point or toilet paper. Anything is better than this.”

Rollo shakes his head. “You’re perfectly fine as you are.”

“Free bleeding like this is filthy and unsanitary.”

“So I’ll simply clean you.”

You drag your hand down your face and groan. “Rollo, please. It hurts, and it’s wet and uncomfortable.”

“You’ve illustrated these points more than clearly.”

“So then… Then do something about it!”

He narrows his eyes at you, silently taking issue with your demand, before he hums his consideration. His face settles into something neutral while he removes his hat and shoes, dutifully setting them in their respective places.

Rollo surprises you when he climbs onto the bed, kneeling over you with the tiniest trace of a smile.

“Spread your legs. I’ll have a look.”

Fresh horror blooms on your already distraught countenance. You bickered with him over this yesterday when he’d brought a wet rag to your inner thigh, seething at you to stay still while he wiped you down. You’d wrestled with him for ownership of the rag, insisting in panicked huffs that you could do it yourself. Your slap had rung out in the silence, rendering Rollo stiff with stormy emotions. He’d relinquished the rag, scoffing at you for being ungrateful and resolving to scribble in his diary for the rest of the day—a prisoner to his own silent treatment.

Now, as his cold fingertips creep up your legs, you feel less hungry and more sick.

Weakly, you shake your head at him, sinking deeper into the pillows. “I… I can do it myself…”

“With what? The nightgown you’ve already dirtied?” He tilts his head at you and smiles an odd smile. You can’t place it, whether it’s smug or sweet, but it soon becomes the former when he throws your words right back at you: “That’s filthy and unsanitary.”

“You don’t have anything either,” you retort, only to grimace once more.

Rollo exhales through his nose, amusement flashing in his dreary eyes. “Because I’m not going to clean you. Not yet.”

Ice crystalizes within your veins, and the tension in your legs slackens enough for him to pull them apart. “What?”

His hands stray dangerously close. You stiffen, nerves tangling with panic. “There are ways to alleviate menstrual cramps. You should be aware of them, so I see no need to go into detail.”

“I know, yes, but—” You swallow thickly and push his reaching fingers away before they can curl around the hem of your nightgown. “Rollo, please don’t…”

“You’ll feel better,” he assures you matter-of-factly, whispering the words like that will change anything. “This is better than medicine and safer than magic.”

You shift beneath him, unsettled. “A… A hot compress will do. Y-You’ll get yourself dirty. Also! A-Also… If we don’t wash the sheets soon, it’ll stain.”

“Let it. It will serve as a reminder to both of us. A reminder that, though you may ruin these sheets with all manner of bodily fluids, they will still remain pure.” He lifts your nightgown, leaning close to your ear while palming at your stomach. You angle yourself away from him, eyes squeezed shut. “It’s because you’re perfect and clean, untainted by magic, that you are able to exist here. I envy you…”

His bare hand is cold against your warm belly and it travels lower, his fingers hooking around the waistband of your panties. You stifle a whine, tears welling up behind your eyelids.

“Rollo…”

“Even your voice…” He inhales deeply, high off the scent of you—metallic and pungent, a natural musk more enticing than any flowery perfume. “Everything about you is so clean, even the very blood that pools between your legs… Just a moment in your embrace is enough to wash away the layers of filth that accumulate on my person. Perhaps you might even manage to scrub beneath my skin, wash out every ounce of magic that rests within… Would that I could, I’d break myself into pieces so that you may reassemble me—build a better me. A me without magic. If only…”

His other hand slithers into yours, squeezing tight. You’re arrested by the strain in his tone when he speaks next, so full of yearning and desperation. Covetous. Shameless.

“If only.”

“R-Rollo, please stop…”

“Yes… Yes, of course,” he babbles, nodding to himself. “I’ve likened you to a concept—to purity alone—but you are more than that. The embodiment of it… An angel. Otherworldly, immune to the poisonous effects of magic… Yes, that is what you are. An angel bereft of flaws.”

He fishes his celestial-patterned handkerchief from his pocket and presses it to your lips next. Your eyes snap open to find him now much closer than before, and you have but a moment to brace yourself before he leans in. The kiss is indirect, the both of you separated by the cloth, but the intention is there. It sticks to you even after he’s lowered the handkerchief. You are too pure and he is too filthy, which is why your lips must never touch.

Contradictory because he’s kissed you before.

Rollo drags your blood-soaked panties down to your knees. You shudder like a frail leaf caught in autumn’s harsh breeze.

“I’ve saved you—freed you!—from those…those villains. So you must allow me to indulge.” He shakes his head, his licentious, lustful stare smoldering to such a scorching degree it brands impure, unhealthy love upon your bare flesh. “I will indulge because I have been nothing but agreeable. This—” his fingers brush your slick folds, testing the waters— “is a wonder no magic could ever hope to reproduce. This is just you. Perfect, pretty, pure you…”

Experimentally, his digits dip shallowly inside. You flinch and inhale a sharp, frantic breath, your stomach somersaulting and knotting itself all at once. Complicated feelings stir within you as you writhe under his invasive touch. Your effort to escape is halfhearted; it’s too painful to move, so instead you attempt to clamp your legs shut. He tuts at you and slips his hand out from your hold to pet along your thigh.

“There goes a certain tale,” Rollo says, breathless as he continues his patient exploration. His eyes rove over your pussy like he intends to imprint it in his memory, and he doesn’t shy away from the crimson rivulet that runs down his palm when he sinks his fingers in further. You grit your teeth, melting against the pillows like an angel stamped in snow, and your free hand strangles a fistful of sheets. “In which a pair lived together in paradise, but it was temptation that ultimately led to their downfall. It is a doomed narrative.”

You’re breathing heavily now, your eyes flicking from the ceiling to the many plants that surround you on all sides, each one in full bloom. It feels as if you’re on a bed-turned-boat in a sea of greenery.

A sea of divine fertility.

With a skillful curl the two fingers delve deeper, pressing up against your gummy walls. Against your better judgment, you whine, loud and bawdy. His touch soothes, but then it stings. It makes you want to peel yourself open and step out of your skin so that you may subject it to a vigorous washing. It makes you despise the scent of flowers. It makes you fear the sound of the bell as it tolls unfailingly every single day. It makes you wish you’d never opened your mouth to respond to his words all those weeks ago.

Tears slip from your lash line. “Stop… Please stop…”

“Perhaps this is that same story made modern. Perhaps you were sculpted specially for me and I for you.” A third finger joins the other two working you open. Paper-pale skin is coated in brilliant vermillion, the very color of ardent desire. “Perhaps we are destined to fall together, born anew in someplace purer…”

The slow, steady drag of his fingers is more tempting than the ripe redness between your thighs, and you force yourself to gaze sidelong at the soup sitting abandoned on his desk. He plucks at each of your tangled, dewy strings, unraveling them with graceful strokes, and you’re pulled along on the blissfully uncomfortable current, treading between someplace grounded in reality and fantasy.

From above, at the bird’s eye view, you have become a garden for Rollo’s twisted whimsy.

You return to yourself when he eases his fingers out, stalling for a silent beat, before he thrusts them back in in one fluid motion. It punches the air from your lungs, has you throwing your head back with a weepy howl. He watches this with fierce scrutiny, curious at a clinical level.

“You’re beautiful,” he admits, spreading his fingers inside you. “My world. My panacea. My angel.”

“No… No, no.” You sob, your chest heaving with every wail. You can smell yourself on the air, the sharp scents of iron and sweat. Your pussy weeps blood, devastated at the hands of a monster, and yet it can’t stop affixing itself to him. A mold meant to suit his design. “Please… Please take it out.”

A shadow of contemplation passes over Rollo’s flushed countenance and then he’s reaching over to dry your tears, dabbing at your face with his handkerchief. “You’re okay. It doesn’t hurt anymore, right?”

You shake your head in protest rather than respond, chewing your bottom lip to shreds. A feeble whine slips through and you arch into him when his thumb presses down into your clit and prods at your hood. It happens all too fast. You tighten and loosen all at once, your mouth dropping open and eyes rolling back. The sheets are soaked through and properly soiled now, but that fact doesn’t lessen the seismic ecstasy that drapes itself over you like a veil. Your vision whites out and you fall, fall, fall through the waning vestiges.

Your heart drops into your stomach at the realization.

It doesn’t hurt anymore.

“You’ve done well.” He slides his fingers out, and the gooey squelching wrings a shudder from you. This time he grants you one of his rare smiles—the authentic, sincere kind—while he presses the pads of his fingers to his upturned lips, dyeing himself in your essence. You blink through encroaching tears, an ocean that obscures your vision and fuzzies his figure.

His fingers dig into the plush pudge of your thighs, thumbs rubbing soothing circles along your adductors. You open yourself again, involuntarily blossoming in this garden of iniquity.

“Good,” he praises again, whisper-soft. “You’re only permitted to be this way with me. Anyone else would simply tarnish your sweetness. They’d take advantage of your ability to cleanse even the foulest of filth. But I…”

Rollo, still clothed and now libidinous in his impatience, fumbles to pull himself free. His throbbing erection presses against your stomach, the final piece to force this puzzle to completion.

“I will always lay myself at your altar.”

You beg him not to, but every objection goes unheard. His hips connect with yours; he’s holding back, if only just barely, pressing onwards slowly, his breath coming in huffs and grunts. To savor it. To know the feeling firsthand and engrave it into his very being, from his fingers to his toes. To immerse himself in the red rain of a shackled angel.

To color a picturesque paradise in cardinal sin.

Just beyond the windows of Eden, swathed in midnight luminescence, a glorious city set aflame burns bright, overtaken by fiery flowers.

[recareels]

Have you see March's outfit she is soo cute!! Would love to wear something dainty and cute for the ever polite and composed DAN HENG and watch him lose his mind

i have!!!!! and i agree!!! she’s so so so adorable and i absolutely adore the idea of wearing something so cute that just toes the line between innocent and provocative and teasing mr dan heng with it hehe (*ﾉωﾉ)

warnings: 18+ minors do not interact, reader is a brat and a tease words: 590

he can’t take his fucking eyes off of you. no matter how hard he tries to keep his stare and attention from straying, it seems his gaze is automatically and uncontrollably drawn to your form. it’s an instinctual reaction, almost—a cliche moth to a bright flame, allured into your heat, enticed by your shimmer, desperate to bathe himself in you.

you have single-handedly and unknowingly corroded his self-discipline, worn it down right to the precious core and consumed the shreds. and the longer you linger, the worse it gets. because the longer you linger, the more he wants you. 

dan heng swears you must be doing it on purpose. there’s no way you’re bending over like that, arching your back into a perfectly smooth curve and causing the hem of your sweet little skirt to ride up just enough to tease the edges of your panties—lace-trimmed silk, blush pink, clinging delicately to the supple flesh of your ass—without consciously meaning to. 

but you are seemingly oblivious, flitting around the express without a single glance or acknowledgement his way. it’s almost as if you don’t care at all—don’t care that you’re torturing him, don’t care that you’ve got his cock embarrassingly yearning against his trousers with such simple motions yielding fleeting glimpses beneath flowing fabric, don’t care that you’ve devoured his concentration, wadded it up between your molars like that sweet pink bubblegum you favour so much and spit it right back out at him, warped and sticky and glazed with your spit. but he knows better, because he knows you.

his patience has been snuffed out to smouldering embers now, but he’s able to keep those last few flares kindling, glowing hot and heavy in the pit of his stomach until he is finally alone with you, secluded in the express’s tiny kitchen, the proximity of your presence a douse of kerosene. 

then that flame is bursting, raging, licking at his ribs and up his throat until it’s scathing his tongue and melting his teeth, spilling past his lips in a snarl. 

a sharp flash of ink and azure, he’s got you trapped between the counter and his body in a mere instant, granite edge digging into the base of your spine. 

the sudden action, full of uncharacteristic violence and vigour, punches a gasp from your throat, gaze gaping with shock as it flies across his contorted face, his features scrunched beneath the weight of his fury. 

“you think i don’t know what you’re doing?” he spits, stare searching your own with fervour, nostrils flaring with heaving breaths. 

the surprise in your eyes dissipates, devoured by the mischief lurking beneath—the mischief he knew was there all along, festering, barely hidden by the guise of ignorance. 

something sinister smears across your face, curling your lips into an arrogant little smirk, your irises gone dark, shaded by thick lashes, glittering with the lure of a challenge. 

“just wanted to see if you’d do anything about it.” 

a growl rumbles in his chest, his ribs rattling against yours, teeth bared like a primal animal. his hips shove forward in accentuation and you can feel his cock, hot and hard and throbbing with desire, complementing the cold tremor threaded throughout his tone. 

oh, he’s about to do something about it, right now. 

[eli0004]

Armin Arlert NSFW Alphabet

Pairing: sub!Armin x Reader

Warnings: heavy kink, mentions of body image insecurity and jealousy, subspace, msub, kink, cum play and pure filth bc Armin is a kinky fuck, mentions of porn.

[A/N: Another one down! It took a while but I’m pretty pleased. Feedback is always appreciated!]

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

Slumped. He’s boneless and pliable, he drags himself to lay on top of you in search of your praise and affection. He’ll keen and shyly bury his face in your chest when you tell him how good he did and how pretty he looked doing it.

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

Armin likes your legs. He’s a leg man, but he likes every part of you truthfully. He likes to lay on your thighs while you pet his hair, and he’ll slowly start to kiss over your skin. He likes your hands, and often imagines them around his throat or your fingers inside of him while he’s watching you do everyday tasks.

Armin likes almost nothing about himself. He has some body image issues, which calls for some praise and worship if you ask me. Someone’s got to show this boy he’s beautiful.

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

Armin is a little freaky, it goes without saying. He’s a bit of a cum slut. He likes when you make him shoot his load all over his tummy, he likes when you dip your fingers into it and pop them in his mouth.

He cums in large amounts, it all but pours out of him like a faucet. It’s not thick or super gooey, mostly thin and watery. It gets everywhere if he isn’t careful in aiming.

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

Armin is a pillow humper, he gets excited and can’t help but stuff his pillow between his legs to grind into it softly. I mentioned this in another post, but all that soft stimulation makes him extremely sensitive to deliberate touching, and he will cum in seconds, shaking and crying the first few times you get your hands on him.

Just wait until he starts sending you videos of himself hugging a plushy or pillow between his thighs, hunched over and trembling as he rubs the head of his cock against the fabric, soaking it in his release. 🤤

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

None at all. Absolute virgin. Armin hasn’t even so much as had a first kiss when he meets you, not because he’s undesirable, but because he’s awkward. He doesn’t know how to talk to people he finds attractive, if you’re in a relationship with him it’s likely because you’d known each other a long while.

But it doesn’t take long after the first kiss for him to start fantasizing about touching, being touched, and though he likely won’t initiate, he’s delighted when your make out sesh finally leads to grinding and slipping hands under clothes.

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

Armin likes classic missionary when he’s feeling romantic, prone bone and doggy (both giving and taking)

He loves the Amazon position, and I think this one was the pipeline to his obsession with pegging.

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

The first few times are giggly and awkward, but the more comfortable he is with you, the more he loses himself in the pleasure. His eyes glaze over and he gets weepy and whiny, but he does smile a lot when he’s feeling extra good

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

It honestly depends. Most of the time he keeps it trimmed, and every now and again he will shave it bare, but a day or two later he’s complaining about the prickly feeling and going on about how he’ll never do it again. It never gets out of control though, he would easily become self conscious of it if he let it get too long.

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

He likes it rough, but that’s not to say he isn’t intimate. He’s a hand holder, he likes to cling onto you and press himself into your skin as close as he can get. He smacks his lips against yours in messy, sloppy kisses while he moans into your mouth. Praise makes him throb just as easily as degradation, he’s such a good boy, and he looks at you like you’re his lifeline.

J = Jack Off (Masturbation headcanon)

If you’re not with him and he’s suddenly horny, he’s stuffing his hand down his sweats in an instant. Several times a day if he’s feeling extra needy, and he likes to take his time with it, slow strokes with one hand while the other massages his balls.

He has an oral fixation, so he’ll suck on his fingers and imagine they’re yours, and sometimes he’ll kick his legs up when he’s feeling kinky and bring his fingers down to dip past his rim for some extra stimulation.

K = Kink (One or more of their kinks)

Pegging- and really anything anal related. When Armin discovered prostate orgasms his life was changed. He says they feel stronger, like a full body experience. He has such a cute ass too, it’s a treat to be behind him while he’s taking it face down in the bed.

Degradation and humiliation- he wants to feel like he’s less than you, just your toy to play with, and to destroy when you’re angry.

Bondage- Armin loves to be restrained and rendered helpless, blindfolded, gagged. It really sells the “I’m your toy” act.

Dirty filthy talk- the vulgarity that comes out of this sweet angel faced boy’s mouth will have your head spinning. “Use me, fuck me, come on, harder” and “I want you to _insert the most insanely filthy thing you can imagine_”.

L = Location (Favourite places to do the do)

Everywhere and anywhere within the walls of your home. The kitchen making dinner, the bathroom on his knees, giving you head like a good boy while you get ready, on the couch watching a movie, in the laundry room on top of the washer. Anywhere is free game, he’s always yours when you want him.

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

Everything? Your lips, your eyes, your hands, your voice. The fact that you look at him and want him like that in the first place. The way you look doing household chores, the firmness and unwavering confidence in your voice when you send back your burger because you asked for no pickles. Armin is enchanted by you.

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

There’s not much he would say no to once he’s comfortable with you. If you bring a new idea to him he often meets it with genuine enthusiasm and curiosity, and knowing you’re thirsting for him enough to want to find new things to do to and with him gets him excited as it is.

If I had to choose something, I’d say aside from public sex, things like sounding make him a little nervous but it’s not a hard no. Age play is a hard no and the idea of cuckholding makes him violently jealous.

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

This man eats pussy like it’s his last meal on death row. He takes munch to a whole other level, breakfast lunch and dinner, Armin is always ready to bury his face between your thighs. He’d happily suffocate himself between your folds, and die very, very contented. Almost all of his fantasies revolve around your thighs caging around his head, gazing up at you through long lashes while you praise him softly.

He’s good at sucking dick too if you’re amab, for a man with very little to no experience, he’ll have you questioning everything you thought you knew about him. No gag reflex, he probably taught himself how to turn it off just for giving head. He’ll happily let you fuck his face of course, he’s quite the masochist.

Armin doesn’t care much if you want to go down on him. He’ll let you touch him however you wish, but he’d much rather be the one putting his mouth to work. He gets so drunk off your sounds and your fingers carding through his soft hair, he’ll start grinding up against the nearest surface just for a bit of friction.

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

Baby likes it rough, especially if he’s the one taking it. If he can form coherent sentences, you’re not fucking him hard enough. He wants to be reduced to a crying, drooling mess, especially when he’s been stressed out recently. There are definitely times when he prioritizes romance and sensuality, but Armin loves a mean dom, and it shows.

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

Absolutely yes, all the time. He’s so sensitive anyway, if you aren’t trying to drag it out he can and will cum in minutes. While he isn’t too fond of public sex, he definitely enjoys the thrill of a time limit. Bend him over or give him a quick suck while you’re cooking, a quick morning fuck before you leave for work. He says likes a challenge, but it’s not really a challenge to get him shaking underneath you in 5.

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

It depends on the risk you’re wanting to take. He’s terrified to get caught in public, so there’s no way he’d willingly agree to that, but he’s pretty kinky, so within the walls of your bedroom there isn’t much he wouldn’t do to please you. Especially if it’s something Emasculating or embarrassing, humiliation gets him off embarrassingly fast. This means things like feminization, pet play (making him eat out of a bowl or sit in a dog crate), chastity, cum eating, guided masturbation, pain play, and even omarashi (to an extent) are all on the table.

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

This boy has endless stamina it seems, he can go and go and go for hours on end. When he’s extra needy, his erections won’t really even start going down until the 2nd or third time he cums. He loves overstimulation, even though he’ll cry and whine and say it’s too much.

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

Probably…more than likely, he owns some of his own. Bullet vibes, pocket pussies, vibrating rings, etc. I’m sure he doesn’t use all of them himself, but probably collects them in hopes you’ll get curious and use them on him. Especially the rings; he knows he cums quickly, so he’ll try anything with the hopes to draw the experience out as long as possible.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

He absolutely would never, unless he’s having a day where he wants it rough and messy. Mostly, Armin lives and breathes to be praised, he would mindlessly agree with whatever you asked of him just to hear the words “good boy”. He just falls into the roll of your sweet little submissive so easily.

To be teased, is a different story entirely. Edge him over and over, ghost your fingertips over his skin, go in for a kiss and watch his eyes flutter shut in anticipation, only to pull away and leave him confused. He loves to be reduced to desperate tears.

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

Shamelessly loud. I wrote in one of my headcannon posts that you could never discreetly have sex with Armin. He gets far too lost in the experience to really be aware of what noises he’s making or how loud he’s making them, but luckily you can quiet him down and satisfy his oral fixation by stuffing his mouth full of your fingers.

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

Armin has wet dreams a lot. He doesn’t dream every night, but when he does, 60% of his dreams are about sex. You can always tell because he’s so spacey the next morning, thinking about what happened in his dream. Sometimes he really wants to tell you about them in hopes to recreate them, but he gets too shy and backs out.

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

Armin isn’t big by any means, about 5 and 1/2 inches with a pretty, soft pink tip. He doesn’t curve, but when he’s fully hard, it points upward at a nice angle. Extremely sensitive, even a breath of air makes him twitch. It’s so cute too, the way it throbs and twitches against his belly when he’s laying there all horny and excited for you.

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

Armin isn’t just a closet pervert, he’s the closet pervert. Absolutely insatiable, he has sex on the brain morning and night and every minute in between. You cannot lie down horizontally together without him getting all hard and needy. I believe @ambassadorarlert wrote in one of their posts that his twitter saves are full of porn, and I second this, bby is into some wild things.

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

The second he lays his head down and you start brushing through his hair with your fingers, praising him for how good he did and how well he listened, Armin is knocked tf out and probably won’t be up until noon tomorrow. He can’t help it, his balls are drained and he’s being doted on, what more could a man want?

[intergalacticfop]

Minoan Kilt

The large, structural skirt worn by Minoan women in art is instantly recognizable, and when I made my own I combined current best guesses with my own personal tastes.

My kilt shape follows the hypothesis laid out by Bernice Jones in her book Ariadne's Threads: The Construction and Significance of Clothes in the Aegean Bronze Age. She describes the shape of that of a labrys, a double-headed axe with apparent ceremonial significance in Ancient Minoan culture. This garment may be depicted in Linear-B logogram *166 + we, we-being the backwards-s-shaped squiggle in the center which identifies the piece as a garment.

See pages 336 and 341 in Marie-Louise B. Nosch, The Textile Logograms in the Linear B Tablets

Actual details on construction and materials below the cut:

Construction:

The top and bottom edges of the kilt are concave, so the sides are longer than the middle. This gives the chevron-shape seen on layered kilts in art. In addition, the curved top half makes the skirt flare out, accommodating the hips and giving more freedom of movement to the legs. My kilt measured from my waist to my anklebone at the longest point, and about 1.5 times around my waist.

I chose to make a flounced kilt, with smaller strips of fabric and trim applied to a large base piece, rather than a tiered kilt, in which multiple kilt shapes of varying length are layered one on top of the other, so you end up wrangling 3 layers of fabric around the waist. The flounced kilt saves fabric and gives you a lot more freedom with whatever trim you might want. Jones' diagram for a flounced kilt is seen below:

Unlike the version in the diagram above, I chose not to attach ties to the garment itself both because the linen I used was very heavy and I was concerned about weight, and also because folding the skirt and securing it with a separate tie worked just fine for my tastes. In total I had four flounces: 2 alternating rows each of fabric and fringe.

The vertical edges of most kilts are left plain, probably representing either the selvage or an edge otherwise finished off to prevent fraying. For my kilt, however, I ended up with a couple inches of self-fringe on either side as I adjusted the fabric to the correct width. At least three examples of kilts with fringed vertical edges are known, all three from the so-called "House of the Ladies" in Akrotiri

Photos from Wikimedia Commons. Image 1. Image 2.

The vertical edges of these kilts are reinforced with a colored band or tape, probably to keep the garment from unintentional further fraying. Accordingly, I did the same on my kilt. I also like that it gave a nice vertical diagonal to counterbalance the horizontal ones.

Materials

I tried to use mainly linen and wool, the fibers most available on Ancient Crete, but some of my trim was cotton because sometimes you just have to use what's cheap and available in the today times.

The base of my kilt is a heavy, patterned linen in what's called a diaper weave, meaning that a repeating diamond pattern is woven into the pattern itself. A lot of the Minoan textiles depicted in frescoes are characterized by repeating geometric patterns, likely woven into the fabric itself, and that was something I wanted to capture in my own piece. My linen is woven with both cream and natural colored threads. The heavy weight is important to give structure to the garment--otherwise it would be kind of limp. My linen was from Burnley & Trowbridge (shameless plug), as was the plain cotton twill tape I used to bind the top and bottom edges of the kilt, and the dark red wool twill tape I used along the vertical edges.

I bought my cotton fringe from a rug supply store. I had to search a while to find a fringe that would work for me, and I ultimately chose fringes with a woven header rather than the more common knotted one, so that it would lay flat against the kilt. I hid the woven header under a layer of cotton fringed trim from Michaels (yes, Michaels) with this really great diamond and dots pattern woven in black.

The blue layers are from a bolt of vintage wool Kimono fabric. Blue appears frequently in frescoes, likely achieved with indigo or woad dye, or even murex/mollusk dye. The fabric is printed with an imitation ikat pattern of diamonds and squares that made me think "the vibes seem right!" because quite frankly, you aren't going to get "historically accurate" Minoan textiles (which there probably isn't enough archaeological evidence to definitively describe) without, like, hand-weaving it yourself or paying someone hundreds of dollars to do it for you (and that price is if the weaver really likes you). Neither of which appealed to my desire to just make a fun, low stress project. Good enough is good enough.

The narrow trim on the bottom of the blue flounces is vintage cotton/poly woven trim. This trim, while narrow, was quite thick and stiff, which was great because it added more weight and structure to the end of my flounces since the wool fabric itself was quite thin.

The top layer is a custom tablet-woven wool trim that I commissioned from MAHTAVAhandicraft on Etsy. I imagined this as the "centerpiece" of my kilt, and I'd arrange everything to complement it.

It's a kivrim pattern, which has itself only been traced to 19th-century Anatolia, but I didn't care. The way it looks like waves reminded me of how central the sea was to life in the Ancient Aegean and Mediterranean and it captured the idea and aesthetic I was pursuing. I mean, doesn't it remind you of these dolphins?

(I like the dolphins)

The whole thing was machine sewn with the exception of hemming and adding trim to the blue flounces. If you were to look at it from the back, you'd see lots of zigzag stitches, because i wanted to be fast! and have fun! not chase some unreachable ideal of "accurate."

As for wearing it, I chose to wear it with the top part folded/rolled down over a belt, so I have a thick tube of fabric around my waist. Many images, like the frescoes above of women with fringed kilts, appear to just show the kilt being tied closed. Other images are so fragmented or stylized that it's unclear what kind of skirt closure was used. Sculptures and figurines definitely show some kind of SOMETHING around the waist, whether this is folded fabric or a kind of belt is unclear. Different art could show different things!

I think I see evidence of a continuous line from the skirt to the waist-roll on the figure on the left, found in Troas, which I think indicates some kind of skirt-folding situation. The woman on the right, found in Crete, looks more like she's wearing some kind of long coiled belt, or perhaps snakes. Who knows? I don't! For my own part, I found the combination of rolled waist + tie belt the most secure for doing things like kneeling, stomping around, and wading into rivers to rescue bees. I also liked that it gave me the bulk around the hips that gives Minoan figurines such a powerful silhouette, and proportionally gives more of an hourglass shape. If you wanted to do something more firmly grounded in the sources, stick just with the waist tie or belt, wrapped around a couple times and tied in back. If you want to be like me, just say "well we don't KNOW it didn't happen" and just do whatever you want. Have fun! Whatever happens, it should be fairly easy to move around in the kilt--this is not a restrictive garment, just a heavy one.